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The words still rang in his ears as he walked away from your porch, the door slamming shut between him and your father's scowling face.

He couldn't blame the man, really. Martin knew what kind of person he was: a teenage delinquent that only gets himself into trouble, and would likely drag you straight into it sooner or later.

He himself still couldn't quite understand what about him had actually managed to win you over initially. You were everything he was not: a rule follower, an academic, someone with a much more promising future than the one Martin possessed. So how you found him to be anything other than a walking red flag was a mystery that kept him up at night.

He remembered the first time you'd spoken to him behind the gym in your second year of high school, his knuckles were bloody and his temper was still running hot. You'd appeared out of nowhere, holding out a crumpled napkin from the cafeteria.

"You're bleeding," you'd said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Not your problem," he'd muttered, trying to brush past you.

But you'd grabbed his wrist before he could fully turn the corner and pressed the napkin into his palm. "Just clean it up," you'd said. "You'll get blood on your shirt."

You then walked away, leaving him standing there with a bloody napkin and a strange feeling in his chest that he'd never quite managed to shake.

Martin had tried to push you away at first. He knew what people said about him: the troublemaker, the burnout, the kid who'd end up in juvie before graduation. He'd heard your father's warnings from across the street, loud enough to carry, "Stay away from that boy, Y/N. He's nothing but trouble."

Despite all of that you kept appearing.

You showed up at the diner where he worked, sitting in his section and ordering coffee you barely touched, just so you could talk to him during his break. You showed up at the auto shop, claiming your car needed an oil change, even though it was perfectly fine. You showed up at his apartment after he got suspended the second time, bringing takeout and a stubborn expression that said you wouldn’t leave under any circumstance.

"Why?" He’d finally asked you, exhausted and confused. "Why do you keep doing this? You know what I am. You've heard what everyone says."

You'd looked at him then, really looked, and said, "I see something they don't."

"What?"

"Someone who's trying."

And that was it. That was the moment Martin knew he was a goner.

It hadn't taken long for your father to work out that you had ignored all his prior warnings, though truly he should have realised it sooner.

You had been staying out much later than before, coming home with an almost lovesick grin. Your father knew you were in love—that wasn't hard to tell. Just in his own mind, the thought of you falling in love with the one boy he had forbidden you from even talking to was a concept so foreign, so utterly incomprehensible, that he simply refused to entertain it.

But the signs were all there. You'd rush through dinner just to get to your room and stare at your phone, waiting for a message whilst also deflecting his questions about your day with vague answers and quick subject changes.

It was only when your father found the crumpled napkin in your laundry with Martin's name scrawled on it in your handwriting, surrounded by tiny hearts, that the truth finally crashed down on him.

He'd confronted you that night, voice shaking with barely contained fury.

"Are you seeing that Martin boy?"

You'd looked at him, and for a moment, he only saw defiance in your gaze. "Yes," you'd said quietly. "I am."

The argument that followed was the worst you'd ever had. Your father had shouted until his voice went hoarse, listing every reason why Martin was wrong for you: his record, his reputation, his lack of prospects. You'd shouted back, defending him with a passion that only made your father angrier.

"He's not who you think he is, Dad. He's trying so hard. He's working two jobs, he's studying for school as best he can, he's—"

"He's a delinquent, Y/N. He's always been a delinquent, and he always will be. I won't let you throw your life away for someone like him."

"He's not a delinquent. He's just... he's just someone who never had anyone believe in him. Until me."

Your father had gone silent at that. Not because he agreed, but because he realised something crucial: you were in too deep. No amount of arguing would change your mind.

So he'd done the only thing he could think of. He'd banned you from seeing Martin, forbade you from leaving the house except for school and work, and took your phone, your laptop, everything that connected you to the outside world.

For a few weeks, it seemed to work. You and Martin had never shared a class at school, so he didn’t need to worry about that. Additionally, with so much surveillance surrounding you, you had practically given up even thinking of trying to find a way around it.

That was until one night a few weeks later when you were laying under the covers of your bed, staring at the ceiling with not a thought on your mind when the sound of something knocking on your window echoed through the room.

You sat up, heart pounding, and stared at the window. The blinds were drawn, but through the slats, you could make out a familiar silhouette you knew all too well crouched on the fire escape.

You scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the blanket tangled around your ankles, and yanked the blinds open. There he was—grinning like an idiot, dirt smudged on his cheek, a small bag of takeout dangling from one hand. He was wearing that worn leather jacket you loved with the torn sleeve he refused to sew back together.

"Hey, princess," he whispered through the glass. "You miss me?"

You fumbled with the lock, pushing the window open as quietly as you could. Cold night air rushed in, carrying the scent of rain and city streets.

"What are you doing here?" You hissed. "My dad could hear you!"

"Your dad's probably knocked out asleep right now." He climbed through the window with practiced ease, landing silently on your bedroom floor. 

You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his jacket. "I thought I'd never see you again," you whispered, your voice cracking.

"Hey." He pulled back, cupping your face in his hands. "I told you. Nothing's keeping me away from you. Not your dad, not the cops, not anyone."

"Martin—"

"Three weeks, Y/N. I spent three weeks without you and I was going insane." He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to something raw and vulnerable. "I thought about calling your house, but I knew your dad would just make it worse. I had to wait until I could figure out a way to see you."

"You figured out the fire escape."

"I figured out the fire escape." He grinned, but there was something softer underneath it. "Took me two days to find the right route. Nearly fell off the third-floor landing, but hey—" He shrugged. "Worth it."

You laughed, a wet, shaky sound. "You're insane."

"Only for you." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then pulled back to hold up the takeout bag. "I brought food. Your favourite dumpling place with the spicy sauce you like. Figured you probably haven't been eating much."

You hadn't. The past three weeks had been a blur of forced dinners and silent meals, your father's disapproving gaze boring into you from across the table. You'd lost weight, and Martin had noticed it the moment he climbed through your window. 

"You're too good to me," you said.

"Not possible." He set the bag on your desk and pulled you over to sit on the bed. "Now eat. I'll keep watch."

You sat together in the darkness, sharing dumplings and whispered conversations. 

"One day," he said, "I'm going to have a real place with a good job and be something your dad can't complain about."

"I don't care about any of that."

"I know." He smiled, but there was something serious in his eyes. "That's why I want to give it to you anyway. You deserve the world, Y/N. I'm going to figure out how to give it to you."

"I just want you," you said softly.

"Good." He leaned in, his lips brushing yours. "Because you've got me. For as long as you want me."

It was reckless and dangerous and every time you heard a floorboard creak, your heart stopped. But as you sat there in the dark, wrapped in Martin's arms, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Your father never caught the two of you, and gradually he granted you back your privileges, though that also stemmed from your absolute refusal to even look at him until he did so.

A part of you secretly knew that your father had probably worked out you were still seeing Martin. He wasn't stupid—he'd raised you, after all. He knew the stubborn set of your jaw, the defiant glint in your eyes when you were hiding something. He'd seen the way you'd started leaving your window unlocked again, the way you'd come downstairs with pillow creases on your cheek and a sleepy smile that had nothing to do with a good night's rest.

But he never said anything and you remained in this strange stalemate situation for the following couple of years.

It was an unspoken agreement, really. Your father pretended not to notice the faint smell of motor oil that sometimes clung to your clothes in the morning. He pretended not to hear the soft thud of footsteps on the fire escape at midnight. He pretended not to see the way your eyes lit up whenever your phone buzzed. And you, in turn, pretended not to notice the way your father started leaving the back door unlocked, or the way he'd conveniently be in the living room with the TV turned up too loud whenever Martin was climbing the fire escape.

It was a strange kind of peace. Fragile, particularly tenuous. But it was peace nonetheless.

Then, finally, graduation day arrived.

You walked across the stage in your cap and gown, your father watching from the front row with a carefully neutral expression. Martin was a few students behind you, wearing his best clothes underneath the gown that you had bought for his birthday, his grin so wide it looked like it might split his face.

After the ceremony, you found him in the parking lot, still in your gown, your diploma clutched in your hands.

"We did it," you said, laughing. "We actually did it."

"We did." He pulled you into his arms, spinning you around. "High school graduates. Can you believe it?"

"I can't believe you didn't drop out."

"Me neither." He set you down, his hands still on your waist. "But I had a good reason to stay."

"And what was that?"

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "You."

You and Martin had separated before your father emerged between the cars with the promise of seeing each other tomorrow, however you failed to fully notice the strange glint in Martin’s eyes as he parted with you

The next morning, Martin showed up at your door, his hands shaking as he knocked.

You answered, still in your pajamas, your hair a mess. "Martin? What are you—"

"I'm here to ask your father for permission to marry you."

You stared at him for a few seconds. "Now? At eight in the morning?"

"Time's ticking." He tried to smile, but it came out nervous. "I've waited long enough. Three years. I'm not waiting anymore."

Your father appeared behind you, coffee mug in hand. He looked at Martin, then at the suit, then at the determined set of Martin's jaw.

"Y/N, go to your room," he said, his voice flat as you gave Martin a wary look before retreating, "you again."

"Yes, sir." Martin straightened his spine, watching you disappear into the background. "I'm here to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage."

Your father set down his coffee mug, and for a long moment he just looked at Martin. "You must be out of your damn mind," he said slowly, "if you think I'd let you marry my daughter."

"Sir, I know I'm not what you wanted for her. I know I've made mistakes. I know I don't have much—"

"You've barely got a diploma, an unsecure job at an auto shop, and a reputation that makes me want to lock my daughter in her room until she's thirty-five."

"I know, sir. But I love her. I've loved her since I was fifteen, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life taking care of her."

"You think that's enough?" Your father's voice was rising. "You think love is enough? You have no future, no prospects, no—"

"I'm going to marry her anyway."

Your father stopped mid-sentence. "What?"

"I said I'm going to marry her anyway." Martin lifted his chin, his voice steady. "With or without your blessing. With or without your approval. I love her, and she loves me, and we're getting married. I'm just sorry you won't be there to see it."

"Get out." Your father's voice was ice. "Get out of my house before I call the cops."

Martin nodded slowly. He'd expected this. He'd prepared for this. It still stung. He turned and walked down the steps, the door slamming behind him.

Five hours later, Martin stood in front of you at the courthouse, him having snuck you out of your room through the very window he had spent years crawling through.

You'd changed into a simple white dress that you had worn a few times in the summer. Martin was in his navy suit from the graduation, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Dearly beloved," the officiant droned, "we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony..."

Martin barely heard the words. He was too busy memorising the way you were looking at him like he was the only person in the world.

"Martin," you whispered, "you're crying."

"Am not."

"You totally are."

"It's allergies."

"You're such a liar."

He laughed, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Fine, maybe I'm a little emotional. You're marrying me, Y/N. Me. The guy who couldn't even pass English without your help."

"I think you're pretty great," you said softly. "I always have."

The officiant cleared his throat. "The rings?"

Martin fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the simple silver bands he'd saved up for. He slid one onto your finger—it was a little too big, but you didn't seem to care, you just stared at it like it was the most expensive piece of jewelry in the world.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Martin’s lips were on yours before you could fully process the words.

He kissed you like he was drowning and you were air. He was savouring the reality of this, you in his arms finally calling yourself his. Gradually it deepened, the years of longing and wanting pouring into every second your mouth remained on his.

When he pulled back, you were both breathless and grinning like idiots.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice rough and cracking. "I know I don't say it enough, but I do. I love you more than anything. More than I ever thought I could love anyone."

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. "I love you too. Even though you're insane."

A wet laugh escaped him, his shoulders shaking. "Especially because I'm insane?"

"Especially then." You smiled, soft and radiant. 

He kissed you again, softer this time, because he felt he had all the time in the world, and, really, he did. Nothing else mattered to him except the way your lips moved against his, the way your fingers tangled in his hair, the way your heartbeat matched his own.

When he finally pulled back, he was grinning like an idiot, tears still tracking down his cheeks. "Mrs. Edwards," he said, testing the words. "That has a nice ring to it."

You laughed, bright and beautiful. "Mr. L/N. That would have an even nicer ring to it."

"Hey." He poked your side. "I proposed first, that means you take my name."

"Fine." You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. "But only because I love you."

"That's the only reason I need."

The courthouse was small and dingy, the officiant was already shuffling papers, clearly eager to leave, the neon sign outside flickered and buzzed. It wasn't the wedding either of you had dreamed of. There were no flowers, no guests, no white dress with a long train.

But it was yours.

And as Martin pulled you into his arms, his lips pressed against your temple, he knew he'd never regret a single moment of it. "I'm going to give you everything," he whispered against your skin. "I don't have much now, but I will. A home, a future, a life you can be proud of. I promise."

"I already have everything I need," you whispered back. "I have you."

He pulled back, just enough to look at you. His eyes were red-rimmed, his smile shaky, his heart laid bare on his sleeve. "You really mean that?"

"Every word."

He kissed you one last time: deep, slow, full of all the promises he'd spend the rest of his life keeping.

Your father was going to be absolutely livid when he found out, though Martin didn't care.

"because the point is for you to learn. also because management doesn't want customers to see and think we are incompetent." y/n retorted, refilling the bin of frozen pineapple within the fridge.

"ah. are you gonna teach me how to make the summer smoothies now?" jake grinned, pointing towards the new colorful chalk on the menu board.

"absolutely not. i barely even know how to make those." y/n admitted with a laugh.

"oh come on y/n. please?" jake pouted his lips and pleaded to y/n.

with a roll of her eyes, y/n reluctantly nodded, making jake gleefully clap and follow her to the freezer.

"first lets grab all the ingredients! we need yuzu, pitaya, pineapple, coconut milk, coco whip, and collagen." y/n listed off everything in their new pink summer smoothie while jake grabbed all of it.

"now what?" he smiled after setting everything down on the counter.

"hm. great question. now we...." y/n's eyes drifted towards the recipe book hanging off the wall in the back kitchen.

"no y/n...you wouldn't!" jake teased.

"i told you i didnt know the recipe!" y/n threw her hands up in defeat.

"but you also told me the recipe book is off limits!" he retorted. "this is going to be your new challenge, you have to make the smoothie without the recipe and i will judge." he smirked.

"what? you're the one being trained here! why are you judging?" y/n laughed in disbelief.

"consider it an employment evaluation!" jake shrugged.

"wow. i can't believe you're trying to take my job."

"hey i won't have to if you make the smoothie!"

"fine." y/n glared at him and started setting up the blender. she really couldn't remember the exact order of the ingredients, or how much of each, or how to pour it into the cup so that it looked all pink and swirly, but she was determined to prove jake wrong.

as she started combining the pitaya and yuzu base in the blender, jake leaned against the counter grinning and taking off his gloves.

"are you just going to sit and watch me the entire time?" y/n called over her shoulder.

"yup." he nodded.

"naturally."

"are you saying im a distraction? y/n please this is a busy kitchen! you have to learn to work under pressure-" jake teased, gradually becoming more animated.

his teasing would've been more effective if he hadn't accidentally knocked over a jar of spoons in the midst of his whole spiel. but, it made y/n giggle, so jake didnt care about feeling embarrassed as he picked up each individual fallen spoon.

y/n carefully sprinkled teaspoons of each ingredient into the blender, just eyeballing the measurements from memory.

"i can't believe you guys put collagen in these. i didn't know that was edible." jake furrowed his brows, picking up the container of collagen and looking disgusted.

"how else do you explain my light and youthful appearance?"

"natural beauty." jake answered with zero hesitation.

y/n simply rolled her eyes and got back to smoothie-making. she was running out of witty comebacks for his pick-up lines, partially because of how they were gradually beginning to work on her.

jake on the other hand, mentally gave himself a high-five as he noticed y/n remain silent after his comment. he hoped she only kept herself turned away from him to hide her blushing, or something like that.

"noise!" y/n yelled before starting the blender and turning to face jake.

"how's it going?" jake yelled.

"cant hear you sorry!" y/n mouthed, motioning between the blender and her ears.

"HOWS IT GOING?" he yelled again, determined to cut through the noise, y/n simply gave him a confused glance.

"HOWS IT-"

jake started yelling again right when the blender finished, closing his mouth immediately with a defeated look. y/n immediately burst into laughter at his puppy-like appearance.

"that's low y/n." he frowned.

"i dont know what you're talking about." she smiled, pouring the smoothie mixture into a cup. "voila!" she showcased her finished product, awaiting jake's approval.

"i shall now judge your work, madame." jake took the smoothie and examined it up close and far away, twisting his head in all kinds of directions to get a closer look.

"how is this helping the judging process?"

"shh. the master is at work." jake said, deadpanned. y/n watched him with an amused expression. "it is now time for the taste-test."

jake cleared his throat and took a deep breath before taking a sip of the drink through the bright pink straw. his expression remained motionless, which y/n took as a bad sign.

"oh come on, it can't be that bad." y/n pleaded.

"and how would you know that?" jake teased.

"i think you might just not like the smoothie in general- how do you know its my fault?" y/n suggested.

"fair point."

"let me try it and see-" y/n reached to take the smoothie out of his hands but he immediately snatched it away. "hey!"

y/n kept reaching for the drink, but jake kept moving it in the opposite direction, even going as far as to hold it high above his head so that she couldn't reach.

"wow. now that's a low blow." y/n crossed her arms and stared at him, defeated.

"i guess you can't try it." jake shrugged, teasing. y/n took this as a challenge and started jumping up to reach the smoothie, but jake kept quickly putting it in different directions.

as he did this, the two kept getting closer and closer. jake was boxed into a corner, still leaning against the kitchen counter while the distance between their two bodies continued to shrink. throughout the whole exchange, jake's eyes remained fixated on y/n's as she stared at the moving cup.

she hadn't yet noticed his eyes on hers, because she was so focused on getting her smoothie back. after her fourth or fifth failed attempt at jumping up to reach it, her eyes fell on his, prepared to give him some sarcastic remark. instead, she felt frozen.

y/n hadn't realized how close she’d gotten to him, or how jake couldn’t care less about the smoothie and was only paying attention to her.

as they held eye contact, jake slowly lowered the smoothie down onto the counter next to him, but neither of them actually moved. they were frozen in this position, keeping their intense eye contact as they remained too close for comfort.

y/n felt the heat rising in her cheeks, and jake had to bite back a smile as he noticed how shy she'd suddenly become. he cautiously lifted his hand, gently moving to tuck a strand of hair behind y/n's ear. she blushed deeper as he moved, too nervous to break eye contact.

instead of removing his hand, jake merely kept his palm resting along her jaw, his thumb lightly grazing her cheek. she took a deep breath, blinking at him slowly.

the entire moment felt as though it were playing out in slow motion. except for the quickest, almost unnoticeable way jake’s eyes flickered down to her lips. it was so fast, so small, that she almost worried she might’ve imagined the whole thing. until he did it again, holding his gaze on her lips for a second longer this time.

the corner of y/n’s mouth curved into a smile and jake couldn’t help but do the same. without a second thought, y/n’s eyes fluttered closed as she slowly leaned in towards jake. the smile on his lips remained as he began to lean into her as well.

it was almost nothing, a faint brush of lips, light as a feather- if anything- before y/n jumped back, covering her mouth with her hand and looking at the ground.

she couldn’t bring herself to face him. but through her lashes, she could see the concern written all over his face. both the silence and the tension were suddenly incredibly loud.

“y/n i-“ jake sighed before she cut him off.

“you should get going! i think you had enough training for the day.” she turned around to catch her breath, refusing to look back.

jake took a careful step towards her.

“y/n im sorry if i ruined anything i-“

“don’t forget to grab your stuff!” she sputtered, reaching for a cloth to mindlessly scrub against the counter.

jake took one last pleading look at her, trying to decide whether or not to say anything more, before ultimately bolting away wordlessly.

y/n waited to hear the bell on the front door ring before she could let out the breath she was holding.

shit.

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a/n: woahhh...hey people... i hope u guys enjoyed this chapter cause it was super fun to write even tho it was long as shit. also the other day i got playa bowls i hope u know how committed i am to my craft. also brinity in five. those are my clients and they WILL be reuniting in slow motion.

taglist: (open!!) @jazzygirlengene @jvngw0nlvr @reinmyheart @1009beats @lotsafim @woninlove @iiunique @yuuuhee @kioxflw @rijakecentral @strwbysunoo @kristynaaah @cblmarlene @simjaeyunslut @swo07sh @softblaqn