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ssinboo · 5 months

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Say Yes to me

summary: You've been in love with Jeon Wonwoo since forever, and due to your family relations, you had hopes you'd marry him. Your only problem? he's getting engagement to someone else.

During his Engagement party, your childhood best friend and love of your life, Jeon Wonwoo, asks you to run away with him.

pairing: 1960s!AU - Childhood bestfriend! Wonwoo x F!Reader

word count: 10k (45~ minute read) – My longest ever!

warnings: unrequited crushes and overall foolishness, idiots in love, best friends to lovers to not lovers to lovers again, some angst?, Wonwoo is such a nerd, making out in dingy motels, unrealistic mileage for gasoline, seokmin being the sweetest

a/n: This will most certainly be my last fic of the year! So, Happy Holidays everyone! This year has been so troublesome, but I've grown so much and written a lot more, too! I'm so, so grateful for everyone I've met and everyone that's enjoyed my stuff! See you in 2024!

Had you been questioned, there would never be a concrete answer to the question of just how long you had been in love with Jeon Wonwoo.

You’d know him forever, and maybe you loved him all along.

Your families were business partners turned friends. And there had always been talk of marriage between the children. Of course, for convenience. The Jeon’s produced top-class racing and sports cars, while your family were in the chemical business, specialising in industry paints and finishes, it was only natural to unite the two families and profit.

Although your wealth was vast, it was nothing compared to the Jeon’s, despite always having the chance to frequent the same environments, you often found you were on different levels altogether.

Jeon Wonwoo was the eldest son, and he carried himself as such — with all the poise and arrogance of the heir to a global conglomerate. He liked golfing and late night swims. Always took his coffee black with no sugar, and barely had anything for breakfast, preferring a hearty lunch instead.

His younger brother, Lee Seokmin, was the result of an affair with a secretary, though that did not mean he was loved any less, no. Seokmin lacked a single mean bone in his body, he had a pure heart and a contagious laugh.

They were by all means what people liked to call Irish Twins, born less than a year apart. And the nature of that fact only made their differences more apparent. Complete opposites they were, and that extended to how they treated you, too.

Every summer growing up, your family would travel to the country house and you and your sister would spend the better part of the months at the club. Oh, how you loved the country club with the fun summer activities the clear chlorinated water, having a meal under the pool umbrellas and getting funny tan lines.

But most of all, you enjoyed Jeon Wonwoo.

His family frequented the same club and every summer, you’d be practically glued to Wonwoo, even if he didn’t dare to pay you any attention.

You were only three years apart, yet he acted as if you were an immature brat. Seokmin had always been happy to play with you and your sister, though.

More often than not, Wonwoo would lounge by the pool with a book, never daring to go in. And you would cross your arms over tile by the sides and try your damnedest to strike a conversation with him. He would ignore your every word, or worse, poke fun at your latest obsession.

“Wonwoo, at what time where you born?” You ask, spitting out any chlorine filled water off your mouth.

He arches an eyebrow, looking up from his book.

“What?”

“What time were you born?” You repeat, unbothered by his acidic tone.

“Why would I know that?”

“Can’t you ask your mum?”

He rolls his eyes, “Why do you wanna know?”

“So I can see your birth chart,” You shrug, twirling a wet strand of hair around your finger.

“The fuck is a birth chart?”

“It’s like… It’s a way to see your personality… And I can check to see if we’re compatible.”

“That’s stupid…” He rolls his eyes, again, “You’re stupid.”

You scoff, “You won’t play along— You’re such a bore!” You yell out and dive back in the pool, leaving behind a cackling Wonwoo.

Those hapless summer days were spent lazing by the pool with your sister and Seokmin — without a care in the world, laughing about nothing. With the isolated water-balloon fight every now and then.

You’d grown up before you could realise it, never truly leaving behind your childish crush on Wonwoo. Even if by the age hierarchy, you had no chance of marrying him — Your sister were to marry Wonwoo and you possibly married Seokmin.

Though you held hope, it crumbled away with every passing minute.

But that year, your sister had the greatest early birthday present: She’d found the man she was to marry and best of all, your daddy could never say no to his girls.

With your sister marrying the love of her life, it meant that you would marry Wonwoo, right? It was only a matter of time and you would be sworn to each other before God, your friends, and family. And your first love would blossom.

On your 21st birthday, your father took you to work with him for the day, though you most lazed around and answered his calls. You only expected to have lunch for your birthday and a party on the weekend.

At noon, he drove to the Jeon’s factory to deliver the new paint samples.

The workers, most of whom had watched you, your sister and the Jeon kids grow up, greet you excitedly and some even wish you happy birthday. Your father goes straight to the floor to speak to the manager.

Unexpectedly, Mr. Jeon himself shows up.

Mr. Jeon was a handsome old man a captivating smile, he was incredibly passionate about his work and adored mechanics, but he loved his sons above all — And he had great expectations for his boys.

He greets you with a warm hug and wishes you a happy birthday before discussing business with your father. To which you busy yourself with staring at the pieces waiting for a coat of paint.

“Hey, baby, why don’t you come with us to the patio?” Your father calls and you oblige, skipping toward the two men.

The patio is where they stored their models waiting to be shipped out to agencies or sometimes, for the higher profile clients, directly to the customer. You look at the new line to be launched next winter: sleek and modern with leather seats and wooden accents on the interior. You could never criticise the Jeon’s for their taste, they knew their stuff.

“Come here, baby,” Your father waves his hands, “What do you think of this car?”

You study the convertible in a bright red with a cream leather interior; a classic.

“It’s gorgeous, daddy, when are they launching it?”

“It should be out next year, but what do you think of the colour?”

“I like it,” You nod enthusiastically.

“That’s great baby, why don’t you read up on this model?” He hands you a tiny card, common in the factory, that has the model and batch number, as well as the signature from the supervisor. But just underneath the model, you see the colour name: your name.

As you look at your father, completely astonished, he just lets out a warm laugh and opens his arms for a hug.

“You named a shade after me?!” You glue yourself to him, still in shock.

“Happy birthday, princess.”

“Thank you, daddy, you’re the best!”

“That’s your dad’s present, how about you open mine, now?” Mr. Jeon interjects, waving a tiny jewelry box in the air.

You fix your hair and take it from his hand, expecting maybe a ring, or earrings.

But you find brand new car keys.

Mouth agape, you look at him while your father can only laugh at your surprised expression.

“Why don’t you give it a spin?” Mr. Jeon encourages, rushing you toward the convertible.

And though your father is beside himself with worry for you driving during rush hour, he settles for sitting in the passenger’s seat and doing some good old backseat driving, even though you barely make it past 30.

You drive around the block and return to the factory before your father has an anxiety attack over your driving.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Jeon! When did you even do this?! I had no idea!”

“Wonwoo oversaw the whole thing, he’s the one you should thank,” He laughs it off, but your heart can only skip a beat at the mention of your beloved’s name. Especially thinking he was the one to take care of such a great gift.

Wonwoo loved mechanics as much as his dad, sometimes even more. He even went to a good college for it, coming back even smarter than before — and much sassier, too. He never stopped doing manual work in the factory, guaranteeing every car made was up to the Jeon standard.

And you were very biased toward his mechanic abilities, especially when he would furrow his brow, glasses perched on the very tip of his nose; he would wipe off sweat off his forehead with his grease covered arm.

You remember to this day the last time your father came to discuss swatches and you stopped by the shop. Watching Wonwoo work on an older model with a leaky oil tank.

He did everything himself, changed the tank perched under the car, soldering a brand new one. He also did a once over on anything else that could become a problem in the future, any filters needing change, checking wires and gears, making sure the oil was fresh. The problem came with the lights. He had such a hard time wiggling his thick arms through the machinery to reach the right spot, and you watched very intently how his triceps flexed, deep green veins bulging under his skin.

Wonwoo had gotten so frustrated he’d shed off the top part of his coveralls, sporting a white undershirt so tight you could basically tell the shape of his sweat-clad torso. Oh, how you’d hoped he never got that bulb in place.

“Come’ere,” Wonwoo calls out without further ado.

“Why?”

“Need your help,” He mumbles under a sigh.

You rise from the barrel you were sitting on and approach the open hood. “With what?”

“Getting this fuckin’ bulb in place,” He hands you the tiny light bulb.

“Where do I need to put it?”

“See— in between this part, need to shove you hand until you reach back here in the light, then you just screw it in.”

“What if I get stuck?”

“You won’t, you’re so petite,” He smirks.

You scoff, “Shut up.”

Leaning over the hood, you place your left hand on the chassis to steady yourself and shove your right hand in between gears and machinery, trying to find the spot he mentioned.

“I can’t find it,” You complain.

“Keep trying.”

“I am!”

“Here, deeper—“ He reaches for you, one hand on your waist and another on your arm, forcing you toward the place.

You’re way too focused on finding the damn spot for the light, that you barely notice the proximity at all.

“Can’t find it!”

“Right, right— My right.”

“It’s the same freakin’ right, you idiot,” You hiss.

He laughs, “Fine, our right,” you groan at his stupid joke, “It should be there, try to bring it closer to you.”

“Found it!” You squeal with a smile, screwing the bulb in its place.

“Atta girl,” Wonwoo smiles.

“There!” With a relieved sigh, you finally free your grease-clad hand from the machinery, slightly cringing at the black covering your fingernails — It’d be such a bother to clean it up.

When you finally lean back, you stumble onto Wonwoo’s firm chest. Lucky for you, he catches you, steady hold at your waist. You’re finally aware of his proximity, to which he only smiles.

Looking down at where his warm, tauntingly large hands meet your waist, you’re suddenly filled with nothing but rage. ‘

“You got grease all over my dress!” You whine, looking at the perfectly stamped print of his hand over your brand new summer dress.

He only laughs, “Looks better this way, trust me.”

“Ugh!” You groan, stomping toward the washing area where they kept clean rugs.

He closes the hood with a loud thump that echoes through the shop and slides into the driver’s seat. The car comes alive with a loud hum and ta-da! The headlight works.

You are a little proud of your work, yes. But it’s not like you’ll show it.

“Do you not anything clean in here?!” You complain, eyeing the pile of grease-covered rags thrown in a corner. That had to be a fire hazard.

“What?” Wonwoo shouts over the running engine.

You huff and stomp your way back to the car, throwing open the driver’s door. “I have a formal dinner to go to,” You state, leaning over the door.

“Okay, then go.”

Rolling your eyes, you hold back any possible insults, “Like this?” You gesture toward your otherwise perfectly fine dress.

He holds back a little mischievous smile, “I have some clean clothes in the office.”

Wide eyes, mouth hanging agape, you stare at him dumbfound, “I hope that’s a joke, Jeon Wonwoo.”

He laughs, genuinely. That sweet, deep, dorky laugh of his that reverberates through his chest and plunges straight into your heart.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

As much as he did tease you, Wonwoo never made short on his promises.

“Is he around?” You ask Mr. Jeon, trying your best to suppress any expectations.

“Oh, he had some business… But he wished you a happy birthday.”

Your smile falters before your catch it, forcing the corners of your lips into a beautiful, rehearsed smile. “Let him know I’m grateful. For the wishes and for the amazing present.”

It would soon be Wonwoo’s birthday and you had been preparing for what felt like ages. You got him a really nice set of electric work tools since he complained often about how the shop’s tools were always malfunctioning. But you did feel somewhat bad about only getting him a gift relating to work on what should be a day about him.

So you caved in and got him a gorgeous wrist watch with classy black leather straps; on the underside you had his name inscribed with a heart. — You actually hadn’t planned for the heart, but the jeweller got confused in between so many orders and it was too close to the date to have it re-done. You hoped you could play it off in a cool manner, maybe he would laugh at your story.

The party would be held the eve of his actual birthday, and you arrived at the venue with hours to spare. Your father and sister are by the entrance, speaking to Mr. Jeon, you greet them.

“Hi, Mr. Jeon! Where should I put the gifts?”

“Oh—“ Surprised, he looks at your father, “You’ve brought gifts—“ He seems… surprised? As if it were so weird to bring presents to a birthday party. “Uh— I’m not sure, let me check with my wife where you could place those.”

You father nervously sips on his champagne, avoiding your sister’s burning looks.

“You haven’t told her,” Your sister turns to your father, “Why didn’t you tell her?”

“Tell me what?” You ask.

“Honey… This isn’t Wonwoo’s birthday party…” Your father speaks very slowly, gauging for your reaction at his every word.

Eyebrows raised, you question, “What do you mean?”

“It’s an engagement party, he’s getting engaged to Suzy,” Your sister rips the band-aid off.

And you feel the air being sucked out of your lungs at once, an agonising knot pulls at your throat and your nose stings with the threat of tears. The shopping bags fall from your hands and you fight off the urge to bawl your eyes out.

Before you actually do cry your eyes out, you rush outside.

“Baby—“ Your father calls but you just storm off, not wanting to be near anyone.

Engaged? Engaged!

Engaged…

Wonwoo was getting fucking engaged.

With a bitch named Suzy who had the prettiest hair you’d ever seen and knew how to talk to investors and could speak a thousand languages. And worst of all, she was the kindest, sweetest girl ever. You couldn’t even hate her!

You weren’t even allowed that! As much as you weren’t allowed a simple heads up. How hard was it to tell you beforehand “Hey, the guy you’ve loved your entirely life is getting married to some girl and you just brought lemon pies to his engagement party, thought you’d want to know.”

Maybe you should’ve taken the pies with you, at least you’d have some comfort.

You know what, what the fuck. Why didn’t Wonwoo tell you anything?! It had been barely a couple of days since you saw each other, why couldn’t he tell you? Were you not even worthy of that?

Like having known each other your entire lives doesn’t make you worthy of such ”wonderful” news? How hard is it to tell someone in passing that you’re getting engaged! And now, you’re supposed to smile all night and pretend like your guts aren’t festering in rage and melancholy and your blood doesn’t run cold at the mere thought of Wonwoo walking down the aisle.

Giving it a second thought, maybe it wasn’t set in stone yet.

It’s the modern times and even back in your parents’ days, engagements were broken off all the time! He might not marry Suzy. You might have a chance.

Maybe you could ask— no, you could plead with your father to tell Mr. Jeon to think it all over. Wonwoo is still young, it’s not time to settle down just yet. He wanted to study abroad, he talked about the automobile industry in Europe with such amaze, and if that took a little longer, maybe Suzy would get tired of waiting?

Who were you fooling? You should’ve seen it coming.

Of course, he wouldn’t have married you, what were you thinking?!

He’s the Jeon’s precious firstborn and you’re… someone who can’t even tell apart the sizing in wrenches — To top it all off, Suzy was notably great with mechanics.

You really wish you had those pies with you, it would make your salty tears a little sweeter.

By the time you’re done sobbing in your car, you look a hot mess with runny make-up and swollen eyes. With a sigh, you pull out your purse and muster up any cosmetics that can save you for tonight.

You could cry all you wanted at home, but right now, you needed to look pretty and have your pictures taken.

By the time you return, the party is to start and guests are gathering at the front, your sister immediately rushes to your side.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, soft hands reaching for yours.

Forcing out a smile, “Of course! Who do you think I am?”

By the look on her face, you know she doesn’t trust your words not one bit, but will not pry at your emotions any further. At least not for tonight, you’re sure tomorrow she will grill you about this. But for now, you put on a bright smile and greet all the guests.

From the Jeon’s, Seokmin is the third to arrive, missing only by the birthday boy himself. But he immediately greets his parents and comes to greet your family.

“Hey!” You smile, putting aside your glass of champagne so you can hug him properly.

“How you doin’?” He asks, gorgeous smile on display.

“I’m— Well—“

“They’ve told you then—“

You press your lipstick coloured lips into a thin line, “Yeah,” You nod.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” You shrug, “I’m happy, Suzy is… a—“ Nice words. Nice words. “—wonderful girl.”

Seokmin offers you a sweet smile. “Let’s hope she can handle his tantrums,” he nudges at your arm.

“Oh, please!” You laugh.

Wonwoo was known for sometimes having a bit of a short temper, not often, by any means and maybe that’s what made them so memorable. Like the one time he couldn’t finish a puzzle during game night, so he gathered all the pieces and set the ablaze in the backyard.

“Or—“ A waiter passes by with a tray full of champagne and he so kindly grabs two glasses, offering you one. “Listen to this— He gets to the church, covered in grease from head to toe.”

You laugh at the thought. Gods, how many times has Wonwoo decided to work on an engine while wearing his most expensive outfit? His mother nearly had a fit every time he would show up dishevelled and smelling like motor oil pretending like nothing’s wrong.

“Please,” You sip at your drink, “I bet he’s gonna be all greased up tonight.”

Seokmin laughs wholeheartedly. He was the sort of guy to never hold back a fit of giggles no matter how inappropriate it may be, and it was certainly refreshing to know someone genuinely found your company enjoyable.

“For sure, I think her parents will freak out.”

You nod.

Tapping at your glass, you hesitate the following words, “Guess we’ll be the ones getting married for the family, then…”

You didn’t hate Seokmin, far from it. You loved him to bits— Not like Wonwoo, of course, you believed you would never love a man like you loved Wonwoo, ever again.

He was funny, and such a gentleman. Not to mention, handsome, too. If you weren’t hopelessly in love with his brother, he would’ve been the perfect husband of your dreams. But he did deserve better than a wife who could never give him what he deserves.

“Sorry about that,” Seokmin comforts you and that only makes your nose sting with the threat of more tears.

“Stooop!” You whine in a shaky voice and he’s overcome with worry.

“Hey— What’s wrong—?”

“Don’t be so sweet— I’m emotional tonight—“ You laugh at your emotional state, despite the teary-eyes.

“Are you a crybaby tonight?”

You nod, fanning your eyes in the hope of drying your tears before they can wash away your makeup.

Seokmin smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and you lean against his chest, fighting the urge to cry.

It’s only when you’re certain you won’t bawl your eyes out, that you respond. “It’s not that I hate you, you know I love you, but… You deserve someone that will love you like a husband.”

He nods, “I know— But it might not be so bad, we’re friends! We’ll have sleepovers every day, and we’ll have Italian every night, we’ll watch those silly movies you like…” Seokmin lists off all the things you would do in your very platonic marriage and it doesn’t sound so bad.

He knew exactly how you felt, he loved you, of course he did, you were so precious in his eyes, but not like a lover.

You pull your face away from his chest to look up at him, “Are you gonna let me choose your clothes?”

Seokmin sighs. You hated his questionable fashion since forever and in only very rare occasions did he accept your input, any other time and he assaulted your spirit with clashing patterns and silly shoes.

“Fine—!”

You smile brightly, properly comforted.

Before you can tease him any further, you spot Wonwoo entering the venue. Although he is immediately swarmed with congratulatory words, his shy nature makes it so his only response is always an awkward smile.

He immediately spots you among the crowd.

You breathe in. In that moment, despite knowing he was sworn to another, that did not stop your heart from fluttering at the sight of him, his broad shoulders and the crooked tie he clearly put on a rush.

“Congrats, bro!” Seokmin is the first one to greet him, not letting go of your shoulder but instead pulling Wonwoo into a semi-hug.

“Seokmin…” Wonwoo eyes his brother and then you, and then his brother again.

“Congrats, Nonu,” You smile, letting go of Seokmin’s comfort to reach for a hug.

Wonwoo smiles, letting you cling onto his neck, your citric perfume seeping into his clothes and body.

Oh, how his warmth could never compare to another. How you craved his affection like no other.

“Thanks— Uh, did you bring me anything?” He asks in a teasing tone.

“Ey— Nonu!” Seokmin scolds his brother.

“How did you know I brought you something?” You giggle, pulling away from the hug.

Wonwoo shrugs.

You reach for his crooked tie, straightening it to the best of your abilities. “I brought it earlier, but I think your mum took it to the back room,” You explain, focused on the tie.

He, however is focused on your concentrated face, parted red lips and furrowed brows. The proximity that lets him almost feel your chest pressed against his, as if extending the hug.

“However, you, mister, have to greet your guests!” You scold, setting his tie in place.

Seokmin joins in, once again throwing his arm around your shoulder. “That’s right, mum already gave me an earful about how late you were— And I got here on time!”

“Yeah— Yeah— You’re right,” Wonwoo nods.

“Liquid courage?” You offer your half-drunk glass of champagne and he downs it in one go.

You and Seokmin goof around a little more and gossip about certain guests behind their backs. Dinner is served and you all sit down to eat, Seokmin insists you sit beside him, which just so happens to also be next to Wonwoo. And you thank him for indulging you one last time.

Wonwoo is mostly quiet, but you were used to him not being rather fond of public parties, especially when all of the attention is on him. On his other side, sits Suzy, the blushing bride-to-be. She tries to make conversation with Wonwoo, though most of it falls flat, he only ever gives her monosyllabic answers and rarely contributes to discussions.

That is until Mr. and Mrs. Jeon stand up, tapping forks to their glasses to call for everyone’s attention. The room quiets down instantly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending our little gathering tonight,” Mr Jeon greets the guests. “We have some wonderful news we would like to share with you all.”

“My beautiful son, how proud I am of you,” He adds, “Every day I am amazed at your intellect. Often, I question just where did you get those smarts!”

Everyone laughs.

“You have grown into a fine man, and I can’t take credit for any of it. You are the most mature, talented, and intelligent boy and you did it all by yourself— ”

You can watch how Wonwoo’s eyes gloss over with tears.

“I’m growing old, you know. And every father wants the guarantee that his children will be taken care of… That’s why I’m so relieved and happy to announce that my worries will soon be gone—“ He laughs but his son’s smile falters, “I’d like to announce the engagement of my son, Wonwoo, to this beautiful young lady named Suzanne. Welcome to the family, Suzy.”

He raises his glass and soon, the room fills with uproar. Everyone claps and you join in, smiling toward Mr. Jeon and Suzy. She stands up, thanking everyone and raising her own glass.

But Wonwoo doesn’t move.

“Nonu?” You whisper.

In his ears all that can be heard is muffled screams of joy and the incessant acute ringing. He closes his fists so tight that his blunt nails almost break through skin, he doesn’t look at you, but it’s so clear something is wrong.

You and Seokmin exchange glances.

Before you can call for him again, he stands up at once, the chair falling behind him with a loud bang that silences the room in an instant. In large and rushed strides, Wonwoo leaves for the patio.

You stand up and follow him.

“Wonwoo!” You call out, almost tripping over your party heels.

He stands in the yard, hand gripping at his gelled hair while the other fights with his tie, pulling at the suffocating fabric until it slides down.

The yard is decorated with a gorgeous fountain, sound of running water somewhat soothing in this moment.

“Nonu, what’s wrong?” You whisper, a hand reaching for his heaving shoulder.

“What wrong?!” He yells back, shoving your hand away, “Did you not fuckin’ hear ‘em?!”

You step back and his gaze somewhat softens, realising he just pushed you.

“You didn’t know…” You whisper to yourself, epiphany hitting you like a punch to the gut. How could Mr. Jeon do this?! Throw this on him without any previous warning?!

“You— You knew?” His voice is shaky, laced with the sharp sting of betrayal.

“I found it out myself tonight when I got here— I— I thought you knew! I thought you agreed to it!” You argue.

“How— How can you think I would agree to marry someone—“ His words trail off in the night breeze, never to be finished.

“Then— What will you do?”

“I don’t know!”

You bite at your nails, finding a concrete surface to sit on and ponder.

“I must leave—“ He speaks out, “Run away with me—“

“What?!” you stand up.

“Let’s leave, drive somewhere— Wherever! I can’t stay a moment longer in this place.”

Oh, what a dilemma it was.

Abandon an engagement party with the groom-to-be, leaving behind furious parents and confused guests. And part of you knew that, despite your family’s closeness and no matter how much your father claimed you were all very close like family, driving off in the middle of the night with a committed man was a blow to any respectable, single, young ladies.

What a dilemma it could’ve been if you weren’t so enamoured with this man you would beck at any given call of his.

“I’ll get my bag and tell your parents you want to stay out here for a couple of minutes,” You announce and he nods.

As you walk back into the venue, all eyes are on you.

“He’s got the wedding jitters, everyone, not to worry. Wonwoo will return after he’s had a bit of fresh air,” You announce with a smile and all guests return to their previous activities.

But Mr. Jeon immediately corners you.

“What is he thinking?!” He half-yells, half-whispers.

“He’s just nervous, it’s a big bit of news…” You lie through your teeth, “I think a little heads up would’ve helped, you know he doesn’t do well with surprises.”

The man sighs, “He wouldn’t ever agree to it. I’ve offered him countless girls to marry and he never accepts any of them.“ Mr. Jeon looks at you and then sighs. “Do me a favour, convince him to come back, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” You nod and head off into the back rooms.

Unbeknown to you, Seokmin is on your trail and he waits until you are in the back lounge, gathering your bags and jacket to close the door and corner you.

“What the hell happened?”

You jump at the sudden intrusion, “You scared me!” You whisper.

“Sorry,” He whispers back.

“He didn’t know!”

“What?!” He says in a normal tone, soon realising just how loud that was.

“What I said, I think your dad set up a trap… He knows Wonwoo won’t go against his word.”

“Shit. What are we gonna do?”

“He wants to run away,” You announce.

Seokmin looks at you, and then at the purse hanging from your should and the jacket in your hands.

“And you’re coming with him?”

“I can’t leave him alone, not tonight.”

“And where are you going?”

“I don’t know,”

“And when are you coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“You are coming back, right?”

“I have no idea, Seokmin,” You realise, but the prospect doesn’t scare you as badly.

He scratches at his head. “Leave through the kitchen, I’ll hold off my dad. Make sure to give me a call once you guys are… I don’t know— Just give a call, will you?”

You nod, pulling him into a hug.

Doing as he instructed, you pass through the kitchen staff and rush through the backdoor, unseen by the guests. Wonwoo is sitting on a concrete bench, his head between his hands.

“Ready?” You call out.

Wonwoo looks up, nodding before he rises to his height. You offer him a comforting smile and reach for his hand.

Once you get hold of his hand, you bolt across the yard toward the parking lot. He almost stumbles over his lanky legs, but catches up rather fast. You throw your stuff on the backseat and enter your car, Wonwoo decides to jump over the door.

You laugh at his antics with a shake of your head.

Once your heels are discarded, you start the engine and drive off, leaving behind that dreaded engagement party. Wonwoo busies himself with shedding his formal wear, throwing his tie on the floor and removing his blazer.

In any other occasion, this could’ve been such a lovely late-night drive, just the two of you in your beloved car, night breeze caressing your faces with her ice-cold kisses, cruising through deserted roads, barely a soul in sight except for the night owls.

And you might allow yourself to enjoy this moment.

The silence isn’t a bother, no, Wonwoo was always a man of comfortable silences to you, but this once, you’re worried about goes on in that busy mind of his.

“You alright?” You ask, looking away from the road to steal a glance or two at him.

“Yeah,” He replies.

“Truly?”

“No,” He scoffs at his own lie. “But I’ll be.”

You nod.

You drive out of town and on the interstate roads for ages until Wonwoo finally speaks up. You’re completely engulfed in darkness except for your headlights.

“We should stop soon and have a rest.”

“Okay,” You nod, “Any preferences?”

“Anywhere.”

And so you tell him to keep his eyes peeled open when a sign on the road says there should be a motel in the next couple KM. It doesn’t take too long before you’re pulling into the parking lot of a roadside motel, much of a far-cry from your expensive hotels and luxury living.

You check in at the front desk with an old man who seems very unhappy with his life, he short of throws the keys your way.

The room is… surprisingly nice, given the circumstances of the ambience. Only problem is the, although quite large, singular bed. You exchange glances.

“Shit,” Wonwoo curses, “I’m gonna

“You wanna get hit?” You joke, “He’s minutes away from killing us over this room. We can just share the bed.”

He looks at you with wide eyes. “I’ll sleep in the tub.”

Oh, he certainly seems to hate the idea of sharing a bed with you, huh.

“Nonu, please, it’s late and we’re both tired. It will be just like when we were kids,” You explain, setting aside your stuff.

Wonwoo nods, sitting on the strangely comfortable bed.

“You think they have robes?” You ask, looking around.

“Wouldn’t bet on it.”

“Oh, I’d kill to get out of this dress,” You whine, running to the bathroom to check for anything you could wear instead of your dress.

He just bites at his lips, watching you pace from side to side in that tiny bedroom.

That’s when you remember your forgotten shopping bags sitting in the trunk! Your compulsive shopping habits just saved you from a very uncomfortable night’s sleep, how convenient!

“I think I have some clothes in my car,” You announce, grabbing the keys and heading toward the door.

“Wait, you’re going by yourself? let me go with you.”

“I don’t wanna lock the door, though,” You whine.

He sighs, “Stay here, I’ll go.”

You jump, “Thank you, Nonu!”

While Wonwoo rummages through your trunk and pulls out the surprising large amount of shopping bags, you shed off your clothes and head toward the bathroom, dying to get some hot water on your body, put on your new PJs and doze off.

When he returns however, he is greeted by a sight any other man would die to see. You’ve left a trail of clothes from the bed toward the bathroom door. Starting on your pretty dress, splayed out over tiled-floor, and then your tights and then your underwear, matching, too—

He clears his throat. “I’m back!”

But you probably don’t hear him through the running shower, so he just sets down the bags and avoid the sight of your clothes. He decides to turn on the tiny TV and browse through any late night re-runs. You take only a couple of minutes in your shower.

“Nonu?” You ask from the bathroom.

“Yeah?” He turns down the TV.

“Did you find the clothes?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you bring me something to wear?” Wonwoo gulps.

“Uh— Which one?”

“There should be a light blue bag and a pink one.”

“Okay—“ He stands up and searches for the aforementioned colours.

Wonwoo heads to the bathroom door and leans against the wall, facing away from the door. He knocks once. You open the door and shove your arm through, reaching for the bags.

“Thank youu!”

He returns to the boring TV. Though all he could think about was the sight of your wet supple skin, knowing you were bare with only a thin sheet of plywood separating you.

You leave the bathroom smelling of cheap soap and fresh into your brand new nightgown. It is tentatively short with an almost see-through round of lace over the hems. In your defence, you weren’t planning on showing this nightgown to anyone anytime soon.

Sitting on the bed, you look around the room, not noticing how Wonwoo’s eyes don’t really meet yours or how red his ears seem to burn.

“Aren’t you gonna shower?” You ask.

“Feels a bit redundant to shower and get back into my dirty clothes.”

“I think I might have something for you, if you don’t want to sleep in a suit,” You pry.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, “I’m listening.”

“But you can’t judge! I bought this for my dad because you know he deals very poorly with the heat— And he never buys himself anything!” You’re explaining yourself in advance because you remember very well what you bought.

Silky boxer shorts and a tank top, which your father loved to sleep in on stuffy summer nights but you doubted would be Wonwoo’s first choice of wear, ever.

He haggles with his own mind; give into the silky boxer shorts or sleep in the most uncomfortable outfit ever. With a tired sigh, Wonwoo accepts his fate and grabs the bag.

You smile as he stomps toward the bathroom with a defeated frown.

By the time he returns, you’ve cleaned up your trail of clothes and made yourself very comfortable in the bed. You turn your head to face him.

God, he could make a potato sack look good.

“How’s the fit?” You pull your eyes away before you look for too long.

Wonwoo shrugs, “I’ve had worse.”

You laugh.

He coyly joins you in bed, keeping a large gap between your bodies, settling on top of the covers while you’re under their warmth.

“Ain’t you cold?” You ask, fidgeting with the TV remote.

Wonwoo shakes his head, leaning back into the headboard. With a pout, you cross the figurative bridge between the two of you and reach for him. He doesn’t shy away from your touch but it visibly confused.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, hands hovering in the air, far away from your exposed back.

“I’m sorry your birthday party sucked,” You murmur against his chest, Wonwoo smiles softly, letting his hands rest on you.

“It didn’t suck in its entirety,” he says, palms slightly tapping at your back, “it was fun running away with you.”

You giggle at his comment, heart fluttering at its meaning, “What are we going to do? About the engagement, I mean…”

“We?” He raises an eyebrow.

You pull away from him.

“Well— You dragged me into this!” You slap at his chest and he lets out a boisterous laugh that almost manages to pull the corners of your from into a smile.

“I know, I’m taking the piss out of you,” He extends his arms, pulling you back to your previous position, resuming the soft caresses he leaves on your arms. “I don’t know— This is the first time I’ve ever gone against my father.”

You sigh. “Don’t you wanna marry Suzy?”

There’s a pause and oh, you’re begging, wishing to hear the words you want most.

“Fuck no!” Wonwoo exclaims and you fail to hide your excitement.

“She is pretty,” You throw the bait, to pry at his true feelings.

“So is your sister, should I just marry any pretty girl?”

You raise from your position, eyebrows furrowed into a deep frown. Wonwoo looks at you, completely clueless to his words and its consequences.

“What the hell?!”

“What?”

Kicking off the covers in a flurry, you kneel on the bed, staring at him dead in the eyes. “You have the hots for my sister!”

It’s Wonwoo’s turn to get angry, “What?! No— You’re twisting my words—“

“I’m twisting your words?! You just said you think my sister is pretty!”

“Because she is!”

You jaw drops, you can’t believe he is doubling down. “Wow,” you shake your head.

“What’s wrong with saying that?”

You shrug, turning away from him and crossing your arms. “I don’t know, why don’t you just go an marry my sister, then.”

Only then, does this thick-headed man you love so much realise he has been complimenting other girls without so much as telling you a single nice word — the bare minimum. He sighs and offers you a soft smile, shifting in the bed until he is near you again.

“I don’t want to marry your sister. I think she is pretty, but she’s not the prettiest sister, you are.” He waits for your reaction.

Hook, line and sinker.

You turn around immediately, a hint of smile playing in your pretty lips.

That’s enough for him to break into a wide smile, opening his arms to welcome you back into his warmth. You crash into his chest, wrapping yourself around his torso.

He groans, falling back into the mattress but not letting go of you.

Minutes pass before you speak again. “It’s past midnight…” You whisper.

“It’s well past midnight… Why?”

You shift upwards until your faces are only inches apart, breath tickling his lips, your beautiful eyes gleaming under dim motel lighting. “Happy birthday,” You whisper between smiles, “Make a wish.”

Wonwoo breathes in, eyes scanning your face, “There’s one thing I want…”

“What is it?”

If he said it out loud, he might’ve lost all courage to do so.

So he just does it, Wonwoo leans forward until his lips meet yours in a chaste kiss.

It probably lasted a couple of seconds, but those seconds felt like a lifetime when you were finally kissing the man you’ve loved for god knows how long. There’s a spark of electricity that burns bright from the moment your lips touch and travels through your body, blood boiling in excitement, shyness, and pure love.

When the kiss ends, Wonwoo studies your face, watching for any sign of discomfort. Which is even more worrying when you’re standing there, froze solid with an empty stare.

But thankfully, before he can say anything, you throw caution into the wind.

You pull him into a kiss. Throwing every sense of morale and shame you had out the damn window. He was a man sworn to another, for Pete's sake! But here you here, crashing your lips into his perfect, soft ones.

Wonwoo lets out a quiet groan, almost inaudible, but you hear it, oh yes, you do. And it runs straight through your chest and down to your core.

Although the sensible, rational part of your brain tells you to quit kissing him at once and just apologise, the other 99% of your brain, who’s been in love with him since forever, wants nothing of the sort. And you might have listened to the not-so-rational part of you, because you just deepened the kiss, shifting your weight until you’re partially on top of him.

Your lips move against him, shyly exploring this kiss, engraving every moment into your memory.

Yet he reciprocates. His warm hands finds your waist, holding you flush against his torso, heartbeats thumping completely in-sync. You wrap your arms around his neck and he takes the chance to pull you deeper into those dangerous lips of his. His tongue finds its way into your mouth, licking and twirling against yours, hot and eager.

He dips his head, one hand reaches to tangle into your hair and manoeuvre you around, allowing himself complete freedom to explore every bit of your mouth.

Wonwoo kisses like no other. Not that you had too much of a repertoire to compare him to.

But he consumes your lips with an unbound hunger, nothing similar to the calm and collected Wonwoo you knew, no. He’s hungry, messy, and very clumsy, clashing teeth one too many times, letting saliva drip down your chins and struggling to move with you on top of him.

When you part the kiss, you lay there breathless, gazing into his ridiculously beautiful beady eyes and long eyelashes, his handsome sharp nose and the most kissable lips you’ll ever see.

It was breathtaking, mind-blowing and nothing like you’ve ever felt before. Your heart beats so fast you feel as if you might pass out at any moment but you’d die before you give up experiencing that again.

“What was that?” He whispers and his breath tickle your kiss-swollen lips.

“Your birthday gift,” You bite at your lower lip. “Did you like it?”

Wonwoo smiles, breathless and half-lidded and your heart damn near bursts. “I did. Did you?”

You nod.

He nods. “Wanna do it again?”

You nod and he gives you that stupidly handsome smile of his.

And once again, you’re attached at the lips. This once, nothing like before, which you though impossible. It’s so much more desperate and it burns, it boils your blood in absolute desire. It leaves you light-headed, it wipes away your cognitive thoughts and leaves behind a foggy cloud of barely strung-together words that only translate into wanting more. More of him.

You sigh into the kiss and he drinks it all up, he consumes everything you give him with erratic hands and eager tongue.

Wonwoo leaves your lips and you whine with a breathless sigh of his name, almost chipping at any resolve he had left. But he nips at your neck nonetheless, warm, wet tongue trailing along your skin, making you twitch in his arms with the most delectable little ‘yips’ of surprise.

He bites, feral and determined; determined to make his claim, to leave behind his mark on your body, to indulge in carnal pleasure without a prospect of tomorrow, letting everything else be a construct beyond these motel walls, away from where you laid. Away from this reality where he had you in his hands and you moaned his name with a soft smile.

Practically tearing your nightgown, he pulls the silky fabric just enough until your tits spill out of its confine. Wonwoo sighs at the sight, fingers trailing the contour of your boobs, raising goosebumps along sensitive skin. His eyes are burning in adoration, the most depraved glaze of hunger hidden behind sheer excitement.

He dives in, hands kneading at the flesh, squishing soft skin.

Slender fingers caress your aereolas, running fingernails along your nipples in curiosity, watching you squirm and bite at your lips as your nipples begin to perk up.

And when you thought he was done, Wonwoo attaches his mouth to your nipple, sloppily running his tongue around it before he sucks. He makes sure to let his teeth graze, just to watch you jump.

All while his other hand makes work of your unattended boob, your attention is so thinly divided between his teasing fingers and his hot tongue and the sweetest, most satisfied groans that erupt from his throat.

Your face burns and you bite at the back of your hand, shoving down every stubborn moan that tries to make it past; but he won’t have that, no. Wonwoo reaches for your arms, pinning them above your head without so much as pulling away from your tits.

Mindlessly, you’ve been rocking back and forth against him, chasing a gut feeling you’re unsure of but desire more than anything ever. And without realising, you’ve been teasing him just as much as he has you, which is clear by the volume contained by his shorts.

He wishes he could ravish your breasts all night, but any more of your squirming and he will come undone without so much as a touch from you.

Wonwoo pulls away, hands once against finding your waist as he pulls you back to his chest.

“You know what comes next, don’t you?” He whispers against your lips, half-lidded, lust-filled eyes gazing so deep into your own.

“I— I’ve never done it before,” You confess.

And something stirs within him, to know he is your first, the first and only man to every touch you this way, to trace his lips over your gorgeous body, to settle inside of you.

Wonwoo smiles and kisses your nose, “I don’t care… But only if you don’t care that I haven’t either.”

You’re surprised, to say the least.

Kissing in between smiles, you raise to your knees, letting him tug at the hem of shorts just enough to free his cock.

It’s nothing like you’ve seen before and unlike the illustrations you remember from school. It’s red and veiny and it glistens with pre-cum under the dim lighting.

But it’s a part of him and you can’t help that your belly stirs at the sight of him stroking himself.

When you reach for the hem of your nightgown, his hands stop you.

“Keep it on—“ He whispers.

“Why?”

“We’ve got all night to take it off,” He runs his tongue through his top teeth with a side smirk and you almost smack him up the head for being such a little shit.

As he asked so kindly, you bunch up your nightgown around your waist, hips circling around his warmth, meanwhile he’s playing with the flesh of your love handles, kneading and running his fingers over your skin.

“Ready?”

You nod. He raises your hips and lets you control the pace, you feed in his cock, centimetre by centimetre, feeling it’s girth tear at your walls with an unimaginable sting, it burns hot and heavy in your hands.

Crashing onto his chest, you cry out a pained yelp.

Wonwoo run his fingers over your back, kissing the top of your head, his eyebrows are bunched up, face painted with worry. “We can stop— Let’s stop—“

“No!” you raise your head and he can see the tiny droplets bundling around your eyelashes, “Just gimme a minute!”

So you sit there, his cock half-in, pulsing angry red and throbbing under the tease of warmth and tightness. Especially when you look so breathtakingly gorgeous, he gulps, leaning back against the headboard, urging his mind to be strong.

It takes you minutes to get used to it, to slowly let the size settle until your muscles are well and accustomed to it and then you start it all over again, feeding the remaining inches until he’s bottomed out.

And oh heavens, how utterly full and hot you felt. Despite the stinging pain, part of you wants to chase the pleasure, clenching in sheer hunger.

Wonwoo stares up at you, looking for any signs of discomfort but he is met with the most enticing, beautiful, and tempting creature he’s ever laid his eyes upon. Your eyes are glassy with tears, but you’ve got a determined look on your face with a hint of a smirk that sends shivers down his spine and up his cock.

“Shit,” He curses out with a smile, leaning back and rutting into your hips only to watch your eyebrows furrow and your mouth gape, a moan threatening to escape. “Ready to move, pretty girl?”

You breathe out, “Yeah.”

Steadying yourself against his chest, you raise your hips, feeling his absence leave you upsettingly empty until you let your body crash back down, his cock impaling you with its warmth once again. You rock against him, shallowly, though the motion is unbearably teasing, even for you.

Wonwoo lets out an obscene, strained moan, fingernails digging into your waist, but you’re too focused on rocking your hips to notice. How he wants nothing but to piston his hips into your pussy like there is no tomorrow, he relishes in the feeling of your warmth, tight and gummy around his throbbing member.

And he finds you might be just as insatiable as he is, especially when you’ve found yourself a steady pace, bouncing up and down, and his name pours out of your lips in such a beautiful manner. Though he can’t just let you have all the control, can he?

“Oh—“ You yip, “Feels so— Good—“ Still unsure of your thought, you explore the feeling, rolling your hips, feeling him stretch your wider, fill your insides and leave you full like you’ve never felt before.

His hips meet yours half way, chasing your cunt every time you leave and pounding into you when you come back down, filling the room with guttural groans and the lewd sound of skin against skin.

You run your fingers under his shirt, feeling bare, warm skin, the softness of his flesh against your hands, the definition of his pecs and the way his nipples peek through the fabric. Wonwoo groans at the way your manicured nails scratch at his chest, gathering momentum as you bounce yourself on top of him.

He notices you’ve started moving faster, practically fucking yourself stupid on his cock and he would tease you halfway through tomorrow if he didn’t find himself in such a similar predicament. His pupils are blown wide, eyebrows furrowed across his brow, pretty lips hanging agape. You’re so utterly perfect and you were all his.

“Tell me how you feel, baby,” He whispers, slowing down for a second.

You sigh, nuzzling against his neck, “So good— I can’t even describe it—“ Your words are so airy and mindless, you’ve been consumed by the pleasure he gives you.

He catches the sight of the white rim that pools around his member, a mix of your juices, but it’s gone, sheathed inside you before he can admire it. There’s a poisoning thought that flashes in his mind, a fleeting, tempting picture. Of planting his seed in your womb, watching your grow full with child, his child. How absolutely breathtaking you would look, round cheeks and gorgeous smile, pretty fingers caressing your bump. And he would taint your taut stomach with his cum, watching it drip over your skin.

Wonwoo bites his lips so hard it breaks skin, throwing his head back, willing his mind somewhere else, anything else lest he come undone right then and there.

Stomach tingling with indescribable pleasure, you lean forward, moaning incessantly, unable to contain your ecstasy. He supports your body, wrapping strong arms around your torso, firm hands planted on your hips, taking over the moving so you can lay still and let the buzz consume your body with its electric touch.

It’s a feeling you’ve never felt before, and it crashes over your body in a colossal wave, building up from the pit of your stomach; sending tingles rushing through your boiling blood.

You raise your head, eyes meeting his and it seems he is familiar with this pleasure. His left hand meets your face, caressing your cheek, yet holding you still so he can gaze, he can watch you come undone around him.

Wonwoo watches, unblinking, how your eyebrows furry, your eyes are glossy with tears that cling to your pretty lashes, your lips sit in an enticing pout. Yet you part them, letting out increasingly louder cries of his name.

And you clench around him like there is no tomorrow, egging him on. He thrusts up into you, riding out your orgasm and chasing his over the edge.

He crashes his lips into yours, savouring your hazy kiss, your tired sighs and it doesn’t take long before he’s spurting hot white strings into you, it trickles down him and stains the silk fabric of his boxers.

Soon, he stills all movement except for heavy breathing and the soothing circles he runs over your exposed back.

He kisses your hair. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” You breathe out, “Tired. But good.”

His chest shakes with a soft chuckle, he runs slender fingers along your hairline, fixing any hairs that cling to sweaty skin. “Me too.”

“It felt amazing,” You smile, raising your head to face him. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Wonwoo hums.

“I’m glad it was you, Nonu,” You hid your face against his neck in embarrassment at your own mushy words, but Wonwoo feels their extent, hiding the blush of his cheeks.

It doesn’t take long before the post-orgasm haze lulls you into sleep.

And you slept like never before.

The following morning, Wonwoo wakes up to an empty bed. He panics for a second or two, scrambling to look for your belongings, only to find everything is still there.

Calm, he washes himself up and gets dressed to leave. Finally having a moment to digest the previous night’s events.

He had made up his mind, he would confront his father. His future was his to decide on.

Looking for you, Wonwoo reaches the foyer, only to see you leaning against the wall, attached to the payphone. When your eyes meet his, you immediately say your goodbyes, ending the call.

“Who did you call?” Wonwoo crosses his strong arms against his chest and you try to ignore the sight of his muscly forearms peeking from the folded sleeves.

You don’t like his tone. “Seokmin.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why did you call him?”

“I promised I would,” You shrug.

Wonwoo can’t believe you would call Seokmin out of everyone, especially after you were glued to him last night at the party. “Why him?”

“He’s worried about you, you stupid— Stupid—“ You choke out on any mean names, simply stomping away from him.

Why was Wonwoo being so mean so early in the morning? You thought after the amazing night you spent together things would change between you. Stomping your way back to your room, you grumble under your breath.

While you’re folding your clothes, Wonwoo comes back.

“I’ll talk to my father,” He announces.

Before you can say anything about that, he continues. “We’ll get married— You and I, I mean— ” He clears his throat, “Will you marry me?”

Like a deer in headlights, you’re frozen, staring at him big-eyed with a dopey smile on your lips.

“You’ll marry me?” You question, just in case you’ve tricked yourself into hearing the words you’ve wanted most.

“Yes. And I— I’ll take full responsibility—“

You smile crashes into the ground. “You want to marry me out of… Responsibility?!” The words choke you on their way out.

Wonwoo furrows his eyebrows, not understanding why you would be upset. “Do you not want to?”

“No, I don’t want to fucking marry you!” Not like that.

His face falls and he assumes a much scarier look on his face. “What would you rather marry Seokmin, then?”

And in your fury, you blurt out “Yes! Yes, I would rather marry him!”

You realise your rejection hurt him, you do. But you’re so blindsided by your anger you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he sees you as a responsibility.

Wonwoo is suddenly not so angry, but indifferent. You watch his expression go away, replaced by one much scarier, in your opinion; nothing. A plain poker face.

“Gather your things and go to the car.”

It’s all he says before he leaves the room.

The ride back is the most nerve-racking hours you’ve ever experienced. Wonwoo is silent, even you huff and puff under your breath, angrily chewing on your breakfast of vending machine snacks.

Though he says one phrase as you reach the city. “Leave me here.”

And that’s the last you saw of him for over a month.

Your previous anger dries up, turning into sadness. Then you’re furious. And heartbroken until you’ve accepted your reality. You’ve ruined your friendship and lost the love of your life.

It takes your sister plucking you out of bed for you to finally leave your bedroom in weeks.

She was the first and only person you’ve told about the night spent with Wonwoo. Your parents were absolutely furious that you’d do something so dangerous, though relieved at your safety, they weren’t easy on their words.

“He’s not doing well, you know,” You sister says.

You humph.

“I’m serious. Daddy said he’s clumsy, keeps messing up his work. I think you should go and see him.”

Closing your eyes, you let out a worrisome sigh. You still cared way too much to hear those news and not do something about it.

So you dress up in whatever you can find and drive to his shop, building up a speech on your way there and practising every scenario. You just hoped everything could go back to the way it was.

He’s working on an old model, hunched over the hood in his light blue coveralls, stains of grease from head to toe.

“Knock knock,” You announced your presence, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, looking forward to meeting his eyes as much as you dread to.

Wonwoo immediately recognises your voice, turning around to meet your eyes.

And he looks just as wrecked as you felt. Deep-set eye bags and a tired gaze. Yet he still smiles just as handsomely.

“Hey,” He greets.

“Busy?”

“No! No,” Wonwoo scrambles, placing the wrench down removing his gloves.

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah, I actually— I wanted to talk to you, too.”

It’s somewhat relieving as well at it’s worrying to hear him say that, it could be an apology as well as an insult or something of the sort.

“We should— We should go to my office, someone might come in—“

“Yeah— We should.” You nod.

You walk into his office, one you’ve visited and killed time in quite often. But coming here after everything feels so crushing, all this distance between you.

“Go ahead—“

“You first—“

You both say at the same time and that seems to ease the stubborn awkwardness pooling in the air. You laugh.

“How about we say it together?”

“On 3?”

“1”

“2”

“3”

Breathing in, you say the words that come to your mind from the bottom of your heart.

“I want to marry you.”

“I love you.”

“What?!”

“What?!” Once again, you both say it at the same time.

“You want to marry me?” He breaks into a wide smile.

“And you love me?” The words feel so alien to you, you can barely believe your ears, you feel the tips of your fingers shake in excitement, your heart pounds so strongly against your rib cage you can almost hear the thumping.

Jeon Wonwoo just said he loves you.

“I— Are you sure you want to marry me? You said you didn’t want to!”

“Yes. Well— I’ve loved you since forever! So when you said you wanted to marry me just out of responsibility— I was heartbroken! It’s like you were forced into doing it!”

“I didn’t want to marry you out of responsibility! I’ve been planning to marry you since the beginning—“

You choke, “You what?!”

Wonwoo sighs, “I never wanted to marry your sister and she was well aware of that… We were blessed that she found her husband and when everything went well, I thought— I hoped that it’d mean we’d be the ones to be wed.”

Processing every word, you almost feel dizzy. “But you said you’d take responsibility!”

“For roping you into running away from my party.”

“Oh.” You’re beyond embarrassed for assuming and above all, for getting so angry you didn’t even let him explain himself.

“I should’ve been clearer,” He admits.

“No— I should’ve talked to you.”

Wonwoo smiles. “Thank you.”

With tiny tears threatening to fall, you can only confirm what you want to know the most.

“You love me?”

“Always,” He smiles.

Wonwoo seems to remember something, he raises his finger in a “wait” motion and leans over his desk, reaching for the top drawer. It’s only when you catch a peek of the velvet box that you almost keel over.

Gulping, he gathers his courage.

In his grease-stained coveralls that smells of expensive cologne and lavender cleaning supplies, Jeon Wonwoo gets down on one knee, nervously looking up at your with his stupidly gorgeous beady eyes and an expectant smile.

“Will you marry me?”

And in your least presentable dress, the one he’d ruined with grease stains and an unruly hairdo, you respond with the biggest smile:

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Had you been questioned, there would be an answer to just how long you will love Jeon Wonwoo.

You’ll love him forever.

1K notes · View notes

mediumgayitalian · 3 months

Text

He doesn’t say anything as he sits down.

He makes noise — he doesn’t want to startle him. Not that Will would mind. Of all people, Will is the only one who laughs after he jumps, when Nico pops up next to him. Even his sister, even Reyna, even every other person who has known him forever: they jump, they press their hand to their chest. Maybe smile. Scowl, if Nico is pissing them off on purpose.

But Will laughs.

Every time.

“Hi, Nico,” he whispers into his knees, eyes squeezed shut. The laughter is a little more broken this time, a little more hurt, like it has to push through the tears clogging up his throat.

Nico hums, resting his cheek on his knees, watching him.

He looks good in the sunlight, even when he’s sad. His hair is braided, today, his favourite way to wear it and Nico’s favourite way to see it. Two French braid pigtails. The elastics tying them down have the little ghost charms Nico bought him as a joke last Halloween, that he treasures unironically. He picks distractedly at his dozens of woven friendship bracelets, nervously twisting his anklets around his finger until they’re so tight they cut off the circulation. He’s not wearing shoes. His Head Medic shirt clashes horribly with his hair, as usual, but the orange is — faded, almost. More sunset than neon, like it’s been in the wash so many times the colour has bled. The black lettering has almost completely worn away. The shirt is a size too big.

Lee’s.

He sniffles. “Sorry I wasn’t there for dinner. I hope you didn’t eat by yourself. You ate, right? You should eat. It worries me when you don’t.”

His hand shakes. He slides it into the grass to try and stop it, breathing slowly and deeply. It doesn’t work.

“Hey,” Nico murmurs, scooting closer. “Look at me.”

It takes a minute. When finally he peeks over the swell of his knees, his eyes are red-rimmed, tear tracks staining his freckled cheeks. Nico is reminded of streaks of red clouds of a rapid summer sunset. He tries for a smile, but it’s small, strained, and fades under Nico’s gaze. He’d look away again if Nico’s palm on his cheek didn’t hold him steady.

“You’re allowed to have hard days.”

Will shrugs. “I know.” He glances down. A new wave of wet drops from his eyes, and Nico swipes it away with his thumb, noticing as the action makes Will’s chin tremble.

“Do you?”

Will shrugs again. There’s a glassy look in his eyes that makes Nico ache. Sometimes it’s hard for him to remember how vulnerable Will is, how hurt. He tries so hard to stamp it down, and he has so much practice that he’s good at it. It’s hard to track when his shoulders droop at the end of his shifts, hard to notice the imperceptible flinches when someone tousles his hair, hard to look for the building frustration when his bullseye remains unpierced. Nico knows this is by design.

He wishes it wasn’t.

Swallowing his own knee jerk discomfort, he whispers, “You’ve done so much for me, you know that?” He leans forward and touches their foreheads together. It’s a little ridiculous, meeting his eyes from this angle — after a minute, a small smile twitches at Will’s lips, and Nico grins in victory. “You worked very hard to weasel your way into my life. Lucky for your persistent ass, that goes both ways. You can be sad in front of me. You can miss your brothers in front of me. You can be bitter in front of me. I promise, Will. I can handle it.”

“I don’t want you to see how often it happens,” Will admits in a small voice. “It’ll be harder to keep me around.”

Nico’s heart breaks.

“You are a leech,” he says firmly, pulling back to press a kiss to the bridge if his nose. He shakes Will’s head slightly, palms still pressed to either side of his face, voice stern. “My favourite leech, okay? You are stuck to me. I am keeping you around no matter how often you nag me about cardiovascular health and the perils of deep fried garbage. I am keeping you around even though you barge into my cabin at odd hours and pester me into helping you do stupid things. I am keeping you around even though you keep stealing my socks for reasons I will never understand.”

“They have little skulls on them,” Will mumbles.

“I know,” Nico says patiently. The smile on his face is so fond that he would be embarrassed, were he not full to bursting with affection. “That’s why I bought them, you little shit.”

He waits as Will weighs the words, as he twitches his hands, coming to terms with them. He tucks a flyaway hair behind his ear.

“You really like me even when I’m…like this?”

He stumbles over his words, scared in a way Nico doesn’t see from him. Hopeful, too, like he can scarcely believe Nico is still here, holding him as he cries. Nico vows to sit with him through a thousand more miserable days, until the fear is totally gone.

“I do. I promise.” He presses another kiss to the tip of Will’s nose. This time, it makes his face burn, and Nico grins.

“Okay.”

“Have some faith in me, Sunshine.” He presses another kiss, to his cheek this time, and another. “Okay?”

Will smiles at him, small and sad and absolutely breathtaking, radiant. He leans into the next kiss Nico presses to his temple.

“I have all the faith in the world in you, Nico.”

#i just love will so so much #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #hoo #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #will/nico #nico/will #nico di angelo & will solace #can be pretty relationship or platonic or establisbed relationship tbh #read what you please #solangelo #hurt/comfort #fic #longpost #my writing #dialogue prompts

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jenscx · 8 months

Text

ANAGAPESIS — nakamura kazuha x f!reader

you never would have thought of losing feelings for someone you love. but when the transfer student causes a rift, you start to entertain the possibility.

TAGS — angst, slight yunjinxreader, best friends, unrequited pining(?), jealousy

WORDCOUNT — 3.9k

anagapesis, your literature teacher had said once. it meant to no longer feel affection for someone you loved. the japanese was unable to pronounce it and you had simply corrected her. it took about 10 minutes until she could say it. within those 10 minutes, you two became best friends. or, as best friends middle schoolers could be— exchanging snacks during break time, taking turns to push each other at the swings and standing up for each other when sunwoo from the class next door bullied you two.

anagapesis.

was it fate when you met kazuha? maybe it was. every single decision that a 10 year old y/n made led up to your meeting with her. kazuha was your best friend. forever and ever, you had stated to her one day.

“pinky promise?”

“of course!”

you reach no further than the first year of high school when you realise your true feelings. (and coming to terms with the fact that, yes, you were madly in love with your best friend.)

“first period’s chemistry,” kazuha sighs, “new class but i think yujin’s still there. can’t forget the last time she spilled iodine on my uniform, i hope mr lee doesn't put us together.”

you hum in acknowledgment.

“i hope you’re my partner.” you turn to kazuha, a mocking smirk on your face, “i’m like, last in class for chemistry. pretty sure i would spill acid and not iodine on you.”

kazuha rolls her eyes playfully. “you’re like second last, not last.”

you hesitate for a second before asking, “second last in chemistry but first place in your heart?” the japanese girl giggles.

fuck, you think.

“yeah. first place in my heart,” she says and you can’t help but think of the glimmer in her eyes and her gummy smile. and in your heart, you pray that mr lee doesn’t put the two of you as partners. you’re not sure how long more you could survive if kazuha looks as pretty as aphrodite every day.

liar, your head says, you would jump for joy if you could spend every second with her.

you ignore that thought and the bell rings with kazuha’s resounding groan.

your eyes dart to the teacher who was currently peering over his laptop screen.

“everyone ready? i’ve sent the spreadsheet of partners for this semester. please check it and get into your pairs,” he instructs. you take in a sharp breathe as you read over the list of students’ names.

you’re paired up with huh yunjin, a rather enthusiastic girl from the states. it was a relief that you weren’t partnered up with a weirdo. yunjin was nice and helpful. thank god. you take a glance at kazuha, whose eyebrows are furrowed and you wonder if she’s paired up with ahn yujin again.

“rei? naoi rei?” you stare at kazuha curiously. she repeats the girl’s name like a mantra and you wonder, is your best friend okay?

“y/n, is naoi rei from japan? is she a transfer student? do you know if she’s from tokushima? does she have bangs with black hair?” kazuha suddenly asks and it’s the most korean you’ve heard her speak.

“uhm,” you mumble, “i’m not… sure?”

your best friend is wide eyed, a look of surprise and awe on her face as students flurry by to find their partner. it’s easy to spot yunjin. her height makes her stand out but kazuha has a harder time finding her partner. rei. her name sounds awfully familiar, maybe kazuha has spoken about a friend called rei before.

“zuha-chan, is that you?” a voice speaks out in japanese. you whip your head and the cutest girl you’ve ever seen is standing right before kazuha.

“are you… do you remember me?” rei blurts out, “you were from the same school as me right? back in japan?” now, you and yunjin were standing awkwardly by the side as the two japanese conversed in their mother tongue. a gasp of exhilaration is heard and you feel a pang of envy when kazuha squeals and runs into rei’s arms.

yunjin nudges you slightly.

“you okay?”

you nod wordlessly and you two walk away from the childhood friends. despite being a few tables away from kazuha and rei, you can still hear their conversation clear as day. you try not to listen in, but is it really eavesdropping if they’re not being quiet?

“i never thought i would meet you again! i’ve missed you so much!” kazuha exclaims.

“me neither… wow,” you can hear the affection in rei’s tone and it makes you want to throw up, “you’re still super pretty and cute.”

you pray she means it in a, ‘gals being pals’ way.

“how long has it been? a decade? how’s your parents doing?”

“they miss you, said they preferred you over me,” rei laughs and you hate how kazuha chuckles back.

at this point, yunjin has given up trying to get your attention and she’s more focused on how your expression sours everytime kazuha giggles at one of rei’s jokes.

“hey,” she snaps her fingers in front of your face which finally works, “are you jealous? in the gay way? or the best friend way?”

you roll your eyes at her and clench your fists tightly.

“both.” while you weren’t the closest to yunjin, you were pretty comfortable telling her your worries and troubles. after all, you bonded before in detention by annoying the fuck out of the teacher in charge.

“yeah, childhood friends meeting again years later. that’s a fanfiction trope right there and you can’t do anything about that.” you stare at her, confused.

yunjin grins, “maybe it’s fate.”

fate. maybe it’s fate. you swallow a lump in your throat. maybe it’s fate that brought kazuha and rei together. maybe it’s like yunjin said, i can't do anything about it.

and if this were a movie, you would be the second lead standing in between the main couple, portrayed as the jealous and insecure best friend who has loved the main lead secretly all these years, only for them to be swept away by a childhood friend.

and fuck. the realisation hits you like a truck.

“i don’t mean to make you upset,” yunjin says, twirling a pen while staring right at kazuha and rei, “but i think rei might just replace you soon if that is any indication.”

kazuha’s warm hand is intertwined with rei’s and you hate it. you hate everything about it. the fact that you envy rei’s position right now. the fact that you know kazuha isn’t one to cosy up to someone so easily. the very fact that it took you more than a year for kazuha to finally be comfortable with hugs.

and rei did it all in an hour. yunjin sends a comforting smile your way. your heart breaks, at the sight of rei and kazuha together and how yunjin’s gaze is full of pity and sympathy.

out of the corner of your eye, you see kazuha’s grin, wider than it ever was when she was with you. you grip the edge of your seat in distraught as rei yells out a string of encouragement. kazuha stops on court and sends her a thumbs up.

everytime you did that, she would just smile nervously without looking at you.

it hurts so much you turn away from the court entirely.

“hey!” you look up from your feet. yunjin’s leaning against the railing separating the seats and the basketball court. “are you here for me?” she jokes and it’s so obvious that she had seen what had happened.

“no,” you giggle, appreciating her distraction, “i’m here for the enemy.” yunjin pouts.

“aw, then who would be my biggest supporter?”

you nod towards the fan club watching both of you intently. a bunch of girls holding up a large sign reading, ‘fighting huh yunjin!’

before yunjin speaks again, a figure slides up to the railing beside her.

“hi, y/n.” your eyes darts to yunjin for help. the american stifles her laughter at your distress.

“uhm,” you mutter unintelligently, not expecting to get kazuha’s attention.

“y/n’s here as my supporter! shoo, don’t take her away,” yunjin swats at kazuha like she’s a fly.

the japanese girl mumbles something but you can barely hear her. suddenly, yunjin’s demeanour changes.

“what? we were always friends,” yunjin replies back defensively.

kazuha frowns. “since when?”

yunjin looks like she’s about to snap at kazuha and you plead with your eyes for her to remain civil. the whistle blows and the basketball game has to start. you can see the angry red blush spreading over kazuha’s neck while yunjin stomps grumpily to her spot. the sight would be funny if you weren’t caught in the middle of their argument.

when kazuha goes to rei after the match, you feel your heart splitting into two. she chose rei, over you.

your best friend, the same one that had promised to protect you from harm, had broken your heart a total of two times. and all in one year, surely record-breaking for the sweetest girl you’ve ever befriended. little did you know she was about to hit a new high.

“you could just confess after prom. or before, so that if she reciprocates you guys can go together,” yunjin explains, her mouth full of a bite of ice cream.

kazuha had decidedly stopped going home with you after school and yunjin took up the role of your closest friend.

“maybe,” you would never confess in this lifetime, but you say it just to placate yunjin, “I’m never gonna do it face to face though. only if she corners me about it.”

“coward,” yunjin laughs.

you shrug. “most i’ll do is write a letter then move to america where she can’t find me.”

yunjin halts in her steps and turns to look at you.

“america? you wanna go to america?”

“yeah? why not. i mean, i’m fluent in english and it would be fun, wouldn’t it? i could apply for a scholarship,” you smile. yunjin’s gaze is full of contemplation and curiosity.

she continues licking her ice cream.

“y/n, i’m being completely serious now, if i were to, hypothetically, invite you to move into my family’s apartment in new york, would you be keen?” you’ve never seen yunjin so serious before that it unnerves you ever so slightly.

“well,” you say, a light tone accompanied with your words, “if, hypothetically, all my expenses would be covered by the huh yunjin, i would be keen.”

“i’m serious, y/n!”

you giggle. “yes, yunjin. let’s go to america together after graduation.”

yunjin’s face brightens up and it’s like her whole world is complete. you can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out when she lifts your body up and spins you around like a doll.

your hold on her is tight and comforting, but you can’t help but feel the kazuha sized hole in your heart ache.

leaving korea would mean leaving kazuha. and were you okay with that? your head is swarmed with thoughts on the trek back home.

“so,” kazuha says cautiously, “what are you planning to do after high school?” it’s been a few days since your conversation with yunjin and after many, many sleepless nights full of research and convincing your parents, you were finally granted permission to go out of the country.

you’re not sure whether to lie or tell the truth. you decide to do the latter.

“i have a scholarship for america— new york university,” you reply casually, and it’s the one time you’re hoping kazuha doesn’t pay attention to you.

the japanese girl falls silent. and it’s deafening.

“oh,” she says after a while, “are you going with yunjin?”

your eyes widen. “how’d you know?”

kazuha grimaces. “it’s all she can talk about during practice.”

“oh, then why’d you ask me?” you question. there’s a flash of exasperation on kazuha’s face as she mutters harshly, “i wanted to hear it from you first.”

you tilt your head.

“aren’t you and rei going back to japan?” rei’s name leaves a bitter taste on your tongue.

“hm? yeah.”

you feel your stomach tighten and your chest squeezes uncomfortably.

“that’s great,” you grit your teeth, “have fun with her.” kazuha stares at you and you feel naked with her gaze. for a moment, it reminds you of way back before rei, before yunjin, and when it was just you and kazuha.

the next time you see your best friend (or ex-best friend), it’s during another basketball match, but today, they were going against one of the rival schools. you head into the gymnasium, seats already filled up with supporters from both schools and the players getting ready on court. you sweep your eyes over the players, smiling when yunjin spots you.

‘come here,’ she mouths. you shake your head but yunjin pouts. her pleading eyes are too much for you to resist, so you walk to the railings, eyebrow raised.

“aren’t you meant to be warming up, jen?” you ask quietly. her teammates pause their activity when they see yunjin hanging around the railings. unbeknownst to you two, anger radiates from one of her teammates.

“yeah, but i wanted to give you something first.” yunjin grins and takes off the necklace hanging on her neck. she gestures for you to lean forward, and as you do, the necklace carrying a snake charm is attached on your neck now.

yunjin sighs contentedly, “it’s my most prized possession from my grandma. but i think, i want you to wear it.”

your eyes widen.

“yunjin, seriously?”

the basketballer only winks, “yeah, so now i have two good luck charms.”

just like before, your bubble bursts when someone approaches you.

“y/n.”

yunjin straightens up and you wave shyly at kazuha.

“hi, kazuha.”

the japanese’s eyes dart to the necklace not so discreetly and a disapproving frown takes over her face.

“can i talk to you alone?” she mutters to you. the american girl chuckles and pats kazuha on the back, “c’mon, talk to her later, kay. we have a game now.”

after a few seconds, kazuha glares at yunjin and then storms away. you sigh guiltily while yunjin just yawns.

they lose the game and you can tell kazuha is fuming when she finally gets the chance to talk to you.

her eyes are gleaming with rage and her knuckles are bruised. she definitely tried to hit her locker in the changing room, you thought.

“so, uhm, what’s up?” you say awkwardly.

kazuha stays silent for a while, which isn’t unusual, but in a setting like this, it makes you incredibly nervous.

“i’m pissed.”

“okay?”

“i don’t like yunjin,” she hisses, “stop being so close to her. she’s not good for you. and why do you keep flirting with her? are you dating her?”

you’re taken aback. your best friend, kazuha, was always calm, quiet and friendly. the kazuha standing in front of you, jealous and angry. you don’t like it.

“who i’m dating is none of your concern.”

“so you are dating her,” kazuha states. if she didn’t look like she was one second from punching someone, you would laugh, because it was so far away from the truth.

“no, i’m not. please stop assuming things.”

“how can i not assume things when you never tell me stuff anymore?” she hisses out.

you sigh, “zuha, i do try to tell you things. but you’re always busy.” with rei.

“so it’s my fault now?”

“i never said that. yunjin’s waiting for me, and you’re being childish right now. text me when you want to talk again.”

anagapesis. you go through it with every passing second kazuha isn’t by your side.

“fine. i’ll text you later. get home safe.”

and the realisation strikes here. the once fluttering words of care and concern no longer make you feel exhilaration. you aren’t losing kazuha. she’s losing you.

prom approaches and you don’t make a move to ask out kazuha. you already assume she’s going with rei and you had decided to go with yunjin in light of this.

you go dress shopping and yunjin’s presence helps to fill the emptiness of kazuha. yunjin skims the shops and ends up with an emerald green dress that you definitely approve of, while you end up deciding between a matching blue one or a purple one.

midway through your dilemma, your phone beeps.

zuha 🤍 [1.27pm]:

get the blue one

you swerve around, eyes darting for kazuha but she’s nowhere to be seen.

“you’re getting which one?” yunjin asks from around the corner and your gaze falls back to the two dresses.

your heart clenches as you eye the blue flowy dress. blue, kazuha’s favourite colour. ironically, that was exactly how she made you feel. blue, the colour for sadness and everything dull. you furrow your eyebrows and turn to yunjin, a soft smile on your face.

“probably the purple one.”

you show up in the purple dress, face decorated in a light layer of makeup with yunjin attached to your arm. your heart is beating out of your chest and your cheek muscles start to hurt at how long you’ve been smiling at others. some of your friends come up to you, eyes glimmering with mischief and they bombard questions about yunjin’s presence as she goes to get drinks.

“no kazuha tonight?” wonyoung asks.

you search around before shrugging. “she’s going with rei, not even sure if they’re turning up.”

the chain around your heart tightens.

“that’s too bad then,” wonyoung smiles widely, “you look great tonight! let’s take some photos later, okay?”

you nod absentmindedly as wonyoung and your friends gravitate to another group.

yunjin returns soon to your side, eyes gleaming and a hand snaking around your waist.

“i got you a fruit punch, darling,” she passes you the drink, “they had this weird looking juice but i think you would get food poisoning.”

“yeah, thanks. i don’t trust this school.”

yunjin smirks but it quickly disappears when she hears her name being called again.

“ugh, i can’t get five minutes with you alone.”

you laugh and push her shoulder slightly. “go find your friends, celebrity. i’ll wait for you here.”

yunjin pouts slightly but walks away, leaving you to be alone. as the hall gets filled up, you wander towards an unoccupied corner where no one would disturb you.

and of course, someone finds you.

“y/n.”

“zuha.”

you rake your eyes across her appearance, it’s the same as usual, but the butterflies in your stomach are missing. even though she’s dressed handsomely, you feel nothing.

“what are you doing here? aren’t you meant to be with,” kazuha flicks her tongue, “yunjin?”

“hm? her friends were calling for her.”

“and she left you here, alone?”

“yeah? i was just about to go find wonyoung. needed a breather from the crowd,” you quickly make up an excuse before kazuha could start badmouthing yunjin again.

the Japanese’s reflexes are quicker than yours, so she catches your wrist in a grip when you try to walk away.

“let’s talk properly this time,” she states. you look at the hand on your wrist and nod. you had no way of getting out of it this time.

“you’ve been avoiding me.”

you look away from her. “no.”

“you have. so what’s the deal? are you jealous that i have another friend now? rei, is that the problem here?” kazuha spits out.

“what are you talking about?”

“y/n—”

“listen, kazuha. you’re the one telling me that my friend is bad for me. i have never said anything bad about rei. i don’t care about her, and if you want me to be honest, sure. i loved you. i loved you ever since we became friends and it was ruining me to see you be so affectionate with someone else. so i’m sorry if you don’t like yunjin, but she was there for me when you weren’t,” you finally say. it’s like a heavy weight was lifted off your chest and the shell shocked expression on kazuha’s face is enough closure for you.

“you love me?”

“i used to. and i’m grateful that i don’t anymore.”

kazuha’s eyes welled up with tears, “y/n, i didn’t… i didn’t know, i…”

“if you knew, what difference would it have made?”

you watch as the japanese girl clenches her fists tightly, eyes closed before opening them and staring at you with determination you didn’t even know she had.

“y/n, you no longer love me?” you nod, exasperated. “how could you fall out of love so easily? i love you too! and now you no longer love me?”

kazuha chuckles dryly.

“don’t you know how fucking painful it was to see you wearing that damn necklace every day? i was hurt too, why couldn’t you have just said something,” she takes a step closer to you, “y/n, i just wanted to reconnect with my old friend— i never wanted things to change between us! but yunjin came along and ruined it all.”

your eyes narrow. “don’t blame this on yunjin. if you wanted to reconnect with rei, you should have balanced your time between us.”

“i know that now! stop reminding me. just please, don’t go with her, stay with me. i would do anything for you. I’m in love with you, y/n!” kazuha pleads.

“stop it,” you say, “you hurt me. a lot.”

“but i still love you.”

the crowd behind kazuha goes silent, all the lights dim down and it’s like time is paused. the only thing you see is your best friend, eyes full of desperation and hope, a silhouette of your lost affection.

you can’t do this. how could kazuha say that when you’re finally done with her? it wasn’t like you were still in love with your best friend, so why did your stomach drop when you heard those words? was it guilt? sadness? or regret, that you could have had something with kazuha, if only one of you spoke up.

“it’ll be hard for me to love and trust you again, zuha. and maybe in another universe, things would be different. but I’m sorry, this isn’t the right time.”

kazuha’s face falls.

“you’re… really heading to america? with her?”

you wince at her venomous tone, “yes.”

her eyes are red and teary, her cheeks are flushed and wet with tears. yet, you still think she looks beautiful. maybe one day, you would truly be over her.

“i hope you have a safe trip.”

“thank you. i hope you stay happy, always.” kazuha gives you one final look, and then nods, before disappearing into the crowd in her pristine white dress. you couldn’t help but think that the blue dress matched hers perfectly.

when yunjin finds you again, she asks, “i saw you talking to kazuha. did anything happen?”

you shake your head, “no, nothing happened.”

she raises an eyebrow.

“seriously? she seemed like she was crying.”

you roll your eyes, “seriously. we talked about stuff and got emotional. she was too late with expressing her feelings.”

“huh. so she really did like you back.”

“yeah. but i think, in this universe, i’m gonna be okay without her.”

(in an alternate universe, none of this would have happened. in an alternate universe, kazuha and you would have been happily together, no rei or yunjin intervening with your relationship. in an alternate universe, you would never have gone through anagapesis.)

#nakamura kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader #lesserafim #lesserafim x reader

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ivnxrori · 16 days

Text

When Sun and Moon meet - S2

Zuko x Fem!WaterBender!Reader Enemies to Lovers

As one of the Princesses of the Northern Water tribe, you were blessed with a gift by the moon. However you were permitted to be allowed to use the gift at all costs. From many hidden waterbending usages, the aftermath of the avatar visiting the Northern Tribe had led to your beginning journey, hiding yourself as a water bender as a princess from the Northern water tribe

Warnings: none

Masterlist

҉ * ‧͙ ⋆ ⁺ ༓ ☾ Chapter 8 - Failed

I grabbed the paper against the wall, a missing poster of Appa with a picture of Appa and Aang in boxes. Where did Appa go? I looked around to see a bunch of the same missing posters flying around and found someone who I didn't want to see. Zuko. He was holding the same paper as me, as well as looking around to see where these papers even come from. I snatched the paper from his hand causing him to turn around. “What do you think you're doing?” Zuko glared at me. “You came to Ba Sing Se just to track the avatar?” I spat. “How is that your business?” “Because your trying to capture someone that benefits your father only”

“I'm the son of the Fire lord-” “Yes I know that! which is why-” “Lee!” The old man said out loud, calling to Zuko. “Lee?” I questioned as Zuko groaned. “Okay, whatever your name is you can't just constantly chase the avatar forever” I whispered so only he could hear. Zuko turned around and reached behind my head, making my eyes widen at the contact till he yanked my hood down. “Ow!” I yelped. “Do you want people to find out about your identity?” Zuko scolded as I glared at his attempt of ‘keeping me hidden’. “You could have been more gentler” I scoffed while he rolled his eyes. “Anyways, I was just saying that your just wasting time finding the avatar” “Wasting time?!” He spat “You wouldnt understand the situation i'm in” ��No I wouldn't” I stated more confidently than I should have which made Zuko look at me dumbfounded. “But I feel like you getting the avatar won't actually fulfill you” I attempted to stop him “I got banished from my nation, having a scar to prove my humility and you get everything that you want yet you chose to run away!” My eyes widened at his anger “You’re pathetic, still wanting to go to the fire nation after getting ejected” I hissed but looked to my side and saw a girl, who was quite nervous. She had two braids and was wearing the earth kingdom attire. Zuko looked towards the girl as well, feeling awkward. “Oh…Lee, who is this?” She looked towards me with saddened eyes. My mouth was dry as I couldn't come up with an earth kingdom name. “Limi” Zuko squeaked “Also…part of the uhh circus”. I glared at his stupidity, Limi? Really? And Circus?? “Yep im Lee!” I presented smiling and slightly bowing “Now I have to go do my circus-ie duties” I waved off but not forgetting to glare at Zuko once more and left to get Aku.

҉ ☾

“Alright Aku, let's go see Sakari, '' I said softly, ushering Aku to start moving. My mood was left completely sour from that occurrence. I didn't leave for no reason nor did I get everything I wanted. Sure, my past was probably not bad unlike his but it's not like I get everything. Oh well I shouldnt take his words to heart, it's just Zuko. “What in the world is that?” I turned Aku to get a better look at the lake, though I swore I saw something. “Let's take a closer look” Aku starts moving down to the lake. I hop off finding my surroundings quite suspicious. I take a closer look at the water, using my water bending to split apart the liquid to different sides. Before I saw what was there a whole wall came in front of me. I turned around and saw the Ba Sing Se guards. “You must have figured it out” a man with a deep voice and a black mustache with black hair tied back. “No I haven't” I said “yet”. I immediately take advantage of the lake behind me, using it to block the rocks coming towards my way. Using my waterbending to wrap around the guards ankles, making them fall back. Everything was going well until I felt the rock hands behind my wrists. I yelped in surprise, feeling them lock behind me. “Whatever you're hiding from your people isn't going to last long.” I spat. “It's better for Ba Sing Se” “Oh really?” I mocked. I felt tugs behind my wrist and internally panicked. Oh no where are they even taking me? “Let me go!” I yell, my eyes widened slowly by Aku getting hurt by the soldiers attempting to capture him. That was my last straw, I immediately tried to moisten the rocks behind me with the water in the air softing it for me to either manipulate or melt off. Luckily it was near a lake so the moisture was able to melt the rocks off. I ran to Aku, shoving the people behind me with water. “Even if you go back to Ba Sing Se no one will believe you” I glared at the man. I felt enemies coming towards me with their bending, I closed my eyes and lifted my hands from the impact but I felt none. I opened my eyes and saw them. Their eyes were widened in shock. My arms fall to my side only for their whole being to fall on the ground. This time, it was my turn to be shocked. “Her hair!” One of the guards said. I looked up to see my hood completely off, I immediately pulled it down which made the other soldiers get up in relief. What in the world is happening. “Not only she’s a princess, she is a blood bender” The man glared which made me look up in shock. A bloodbender? The waves of anxiety caused rain clouds from above. This is not the best time right now. From the few seconds of shock, I felt the rock hands fill my whole hand, to my wrist to prevent me from using any form of water bending. “Wait! Stop!” I scream attempting to resist. The rain becomes heavier as the soldiers glare at the clouds in annoyance. How come I'm so slow when it comes to this? My resistance faded when I felt the water consuming my vision.

“Y/N? I don't think she’s fit to be a princess” “Her personality just doesn't…fit”

Huh? What are these voices? I opened my eyelids with some struggle, groaning as I got up. Where am I? I look at my surroundings, the best way to describe it is me…being on a cloud. Everything felt foggy, just faint silhouettes of my people. “Shame it was Yue who died instead of Y/N”. My eyes widened as I looked down miserably. “She is a betrayer in the end” “Poor Chief Arnook”. I attempted to speak up but the whole environment turned pitch black. I couldn't see anything around me. “You expect the water tribe to respect you” an eyeball outlined in white popped up. I flinched and moved back, glaring at it in confusion. “You’re the one that left us after all” The eyeball blinked. “Wait! I can come back!” I tried to compromise it, sweat dripping behind my neck. “Don't even think about it, you're not welcome here.” I'm not welcomed? To my own nation? A wave of people came back, including my father, Sivoy and Yue. They all looked at me in disappointment, I felt tears coming down my face. “Please…say something” I scream desperately. “I can't believe my own daughter left her family” My father said, taking Sivoy. I trembled, falling down on my knees. “Yue…please” I beg, praying she would say something encouraging. “You left me, Y/N…how could you?” Yue glared at me. I said nothing, just went down looking at the floor. “Things haven't changed Y/N, still the selfish, self centered, princess.” the voices kept repeating against my ears. “You should have died back there Y/N” I gripped my hair, silently praying for them to stop.

I woke up, breathing heavily. Sweat dripped off my face onto the cold rock floor. I got up attempting to run away but I felt a force stopping me. The jangling already gave me the hint. I was chained to the ground around the wrists. “Let me go!” I scream as loud as I can, attempting to break the chain. “I need to prove it to my family! To my nation!” I cried out loud, trying to get someone to hear me. “I'm a princess…im a princess…” I move my forehead against the rock cold floor. I sniffed heavily, trying to keep my breathing stable. I lifted my head up, trying to scan the weak part of the chain. Luckily I was able to navigate it and kicked it with my foot. I was tired, really tired. “Should I even go back home?” I lean back to look at the ceiling. I really have no one…

҉ ☾

I managed to get out of that horrible place with ease. I was able to use one of the teachings Sakari gave me for closed areas. Trying to find gaps with oxygen, since this area was under water it had more water moisture in the air which I was able to find an area to exit from. I pushed back the lid where it was originally there and looked around my surroundings, There was no one…not even Aku. All my motivation to explore was gone, I didn't even want to meet Sakari anymore. I lean my head against the floor of a slope and rethink my dream. Was it just a nightmare? Or was it true? I usually brush off horrible thoughts but that…sounded too real. They were right too…I haven't changed at all. I left my tribe, I'm a traitor. I'm not some regular person, I'm a princess who left her duties for her own selfishness. This is such a stupid adventure, I haven't found what I needed at all. I just found what I already lost. “You should have died back there Y/N” I heard it again. This is a sign. I stood up from the ground looking at the sky, thank god it isnt night. I walk towards the water, stepping in. I felt the coldness around my legs. I continued to walk towards my key to make everything better. This is for my people.

<- Back - Next ->

a/n: Hello!! Sorry fro not uploading im trying to upload once every week but it will be delayed a lot!! Im going to try to upload this on my own feed so uh y eah!!! Hope yall had fun really and take care of yourself! Holy shti im tired

taglist: @luvkvni @katovano @karmaswitch @someonesmember @velvet-spider @sh3sa1dwhat @nerdisthenewcool @meiraloves2dmen @fqnfics101 @iluvme547 @leaderwon @yukihatesreoyo @heart4hees @4l3x1s @kkissaku @corpsebridenightamare @newjellis @fatkish @pbeckn26 @jasminesacademia

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badasbebi · 2 days

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home is where the heart is ➛ ♡

✦ pairing: bada lee x fem!reader

✦ summary: new to seoul in search of revitalizing opportunities, you're excited to see what the city has in store for you. however, after numerous awkward encounters with your (hot) neighbor and other unfortunate circumstances, you start to doubt whether this move was right for you.

✦ genre/au: fluff, smut MDNI!!, neighbor!au, accidentally turned into a coffeeshop!au as well. maybe some slight angst?

✦ word count: 14k

✦ warnings: probably has grammatical/spelling errors. switch!bada and switch!reader?? sort of?? y/n has a toy collection that could probably contribute to the production of toy story 5.

✦ a/n: initially really liked this story. then, i sat on it for three days, and now I'm not really a fan of this? i also feel like i forgot to how to write? hope yall still enjoy though! i have a few ideas I'm rlly excited abt anyway <3

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The elevator lobby echoes with the shuffling of your feet and the thud of the cardboard box shifting within your grasp. Your new apartment complex seems to grow larger with each step, the space stretching endlessly as you aim for one of the metal doors. The box, marked “fragile,” presses into your arms, and beads of sweat drip down your forehead as you internally curse at yourself for your excessive overpacking and stubbornness.

You don’t know who or what made you believe you were capable of doing this move entirely by yourself, but you are now facing the consequences for past you's groundless self-confidence. As you take a step forward, your arms wobble under the strain, and the box slips precariously, threatening to escape your grasp. You tighten your grip, determined not to let the flimsy box defeat you. You were not going to let a box labeled fragile, of all things, be the reason for your demise. No way.

While attempting to steady yourself, you vaguely hear a loud ping reverberate throughout the lobby. Like the easily hyperfixated person you are, you pay no mind to it, focusing only on the task at hand. The last thing you need is to drop the box and have its contents shatter against the floor. You would never forgive yourself.

Just as you pause to readjust the box, the elevator door opens, and footsteps follow it. A tall, dark-haired woman with bangs stumbles into the opening, her phone in her hands. She stops in her tracks, clearly distracted, and you foolishly walk straight into her.

The box falls from your grasp, and as it plummets to the ground, you have an out-of-body experience. This was it. The box is going to hit the ground, and you will have lost this uphill battle. In slow motion, you watch the box tilt backward and forwards, suspended in midair for what seems like forever until, suddenly, you feel your hand wrap around it. As you blink away the stars clouding your vision, you register that you've saved the box from certain doom, just barely. A sigh of relief escapes your lips.

A triumphant smile graces your lips as you clutch the box tightly. It’s a bit more crumpled than before, but it is still very much in one piece (ignoring the fact that the fragile item inside the box was most definitely broken). Gravity was no match for your superior reflexes.

As you look up, your smile falters. Your eyes widen, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. You just ran into the most beautiful woman you have ever seen, and she is staring at you. Her eyes, framed by thick-rimmed glasses, gaze at you, wide and unblinking. She looks at you as if you were the most embarrassing thing she has ever seen, and it takes all your willpower not to turn around and run back down the hall.

Her long, dyed black hair hangs in a braid down her shoulder. Her outfit consists of a plain, oversized black t-shirt, baggy pants, and a pair of worn nikes. The only pops of color are the bright yellow socks poking out from underneath the white shoes, and the streaks of blonde in her hair.

"Oh, my god, I am so sorry!" you finally manage, stumbling over your words. "I should've been paying attention to where I was going."

The woman seems to snap out of her daze with a vigorous shake of her head. "No, no, it's fine. Don't worry about it," she responds with a small laugh. Her voice is light and melodic, and the sound makes your heart skip a beat. She glances down at her phone, and a slight frown creases her forehead. "I wasn't watching where I was going either."

You give a small, awkward chuckle in response, but you feel your nerves ease a little. She didn't seem weirded out, thank the stars.

She glances down at the box, and her eyes widen as if she is just noticing its existence.

"Here, let me help you," she says as she effortlessly picks up and takes the box from your hands before you can even think to say no, a shiver running up your spine at the contact.

"You really don't have to," you protest weakly, making much of an effort to actually stop her.

"It's the least I can do after making you almost drop the box." She gives you a warm smile, and the butterflies in your stomach start dancing wildly.

"Thank you." You return the smile, feeling the corners of your mouth twitch.

She turns on her heel and gestures to the elevator doors. "Where are you headed?" she asks, pressing the up button with her elbow.

"Uh, floor 8," you answer. She nods, and when the elevator doors open, the two of you step inside.

The combination of the woman's vanilla-scented perfume and elevator music does little to soothe your anxiety. You stand side-by-side in awkward silence. You shift uncomfortably, feeling your cheeks burn. What do you even say to a person this gorgeous? You clear your throat and will the courage to speak. You are an adult. You can talk to people. You got this! Just be casual. Easy peasy. Just say words! Just. say. them.

"So, uh, is this your first time using the elevator?" You wince.

Maybe not those words.

"No, I usually use the stairs." She says with a giggle, seemingly unfazed by your pathetic attempt at conversation. "But, um, is this your first time here?"

You nod. "I just moved here today." You pause. "How did you know?"

"I just—haven't seen you here before," she says simply, looking you up and down with an expression you can't quite decipher. "I'm Bada, by the way."

"Bada," you repeat, testing out the name on your tongue. It sounds nice. You smile, and the tips of your ears grow hot. "I'm Y/N."

"Y/N." She returns your smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Your fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. Your eyes wander over to the numbers lit up on the panel, and your face pales when you see that the two of you are already on the eighth floor. The elevator slowly comes to a stop, and you swallow thickly. "Well, I guess this is my stop," you say as you step into the hallway.

"Did you want me to walk you to your apartment? This is actually the floor that I-" Bada starts, but a faint chime rings out before she can finish. She pulls her phone out, holding the box with one arm, and frowns at the screen.

"Ah, damn, I gotta go," she says. She looks back up at you and gives you a smile, although a little less bright. "I'm going to be late for a meeting. Do you think you can manage?"

You stare, momentarily perplexed by the kindness this random stranger is displaying towards you, but then you catch yourself, and smile.

You shake your head, waving a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, I've got it. I'm a big girl," you reassure her. "Thank you for helping me, though."

She hands the box over, and your fingers brush again, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm.

"Of course," she replies, smiling. "Anytime. It was nice meeting you."

"Yup."

You give each other a brief wave, and you watch the elevator doors slide shut.

As you stare at the spot she was once at, you feel a pang of disappointment in your chest. You wish you could have gotten to know her better, but there was always another day. You lived in the same building, after all. Maybe you'd run into her again.

You struggle with the box a bit more, and then you finally enter your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you.

The first thing you do is drop the box in the entryway and walk over to the nearest wall. You lean your back against it, sliding down until your butt hits the ground. You sit there for a moment, gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling window across the room, trying to process everything that just happened. And, well, everything else that's been happening in your life.

As the sun dips below the skyline, casting long shadows across the city, you find yourself finally having to wrestle with contrasting feelings of excitement over this fresh start, mingled with a weariness that's settled into your bones after a day of moving boxes and thinking of the uncertainty surrounding the days ahead of you.

Just a month ago, you made the spontaneous decision to move to chase your dreams in Seoul, a country an entire ocean away from where you're from. Now you are in a new city, a new apartment, a potential new job, and you have mixed feelings. You're excited about the possibilities but also scared of the loneliness you know is inevitable. It is a loneliness that is necessary, though. You’ve spent too long stuck, moping about your unfortunate circumstances in the same mundane city you grew up in. You were aching for something new. As terrified as you are, you know that it’ll eventually feel worth it. It has to.

In the meantime, your living space echoes with emptiness and awaits your touch. Exhausted but determined, you eventually drag yourself off the ground, the weight of the day catching up to you, but not stopping you.

You scan the space in front of you, surrounded by the remnants of your previous life, now neatly packed into cardboard containers. The living room, cluttered with boxes marked "pictures," "books," and "memories," feels too overwhelming, so you decide to tackle the kitchen first. Igniting your last reserves of energy, you unpack your pots and pans as your thoughts drifts to old routines. As the clock ticks away and you find new sacred spots for your favorite items, your exhaustion begins to fade as you infuse the space with pieces of yourself, fueled by the realization that this is your sanctuary that you could call your own.

By the time you empty your last box for the day, the apartment glows with your presence. It’s nowhere near finished, but you already feel as if your choices have been validated. You collapse onto your makeshift bed, and as you close your eyes, a smile plays on your lips.

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"I asked for three and three-quarter pumps of brown sugar. Is this really the best you can do?"

You stare at the cup sitting before you. Three and three-quarters, your ass. Who the hell was going to measure that? You glance up at the man before you. His face is contorted into a snarl as he glares at you, as if he expects an apology. It takes everything in you not to throw the steaming hot cup of coffee in his face.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I believe that this is indeed three and one half—i mean—three quarter pumps," you lie, attempting to brush past your stumble in the calmest voice possible. You try to muster a professional smile, but it's a difficult feat.

"Bullshit. You clearly can't read a scale properly or hear. Just do it over, and make it right. Three and three QUARTERS," He huffs, shoving the cup in your direction.

Your fists clench behind the counter. "Yes, sir," you mutter through gritted teeth, your politeness hanging by a thread.

You dump his original drink in the trash and grab a fresh cup. The man watches as you add the pumps, one by one, ensuring that each one is added correctly. It is, and instead of being grateful that you did not put three and three-quarters of spit in his cup, he rolls his eyes, mumbling to himself about younger generations being too lazy to do their jobs right the first time. He takes the cup from you, without saying thank you, and struts off.

You sigh, shaking your head. You needed to get your blood pressure checked.

"You okay?" a voice asks.

You turn around, coming face to face with your coworker, Mijoo. She stands before you, leaning against the counter, a sympathetic smile on her face.

You groan, running a hand over your face. "I don't know how much longer I can take this. How have you worked here for this long?" you reply, your voice muffled by your hands.

Mijoo shrugs. "Honestly, you get used to it after a while. And on the rare occasion that you run into a genuinely nice customer, I promise they make up for the hundreds of shitty interactions."

Without moving your hands from your face, you state, “That doesn't make me feel any better."

Mijoo laughs, bright and bubbly, and pats your shoulder. "Don't worry, it'll get easier, I promise. You'll be desensitized in no time! Seriously, I feel nothing when people call me stupid, or an imbecile, or a bitch-"

You frown, dropping your hands. "Mijoo, that's awful."

Mijoo sighs and walks around the counter to wrap her arm around your shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Just don't stress about it, okay? You'll be fine. Plus, we've got each other!"

You return the gesture, wrapping an arm around her waist. "You're right."

Mijoo has been your rock throughout this whole process. She was the one who interviewed you for this crappy job, and she was the one who showed you the ropes inside and outside of the cafe you work at. In addition to showing you her go-to spot in the cafe for mental breakdowns, she's shown you her favorite spots in Seoul. If it weren't for her, you're sure you'd be a complete and utter wreck.

"What would I do without you?" you ask.

Mijoo chuckles, squeezing you tighter. "Probably have a lot more panic attacks," she replies, causing the two of you to erupt in laughter.

The alarm on your phone blares, signaling that it's time for you to go home. You and Mijoo share a dejected glance. You hated leaving her alone at the shop, but she always insisted that you go home before the rush. You had no choice but to agree.

"See you tomorrow," you tell her as you shrug on your jacket.

"Bright and early," she responds, throwing you a wave.

"Are you at least going home soon?"

She shakes her head. "Nah, I've got a few things I need to finish up, so I'll probably be here for a few more hours. I'll lock up."

You sigh. "Alright, but please text me when you get home."

She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Will do. Now, go. Go home and get some sleep, you deserve it."

You make your way to the entrance, giving Mijoo one last glance. She waves to you, a big grin on her face. When you open the door and step out, the bell above you chimes.

As the crisp air hits your face, you can feel the tension drain from your body. A content smile graces your lips, and you can feel your mood instantly improving. Even though your job was stressful, there was nothing quite like coming home after a long shift.

The sun has already begun to set, and the streets are bustling. People pass by you, not paying attention as they make their way home. Some have earphones in, while others are on their phones. You watch as couples and groups of friends chat and laugh as they make their way to whatever destination they have in mind. You feel a small pang of loneliness in your chest.

Your apartment isn't too far from your work, so you reach your destination quickly despite the heaviness in your heart. You're exhausted, and all you want to do is go home, cook dinner, and crawl into bed.

You ride the elevator to your floor, and you're reminded of the time you ran into Bada months ago. Her name echoed through your head every time you heard this elevator music, which was every day. You haven't seen her since that day, which wasn't really a surprise. It was a big building.

When the doors open, you make a beeline to your door, fishing your keys out of your pocket. As soon as you unlock your door, you practically skip inside. You immediately slip off your shoes and toss your jacket and keys onto the counter. You let out a satisfied sigh as you plop down on the couch, closing your eyes. You stay like that for a few moments, listening to the quiet hum of the air conditioner. After a few minutes, you hear your phone ping. Yelping, you sit up and pull it out of your pocket, hoping it's the text you've been anticipating from a landlord. Disappointment settles in the pit of your stomach when you see it's just a spam email. Groaning, you drop the phone onto the couch next to you.

You sit there, wallowing in your misery and loneliness. The quiet hum of the AC does little to soothe your worries.

You miss your friends, but the distance has made it hard for them to keep up with you, and vice versa. They all had lives, and jobs, and families. But you didn't. All you had was an empty apartment. And you had Mijoo, but you felt terrible relying on her for everything.

As you’re ruminating on the pathetic reality of your social life, a loud bang comes from the wall behind you. You jump in shock and quickly turn to look at the source. You can barely make out a muffled, feminine voice, saying something that sounds like a curse. Seconds later, music starts playing through the walls. Loud, bass-heavy music. You sit up, your hand hovering over the plaster, feeling perplexed. You haven't heard anyone in the apartment next to you since you moved in. You just assumed you were neighborless. Maybe someone new moved in? You haven't seen anyone with boxes or anything all week, though, and there's no way someone just managed to move in within the last 8 hours.

A beat passes. You can feel the vibrations from the loud music rattling the walls. You frown, and walk over to the wall. You raise a hand and knock loudly, but it's useless. You sigh. There was no way you could relax with this noise.

You turn away from the wall, and pick your phone up in case you need to dial 119 during this confrontation. You make your way out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind you and ignoring how your heart pounds in your ears. You walk to the door next to yours and, after a moment of hesitation, knock loudly. The music stops, and your heartbeat slows. The door remains closed, so you knock again, even harder this time.

After what feels like an eternity, the door finally swings open, revealing a woman you thought you'd never see again.

"Bada?" you question, bewildered.

"Hey," she replies, sounding equally surprised. She's wearing sweatpants and a black tank top, and her hair is in a messy ponytail. You can smell a faint hint of sweat. She's still gorgeous, though.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, trying to hide your shock.

She looks behind her, as if to verify that she's in the correct place, then turns back around. "This is my apartment," she states, slowly, as if she's speaking to a child requiring stabilization.

"Since when?"

She laughs at this, and your heart flutters. "Since I've lived here. Which is a long time, considering this is the second year."

"No, I mean," you pause, searching for the right words. "I haven't seen you around? I mean, you're right next door. There's no way I could've missed you."

Her lips form an 'o' shape, and she nods. "Ah, well, I travel a lot for work so I haven't been home much. I was out of the country for a while."

You nod, "Oh. That makes sense. Well, see ya!"

You turn on your heel and make your way back towards your apartment, embarrassment beginning to flood through your body, when Bada's voice stops you.

"Hey, wait."

You turn around, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She looks amused. "Are you going to tell me why you came knocking? Or did you just want to see me?"

Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn. "What? No, I'm sorry, I-"

She interrupts you with a laugh. "Relax, I'm joking."

You nod, feeling relieved. You weren't sure why this woman made you feel so incompetent. "Well, it’s the music. It's really loud, and-"

"Oh, shit," she cuts in, her eyes widening. "I'm sorry, I forgot. I'm not used to having neighbors. It's been a while since someone lived next door."

"It's totally fine, it's just...a bit much."

"Gotcha," she replies.

You stare at each other for a few seconds, and you can feel yourself begin to sweat. You clear your throat. "Well, I should probably go now."

She nods, a slight frown on her face. "Okay. See you around."

"See ya," you reply, awkwardly, before walking away.

When you reach your door, you let out a deep breath As annoyed and embarrassed as you were, seeing her again was a bit of a pleasant surprise. She seemed even more beautiful now than she did in the elevator. Your mind wanders back to the sleeveless shirt she had on. The hair bun that gave you a clear view of her neck, her jawline, her collarbones.

You shake the thought from your head and walk into your apartment. You needed to put yourself out there, soon. It’s been too long since you’ve felt a woman’s touch, and now you can barely look at an attractive woman without spiraling into a frenzy.

You decide to go take a shower and call it an early night, hoping that a session with Rosalia 3000 will ease your mind.

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You stand behind the counter, boredly wiping down the surfaces. It's a slow day, and Mijoo is off, finally using her vacation days. The cafe is mostly empty, save for a few students studying in the corner. You've already cleaned the entire place twice today, and the clock hasn't even struck 4 o'clock yet. It was days like these that you hated most. As much as you disliked angry customers, having to stand behind the counter doing nothing all day was enough to make you want to claw your eyes out.

You sigh, and lean back against the counter. You check your phone, just in case you missed any messages you’ve been waiting for. When the screen loads, the familiar white background greets you, with no new notifications.

You lock the screen, and stuff the device into the pocket of your apron. You look around the cafe, hoping to find something to occupy your mind. Your eyes land on the display cases of cakes on the far end of the counter, and an idea pops into your head.

You grab a bag of flour, sugar, eggs, milk, and baking powder from the storage room. You mix the ingredients together, and add a few teaspoons of vanilla extract. After about ten minutes, the batter is ready, and you scoop some into a pastry bag. You start to pipe the dough into shapes, filling the space. The familiar motion relaxes you, and you can feel the stress slowly leaving your body. There were only a select few people in the cafe who were permitted to contribute to the array of treats your cafe housed. Unfortunately, you weren’t one of those people, leaving you little time to partake in your passion in between busy shifts and tiring days. You needed this.

Working quickly, you fill up the space within 30 minutes. After placing the cookies in the backoven, you start cleaning up the counter, throwing away any leftover bits of dough and tossing the used bowls and utensils into the sink. When you finish cleaning the area as best as you can, you turn back around, and your eyes widen as you realize you aren't alone.

Standing before you, his arms crossed, is the man with the ridiculous coffee order from a couple days ago. Yikes.

"Um," you begin, trying to keep your voice from wavering."Can I help you?"

"I’ve been standing here for two minutes,” he begins, and you can hear the aggravation in his voice. "Do you not know how to do your job?"

"I-"

"So you’re not just a terrible barista, you’re a terrible worker too,” he spits out.“There are barely any people in this cafe and you can’t keep up?”

You clench your jaw, trying to keep the anger bubbling up inside of you at bay. "Sir, I apologize for not noticing you sooner, but I’ll be happy to assist you now."

"Yeah, I’m sure. Where’s your manager?”

Your eye twitches. “He isn’t here right now. I can assure you I’ll be able to help you with anything you need."

"Well do you have a way to contact him? A phone number? Zoom?”

You shake your head. "Sorry, sir. Our manager prefers that we only contact him when he is away if there’s an emergency.”

He releases a maniacal laugh, then immediately straightens his face. “Is this not an emergency? How is this not an emergency when the service in this shop is so fucked that you don’t see a customer standing in plain sight for ten minutes?”

You blink. “I thought—never mind. Sir, again, I’m terribly sorry. If you’d like, I can give you this drink on the house and—"

He cuts you off. "I don't want a refund. I want better quality of service…”

He drones on, and at this point you tune him out. There was nothing you could do or say to satisfy him. Really, the irony of the situation just made you want to laugh. He was complaining about you wasting his time, and by doing so was wasting even more time. Did this man actually have a job other than being a menace to innocent baristas? Probably not. As you mindlessly watch the man flail his arms in exasperation, you hear the bell above the entrance ring. You’re about to glance over, when the man in front of you slams his palm on the counter, demanding your attention.

"I'm not done yet! I've spent the last fifty six minutes telling you everything you're doing wrong, and you've barely apologized. In fact—"

"I'm sorry, sir, but if you don’t calm down I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” You cut him off, your voice surprisingly steady.

"What?" His mouth hangs open.

You cross your arms. "You are disrupting the environment and harassing me.”

"Harassing?" He repeats, incredulously. "Are you fucking kidding me? Who the hell are you to tell me what to do? You don’t have the authority to kick me out.”

You roll your eyes. "I'm not kicking you out. You are free to stay and order anything you'd like. If, however, you choose to continue to cause a scene, I'll have no choice but to have you escorted off the premises."

His eyes narrow, and this time he crosses his arms. "Yeah? And who’s gonna escort me?”

Customer service thrown out the window, you open your mouth to call him a prickly little bitch, but are interrupted by the sudden appearance of a hooded figure walking up beside him.

"Leave her alone," a familiar voice states. You look over, and realize the individual you’re looking at is Bada, who towers over the man beside her.

The man scoffs, and looks her up and down. "Excuse me? Mind your own.”

"This is her cafe, and she has a right to kick you out if you're being disruptive."

"I'm not bothering anyone," the man retorts.

"Well, you’re bothering me. I’ve had to stand here and watch you squeal for the past few minutes and quite frankly it's starting to piss me off. If you don’t leave, I'll escort you out myself."

The man opens his mouth, presumably to spit some more venom, but the sight of Bada's clenched fists and murderous glare causes him to snap his mouth shut. He glares at the two of you for a moment, before turning on his heel and stalking off.

Both of you watch him leave. As the door closes behind him, you witness the door swing shut with surprising speed, smacking into Mr. Grumpington's rear end just as he reaches the threshold. Stumbling forward with a startled yelp, his briefcase flies out of his grasp, scattering papers across the sidewalk.

Your hand flings up, over your mouth as you observe him stand slowly, his knees wobbling. A woman and her child pass by him with bewildered expressions, and you repress your laughter. Once he gathers himself, he shoots a withering glare in the direction of the café, and storms off.

Old man finally gone, Bada turns back to you, her expression soft. "Sorry. I know I probably overstepped, but I saw the whole thing and I was worried he was going to hurt you.”

You sober up and shake your head, smiling slightly. "No, it's okay. He was being an asshole and I didn't know what to do with him. I'm glad you were here."

Bada returns your smile, and you're once again taken aback by her. “Anytime."

"I have cookies, if you'd like some," you offer, suddenly remembering the sweets baking in the oven. "On the house, for the trouble."

Bada's eyes light up. "I'd love some! And an iced latte, please.”

You nod. "Sure. Have a seat and I'll bring it out."

Bada takes a seat in a booth in the corner, and pulls out a laptop. As the coffee brews, you glance at her as she types and reads something on the screen, her expression concentrated. She purses her lips as as she focuses on whatever she’s looking at, and you find yourself staring.

She looks up, catching your eye. You blush, and spin around to face the display case, pretending to wipe it down. You grab the iced latte and a plate of cookies, and walk over to Bada.

"Thanks!" she says, smiling, and grabs a cookie. She takes a bite and hums in satisfaction.

"Good, right?" you question, a smile tugging at your lips.

"So good!" she affirms, her cheeks full of the pastry.

You break into a wide grin that you’re not sure is because of the woman’s cuteness, or the pride blooming in your chest. "Thanks. I made them."

She raises her eyebrows. "Wait, really? Woah. I'm impressed."

Playing nonchalant, you shrug. "It's whatever."

She laughs. "It's not whatever! These would sell out in seconds if you displayed them in here," she remarks, grabbing another one.

You're reminded of the call you're still waiting on, and try to dispel the anxiousness growing inside you. That’s the plan, just not here. You decide not to bring that up, though. You dont wanting to put a damper her spirits with your oversharing.

But you're not tired of hearing her praises. "You think?"

"Definitely,” she confirms. "I'll come by every day to buy a dozen.”

"I'll hold you to it."

"Please do," she responds, and you swear you detect a hint of flirtation in her voice. Before you can retort, a notification pops up on her computer, and her eyes dart down. She sighs.

"Everything alright?" you ask.

She nods, but her brows are furrowed. "Yeah. I'm just stressed. My job has been keeping me super busy lately."

You nod, and hesitate before asking, "If you don't mind me asking, what do you do?"

"Oh," she answers, her face clearing up. "I'm a dancer. And I choreograph for kpop groups."

Your eyes widen. "Whoa. That's cool."

"Thanks," she responds. She pauses for a moment, and she looks like she wants to say more. "It is, but...I don't know, sometimes these companies get on my nerves." She says with a tired laugh.

You're a bit surprised by her confession, and the dejected look on her face makes your heart hurt. "What do you mean?"

She shrugs. "They're never quite satisfied with what we do and it sucks, you know? The only time I have fun is when I'm working with a company that doesn't treat their artists like shit."

You frown. "Yeah, I can't even begin to imagine how frustrating that is. I'm sorry."

She smiles, looking sheepish. "No, I'm sorry for venting. It's been a long week."

You shake your head. "Don't apologize. You're saving me from having to clean the counter for the nth time today."

She smirks. "I thought the jerk from earlier was already doing that?"

"Oh god, please don't bring him up again." You groan, and she giggles in a way that makes your chest warm.

"Don't worry. He won't bother you anymore. I scared him away," she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

You laugh, and a comfortable silence falls between the two of you. You're about to ask her another question when you hear the bell on the door chime. You look over, and see a group of college students walking in. Your stomach drops.

"Guess it's time for me to actually do my job,” you mutter.

She nods. "What time do you get off? Maybe we could talk more after you're done? Walk home together?"

Walk home together? You should’ve put on a better perfume today. "Sure, but I'm gonna be here for another couple hours."

She slaps her hands together. “That’s actually perfect. I have a bunch of videos to review anyway. I'll be here." She gives you a small wave, and returns to her laptop. You walk away, unable to contain your grin.

And she is there. As the night drags on, as the rush comes in and finally calms, as the clock strikes 8, and as you close the doors.

You turn the keys, locking the door. You turn around, and she's there, waiting for you, laptop in hand. She kicks a rock and it skitters away, hitting a lamppost. When she notices you watching, she offers a shy smile.

"Ready to go?" she asks.

"Sure am," You respond, and the two of you start heading down the street.

The air is warm and the night sky is clear, the stars twinkling brightly. You glance over at her, and admire the way the streep lamps lights up her face. Her eyes are focused ahead, and you stare at her profile. She notices you staring, and turns her head, smiling softly.

"What's up?" she questions.

You shake your head and face forward, wanting to crawl in a hole at your slip-up. "Nothing." You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. This is silly. You've seen this woman plenty of times recently. Hell, you were just in the cafe together not even fifteen ago. But now, walking side-by-side with her, the air between you heavy, you can't help but feel a need to impress her. The idea that you could possibly have a friendship (or more?) with her makes your heart soar. It's silly, and maybe a bit childish, but you're not one to let a good feeling pass by. So, you take a chance, wanting to make this work.

"So, I don't know much about you, but I'd love to," you begin, and her gaze darts towards you. "Tell me about yourself. You said you were a dancer, right?"

"Oh, yeah." She nods. "I started dancing when I was a kid. It was fun, but I didn't start taking it seriously until I was older. I started out doing covers, and eventually landed an audition with a company. That's how I got my foot in the door, and then I kept climbing and now I'm here."

"That's amazing," you tell her. "I'm guessing it's a lot of hard work?"

She nods. "Definitely. It's rewarding, though."

You want to know more, so you ask her more questions, and you follow into comfortable chatter as she tells you all about her life. She asks you a few questions too, some of which you avoid, like why you moved here, or why you're working at the cafe that you obviously dislike. But, overall, the conversation flows easily, and before you know it, the two of you are standing in front of your apartment building.

As the two of you approach the lobby, Bada speaks. "We should do this more often."

"Which part? Walking home together, or me talking your ear off about the ending of Twenty-Five Twenty-One?"

"Mostly the first part. Although I didn't mind hearing you talk about that kdrama. The lead actress is really hot."

You snort, and she follows suit. "You know, I'm glad you came into the cafe today," you confess.

"Me too." She responds, and the two of you stop in front of your door. You're unsure of what to say next, but Bada steps forward, and you tense. Was this really happening?

But then she's inching away, her hands tucked into her pockets. You relax, and ignore the slight disappointment built up in your chest. Duh, you think, shaking your head. What were you expecting?

"Well, have a good night." You say, offering her a small smile.

"You too," she says. "I'll see you soon."

She waves, and you watch her go, before unlocking the door and walking into the apartment. You close your door behind you, and lean against it, releasing a breath.

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Over the next week, you see Bada in passing in the hallway multiple times. Each time she sees you, she stops and says hi, and you talk for a bit. She stops by the cafe a few times too, although she hasn't been able to walk home with you again yet, having a late-night schedule nearly everyday.

But each encounter makes your heart race, and by the end of the week, you feel like your chest might explode. You're not sure the attraction is reciprocated, but even if it is, would she actually be interested in someone like you? Someone who had to deal with a shitty customer service job, was running increasingly low on money, had a terrible sleep schedule, and was depending on one call to determine whether or not this move was a mistake? Probably not. The videos you've been watching for the past hour have made that evident.

Curiosity got the best of you, and you finally looked up Bada about an hour ago. It didn't take long for her to pop up. A ton of information about her was available, from her birthday, to her favorite food, to her shoe size. You mostly ignored that stuff, opting to watch her choreography videos instead. A horrible mistake. She was undeniably talented and captivating, and watching her perform made you feel a million things all at once, the most powerful being desire, much to your dismay. Why was that woman always humping the floor?

After watching the last video, which was a choreography of a popular girl group's song, you shut your computer and lean back on the couch. You stare at the wall separating your apartment from hers, wondering what she's doing right now. Is she getting ready for bed? Did she have a busy day? Is she thinking of you, like how you're thinking of her? Doubtful, but the thought makes your stomach flip.

A notification from your phone interrupts your pity party. You assume it's a notification about a delivery you have coming, but you're surprised to see a text from one of your hometown friends.

Jasmine: heyyy how is everything going over there!

Jasmine: opened up your dream bakery yet?

Not this. You really, really do not want to get into this right now, especially with your friends and family from home, who had high expectations for you. But they were your friends, and you didn't want to keep them in the dark. You take a deep breath, and respond.

y/n: almost. just working at a cafe while I'm getting everything settled.

You wait a few minutes, but she doesn't respond. You sigh. Another thing you miss from home—texting your friends in real time. It would have been nice to be able to vent.

You're about to stand up when you get a response.

Jasmine: oh okay! just be careful not to fall into the same trap you were in here. I don't want you working yourself to death :(

y/n: i won't.

Jasmine: good.

Jasmine: anyway, met anybody cute out there yet?

You stare at the screen, and you can't help but smile.

y/n: yes.

Jasmine: OMG!!!

Jasmine: details plz!

You laugh.

y/n: it's none of your business, lol.

Jasmine: come ooooon y/n!

y/n: nope! I don't want to jinx anything

Jasmine: fine. just keep me updated.

You're about to respond, but a knock at your front door startles you. You set your phone down, and walk over to the door, looking through the peephole, and speak of the devil: It's Bada.

You quickly comb a hand through your hair and rub the sleep out of your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you open the door, trying not to look flustered.

"Hey!" you greet.

"Hi." She responds, and you immediately recognize that something is decidedly off. She looks tense. Her brows are furrowed, and she’s avoiding eye contact, shifting her weight from side to side awkwardly. You see her clutching something behind her back, but cannot make out what it is.

"Um, are you okay?" you ask hesitantly, half-ready to grab the (tall and grown) woman to pull her inside your apartment to protect her from potential imminent dangers.

"Yeah. I just-um. I think your package was delivered to the wrong address?" She pulls her arm from behind her back, and hands you a large box with it flipped to the bottom. "Sorry."

"Oh!" you take the package, are immediately met with the recipient name printed in bold font that is, of course, addressed to you. "Thank you. Sorry about that."

"No worries." She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I'll, uh, see you around."

"Yeah, definitely."

She walks away, and you're left standing in the doorway, a bit confused. That was...weird. You step back inside, shutting the door. You set the package down on the coffee table, and just as you are about to rip it open, you make eye contact with the imagery on the front of the package.

Your eyes widen. Oh no. How could you have forgotten?

There, plastered across the front of the box, was a clear picture of a very suggestive toy. You read the words below the image.

"Battery-Operated Love: Your Guide To The Best Vibrators, Toys, and Dildos!"

You stare. You blink. You look around, as if someone is playing a prank on you. You stare some more.

Then, you hurriedly reach for the throw pillow sitting next to you on the couch, and scream into it.

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You sigh, tapping your foot against the floor to the rhythm of humming washers. It's early morning, the sun barely peeking out, and you're currently in the laundry room in your building, waiting for your clothes to dry.

It's been a few days since your package fiasco, and Bada hasn't made another appearance. You'd say she's trying to avoid you, but in reality, you’re the one going out of your way to steer clear of her potential judgments. You've even taken to staying in late, leaving the apartment only to go to work, where you've adjusted your schedule to further avoid the woman in case she tried to stop by. You acknowledge the fact that you're probably overreacting. It wasn't that big of a deal. You're a grown woman with needs! And you weren't going to let those needs fester when you had such an accessible way of gratifying them. You couldn't let the hard work that ancient physicians put into developing such helpful products go to waste. You love to support small businesses!

Although, you weren’t a big fan of the one you ordered from this time. So much for "discreet packaging.”

You stand up, deciding to grab a drink from the vending machine outside to cool your nerves. You reach the lobby, and walk towards the corner, where the row of machines are lined up in front of windows that belong to the gym. You insert your coins, press a few buttons, and wait for your drink. The vending machine is old, and the whirring and clanging of the dispensing mechanism are loud, so it takes longer than usual.

You glance around as you wait, and your eyes finally settle on the windows. You squint, noticing a familiar silhouette performing a series of exercises.

Bada is inside, doing pull-ups. Her back is to you, and her hair is pulled into a ponytail. She's wearing a loose t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and shorts. Sweat drips from her forehead and down her back, and the muscles in her arms flex and move with each lift.

You feel your throat dry up. The machine spits out the can, and you grab it. You hesitate for a moment, and then step forward, pushing open the glass door leading into the gym as if you were moving on autopilot. You don't know what you're doing.

"Hey!" you greet.

She turns around, eyes wide, and lowers herself onto the ground. "Hi."

"How are you?" you ask.

"Good! Just finishing up my workout," she answers, reaching for the towel draped on a bench beside her.

"Cool," you answer, trying not to focus on the way her chest heaves as she catches her breath.

"What about you? Haven't seen you around lately," she says, wiping the sweat from her neck.

"I've been busy," you lie, weakly holding up your can. "Just got something from the vending machine while I'm waiting for my laundry. Probably gonna head out and run some errands after this.”

"Ah, okay." She nods, and reaches for a water bottle. You watch her tilt her head back, gulping down the liquid, her Adam's apple bobbing as she swallows. Your eyes travel to her neck, and her collarbone, which is exposed, and the droplets of sweat that rest on her skin. You watch her throat move, and suddenly, your mind is filled with images of her lips trailing down your neck, nipping at your throat, and you're overcome with desire.

You swallow, then continue rambling, trying to rid yourself of your debauched thinking. "Yup, heading over to Itaewon with a friend tonight. Probably won't be back home until tomorrow morning!" you say with the projection of a teenage boy who had his first drink yesterday. You weren't lying this time, though. After the incident, you were humbled into a state of reflection. You wanted to try putting yourself out there, and potentially find gratification beyond something that was battery-powered. Mijoo was ecstatic to hear this, and immediately sent you a list of clubs she and her friends frequented.

"Sounds fun." She takes another sip, and sets the bottle down. "Hope you have a good time. Actually, do you have time to do me a favor before you get back to your laundry?"

"What kind of favor?" you ask, a bit suspicious.

"Can you spot me?" she asks, and you're confused for a moment. She gestures towards a padded spot on the floor. "I was gonna do some more reps, and I’d really appreciate it if you could help me—um—make sure my form was right. f you don't have time, that's fine, I can ask someone else."

"No!" you answer. She jerks her head back in confusion, and you flush at your stumble. "No, I have time. I can spot you."

"Awesome! Thanks so much," she says with her signature heartwarming grin. "I'll just do a couple of sets. It shouldn't take too long.”

”I should warn you that I don’t know anything about weightlifting. Or strength exercises. Or cardio—”

"Not a problem. I’ll just do sit-ups." She reassures as she sits on the floor, and lies down.

“Oh. Okay,” you felt like you were in grade school. "Are we counting or not counting?"

"Um, counting would be helpful," she says.

You nod, and kneel beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. You feel her tense for a second, but are quickly distracted trying not to focus on the way the damp fabric of her shirt sticks to her skin. "Okay. Ready when you are."

You count, and with each sit-up, the muscles in her arms flex, her jaw tightens, and her breathing becomes labored. You're in such close proximity to her, her arm brushes against yours every time she goes down. The heat radiating from her body is palpable, and you feel yourself begin to sweat, the air becoming hot.

When she's finished, she falls back onto the mat, and you release the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. She gets up, and wipes the sweat from her forehead.

"Well, that was fun," she says, standing up to grab her stuff.

"Yeah, it sure was," you murmer, trying to hide the fact that you're completely out of breath despite doing nothing but count. You stand up, and follow her out the door. "See you later, Bada."

Bada waves, looking you over once more in a manner that makes your insides twist, before turning around a speed-walking toward the elevators.

You take a minute to breathe and head back into the laundry room, where your clothes are ready. Instead of grabbing them, you collapse into one of the cheap folding chairs in the corner of the room. Your clothes are probably tinier at this point, but you can't bring yourself to move. Why did you even walk in there in the first place? You knew well that you weren’t capable of acting normal in front of that woman.

You remind yourself of your plans with Mijoo tonight. A club. In the city. With pretty people. Where alcohol was served.

You take a deep breath, and stand up, taking your clothes and throwing them in your basket.

You'd be fine.

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An ear-splitting wail from the girl next to you almost makes you drop your drink.

"I CAN'T DO THIS SHIT ANYMORE!" the woman screeches, and Mijoo, who is currently attempting to console her, rolls her eyes.

"Honey, please, don't make a scene."

"But it's true! I'm a loser, and I'm going to die alone! I might as well stop trying!”

"No, you're not, just stop drinking," Mijoo responds, her voice a few octaves higher in annoyance. She glances at you, and rolls her eyes.

The two of you are at the gay bar in Itaewon, and after an hour and a half, it seems that the night is coming to an end. Mijoo's friend, Naeun, had a mental breakdown after spotting her ex-girlfriend making out with the woman she told her not to worry about. After that, the mood was completely killed. Naeun feigned nonchalance at first.That relationship was seven months ago, she said. I’ve moved on, she said. I’ve had better, she said. it was almost convincing, until you saw her gulp down three shots at a pace you did not know was humanly possible.

And now…

"It's like, you don't listen to anything I say," Naeun sniffles, and you genuinely feel bad for her. You give her a gentle pat on the back, and she turns to hug you.

"I know, I'm a horrible friend or whatever. Let's just go home and eat ice cream or something," Mijoo sighs, and the two of you help Naeun stand.

"Yes. Thank you. You guys are the best," she whimpers. "I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do," Mijoo assures.

"Yeah, it's all good," you chime in. "Let's just get you home. I think you've had enough alcohol for the next week. Or year."

You and Mijoo drag her out of the bar and into the streets of Itaewon. It's dark, and the neon lights illuminate the sidewalks, where drunk patrons stumble through. You're a little buzzed, and Naeun's deadweight is difficult to carry. Somehow, you manage to get her onto the subway, and inside your building, which is closest. When you reach your front door, you can't help but glance over at Bada's apartment, and are surprised to see a light peeking through the crack between the door and the frame.

"You live here?" Naeun slurs, and you nod, opening the door and dragging her in.

"We'll put her on the couch. Do you mind if we stay over?" Mijoo suggests.

"Not at all," you agree, and the two of you set her down. She groans, and closes her eyes, stretching across your couch in a starfish position. Her dress has risen all the way up to her stomach, but she doesn’t seem to care, You grimace at the sight. "Poor thing."

"She'll be fine," Mijoo says, waving her off. "Come on, I’m starving,"

You follow her into your kitchen and lean against the counter as she reaches into your fridge to pours herself a drink. So much for ice cream.

"Sorry our plans fell through," she apologizes, and you shrug.

"It's not a big deal. Shit happens. Besides, I had fun even though we were only out for, like, five seconds," you answer.

She takes a sip of the liquid in her cup. “We can try again next week? I'll make sure that Naeun is mentally stable next time."

"I don’t know. That doesn’t sound as fun,” you joke, and she grins.

"You’re so right,” she pauses as she opens your fridge back up, and gasps. "Ooh, y/n, can I have one of these?"

"One of what?" you ask, peering over her shoulder, only to find her holding cupcake that you'd made earlier. "Oh, yeah, sure. Go ahead."

She rips off the wrapper, and takes a bite, moaning. "Wow, this is—"

A loud thump sounds from the other side of the wall, and the two of you turn your heads, eyes wide.

"Is that your neighbor?" Mijoo whispers, and the two of you stand still, listening intently. There are a few more thumps, and then a sharp gasp.

"I think she's fucking someone," Mijoo whispers, and then a moan sounds from the other side, followed by a string of curse words, and the bed frame slams against the wall, a rhythmic knocking echoing throughout the apartment.

Naeun sits up from where she's sitting on the couch, and mechanically states, "I need to call her."

"Don't you dare," Mijoo growls, aggressively pointing a finger at the pitiful girl. Naeun whines, and collapses back onto the couch, and you continue to stare at the wall with wide eyes. This couldn't be happening.

You're quiet, listening to the creeks of the bed, the groans, the panting, the curses, and, despite the situation, you can’t help but feel…curious. You’d usually be irked by this situation, reminded of the particularly horrific nights you’d have when you lived with a roommate in your younger years. As made evident by the fluttering in your stomach (and in other parts of your body) you, this was not that. Not even close.

Mijoo laughs. "Oh my god, does this usually happen?"

You snap out of your stupor. "Uh, no, actually. She's usually pretty quiet."

"Really?"

"Yeah. And besides, she's sweet, so it's kind of weird hearing this, but, uh, it's whatever," you reply, attempting to ignore a squeal that vaguely resembles Bada's name.

The bed's movements pick up speed, and the sounds become louder.

"Oh my god," Mijoo murmurs, covering her ears. Naeun starts crying again.

"She's gonna fuck her to death," Naeun sobs, and then the two of you can’t help but burst into laughter. You walk over to the living room, and pat her on the back.

"Come on, let's get you to sleep," you say, helping her up. "You can have the bed. Mijoo and I will take the couch."

"Thank you, I love you both so much," she blubbers, and you drag her into the bedroom, tucking her into the bed.

"We're gonna stay in the living room, so holler if you need us, okay?" you tell her, and she nods.

"I love you guys," she slurs, and then passes out, mouth wide open.

"She’s so dramatic," Mijoo cackles as you close the door.

You and Mijoo get ready to go to sleep, and soon enough the obscene noises from next door are gone. But, as you fall asleep on the couch, they still ring in your head.

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"I'm so sorry for the way I acted last night." Naeun apologizes, a pout on her face. You wave her off. “Don't worry, you're good. At least you gave us some entertainment while you were at it. Are you okay, though?"

She shrugs, adjusting the duffle bag on her shoulder. "Yeah. I mean, it was a pretty big blow, but I'll get over it. She's not worth the tears."

"Atta girl," Mijoo cooes, patting Naeun's head. She turns to you, and smiles. "Thanks for letting us stay over, y/n."

You open your front door, and wave. "Yeah, of course. I'll see you guys later."

Just as the two girls step out, the door to the apartment next to yours opens. You all look to the side, and notice a disheveled woman with blonde hair and bright red lipstick exiting into the hallway. You and Mijoo exchange glances as the woman's eyes meet yours. She gives a small, awkward smile when she notices the three of you, and then bows before hurrying down the hallway.

"Was that your neighbor?" Mijoo asks, and you shake your head.

The actual neighbor in question steps into the hallway, and the three of you watch her with wide eyes. She's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, long hair cascading down her back.

Bewildered by your stares, she looks at the three of you with confusion.

"Hello," she greets, bowing, and the three of you bow back. "How are you?"

Naeun's eyes become the size of saucers. "Y-you're Bad—"

"Good!" Mijoo interrupts, and gives a wide, forced smile. "We're all doing well."

"That's good," Bada replies, giving a polite nod. She looks at you, and the corners of her lips quirk upwards. "Hi, y/n. Nice seeing you."

After last night’s noises, her politeness makes you want to laugh. or scream. or cry. You return the smile, gripping your doorknob until your knuckles turn white. "Yeah, nice seeing you, too."

She turns her attention back to the other two, waves, then walks off.

Mijoo and Naeun immediately whip around to face you.

"Your neighbor is Bada Lee?!" Naeun screeches.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Mijoo yells, and you step back.

"Bye guys!" you say, closing the door on the two of them.

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Shortly before closing, the bell rings.

"Hello!" you chirp. "Welcome to—oh, hello!"

"Hey, y/n." Bada waves.

"Hey," you say, even though the two of you already said hello. "How are you?"

"Good, and you?"

"Great, thanks," she responds, staying put in front of the door. "Uh, I actually came here to, um, ask if you wanted to walk home together? I was just passing by, and I thought maybe we could just, like, walk back. At the same time. Since we both have to, um, go there. To our respective homes. I know it's been a while, but I thought it'd be fun. I-if you want some company, I mean. Sorry, I'll leave if you want me to, I'm just—"

"Bada," you interrupt, and she looks up, her eyes meeting yours. "I'd love to."

She blinks. "You would?"

The look of surprise on her face almost startles you back into hesitation. Why wouldn’t you want to spend time with the woman? Even with all the moments you’ve wanted to bury yourself in a hole because of your embarrassment, you couldn’t find it in yourself to ever say no.

Untying your apron from around your waist, you nod. "Yeah! Just give me a second to grab my stuff."

"Okay." She grins. "Thanks."

You pick up your belongings, clock out, and the two of you stepping outside. You lock the doors, and begin to walk towards your building.

"So, how was your night yesterday?" Bada asks, and you almost trip at the reminder of yesterday’s events.

"Uh, it was fine," you reply, clearing your throat. "What about yours?"

"Oh, it was, um, good." She nods.

I’m sure it was, you think. You look at the ground, biting the inside of your cheek. "That's good."

The two of you walk in silence, and now you feel awkward. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. The only sounds surrounding you are of the rustling of the trees, and the occasional passing car.

"Was that your girlfriend?" she suddenly blurts out, and you whip your head around to look at her.

"Huh?"

"Last night, when I ran into the three of you in the hallway. Were one of those girls your girlfriend? Or…”

"No, neither of them," you reply, shaking your head. "One of them is Mijoo, the coworker I told you about, and her friend, Naeun. They came over after we went to a bar."

"Ah." She nods, looking at the sidewalk, and your eyes narrow. You swear you see a small smile on her face.

"What about your girl?" you ask, and her head shoots up.

"My girl?"

"Yeah. Was the girl that was over last night your girlfriend?"

"Oh, no, no, she wasn't," she quickly answers.

"Hm," you hum. And then, your next words spill from your mouth before you can even process them. "I would've thought so with all of the…screaming that was going on."

"W-what?" she stammers, freezing in her tracks.

"Uh," you say, stopping as well. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

"Did you hear...us?" she asks, her voice quiet, and you can't bear to look at her. Why did you speak up? You didn’t want her to feel embarrassed. Or worse, think of you as a creep for listening in.

"Yes," you murmur, and she lets out a groan, her face turning a shade of pink.

"I am so, so sorry. I thought you were gone. Oh my god, that is so embarrassing." She buries her face in her hands, and despite your previous regrets, you bite your lip to suppress a giggle. Her reaction was too cute.

"It's okay, really," you assure, and she drops her hands, still refusing to look at you. You smile, and continue walking. "Don't worry about it."

"But that's so embarrassing," she whines, and you laugh again.

"You were clearly having a good time."

"Yeah, but I didn't want you to hear," she sighs, and you pat her back.

"Well, at least we're even now."

"What do you mean?" she asks, puzzled.

Uh oh. She probably already forgot about the delivery situation, and you just brought it up for no reason. What the fuck was up with you right now? You were just saying anything.

"Oh, nevermind. Forget about it," you respond, waving her off.

"What was it, though? I haven't heard you…uh…do anything before," she protests, and you shrug, trying to brush her off.

"Nope! Forget about it! I confused you with someone else," you rush out, picking up your pace as you make eye contact with your building.

"You have another neighbor that could’ve potentially heard you having sex?" she replies, clearly confused, as she jogs slightly to catch up.

"No idea!" you sing, and open the door, stepping into the lobby.

"This makes no sense. Now I’m not gonna stop asking," she tells you, and you can't help but laugh.

"And I'm not going to stop avoiding the question."

"Y/n!"

You enter the elevator, and press the button to the 8th floor, watching her enter. You give a polite smile, and she sighs, giving up.

"Fine," she finishes with a pout.

The elevator goes up, and the two of you stand in comfortable silence. You don't know if it's because of the woman's earlier embarrassment, but something about tonight definitely has you feeling a little bold and ready to tease.

"Hey," you pipe up, and she looks over at you. "You guys were pretty loud."

"Shut up," she grumbles, and you can't help but smirk, watching her glare at the floor.

"My friends almost called the police. It sounded like you were committing murder."

"What?" she exclaims, and then groans. "Oh my god, don't."

"And I almost let them. I was like, woah. I knew this woman couldn't be entirely perfect and had to be keeping some sort of deep, dark, secret. But a serial killer? I would've never thought. Turns out you just had a serial moaner in there, I guess."

"Please stop."

"I mean, what were you doing to that poor girl. I—"

"At this point, it just seems like you're trying to get details out of me," she interjects.

"W-what?" you squeak, and she smiles, turning to look at you, suddenly cool and collected.

She shrugs. "You keep bringing it up."

You scoff. How dare she accuse you of such a thing! All of the thirst comments under her posts must have gotten to her head.

"You're ridiculous," you retort.

"Am I wrong, though?" she counters, and you stare at her with wide eyes.

"No," you reply quickly, and then you mentally facepalm, realizing what you said. "I mean yes. You're wrong."

"Right," she chuckles, and the elevator dings, the doors opening. "I have a question for you."

"Yeah, sure, what is it?" you ask, stepping out into the hallway.

She bites her lip, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. "Have you had the chance to use your Satisfyer Pro yet?"

Your jaw drops, aghast. "Wh-what? What the fu—"

"Goodnight, y/n," she grins, snickering as she runs inside her apartment like a little goblin, leaving you to watch her with a mixture of disbelief and irritation.

You can't help but let out a huff of laughter as you enter your own apartment.

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You're sitting in bed with a slice of cake on your lap, blanket tossed to the side due to the hot weather, binge-watching a new series. You contemplate checking your email for a message from that landlord, but decide against it, not wanting to put a damper on your decent mood. Instead, you tune in to another episode of a k-drama, in which the protagonist dies for a second time. Supposedly, it's for real this time.

You're about to finish the slice when there's a knock at the door. You frown, pausing the episode. You stand up, place the plate on the dresser, then walk towards the front door, peering through the peephole. Your heart begins to beat faster when you see a certain woman standing outside your apartment.

"What's up?" you greet, swinging the door open.

"Hey," she says, a soft smile on her face. She's wearing a pair of loose shorts and a white t-shirt, hair in a bun. Sweat glistens on her forehead, and her cheeks are flushed. You can't help but note how good she looks, despite looking rumpled.

"Hi," you respond, returning the smile. "What's going on?" you ask, leaning against the doorframe.

"So, uh, my air conditioning broke," she begins. "And I was wondering if I could hang out in your apartment for a bit? The maintenance people said they aren't going to be able to get here until tomorrow. Apparently they don't work on Sundays."

You've suddenly become aware of the fact that Bada has never been inside your apartment. The idea of her being inside the same room as you, sitting on your furniture, breathing in the scent of your home, sends a wave of heat down your spine. Maybe it was best to reject her offer and suggest another solution.

"Come on in!" you say, and open the door.

"Thank you," she breathes out, walking in, and your eyes rake over her figure as she passes by you.

She looks around, taking in the sight of your apartment. You notice her eyes linger on some of your old pictures from your hometown.

"Your apartment is really nice," she tells you, and you feel a rush of pride.

"Thank you! Feel free to take a seat wherever," you reply, gesturing towards the couch, and she sits, throwing her head back as she lets out a sigh of relief.

"You're a lifesaver," she declares, and you plop down next to her.

"What happened?" you ask, and she shakes her head.

”I wish I knew. I went to turn on my AC and it just, didn’t come on. Completely out of the blue.”

"That sucks," you respond, and she nods, a grim expression on her face.

"So," she begins, turning her head towards you. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," you answer, and then remember the slice of cake on the dresser. You point to it. "Would you like some?"

"Yes, please," she says, nodding fervently. "Water would be great, too, if you don't mind."

Grateful to put some distance between the two of you, you practically bounce out of your seat. "Coming right up!"

You return with two glasses of water and your cake. She thanks you, and you hand her a fork, taking one for yourself.

"This is really good, y/n. Did you make this too?" she praises, and you nod.

"I did. Thanks," you reply, taking a bite.

"You really need to give me the recipe for these things. Or start selling them! I'd buy them all," she compliments, and you blush, waving her off.

You stare at the ground for a moment, before laughing bitterly. "That was supposed to be the goal, I guess.”

She furrows her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

You inhale slowly, prepping yourself. You hated this. But maybe you needed this. "I used to have my own bakery. In my hometown That's actually where I moved from. But then my landlord jacked the rent up and I couldn't afford it, and I was forced to close," you explain.

"Oh." She frowns. "That's awful. What a jerk."

"Tell me about it," you mumble, carelessly dropping your fork on the table.

"Are you looking for another place here?" she asks, and you nod.

"Yeah. There's a lot of great spots in Seoul, but there's one building in particular that I've had my eye on. It's not far from the Han River, and the rent is relatively cheap, and it's got everything I could possibly need. I'm just waiting to hear back from the that landlord. We were negotiating and things were going pretty well. But now its been months. I haven't heard from him since I moved here."

You blink back tears, and clear your throat, picking up the fork again. Whenever you think of everything that's happened to you recently, you cannot help but feel like an utter failure. You worked hard, finally achieved success, only for things to all fall apart. It seemed as if all of your efforts were for nothing.

"Hey," she whispers, and her voice is soft, calming. "It's gonna be okay."

She gently squeezes your arm, and her touch is warm. You look at her, and the tenderness in her eyes is enough to make you want to cry more.

"I know. It's just hard, sometimes," you confess, and her hand remains on your arm.

"I get that, but I can promise you that what you're going through is temporary. I can't tell you how many times I thought I was done for good when I first started out, but now, I've come this far. If you keep your head up, and just keep working hard, you'll make it. You’ve done it before.”

Her words resonate with you, and her unwavering support fills you with hope. "Thanks, Bada," you respond, smiling.

"Of course," she responds, her eyes never leaving yours. "I'm here for you."

"I'm here for you too," you whisper.

A moment of silence passes, and your eyes travel to her hand. Her skin is smooth, and her fingers are long and slender. You wonder what they'd feel like intertwined with yours.

"Um, I’ve been meaning to ask," she says, interrupting your thoughts, and your eyes meet hers again. "Any new dramas you wanted to tell me about? Or, what about the one with that married couple you talked about?”

You almost laugh at her obvious attempt to distract you from your depressing thoughts.

"Pretty good," you reply, and she gives you a pointed look.

"And by pretty good, you mean..."

"Amazing, wonderful, mind-blowing, spectacular," you continue, and she nods, satisfied. "I was actually watching it before you knocked on the door."

"Ooh, really?" she responds, eyes widening.

"Yeah. Would you like to watch it together?" you suggest, and she grins.

"Yes, please."

"Okay," you giggle, and grab the remote, pressing play.

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Halfway through the episode, you decide to move to your bedroom (because the AC works better in there, of course!). Somehow, while lying on the bed, your legs become intertwined. She's sprawled out, and her head is resting in the crook of your neck, her soft hair tickling your face.

You can feel her steady breathing, and the heat radiating off her body, and all of your senses are filled with her. You're so focused on her that you can't even focus on the episode.

"Y/n?" she murmurs, and her voice is low, quiet.

"Yeah?" you reply, voice equally as soft.

"Would it be weird if I said that I'm glad my air conditioner broke?"

You snort, and her body shakes with silent laughter. "Not at all."

You pause the show, and sit up. She does the same, and her eyes are shining.

"Do you want anything to eat? I've got chips, and some ice cream," you offer, and she bites her lip.

"Not really. Thanks, though," she responds, and your eyes travel to her lips. They're plump and pink, and you're tempted to reach out and kiss her.

"Okay, no problem," you say, and her gaze is intense, burning.

"Thanks for letting me come over. I appreciate it."

"Of course," you murmur, and then clear your throat. "Anytime."

"Really?"

"Yeah! You can even stay the night, if you want. I don't mind," you respond, and her eyebrows raise, lips curling upwards.

"Okay," she answers, and leans forward, cupping your face in her hands.

The action surprises you, and you let out a gasp. She pauses, eyes searching yours, and you nod, giving her permission.

She leans forward, and you close your eyes, waiting for her to press her lips against yours. Instead, you feel a pair of lips softly kissing your forehead, and your cheeks, and your jaw, and your nose, and then they finally, finally press against yours.

The kiss is gentle and sweet, and when she pulls away, her eyes are filled with affection.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," she admits, and you chuckle.

"Me too," you whisper, and her smile grows wider.

She moves closer to you, and you wrap your arms around her, pulling her into a hug. Her body is soft, and her skin is smooth, and you can feel her warmth seeping into your skin.

"I really like you, y/n," she whispers, and you tighten your hold on her.

"I really like you too, Bada," you respond, and she nuzzles her face into the crook of your neck. You're in heaven.

"Thank god. I was afraid I was making a fool out of myself," she confesses, and you giggle.

"What? Oh my god. Not at all," you assure her, and she pulls away, a smirk on her face.

"So, I was right about you wanting details?"

"Oh fuck you," you mutter, pulling her back into a significantly more aggressive kiss. A surprised noise escapes her lips, but she eventually melts into it, moving against you with equal fervor. Her hands run up and down your sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind, and you're so caught up in the sensation that you don't even realize when she starts straddling you until she presses her body against yours in a way that has you gasping.

Your hands travel underneath her shirt, feeling the smoothness of her warm skin, the lines of her stomach, the swell of her breasts, and the curves of her waist. She groans into the kiss before slipping her tongue into your mouth, causing heat to pool in the pit of your stomach.

When you pull away, she's panting, and her lips are swollen. Her hair is slightly mussed, and her pupils are dilated, her eyes filled with desire. Without words, you both begin removing each other's clothes, tossing them to the side. She's left in only a black bra and boxers, and you have to remind yourself to move.

She chuckles, and you stare at her chest. You can see the outline of her nipples, and you reach out, brushing a thumb against them, and she bites her lip, closing her eyes. You can feel her heart beating rapidly, and you trace circles around her nipples, and she lets out a shaky breath.

"Please," she begs, and you smile, pulling her into another kiss.

Your hands move lower, caressing the skin of her thighs, and then you're cupping her center, and she gasps, pulling away.

"Y/n," she pants, and the sound of her moaning your name sends another rush of heat down your spine.

"Bada," you breathe out, and press kisses against her jawline, and down her neck, and collarbone, and chest. Your hand is still between her thighs, and she bucks her hips, trying to find friction.

"Y/n, please," she repeats, and the desperation in her voice is so fucking hot.

You slip a finger inside her, and you feel her walls immediately clench, followed by a whimper you're not sure belongs to you or her. You curl your finger inside her, and her head falls back into the crook of your neck as she rolls her hips, grinding against your palm.

"More," she practically demands, and you add another finger.

She's soaking wet, and the lewd sounds coming from your fingers sliding in and out of her has you squeezing your thighs together, desperate for some sort of relief.

You use your thumb to rub circles on her clit, and her movements become more erratic, her moans becoming louder.

"I'm gonna-ugh," she pants, and her nails dig into your skin as she orgasms.

You can feel her walls clenching and unclenching, and her body trembles, her eyes squeezed shut. She breathes heavily, and the sight of her is enough to drive you wild.

You continue stroking her until she opens her eyes, and you can't help but grin.

"Holy shit," she manages, and you remove your fingers, and she lets out a moan.

"Good?"

"Yes," she replies, and leans forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

"Now," she begins, breaking away. "Let me take care of you."

You can only nod as she reaches for your breasts, fondling them, and her eyes never leave yours. She's smirking, and the intensity in her gaze is enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You close your eyes, enjoying the sensation, and you nearly jump when you feel her body shift, her lips pressing against the sensitive skin of your neck.

She moves down, taking a nipple into her mouth, and you groan, arching your back. Her lips travel to your stomach, and then your thighs, and then you're lifting your hips, and she's sliding your underwear off.

"Spread your legs, y/n," she requests, and her voice is low, seductive.

You obey immediately, and then her tongue is inside you, and her fingers are on your clit, and your entire body is on fire. She sucks on your clit, and then makes headway further down, sliding her tongue inside you. You can't stop the moans that escape from your mouth, and you're certain the whole complex can hear, but you don't care.

Suddenly, she stops, and looks up at you. Your eyes snap open, annoyed by the interruption until you observe the way he's smiling, her chin slick with your wetness.s

"I wanna try something," she begins, and she sits up, scanning the room. "Where's that thing you got the other day?"

You bite back a moan. "Nightstand drawer."

She opens it, and takes out a small, pink object. Your face flushes as she turns it on, the vibrations audible in the otherwise quiet room.

"Is this okay?" she asks, and you nod, eager.

"Yes," you answer, and her mouth returns to your center.

She teases your entrance with the object, and the combination of her tongue and the vibrator has you squirming, your hands finding their way to her head, holding her in place.

"Oh god," you whimper, and the pleasure is indescribable.

Her tongue picks up speed, and then the vibrator enters you, and you nearly scream.

She pushes the toy in and out, and as it vibrates against your clit, and begin to feel like you can't take anymore. Your back arches, and a wave of euphoria washes over you as your orgasm hits, and the only thing you can see is the light from the lamp and the white of the ceiling.

When you regain control of your senses, you can feel her body lying on top of yours, her head on your chest. You lay in silence, trying to catch your breath, and it isn't until you hear her voice that you speak.

"How are you doing?"

"Sleepy," you mumble, and she smiles, pecking you on the lips.

"Then let's go to sleep."

You can only nod as your eyes slowly close and your mind becomes hazy. Before you drift off completely, you think to yourself that this might've been the best night you've had since moving here.

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Two weeks later, you and Bada are going up the elevator to your respective apartments after a walk from your job. You'd just spent the past hour gossiping in between taking customer's orders. Apparently, Mijoo and Naeun are going out. Figures. You hoped it worked out for them, but nobody was beating the blissful few weeks you've.

The two of you are holding hands, and your free one is holding a box containing a dozen chocolate chip cookies, made especially for Bada.

"I'm thinking of moving out," she suddenly states, and the statement catches you off guard.

"What? Why?" you ask, and she shrugs.

"It's about time. I can afford a better place, and I'm ready to move on from the apartment life. I need a house."

"I can understand that," you reply, nodding.

"You should move in with me," she continues, and the statement makes you laugh.

"What? Are you crazy? We just got together."

"Who cares? I want to live with you. Don't you want to live with me?" she responds, pouting, and she gives you puppy dog eyes.

"Yes, but...," you pause, and you can tell from the expression on her face that she's serious.

"But what? What's the problem?"

"Nothing. Let's do it."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," you confirm, and she beams, leaning in to kiss you.

You can't believe what you just agreed to. But, in a way, you're relieved. Maybe this will finally bring a sense of finality to everything that's happened.

"Damn, guess I'm gonna have to tell Jennifer about us. She's coming out here soon," you mutter, opening your email app. You go to type in your friend's email, but your eyes land on an unread email in your inbox, sent two weeks ago. It's from an unknown sender, and the subject is 'Regarding Your Application.'

Your eyes widen, and Bada nosily peers over your shoulder, reading the words.

"What's that?" she asks, and you gulp.

"I don't know."

"Open it!" she exclaims, and you do.

Y/N,

This is Kim Sung Soo, the owner of the property you inquired about. I was out of town for business and unable to contact you regarding your application. I've looked through the papers, and everything seems to be in order. I'd like to meet up with you so we can further discuss the terms of the lease before we finalize anything. When are you available?

"Oh my god," Bada gasps, and she stares at you, wide-eyed.

"What the hell?" you whisper, and Bada squeals.

"Oh, y/n! This is so exciting! Congratulations! I knew it would work out. Now, you can start your bakery, and we can move in together, and oh, my god, I'm so happy!"

"I'm confused," you mutter barely believing your luck, and the elevator dings, indicating that the two of you have arrived.

"Don't worry about it, okay? Come on, let's go have some cookies," she says, tugging on your arm.

You nod, following her down the hall without a hint of resistance. As you watch the woman drag you with a giant smile on her face, you cannot help but giggle. Who knew you'd find home and happiness in such an unlikely place?

#bada lee #bada lee fanfic #bada lee imagine #bada lee fluff #bada lee x reader #bada lee x y/n #street woman fighter 2 #swf2

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twogyuu · 8 months

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Hi! Can I ask for 13 with DK?

pairing: seokmin x reader

09. "idiots in denial, according to our friends."

genre: fluff, idiots-2-lovers, halloween theme, implied FWB

warnings: profanity

wc: 924

a/n: hehehe 💙

. . . .

This was a terrible idea.

Absolutely, incredibly, beyond stupid.

Who told you it was a bright idea to go into a haunted corn maze? With Lee Seokmin?

The man who shoved you and left you for dead when you saw a spider on the wall in his own apartment from the front entrance?

(Truly, you were not sure what you saw in that man.)

"Can we stop?" he asks nervously, suddenly gripping onto your the sleeve of your jean jacket. He doesn't look at you; rather, his eyes flicker over his dark surroundings while he pulls you closer unconsciously.

"We can't, Seokmin," you grumble, trying to shrug him off though with little success. He sure has a death grip when he's scared.

Now, if only he figuratively held onto you that tight . . .

"We have to keep going or else, we'll be trapped here forever," you explain. Someone screams in the distance - it kind of sounds like Jihoon and Jeonghan. The weak and cracked, high-pitched shrill is hard to miss. "The haunting doesn't stop."

"This is so damn scary though!" Seokmin whines, "Can't we just pick a corner and camp out there for a while longer? This event ends, right? They'll come look and take down all this hay?"

"Um, I don't think that's how it works," you try to take a few steps forward, but his weight is starting to weigh you down. "They have to do this event tomorrow too - I don't think they will take this down."

"Then, let's climb over the walls," he brainstorms frantically, "I'll boost you up and then you can pull me up-"

"BOO!"

Seokmin screams (and so do you, honestly) and quickly spins to hide behind you. This time, his arms are wrapped tight around your waist, his face pressed into the space between your shoulder blades. You can't see him, but his eyes are squeezed tight.

The scrawny, underpaid college student dressed in a ill-fitted white gown and a wig of tangled black hair responsible for the jump scare runs off, cackling in the process.

You inhale a sharp breath, shutting your eyes to collect your cool and calm your racing heart - until things weren't cool anymore.

Seokmin is back hugging you.

The Lee Seokmin.

Your fuck buddy and (now secret! Only Jeonghan knows!) crush.

Despite all the things you've done, for some reason, this unintentional back hug feels too intimate. You feel the tips of your ears grow warm and your heart ceases to stop racing. If anything, it is speeding up again, threatening to leap out of your chest at this rate.

Feelings have already been caught! You've already violated rule #4 of your entirely physical contract. Getting attached is presumably illegal! Feeling heartbroken?

You're going to hell for sure.

"S-Seokmin?" you try.

He only responds with a high-pitched hum. You wince in surprise - is he . . . holding on tighter?

"Seokmin, let go," you ask him, "The scary lady man is gone."

"No," he replies right away.

"Seokmin, stop," you draw out the last syllable like you're scolding a four-year-old. You attempt to pry his fingers apart, but god! What the actual fuck? When did he get so strong?

Must be Soonyoung taking him to the gym.

It bothers you so much.

(Not.)

"I don't want to," he mumbles, "Stop fighting it, Y/N."

He suddenly doesn't sound very scared anymore, and you also stop struggling against him.

It was a simple request, but why did it sound so . . . sad and defeated?

"Seokmin," you say softly.

His name rolls off your tongue with such ease. You and him alike wonder when that started.

He sadly chuckles to himself.

"Seokmin?" you try again.

"Stop saying my name like that," he replies.

"Like what?"

"I dunno . . ." his voice trails off and he lets out a deep sigh.

"Seokmin."

"I might not be able to let you go if you say that again," he finally confesses.

And you pause.

You don't even care if he probably hear the way your heart is pounding erratically anymore. Hell, your heart could run away with him and you don't think you'd be mad. The screams from all the jump scares and the cackling and hooting of ghouls seem to have cease. It's as if the whole world suddenly melted away and it was just you and him left in this maze.

"C-can I ask you something?" you ask softly. There's a lump in your throat because quite frankly, you're afraid to ask. The situation isn't ideal, but alas, it's now or never.

You figure if you left tonight not addressing the elephant in the room, things between you and Seokmin would be worse than where it started.

"Ask away," Seokmin replies childishly.

"I-I . . . I don't think I can keep going like this," you try to give him context, though still vague. "I need . . . um, labels, so, err . . . what are we, exactly?"

Seokmin only snorts. He adjusts his grip around your waist, refusing to spin around and face you. "Idiots in denial, according to our friends."

You chuckle half-heartedly, shaking your head. "Yoon Jeonghan, that fucking snake. He told you, didn't he?"

"It was Jihoon actually," Seokmin informs you.

"How did Jihoon- oh!"

Seokmin stands a little taller now, wrapping his hand around your chest and nestles his nose into the crook of your neck. His warm breath across your skin sends shivers down your spine. You feel the gentle press of his lips against your skin as he starts to rock the both of you back and forth.

"Is loving me so bad?"

(No. It's not.)

#seokmin x reader #seokmin fluff #seokmin scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #twogyuu:writing

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icanseethefuture333 · 6 months

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hello, I’ve really enjoyed all your readings so far - would you be willing to do something on felix from skz ideal type?

A reading on

Stray Kids' Felix's ideal type:

Qualities:

Channeled song: Love Like You by Rebecca Sugar, from Steven Universe, Let My Baby Stay by Amandla Stenberg, & Just A Taste by Tinashe.

For the qualities that Felix looks for in his ideal partner - he would like someone who is creative, passionate, and nurturing. They could be shy or self conscious, something about them that's a bit anxious. Felix would be willing to learn his partner's love language and assure them that they are the only one they have his eyes on. I had tension in my forehead while shuffling and The Empress card has a ray of colors surrounding the character's head. So Felix could like that his partner is intuitive or psychic, they know when to be tender towards his needs without asking. He would like to feel seen and heard by his partner. I'm envisioning like after work, he would crawl into his partner's arms and just take a nap. Felix could already know who his ideal partner is or is manifesting them, there is a telepathic connection present. There could be some sort of epiphany that will happen when they realize they are in love with each other. I am reminded of Steven and Connie's dynamic from Steven Universe, they were an inseparable duo, it's like their connection seemed divinely guided. Felix could view his ideal partner as a wish fulfillment. They could have qualities of a "starseed".

Personality:

Channeled song: Everything Stays by Olivia Olson, from Adventure Time & Sativa by Jhené Aiko ft Swae Lee.

Felix's partner's personality could be described as a "late bloomer". In their youth, they could have been "nerdy" or "quirky". They were very pure and had gentle mannerisms. Possibly teased for their interests or deemed as weird by other children. They could randomly have flashbacks and feel embarrassed, triggered, or upset about their past / past actions. This could also mean they are mourning the loss of their past. Possibly dealing with mental health issues such as anxiety or trauma. For a while, his ideal partner could have felt stuck in life, and wishing for change, but it never came. They had to learn to change the things they can control and let go of what they cannot control. They are wiser and more balanced within themselves now. Their personality is experiencing a shift. Felix's ideal partner could be described now as peaceful, mellow, rich, abundant, and lucky, but also free spirited and playful. "Green", "earth goddess", Gaia energy 🧝‍♀️🏞🌎? They could be spiritual.

Physical traits:

Channeled song: Two Melodies by Zion.T ft. Crush, Star Signs by Odunsi ft. Runtown, Gold by Jojo, Honey (Medasin redo) by Kucka, & Dreams Are Real by Tinashe (her Amethyst mixtape is signifcant).

A head turner. "A face you will never forget." The type of beauty you will see once but remember forever - mysterious and memorable. Felix's ideal partner could be described as ethereal, siren-like, they have a very dreamy appearance. Their face could be naturally youthful but looks more mature when they put makeup on / dress up for evenings. "Shapeshifter". They could appear or dress differently depending on their mood. Overall, something about them feels delicate with an edge. Felix could praise or talk about his ideal partner very proudly "My girl!". Manic pixie dream girl vibes.

Long dark (black or brown) hair (there is a bend or curl to their hair. Its thick, so wavy to curly hair texture).

Straight or round eyebrows

Pouty facial expression

"Glossy eyes", eyes are dark but shiny. Could look like orbs 👁👁

Eyes that look like they have been crying, so dark circles or puffy tearbags (aegyo sal)

Round or heart shape face (their forehead is the widest part of their face).

Small/short face

"Ears"??? Something about their ears is noticeable. Whether that means they are large, tiny, or pointy. Their ears could be cute.

Wears earrings a lot or their ears are pierced.

Wide or defined shoulders

Decolletage area is attractive (collarbones, chest, breasts, etc)

Long limbs

Long legs / leggy body

On a day to day basis they dress casual, but when they go out they dress very colorful and alternative.

Mostly wears pastels and black.

Spring color season.

Celebrities/influencers who are similar to his ideal type: Bailey Bass (specifically her role as Tsireya), heyeloisa, Maria Isabel, Hanan Ismail, Malaika Firth, Gemma Ward, Aya Jones, Pasabist, sa1ntmarta, Melodie Monrose, Jessica Alexander, Tyla, Mia Goth, lame.cobain, Cindy Kimberly, Joyce Wrice, NingNing, & Amandla Stenberg

#ask #anon #lee felix #stray kids #stray kids tarot #kpop reading #kpop readings #celebrity readings

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lec743 · 1 year

Text

FNAF Fanfiction (Cherub AU)

I had a very specific song stuck in my head for this short story. When you see the linked “play” word, please play it for the background music. Hope you all and @starrspice enjoy the new story. *******************************************************************************************

Saying that Sun and Moon were happy that you were finally flying on your own would be an understatement. Even though you questioned Sun’s congratulations, you were still appreciative of their hustle in moving on to your other lessons. You easily breezed past through all the rest of them… despite how stupid some of the rules and protocols seemed. You’ll just hold your tongue for the meantime. You’re trying to speedrun helping your loved ones after all, you don’t have time to bicker with the sun themed cherub.

By the end of the second week, you and your cherub tutors were given your first group assignment. You were to focus on working with Sun as Moon had his own assignment but was in the same area.

The three of you stood on your apartment roof top as a scroll floated down from the heavens and into your cherub tutors’ hands. Sun held his scroll lower than Moon did, so you looked over his arm at what he was reading. Your eyes immediately rested on the profile picture of your best friend Hera Diaz. You haven’t seen her black ass in forever and your heart immediately ached with how much you missed having late night talks with her over the phone. Last you saw of her she had an afro that could rival treetops, and in this photo, she had a shaved head, but at least she still had that same crooked smile that warmed your heart.

The assignment stated that she cared deeply for a man named Steve Lee Yang and that he cared for her too, but they had been dancing around each other for a year and a half now. They were dancing around each other because Hera was oblivious, and Steve apparently was too anxious to say anything out right.

You rubbed at your eyes in slight irritation. You remember jokingly calling Hera a himbo once upon a time, making you both laugh with her agreeing, but you didn’t think it was true. You read over the many failed attempts of Steve trying to woo your friend. He wooed her with flowers, with gifts she liked, and they even went out on a “date”. However, the notes in the assignment said that Hera only took these romantic attempts as him being friendly, and Steve was too nervous to voice anything different. Who is this wet noodle of a man that’s thinks they can woo your best friend anyways? Especially since he doesn’t have the balls to actually articulate what she really means to him.

You read his profile, then further down you saw his profile picture. He was an Asian gentleman with puffy cheeks and a bowl hair cut that reminded you of that one Naruto character named Rock-something. After a moment, a light went off in your head, and you realized you know this Steve-man as well. He was a senor in your high school while you and Hera were a junior. You don’t remember much about him. Just that he seemed like he was always alone while on school grounds, but Hera said he was fun to talk to. You haven’t seen him in years. When did they reconnect?

“Ah, this is a classic problem,” Sun stated as he confidently rolled up the scroll, “Should be easy enough to fix.”

He sounded cheery as usual, but you didn’t trust it. You got the distinct impression that he was already tired of this job and the two of you haven’t even started it yet.

“How easy we talkin’ here,” you asked as you crossed your arms over your chest.

Sun gave you a thinned easy smile, “Like breathing air.”

You raised a disbelieving brow at him but said nothing more.

Sun turned to his counterpart, “What did you get?”

“A couple who hate each other but are pretending to be together.”

“Wait, that actually happens?” you asked in disbelief.

Moon nodded, “They’re both being stubborn.”

“Welp, let’s get a move on then. I’ll go stake out Hera’s place. I’ll meet you two back at Maple Park at 1pm.”

Before either of them could say anything else to you, you flew away at an exhilarating speed. You still can’t get over just how fun flying is. You do a few loopty-loops as you flew to Hera’s house in the suburbs, not needing to worry about being seen with the cloaking technique your tutors taught you.

You found a small one story home with a front lawn covered in frog ceramics. Half of them she bought as they were, while the other half are frogs she painted herself at a pottery store. It was a weekend, so you knew that Hera would be at home doing house chores. You looked through the windows until you saw a large, muscly black woman laying on the couch. Her living room, much like her front yard, was decorated in frogs of all kinds; paintings and wallpaper on the walls, statues, rugs, pillows, and wood carvings covered every other surface in the room.

Hera was surrounded by pillows, and she was watching her comfort movie Castle in the Sky. Her shoulders shook like she was crying. Your immediate reaction to seeing this was to whip out your phone and try to call her, but you hesitate as your thumb hovered over the speed dial. You floated there, outside her home, hesitating to reach out to her, for you don’t know for how long, until you heard her house phone ring.

Hera was sniffling as she paused the movie and got off the couch. Once she picked up the phone, she put a smile on and said, “Hello?” There was a pause. “Oh, hey Mama…” Hera shifted on her feet as she wiped away her tears. “Oh. Yah. I’m fine.”

Liar, you thought as you clutched your phone to your chest.

“The family cookout? I don’t know… I’m kind of busy.”

You felt your heart rate spike at those words. She’s never missed the monthly family cookout before. She loves going to them. She loves seeing her moms and her old neighbors that she grew up with and seeing new faces. Is this a recent thing? How long has she been shut away like this just crying?

“No… I know I’ve missed the last couple of months. I just… I don’t know Mama…”

You fumble your phone as you remembered the job you’re on. You rummage around your satchel until you pull out the pack of notepads that look like valentine day cards. What they actually are is Suggestion Pads. They give humans the openness to follow outside suggestions and influences; a gentle way of nudging people in the direction they need to go.

Ripping a card out of the pack, you crumble it up and throw it at Hera. The crumbled-up paper flattens as it slips under the gap of the closed window. Then it folds itself into a paper heart and smacks her in the back of her shaved head. She doesn’t react as she nods along to what her mama is saying on the other line; the paper being invisible to any that aren’t cherubs. You stood there outside her window as you silently pleaded with her to go to the cookout. She’s such a sensitive heart. She needs all the love and support from her family and friends. It kills you not being able to be there, but the least you could do was making sure others are there for her. You know that going to that cookout will help her.

Finally, you saw the piece of paper start to glow and it disappeared from your sight as Hera said, “Yah. Okay. Okay Mama. I’ll go… I’ll see you later… I love you too. Bye.” You fly away after she hung up. It was almost 1pm and it was time to meet up with your teachers.

You found Sun and Moon sitting on top of the biggest trees in Maple Park. It was a nice warm afternoon, so you didn’t mind it as you reported your findings and what you did. You had extra granola bars in your satchel and passed them out mindlessly as you spoke. Sun and Moon said quiet thank yous as you talked to them.

Sun nodded thoughtfully as he finished his granola bar, “Mmm. Good. I heard about this monthly cookout thing through Steve, too. It seems he goes to them quite often.”

You used to go to them often. You clear your throat to prevent yourself from frowning at the wrong subject and said, “And he’ll be to this one?”

You see Moon looking at you a bit funny as Sun nodded, “It sounded important, so I got him to go, suggesting that he hasn’t seen his friends there in a while.”

You take their trash and stuff it into your satchel, “Okay. So what’s next now that we have them both going to the same place?”

Sun’s rays around his head wiggled with pride as Moon smiled fondly at him. “There’s a plethora of things we can do,” Sun stated as he got out a big binder from his own satchel that reminded you of those books that football coaches look through at big games.

You internally bemoaned at the sight of the book. You and Sun don’t need a complicated plan to get your friend and her love interest together… right? Regardless, you resigned yourself to your fate as Sun opened the book and started talking about different strategies and plans the two of you can use to get Hera and Steve together. Moon seemed to be able to follow along with Sun’s plans better than you. You’ll ask him for some pointers in the future.

It was the evening of the family cookout. You, Sun, and Moon were sitting on the rooftop of a three story house across the street from a one story house that had a front yard full of people. People were bundled up against the cold and gathered around the grill or outside heaters to keep themselves warm as they chatted and the kids’ played games. Fairy Lights lined the picket fence and there was music playing from an old boombox that was attached to an ipod nano. The song Funky Town was filling the rest of the noisy air with its upbeat tune. Some people were even dancing in the middle of the road to the song.

The three of you watched the families and friends and neighbors go about their evening as you waited for your pieces to fall into place. Moon left the post first seeing his targets coming to the party looking like the happiest couple in the world. Steve came to the party before Hera arrived and it made you worried that she wouldn’t show up at all, but she walked up to the house thirty minutes after Steve integrated into the party spirit.

“Aright,” Sun said with a cheery clap of his hands, “You remember the plan?”

You roll your eyes and said, “How could I not.” It’s not like he hasn’t drilled the plan into your head for the past two days.

“Good.” He said curtly. Then he flew off to follow around Steve. You got up to do the same with Hera.

The plan is to do drunk confessions. Get Hera and Steve plastered enough that Steve is confident enough to finally spill his guts and Hera is accepting enough to not think he’s saying it in a friend type of way. You were getting Hera open for suggestions with your valentine-esk Suggestion Pads as you saw Steve and Sun coming over, with Steve holding two cups of alcohol. Steve had a nervous smile on his face as he called out to your friend. Hera turned to him and gave him half a smile. He was holding out one of the cups to her when he tripped over a garden hose that the kids were using as a plaything, and the alcohol splashed on to Hera’s sweater and jeans as Steve fell face first into the grass.

You sucked air between your teeth as Sun grimaced with you at the sight of Steve apologizing profusely and Hera reassuring him that it was fine. She went into her mothers’ house to change out of the alcohol-stained clothes and Steve found a quiet dark corner to wallow in his remorse.

You saw Sun rub his temple as he sighed, then he said, “Okay. Plan B.”

Plan B didn’t work out either. Or C. Or D. You and Sun were getting more and more frustrated with each failure. It was getting close to the end of the party. You and Sun were ready to call it quits for the night too, but you thought about Hera sitting in her home looking miserable and that smile she gave Steve looked genuine despite it being tired and you wanted to help her so badly.

“Sun. Please. Can I try something?”

Sun sighed out of his nose. “Might as well. What do you have in mind?”

“Just get Steve interested in dancing before he officially gives up for the night. Okay?”

“…Okay…” Sun gave you a look like he was wondering what you were thinking but he followed your lead.

You went over to the boombox and picked up the ipod nano. You knew, no matter how dower Hera is, she can’t help but dance to her favorite song. You found the song you wanted and pressed play and the song Overjoyed by Stevie Wonder played through the speakers. Across the thinned crowd you saw Hera perk at the music.

As the song reached the lyrics, “Over dreams, I have picked out a perfect come true,” you saw Steve walk up to Hera and offered his hand to her. She took his hand with a soft smile and the two of them started dancing with each other.

You flew over them with Sun and threw one last Suggestion Paper at Hera to confess her feelings, not trusting Steve to speak about his own feelings first. Steve was wide-eyed as Hera talked about how she felt about him and before she could quickly say that he doesn’t have to feel the same way about her, Steve was spilling his guts about how he felt and all the attempts he tried to romance her. They both ended up laughing and snorting at their own silliness with each other and you and Sun smiled as you two went back to the roof from across the street to watch them a bit more.

You were so happy to see Hera smiling.

“Hey. Good job, Rookie,” Sun said, and you believed him.

Soon Moon joined the two of you and you saw the same “happy” couple stomp away in opposite directions as they left the party.

“How did it go you two,” Moon asked.

“It was rough, but we did it. Now they just need to kiss to seal the deal,” Sun stated.

You did a double take between Sun and your best friend as she was dancing with her head resting on top of Steve’s head as they continued to lovingly slow dance together. Was he even seeing the same thing you were?

“What’s a stupid kiss gonna do?”

Sun got a sudden haughty attitude as he said, “A kiss is the ultimate display of love.”

“Yeah, I call bullshit,” you deadpanned, unable to contain yourself anymore.

Sun turned on you so fast you though you heard his neck pop, “Excuse me?!”

“Kisses are just a form of physical touch. They don’t mean anything.”

Out of the corner of your eye you could see Moon looking ready to get between the two of you.

“Oh yeah?!” Sun fumed.

“Yeah!” You said just as angry.

“Prove it then!”

“Fine I will!” You sneered as you moved without thinking about anything but proving Sun wrong. You grabbed the cherub by the sides of his face. His anger suddenly turned to panic as you pulled him in, and you gave him a kiss on the lips. It was fleeting and your noses bonked against each other from the force of you pulling him in but in the moment, you didn’t care as you let go of him. “See! I feel nothing for you, and you feel nothing for me! I win!”

You pushed past Moon who was looking at you in shock as you flew off the roof top. You only spared one last glance at your dancing friend before heading back to your apartment feeling more than just exhaustion.

#fnaf #fanfiction #cherub au #starrspice

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cloverdaisies · 9 months

Note

hi.. please could you do a juyeon angst with the song nearly witches by panic at the disco i love your writing by the way, thanks

sending all my love ;)

🧸 - anon

NEARLY WITCHES ☆ L.JY

a lee juyeon angst ! only read if you would like to shed a tear or two ! f! reader !

# GHJH 🧸 anon you little gem, thank you so much! i love this song a lot as well i couldn’t believe my fkn eyes when i saw the request ! how do you know i liked p!atd ?? WHO ARE U ?? YOU ACC KNOW ME but sorry for the long wait! here it is <3 THE SENDING ALL MY LOVE?? MY SIGN OFF?! reveal yourself at once ?? who are you >:(

Ever since you’d met, he’d only shoot up with your perfume, it was the only thing that made him feel as good as you do. The sweet scent of vanilla, pine, sandal wood surfaced every sweet memory. The exact way the little things in life would bring the biggest smile to your face, holding hands walking through a local park lit up in a pinky-tangerine blend from the sunset. Watching as you giggled when a small butterfly landed on the tip of your little nose lightly blowing it off with loving laughter. Or how you'd huff and puff in little fits of cute frustration when things didn't go your way, because there sure was one thing, you never admitted when you were wrong.

After what seemed like heaven, a relationship gifted to you by god's most important angels, things soon turned into glamorous hell. You two fought over trivial things like money, who is cheating on who, where the fuck had he put your car keys. Arguments soon outweighed the bliss, going to sleep on separate sides of the bed and failing to whisper goodnight to each other. The little actions, that made you leave him, forever.

A small envelope had been shoved through the metal slot of what used to be both Juyeon’s and yours home, but now it was just him the entire place was desolate. Like Jay Gatsby, the grand walls of his home were built entirely for you, his Daisy. Without you, between the polished spruce walls of your victorian style home, it was completely empty, eeringly quiet. He never let a spot of dust touch your paintings, inspecting them everyday knowing how hard you’d worked on him. The hole in his heart couldn’t bare to remove them, it was the only thing you’d left, along with a small bottle of your perfume which he sprayed when he felt he was the most lonely. The pain he felt without you, was unbearable, everyday he perfected his appearance hoping one day you’d show up at the door and return to his arms - but after 5 years, he decided there was no hope.

Juyeon reached to pick up the letter, immediately recognizing the handwriting on the front and scrambling to tear the envelope.

DEAR JUYEON LEE

you have been cordially invited to a night service to celebrate the wedding of:

(your name) & partner

at: oak tree hall, west avenue

date/time: Wednesday 17th January, 7:00pm

RSVP: 000-000-000

Immediately, he felt his heart shatter like fine glass, falling to his knees, with tears threatening to spill from his familiar cat-like brown eyes. Crumpling the page into a tight ball before booting it across the halls, landing with a light thump on the preserved wooden flooring.

You’d found someone knew, even worse, you’d been planning to marry someone that wasn’t him. He’d tried to do the same, but every woman that lied in his satin sheets were gone the next day because they could never compare to what you were, an angel sent especially for him - you were perfection in its finest form, everything he ever wanted and he still couldn’t give in after all these years. He only had one regret, and that was you. The love he felt for you, he would never feel again.

For days, Juyeon moped in your memories, finding a small scrapbook of yours that he’d kept neat ever since you’d left. With messy black hair laid between the pillows of the bed that once belonged to both of you, he flicked every page of photos that captured your happiest memories. With a bitter sigh, he reached to his night stand to grab that small bottle of perfume you’d left, which he used so sparingly to prolong its life. However, as he held the bottle up in front of his face and whined to himself when he saw that there was no more than a small drop left in the bottom of the glass container.

4:00pm, the miniature grandfather clock on his bedside chimed, it was Wednesday 17th January, while Juyeon refused to accept the invite you’d sent him, thinking it was above unordinary that you’d dare invite your ex to a wedding with your new partner, he was still in cahoots with his conscience on showing up.

He’d waited years to see you, despite the setting, it was his only chance to see you after all this time and perhaps maybe there was just one chance he could win you back, however he knew that was impossible, this was you showing him that you’d moved on, this was your spiteful move after all this time, the pain he caused you, you were giving back after years and yes it hurt him - like a shit load of bricks collapsing on him all at once, that was your intention, despite the fact you didn’t know that all he wanted was you, he waited all this time.

Juyeon couldn’t pass up on the chance to see you, for the first time in 5 years, probably the last time he’d see you in many to come. So he rose from the cream satin sheets of his grand bed and waltzed to the bathroom with a glint of ambition in his once dull eyes.

Showering, shaving the stubble he’d grown after days of not looking after himself so much since he knew you wouldn’t be visiting anytime soon. He neatly organized every strand of his hair to perfection before sighing and observing himself in mirror. A gorgeous man, he was, however over the years he was seeing that less and less, feeling more lonely and unwanted everyday which made him lose any sense of esteem he had left.

Juyeon had collected a huge wardrobe of clothes for himself, filled with neat shirts which the maid had ironed every day by his request, along with dresses for you which he’d bought in your size to surprise you with when you returned. Browsing each suit he owned, navy, maroon, pin stripe, grey, he eventually settled on a neat black suit he’d bought in case he ever had to attend something like a wedding - never guessing it would be yours. It had double rows of buttons and was paired with a long sleek black tie, the color complimented his every feature.

And by the time, he’d decided with himself it was around 6:20pm, he went to collect the chauffeur from his quarters and was met with a high look of confusion from the man when Juyeon had mentioned he needed to attend a wedding.

“Who’s wedding are you attending sir?” The chauffeur noisily asked from the front seat of the car, the sound of rain pattering on the metal roof drowning out his gruff voice.

“It will be (your name) and her new fella of sorts.” Juyeon attempted to separate his emotions from his speech, using a calm tone in order to avoid spitting the words from his lips.

“I’m so sorry sir, I thought one day she would return to you, not dare meet somebody new.” He replied with a saddened tone in his voice, attempting not to sound like he was sucking up to his employer in any way.

“Yeah, well I guess it’s life, people move on.” Juyeon grumbled closing off the conversation as they arrived outside Oak Tree Hall, the place you’d always decided you would be getting married. An old but grand building decorated in marble, surrounded by foliage and every kind of flower the earth has to gift.

Exiting the car and telling the chauffeur to come back at a certain time, Juyeon took a sharp breath of hesitance before taking another step towards the building. Guests spilling into the building from the ceremony which he wasn’t invited to, the chaos of jazz music sounding from every window that had been pushed out ever so slightly.

The bar was a disaster, with men and women queued chaotically trying to purchase an ounce of liquor. The dancefloor already full with people jovially swinging to the tunes in the background. To Juyeon, it was a huge mess and could never imagine this is what his own wedding would be like, he knew deep down that you probably thought that too. You were a character of elegance and class not whatever this disaster in front of him was.

He looked around for you, scanning the crowd with hopeful eyes until he saw the beautiful satin white gown fit for the most gorgeous bride trailing across the ground. You too were looking around over the crowd, as if you were trying to spot someone, he noticed how gorgeous your every feature still was, unchanged, his heart felt as if it was putting itself back together until he met your gaze. Your eyes landed on him, you couldn’t believe he was there, how badly you wanted him there, yet you thought he wouldn’t show. He looked the same, unchanged, he was gorgeous, his every feature still perfect. You wished you could run to him, you wished you could escape what you’d fallen into but you were frozen in time.

“My parents are over there darling, shall we go see them?” Your newly wed, pulled at your arm it wasn’t a question it was a demand and you were ripped from the gaze of your past lover.

Juyeon sighed to himself, however this seemed to bring him some clarity, you had moved on, now he can too, there was no way he would be getting you back and that was how he saw the close of your relationship together.

He sat down at one of the tables, where his allocated seat seemed to be, retrieving a glass of red from one of the servers waltzing the room.

He watched you greet each table, anticipating your arrival at his own, eventually you would be walking over slightly not managing in the little heels you’d worn. You smiled politely at him when you caught his eyes, he smiled back with no concern as the groom looked him up and down with slight jealousy in his eyes.

“Who’s this?”Your new partner asked, pointing towards Juyeon with a stern voice, noticeably irritated by his well kept demeanor and good looking features.

“This is Juyeon, an old school friend of mine!” You lied, Juyeon didn’t react physically but was confused with the false introduction, yet he went along with it nodding to your words.

“Congratulations.” Juyeon smiled, shaking his hand firmly, seemingly shutting the mouth of your partner with a polite yet passively aggressive interaction.

“Thank you.” Your partner smiled, looking behind him slightly to roll his eyes before snapping back to the conversation.

“Mày I have this dance?” Juyeon asked bravely as the song changed to a slower ballroom song, looking at your new husband for approval before he nodded and Juyeon took your hand.

His hand cupping yours, set sparks flying through your every vessel and his too, the shear feeling of his warm skin refreshed every memory. His scent was masculine, the same aftershave he’d always used overwhelming your every sense. You’d also always worn the same perfume, Juyeon being able to take in the scent as he closed into your neck, clasping one of your hands with his and placing another hand on your waist.

“Hello there, liar.” Juyeon spoke first, causing you to chuckle slightly as he’d always maintained the same humor over the years.

“I had to lie, if he knew I invited my ex he’d kill me.” You replied, with a sad laugh looking up at his concerned expression.

“He doesn’t need sorting out does he? He’s not hurting my sweetness is he?” He asked snidely, almost hissing out the words, the terms of endearment flipping your guts upside down in excitement.

“N-no, nothing like that he’s just a bit of a control freak. I love him though, it’s tolerable.” You replied, squeezing his shoulder in reassurance, unable to look at him as you think you may pass out if you did, due to his beautiful face and nature.

"That's not something you want to be saying about someone you've just married." He laughed, sending joy to your heart with the shear sound of voice.

"I guess not, is it?" You replied sarcastically, still not being able to look him in the eyes, as you swayed on the dancefloor.

As the both of you moved across the dancefloor, it was evident the song was coming to a close. It’s been years since you’ve felt the comfort of him, years since you’d felt this way. Finding the strength to look him in the eyes and almost melt into his touch. It was magical, the way he held you, the way he looked at you as if you were the only woman in the world.

"I've waited years for you." Juyeon replied shortly before going to speak again. " So if you change your mind you know where I am. Goodbye my sweetness."

With one last squeeze of your waist he let you go on the last string of the song, stunned for words, you wished you could run after him and kiss him until time ended, but your new husband had already whisked you away. Pulled away from what you didn't know you'd always wanted. You’d made a huge mistake, and as you watched Juyeon leave the room you couldn’t help but feel your heart break. Years were wasted with a man that could never make you feel the way he did, an unforgivable amount of time had passed and it was your fault. You’d put him through so much pain you wished you could take back, but you were trapped, it was too late.

It was too late for you both, hands in his pockets he walked out into the night, maybe one day you’d return, a singular tear fell from his eye. It was time to move on.

63 notes · View notes

nhularin · 1 year

Text

Some Enhypen headcanons because I'm bored

warnings: crack, nonsensical stuff😭😭 dont take this seriously please, me being delulu, dts in heeseungs, its 4 am my mind isnt minding, not proofread

HEESEUNG

Man

I feel like since he has his own room and yk, is a certified gamer™

He rage quits a lot and throws shit around

" User Goku_outdoer_forever stop playing around and get ur shit together or ill kill u!!!!" he's 13 please calm down Mr. Lee

his poor members will be startled awake by his outbursts

talking abt gamer boy hee

his room REEKS of sweat, energy drinks and pent up rage

its okay boo i still love u xx

Jay

facebook mom

"niki why are u making that face, SMILE"

takes 10k food pics from 9229 different angles

its ok tho the house smells amazing bc of him

fashion influencaaaa

Nope its not sunghoon sorry guys

forces jungwon or jake to rate his outfits of the week (in exchange for food of course)

Gets pissed when they rate it a score lower than 9 ( how dare u insult my ability to put clothes together)

Jake

How do i say this in the nicest way

This man gives me massive Kevin Nguyen vibes

Especially with his black hair and glasses

the way je flirts with engenes is criminal

dude i thought we had something serious why are u cheating on me

the type to drive up to ur house in a red maserati and baseball cap

ykw the whole oitfit of jake in subway surfers 😭

its okay babe ill ignore ur red flags

SUNGHOON

he sleeps with his eyes WIDE open

so damn still too😭 is he dead or just having a peaceful slumber??? No one knows

he reminds me of a lululemon girl (no i will not explain myself)

no thoughts behind those eyes

MC Sunghoon will forever be in my heart

tried to google funny gen z jokes but ended up on the wrong side of reddit

Now he's stuck with bad dad jokes :/ he thinks theyre funny too (they are babe ill always find them funny"

Wonyo and him gossip about the whole industry

might even be worse than sunoo...

i can see him being a (fanfic) writer

runs a red velvet (irene) account

SUNOO

Im scared

Dude is probably friend's with like half of the kpop industry

probably has a burn book (kidding!)

owns a fan account and causes fanwars

"Enha flops!" Watch as chaos unfolds

since its confirmed that idols have finstas

he owns a tea account abt hybe especially abt enhypen

" sunghoon smells like shit and doesnt wipe after pissing - s.jy" we all know its u sunoo

JUNGWON

biggest blackmailer

probably has shit on everyone and their mother

"Whattttt no he's innocent and would never do that" oh he would.

remember how he danced / popped in his sleep during i-land? now its worse

LMAOOOO imagine him bolting up fromhis bed like hes being electrocuted

poor sunoo sees his life flashing by

Okay i know this might sound crazy and so not jungwon but hear me out

He owns a tiktok stan account for jungkook

and makes those "would ____ survive a jungkook killer smile???" Videos and proceeds to add John Cena and JYP

Sunoo and him are the unbeatable duo when it comes to defending their faves

but when it comes to their own group.... crickets!!!!

NIKI

Gym RAT

not the good kind either he looks like he smells

kidding

or am i

probably spends hours in the bathroom trying to work on his thirst trap face

"riki stop hogging the bathroom" " im shitting!"

learns gg dances in his free time

yall definitely saw his pre debut videos man was EATING IT UPPPPP

imagine him dancing to poppy with his overgrown fetus body

#1 isa fan and swith im sorry 🤷🏻‍♀️

228 notes · View notes

hyubcore · 2 years

Text

little wonders / mark lee fanfiction

on paper, mark lee seems like the perfect boy; he’s charming, kind, caring, and cute. you see no flaws as you get to know him over the summer when he moves in across the street.

however, he fails to let you know that he’s dying before you start to fall for him.

wc: 17473

tags/warnings: gender neutral reader x mark lee, angst, romance, fluff, terminal illness, mcd, sad ending, read this to feel something i guess

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. i am not affiliated with sm entertainment or any members of nct. this is for entertainment purposes only. it is also not my intent to romanticize any illnesses, i apologize if i offend any readers in any way; please read with caution as this story is not for the faint of heart.

Who is he?

The first wonder occurs at your doorstep.

He stands tall, short, straight dirty-blonde hair covering his head, a black t-shirt along with tattered jeans covering his body. You don’t need to get any closer to notice something about him is different from the others surrounding him. Just by the way he moves, the way he stands—there’s something within him that brings him down. You want to know what it is. You want to know who he is.

You watch him as he slowly unpacks the boxes from the moving truck that sit in the driveway. Another woman, petite in size, and affectionate towards the man, helps him as he tries to lift each box out of the vehicle and into the house. There are moments where he sits on the driveway, taking in slow breaths, leaning against the house. He tilts his head back with his eyes shut. You wonder.

Who is he?

The first wonder is answered when he knocks on your door that very night. Seeing his face up close changes all the things that had been running through your head regarding him before. He has gentle, bright eyes that causes a tightening in your chest, for their brilliance is too much to bear all at once. Not only that, but the small smirk that forms upon his lips as you open the door. You suddenly can’t breathe.

“Hi,” is all he says. He has a raspy and deep voice, one that you would be okay with listening to for forever. “I’m supposed to give these to you.”

He hands over a plate of hotteok. The sweet scent of the dessert makes your stomach grumble. You hesitate to accept the plate, but reach over to grab it once the man in front of you coughs subtly. He smiles bigger as you examine the treats.

“Thank you,” you tell him. He nods. Your chest tightens even more as you watch him.

“I’m Mark, I’m living right across the street. you hope you enjoy the hotteok.” His voice is even raspier, but you still like it. He coughs again before leaving the front porch. As he walks away, your dog begins to bark. You pick him up before you wave to the man—Mark—but he doesn’t see you.

What is he doing?

The second wonder crosses your mind when you see Mark laying outside in the complete darkness, arms and legs stretched, no shirt on his body, looking up at the stars. He doesn’t move at all. As you watch from your bedroom window, your curiosity only grows more unbearable.

It’s late enough for you to get into trouble, but something about the cold draft that comes through your window every so often tells you to force Mark inside. You make your way down the stairs, and once you reach the final step, you grab your jacket from the coat hanger by the door and walk outside. You’re right; it is cold, too cold to be laying in the grass with no sort of coverage.

As you slowly walk across the street, you hug your arms to keep warm. Your nose already feels stuffy and your ears red from the chill. Not only does the cold air make you shiver, but the pure and utter silence that enveloped the atmosphere around you was rather frightening.

“Mark?” you speak. Your voice is piercing in the silence of the night. Mark doesn’t move for a moment, until he finally lifts himself up on his forearms. “Are you okay?”

He shifts in his spot, looking over at you. You can tell he’s in a daze, and you suspect he might be high, especially after he coughs a few times.

“I had an argument with my dad. I came out here to get some air. Sorry I worried you.”

You purse your lips, then sit down next to him. “It’s okay, I just noticed from my window. You looked pretty comfortable.” You both chuckle.

“Yeah, I used to do this a lot back home too. My dad and I aren’t necessarily best friends.”

You feel awkward, immediately being dished out to, however, you also feel comfortable sitting there with Mark. Even considering the fact that you can barely see his face, the sound of his gritty voice in the dense air brought you a sense of safety, despite the topic of conversation. You don’t want to push, but you also don’t want to ignore him.

“I’m sorry to hear,” you say instead.

“It’s okay. You should try it sometime—just go outside and stare at the sky. It’s best at night, there’s no cars or screaming children or anything.” Mark looks up as he speaks, setting his eye on the orion constellation above the two of you. “See the three dots there? That’s Orion. You learn a lot about the universe when you stare at it all the time.”

You chuckle, looking up to where Mark points. You clearly see what he’s referencing—it’s just about the only form that makes sense in the endless mixture of stars and galaxies. “I see it,” you say quietly. He smiles at you, and you smile back, then you both look up again. You wonder what’s up there, if it really is just particles of dust, being born and dying in just seconds, or if there was some life beyond humanity.

“You think there’s anything else out there?” you ask. “Like, life, I guess.” You immediately regret your question; it’s way too deep and philosophical for your first conversation; but Mark’s already looking at you deeply, likely wondering what goes on behind your eyes to ask such a question upon only meeting two days before.

“No,” Mark answers. “Even if there is, it doesn’t concern us as of right now. So I just ignore it.”

You nod, and Mark looks back up. You know then, he’s lying. He knows there’s something else out there.

When will I hear him sing?

Months pass, and ever since the first night it happened, you find Mark sitting outside every night. You wonder each time if it’s truly because he’s fighting with his father, or if he actually just enjoyed being outside at night. During the day, though, you’d see him in the same spot, writing in a little notebook.

The first time you notice him writing, you pretend to just be taking the dog out, but really, you want to say hi to Mark. He looks up at you immediately, and you wave, and he immediately puts the notebook to his side. You walk over, and he smiles at you brightly. Seeing him feels different from the last time you saw him, which was in the darkness of the late night. Now, you see all his features, his comforting eyes and smile.

“Are you okay with dogs?” you ask as you approach the lawn. Mark nods, opening his arms to your pet, and you let go of the leash for him to love on Mark. The wholesome sight sends a warmth through your chest.

“What’s his name?” Mark asks.

“Chewie,” you reply. “My dad likes Star Wars a lot.”

Mark laughs as he scratches behind Chewie’s ears. “Your dad is cool. So are you, Chewie.”

You chuckle at Mark’s baby voice he uses toward Chewie. You sit down next to him, and Chewie immediately sits in your lap comfortably. Mark reaches over to pet him, and you suddenly get nervous, having his hand so close to you. You look down and admire it; it seems so weird in the moment, to be admiring something as random as his hands, but the way his fingers were sculpted was like high art; you thought for a moment, maybe Mark isn’t real. You wonder who, or what, put him on this earth, right next to you. You feel lucky.

There are also periods of time where Mark’s never be outside, even when there are clear and sunny skies. That surprised you the most. Before, he could be outside for hours, whether it be raining, freezing, or way too windy to even keep the notebook on the ground. It had worried you, for the outdoors seemed to be his favorite place, it seemed to be his safe space.

Several weeks pass, and you feel worried for some reason. You don’t know him too well, but it feels like those scenarios where the coffee shop worker always sees the same old man, then the old man suddenly stops coming to get his daily cup of jo and muffin, and you just know the outcome yet never do anything to find the truth; you hope Mark is alive; deep down, you know he is, but part of him isn’t. He’s not outside anymore where he feels safe.

You decide to make hotteok one day. You bake with your mother as you watch reruns of your favorite crime show on TV. The baking process is a lot more difficult than you anticipated, but you power through it, and you think about the smile you’ll see on Mark’s face when you give him the plate of treats.

Once you finish, you run across the street and knock on the door, unable to keep still from excitement. Your spirits are crushed a little when Mark doesn’t answer the door. It’s his mother, and you realize then you’ve never introduced yourself to her.

You greet her kindly, and she smiles warmly back at you.

“I made hotteok for you guys,” you say sweetly. “I’m sure it won’t be as great as yours, but I wanted to do something nice. Is Mark home?”

The smile on her face suddenly fades as she reaches out for the plate. “Yeah, yes—he’s just been a little sick, is all. Want me to get him for you?”

Before you can answer her, Mark appears behind her, and immediately notices the smell of the hotteok. “You made some?” he asks. You nod and smile at him, and he smiles back, holding your eyes in his gaze for a moment. Your insides suddenly feel like jelly.

“Are you doing okay?” you ask, concern evident in your voice. Mark nods, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, just a little cold. I’m okay,” he replies. You smile, and his mother walks away with the hotteok.

“Well, I’m about to take Chewie on a walk, if you want to join. If you need to rest though—”

“I’d love to,” Mark interrupts. You weren’t planning to take Chewie on a walk, but there in Mark’s presence, you needed an excuse to be around him longer. His appearance is like a drug; once you look at him, there’s no looking away.

The two of you make your way down the sidewalk of the neighborhood, Chewie leading the way. The grass is a vibrant green, some houses decorated with flower gardens at their fronts. The sight entirely brings more happiness to the atmosphere.

You eventually reach a local park where there’s a wide field of grass, along with benches here and there. You find one beneath a tree to give some shade. You pick up a stick for Chewie as you claim your seat.

Mark sits while you take Chewie off his leash. You throw the stick, and he runs far from you, fur bouncing as he sprints. He eventually comes running back with the stick in his mouth, and once he reaches you, he jumps on Mark’s legs. Mark pets Chewie as he lets out a bark of glee. You smile at the sight.

“What have you been doing the past few weeks?” you ask, starting a conversation. Mark sighs as he looks out at the view of the grass and the trees before us.

“Nothing important,” he replies. You throw the stick for Chewie again. “Watched a lot of true crime podcasts, that’s for sure.”

You both chuckle softly.

“Also figuring out stuff for school. I might be going to university in the fall,” he informs. You nod, crossing your arms as a cool breeze comes through. Mark notices, and unzips his jacket. “Are you cold? You can—”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want you getting sick again,” you laugh, putting a hand on Mark’s arm. He freezes under your touch, and you suddenly freeze too. “So what are you going to study?”

Mark looks up. “Music. Songwriting, performing, and composing.”

You’re surprised at his answer, however, it finally starts to make sense. He was probably writing lyrics in his notebook all those days out on the lawn. “That’s amazing,” you reply. “It takes courage to do that stuff professionally. I’m excited for you.”

Knowing Mark has a passion for music immediately interests you. You suddenly wonder about all the lyrics he’s written and all the melodies and chord progressions he writes along with those poetic lines. You wonder about the stories behind these songs. You wonder about it all.

But most of all, you wonder, when will you hear him sing?

Do I like him?

Weeks pass, and it becomes routine for you and Mark to take Chewie on a walk every morning. There’s some mornings where he’s still sleeping, or he’s just not feeling up to the trek; but either way, it’s something to look forward to every night as you lay your head against your pillow. The summer was uneventful, up until Mark came into town.

It’s just another summer evening, and Mark texts you he was going to take me somewhere. You wondered what that somewhere was. Despite getting to know each other more and more over the past several weeks, you didn’t have any clue where he may be taking you. Either way, you dressed nicely, hoping to impress him a little more than usual.

You’re rather surprised when Mark drives you into the town. It’s quite busy, and so you wonder exactly why he’s brought you here, but either way, an excitement bubbles up inside you.

You walk the streets of the town, beneath the somewhat-dark night sky, moon shining bright thanks to the cloudless sky. Mark walks slowly, sure to look at every window of the small shops, nodding and smiling to every vendor along the sidewalk.

“Why exactly are we here?” you ask under a laugh. Mark doesn’t answer for a while.

“Don’t worry, we won’t be here long.”

You finally come to a stop, and it’s at a set up station, selling some sort of treats. The scent that fills your nose is rather familiar.

“Hotteok,” Mark cheers as he looks at me with a grin. You smile at him, then you both begin to laugh. He leads you closer to the stand. You impatiently wait as he pays for the food, your stomach growing more hungry, anticipation thriving. The scent reminds you of the moment you first met Mark up close; the fresh sight of his bright eyes, his marvelous smile; the first time you ever wondered about him.

You think about it, and sure, before that day, you wondered about Mark; people like Mark. Boys you thought didn’t exist. Boys who cared about your interests, your life story, your favorite foods; and boys that were cute. Mark is all of those things, it just seems too good to be true.

Mark completes the payment before handing you the snack. You immediately delve in, savoring the taste of the sweet treat. Mark guides the way back to the car, but asks you at each storefront if you want to go inside. You end up going into one small shop, which was a bookstore. In high school, you loved to read. You were always finishing exams early just so you could read an extra chapter of the novel you had in your backpack, and people may have judged you for reading in the library during lunch instead of sitting with friends, but you didn’t care. Books were your comfort.

You find a signed copy of your favorite book, and Mark notices your excitement.

“This is my favorite book of all time,” you inform him as he stands next to you. “But look.” You point to the signature, smiling excitedly. Mark holds out a hand, gesturing for you to hand it over, and you do exactly so. However, your heart begins to race as Mark speed-walks to the cash register.

“Mark, are you—”

“Shh,” he replies. You shove him on the shoulder, and he chuckles as he pulls out his wallet.

“Stop it, you don’t—”

“Yes, I do. I want to.”

You roll your eyes as you groan. The lady behind the counter hands Mark the receipt, which he immediately crumples up and puts into his pocket before handing you the book. You’re speechless, and you smile small, evidently flustered by Mark’s gesture.

“Mark, that was too nice. Thank you, truly,” you say sincerely.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. “Gifts are my love language, in a way.”

Love language. Is he in love with you? You can’t help but wonder.

“Where to next?” you ask once you reach the car, sitting in the passenger seat. Mark starts the engine before answering.

“My beach.”

“Your beach?” you ask with a small chuckle.

“Yes. It’s all mine.” Mark looks over at you, and you smile.

You drive down the main roads which soon turn into back roads, and you then realize why Mark had said my beach. The sands and water are completely secluded from the rest of the area. There’s no possible way anybody else could ever find it without taking a good 10 minute hike, but Mark knows exactly where to drive to avoid the thick forest that separates it from the rest of town.

Mark leads as you progress closer to the trillions of soft granules lining the beach. He seems to know this place inside and out.

He coughs. “I’ve been coming here a lot lately. The beach is more calm than anywhere else.”

You nod. You both find a spot in the center of the shore, which is a good distance away from the water. You can still feel slight mists as the tides roll in, though. The sensation, combined with the calmness of the night and Mark’s presence, is intoxicating, in a way,

“It’s nice,” you comment. You look around, and to your right is a large, rocky cliff. There are several rocks lining the bottom of it, the trail ending once it reaches the water. Behind you are the patches of dry grass. And to your left is the mound of sand combined with the meadow.

“Any updates on your music?” you ask Mark.

“Writing. Playing. It’s all the same,” Mark answers without enthusiasm. “How about you? What have you been up to?”

“Well, I’ve been worrying about you.”

Mark stays quiet. So do you. Except you're doing the thing that you always do, which is admire his being right beside you. You examine the way he stares at the waters before the two of you. His eyes are squinted, studying each foamy wave that crashes onto the shore, measuring the height and time difference of each swell; watching the moon as its reflection on the water grows brighter as the sky grows darker.

He finally stops his examination on the landscape and looks towards you.

“You brought the book,” Mark notes.

“I brought the book.” You laugh.

“Read me your favorite part,” Mark commands, and on instinct, you flip to the very last page.

“Maybe he is that flower that suddenly bloomed on the rhododendron bush I thought had died long ago; maybe he is that cloud, that wave, that rain, that mist. It isn’t only that he died, or how he died; it is what he died believing. And so I try to be kind to everything I see, and in everything I see, I see him.”

You both sit in silence for a moment after you close the book. Mark looks out at the water, and when you turn your head towards him, he looks down at his lap.

“Sorry if it’s depressing,” you apologize. “It’s just…it’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Mark interjects. “But you spoiled the ending.”

You both burst into a harmonious laughter. You jokingly smack yourself on the forehead. “I didn’t know you’d want to read it!”

Mark shakes his head. “You can read it to me. We can come here every weekend and you can just…read. I don’t know.”

You sit quiet for a moment as you imagine his idea; your heart races, your stomach becomes filled with butterflies, and you can’t help but let a foolish smile grow upon your lips. “Yeah, we can do that,” you answer. “Might take a while. This is a big book.”

Mark takes the book from your hands, flipping through the pages, stopping every few seconds.

“We can do it,” he says, the small, sincere smile still visible upon his lips.

“Okay,” you say.

Am I in love?

The first time you go to read on the beach, you sit far apart, and Mark stares out at the water as you speak. He sits silent, letting you flip the pages and giving you water when your mouth gets dry from speaking. When you get too tired to talk, you put the book down and just watch the water.

After the first time, you sit closer and closer each visit, until once you get to the third part of the book, Mark puts his arm around you and keeps you close, looking over your shoulder at the pages, reading along with you. You get tired again, and Mark takes the book from your hands and continues reading.

“You’re a lawyer. You’re the chair of the litigation department at Rosen Pritchard and Klein. You love your job; you work hard at it. You’re a mathematician. You’re a logician. You’ve tried to teach me, again and again. You were treated horribly. You came out on the other end. You were always you.” Mark closes the book after that paragraph. He sets the book next to him, and he looks over at you and smiles.

“Who are you, Mark?” you ask. “If that paragraph was about you, what would it say?”

Mark remains quiet for a moment, and you can tell he’s thinking. He stares down at his feet as he digs his toes in the sand. “You’re a musician. You love your craft; you work hard at it. You’re a songwriter. You’re a writer, in general. You write about the world and yourself and all the little things it brings. You struggle, but you keep trying. You think you want to give up, but you don’t. You’re always you.”

You smile, and you grab Mark’s hand. “What about you?”

You think hard. “I don’t know what I am.”

Mark puts a hand on your arm, caressing the surface of your skin. “You’re you, and you’re beautiful, kind, and compassionate. And funny, too. And beautiful, if I didn’t say it already.”

You shove your face in your hands, blushing hard, heart pounding, stomach flipping and turning. “Mark,” you groan.

You look up, and Mark licks his lips before biting down on his lower lip, the ends of his mouth curling up just slightly. You become entranced by the sight of him, so evidently enthralled by your presence, and you wonder. Is this what it feels like? You had never been in love, you’ve never been loved, not in the way people are supposed to be loved. Your parents loved you, but no one you weren't related to had ever been in love with you. At least not to your knowledge. Who knows, maybe Mark was in love with you the entire time, and you just didn’t know, until now.

You think for a moment, he’s going to kiss me, and you think maybe you should insist instead, since it feels like forever where his lips aren’t on yours. Instead, you stay frozen, and Mark just looks into your eyes, intoxicating you with his glare. He doesn’t kiss you; instead, he pulls you closer, until you’re resting your head in his lap, looking up at him and the stars. The billions of lights and galaxies up there. You can’t find Orion’s belt, or any of the other constellations Mark begins to point out—but you see Mark, and he sees you—and that’s enough.

Is this what love feels like?

Mark asks you out the next week after taking you out for hotteok and shopping. You figured that was a date, but Mark didn’t say so, until he specifically asked this time, Can I take you out on a date?

You go to the beach again, but this time he brings a picnic basket filled with various treats and snacks. He also brings a bottle of champagne, even despite both of you being underage. You never loved the taste of champagne, but you sip on the glass Mark pours for you anyway.

“White or red wine?” Mark asks as you take a sip from your flute. You chuckle as you set it down on top of the picnic basket.

“This is champagne, right?” you laugh. “But I like red, typically. My family has never been a white wine drinking family, so I haven’t had it too much.”

Mark nods as he takes a bite of a strawberry macaron. “Good to know.” He reaches out the macaron towards you, and you happily finish off the last bite. The sweet, fruity flavors on your tongue bring a smile to your face, and Mark smiles too as he notices your growing grin. Your heart skips a beat when he winks at you. He hands you another macaron, and you take a sniff of it as you’re unsure of the flavor.

“Café latte,” Mark comments. “My favorite.”

You take a bite, and you immediately understand why it’s his favorite. “This is amazing,” you comment. Mark chuckles.

“I know. That was the last one.”

You immediately hand over what's left of the macaron, and Mark declines. You shove it in his personal space, until he’s scooting away from you, and you grab his face and shove the treat in his mouth. He tries to fight you off, but fails, and you end up in his lap, arms on either side of his body. There’s suddenly a silence between you two that you can’t escape, but you don’t really mind it; Mark is the most comfortable space you’ve ever been in, and you’re glad he chooses to spend his precious time with you. You want to tell him this, however, you feel it’s too corny or sappy, and you know Mark might just laugh at you.

“Thanks for that,” Mark says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you look up at him. He looks at you longingly, and your heart starts to ache. You want to touch his face so badly, but you respect the fact that Mark likely doesn’t want that; and even if he does, it’s too early to be touching him so lovingly. You know you like Mark, maybe you’re even in love with him. But you don’t want to rush things. Even if you both had numbered days, even if the world was ending in just a week, you wanted to feel every joyful emotion that came with falling for someone, especially someone like Mark; you wanted to enjoy every special moment; you didn’t want to fall in all at once.

Mark taps the cover of your book, and you pick it up, opening up to where you left the bookmark. You only mark one passage this evening; “Why wasn’t friendship as good as a relationship? Why wasn’t it even better? It was two people who remained together, day after day, bound not by sex or physical attraction or money or children or property, but only by the shared agreement to keep going, the mutual dedication to a union that could never be codified.”

Is this the end?

You and Mark don’t read for almost two weeks. It’s almost August, and you know life for Mark is probably becoming more hectic as he prepares for school, so you try not to bother him. However, those two weeks, not texting or calling or going to the beach, were some of the most painful days you had ever lived. Part of you wanted to go over to his house, just knock on the door or throw rocks at his window, just to remind him you were thinking about him; but your pride got the better of you, and you kept your distance.

Until one weekend, you decide to knock on his door, just to make sure everything is okay; the intrusive thoughts remind you of the dark coffee-shop-old-man scenario. You need to make sure Mark’s alive.

“Hi,” you speak, holding on tight to the towels beneath your arm. Mark slowly blinks, most likely awaiting an explanation as to why you're standing before him. He looks tired; his hair is unbrushed, there’s a little stubble on his face, and he’s still in his pajamas. He coughs before wiping his eyes. “I’m going to the beach. Your beach, if you want to join me.”

Before you know it, Mark is in your car. You’re both quiet, and you try to focus on the music playing from your phone, humming along at some lines. Mark stares out the window. You try to reach over for his hand, and he lets you hold it, but he doesn’t reciprocate much.

“I’m sorry for kind of ghosting,” he says before clearing his throat. “Life hasn’t been easy lately. I just couldn’t see you.” You nod, even though it’s hard to understand his words, for they’re so vague. You figure it’s something having to do with college tuition, or something of the sort. It was stressful, for you had thought about that too, being out of high school for two years then. You could see why that would distance him.

“It’s okay,” you answer with a subtle grin. He does the same.

“Let’s go. I need a distraction.”

And you drive away. You’re driving down the busy streets and then the quiet, empty streets. You feel happiness and relief grow inside you, knowing Mark is no longer isolating or shutting you out. You squeeze his hand.

You reach the shore after several more minutes, the familiar sound of waves crashing and wind blowing through the trees filling your ears. It brings immediate comfort, carrying the various memories of quotes you loved so dearly being read by Mark as you sat on his lap.

“Can we swim?” Mark asks, and for some reason, he speaks with sadness. You say yes to the idea, for he asked, and you want him to be happy.

Soon enough you’re in the water, and it’s rather warm, despite the overcast skies. While you walk out deeper, Mark lags behind in the shallow. You walk back, hooking your arm around his, taking him with you.

The waves grow bigger once the wind picks up, sometimes swallowing your body beneath the water; meanwhile, Mark tries to stay above. You swim back towards him, since he apparently likes being in the shallow, and jump on his back. He lets out a laugh as you wrap your arms around him.

“Don’t let me drown,” you scold. He grabs onto your legs, walking further out into the water. When waves roll over, he turns around so your backs crash against them. Eventually, you jump off his torso, and he turns around so he’s facing you. He glares at you for a moment, then looks down at the water. He looks so calm, so peaceful, just standing right in front of you. You wish you could kiss his full, soft lips. You just know Mark’s a good kisser; you can tell just by the way he carries himself, how he speaks, the habit he has of licking his lips every so often.

Time passes, and you try your best to relax out in the water, even though the waves seem to be stronger as each minute passes. Mark starts drifting further away from you. You keep an eye on him, for the waves become stronger, and Mark gets farther, and you become more worried. You try to swim to him, but his body just gets smaller and smaller until it eventually disappears. You shout for him, and in the distance, you can see him coughing, struggling to keep above the surface.

“Mark?” you shout. He makes it out of the deep end, but once you finally reach him, he’s limp and weak. You drag his body back to shore as he lets out short coughs, water coming up each time, until he finally stops. When you lay his body on the sand, his eyes are still, and you feel his body freeze.

“Mark,” you panic, trying to keep him conscious. “Mark, can you hear me? Look at me, Mark, please.”

You put your ear to his chest, and there’s no movement or sound, and you panic even more. You look around, but there’s not a single other person in sight. You put a hand on his cold cheek, lightly slapping him, trying to get him to regain consciousness, but to no avail.

“Mark, please,” your eyes are welling up with tears as you panic. You remember what you learned ten years before in your CPR certification course; CAB; compression, airway, breath. You straddled his torso, putting all your weight into your palms as you pump his chest. Your tears fall right onto the sand, and you quickly try to wipe them away from your cheeks. You then tilt back his head, opening his mouth just slightly, pausing before leaning down to put your lips to his. You breathe hard, trying to get any and all life back into him. You were right; his lips are soft, but you didn’t want to have yours on them at that moment; you wanted to kiss him, really kiss him. Not try to save him from dying.

“Mark, come on.” You wait a moment for him to wake up, those seconds feeling like hours. You start to pump his chest again, until finally, water spurts up from his mouth as he coughs.

“Mark, hey, it’s okay. I’m here,” you comfort him as he coughs harder and harder. You give him space as he turns onto his stomach, holding himself up by his forearms. You grab his shoulders for extra support as he tries to catch his breath.

“I can’t,” he heaves in between coughs. He starts breathing heavily and quickly, and when he barks up another cough, there’s blood covering his forearm. You immediately panic again. He starts breathing heavily again, his eyes shut, head hanging loose towards the ground.

“Mark, we have to go to a hospital, can you make it to the car?” you help him stand up by wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You look over to him, and his face shows no emotion, but his eyelids are heavy and blood drips from his mouth. As you look at him, you brush a loose strand of hair from his face. He nods slowly, grabbing onto your free hand tight as he struggles to stand. He starts coughing more once we reach the car.

Once you’re settled in the car, you scramble to find a water bottle, but there’s nothing. “Just hang in there okay,” you tell Mark. He looks at you slowly, and you can tell he needs to say something. You grab his hand, squeezing tight. “What is it, Mark?”

“S-severance Hospital, go there,” he says, his voice gritty and dry. You nod, squeezing his hand again. He doesn't squeeze back.

Why did he lie?

They had to admit Mark into the hospital that week. You go to see him every day, and it’s hard, for he doesn’t seem to improve at all over the last few days. You still don’t know what’s wrong with him, but you figure he just was still coming down from his cold, and nearly drowning didn’t really help his recovery.

It’s a week since Mark was admitted, and you're sitting next to the bed where he rests, and he watches whatever series the hospital has on their TV. He looks like he’s hurting. There are tubes connecting him to the machines next to the bed, along with a nasal catheter, and an obnoxious beep comes from the vital monitor with each beat of his heart.

“Do you know when you can leave?” you ask Mark, grabbing his attention again. He slowly turns his head to look at you.

“No. Hopefully by the weekend.” He pulls the covers over his body more, getting more comfortable beneath the sheets. “You should head home. You’ve been here every day.”

You stand up so you can sit on the bed, putting one arm over Mark, brushing the brown locks of hair behind his ear. He moves his legs to make room.

“I need to know you’re okay.”

He looks the opposite direction from you, letting out a short breath. You grab his hand and hold it. His fingers are cold and dry beneath yours, and he turns his head towards me again and smiles small. He glances at your hands, and suddenly, his expression drops. He’s sad again. You wonder why.

“They said you saved my life. You gave me CPR,” Mark notes. You smile and nod.

“I did,” you answer. Mark chuckles.

“How was it? Kissing me,” he asks, and you roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder gently. He smacks your hand lightly, and you shake your head, showing how utterly sick of him you were in that moment.

“It was disgusting.” You purse your lips and Mark frowns. Your heart skips a beat, for he looks so cute with his pouty face. You want to actually kiss him, but you just don’t know if he’d reciprocate, or if that’s how he truly thinks of you. “And it wasn’t a kiss. I was trying to save you.”

Mark’s frown fades, and he looks at his lap, then up at you, then back at his lap again. “You should try and save me again.”

You smirk, and you don’t catch yourself leaning down to kiss him; he grabs your face, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. You shiver under his touch, the feeling electric; like he was sending his energy through you right through his fingertips.

“But you’re not dying right now,” you whisper, your lips just inches away from his. The tips of your noses touch, and Mark moves his hands from your face to your shoulders.

Mark’s smile fades.

“I am.”

You chuckle, cupping his face in your hands. “Shut up.”

Mark looks at your eyes as his hands fall from your shoulders. “I am. I’m dying.”

As if on cue, the doctor bursts through the door, and you quickly pull away from Mark. He looks at you with a certain gaze, and your heart feels heavy. You stand from the bed, and Mark reaches for your hand.

“Nice to see you again, Mark,” the doctor greets. He looks at the machines standing next to the bed, examining the different components. “Are you feeling any better?”

Silence grows in the room once Mark answers no. The doctor doesn’t seem shocked. You look at Mark, your eyebrows furrowed, lip quivering.

“Well, it seems you’ve gotten worse since your last visit. You’ve been taking all your medications and doing treatments, right?” The doctor shows great concern in this conversation. The look on his face is a mixture of worrisome and angry. Meanwhile, you're completely confused. You feel the need to leave the room, so you start towards the door, until Mark calls for you. You turn around.

“Would you like to be alone? I can come back,” the doctor asks awkwardly. You shake your head, leaving the room. Mark calls for you again. You reluctantly turn back, and the look on his face breaks your heart. He looks at you with a look that reads, I need you, and you feel your heart sink into your stomach.

You stand next to him, and the doctor quickly exits. Mark sits up, grabbing your hand, looking at you with sorry eyes.

“I have cystic fibrosis. It’s why I moved here—to participate in a clinical trial. I’m not going to school, I’m living in this hospital to do the trial.”

You sit down on the bed, looking ahead of you at the floor. The air seems to leave your lungs, and you struggle to catch your breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, voice barely audible. Mark looks at you, and there are tears in his eyes. He tugs on your hand, and you look away as you feel tears welling up too quickly to hold back. “You should have told me.”

Mark bites his lip, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I’m sorry,” Mark says. “I just wanted to be more than my sickness. I wanted to feel like a person to you. I’ve never felt the way I have with you.”

You look at Mark, and he smiles at you, but you can’t smile back. “You’re more than just a person to me,” you assure him. “But you should have told me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Mark repeats. “Before, I never let myself fall for anyone, because I thought I’d be dead the next day. But I couldn’t not fall for you.”

You sigh, a small smile forming on your lips. Before you can process it, Mark’s face is just inches from yours, holding your face in his hands. You bring your body closer to his, leaning into his space. You think, finally, he’s going to kiss you, but you’re wrong. He just sits there, breathing you in. You lean in closer, but he just pulls farther back. You sigh as you stand.

An uncomfortable stillness envelops the room. You wipe your eyes as Mark watches you closely. You breathe in deep, then grab Mark’s hand.

“I think I should go home,” you say softly. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Mark nods. “I think that’d be good. Just get some rest.”

Once you reach your car, you sit there for several moments. Then, you let it all go; you cry hard, loud, and violently. As you think about Mark laying in that flat and uncomfortable bed, trying his hardest to simply take a breath, tears fall from your eyes and the beating in your chest speeds up. Before you can allow yourself to get any angrier or upset, you drive off, going fast through the roads to your home. You sit in your car again, staring at the garage door in front of you. You start to wonder. You wonder about Mark.

Should you fall out of love?

Can you fall out of love?

Is it okay to be mad at him when you love him?

Why did he lie?

What will you do without him?

You don’t see Mark until a week after he was released from the hospital. You spend those days alone, processing the fact that someday, there will be no more Mark; even though you had only known him for a few months, the idea hurt you immensely. You also spent that time cursing yourself for being so upset. Of course Mark was going to die someday; so were you. You both were going to die. You wondered why you were so distraught.

To your surprise, when you visit Mark for the first time after the hospital, he isn’t in bed. Instead, you find him in the room next to his bedroom. The walls are a pleasant gray color, and the sun shining through the window adds more color and light to the room. The space is pretty empty, minus a few more machines that you assume are for Mark’s treatments, the oxygen tank that sends air to Mark’s nose, and right against the wall—a piano. Upright, black, and polished. And before it sits Mark, his eyes scanning the keys, but not playing them. You close the door behind you, which grabs Mark’s attention. He barely smiles as he glances up at me.

“Hey,” you greet. You walk closer to him. He makes space on the piano bench, and you take a seat next to him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice dry and quiet.

“For what?”

He slithers his hand slowly towards yours then he grips onto your fingers. “You know why.”

At first, you don’t know what to say. There isn’t even much to say.

“It’s okay,” you rub his shoulder, then reach your hand across the span of his back, pulling him close. “It’s okay.”

You sit in silence for a moment, just looking at one another, waiting for the other to speak. Mark then looks down at the piano keys, then back at you.

“I wrote you a song.” Mark says out of the blue. Your heart begins to race as you process the fact that Mark has sat down by himself, that notebook in hand, thinking about you and what words to conjure up that describe how he feels for you, imagining singing it right to you.

“W-why?” you ask, your voice breaking up as you speak.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

You smile as blood rushes to your cheeks, and you hang your head, hiding your face in your hands. Mark doesn’t touch you, but when you look up again, he’s still watching you with the soft smile he always has. You cover your lips as you can’t control the grin on your face. He puts his hands on the keys, just about to press down, until you put your hand on his, halting him from proceeding.

“Wait,” you interrupt. “I’m not ready.”

“What do you mean?” Mark laughs.

You let out a deep breath. “What’s the song about?”

Mark chuckles. “You, silly.”

“No, I mean, what about me, I—”

“Just listen.”

Mark puts his hands back on the keys, concentrating on the correct placement, then he presses down and the room fills with the sweet sound of an A major chord. You wait for Mark to sing, and it seems like forever until he finally starts to sing. The sound of his voice sends chills down your arms and spine.

Our lives are made

In these small hoursThese little wonders

These twists and turns of fate

You feel a warmth rush through your veins soon after, and goosebumps on your arms and thighs begin to rise. Mark sings, and you try damn hard not to cry, because his voice is oh-so comforting; it is the warmth of the sun on a spring morning, it is the smell of clean linen, it is the hug from your mother after a long day of school; it’s everything good in the world, wrapped up in the soundwaves of this single person’s vocal chords.

Time falls away

But these small hoursThese small hours

Still remain

He repeats the melody several times before playing the last few chords, repeating these small hours, these small hours still remain, and the chords become quieter and quieter, until Mark’s fingers lift from the piano keys.

More tears fall down your face as you look at Mark. You reach for his hand, slowly gripping onto it. You feel his flesh beneath your fingers, and you let out a sigh of relief, because he’s here. You see him and you feel him, and he’s alive.

He finally looks at you, and there are tears in his eyes too. He looks down at your lips, then back into your eyes. You feel your heart start to crack, for you can tell just by the look in his eyes that he’s tired.

“Thank you,” you say finally. He grabs your hand and holds it tight, and your heart fully breaks at that moment. You stand up from the piano bench, turning away from him, letting the tears fall fast and hard. You thought you cried all that you could in those several days where Mark was still in the hospital, but you were wrong. You were so wrong; your eyes can’t seem to stop watering.

You hear Mark get up behind you. He quickly stands, then walks in front of you, putting his hands on your cheeks, wiping the tears that just don’t seem to stop coming.

Mark takes you in his arms as you cry. You let out all the emotions you have felt since the day you met him, all the confusion you felt since he told you he was dying. All the sadness you’ve felt since you realized how much you love him, the pain of thinking this could be the last time he holds you, or this could be the last time you smell his scent, or the last time you feel his arms around you.

“I’ll be okay,” he whispers to you. That only causes more sobs to escape. You suddenly can’t breathe, for your cries have become too much, and your face is buried in the curve of Mark’s neck and shoulder. You hold him tighter, feeling his torso on each centimeter of your arms.

“This trial,” you finally say, lifting your head from Mark’s shoulder. “It’s gonna keep you here, right? You won’t—you’re not gonna be dying anymore, right?”

Mark wipes your tears and tucks the strands of hair that cover your face. “I hope so. We really hope.”

“What’s hope? It’s gonna work, right? I mean, it’s science, it’s supposed to help, it’ll keep you here—”

“It’ll work. It’s not as simple as taking a pill every day, but it will work.”

Mark smiles, and he pokes your cheek, and you smile, too. His eyes travel from your gaze, to your nose, then your lips, then your neck, until he burrows his face in the crook between your shoulder and neck. You wrap your arms around his waist and pull him close.

He continues his path to the back of your neck, and before you know it, he's pulling your face closer to his—slowly but surely. you sharply breathe momentarily, trying to comprehend Mark's actions.

"Y/N," he says as your foreheads touch. "I want to kiss you. Just this once." He looks down at your lips. You try to answer, but when you open your mouth to speak, nothing comes out. Your heart has sunk so deep within your chest, and your throat hurts so bad from crying that you simply can’t talk. Instead, you nod.

Mark brings his hands down along the length of your arms, then around your waist. He looks up at you again, your lips now just barely touching. You place your hand on his soft cheek as you pull him closer. And then, without hesitation, he kisses you. You let him do it the way he wants to, which is smooth, soft, subtle and effective. You hold onto the kiss as he tries to pull away. But eventually, his lips are disconnected, and he whispers, "Just once."

Contrary to what you expected for your first kiss, your heart slows down to a steady pace, and you feel relaxed. Less worried about what Mark just revealed to you; given you can feel his lips on yours, and you can feel his hair and skin beneath your fingertips. You feel him, he’s alive, he’s there with you.

You want nothing more in the world then but to kiss him more. Just one more time. One more chance to feel his lips against yours, one more chance to hold his delicate face in your hands, one more chance to just feel him. But Mark glances down to the area of your chest, and rests his forehead on your shoulder. You pull him closer, his head buried in between your neck and shoulder, and his arms wrap tighter around your torso.

He finally looks up at you again, a shooting pain runs through your chest.

He places his hand on your cheek. “‘I’m sorry.”

You wonder, what will I do without him?

Are you still in love?

Every day for the next two weeks, you show up at Mark’s house at the same time. Each visit, he’d be laying in bed, either sleeping or writing in his songbook. As each day passed, he talked less, he didn’t smile as big, and his eyes became more sullen.

There’s one week left until Mark would go to the hospital indefinitely to start the clinical trial. His mother would often be packing bags, preparing for his stay.

“Welcome.” His mother opens the door one day and you slowly step in. You told her you would help her gather Mark’s things and organize them for his stay, as much as she said she didn’t need the help, you wanted an excuse to be around Mark.

“Mark is upstairs,” Mrs. Lee instructs. You smile at her before you walk up the stairs. Once you reach the next floor, there are multiple rooms, and you go to the only familiar one where Mark rests. His room is completely silent, other than the barely audible piano music playing from a small speaker next to his bed. He lays on the bed, eyes nearly shut, covered in blankets.

Once he hears you step in the room, his eyes seem to light up. To your surprise, a smile forms on his face.

“Hey, Mark.” You walk closer to the bed. He doesn’t speak. He just smiles. You sit down in the cushioned chair in the corner, but Mark immediately motions for you to come near him. You kneel next to the bed, where there’s a single machine keeping track of Mark’s vitals. The noise starts to become more and more familiar to you.

Mark attempts a deep breath, but it’s shorter than anticipated. He turns over onto his side so he’s facing you. You help him become more comfortable by adjusting the pillows behind his head, then tucking the blankets over him further.

“Is this okay?” you ask him as you place your hand on his shoulder. He nods.

“Perfect.”

Neither of you speak as you sit down again. The music slowly fades out before beginning a new song. It’s a slow and peaceful song, and you can tell Mark is focused on it. As he brushes his fingers over your hand, he presses against your arm along with the melody of the song. you laugh, and so does he.

Once the song is halfway over, Mark’s mother walks in. She has a small plate in her hands, and suddenly, the scent of hotteok fills your nose. You look at Mark, and he smiles again. Mrs. Lee sets the plate on the table next to the bed, and Mark immediately reaches for the food. you grab one of the cakes for him, tearing off a piece and putting it to his mouth. The corners of his lips turn up as he chews. You take a piece for yourself.

Time passes, and you eat the remainder of the hotteok, listening to the music pouring from the speakers. Mark closes his eyes now and then, but you hold his hand again, and he opens his eyes again. And in between all that, he has coughing attacks, and then complains about a sore throat. You give him water each time.

You can tell Mark has grown to be rather drowsy, but he still asks you to sit in bed with him. You gladly crawl under the covers, and the whole time, he’s smiling. You take note of the way his eyes brighten when he grins, for it makes your heart pound out of pure love and admiration. If you could keep him here and make him smile for the rest of his life, you would.

You’re both beneath the duvet, and Mark’s small body is curled up next to yours. He practically covers you entirely, for he is now laying right on top of you. His body weight is light—and you know it’s a bad thing. As you run your hand up and down his back, you feel his ribs through his skin, along with the short breaths he takes. He starts to drift off, and he’s aware, because as soon as his eyelids begin to fall he picks up his head to look at you.

“Y/N.” His voice sounds the same whenever he repeats your name, but each time, it’s something new. Your heart still races and your stomach always tingles.

You brush a strand of hair from his forehead, continuing to stroke his brown locks. “What is it?”

He looks down in embarrassment, but you gently place your fingers below his chin, and he picks his head up again. He blushes as you look him in his eyes.

“Can I kiss you again?”

His question makes the air in your lungs vanish. Again, you lose all ability to speak, and you just end up staring at him like an idiot. But, you don’t need to answer this time, because Mark goes ahead and kisses you without warning. You move your hand back down to his waist, wrapping your arm around him. He places his hands on both your cheeks which sends your whole body into a shudder. The feeling of him being this close to you is one you wish you could experience many times after this, but you know that isn’t the case, so you savor each millisecond and the touch of his fingers on your face and our hearts beating right along with one another.

Mark stops the kiss for a moment, only to give you one last peck. You keep your eyes closed as he pulls away.

“Can I just…I don’t know,” Mark trails on, flustered. You grab onto his hand to reassure him that he can talk to you. “Will you let me just, touch you?”

You nod.

And his fingers are brushing against the features of your face—your dry lips, the area beneath your eyes, the edges of your eyelids, all along your hairline, then his hands are rustling the strands atop your head. The feeling is soothing and sends you into a calm state. You softly close your eyes, and Mark continues feeling you. His touches move from your head down to your neck and collarbone. His thumb grazes over your throat, which tickles, and you let out a small chuckle. He then traces the length of your clavicle, which leads him to your shoulder. He pulls down your t-shirt to reveal more of your skin. you don’t expect him to start to softly kiss the area. The action causes me to shiver, especially when his hands sneak beneath the hem of your shirt. His hands explore your body as you feel the goosebumps rise all over your arms and your legs.

“Y/N,” Mark says for the umpteenth time. He takes his hands and places them on your shoulders. He rests his head on your chest. “Find someone better than me, okay?”

“That’s impossible.”

Mark sighs. “Find someone who will live long enough to love you.”

“You will live long enough. You’re going to be a part of this amazing trial in just a few days, right? You’ll be fine,” you reassure. “You were the one talking about hope. It’s gonna work.”

Mark sighs before he purses his lips. He nods.

Mark eventually falls asleep, and he’s still resting on top of you. You gently get up and place his body in a comfortable position, covering his shoulders with the blankets, and adjusting the cannula to his nose, making sure he’s getting the oxygen he needs. Once he’s still again, you make your way out of the bed. You kneel next to him before you leave.

You softly brush your fingertips over his face, tracing his hairline, feeling the soft hair behind his ear, down his jawline and neck. You feel the area where his pulse beats, and when you feel the rhythmic oscillation, you feel the worry and anxiousness lift off your shoulders. You take note of how he’s slowly breathing and how his pulse continually beats beneath your fingers.

Once the outside sky turns into a dark void, you tell yourself that Mark should rest without admiring him. You stand up, bending over Mark's face. You place a soft kiss on his forehead, and you wonder, am I still in love?

Should I have fallen in love?

You wake up the next day with five missed calls from Mark. You immediately feel relentless worry bubble up inside you. Your heart paces as you call him back, praying it’s Mark who answers, and not his mother. Your heart stops when you hear his husky voice tell you good morning.

“Mark,” you breathe. “Are you alright?”

“I’m okay. I just need you to do something for me.”

You pause. “What is it?”

“Take me to my beach. Just one last time before I leave.”

Hearing him say last time makes the temporary excitement in you vanish completely. The way he says it—you can tell he’s sad. But you don’t want him to be sad. So you put on your best outfit, throw your book into your bag, and drive over to Mark’s home.

He’s already sitting out on the front lawn. You jump out of your car to see him. You notice he doesn’t have his little oxygen tank, and he’s breathing on his own.

“Hi Mark,” you greet, sitting next to the boy. He looks at you but he doesn’t smile. You try not to think much of it. “Do you wanna go?”

He nods. So you hook your arm around his and help him stand, grabbing his oxygen from the garage where he set it before, and eventually getting him into the car.

As you drive, he stays quiet, which you expect due to his rather glum mood. You reach your hand over towards him, placing it on his leg. He softly covers it with his beautiful fingers, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. You glance at him, and he’s looking down at your hands.

“You’re okay,” you tell him, almost more so reassuring yourself rather than him. You don’t necessarily know what’s bothering him—other than the fact that his days are numbered if this trial doesn’t work—but you reassure him anyway. You know it’s what he needs.

You reach the bumpy back roads which indicates you’re almost to your destination. Mark occasionally starts coughing a lot, and you worry, but you’ve learned that’s normal for him. He gets over it within a matter of seconds. At one point, you look over at Mark, and you can tell he’s studying the trees and bushes and small buildings we pass by as we drive. His eyes are slightly squinted, the window slightly rolled down for fresh air. All you can think is he is so damn beautiful.

You take one last turn before parking right before the stretch of woods. Mark slowly gets out—slow enough for you to exit and help him. He takes your hand, and you walk.

You lay out your beach blanket, and you help Mark sit down, positioning his oxygen right next to him. You sit next to him closely. Once your feet sink into the sand, it seems as if Mark sinks deeper into sadness, and you sink further into guilt. All you wanted was to reassure him, to remind him how he’d make it out of that hospital; but none of it seems to work.

You grab your bag and pull out the book, your book, and gesture towards Mark. He smiles and nods, and you open to the page you both left off on. You have reached Part V, The Happy Years. You brought your annotation kit, for you and Mark like to mark your favorite quotes and write down all your thoughts.

“…he too felt that his relationship with Jude existed to no one but themselves: it seemed something sacred, and fought-for, and unique to them.”

“Mark that one,” Mark says. You nod, grabbing a sticky note sticking it to the page. He puts his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer as you continue reading.

“That one too,” Mark says. And he repeats it throughout the night as you continue to read. You read and read and read, until the sun sets, until Mark has to hold his phone up to the book so you can actually see the words on the pages.

“But now he knows for certain how true the axiom is, because he himself––his very life––has proven it. The person I was will always be the person I am, he realizes. The context may have changed: he may be in this apartment, and he may have a job that he enjoys and that pays him well, and he may have parents and friends he loves.”

You read almost 100 pages that night, until you close the book, looking up at Mark.

“I’m really tired,” you comment. Mark pulls his arm from around your shoulders.

“Me too,” Mark says. “I have to get to the hospital kinda early tomorrow.”

You put the book back into your bag, and you stand before helping Mark as well. He lets out a breath as he straightens his back. You grab his oxygen, carrying it to the car for him. He lets out a deep breath as he sits in the passenger seat. You put a hand on his forehead, and he turns his head towards you, and you kiss him tenderly. He barely reciprocates, but you don’t get upbeat about it. You know he’s tired.

“Do you feel okay?” you ask before you drive away. Mark looks over at you, and his eyes are dull and sullen.

“Spend the night with me.”

You look at him for a moment, then you nod. “Okay.”

You help each other set up a mini fort in the piano room, which ends up just becoming a pile of soft pillows and fluffy blankets. Mark throws some pillows at you jokingly, and your heart feels relief as you witness Mark’s true lightheartedness seep through the true pain he was in.

You tell Mark to rest while you go to the kitchen and get some snacks. You meet Mark’s mother who is already making popcorn in the microwave.

“Hi Mrs. Lee,” you greet. She smiles at your appearance.

“Hello, dear,” she replies happily. The microwave beeps immediately after she speaks. As she takes out the bag, she walks over to the island in the middle of the kitchen where all of Mark’s supplements are sorted out.

“Want me to take those up for him?”

She nods. As she closes the caps to the several pill bottles, you can tell she’s sad. you want to say something, but you don’t know what.

“Thank you, dear.” She looks up at you with a glint in her eye.

“It’s no problem, Mrs. Lee.” you ask as you walk closer to her.

“No, thank you for making my son happy again. I swear, the minute he realized how serious this sickness was, he was so…sad. He was so closed off. He stopped his piano and singing. He barely spoke to anyone. He knew if he became attached to anyone, leaving them would hurt too much. You really changed him.”

You don’t know what to say. You feel like crying a little. So you don’t say anything. You just smile.

“He adores you so much.”

“I love him,” you spit out. You can’t catch yourself saying it, but it just comes out, and Mrs. Lee looks surprised for a moment. “I know we’re young, and maybe we don’t really know what love is, but if love is a feeling, I think it’s what I feel for him.”

There’s a long pause, but you focus on the growing scent of popcorn to distract yourself. Mrs. Lee slides the bowl of pills over to you before patting your back. “Go have fun.”

So you walk up the steps again, and you already hear the sound of the piano coming from the room. You smile to yourself as you listen from outside the door. Although it does sound dark and solemn, it’s fast paced, and you can hear a slight energy behind each note. You can tell Mark hasn’t played like this in a while.

You crack the door open, not wanting Mark to notice you. Even as you begin to creep inside, he continues to play like there’s no tomorrow. You feel your smile growing bigger and bigger the further into the song he gets. You walk towards him, no longer caring if he notices. You watch his fingers press down on the keys repetitively.

Instead of turning around and looking at you again when he finishes, Mark stays staring at the keys. You place the bowl of popcorn on the ground, then wrap your arms around his chest, resting your chin on his shoulder. He sets his hand over your arm and softly strokes it.

“You okay?” you ask him with a soft tone. He then starts to stand again, facing you. He softly nods with a small smile, which you can tell is fake, before standing on his toes and placing a light kiss on your cheek. He walks over to the pile of blankets and pillows. You grab the popcorn and join him.

He grabs the laptop from beside where he spreads his body to rest, and you do the same. His head is nuzzled up on your shoulder, hands resting either on your chest or your stomach. He turns on a movie, which you assume is his favorite. Dead Poets Society. You don’t have to look twice to see how happy he is to be watching it.

While he has his focus on the movie, you’re focused on Mark. As he chows down on the popcorn, you make sure he’s okay; you place a kiss on his forehead, and sometimes, he’ll kiss you straight on the lips. Each time, his lips are salty from the popcorn, but you don’t care, because it’s Mark you're kissing.

It’s about the middle of the movie when Mark suddenly closes the laptop and sets it away. He rests against your body again, letting his weight sink into your side. He groans a little before he crawls on top of you completely. He has one leg on either side of your waist, and he grabs your face in his hands, looking right at your lips, but he doesn’t try to kiss you. You wrap your arms around his small body and pull him closer.

“Y/N.” You hold his hand, for you’ve learned that when Mark says your name this way, he’s going to say something important. His eyes glisten from the streetlight slipping through the blinds of the window above you. He looks down, letting out a sigh. Picking his head up again, he says, “you’re so beautiful.”

He kisses you—just once—softly and delicately. But he keeps his face close to yours, so your foreheads are touching along with your noses. You run your hand up and down his spine, feeling each vertebrae, taking note of his slow breaths. Eventually, Mark lets his body fully collapse on yours. You wrap your arms completely around him so he’s even more close to you. His arms are now loosely around your neck, stroking your hair.

You roll over to where he’s on his back and you’re straddling his waist. He puts his hands on your hips, stroking the length of your thigh, up and down, and the feeling makes your breath hitch a little and the butterflies in your stomach release. You wanted Mark so badly then, you felt your whole body tingle.

“I love you, Mark.”

He pauses as he looks up at you. You hear him swallow hard, and his heartbeat speeds up as you place a hand on his chest. The feeling of each thump beneath your skin reassures you. He’s here, he’s alive, he’s with you, and he’s Mark. You want to see him fully, in his purest form, so you tug at the hem of his sweatshirt, and he sits up to pull the cloth over his head.

“I love you, Y/N.” He pulls you closer, kissing you deep and tenderly. You let yourself lay on his side, keeping one leg wrapped over his lap. He pulls away from your kiss and looks at you longingly. “Can I?”

He gestures to your shirt, and you nod, ridding yourself of the clothing. When he pulls you closer and your chests touch, an electric field seems to form between you, keeping you both within each other’s orbit, unable to pull away. He caresses your back as you touch all over his torso. As each second passes, your heart becomes more eager and your stomach grows more tingly. Mark touches your hips, and you feel like you want to implode; you want him touching you all over, but such a thing is impossible all at once. You want a thousand years to spend with him so you can explore all of him, you want him all to yourself, you never want him to let go; your selfish need to have him all over you was a craving too insatiable.

“Mark,” you exhale. “Please, fucking live. You can’t die.”

Mark lets out a deep breath through his nose as your foreheads touch. He frowns, and you kiss him softly. He’s going to cry. You can feel it in the air, you can see it in his face.

“Mark, don’t cry.” You take his hands from his face, holding them tightly. Tears are forming in your eyes faster than you want them to. Then they suddenly attack completely, falling like waterfalls down your cheeks.

You swallow hard. “We have now okay? I’m here, you’re here. It’s okay,” your voice cracks as you speak. He nods slowly. “We have this right now. And you’re gonna get better from the trial. Just keep looking at me, okay?”

Mark looks down. “I’m so tired,” he breathes. “I’m tired of everything. I need this to work, I’m so goddamn tired.”

“I know, Mark, but it’s gone too far. I’m in love with you. And if you give up, I’ll fucking die, I think. So you have to keep going. Even though you’re tired.”

Mark sighs, his breath shaky as it leaves his lips. You blink slowly, pressing your forehead against his. He puts a hand on your cheek. “I shouldn’t have let you love me.”

You purse your lips. “We both knew, Mark. There wasn’t any stopping it.”

“We should sleep,” Mark suggests, obviously not wanting to talk about the topic any longer. He lays himself down on his back, pulling the blankets over his body. You stay sitting up as you watch him. “Lay down, Y/N.”

You follow his instructions, resting your body next to his. You immediately begin to feel your body and your mind grow more and more tired. As you close your eyes and let out a breath, Mark pokes at your side, grabbing your attention again. You look over at him, and he’s facing you as he rests on his side. Instead of touching him, you admire him—his round eyes that glare at me longingly, his cute nose, his pretty lips, his velvet skin. His eyelids slowly droop as he looks at you.

You can tell he doesn’t feel like speaking. He just wants to be there. So you let him do that. Mark crawls closer to you, bringing your faces close together again. You close your eyes as you feel his hands on your arms, stroking them slowly. You hold your breath, and you stay frozen, for Mark seems so precious and fragile at this point—you don’t want to break him any more than you already have.

You open your eyes for a moment to see Mark’s are shut. You sneak your arm behind his back, bringing him closer. You do it gently, just like the way you kiss him after. Slow and gentle. You hold on to the kiss as you take in the feeling of his lips—soft, sweet. He barely kisses back, and you know it’s because he’s so drained. He just wants to let go. He wants to get the heartache over with. He just wants to be done.

You pull away, and he looks up at you.

“Y/N.”

You worry.

“I’m sorry,” he says. You shake your head.

“You have no reason to be sorry. Just rest, Mark,” you instruct him.

“I shouldn’t have let you love me,” he says again.

You wonder. Maybe I shouldn’t have fallen in love.

What does he dream about?

Mark was admitted to the hospital on November 21. You visited him for the first time on November 22. He made sure to show you around the facility, for he already knew you would be basically living there along with him. It was a nice hospital, if hospitals could be considered nice. There were decorations on each door for the patients, which you could tell were all like Mark—18-24 years old, all living with CF, participating in the drug trial. You imagined a utopia where the trial worked and Mark would be part of some life-changing scientific study; you imagined reading the peer-reviewed journals of the entire experiment that would save millions across the globe, including Mark, who you loved so dearly.

But that was early on. You only saw Mark a few days after he first was admitted, as it was Christmas time, and for winter break, you always visited your family out of state. You facetimed Mark every day, though, and he’d update you on all the things he cared for most; he started reading your book by himself, and he was writing songs every day. He never mentioned how he was feeling, or how the trial was going. He got his first dose of the drug on November 25. You texted him immediately when you woke up that day.

How do you feel?

i haven’t had the drug yet, so still like shit lol

Oh, well let me know when you get it! I’m so excited for you!

<3 i miss u

I miss you too. One more week!!!

You’re walking downtown with your family one night after dinner, when you go into a souvenir store with your cousin, where you find lots of various gifts for Mark. You end up buying him a bracelet made of crystal beads, all a dark green color that reminds you of him. You also buy him a sweatshirt. You noticed him wearing sweatshirts in all your facetime calls, giving him one more couldn’t hurt, and you could rest well knowing a piece of you was with him at all times, enveloping him in warmth like the hugs you wish you could give him over and over.

When you get home, the first thing you do is wrap all the little things you bought and found for Mark. You decide to write him a little letter as well, which you fold up into the gift bag. You leave for the hospital as soon as you get home, not wanting to waste a single moment longer away from Mark.

Your heart is beating fast when you grab your visitor's pass, but your heart beats even faster as the elevator moves up the several floors. You haven’t seen Mark in exactly 9 days, and for you, that was 9 days too long. You practically run to his room as soon as you’re in the unit, and his door is closed like normal, and you smile to yourself when you see his decorative name tag on the door. Mark. You can’t wait to say his name again, you can’t wait to see the smile on his face as you say it.

When the nurse opens the door for you, Mark is fast asleep, lying on his side. Some Marvel movie is playing on the television, but you can’t decipher which one. You take a seat on the chair next to his bed. You scoot closer, putting your hand over his, stroking his hair with your other hand. His eyes slowly flutter open, and you smile, witnessing him in his peaceful slumber brings a certain lift to your spirit. You wonder what he dreams about; if he has weird dreams like the rest of us, or if he has lovely dreams, or nightmares. You hope not. He suffers enough, and you think to yourself, if you could crawl inside his brain and fend off any negative thoughts that might seep in during his slumber, you’d do so.

“Mark,” you say. He smiles as his eyes open just enough to see you. He immediately tries to sit up and reaches his arms out. “Mark, Mark, Mark.”

He hugs you, eventually pulling you off the chair and onto the bed. “Hi,” he says, and you giggle as you lay on your side, facing your boy. He smiles too, holding your face in his hands, and god, you missed the feeling so bad. You put your forehead against his and close your eyes.

“Hi,” you whisper. Mark doesn’t hesitate to kiss you. His lips are warm and gentle, and your heart skips a beat as he kisses you deeper.

“Did you—”

You can’t get another word out because Mark keeps kissing you. You don’t mind, but your curiosities are eating you alive. You need to know if he’s feeling any better, if the drug is working yet, if he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning by his own lungs. Mark kisses you deeper, then resorts to small pecks, and you can tell he’s short of breath.

“Did you get the drug? How are you feeling? Is it working?”

Mark smiles. “Yes. And I’m okay. Just have some nausea, but that’s one of the side effects.”

You nod as you reach down for Mark’s hand, holding it tight. “What are the other side effects?”

Mark sighs. “Rash, respiratory infection, headache, dizziness. To name a few.”

You furrow your eyebrows and purse your lips. The list Mark just relayed doesn’t sound good, but you try not to worry. “And you’ve been feeling okay?”

Mark nods as he laughs. “Yes, yes. I’m okay. You don’t have to worry.”

“You were dying just two weeks ago, I’m going to worry, you know.” You’re relieved when Mark lets out a chuckle. You’re just not sure the extent to which your jokes can go, and you figure just about as far as they can go, given Mark’s days were just numbered, so he must know not to be hung up on dark jokes. Except you weren’t really joking; you were terrified with your life of how Mark was feeling.

“You gotta understand, I’m gonna have bad days. Doesn’t necessarily mean I’m gonna die, though.”

You sigh as you nod. Mark kisses your forehead, and you smile. “I brought you some stuff. From vacation.”

Mark puckers his lips in interest, and you laugh at his face, because it’s just too cute. You reach over to the table where you set down the gift bag, and you and Mark sit up as you hand him the bag. He reaches for the sweatshirt first. It’s simple, just the classic tourist-style design, but he still smiles and holds it close to his chest anyway.

“I sprayed my perfume on it so it smells like me,” you inform, chuckling under your breath. Mark holds it to his nose, and he immediately looks over at you lovingly. He takes out the oxygen cannula from his nose before pulling the sweatshirt he currently wears over his head, revealing his bare skin, and you hate yourself for it, but your mouth waters. His body isn’t anything special—except it is, because it’s Mark’s. You lick your lips and bite down to hold back any giggles that fight to escape your vocal chords. Mark puts the sweatshirt on, and you smile as it fits him loosely, he looks so cozy and cuddle-able.

“Cute,” you comment. “Now open the rest.”

Mark follows your command, reaching inside the bag and pulling out the various little things you found for him. The first was a bag of seashells you found on the beach, both big and small, and Mark pulled out one that must have caught his eye. He admires it closely before putting it back in the bag. He then pulls out the bracelet you bought him, and he immediately puts it on the same wrist that has his hospital band. You grab his hand and hold it up, looking at the bracelet on his skinny wrist. You kiss his knuckles, then pull him close to you.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says sincerely. “You’re the best. And this sweatshirt is really comfortable.”

You chuckle, and you both fall asleep there, and you dream of a world where Mark never leaves it, where he’s just as constant as the air you breathe and the water that runs on earth; he’s your axiom of equality; Mark will always be Mark the same way x will always be x, and you find comfort in this. Regardless of if the trial works or not, whether Mark dies tomorrow or Mark dies in 20 years, you know that he will always be. Mark is the axiom that drives you mad, that consumes you, that has become your entire life.

Isn't he lovely?

The hospital is a lively place during the holidays. You know it’s for the saddest reasons, though—so much despair ran through the halls of that place, and it couldn’t have been any better during the holidays, while the rest of the world was out celebrating with loved ones. You felt bad for Mark, as you remember him saying once that Christmas was his favorite holiday. So, you made a commitment to him, to bring Christmas to his little room there in that behemoth of a building.

You brought him some fairy lights, colored red and green, as well as a little Christmas tree to put in the corner of the room. You also bought some silver tinsel, and, of course, wrapped some Christmas gifts for him to put beneath the tree.

“You don’t have to do all this,” Mark tells you as you wrap the tinsel around the railings of the hospital bed.

“I know,” you say. “I just want to.”

Mark chuckles, and you kiss his forehead.

“I’m going to shove this cheesy Christmas stuff down your throat no matter what. It makes me feel better about you being trapped here, so deal with it.”

Mark shakes his head and throws his hands up. “Fine, fine. But can I help at least?”

You throw him a wad of fairy lights. He smiles as he begins to untangle them, then he stands from his bed, plugging them into the outlet. Glowing red and green light fills the room, evening out as you help him tape them up along the walls. You can hear him breathing heavily as he reached up to put the lights into place, but you kept your worries to yourself, as you knew Mark didn’t like how much you worried about him.

“All done,” you breathe as you sit down on the bed. Mark joins you, resting his head on your shoulder. You turn your head to give him a kiss. He looks up at you with a glint in his eye, and your heart breaks a little, seeing how cute he is the way he looks up at you. He holds the world in his eyes, and for a moment, you lose yourself in them.

“We should go to the roof,” Mark suggests. You chuckle as you grab his hand.

“But I just decorated your room all nice. You wanna leave already?” you ask jokingly. Mark slaps you playfully.

“We’ll come back. But the roof is really cool, and it’s a full moon tonight.” Mark bounces his leg anxiously as he awaits your reply. You smile as you stand, pulling him up behind you. He claps his hands excitedly as you let him lead the way.

You have to take the stairs to get to the roof, and Mark struggles once you reach the higher floors, taking rests every few steps. He looks up at you momentarily each time, like an apology, but you just smile back at him. Once you finally reach the top, he excitedly yells, and his voice echoes off the open atmosphere. You laugh as he inhales a deep breath and walks toward the edge of the building. You follow behind him closely.

“I fucking love it up here. I feel like I’m really breathing,” Mark explains. You look over at him endearingly. “Like I can feel every single air particle in my shitty pair of lungs. Try it—just breathe.”

You chuckle before you actually listen to Mark’s command; you inhale deeply, noting the feeling of the crisp air going into your airways. You lift your arms up as you exhale, and Mark laughs happily.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Mark asks.

You nod. “You’re lovely.”

Mark rolls his eyes before pulling on your waist. “No.”

“Yes,” you mock him, and he shakes his head, looking out at the skyline beyond the borders of the rooftop. You admire the beauty of Mark’s face in that moment. So serene, so happy, so content with life, despite the situation he was in. You think to yourself in that moment how much better he deserved. He was such a curious, wonderful, kind human being, and the universe gave him such an awful situation to be in.

Mark turns his head towards you, looking at you with love in his gaze, and you smile bright. He looks at your lips before holding your face in his hands, leaning in slowly, pausing for a moment before kissing you. You smile as his lips meet yours, and he smiles too, until your kiss is broken.

You kiss under the moonlight, and you kiss more under the fairy lights of his room, until the nurses interrupt to take Mark’s vitals and check on him. At one point in the night, Mark has a cough attack, and his throat begins to hurt, so you both decide to halt the making out and simply read instead. You read aloud to Mark. He points to the book at the parts he wants you to annotate—one quote reads, “Friendship, companionship: it so often defied logic, so often eluded the deserving, so often settled itself on the odd, the bad, the peculiar, the damaged.”

Will my wonders come to an end?

Mark Lee died in the hospital 3 days after your last visit. He succumbed to high counts of liver enzymes, which destroyed his liver cells, and his heart stopped beating at 4:39 am. He was alone, and they didn’t find him until 5 am.

You go to visit him that morning, and you don’t get past the unit doors when you see Mark’s mother crying with a nurse in the waiting area. Your heart immediately falls in your stomach. You can’t breathe. You don’t need to speak to any doctor or nurse to know what happened. You imagined this day several times, as ashamed of it as you were. But you realized, no amount of imagining this occurrence would better prepare you for when it actually happened.

You hear Mark’s mom crying from the opposite end of the doors that separate you and the unit. You don’t hesitate to walk up to the doors, pounding on the glass, rattling the handle trying to open it. It’s locked like always, but you yank on the handle and kick at the door, until the nurse finally lets you in, but immediately puts her hands on your shoulders.

“Can I see him? Please, I need to see him, I have to, I have to see him—”

“Who are you here for, hon? I can’t let you see anyone like this,” the nurse explains.

“Mark. Mark Lee, I need to see Mark.”

She shook her head. Mark’s mother walked over to you, wrapping an arm around you.

“Mark’s gone. He died this morning,” she said between sharp, short breaths. She started crying harder, although you could tell she had been crying all day. You closed your eyes as the breath was knocked out of your lungs. You fell to the floor, reaching over to the garbage can sitting against the wall, vomiting into it as you tried to catch your breath. The nurse kneeled down and rubbed your back, and a few more nurses came, one of them supplying you with a towel, another bringing another box of tissues.

“Mark’s liver enzymes got too high, and his organs failed. I’m so sorry, honey. Can I get you some water?” the nurse said. You started to cry, then. You felt a pain grow in your chest as you let out a strong sob. You grabbed onto the arm of the chair next to you. The nurse rubbed your back as you cried. Mark’s mother soon joined, wiping the tears from your face.

“Can…can I see him, please? I just want to see him,” you sob. The nurse purses her lips, and Mark’s mother sighs.

“They took him already, dear,” she said. You bring your hands to your face to subdue your cries as you realize, he’s really gone. You don’t get to say goodbye. Your hands shake as Mark’s mother helps pull you back up to your feet. You start to speak, but nothing that comes out makes any sense, your voice mutters a jumble of nos and gods and pleases, until you go quiet, and all you can say under your breath is Mark, Mark, Mark.

Mark.

Mark who ceases to exist in that very moment. Mark, who would never again kiss you, never again touch you, never look at you with the stars in his eyes, never sing to you or write songs about you. There is no more Mark. All that is left of him are memories and the little wonders of him.

Is there anything worth wondering about anymore?

You’ve become a member of the black sea today. This ocean consists of nobody but Mark’s closest friends and family, and you.

Everywhere are pictures of him. There is one which looks more recent than the others—his hair is dark, he’s smiling, his eyes are glowing, and his cheeks are full and red. He looks as alive as he ever could. As if he hadn’t been battling that sickness all his life. Like he was okay.

You sit alone, and you stare at the three photographs Mrs. Lee has given you. One is a baby picture. The baby in the photograph has the same brilliance and happiness as the Mark you always knew.

Another, he’s probably in his younger teenage years. He’s simply playing the guitar, and he’s completely concentrated on the strings. You wish you could have heard him play more.

The last one is evidently recent. It appears as if he’s somewhere tropical, from a vacation he recently went on, because he’s wearing a flower-shirt and the sun is beaming down on him as he grins from ear to ear. He looks so happy. You wish you could have been there to see this moment in person. You had only seen him smile a fair number of times, and your heart hurts as you think about all the smiles you could have seen before then. All the happy times when he thought he could live with the trial ahead of him. The moments where in the back of his mind, he knew, there’s a chance. You can survive. You can stay.

But happiness could only last until those new drugs caused the chemistry lab inside of him malfunction, until they forced his organs to shut down, until his heart stopped beating and he ceased to exist.

The sky grows more and more vibrant as the sun begins to set. You realize that you're still sitting on the couch, frozen in your seat, staring at the photos of Mark, when the boy himself is laying across the room from you. You try to get yourself to gain the courage to see him and pay respects to his family, but it’s almost as if you're glued to the sofa. The funeral home is quiet and eerie. You look over to the other room, where most of the people are gathered, sharing drinks and snacks, sharing hugs and condolences. You look up at the box across the room that holds your boy. Tears fill your eyes, and you set the photos on the table in front of you. You stand, and your legs shake; but you think about the boy resting across the room. You knew deep down he deserved a better send off from you. You can’t even recall your last conversation that you had; now, you have a chance to remember.

“I love you, Mark. So big. I love you so, so big.” You start to cry, and you kneel down next to him as you wipe your tears. “I’m sorry the world failed you. I’ll never forgive the universe for this. Just…please rest easy, my love.”

Next to Mark sits a framed photo of him. It’s evidently a school photo, maybe one of his senior pictures. On the table sits a notebook and a yearbook. You look through the notebook, and it’s full of prose, and you then realize, it’s his songs. You recognize the one he sang for you. You cry harder as you see your name written across the top.

“Goddammit,” you curse. “I miss you, Mark. I’m going to miss you so bad.”

“I love you,” you say a moment later. You cover your mouth as you turn your back towards him, walking quickly towards the other room where you find his mother. A look of concern grows upon her expression as she sees you crying.

“Can someone just go in there with him? I don’t want him to be alone, but I can’t, I just can’t—”

Mrs. Lee pulls you into her arms. The person she was speaking to immediately leaves, going back into the other room where Mark rests. You let out broken sobs as she holds you. “I miss him so much.”

The room becomes less full as time passes and you hug Mrs. Lee. People were evidently beginning to leave, and as you watch people begin to exit the building, you feel a sudden pain shoot through your heart. Everyone was leaving Mark. At some point that day, Mark would be alone again, the way he was when he died. You want to yell and scream at everyone not to leave. You don’t want Mark to be alone ever again.

“Dear,” Mrs. Lee says softly. “We have to leave for burial.”

You shake your head as you cover your eyes. “No, I don’t want him to be alone again. Please,” you cry. “I can’t watch that. I’m sorry.”

She wipes your cheeks. “I understand, dear. Go rest. Mark would understand, I know. He wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

You inhale a deep, shaky breath. You look down at the ground, then you feel the metal chain around your neck, and you touch the locket charm attached. You pull the necklace from your neck, handing it to Mrs. Lee.

“Can you put this with him? Or keep it? It’s nothing special, I’ve just worn it almost everyday for years, I just want a piece of me with him.”

Mrs. Lee smiles. “Of course, love.” She hugs you one more time. “It reminds me, here, take this with your photos.”

She went over to the table with all the pictures of Mark and all the little pieces of his life displayed on the surface. She goes under the table and pulls out a book, and you immediately recognize the cover, and you feel another sob threaten your throat.

“This is for you. He read it every day, and always talked about you while reading it, too.”

Your heart falls into your stomach as you flip through the pages, every single one highlighted or marked or annotated. One page you flip to, the text reads, I am Willem Ragnarsson, and I will never let you go. He has it highlighted, and beneath it writes, I am Mark Lee, and I will never let you go.

You look up at her, and then you look towards the door, and you make your way out of the building. The sky outside is covered with clouds. You look up, but there’s just gray. No color whatsoever.

It’s still a pleasant day outside when you go to his beach. You cry the whole drive there. You don’t stop crying for what feels like forever. Your eyes hurt, your throat is sore, and your chest throbs in pain with each heartbeat. You try to focus on what’s around you, but it’s hard when all you can think about is Mark, all you feel is Mark, all you hear is Mark.

You lie down on the cold sand, clutching your book in your arms. As you watch as the sky become a mixture of blues and oranges and pinks, you flip open the book. You go to the end of the book, just to see if he ever made it that far. He circles a paragraph.

Or maybe he is closer still: maybe he is that gray cat that has begun to sit outside our neighbor’s house, purring when I reach out my hand to it; maybe he is that new puppy I see tugging at the end of my other neighbor’s leash; maybe he is that toddler I saw running through the square a few months ago, shrieking with joy, his parents huffing after him; maybe he is that flower that suddenly bloomed on the rhododendron bush I thought had died long ago; maybe he is that cloud, that wave, that rain, that mist. It isn’t only that he died, or how he died; it is what he died believing. And so I try to be kind to everything I see, and in everything I see, I see him.

The side of the page is full of Mark’s writing.

If you outlive me, if this trial doesn’t work — what will I come back as? Maybe a cat, like Harold says here. Maybe I’ll be a dolphin in the ocean on our beach, even though I’ve never seen a dolphin there. Maybe a crab. Or a fucking branch or something. Maybe I’ll be a flower in a vase in my mom’s living room. Who the fuck knows.

You smile as you read the annotation in his voice. You miss him. So much.

You read those last few pages, until you reach the very end, where the bottom is not blank, but is full of more of Mark’s writing.

Y/N,

“The axiom of equality states that x always equals x: it assumes that if you have a conceptual thing named x, that it must always be equivalent to itself, that it has a uniqueness about it, that it is in possession of something so irreducible that we must assume it is absolutely, unchangeably equivalent to itself for all time, that its very elementalness can never be altered. But it is impossible to prove.” This is my favorite quote from this book. I understand why this book is your favorite. It’s now my favorite, too. Seriously, I won’t ever forget this book. I wonder why it’s your favorite, though. It’s so sad. Are you secretly incredibly depressed? Nah, you would tell me, or I’d know. I know we talk about me alot, with my shitty lungs or whatever, and we never talk about you and I never got to know you the way I want to, but I feel like, in a way, through this book, I now know you so wholly. I know that you are you, you are always equal to you, like x = x, and you are unique, and I love you. Thanks for showing me this book.

I am Mark Lee, and I will never let you go.

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