22eliza22

Neither of you said anything for a moment.

Then Seungmin appeared behind you, one hand holding a neatly wrapped cake box and the other resting comfortably against the small of your back.

“Hi,” he said brightly.

Your sister’s entire expression changed.

“Seungmin.” She smiled as though she had been expecting him personally. “Finally.”

You glanced over your shoulder at him.

He glanced down at you.

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

Finally?

You bit the inside of your cheek.

Your sister stepped aside to let you both in, although she somehow managed to position herself so Seungmin had to pass close to her. He murmured a polite thank you and guided you ahead of him with a gentle hand at your waist.

You had been dating long enough that the gesture barely registered anymore. Seungmin was always touching you in small, absent-minded ways—his fingers brushing yours as you walked, his palm settling on your knee beneath tables, his hand finding the back of your coat when you crossed a road.

It was rarely dramatic.

It was simply constant.

Your sister noticed.

Her gaze dropped to his hand before moving back to his face.

“You look different in person,” she told him.

Seungmin paused while removing his shoes.

“Do I?”

“Better.”

You turned away before either of them could see your smile.

Seungmin placed his shoes neatly beside yours, then leaned closer to whisper, “Am I supposed to say she does too?”

“No.”

“Good.”

You elbowed him lightly.

He caught your arm and squeezed it against his side, looking pleased with himself.

Your sister was still watching.

“You brought something?” she asked, nodding towards the box in his hand.

“Cake,” Seungmin said. “Your mum said she liked the one from that bakery near our flat.”

“That was thoughtful.”

“She sent him a photograph of it with the address circled,” you said.

Seungmin looked offended.

“She provided helpful guidance.”

“She threatened to disown me if we arrived without it.”

“Still thoughtful.”

“You didn’t even pay for it.”

“I carried it.”

“You made me carry it on the train.”

“For part of the journey.”

“You said your arm hurt.”

“It did.”

“Because you spent the entire morning playing games.”

Seungmin smiled at your sister. “She has no sympathy for my suffering.”

“None,” you confirmed.

Your sister laughed a little too enthusiastically.

Not because the conversation had been particularly funny, but because Seungmin was smiling while he said it.

You noticed.

You also noticed the way she tucked her hair behind her ear before asking, “Do you want me to take that for you?”

She reached for the cake.

Seungmin shifted it away automatically.

“No, it’s all right. I’ve been entrusted with it.”

“He’ll cry if anything happens to it,” you said.

“I’ll tell your mum it was your fault.”

“You see what I live with?”

Seungmin bumped his shoulder against yours. “You love it.”

You opened your mouth to disagree.

He looked down at you expectantly, the beginnings of a grin already pulling at his lips.

You hated how well he knew you.

“Whatever,” you said.

“There it is.”

He bent and pressed a quick kiss to your temple before following the sound of your mother calling from the kitchen.

Your sister remained by the door with you.

She watched him leave.

Then she looked at you.

“You never said he was that handsome.”

You blinked. “You’ve seen photographs.”

“Photographs are different.”

“I suppose.”

“He’s taller than I thought.”

You stared at her.

She stared back, seemingly unaware that there was anything strange about the intensity of her assessment.

“Do you need his measurements?” you asked. “I can check the label in his coat.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I was only saying.”

“Right.”

“You don’t have to be weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You’re doing that face.”

“What face?”

“The face you do when you think you’re funny.”

“I am funny.”

“Seungmin clearly thinks so.”

There was something strange beneath the words. Something slightly too pointed.

Before you could decide whether you had imagined it, she smiled and linked her arm through yours.

“Come on. Mum’s been panicking over lunch for an hour.”

She pulled you towards the kitchen as though nothing had happened.

You let her.

At that point, it was easier.

౨ৎ

Your mum adored Seungmin.

That was hardly news.

She adored him because he arrived on time, complimented her cooking, remembered details from conversations they had months ago and always insisted on helping clear the table.

Your dad liked him because Seungmin could discuss football with convincing enthusiasm and had once spent nearly forty minutes helping him fix a temperamental television.

Even your relatives who had only met Seungmin briefly tended to approve of him.

He was polite without seeming rehearsed, funny without demanding attention and attentive in a way that made people feel remembered.

Your sister had apparently taken all of these qualities as an invitation.

At first, you didn’t think much of it.

She asked him about work. Normal.

She asked about the other members. Also normal.

She asked whether he enjoyed travelling, what food he liked and whether he preferred going out or staying at home.

A little interview-like, perhaps, but not particularly suspicious.

Then she moved from the chair opposite him to the empty one beside him when your mother asked her to fetch another plate.

You looked at the abandoned chair.

Then at her.

She smiled innocently and crossed one leg over the other.

Seungmin glanced towards you.

You were sitting on his other side, close enough that your knees touched beneath the table.

He nudged your foot.

You nudged him back.

His mouth twitched.

Your sister leaned towards him.

“So,” she said, “what did you think when you first met her?”

You nearly inhaled your drink.

Seungmin turned towards you slowly.

“Oh, no,” you said.

His eyes brightened.

“Oh, yes.”

“Don’t.”

“I thought she was very strange.”

Your mother laughed from the other end of the table.

You stared at him. “That isn’t what you said before.”

“You told me not to embarrass you in front of your family.”

“And this is you behaving?”

“This is me being generous.”

Your sister laughed, resting her hand against Seungmin’s arm.

It was light. Brief enough that she could claim it meant nothing.

Still, you saw it.

Seungmin looked down at her fingers.

Your sister removed them a moment later, smiling as though the contact had been accidental.

“What did you actually think?” she asked.

Seungmin looked back at you.

The teasing softened around the edges.

“I thought she was pretty.”

The answer was simple enough to make warmth spread through your chest.

Then his smile returned.

“Until she spoke.”

You kicked his shin beneath the table.

He flinched dramatically.

“See?” he told your family. “Violence.”

“You deserved that.”

“I complimented you.”

“You immediately ruined it.”

“I said you were pretty.”

“You said I was strange.”

“You are strange.”

Your sister tilted her head.

“I suppose you must usually date girls who are quite different from her.”

The sentence slipped into the conversation so smoothly that it took you a second to understand it.

Seungmin frowned slightly. “Different how?”

Your sister shrugged.

“You know. More… elegant.”

Your father suddenly became very interested in cutting his food.

Your mother looked up.

You glanced down at yourself.

You were wearing a jumper and trousers. Nothing particularly inelegant, unless your sister was counting the tiny mark on your sleeve from where Seungmin had flicked sauce at you in the kitchen.

Seungmin followed your gaze.

Then he looked at your sister.

“No,” he said. “I like this one.”

You pressed your lips together.

“This one?” you repeated.

He patted your knee beneath the table.

“My favourite.”

“I’m so flattered.”

“You should be.”

Your sister laughed, but there was something strained about it.

“I only meant that you seem very put together.”

“I’m not,” Seungmin said cheerfully. “She found me looking for my phone this morning while I was talking to someone on it.”

He looked towards your mother. “You raised a very critical daughter.”

Your mum smiled. “She gets it from me.”

“Good to know.”

The conversation moved on, but your sister did not return to her original chair.

Every few minutes, she found another reason to address Seungmin directly.

Did he like the food?

Had he visited the restaurant she mentioned?

Did he think her hair looked better dark or light?

That one made you turn.

She lifted a section of her hair between her fingers.

“I’ve been thinking of changing it,” she explained. “What do you think?”

Seungmin blinked.

“I don’t know.”

“You must have a preference.”

“For your hair?”

She laughed as though he had made a joke. “Generally.”

He looked at you.

You had stopped pretending not to listen.

A hint of mischief appeared in his expression.

“I like hers.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You said I’d look good bald.”

“You would.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It shows versatility.”

Your sister’s hand fell from her hair.

“You’re lucky,” she told you.

The words sounded pleasant.

The way she looked at Seungmin did not.

You raised an eyebrow. “I know.”

“I mean, you’ve never really cared about things like that.”

“Things like what?”

“Your appearance.”

Silence settled over the table.

It wasn’t complete silence. Your father’s fork scraped faintly against his plate, and the clock in the hallway continued ticking.

But the conversation stopped.

Your sister smiled as though she had offered you a compliment.

“You’ve always been confident enough not to bother,” she added.

You knew this routine.

It had existed long before Seungmin.

Your sister would say something cruel with a pleasant expression, and if you reacted, she would insist you had misunderstood. That she admired your confidence. That she wished she could leave the house without making an effort. That you were lucky not to care what people thought.

Normally, you could ignore it.

Today, the comment felt particularly childish.

You opened your mouth, but Seungmin spoke first.

“She spent forty minutes choosing that jumper.”

You turned towards him in disbelief.

Your sister laughed.

Seungmin continued, “Then she asked me which trousers looked better and ignored my answer.”

You nudged his side with your elbow.

He caught your hand before you could pull it away and linked your fingers beneath the table.

The gesture was concealed from everyone else.

His thumb brushed once over your knuckles.

You understood what he was doing.

He hadn’t ignored your sister’s comment.

He had simply refused to let it settle over you.

“She looks lovely,” your mother said firmly.

“She does,” Seungmin agreed.

Your sister’s smile tightened.

“I never said she didn’t.”

“No one said you did,” you replied.

Her gaze met yours.

For a moment, something sharp passed between you.

Then Seungmin squeezed your hand and leaned close enough that his shoulder pressed against yours.

“You have something on your face,” he whispered.

You immediately touched your cheek. “Where?”

“The other side.”

You touched the other cheek.

“No, lower.”

“Seungmin.”

“A little lower.”

You glared at him. “There’s nothing there, is there?”

He smiled.

“You’re so easy.”

You tried to pull your hand from his.

He tightened his grip.

“Don’t be sulky.”

“I hate you.”

Your sister watched the exchange with an unreadable expression.

You barely noticed.

౨ৎ

After lunch, your mother attempted to stop Seungmin from helping with the dishes.

Seungmin ignored her.

He rolled his sleeves to his elbows, collected the empty plates and followed you into the kitchen.

Your sister followed him.

Naturally.

“You don’t have to do that,” she told him, taking a plate from his hands.

“It’s fine.”

“You’re a guest.”

“So is she.”

Seungmin nodded towards you.

You were leaning against the counter eating a piece of cake.

Your sister looked at you.

“She’s family.”

“She isn’t helping.”

“I’m supervising,” you said.

“You’re eating the dessert we haven’t served yet.”

“I’m checking it for poison.”

Seungmin set the plates beside the sink.

“And?”

You took another bite.

“Still collecting evidence.”

He reached towards your plate.

You moved it out of reach.

“Get your own.”

“I bought it.”

“I paid for it.”

“With our money.”

“We don’t have shared finances.”

Your sister laughed again.

“You two are funny.”

You glanced at her.

The compliment sounded genuine enough, but her eyes remained fixed on Seungmin.

He turned on the tap.

Your sister stepped beside him.

“I’ll wash,” she offered.

“I can do it.”

“You dry, then.”

You watched her pick up a sponge.

Your mother called your name from the living room, asking whether you could help her find something.

You pushed yourself away from the counter.

“Don’t eat my cake,” you warned Seungmin.

“I would never.”

“You absolutely would.”

He placed one hand over his heart.

“Your lack of trust is upsetting.”

You pointed the fork at him. “I’ll know.”

“Go away.”

You reluctantly carried the plate with you.

As you left the kitchen, you glanced back.

Your sister had moved slightly closer to Seungmin.

He was focused on rinsing a plate.

You nearly stayed.

Then you caught yourself.

It was your sister.

Seungmin was your boyfriend.

Nothing was going to happen because the two of them spent ninety seconds alone beside a sink.

You found your mother’s glasses on top of her head, endured several minutes of her insisting she had already checked there and returned to the kitchen.

Your sister was speaking.

“…must get tiring.”

Seungmin passed her another plate. “What does?”

“Dating someone so different from you.”

You stopped just outside the doorway.

Seungmin didn’t appear to notice you.

He frowned. “You’ve said that a few times.”

“I don’t mean it badly.”

“What do you mean?”

Your sister dried the plate slowly.

“You’re very disciplined. Ambitious. You take care of yourself.”

He waited.

“And she isn’t?”

“She’s just more relaxed.”

Seungmin looked down at the soapy water.

You knew that expression.

He was choosing his words.

Your sister mistook his silence for agreement.

“I’ve always been more like you,” she continued. “Even when we were younger. People used to say I was the more responsible one.”

“Did they?”

“And the more confident one.”

Seungmin made a small sound that could have meant anything.

Your sister smiled.

“It’s funny, really. Most people usually notice me first.”

He glanced at her.

“Okay.”

You pressed your lips together.

She appeared thrown by the response.

“I don’t mean to sound arrogant.”

“Then don’t.”

The answer was delivered so lightly that for a second, you wondered whether you had heard him correctly.

Your sister laughed uncertainly.

“I’m only being honest.”

Seungmin rinsed another plate.

“About people noticing you?”

“Yes.”

“Congratulations.”

You had to cover your mouth.

Your sister’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“You must have noticed that we’re quite different.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I’m probably more like your usual type.”

Seungmin finally turned off the tap.

He looked at her properly.

“What’s my usual type?”

Your sister leaned one hip against the counter.

“Confident. Sophisticated.”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“I’m guessing.”

“You’ve guessed wrong.”

She smiled as though he were teasing her.

“Have I?”

“Yes.”

Something about his tone should have ended the conversation.

It didn’t.

Your sister lowered her voice.

“She’s always been the sweeter one, I suppose. Men tend to like that.”

Seungmin stared at her.

Then his gaze moved past her shoulder and found you standing in the doorway.

His expression changed immediately.

The irritation disappeared behind a slow, knowing smile.

“How long have you been there?” he asked.

Your sister turned sharply.

You lifted your plate.

“Long enough to know you’ve been having a very interesting discussion about your type.”

Seungmin dried his hands.

“Apparently, I have one.”

“Do you?”

“I’m learning a lot today.”

Your sister straightened. “We were only talking.”

“I heard.”

“There’s no need to make it strange.”

You stepped into the kitchen and placed your half-finished cake on the counter.

“I didn’t.”

“No, but you’re doing that thing where you act territorial.”

Seungmin’s eyebrows rose.

You laughed. “Territorial?”

“You don’t need to hover every time another woman speaks to your boyfriend.”

“I was helping Mum.”

“And then you came straight back.”

“Because this is where my cake is.”

Seungmin immediately reached for your plate.

You slapped his hand away.

“See?”

He looked wounded.

“You care more about that cake than you care about me.”

“The cake has never stolen my crisps.”

“It would if it could.”

Your sister sighed.

“You’re both impossible.”

“Thank you,” Seungmin said.

You picked up your fork again.

Your sister gave you a long look before placing the tea towel on the counter.

“I’m going to see if Mum needs anything.”

“She doesn’t,” you said. “Her glasses were on her head.”

Your sister ignored you and left.

You waited until her footsteps had faded down the hall.

Then you turned towards Seungmin.

He was already looking at you.

A smile pulled at your mouth.

“Your usual type?”

He groaned and leaned back against the sink.

“Please don’t.”

“Confident.”

“Stop.”

“Sophisticated.”

“I’m warning you.”

“So much like her.”

Seungmin reached for you.

You dodged around the kitchen island, laughing when he followed.

“I’m only being honest,” you said, mimicking your sister’s voice.

“You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Apparently she’s the woman of your dreams.”

“My dreams have better conversational skills.”

You gasped. “That was mean.”

“It was accurate.”

He moved to one side of the island.

You moved in the opposite direction.

“I thought you liked confident women.”

“I like you.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“It’s my answer.”

“You’re only saying that because I caught you.”

“Caught me doing dishes?”

“Seductively.”

“I was wearing rubber gloves.”

“Exactly. Very provocative.”

Seungmin stopped.

You stopped too, watching him suspiciously from across the island.

His expression softened.

“Did that bother you?”

The question was quiet enough to dissolve some of your amusement.

You considered it.

“Not really.”

“Not really?”

“I don’t think you’re secretly going to run away with my sister.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“I’d give you at least a week before you begged me to take you back.”

“A week?”

“Maybe four days.”

Seungmin looked offended. “I wouldn’t make it through the first evening.”

You smiled.

He continued to watch you.

“But?” he prompted.

You looked down at your cake.

“She does that sometimes.”

“Does what?”

“Compares us.” You scraped your fork lightly through the icing. “She always has. She thinks she’s being subtle.”

“She isn’t.”

“I know.”

“She also thinks I’m an idiot.”

You laughed. “Why?”

“Because I’ve said I like you at least twelve times today, and she’s decided that means I’m interested in her.”

“Maybe you’re sending mixed signals.”

“I asked her to move because she was standing on my foot.”

“Very flirtatious.”

“She apologised and touched my arm.”

“Scandalous.”

“She’s touched my arm six times.”

“You counted?”

“I started counting when she asked whether I thought she looked better with dark hair.”

You laughed again, and Seungmin smiled.

Then he walked around the island.

This time, you let him reach you.

His hands settled on your waist, drawing you between his knees as he leaned back against the counter.

“For the record,” he said, “I don’t think you’re lucky.”

“No?”

“No. I think I’m incredibly brave.”

You flicked his shoulder.

He caught your wrist and kissed your palm.

“And lucky,” he added.

“That was nearly sweet.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

You rolled your eyes, but your arms slipped around his shoulders.

He tilted his head.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Your sister’s being strange.”

“She thinks she can steal you.”

“Can she?”

You pretended to consider it.

Seungmin pinched your side.

You squealed and tried to twist away, but he trapped you against him.

“Answer carefully,” he warned.

“I don’t know. She is very sophisticated.”

Another pinch.

“And confident!”

He attacked your other side.

You dissolved into helpless laughter, nearly dropping your fork as you attempted to escape.

“Seungmin!”

“Wrong answer.”

“She’s your type!”

“Take it back.”

“Never!”

He caught both your wrists in one hand and used the other to tickle your waist.

You kicked uselessly at his legs.

“You’re horrible!”

“Take it back.”

“Fine!” you gasped. “She isn’t your type.”

“And?”

“And you don’t want her.”

“And?”

You stared at him, breathless.

His hair had fallen over his forehead during the struggle, and his smile was bright and boyish and entirely too pleased.

“And you’re obsessed with me.”

“There we go.”

He released your wrists.

You immediately smacked his chest.

Seungmin laughed and caught you against him again, pressing a noisy kiss to your cheek before you could complain.

“You’re very annoying,” you told him.

“You were laughing.”

“Against my will.”

He kissed your other cheek.

“Still counts.”

Footsteps sounded in the hallway.

You both separated just before your mother entered the kitchen.

She looked at Seungmin’s messy hair, your flushed face and the abandoned washing-up.

Neither of you spoke.

Your mother sighed.

“The dishes, Seungmin.”

“I was doing them.”

“He attacked me,” you said.

“You provoked me.”

Your mother pointed at the sink.

“Both of you.”

“Yes, Mum,” you said.

“Yes, Mum,” Seungmin echoed.

You turned to glare at him.

He smiled innocently.

Your mother left the room shaking her head.

Seungmin bumped his hip against yours as he turned the tap back on.

“Pass me the sponge.”

“You pass me the sponge.”

“It’s closer to you.”

“You’re closer to the sink.”

He looked towards the doorway, then lowered his voice.

“Do you think your sister would do it for me?”

You stared at him.

He managed to hold a serious expression for approximately two seconds.

Then you shoved the sponge directly into his chest.

౨ৎ

When you finally prepared to leave, your mother packed enough food for several days into a bag and made Seungmin promise to visit again soon.

Your sister stood in the hallway while you put on your coat.

“You’re leaving already?” she asked.

“We’ve been here for five hours,” you said.

“It doesn’t feel that long.”

Seungmin bent to tie his shoelace.

Your sister’s gaze lingered on him.

“You should come over more often.”

“We will,” you replied.

“I meant Seungmin.”

He looked up.

Your sister smiled. “You don’t need to wait for her. You’re practically part of the family now.”

There it was.

Not quite enough to confront.

More than enough to notice.

Seungmin straightened.

“I think she’d be upset if I visited without her.”

“I wouldn’t,” you said. “I’d enjoy the peace.”

He placed one hand on top of your head and pushed down lightly.

Your sister laughed.

“You’re very patient with her.”

Seungmin looked at you.

“No,” he said. “She’s patient with me.”

For once, there was no joke attached.

His hand slid from the top of your head to the back of your neck, thumb brushing softly beneath your hair.

Your sister’s smile faded for half a second.

Then it returned.

“Well,” she said, opening the door, “it was lovely seeing you.”

“You too,” Seungmin replied politely.

She hugged you first.

It was brief.

Then she turned towards Seungmin.

You expected her to offer a wave.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around him.

Seungmin froze.

His hands hovered uncertainly beside her shoulders.

Your eyes widened.

Over your sister’s head, his gaze found yours.

His expression was so openly alarmed that a laugh burst out of you.

Your sister released him.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing.”

Seungmin stepped immediately towards you.

You were still laughing as he took the bag of food from your hand and placed his other arm securely around your shoulders.

Your sister glanced between you.

“Text me when you’re home.”

“I will.”

She looked at Seungmin. “You have my number, don’t you?”

“No,” he said.

“Oh.” She paused. “I thought you did.”

“Why would he?” you asked.

“In case of an emergency.”

Seungmin nodded. “I’ll call emergency services.”

You choked on another laugh.

Your sister’s mouth tightened.

“I only meant if something happened with you.”

“He has Mum’s number.”

“And her Dad’s,” Seungmin added.

“And Chan’s,” you said.

“And Minho’s.”

“He doesn’t need your number.”

Your sister folded her arms.

“You make everything sound strange.”

“You asked my boyfriend whether he had your number.”

“For emergencies.”

“Right.”

Seungmin gently steered you through the doorway before either of you could continue.

“Thank you for lunch,” he called politely.

Your mother called goodbye from somewhere inside the house.

Your sister remained at the door while the two of you walked down the path.

You could feel her watching.

Seungmin’s arm stayed around you until you reached the pavement.

Then he leaned close.

“Don’t look now.”

You immediately looked back.

Your sister was still standing in the doorway.

She lifted her hand when she saw you turn.

You waved.

Seungmin sighed.

“I specifically said not to.”

“I don’t take instructions well.”

“I know.”

The door finally closed.

You walked several more steps in silence.

Then Seungmin said, “Your sister wants me.”

You stopped.

He stopped beside you.

The solemn expression on his face lasted less than a second before you both started laughing.

“Your confidence is disgusting,” you told him.

౨ৎ

Your sister arrived at your flat on Saturday afternoon wearing heeled boots, a fitted coat and enough perfume to announce her presence before you had even opened the door.

You looked at her.

Then at the small handbag hanging from her shoulder.

Then back at her.

“You said you were coming to borrow my straighteners.”

“I am.”

“Are you planning to straighten your hair here?”

“No.”

“Then why do you look like you’re going somewhere?”

She frowned. “I’m meeting someone later.”

“You didn’t mention that.”

“I didn’t realise I needed to submit an itinerary.”

“You don’t.”

“Then why are you interrogating me?”

“I asked one question.”

“You asked three.”

You stepped aside to let her enter.

She walked past you, removing her coat as she went.

The outfit beneath it was somehow even more carefully chosen.

You watched her smooth the fabric over her waist before checking her reflection in the hallway mirror.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“You could have texted,” you said, closing the door. “I would’ve brought the straighteners to Mum’s tomorrow.”

“I was nearby.”

She wasn’t.

Your sister lived nearly forty minutes in the opposite direction.

You decided not to point that out.

From the living room, Seungmin called, “Who is it?”

Your sister’s posture changed almost imperceptibly.

Her shoulders pulled back.

Her expression softened.

You stared at her.

She ignored you.

“Your favourite person,” you called.

There was a pause.

Then Seungmin replied, “Felix?”

You gasped.

Your sister laughed.

You marched into the living room, already preparing several punishments.

Seungmin was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the coffee table.

A pale blue fabric headband held his hair away from his face, and there was a thin layer of clay mask drying across his cheeks because you had told him his skin looked tired.

He had complained for eleven minutes.

Then he had asked whether there was enough left for his forehead.

Your left hand rested carefully on top of an old magazine while Seungmin held your right between both of his.

Three of your fingernails were painted.

One was half-painted.

The fifth had somehow acquired a streak of polish across your skin.

Seungmin looked up as you entered.

The smile on his face widened.

“There’s my second-favourite person.”

You stopped in front of him.

“Second?”

“Felix bakes for me.”

“I cook for you.”

“You once burned instant noodles.”

“The packet was confusing.”

“You forgot the water.”

“It didn’t say when to add it.”

You placed one foot against his thigh and pushed lightly.

Seungmin caught your ankle.

“No kicking near the nail polish.”

“You deserve worse.”

“You asked me to do this.”

“And you’re doing a terrible job.”

He looked down at your nails.

“They’re beautiful.”

“There’s polish on my knuckle.”

Your sister appeared behind you.

Seungmin glanced towards her.

His expression flickered with surprise before settling into a pleasant smile.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Hi.”

Your sister looked him over.

Her gaze paused at the headband.

Then the face mask.

Then your hand resting in his.

Her smile faltered, only slightly.

“I didn’t know you were here.”

You turned your head towards her.

She knew.

You had mentioned it the previous evening when she asked what you were doing this weekend.

Seungmin did not appear to remember that.

“I live here sometimes,” he said.

“You don’t,” you replied.

Your sister moved further into the room.

“You look comfortable,” she said.

Seungmin touched the edge of the headband.

“This was forced on me.”

“You asked whether the bow should go in the middle,” you said.

Your sister laughed, lowering herself onto the sofa behind him.

“It suits you.”

Seungmin looked up at her.

“The face mask?”

“The headband.”

He touched it again.

“Thanks.”

Her smile brightened.

You watched her tuck one leg elegantly over the other.

Seungmin returned his attention to your hand.

“Stop moving.”

“I’m not moving.”

“You’re moving now.”

“Because you told me not to.”

He tightened his fingers around yours.

“If you smudge this one, I’m starting again.”

“You’ve already smudged it.”

“That was intentional.”

“Was the polish on my skin intentional too?”

“Yes.”

“What was the artistic vision?”

“Annoying you.”

You tried to pull your hand away.

Seungmin held on.

“Stay still.”

“You’re enjoying the authority.”

“I rarely have any in this relationship.”

“Because you can’t be trusted.”

Your sister leaned forwards.

“You let him paint your nails?”

You looked at her.

“He volunteered.”

“I was coerced,” Seungmin said.

“You said you could do it better than me.”

“I can.”

You lifted your hand.

He immediately lowered it again before the wet polish could run.

“That remains to be seen.”

Your sister tilted her head.

“I’d never ask my boyfriend to do something like that.”

You glanced at Seungmin.

He glanced at you.

There it was again.

That tiny shared pause when both of you noticed something and decided, without speaking, whether it was worth reacting to.

You smiled.

“Good thing he isn’t your boyfriend, then.”

Your sister’s expression tightened.

Only for a second.

Then she laughed.

“I only mean I’d feel bad making him do something so feminine.”

Seungmin inspected your thumbnail.

“You think painting nails is feminine?”

“Usually.”

“Then I’m doing a very poor job of it.”

You snorted.

He blew gently across your nail.

Your sister watched his lips purse.

“It’s sweet,” she said. “I just wouldn’t have expected it from you.”

“What did you expect?” Seungmin asked.

“I don’t know.”

She did know.

You could tell by the way she leaned towards him.

“Something more masculine, I suppose.”

Seungmin looked down at himself.

He was wearing grey jogging bottoms, an old sweatshirt and your fluffy skincare headband.

“I’m devastated.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

She smiled as though he were deliberately teasing her.

“You seem like someone who’d usually want a very feminine girlfriend.”

Seungmin’s brush paused.

You looked at your sister.

She was looking at him.

Not you.

He lifted his eyes slowly.

“I do.”

Your sister’s smile widened.

Then Seungmin returned his attention to your hand.

“That’s why I’m dating her.”

You pressed your lips together.

Your sister glanced at you.

You smiled pleasantly.

Seungmin dipped the brush into the polish.

“She isn’t exactly what most people would call feminine,” your sister said.

You raised your eyebrows.

Seungmin’s hand stopped again.

Your sister gestured towards you.

You were wearing one of Seungmin’s old shirts, a pair of shorts and fluffy socks. Your hair was twisted into a loose knot that had begun collapsing an hour ago.

There was a faint smudge of clay mask beside your jaw where you had attempted to kiss Seungmin before it dried.

You looked extremely comfortable.

That had apparently become a flaw.

“I’m not?” you asked.

“I didn’t mean it badly.”

“Of course not.”

“You’ve never cared about being girly.”

“I’m getting my nails painted.”

“By your boyfriend.”

“Yes.”

“So?”

“So that feels relevant.”

Your sister rolled her eyes.

“You know what I mean. You’re not someone who gets dressed up around the house or worries about always looking attractive.”

You looked down at yourself.

Then at Seungmin.

His gaze had settled on your face.

You recognised the slight narrowing of his eyes.

Not anger.

Not yet.

Attention.

Your sister continued, “I just think it’s brave.”

“Brave?” you repeated.

“To be that comfortable so early in a relationship.”

You and Seungmin had been together for nearly two years.

Apparently that remained early enough to maintain a constant state of glamour.

“How does she normally dress at home?” Seungmin asked.

Your sister seemed pleased to have his attention again.

“Like this.”

“Right.”

“She’s always been a little careless.”

“With clothes?”

“With everything.”

You laughed quietly.

Your sister looked at you.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Seungmin placed the nail brush carefully inside the bottle.

Then he lifted your hand and examined his work.

“Perfect.”

“It’s uneven.”

“So are your fingers.”

“My fingers aren’t uneven.”

“One’s shorter.”

“They’re supposed to be different lengths.”

“Convenient excuse.”

He brought your hand towards his mouth.

You frowned.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking whether it’s dry.”

“With your lips?”

“Yes.”

“That makes no sense.”

Seungmin pressed a delicate kiss to the side of your index finger, avoiding the wet nail.

Then he kissed your knuckle.

Then your wrist.

A smile pulled at your mouth despite yourself.

“Dry,” he announced.

“You didn’t touch the polish.”

“I’m an expert.”

“You’re an idiot.”

He kissed your wrist again.

Your sister shifted on the sofa.

“You two are very…” She paused. “Affectionate.”

“That sounded judgemental,” you said.

“It wasn’t.”

“It sounded a little judgemental,” Seungmin agreed.

“I only mean you don’t seem like the clingy type.”

She was speaking to him again.

Seungmin leaned back against your legs.

“I’m not.”

You looked down at him.

He looked up at you.

“You’re currently using me as a chair.”

“You’re comfortable.”

Seungmin smiled lazily, reaching behind himself until his hand found your knee.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, careful not to disturb the headband.

He immediately tilted his head into your touch.

Your sister watched him do it.

Something in her expression hardened.

“You always liked being fussed over,” she said to you.

You looked at her.

“What?”

“When we were younger. You always needed everyone’s attention.”

The comment was casual.

Almost playful.

You knew better.

“I don’t remember that.”

“You used to follow Mum around constantly.”

“I was six.”

“You cried whenever she left the room.”

“I was still six.”

“You’ve never liked being alone.”

Seungmin’s thumb stroked once over your knee.

You shrugged.

“Good thing I don’t have to be.”

Your sister’s eyes flicked towards his hand.

“That’s what I mean. You need a lot from people.”

There was a quietness beneath the words.

An implication she wanted Seungmin to catch.

You were needy.

Difficult.

Exhausting.

The kind of girlfriend who demanded face masks and painted nails and constant affection.

Your sister, naturally, would never require so much effort.

Seungmin looked up at you.

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Need a lot from me?”

You pretended to consider it.

“Well, you could make more tea.”

“I made the last one.”

“You drank half of it.”

“It became ours when you let me taste it.”

“That’s not how sharing works.”

Your sister exhaled through her nose.

“You make everything into a joke.”

“You make everything very serious,” you replied.

“I’m trying to have a conversation.”

“With my boyfriend?”

“With both of you.”

“You’ve mostly been looking at him.”

The room went still.

Your sister blinked.

Seungmin’s eyebrows lifted.

You hadn’t intended to say it quite so plainly.

You weren’t upset.

Not yet.

You were mostly curious to see what she would do when someone acknowledged the obvious.

She recovered quickly.

“I’m looking at whoever’s speaking.”

“He hasn’t been speaking.”

“He literally just was.”

You smiled.

“All right.”

Your sister folded her arms.

“You’re being strange again.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You implied something.”

“What did I imply?”

“You know exactly what.”

Seungmin’s hand slid around the back of your knee.

His fingertips squeezed gently.

You looked down at him.

He gave you a small, private smile.

There was no concern in it.

He knew you weren’t jealous.

Mostly, he appeared entertained.

“You came for straighteners,” you reminded your sister.

“I know.”

“They’re in the bedroom.”

“Can you get them?”

“You know where they are.”

She hesitated.

Her gaze moved towards the hallway, then back to Seungmin.

“I haven’t been in your bedroom since you moved things around.”

“You’ll survive.”

“I don’t want to go through your things.”

“You’ve never had an issue before.”

Her mouth tightened.

You smiled sweetly.

“I’ll show you.”

You gently extracted your hand from Seungmin’s grasp, holding your fingers carefully apart.

He immediately caught your wrist.

“Where are you going?”

“To get the straighteners.”

“You’ll ruin your nails.”

“I’m walking, not digging a tunnel.”

“You’re very clumsy.”

“You painted them five minutes ago. They’re dry.”

Seungmin tightened his grip.

“Wait.”

“What?”

He reached for the bottle of top coat on the table.

“You need this.”

“You didn’t mention top coat before.”

“I forgot.”

“You just don’t want me to leave.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re holding my wrist.”

“To protect my work.”

“Say you’ll miss me.”

“You’ll be gone for thirty seconds.”

“Then it shouldn’t be difficult.”

Seungmin narrowed his eyes.

Your sister watched the exchange.

You waited.

He looked away first.

“I’ll miss you,” he muttered.

You grinned.

“What was that?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t think I did.”

“I’m not repeating it.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to stay.”

Seungmin looked back at you suspiciously.

You lowered yourself onto the floor in front of him.

His expression brightened.

Then you reached for the top coat.

He held it out of reach.

“You said you were staying.”

“To do my own nails.”

“No.”

“Give it to me.”

“You’ll ruin them.”

“They’re already ruined.”

Seungmin gasped.

You grabbed for the bottle.

He leaned away.

You lunged across him, careful to keep your painted hand lifted.

Seungmin caught you around the waist with his free arm.

“Behave.”

“Give it.”

“No.”

“Seungmin.”

You tried to reach behind him.

He shifted again, pulling you further into his lap.

Your sister cleared her throat.

You both looked towards her.

She was still sitting on the sofa.

Watching.

You had briefly forgotten she was there.

“Sorry,” you said, although you weren’t particularly sorry.

Seungmin rested his chin on your shoulder.

He still had one arm wrapped firmly around your waist.

Your sister’s gaze dropped to it.

“Could you get the straighteners?” she asked.

“You know where they are,” you repeated.

“I already told you I don’t.”

Seungmin lifted his head.

“I can get them.”

Your sister’s face brightened.

You turned towards him.

He was already beginning to stand, carefully guiding you off his lap.

Your sister rose too.

Seungmin paused.

He looked at her.

Then at you.

You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing.

There was no reason for both of them to go.

Your sister apparently believed your bedroom contained an unusually complicated straightener-storage system that required Seungmin’s personal guidance.

“I know where they are,” he said.

“I’ll come with you.”

“You can stay here.”

Her smile faltered.

“I don’t mind.”

“I do.”

The answer was so immediate that you made a small choking sound.

Your sister’s patience finally snapped.

“Can someone please get them?”

You and Seungmin both looked at her.

She smiled tightly.

“The straighteners.”

“Right,” you said.

Seungmin pointed at you.

“Don’t touch anything.”

“It’s my flat.”

“My nail polish.”

He disappeared down the hallway.

Your sister waited until he was out of earshot.

Then she looked at you.

“You don’t have to perform every time I’m here.”

You stared at her.

“Perform?”

“The constant touching. The little jokes.”

“You think that’s for you?”

“I think you’re trying very hard to prove something.”

You looked towards the hallway.

Seungmin was rummaging through the bathroom cabinet, apparently having forgotten that you kept the straighteners inside your wardrobe.

You turned back to her.

“I’m sitting in my own living room wearing his shirt while he paints my nails.”

“Exactly.”

“What am I proving?”

“That you’re comfortable with him.”

“I am comfortable with him.”

“You don’t need to make it so obvious.”

A laugh escaped you.

Your sister’s expression darkened.

“What?”

“I genuinely don’t understand what you’re accusing me of.”

“You’re acting territorial.”

“I haven’t stopped you speaking to him.”

“You don’t have to. You just keep interrupting.”

“This is my flat.”

“So?”

“He’s my boyfriend.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

Her eyes narrowed.

You smiled.

Still amused.

Mostly.

But something sharper had begun pressing beneath your ribs.

Your sister had always competed with you.

Clothes. Friends. Attention. Compliments.

Anything you possessed became evidence that she deserved something better.

You had simply never expected her to become this obvious.

“You’re imagining things,” she said.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you come dressed like that to borrow straighteners?”

Her face changed.

Only for an instant.

Then she scoffed.

“I told you I’m going out.”

“Where?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“You clearly do.”

“You’ve travelled forty minutes to borrow something you could buy for twenty pounds.”

“I was nearby.”

“No, you weren’t.”

She folded her arms.

“Seungmin doesn’t seem to mind me being here.”

There it was.

You looked at her.

She looked pleased with herself.

“Why would he mind?”

“He’s been friendly.”

“He’s usually friendly.”

“Not with everyone.”

You nearly smiled.

Your sister had known Seungmin for one afternoon.

Apparently she had already developed an extensive understanding of his social habits.

“He complimented me last time,” she continued.

“When?”

“He said my dress was nice.”

“Mum told him to.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t think it.”

“No, I’m sure he has very strong feelings about the dress.”

“You don’t have to be jealous.”

You stared at her.

Then you laughed.

You couldn’t help it.

The idea was so completely detached from reality that amusement overwhelmed everything else.

Your sister’s face hardened.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“Because you think Seungmin complimenting your dress means I should be worried.”

“I didn’t say you should be worried.”

“You said I was jealous.”

“You’re acting like it.”

“Trust me.” You leaned back against the sofa. “I’m not.”

Your sister opened her mouth.

Seungmin returned before she could answer.

He was holding the straighteners in one hand

He handed the straighteners to your sister.

She accepted them.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Her fingers lingered against his for a moment.

Seungmin looked down at their hands.

Then politely extracted his own.

“I should probably go,” your sister said.

You looked at the clock.

She had been there for less than twenty minutes.

“Your plans?” you asked.

“Yes.”

She picked up her coat.

Seungmin returned to the floor beside you, already reaching for your hand.

Your sister watched him pull you down beside him.

Your sister opened the front door.

“I’ll text you,” she said to you.

“Okay.”

She looked towards Seungmin.

“It was nice seeing you.”

“You too.”

“You look good, by the way.”

Seungmin glanced down at his sweatshirt.

“Thanks.”

“The headband especially.”

His hand rose to the blue bow.

“Right.”

She laughed softly.

Then she left.

You waited until the door closed.

Silence settled over the flat.

Seungmin stared at it.

You stared at him.

He turned slowly.

“What?”

You broke first.

Laughter burst out of you so suddenly that you nearly knocked over the nail polish.

Seungmin caught the bottle.

“Careful!”

“The headband especially,” you repeated.

“Stop.”

“You look good, by the way.”

“I said stop.”

You twisted in his arms until you were facing him.

Seungmin was kneeling over you, one hand planted beside your shoulder and the other wrapped securely around your waist.

You looked up at him.

“I like your headband.”

“Thank you. I already have a beautiful girlfriend.”

You nodded.

“Very natural.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re obsessed with me.”

“There it is.”

“There what is?”

“You’ve been waiting to say that all afternoon.”

“I haven’t.”

“You have.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You tried to push him away with your forearm.

Seungmin remained exactly where he was.

“Admit it,” he said.

“Admit what?”

“That you’re jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“Just a little?”

“No.”

“Not even when she touched my hand?”

“I thought about breaking her fingers.”

Seungmin’s eyes widened.

You hooked one leg around his hips and attempted to roll him onto his back.

He anticipated it, shifting his weight before you could gain any leverage.

“You’re cheating,” you complained.

“How?”

“You’re stronger.”

“That isn’t cheating.”

“It is when I’m losing.”

He laughed.

You used the distraction to push at his shoulder again.

Seungmin caught both your wrists.

Your breath hitched, more from surprise than anything else.

He pinned them lightly above your head, careful not to let your nails touch the carpet.

His hair had begun slipping free from the headband.

The clay mask had cracked faintly near the corners of his smile.

He looked completely ridiculous.

And unfairly lovely.

“Still think I enjoyed it?” he asked.

You pretended to consider your answer.

His eyes narrowed.

“Choose carefully.”

You bit back a smile.

“She is very feminine.”

Seungmin lowered his face closer to yours.

“Wrong direction.”

“And confident.”

His grip tightened slightly around your wrists.

You laughed.

“And sophisticated.”

“Do you want to keep your newly painted nails?”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It is.”

“You worked so hard on them.”

“I can start again.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I have nowhere to be.”

You squirmed beneath him.

He shifted, trapping you more securely without putting his weight on you.

“You’re impossible,” you said.

“You started this.”

“She’s your type.”

Seungmin stared at you.

Then he released one of your wrists.

You immediately tried to escape.

His free hand found your side.

You squealed.

“No!”

“Take it back.”

“You can’t keep doing this!”

“I can until you learn.”

His fingers dug gently into your waist.

You dissolved into laughter, twisting helplessly beneath him.

“The mask!” you gasped. “You’ll crack the mask!”

“I don’t care.”

“You were worried about it two minutes ago!”

“You’ve pushed me too far.”

You kicked at the rug.

Seungmin caught your leg beneath his knee.

“You’re evil!”

“And?”

“Controlling!”

“And?”

“Obsessed with me!”

His fingers stopped.

“There we go.”

You glared up at him, breathless.

“That isn’t fair.”

“It’s completely fair.”

“I was supposed to say you don’t want her.”

“I know I don’t want her.”

“You’re supposed to reassure me.”

“Are you worried?”

“No.”

“Then why do you need reassurance?”

“Because I enjoy compliments.”

Seungmin smiled.

The teasing faded gently from his expression.

He released your other wrist and settled his hand beside your head instead.

“You’re very pretty.”

“That was basic.”

“You’re especially pretty when you’re wearing my clothes.”

“Better.”

“You’re funny.”

“I know.”

“And irritating.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“It’s one of my favourite things about you.”

You looked up at him.

His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek.

“You’re my favourite person to come home to,” he continued. “My favourite person to annoy. My favourite person to do absolutely nothing with.”

Your smile softened.

Seungmin’s did too.

“And,” he added, “I’m so obsessed with you that I let you put this stupid thing on my head.”

You touched the bow.

“You love the headband.”

“I tolerate it.”

“You’re avoiding the important part.”

“What important part?”

“The part where you admit I’m obsessed with you.”

You laughed.

“You just admitted it yourself.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“And?”

You stared at him.

He waited expectantly.

“And you don’t want my sister.”

“Obviously.”

“And?”

A slow grin spread across his face.

You realised what he wanted.

“No.”

“Say it.”

“I’m not saying it.”

“You know you want to.”

“I don’t.”

Seungmin’s fingers hovered threateningly near your waist.

You recoiled.

“Don’t.”

“Then say it.”

“You’re abusing your power.”

“I’m waiting.”

You glared at him.

He looked delighted.

“And I’m obsessed with you too,” you muttered.

“What was that?”

“You heard me.”

“The face mask is restricting my hearing.”

“That isn’t how masks work.”

“Speak clearly.”

You tried not to smile.

“I’m obsessed with you too.”

“There we go.”

He bent and kissed you.

It began soft.

A pleased little press of his lips against yours.

Then you reached for the back of his neck and accidentally brushed one wet nail against his cheek.

Seungmin pulled away.

You froze.

A bright streak of polish now cut through the dried clay mask.

For one second, neither of you moved.

Then you burst out laughing.

Seungmin stared at you.

“You ruined it.”

“I’m sorry!”

“You did that on purpose.”

“I didn’t!”

“You attacked me.”

“You were on top of me!”

“Because you accused me of wanting your sister.”

Seungmin touched his cheek.

His fingers came away with polish on them.

His mouth dropped open.

You laughed even harder.

“You look beautiful.”

“You’re sleeping on the sofa.”

“It’s my flat.”

“Then I’m sleeping in your bed alone.”

“You wouldn’t last ten minutes.”

“I’d sleep perfectly.”

You grinned.

Seungmin tried to maintain his glare.

He failed.

A laugh escaped him.

Then another.

He lowered his head until his forehead rested against your shoulder, both of you shaking with laughter on the living-room floor.

You wrapped your arms around him.

“Your mask really is ruined.”

“I know.”

“And the polish is definitely smudged.”

“I know.”

౨ৎ

Your sister invited herself shopping with you three days later.

Technically, she asked whether you had bought your mum’s birthday present yet. When you told her that you and Seungmin were going into town on Sunday to find something, she replied that she had been planning to go that day too.

You had stared at the message for several seconds.

Seungmin, lying beside you with his head on your stomach, had tilted his phone away from his face and asked, “Why are you making that expression?”

“My sister wants to come shopping with us.”

He had gone silent.

You lowered your phone to look at him. “That was a very long pause.”

“I was trying to think of something polite.”

“And?”

“I couldn’t.”

You laughed and ran your fingers through his hair. “We are shopping for her mum too.”

“Unfortunately.”

“She’s my mum.”

“That’s why I said unfortunately. I like your mum.”

“You’re horrible.”

Seungmin had turned his head and pressed a kiss to your stomach through your shirt. “Tell her she can come.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“I’m thrilled. Maybe she can tell me more about what kind of woman I usually prefer.”

You had flicked his forehead.

He had bitten your finger.

The matter was settled.

౨ৎ

Your sister arrived twenty minutes late.

You and Seungmin had already been standing outside the shopping centre long enough for him to complain about the cold four times, steal one of your gloves and attempt to warm his other hand by shoving it beneath the back of your jumper.

You had slapped him away.

He had waited thirty seconds before trying again.

“Your hand is freezing,” you complained, twisting out of his reach.

“That’s why I need your body heat.”

“You have pockets.”

“They’re not as warm as you.”

“They don’t want you touching them either.”

Seungmin smiled and caught the belt loop of your jeans when you tried to step away. “Come back.”

“No.”

“You’re abandoning me.”

“I’m moving half a metre.”

“That’s still too far.”

You rolled your eyes, but you let him pull you backwards until your shoulder rested against his chest. He wrapped both arms around your waist and tucked his chin over your shoulder, immediately pleased with himself.

“You’re very clingy today,” you said.

“It’s cold.”

“You were clingy yesterday too.”

“I was tired.”

“You fell asleep on top of me. I couldn’t breathe.”

“And yet you let me stay.” His laugh warmed the side of your neck.

Your sister found you like that.

She slowed as she approached, taking in Seungmin’s arms around your middle and the way your hands rested over his.

Then she smiled.

“Sorry,” she said, although she did not sound particularly sorry. “The train was delayed.”

“You said you were driving,” you replied.

She paused.

Seungmin’s face disappeared briefly against your shoulder. You felt the silent shake of his laughter.

“I changed my mind,” your sister said.

“Clearly.”

She looked at Seungmin. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Long enough for her to attack me.”

“I moved your freezing hand away,” you said.

Seungmin tightened his arms around your waist. “Exactly.”

Your sister laughed, her gaze lingering on him a little too long. “You poor thing.”

Your sister looked at you with a small, knowing smile. “You’ve always been like that.”

“Like what?”

“Rough.”

Seungmin’s eyebrows rose.

You looked down at your outfit as though you might find evidence of roughness on your coat. “I pushed his hand away.”

“I’m only joking.”

“Right.”

“She’s very frightening,” Seungmin said solemnly. “I live in constant fear.”

Then he kissed your cheek and released you, taking your hand instead. “Can we go inside before I lose feeling in my fingers?”

“You stole my glove.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

Your sister walked beside him as you entered the shopping centre.

You ended up on his other side.

It was not immediately strange. The pavement narrowed near the doors, people moved around you, and your sister had always been skilled at placing herself exactly where she wanted to be without appearing deliberate.

But once you were inside, she remained there.

She asked Seungmin what he thought you should buy. She asked whether he enjoyed shopping. She asked which shops he liked, whether he cared about clothes and whether he usually chose his own outfits.

He answered politely.

Mostly.

When she asked whether he had a favourite designer, he said, “Whoever makes comfortable trousers.”

When she asked what colours he liked on women, he said, “Normal ones.”

Your sister frowned. “I was asking a normal question.”

“I know,” you said. “His answer was stupid.”

Seungmin swung your joined hands between you.

Your sister glanced down.

“I think you’d suit darker colours,” she told him.

“I wear dark colours.”

“I know. They make you look more mature.”

You looked across him. “What does he look like now?”

She ignored you. “You have a very classic face.”

Seungmin turned towards you. “Do I?”

“No.”

He looked offended. “You didn’t even think about it.”

“I look at your face every day.”

“And you’ve never thought it was classic?”

“I’ve thought it was annoying.”

“That isn’t a facial structure.”

“It should be.”

Your sister sighed softly. “You never take compliments seriously.”

“She rarely gives them,” Seungmin said.

“I complimented you this morning.”

“You said my hair looked less strange than usual.”

“That was generous.”

“You also said I looked tired.”

“You did.”

“You make me feel very cherished.”

You stopped in the middle of the walkway and placed both hands around his face. “You are beautiful.”

Seungmin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re mocking me.”

“Never.”

“You’re smiling.”

“Because you’re beautiful.”

He stared at you for another second before his mouth betrayed him.

A reluctant smile appeared.

“There,” you said, squeezing his cheeks. “Pretty.”

Seungmin caught both your wrists and pulled your hands away. “Don’t touch my face in public.”

“You love it.”

Your sister had gone quiet.

You released Seungmin’s face and started walking again. He slipped his hand into yours as though the interruption had never happened.

The first shop was useless.

The second was worse.

Your mum had said she wanted something for the house, which sounded simple until you were faced with fifteen aisles of objects she might already own.

Your sister suggested a decorative vase.

You reminded her that your mum had six.

Seungmin picked up a tiny ceramic dog wearing a crown.

You told him to put it down.

“She’d love him,” he said.

“She’d ask why we bought her rubbish.”

“He’s cute.”

“He’s ugly.”

“He can hear you.”

Your sister smiled at Seungmin. “I think he’s cute.”

You looked at her.

She was not looking at the ceramic dog.

Seungmin, apparently unaware or pretending to be, placed the ornament carefully in your hands. “Hold him.”

“No.”

“He likes you.”

“You like him.”

“He reminds me of you.”

You stared at the dog.

The dog stared back with badly painted eyes.

“You’re sleeping alone tonight.”

Seungmin smiled. “You say that every week.”

“One day I’ll mean it.”

“No, you won’t.”

Your sister picked up a sleek glass vase and held it towards Seungmin. “What about this?”

He glanced at it. “It’s nice.”

“She already has something similar,” you said.

Your sister’s smile tightened. “Not exactly like this.”

“It’s almost identical.”

“It’s more modern.”

“Mum doesn’t care about modern.”

“She might.”

Your sister looked at Seungmin. “What do you think?”

He looked between you both.

Then at the vase.

Then at the ceramic dog still in your hands.

“I think we should buy the dog.”

You laughed.

Your sister did not.

“You’re both impossible,” she said, returning the vase to the shelf.

“That keeps coming up,” Seungmin replied.

You carried the dog for another two aisles before secretly placing it on a display of cushions.

Seungmin noticed immediately.

“Where is he?”

“Who?”

“The dog.”

“I don’t know.”

“You abandoned him.”

“He wasn’t ours.”

“He could have been.”

“Not everything you like has to come home with us.”

“You came home with me.”

Your sister laughed.

You turned towards Seungmin slowly. “Was that meant to be sweet?”

“Yes.”

“It sounded like you found me beside a road.”

“I rescued you.”

“From what?”

“Yourself.”

You shoved him lightly towards a stack of towels.

He caught your elbow and pulled you with him, making you stumble against his chest. His free arm wrapped around your waist before you could fall.

You tried not to smile.

You failed.

Your sister walked ahead.

౨ৎ

After nearly an hour, you found a set of handmade serving bowls that your mum would genuinely like.

Your sister thought they were plain.

Seungmin thought one of them looked like a hat.

You thought both of them needed to stop talking.

You were waiting at the till when your sister announced that she wanted coffee.

“There’s a place downstairs,” she said. “I’ll go.”

“I’ll come,” you replied. “I need the toilet anyway.”

Her expression flickered.

Only slightly.

Then she smiled. “You can stay with the bags. Seungmin and I can get them.”

Seungmin looked up from the receipt in his hand.

You looked at her.

She looked at him.

There was a small silence.

Then Seungmin said, “She knows my order.”

Your sister recovered quickly. “You can tell me.”

“I’ll forget something.”

“It’s coffee.”

“He’s very demanding,” you said.

Seungmin nodded.

Your sister laughed, although her eyes stayed on him. “I think I can manage.”

You could have refused.

Part of you wanted to, not because you thought anything would happen, but because your sister’s intentions had become so transparent that allowing her to proceed felt almost embarrassing.

Then curiosity won.

You handed the shopping bag to Seungmin. “Fine. Get me something sweet.”

“What?”

“Surprise me.”

“That always ends badly.”

“Only because you make poor choices.”

Seungmin stared at you.

You smiled.

He sighed. “Fine.”

Your sister looked pleased.

Far too pleased.

You kissed Seungmin’s cheek before stepping away. “Don’t let her buy me anything with coconut.”

౨ৎ

Seungmin watched you disappear into the crowd.

He knew exactly what you were doing.

You had kissed him in front of your sister on purpose.

Not because you were worried.

Because you were a menace.

A message appeared on his phone before he and your sister had reached the escalator.

Don’t fall in love while I’m gone x

He smiled despite himself.

Your sister noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Was that her?”

“Yes.”

“What did she say?”

Seungmin put his phone away. “Nothing important.”

Your sister stepped onto the escalator beside him.

For several seconds, she was silent.

Then she said, “She checks on you a lot.”

Seungmin looked at her. “Does she?”

“She’s always texting you.”

“We text each other.”

“I know. I just mean she likes knowing where you are.”

He considered the comment.

“She sent me a joke.”

“What joke?”

“One you wouldn’t find funny.”

Your sister’s mouth tightened. “You don’t know that.”

“I know her sense of humour.”

“And mine?”

“Not really.”

The escalator carried them down another floor.

Your sister rested one hand on the rail. “You and her are very different.”

Seungmin looked ahead. “You’ve mentioned that.”

“I don’t mean it as an insult.”

“You keep saying that too.”

She laughed softly. “You remember.”

“I have a good memory.”

“You do seem observant.”

“Sometimes.”

“That’s why I’m surprised.”

He turned his head.

“By what?”

She looked briefly uncertain, as if she had expected him to understand without making her say it aloud.

“Nothing.”

Seungmin faced forwards again.

The coffee shop was busy. A line curled away from the counter, giving your sister more time than she probably needed.

She moved closer to him as they joined it.

“I’ve always wondered how she ended up with someone like you.”

Seungmin’s expression did not change.

“Someone like me?”

“Successful. Disciplined. Mature.”

“You think she isn’t those things?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

Your sister sighed. “You’re very defensive of her.”

“She’s my girlfriend.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you surprised?”

“I’m not surprised. I just think you misunderstand me.”

Seungmin shoved one hand into his coat pocket. “Then explain.”

Your sister glanced towards the counter. The line had barely moved.

“She’s always been the sweet one,” she said. “The one people feel protective over. I’ve always been more independent.”

“Okay.”

“She needs more reassurance.”

“Does she?”

“You’ve seen how she is.”

“I have.”

“And that doesn’t get tiring?”

Seungmin looked at her properly.

His tone stayed light, but his eyes sharpened. “No.”

Your sister held his gaze. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

“I’m not.”

“She can be a lot.”

“So can I.”

“You’re different.”

“You don’t know me.”

The words landed more firmly than anything he had said before.

Your sister blinked.

Seungmin looked back towards the counter.

The line moved forward.

For a few seconds, she said nothing.

Then she tried again.

“She doesn’t tell people this, but she used to get overlooked a lot when we were younger.”

Seungmin’s jaw tightened.

“Overlooked by who?”

“People.”

Your sister exhaled, clearly frustrated by his refusal to fill in the gaps for her.

“Boys usually noticed me first.”

Seungmin waited.

She smiled faintly. “She never minded. At least, she pretended not to.”

He looked at her.

“And?”

“And nothing. I’m only saying it’s probably nice for her to be the one someone chose for once.”

Seungmin stared at her for a long moment.

Your sister interpreted the silence as an opening.

“You’re kind,” she continued. “You probably don’t even realise how much that means to her.”

“I noticed her.”

The sentence was quiet.

Immediate.

Your sister’s smile faltered.

“I didn’t say you didn’t.”

“You said people didn’t.”

“I said they usually noticed me first.”

“I didn’t.”

Something sharp passed across her face.

Then she laughed.

“You hadn’t met me.”

Seungmin looked at her.

The confidence in her smile returned.

It was not difficult to understand what she meant.

If he had seen her first, things might have been different.

If he knew her better, he might recognise what he had missed.

If you had not reached him before she did, perhaps he would have made the correct choice.

Seungmin almost laughed.

Instead, he said, “I’ve met you now.”

Your sister’s smile remained fixed.

The line moved again.

She stepped closer.

“I think we have more in common than you realise.”

“Do we?”

“We’re both ambitious.”

“So is she.”

“We care about how we present ourselves.”

“She does too.”

“She doesn’t care what anyone thinks.”

“That’s one of the things I like about her.”

Your sister’s eyes narrowed. “You turn everything into a compliment about her.”

“Yes.”

The answer was so simple that it left nowhere for the conversation to go.

Your sister looked away.

Seungmin’s phone buzzed again.

He checked it.

Is she seducing you yet?

A second message appeared.

Blink twice if you need rescue

Then:

Actually don’t. I can’t see you

He laughed under his breath.

Your sister glanced towards the phone.

“She’s checking again?”

“She’s entertaining herself.”

“She doesn’t trust me.”

Seungmin looked up. “Should she?”

Your sister went still.

He raised his eyebrows slightly.

For the first time, she seemed uncertain whether he was joking.

Then he smiled.

Not warmly.

Not cruelly either.

Just enough to make the question impossible to challenge.

Your sister looked towards the menu.

“What did she want?”

“Something sweet.”

“That isn’t very specific.”

“She likes trying new things.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Your sister frowned. “She’s my sister.”

Seungmin slipped his phone into his pocket. “Then choose.”

She looked at the display board.

After a moment, she suggested a coconut latte.

Seungmin stared at her.

“What?”

“She hates coconut.”

Your sister hesitated. “Does she?”

“She told you five minutes ago.”

“I forgot.”

“I didn’t.”

He ordered your favourite instead.

౨ৎ

You returned to find them sitting at a small table near the window.

Your sister was speaking.

Seungmin was looking at his phone.

That alone told you almost everything you needed to know.

He was never rude enough to ignore someone without a reason.

When he spotted you, his entire expression changed.

His shoulders relaxed. His mouth curved into a smile. He put his phone down and lifted one hand towards you.

“There you are.”

You slid into the seat beside him.

Seungmin immediately hooked his fingers through the belt loop at the back of your jeans and tugged you closer.

“I was gone for fifteen minutes.”

“It was difficult.”

“You seemed fine.”

Your sister looked between you.

You picked up the drink in front of your seat and inspected it. “What did you get me?”

“Try it.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why?”

“You said to surprise you.”

“I don’t trust you.”

Seungmin pushed the cup closer. “Drink.”

You took a cautious sip.

It was sweet, creamy and familiar.

Your favourite.

You looked at him.

He smiled smugly.

“You didn’t choose something new.”

“I chose something you’d like.”

“That isn’t a surprise.”

“You were surprised.”

“I was surprised you made a good decision.”

Seungmin leaned towards you. “Say thank you.”

“No.”

“Say it.”

“You’re very demanding.”

“I carried the bowls.”

“They’re in one bag.”

“A heavy bag.”

“They’re ceramic, not concrete.”

Your sister interrupted. “He remembered your order.”

You looked at her.

There was something brittle in her voice.

Seungmin rested his chin briefly on your shoulder and stole a sip of your drink.

You pushed his face away.

“Of course he did,” you said. “He orders it more than I do.”

“For you,” he corrected.

“You steal half.”

“It tastes better when it’s yours.”

“That’s because you’re a thief.”

He smiled against your cheek.

Your sister looked away.

You could practically feel the conversation you had interrupted sitting between them.

You waited until Seungmin sat back.

Then you asked, “Did you have a nice chat?”

Your sister reached for her coffee.

Seungmin looked at you.

His eyes were bright with the effort of not laughing.

“Very informative.”

“Oh?”

“I learned that I’m successful, disciplined and mature.”

You nodded solemnly. “One out of three isn’t bad.”

Seungmin kicked your foot beneath the table.

You kicked him back.

Your sister sighed. “I was complimenting him.”

“I know.”

“She thinks I’m mature,” Seungmin said.

“She doesn’t live with you.”

“I don’t live with you.”

Under the table, Seungmin’s knee pressed against yours.

You tapped it once with your own.

He tapped back.

Your sister watched the movement.

“I was only saying that you’re lucky,” she said.

You looked at her. “Again?”

“You are.”

“I know.”

“She thinks you’re lucky someone finally noticed you,” Seungmin added.

The words were delivered with deceptive casualness.

Your sister’s head snapped towards him.

Your hand stilled around the cup.

Seungmin lifted his drink.

You looked at your sister.

She looked suddenly furious.

“I didn’t say it like that.”

“How did you say it?”

“I said people usually noticed me first when we were younger.”

You raised your eyebrows.

Your sister leaned back. “It was relevant to the conversation.”

“What conversation?”

“We were talking about relationships.”

“You were talking about mine?”

“She asked whether dating you was tiring,” Seungmin said.

You stared at him.

He took a calm sip.

Your sister’s face reddened. “That isn’t what I asked.”

“It was very close.”

“You’re twisting my words.”

“I remember them quite clearly.”

You looked between them.

The ridiculousness of it arrived before the hurt could.

Your sister had finally managed to get Seungmin alone, and she had apparently used the opportunity to explain why being with you must be exhausting.

A laugh slipped out.

Your sister’s mouth tightened. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because you had fifteen minutes.”

“What?”

“You finally got him alone and that was your strategy?”

Seungmin choked on his drink.

Your sister stared at you.

You turned towards him. “Are you all right?”

He held up one hand and coughed into the other.

“You’re horrible,” he managed.

“You were thinking it too.”

“I was trying to be polite.”

Your sister placed her cup on the table more firmly than necessary. “Nothing happened.”

You looked at her. “I know.”

“Then stop acting like you caught me doing something.”

“I didn’t catch you. He told me.”

Your sister stood.

The legs of her chair scraped against the floor.

“I’m going to look at another shop.”

You glanced at the untouched coffee. “We just sat down.”

“I remembered something I need.”

She grabbed her handbag.

Seungmin watched her.

Your sister looked at him, waiting for something.

An offer to come with her, perhaps.

An apology.

A private look that confirmed all the things she had decided existed between them.

Seungmin lifted his hand.

For one hopeful second, she smiled.

Then he pointed towards her cup. “Are you taking that?”

Her smile disappeared.

“No.”

“Can I have it?”

You elbowed him.

“What?” he asked. “She isn’t drinking it.”

Your sister walked away without answering.

You watched her disappear into the crowd.

Then you turned slowly towards Seungmin.

He was already reaching for her abandoned coffee.

You slapped his hand.

“No.”

“She said she didn’t want it.”

“You don’t know what’s in it.”

“Coffee.”

“She might have poisoned it.”

“Why would she poison her own drink?”

“She sensed rejection.”

Seungmin laughed.

You folded your arms. “What did she actually say?”

He gave up on the coffee and leaned back in his chair.

“Exactly what I told you.”

“She asked whether I was tiring?”

“She implied that you need constant reassurance, said you’re a lot and suggested I probably chose you because I’m kind.”

Your amusement faded a little.

Seungmin noticed immediately.

His foot slid beside yours under the table.

“She also told me men usually noticed her first,” he added.

You looked at the crowd beyond the window. “She loves saying that.”

“I asked which men.”

That made you smile.

Seungmin’s knee pressed more firmly against yours.

“She couldn’t name them.”

“You interrogated her?”

“I asked good questions.”

“You never ask good questions.”

“That’s unfair.”

You looked back at him.

He was watching you closely.

Not pushing.

Just waiting.

“What else?” you asked.

Seungmin hesitated. “She implied I might have chosen differently if I’d met her first.”

A strange little ache settled beneath your ribs.

Not because you believed it.

The idea of Seungmin choosing your sister felt almost comical.

But because she believed your entire relationship could be reduced to timing.

That you had simply arrived first and seized something that should have belonged to her.

You looked down at your cup. “And what did you say?”

“That I’ve met her now.”

Your mouth twitched.

“That’s all?”

“I thought it was enough.”

“It is.”

“She didn’t like it.”

“I’m devastated for her.”

“I also told her I noticed you.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the cup.

Seungmin’s expression softened.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I noticed you.”

You fought a smile.

You covered his mouth with your hand.

Seungmin kissed your palm.

You pulled it away immediately.

“That’s disgusting.”

“You liked that too.”

“You’re so pleased with yourself.”

“I handled a difficult social situation and bought you the correct drink.”

“You want a medal?”

“A kiss would be appropriate.”

“You’re asking for payment?”

“I did hard labour.”

“You stood in a coffee queue.”

“With your sister.”

You considered that.

Seungmin lifted his eyebrows.

You leaned over and kissed his cheek.

He turned his head at the last second, catching the corner of your mouth instead.

You pulled back.

“That was cheating.”

“You’re slow.”

“You tricked me.”

“You still kissed me.”

“Barely.”

“You can try again.”

“I’m not rewarding bad behaviour.”

Seungmin rested one elbow on the table. “Then I’ll have to live with the memory.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“I suffered for fifteen minutes.”

“You were texting me.”

“That was my lifeline.”

You laughed and nudged his foot beneath the table.

Seungmin caught your ankle between his.

“You know she’s going to tell herself you only rejected her because you knew I was coming back.”

Seungmin’s expression became thoughtful. “Do you want me to say it more directly?”

You looked towards the direction your sister had disappeared.

Part of you wanted him to.

Part of you knew she would turn even that into evidence of something else.

“She hasn’t actually admitted she wants you,” you said.

“She invited herself on our date.”

“We’re buying Mum bowls.”

“A highly romantic date.”

Seungmin reached for your hand across the table.

His thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles.

“If she says something properly,” he said, “I’ll answer properly.”

“You have answered.”

“I mean without being polite.”

“That sounds frightening.”

Seungmin squeezed your hand. “Tell her that when she tries again.”

You looked at him.

“When?”

He smiled.

“You think she’s stopping?”

You glanced once more towards the crowd.

“No.”

“Neither do I.”

There was a pause.

Then Seungmin brightened. “Can we go back for the dog?”

“No.”

“He could be part of your mum’s present.”

“She would hate him.”

“She’d learn to love him.”

“You only knew him for ten minutes.”

“That was enough.”

Seungmin smiled and lifted your hand to his mouth.

This time, he kissed your knuckles slowly.

You let him.

Your sister returned ten minutes later carrying nothing.

Neither of you mentioned it.

Seungmin did, however, remain close to you for the rest of the afternoon.

His hand at your waist when people passed too close. His fingers laced through yours on the escalator. His chin briefly resting on your shoulder while you examined candles. His mouth near your ear when he whispered that one of them smelled like “an expensive wardrobe”.

Your sister tried to walk beside him.

Seungmin kept drifting back towards you.

She asked his opinion.

He asked yours.

She suggested shops.

He followed wherever you went.

By the time you left the shopping centre, your sister had stopped speaking unless someone addressed her directly.

The three of you stood near the station while she checked the time.

“My train’s in five minutes,” she said.

Your sister adjusted her handbag and looked at Seungmin. “It was nice spending time with you.”

“You too.”

“We should do it again.”

You looked at him.

He looked at you.

Your sister noticed.

“Without making it into a whole family thing,” she added.

You raised your eyebrows.

Seungmin slipped his arm around your shoulders. “I think she comes with me.”

Your sister laughed. “You’re allowed separate friends.”

“I have friends.”

“She means her,” you said.

“I know.”

Your sister’s cheeks coloured.

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” Seungmin asked.

She looked at him.

He waited.

His expression was pleasant.

Curious.

Entirely unwilling to rescue her.

Your sister’s train arrived with a rush of noise behind her.

She glanced towards the platform.

“I have to go.”

“You should hurry,” you said.

She hugged you briefly.

When she turned towards Seungmin, he lifted the shopping bag between them.

Your sister stopped.

He smiled politely.

“Bye.”

For a moment, she looked as though she might push around the bag and hug him anyway.

Then she stepped back.

“Bye.”

You watched her hurry towards the train.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Seungmin lowered the bag.

“You used Mum’s bowls as a shield,” you said.

“I panicked.”

“You’re very brave.”

“She hugged me last time.”

“Terrifying.”

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You could have hugged her.”

Seungmin looked horrified. “Why would I do that?”

“She’s confident and sophisticated.”

“Stop.”

“More your type.”

He pointed at you. “We discussed this.”

“She only needs an opportunity.”

“You’re becoming annoying.”

“Becoming?”

“More annoying.”

You smiled.

Seungmin stared at you for a second.

Then he hooked one arm around your waist and lifted you just enough that your shoes left the ground.

You yelped.

“Put me down!”

“Take it back.”

“We’re in public!”

“I don’t care.”

You grabbed his shoulders, laughing as he carried you several steps away from the platform.

Seungmin lowered you carefully to the ground.

His smile softened.

Seungmin took your hand again, swinging it once between you before pulling you towards the station exit.

“Come on,” he said. “We have to go back.”

“For what?”

“The dog.”

“We are not buying the dog.”

“He’s waiting for us.”

“He’s ceramic.”

“He’ll think we abandoned him.”

“You said I was the abandoned animal.”

“I can rescue both of you.”

“You already complain that I take up too much space.”

“He’s small.”

“I hate you.”

Seungmin kissed the side of your head.

He smiled and kept walking.

You followed, because the station exit was in the same direction as the shop.

Not because you had agreed to buy the dog.

Definitely not.

When your mum opened her birthday present a week later, she found a beautiful set of handmade serving bowls.

And, tucked between them, a tiny ceramic dog wearing a crown.

She stared at it.

You stared at Seungmin.

Seungmin looked unbearably pleased.

౨ৎ

By the time you finished getting ready, Seungmin had changed his shirt twice, complained about both options and somehow blamed you for the fact that neither looked right.

“You said the black one was nice,” he reminded you from the bedroom doorway.

“It was nice.”

“And then you told me to wear the blue one.”

“Because the blue one is nicer.”

“So the black one was ugly.”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“It’s what you implied.”

You turned away from the mirror and looked at him. He stood with both shirts hanging from one hand, his hair still slightly damp from the shower and an expression of genuine betrayal on his face.

“You’re having a crisis over two nearly identical shirts.”

“They aren’t nearly identical.”

“One is black and one is very dark blue.”

“Exactly.”

You stared at him.

Seungmin stared back.

Then his gaze drifted slowly down your body.

The offence disappeared from his expression.

You had chosen an outfit that made you feel good. You suspected you would regret that decision later, but Seungmin’s reaction made it worth it.

He looked at you for long enough that you lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m looking.”

“At what?”

“My girlfriend.”

You tried not to smile. “Have you not seen me before?”

“Not in that.”

“You watched me put it on.”

“I was distracted.”

“By what?”

“The shirt crisis.”

You laughed and turned back towards the mirror. Seungmin abandoned both shirts on the bed and crossed the room, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

“You look pretty,” he murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Only pretty?”

His eyes narrowed at your reflection. “Don’t become demanding.”

“You stared at me for thirty seconds. I expected something better.”

“You look very pretty.”

“That’s the same thing with an extra word.”

“You look so pretty that I’m reconsidering letting you leave the flat.”

You smiled. “Better.”

“I knew you were fishing.”

“I enjoy compliments.”

“I know.”

Seungmin kissed the side of your neck, then another spot slightly lower. You tilted your head instinctively before remembering you had spent far too long getting ready.

“Don’t ruin my makeup.”

“I’m nowhere near your makeup.”

“You’ll work your way up.”

“That sounds like encouragement.”

You caught his wrists and pulled his arms away. Seungmin resisted just enough to make it difficult, then released you with an exaggerated sigh.

“You don’t love me anymore.”

“I’m trying to get us to the party.”

“Chan said eight.”

“It’s quarter past.”

“Exactly. We’re early.”

You looked at him through the mirror. “For what?”

“A party.”

“That started fifteen minutes ago.”

“Social events have a grace period.”

“You invented that because you’re never ready on time.”

“I was ready.”

“You aren’t wearing a shirt.”

Seungmin looked down at his bare chest, then at the two shirts abandoned on the bed.

Your phone buzzed on the dressing table.

You picked it up.

Your sister had messaged.

Are you there yet?

A second message followed before you could reply.

Is Seungmin going straight from yours?

You turned the screen towards him.

Seungmin read both messages. His face remained blank for one beat, then he placed his chin back on your shoulder.

“She misses me.”

“She saw you last week.”

“A long separation.”

“She didn’t ask whether I was going straight from mine.”

“She knows you’ll be there.”

“She also knows you’ll be there.”

“That must be why she asked to come.”

You laughed and nudged him backwards with your hip. “Put the blue shirt on.”

“The black one makes my shoulders look better.”

“Then wear the black one.”

“You said the blue was nicer.”

“Seungmin.”

He smiled and kissed your cheek before finally retrieving the blue shirt.

You replied to your sister while he dressed.

We’re leaving soon. Bring the drinks you promised Chan.

Her response came almost immediately.

What’s Seungmin wearing?

You looked up.

He was buttoning the blue shirt.

You considered sending her a photograph of the black one lying empty on the bed.

Instead, you typed:

Clothes x

Seungmin glanced over. “What did you say?”

“Nothing important.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m entertaining myself.”

“Is she seducing me remotely now?”

“Apparently she needs to prepare.”

“For what?”

“To be more your type.”

Seungmin finished the final button and walked towards you. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“It’s funny.”

“Until she touches my arm fifteen times.”

“Maybe she thinks that’s where your romantic feelings are stored.”

“That would explain why I keep trying to get away.”

You laughed, and Seungmin’s smile softened. He reached out to fix the chain of your necklace where it had twisted, his fingers careful against the back of your neck.

“Tell me if it stops being funny,” he said.

The words were quiet enough to change the air between you.

You turned.

Seungmin let his hands settle at your waist.

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“You already made me promise.”

“I’m making you do it again.”

“Very controlling.”

“Very caring.”

“Debatable.”

He squeezed your waist. “Promise.”

You rested both hands against his chest. “I promise.”

Satisfied, Seungmin kissed your forehead. Then he leant back and examined his shirt in the mirror.

“Do my shoulders look strange?”

You pushed him towards the door.

౨ৎ

The party remained civilised for approximately forty minutes.

Then Changbin brought out the shot glasses.

Chan saw them from across the room and immediately shook his head. “Take it easy”

“You bought the alcohol,” Changbin reminded him.

Jisung appeared beside the kitchen counter as though summoned by the word drinking. “Shots are normal.”

“You said that last time and threw up in my shoes.”

“That was unrelated.”

“It was directly related.”

Felix slid into the space beside Jisung and began examining the bottles. You followed closely behind him, your own drink already mostly gone.

Seungmin caught your wrist before you could reach for anything.

“You’re not doing shots.”

You looked at his hand around your wrist, then at him. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve already had three drinks.”

“So have you.”

“I can still walk in a straight line.”

“I can walk in a straight line.”

Seungmin released you and pointed towards the hallway.

You stared at him.

He lifted his eyebrows.

“You want me to demonstrate?”

“Yes.”

You placed your empty glass on the counter and turned towards the hallway with as much dignity as you could manage.

Felix and Jisung watched in complete silence.

You took three perfectly respectable steps.

Then your hip struck the edge of the sofa.

You stopped.

Seungmin smiled.

“The sofa moved.”

“It’s been there all night.”

“It knew I was trying to prove something.”

Jisung nodded seriously. “Furniture can sense weakness.”

Minho, sitting nearby with his ankle resting over one knee, looked at him. “That explains why you keep walking into doors.”

Jisung placed a hand over his chest. “Why are you attacking me?”

“Because you make it easy.”

Jisung abandoned the counter and dropped onto the sofa beside him. Within seconds, his legs were stretched across Minho’s lap.

Minho glanced down but made no effort to move them.

You pointed towards them. “He can’t walk straight either.”

“He’s sitting,” Seungmin said.

“He was walking badly earlier.”

Changbin began pouring.

Hyunjin took the bottle from Changbin before he could overfill the glasses. “At least make them even. You’re pouring like you’ve never seen liquid before.”

“I’m being generous.”

“You’re trying to kill Jisung.”

Jisung lifted his head from Minho’s shoulder. “Yes please.”

Minho pressed one hand against his forehead and pushed him back down. “You accept nothing.”

You managed to claim a glass before Seungmin could stop you.

Felix took one.

Jisung reached for another, but Minho lifted it out of reach.

Jisung stared at him. “Give it.”

“No.”

“You aren’t my father.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

“You can’t control me.”

Minho looked at the legs still resting across his lap. “Stand up, then.”

Jisung considered it.

“No.”

“Thought so.”

Felix passed Jisung his own glass beneath the edge of the table.

Minho saw.

He allowed it.

You caught his eye.

Minho shrugged and took another drink.

“Traitor,” Seungmin told him.

“I’m off duty.”

“You were never on duty,” Chan said.

“Exactly.”

Changbin raised his glass. “To Chan finally letting us have fun.”

“This is my party.”

“Then act like it.”

Chan swore at him, but lifted his drink anyway.

Everyone crowded closer.

Your friend remained beside your sister near the end of the counter, amused but still slightly removed from the intimacy of the group. You caught her eye and held up your glass.

She lifted hers back.

Your sister barely noticed.

She was watching Seungmin.

He stood behind you with one hand resting against your hip, his thumb moving absently beneath the hem of your top.

You leaned back into him.

“To being hot,” Hyunjin said.

Jeongin nodded. “Finally, something relevant.”

Chan looked around the group. “Can we toast to something normal?”

“No,” everyone replied.

The shot burned on the way down.

Felix coughed.

You squeezed your eyes shut and grabbed the first solid thing you found.

It was Changbin’s arm.

“Fuck.”

Changbin laughed. “You agreed to it.”

“That tasted like paint stripper.”

“You’ve never tasted paint stripper.”

“Maybe I have.”

Seungmin pulled you backwards against his chest. “And this is why you weren’t doing shots.”

You turned in his arms. “I did one.”

“You nearly died.”

“I recovered.”

“You’re still holding Changbin.You could have held me.”

You looked down to find your hand still wrapped around Changbin’s bicep and slowly released him. “Come back when you’ve got biceps, bud.”

Seungmin stared at you for a beat before catching you around the waist and pulling you firmly against his chest. “You seemed perfectly happy with mine earlier.”

You placed a hand against his arm as though inspecting it. “They’re all right.”

His grip tightened. “All right?”

You smiled. “Maybe a little better than that.”

౨ৎ

Someone suggested a drinking game.

Nobody later remembered who.

You all ended up sitting in a loose circle around the living room with bottles, half-empty glasses and bowls of food scattered between you.

Your friend sat beside your sister on the sofa. You were on the floor between Felix and Seungmin, with your back against Seungmin’s legs. His hand rested loosely at the base of your throat, occasionally brushing your hair aside.

Jisung had begun the game beside Minho.

By the third round, he was mostly sitting on him.

“Never have I ever,” Jeongin began, smiling in a way that immediately made Chan suspicious, “lied to get out of plans with someone in this room.”

Nearly everyone drank.

Chan stared at the group. “Are you serious?”

“You make too many plans,” Seungmin said.

“I ask whether you want dinner.”

“That’s still a plan.”

You lifted your glass.

Seungmin looked down at you. “When did you lie to me?”

You took a long sip.

His fingers tightened gently at the back of your neck.

“When?”

You smiled into your drink. “Next question.”

“No. We’re staying here.”

Felix laughed. “She said she was ill once because she wanted to watch a film with us.”

Seungmin stared at you.

“You exposed me,” you told Felix.

“I forgot it was a secret.”

“You chose them over me?” Seungmin asked.

“You were working.”

“You still lied.”

“You would’ve sulked.”

“I am sulking now.”

You twisted around to look at him. “Do you need a kiss?”

Seungmin considered the offer.

“Yes.”

You kissed him quickly.

He kept one hand against your jaw and prevented you from moving away.

“That was inadequate.”

Everyone groaned.

You laughed against his mouth before kissing him again, slower this time.

When you finally pulled away, Changbin threw a crisp at Seungmin’s head.

“Some of us are single.”

“You don’t have to watch,” Seungmin said.

“You’re in the middle of the room.”

“Look somewhere else.”

Hyunjin placed one hand against Changbin’s cheek and turned his face away. “There. Problem solved.”

Changbin bit his palm.

Hyunjin screamed.

The game continued.

“Never have I ever had a crush on someone in this room,” Felix said.

Silence fell.

Then Jeongin drank.

Hyunjin drank.

Changbin drank.

Jisung lifted his glass, looked around and drank twice.

Minho looked at him. “Twice?”

Jisung rested his chin on Minho’s shoulder. “I contain multitudes.”

Minho took Jisung’s glass and drank from it.

The room erupted.

Jisung stared at him, eyes widening. “Was that your answer?”

“It was your drink.”

“You have your own.”

“I wanted yours.”

“That is not an answer.”

Minho smiled into the rim of the glass.

You turned towards Felix.

He was already looking at you.

Both of you burst out laughing.

“Don’t,” Minho warned.

You covered your mouth with both hands.

Seungmin’s chest shook behind you.

Your sister remained completely still.

You could feel her watching.

Felix nudged your knee. “You didn’t drink.”

“I’m dating someone in the room.”

“That doesn’t mean you never had a crush.”

Seungmin’s fingers slid beneath your chin and turned your face towards him.

“You had better drink.”

You stared at him. “Why?”

“Because you had a crush on me.”

“That was never confirmed.”

“You asked Chan for my number.”

The group laughed.

Your sister’s glass stopped halfway to her mouth.

Seungmin’s eyes flicked towards her, then back to you.

Your smile softened despite the alcohol.

Felix made an emotional noise.

Minho pointed at him. “Don’t fucking start.”

Felix’s eyes had already begun shining.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re about to cry.”

“I just think they’re cute.”

Seungmin felt you sniff.

“No.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re crying.”

“Felix started it.”

Felix wiped beneath one eye. “I’m happy.”

“That makes it worse,” Seungmin said.

You twisted and threw your arms around him.

He caught you automatically.

“I love you.”

Seungmin sighed, but his arms tightened around your waist.

“I love you too.”

౨ৎ

The music became louder after that.

So did everyone.

Chan lost control of the playlist when you, Felix and Jisung began shouting over every song until he played something you liked. By then, the coffee table had disappeared beneath bottles, crushed cans and bowls of snacks nobody remembered opening. Somebody had spilt something sticky beside the sofa. Changbin had taken his shirt off for reasons nobody understood, and Hyunjin kept threatening to throw it out of the nearest window.

You, Felix and Jisung dragged one another into the middle of the room.

At first, you actually danced.

Felix knew what he was doing even while drunk. Jisung knew what he was doing until something distracted him, which happened every ten seconds. You possessed confidence far beyond your ability and therefore believed you looked incredible.

Changbin encouraged that delusion by cheering whenever you moved.

Hyunjin attempted to correct your posture once.

You told him to fuck off.

He looked deeply wounded. “I’m trying to save you.”

“I don’t need saving.”

“You’re dancing like your limbs have separate plans.”

“They’re expressing themselves.”

Felix laughed and caught your waist before you could stumble into the coffee table. Jisung pressed against your back, shouting the lyrics directly beside your ear while the three of you moved with very little coordination and enormous enthusiasm.

From the sofa, Seungmin watched you.

His blue shirt had come unbuttoned slightly at the throat, his hair had fallen across his forehead and his cheeks were warm from the alcohol. One hand rested around his glass while his eyes remained fixed on you.

Your sister sat only a few feet away.

She attempted to speak to him twice.

He answered politely, but barely looked in her direction.

When you caught his gaze, you smiled and crooked one finger towards him.

Seungmin shook his head.

You did it again.

He lifted his drink as though that explained why he could not move.

You pouted.

That worked.

Seungmin put the glass down and crossed the room.

Felix released your waist with a grin. Jisung remained attached to you until Minho appeared behind him, hooked an arm around his middle and pulled him backwards.

Jisung laughed and twisted in his hold. “Jealous?”

Minho murmured something into his ear.

Whatever it was made Jisung’s face turn bright red.

Felix screamed.

You screamed because Felix did.

Seungmin caught your face between both hands. “Why are you shouting?”

You pointed vaguely towards Minho and Jisung. “Something happened.”

“Nothing happened,” Minho said without looking at you.

Jisung buried his face against his shoulder.

You grinned. “Something definitely happened.”

Minho gave you a warning look.

You immediately turned back to Seungmin and began adjusting his collar as though that had always been your intention.

“Coward,” Seungmin murmured.

“You’re supposed to protect me.”

“From the consequences of your own behaviour?”

“You’re my boyfriend.”

“That isn’t what that means.”

His hands slid to your waist as the song changed. You pulled him closer, and although he continued pretending not to dance, his body fell easily into the rhythm of yours.

“There,” you said. “You’re dancing.”

“I’m standing near you.”

“You’re moving.”

“You keep dragging me around.”

“You love it.”

Seungmin lowered his mouth beside your ear. “I love you.”

The softness of it caught beneath your ribs.

You turned and kissed him.

He kissed you back without hesitation, one hand spreading across the small of your back while the party surged around you. Someone wolf-whistled. Someone else shouted at them to shut the fuck up.

You suspected one of them had been Changbin.

When you pulled away, Seungmin followed far enough to steal another brief kiss.

“You’re clingy,” you murmured.

“You called me over.”

“And you came.”

“You pouted.”

“That’s all it takes?”

“Unfortunately.”

You smiled and kissed the edge of his jaw.

His eyes closed.

“Again.”

“You’re demanding.”

You kissed his jaw again, and Seungmin’s grip tightened around your waist.

Across the room, your sister emptied the rest of her glass.

You barely noticed.

Seungmin’s attention had already wandered from dancing to pressing lazy kisses against whatever part of you happened to be closest—your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

When his lips brushed beneath your ear, you laughed and pushed lightly at his chest. “You’ve completely stopped dancing.”

“I never started.”

“You came over.”

“You summoned me.”

“I moved one finger.”

“Very controlling.”

His hand settled lower against your back, holding you close when somebody squeezed past.

You reached up and fixed his collar again. “You look messy.”

“You made me messy.”

“That sounds suggestive.”

“It was meant to.”

His smile turned slow and pleased.

Before he could say anything worse, Felix collided gently with your side and caught your hand. “I need her.”

Seungmin kept one arm around you. “You’ve had her for three songs.”

“The next one’s important.”

“They’ve all been important,” you said.

Seungmin looked at Felix. “You sound like her.”

“That’s why she loves me.”

Felix pulled. Seungmin held on.

You found yourself stretched between them.

“Don’t make me choose.”

Felix smiled. “You’ll choose me.”

Seungmin’s eyebrows lifted. “Choose carefully.”

You pretended to consider it before twisting out of Seungmin’s arm, kissing him quickly and letting Felix drag you away.

“Coward,” Seungmin called after you.

“You still got a kiss!”

“Barely.”

You laughed as Felix pulled you back into the crowd.

The next hour dissolved into heat, noise and flashes of movement.

Hyunjin danced as though someone might be filming him. Changbin attempted to copy him with enough force to make the floor shake.

Nearby, Minho took the glass out of Jisung’s hand and drank from it himself.

Jisung watched him. “You said I couldn’t have that.”

“You can’t.”

“But you can?”

“Yes.”

“That’s hot.”

Minho looked away, but not before you saw him smile.

Someone produced two microphones.

The karaoke began badly and deteriorated almost immediately.

You, Felix and Jisung chose a song all three of you knew, which would have helped if any of you had agreed on when to start. Jisung came in too early. You missed half the first line. Felix attempted to hold the performance together and ended up laughing so hard that he could no longer sing.

Changbin provided backing vocals without a microphone.

Hyunjin acted out the lyrics from the sofa.

Chan kept trying to lower the volume and being shouted at whenever the music became even slightly quieter.

By the second song, you had abandoned any pretence of performing well. You and Felix shared one microphone while Jisung used the other for increasingly dramatic ad-libs that had nothing to do with the actual song.

Halfway through the chorus, you passed close enough to the sofa for Seungmin to hook his fingers around your wrist.

He pulled.

You landed sideways across his lap, and the microphone struck his shoulder.

“Shit. Sorry.”

Seungmin took it from you before you could hit him again. “Ouch.”

“I’m performing.”

“You’re screaming into expensive equipment.”

He placed the microphone safely on the table.

Felix shouted your name.

You tried to stand, but Seungmin held your waist.

“I have responsibilities,” you told him.

“You have absolutely no responsibilities.”

“Felix needs me.”

Felix and Jisung had abandoned the song and were arguing with Chan about whether the lyrics on the screen were wrong.

Seungmin looked towards them. “They seem busy.”

“Then I need to help.”

“You need to stay here for thirty seconds.”

“Why?”

“I missed you.”

Your expression softened before you could stop it.

Seungmin smiled, knowing he had won.

“You’re manipulative.”

You settled more comfortably across his thighs, one arm circling his shoulders. Seungmin rested his face against your chest and closed his eyes while your fingers moved through his hair.

Across from you, your sister’s gaze remained fixed on his hand resting against your thigh.

Your friend was speaking to her.

Your sister nodded without listening.

By one in the morning, the party had split between the living room, the kitchen and the balcony.

The music remained loud enough to vibrate through the floor. People drifted between conversations with drinks they had not poured and jackets that did not belong to them. Someone had opened a window, but the room was still hot with too many bodies and the sharp mixture of alcohol, perfume and whatever Changbin had sprayed after insisting he smelled fine.

Your friend remained mostly with your sister.

She laughed whenever the group became loud enough to include everyone, but she never tried to force herself into the easy physical closeness surrounding the boys.

You checked on her whenever you remembered.

Each time, she assured you she was fine.

Your sister always said the same.

The fourth time you approached, your friend caught your wrist. “You are incredibly drunk.”

You looked down at yourself. “I’m standing.”

“Barely.”

Your friend laughed.

Your sister did not. “She’s been throwing herself around for hours. She always gets like this when she drinks.”

There was something dismissive beneath the words.

You recognised it even through the alcohol.

Your friend did too.

“She looks like she’s having fun,” she replied.

“I’m having an incredible time,” you announced.

“I can tell.”

Your sister glanced across the room towards Seungmin. “He must be exhausted.”

You followed her gaze.

Seungmin was beside Chan, listening to Changbin explain something with far too much hand movement. He caught you looking almost immediately and lifted one eyebrow in silent question.

You smiled.

He smiled back.

“Does he look exhausted?” you asked.

“He’s spent the whole night following you around.”

“He likes me.”

“I’m aware.”

Before the conversation could sharpen, Felix appeared behind you and looped an arm around your shoulders. “There you are.”

“I’ve been here.”

“You disappeared.”

“I was checking on them.”

Felix glanced towards your friend and sister. “Everything good?”

Your friend nodded. “We’re fine.”

Your sister smiled at him. “We were talking.”

“Great. I’m stealing her.”

“You always steal her,” your sister said.

Felix laughed as though she had made a joke. “Everyone does.”

He pulled you towards the kitchen.

You looked back once.

Your friend gave you a small, reassuring smile.

Your sister was already watching Seungmin again.

In the kitchen, Jisung was sitting on the counter while Minho stood between his knees, holding a glass out of reach.

“That’s mine,” Jisung complained.

“It was yours.”

“I’m not finished.”

“You said the room was spinning.”

“It stopped.”

“When?”

“When I closed one eye.”

Felix immediately took Jisung’s side. “Give it back.”

Minho looked at him. “You’re a terrible influence.”

“You’re drinking too,” you pointed out.

“I can handle it.”

“So can I.”

Minho gave up and handed the drink to you instead.

Jisung gasped. “That’s mine.”

“You’re too drunk.”

“So are you.”

“I’m handling it better.”

Felix took the glass from you and drank before either of you could protest.

Minho laughed.

It was becoming obvious that he was far drunker than he appeared. His movements were still controlled and his words remained clear, but his eyes had softened and he was smiling much too often.

You stepped into the space beside him and wrapped both arms around his waist.

Minho looked down. “What’s this?”

“I’m appreciating you.”

“You’re crushing my shirt.”

You rested your cheek against his chest. “You smell nice.”

“None of you are getting another drink.”

“You ruined it,” you complained.

“He ruins everything,” Jisung agreed.

Minho caught Jisung’s chin and tilted his face upwards. “You can barely keep both eyes open.”

“I only need one.”

“For what?”

“To look at you.”

Minho stared at him.

You buried your face against Minho’s shoulder to hide your laughter.

Jisung looked unbearably pleased with himself.

Minho’s ears turned pink. “You’re a fucking menace.”

“You love me.”

Seungmin entered the kitchen before anyone could comment.

He looked at Minho’s arm around you and Jisung hanging over his shoulders

Then he looked at Minho. “You’ve collected them.”

“I didn’t.”

Seungmin approached and slid both hands onto your hips. “You keep disappearing.”

“You were talking.”

“I can talk while holding you.”

“That sounds inconvenient.”

“I’m talented.”

Minho nodded towards you. “Take her before she asks for another shot.”

You turned in Seungmin’s arms. “He’s trying to get rid of me.”

“You’re attached to his shirt.”

“I like him.”

“You like everyone tonight.”

“I like everyone every night.”

Seungmin’s expression softened.

The next drinking game began in the kitchen because nobody could be bothered to move.

It was meant to be truth or drink.

Within minutes, it became an excuse to ask invasive questions and shout whenever somebody refused to answer.

Changbin joined first, followed by Hyunjin and Jeongin. Chan arrived last, realised what was happening and attempted to leave.

You caught his wrist. “No.”

“I’m hosting.”

“You’re hiding.”

“I need to check the living room.”

Jeongin looked towards the doorway. “It’s still there.”

Chan appealed silently to Minho for help.

Minho poured him a drink.

“Traitor.”

“You chose to host.”

Everyone crowded around the counter and floor.

You ended up sitting between Minho’s legs with your back against his chest because the chairs had disappeared beneath coats and bags. Seungmin sat in front of you, one hand wrapped loosely around your ankle. Jisung remained tucked against Minho’s side, his head on his shoulder and one leg draped over yours.

Changbin pointed at you first. “Truth or drink?”

“Truth.”

“What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done because you were jealous?”

Seungmin looked interested.

You looked at Changbin. “I’m not jealous.”

The entire room laughed.

“That wasn’t the question,” Hyunjin said.

You raised your glass. “Then I’m drinking.”

Seungmin’s hand tightened around your ankle. “Answer.”

“You don’t get to interfere.”

“I’m probably involved.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I definitely know that.”

You drank instead.

Everyone shouted.

“Coward,” Changbin said.

“That’s the point of the game.”

“The point is to expose yourself.”

“That sounds like a different game,” Jeongin said.

You chucked at that

The questions became worse from there.

Felix refused to reveal who had received a flirtatious message he sent to the wrong person.

Changbin demanded to know whether anybody had ever hooked up somewhere they could have been caught.

Half the room drank.

Chan stared at everyone with a raised eyebrow. “In my home?”

“Not necessarily,” Jeongin said.

“That did not reassure me.”

Jisung claimed he had never done anything humiliating because he was horny.

The entire group drank on his behalf.

“Fuck all of you.”

Minho leant close enough to murmur something beside his ear.

Jisung’s face turned red again.

You twisted around. “What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

Minho looked unbearably pleased.

Your sister stood at the edge of the kitchen beside your friend.

She watched Seungmin’s hand move slowly over your ankle. Then she watched Minho’s arm settle across your middle when you leant back against him.

Perhaps she expected Seungmin to object.

Instead, he reached forward, caught your chin and tilted your face towards his.

“My turn,” he said.

You kissed him.

The kiss was brief, but intimate enough to inspire several dramatic complaints.

When you pulled away, Seungmin’s thumb brushed once beneath your lip.

Your sister looked away.

The game ended when Chan realised the music in the living room was loud enough to make the glasses vibrate.

Everyone returned to dancing.

By then, nobody pretended it was organised.

You, Felix and Jisung shouted lyrics you barely knew with your arms around one another. Sometimes you danced. Sometimes you merely jumped during the chorus and trusted somebody to catch you.

Changbin joined whenever the song was good.

Hyunjin joined whenever he considered the song worthy.

Jeongin joined only to make everyone else look worse.

At one point, Minho caught your hand as you passed and spun you beneath his arm.

You nearly completed the movement gracefully.

Then you lost your balance.

Minho caught you against his chest. Jisung caught you from the other side.

The three of you laughed, tangled together.

Seungmin appeared behind you and closed both hands around your waist.

“You’re stealing my girlfriend,” he told Minho.

Minho shrugged. “She came willingly.”

“He spun me.”

“You asked,” Minho reminded you.

Seungmin looked down at you. “You ask everyone for things.”

“And they give them to me.”

“That’s because you’re spoilt.”

“By you.”

“Mostly.”

He kissed your forehead.

You leant into him, suddenly overwhelmed by the warmth of the room and how much you loved everyone in it.

Across the room, your friend smiled at the sight.

Your sister finished another drink.

By the time you needed the bathroom, you were far beyond pleasantly drunk.

You were still awake, still talking and technically capable of walking, but the room tilted whenever you turned too quickly.

Seungmin noticed you heading towards the hallway and followed.

You looked over your shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“With you.”

“I can piss alone.”

“I’m making sure you reach the bathroom.”

“That’s insulting.”

Seungmin caught your waist before you walked into the wall. “Exactly.”

You allowed him to guide you down the hallway, although you complained the entire way.

At the bathroom door, you planted both hands against his chest. “You can’t come in.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“You looked like you were.”

“I was opening the door.”

Seungmin smiled and kissed your forehead. “I’ll be here.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll forget where the living room is.”

“It’s one hallway.”

“And yet.”

You narrowed your eyes and disappeared into the bathroom.

When you came back out, your sister was standing in front of him.

One hand rested against the wall beside his shoulder.

Seungmin was leaning away.

“You could come upstairs with me,” she said.

He blinked at her. “Why?”

You stopped in the doorway.

Even through the alcohol, laughter rose immediately in your chest.

Your sister looked at him as though he were deliberately being stupid. “You know why.”

“I genuinely don’t.”

She moved closer, forcing Seungmin’s back against the wall.

“We could have sex.”

For one long second, Seungmin simply stared at her.

Then his gaze found yours over her shoulder.

You covered your mouth.

The expression on his face made it impossible not to laugh. His eyes widened slightly, one corner of his mouth twitching as though he could not decide whether to be horrified or offended.

Your sister followed his gaze and found you standing there.

Her face hardened.

“Oh, please. Don’t act like it’s ridiculous.”

That made you laugh harder. “I’m sorry. His face.”

“You’re not helping,” Seungmin said.

“You asked why.”

“It was a reasonable question.”

“She invited you upstairs.”

“She could’ve needed something.”

“At one in the morning?”

“I didn’t know what she meant.”

“You did,” your sister snapped.

Seungmin looked back at her. “Apparently not.”

She folded her arms. “You haven’t even considered it.”

“No.”

“Why?”

He stared at her.

Then he gave one short, humourless laugh. “Because I don’t want to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“You’ve never given me a chance.”

“I’m not required to.”

Your laughter faded.

Your sister stepped closer and reached for his chest.

Seungmin caught her wrist before she could touch him.

“Stop.”

The word was calm.

Firm.

He moved her hand away and released it.

Humiliation sharpened your sister’s expression as she turned towards you. “You think this is funny because you assume he’d never choose me.”

“I don’t assume it.”

“You should stop speaking for him.”

“I’m standing right here,” Seungmin said.

She ignored him. “You’ve always done this. You get something and act smug because you know somebody else deserves it more.”

The alcohol inside you turned suddenly heavy.

You steadied yourself against the bathroom door. “Somebody else?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No. Say it properly.”

Her eyes travelled over you.

Your clothes had shifted from dancing. Your lipstick was smudged. Your hair was a mess and your balance remained questionable.

You had never felt happier.

“Look at you,” she said. “You’re completely wasted. He’s spent all night following you around while you throw yourself over every man in the room.”

Seungmin’s expression hardened.

You laughed softly. “Is that what this is about?”

“I’m saying he could do better.”

“With you?”

“Yes.”

The certainty would have been impressive if it were not so pathetic.

Your smile disappeared.

Your sister noticed and pushed harder.

“I’m prettier. I know how to behave. I don’t need eight men constantly touching me and telling me how special I am.”

“Nobody is taking care of me.”

“You can barely stand.”

“I’m drunk at a party.”

“You’ve been climbing into their laps and letting them put their hands all over you. It’s embarrassing.”

Seungmin stepped away from the wall and moved to your side.

His hand settled securely at the back of your waist.

Your sister watched it.

“She hasn’t embarrassed me once,” he said.

“She’s been all over Minho. Felix practically had his hands under her clothes earlier.”

“So?”

Your sister blinked.

Seungmin’s thumb moved slowly against your side.

“She loves them,” he said. “They love her. I know exactly where I stand.”

“You should have more self-respect.”

His eyebrows rose. “You asked me to cheat on her beside a bathroom.”

“You’ve spent the whole night trying to fuck my boyfriend,” you said, “and somehow I’m the slut?”

Your sister glared at you.

Seungmin continued before she could answer. “Don’t talk to either of us about self-respect.”

“You only say that because she’s standing here.”

“I rejected you when she wasn’t.”

“You knew she’d find out.”

“I knew because I was going to tell her.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s my girlfriend.”

Your sister shook her head. “You don’t have to keep settling because she got to you first.”

Seungmin went still.

There it was.

The belief beneath every comparison and every attempt.

You had simply reached him first.

Had she met him earlier, dressed better, tried harder or pushed for long enough, he would eventually recognise that he had chosen the wrong sister.

Seungmin’s arm tightened around you.

“I noticed her,” he said.

Your sister scoffed. “You hadn’t met me.”

“I’ve met you now.”

The hallway became very quiet.

Music still thudded beyond it. Someone laughed in the living room. Your friend called your sister’s name once, distant and uncertain.

Seungmin looked directly at her.

“And I still choose her.”

Your sister’s face changed.

For a moment, she appeared almost sober.

Then the anger returned.

“She isn’t better than me.”

“This isn’t about who’s better.”

“It always is.”

“No,” you said quietly. “It’s always been that way to you.”

She looked at you.

You could feel Seungmin watching your face.

At first, it had been funny.

Her unnecessary outfits. Her fake excuses. The way she interpreted Seungmin’s basic manners as secret attraction.

Even now, the idea that he might accept remained ridiculous.

But the joke had always required you to ignore the part where your sister could not want something without explaining why you deserved it less.

“You can want him,” you said. “I don’t care. It’s humiliating for you, but it doesn’t threaten me.”

Her mouth twisted.

“What pisses me off is that you can’t admit you want him without telling him I’m ugly, exhausting, childish or not good enough. You don’t flirt with him. You campaign against me.”

“I’ve never called you ugly.”

“You keep telling everyone you’re prettier.”

“I am.”

Seungmin made a disbelieving sound.

You glanced at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m trying very hard to remain polite.”

Your sister folded her arms. “See? You’ve turned him against me.”

“I didn’t have to. You did that by ignoring him every time he said no.”

The words landed.

Your sister looked at Seungmin.

His expression did not soften.

“I thought you were being loyal,” she said.

“I was being clear.”

“You were trying not to hurt her.”

“I was trying not to humiliate you.”

Her cheeks flushed.

Seungmin’s voice lowered. “You’ve made that impossible.”

Your friend appeared at the far end of the hallway.

She looked between the three of you, taking in your sister’s expression and Seungmin’s arm around your waist. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” your sister said immediately.

You laughed tiredly. “She asked Seungmin to have sex with her.”

Your friend’s eyes widened.

“You didn’t have to say it like that,” your sister snapped.

“How should I say it?”

“She’s drunk,” your friend said carefully.

“So am I.”

“I know.”

Your friend approached and touched your sister’s arm. “Come and sit down.”

Your sister pulled away. “Everyone’s acting like I’ve done something terrible.”

“You propositioned my boyfriend after he repeatedly told you he wasn’t interested.”

“You don’t own him.”

“No,” you said. “I don’t.”

That stopped her.

You rested more heavily against Seungmin’s side but kept your eyes on her.

“He’s a person. He said no. That should have mattered even if I didn’t exist.”

Your friend looked at your sister. “She’s right.”

Betrayal flashed across your sister’s face. “You’re supposed to be here with me.”

“I’m here because she invited me.”

The answer was gentle but firm.

Your sister looked between you.

Then she laughed bitterly. “Fine. Everyone thinks I’m pathetic.”

Nobody answered.

That seemed to hurt more than any denial would have.

Your friend held out her hand. “Come on.”

After a moment, your sister accepted it.

She allowed herself to be led back towards the living room without looking at either of you again.

You remained in the hallway.

Seungmin rubbed one hand slowly over your back.

You watched them disappear.

Then you looked at him. “You really asked why.”

His mouth dropped open.

The laughter returned before you could stop it.

Seungmin stared at you. “You’re impossible.”

“Your face was so confused.”

“She was vague.”

“She had you against a wall.”

“She said upstairs.”

“At one in the morning.”

“That could mean anything.”

“Name one other thing.”

Seungmin opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

You waited.

His expression grew increasingly offended.

“Exactly.”

He caught your waist in both hands and pulled you closer. “You’re very annoying.”

“You love me.”

“I’m reconsidering.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“No,” he admitted.

Your smile softened.

The alcohol made it difficult to hold on to one emotion for long. Amusement blurred into exhaustion, which blurred into the ache your sister’s words had left behind.

Seungmin noticed.

He always did.

“Hey.”

You looked at him.

His expression had gentled, eyes warm despite the alcohol. “Are you okay?”

“I’m extremely drunk.”

“I know.”

“She’s a bitch.”

“She is.”

“I can’t believe she said I throw myself over everyone.”

“You do,” Seungmin said, completely unbothered. “Luckily, everyone seems very happy to catch you.”

“With all of you.”

“I know.” His hand settled more firmly at your waist. “I’ve never complained.”

“And you don’t care?”

Seungmin looked genuinely confused. “Why would I?”

You shrugged. “Because she said—”

“I don’t care what she said.”

The answer came quickly enough to interrupt you.

Seungmin lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“I know you,” he said. “I know them. I know what all of this is.”

His free hand gestured towards the living room, where Felix was shouting the chorus to another song while Minho told somebody to turn the music down without making any effort to do it himself.

“You’re my girlfriend,” Seungmin continued. “That doesn’t mean you stop belonging with them too.”

Something warm tightened in your chest.

“That was disgustingly sweet.”

You kissed him.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, keeping you close as the kiss deepened. Nothing frantic. Nothing performed for anybody else.

Just familiar affection in a dim hallway while the party continued metres away.

When you pulled back, Seungmin followed for one more kiss.

Then another.

“You’re doing too many,” you murmured.

“I’ve lost count.”

“You always say that.”

You laughed and rested your forehead against his.

“There she is,” he murmured.

Footsteps sounded behind you.

Felix appeared first, followed by Jisung and Minho.

Felix’s expression changed when he saw your face. “Are you okay?”

You nodded.

Jisung looked unusually serious. “Your friend said something happened.”

“My sister asked Seungmin to sleep with her.”

Jisung stared at Seungmin.

Then at you.

Then back at Seungmin.

“Why?”

You burst out laughing.

Seungmin pointed at him. “See? Reasonable question.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Jisung said quickly. “Why would she think you’d say yes?”

“That sounded better after clarification.”

Minho stepped closer and touched the side of your face. “Are you actually all right?”

You leant into his palm. “Mostly.”

“Mostly isn’t yes.”

“She was being a bitch.”

“I gathered.”

From the living room, Changbin shouted, “If you lot are done fondling each other, we’re doing another round.”

Chan shouted back that nobody was doing another fucking shot.

Jeongin appeared in the hallway holding four.

The party carried on around you.

the episode opens with the pulsing real housewives of atlanta theme music. glamorous quick cut shot of all the housewives on the cover, holding a peach before cutting to atlanta’s skyline, luxury cars, sprawling mansions, and designer everything flash across the screen. The cast introductions roll: nene leaks owning her foyer, kim zolcack flipping platinum hair in a pink convertible, shereeé whitfield posing on a staircase, porsha williams smiling in a sleek kitchen, phaedra parks waving from her garden.

then your face fills the screen, radiant, glowing beauty with flawless makeup, long silky weave cascading in perfect waves, that massive diamond ring sparkling as you blow a flirty kiss straight to the camera. Your name appears in glittering gold: y/n jackson

JACKSON ESTATE - ATL GA

warm golden sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows of your lavish tuscan villa just outside atlanta. chaos fills the grand living room. the camera cuts to 4-year-old star jackson, you and michael’s daughter. she slides across the polished marble kitchen floor in her sock feet, toy microphone in hand, screaming and bouncing around.

“dada! sing.” she babbles as she screams into the toy microphone again. you enter the frame in a silky champagne robe, hair in loose waves, laughing as you scoop star up and cover her cheeks with kisses. michael stands close by in a simple black sweater and slacks, watching with pure adoration. he reaches over to tickle her belly, earning delighted squeals.

michael gazes softly at you, camera catching the sweet moment. “she gets her energy from you.”

you wink at him over star’s head, leaning in to steal a quick kiss on his cheek. “can’t take all the credit, mr king of pop.”

the camera lingers on michael’s shy, adoring smile as star reaches for his fedora and he gently places it on her head.

CONFESSIONAL - Y/N JACKSON

you were seated in a luxurious cream-colored chair at the estate, wearing a sleek black jumpsuit, diamond ring from Tiffany and Co sparkling.

“hey! I’m y/n jackson. yes, the mrs. michael jackson. i’m 35, bold, bougie, and married to the 50-year-old king of pop himself. we met back in the late ‘90s at an awards after-party. I was this up-and-coming singer, nervous as hell, and he came over all shy and sweet , complimenting my voice. we talked for hours about music, dreams, and fame. one conversation turned into late-night calls, secret dates, and before I knew it I was saying ‘I do’ to the greatest and most sexiest man alive.

together we had our little miracle star in 2003. we’ve been through the tabloids, tours, rumors, and raising this beautiful baby while balancing this wild life. people think i’m hidden away, but honey, I crave the spotlight. some people say that i’m performative and I bring the drama with a smile but life’s too short not to serve. these atlanta girls better keep up because I didn’t come to play , I came to slay, wink at the camera, and remind everybody who the real queen is.”

NENE’S MANSION - ATL GA

a sleek black suv pulls up nene leakes’ massive atlanta mansion driveway. you step out first in a crisp white chanel pantsuit tailored to perfection and jacket nipped at the waist, trousers flowing, red-bottom louboutins clicking along with sounds of your white, birkin bouncing. long silk press bouncing, gold jewelry gleaming, glossy lips and mischievous sparkle ready.

michael follows a few paces behind in black button-up, slacks, signature aura, red armband, and sunglasses , quiet and observant.

the camera catches his soft shy smile as he watches you strut ahead.

you glance back and wink. “come on, baby. let’s give them a little show today.”

you didn’t get a chance to knock on the door before nene practically sensing you were there. nene slipped out the door, arms wide. “okay miss jackson, gurl! you look expensive as hell!”

you pull her into a dramatic hug, air-kissing with flair. “nene, baby, had to show up looking like money! had to represent for the jacksons.” you turn toward your husband, hand on hip. “right, babe?”

michael gives a small shy nod and that adorable smile. cameras zoom in. nene turns to michael, eyes bulging out her head. “michael jackson in my house? okay, I see you!”

inside, the table is set beautifully. kim flips her platinum hair, shereé poses, phaedra smiles politely, porsha looks calculating, squinting. “why is michael here?”

you kept walking. “because he wanted to come and what kind of wife would I be if I said no to my man?” you gagged porsha, as she just slumped in her chair, lips tightening into a smile.

you claim the head seat. “so ladies… who’s ready to spill some real tea? I heard chateau shereé is still under construction… again, what’s the hold up boo?” you say, glancing at shereé and giving her a tight lipped smile.

shereé looks at you, sharply. “it’s a process, y/n. not everyone just marries into billions.”

you rolled your eyes, laughing loudly. “boo your husband is a famous footballer, don’t get it twisted.” you began. “n' baby, I didn’t just marry into it. michael and I built this through everything , raising our baby star together. but yes… I do enjoy the perks.” flirty grin to your man. he gives another shy, proud smile, almost blushing.

“speaking of houses, juneteenth is today and i want to invite everyone to our house, almost everyone. sorry kim.” kim grinned and shrugged, not offended. nene takes in your words, face sour.

“is latoya going to be there?” nene asked making you whine. latoya was on nene’s bad side about something, you weren’t sure.

you nodded. “yes, toya will be there but I’m supposed to be meeting with her after this so we can get you two on a clean slate.” nene huffed, in agreement. she didn’t want to miss the event but hoped latoya wouldn’t make her angry all over again and you know how angry nene can get.

you can see porsha smirking in your peripheral, know she was going to have something to say, definitely not pertaining to what you were talking about. “bringing your husband to girls’ lunch? that’s… different.”

you turned michael, giving him a blowing kiss his way before replying. “why not? he’s my rock. he knows I can handle myself.” michael shakes his head fondly, shy smile deepening.

CONFESSIONAL- KIM ZOLCIAK

“who brings their husband to girls lunch, like really y/n?”

kim smiles politely, trying to keep things light. “It’s nice to see a supportive husband. How do you balance the fame with having a little one at home?”

you warmed up, but still serving energy. “it’s a juggle, honey. star keeps us on our toes. she’s got her daddy’s rhythm and my attitude already. but I wouldn’t trade it. michael’s the calm in the storm, and I bring the sparkle. speaking of sparkle…” you raise your glass. “to new friends, big houses, finished ones and bigger drama.”

phadera chimed in sweetly but with a calculating edge. “amen.”

CONFESSIONAL - NENE LEAKES

“the games begin, ouu chile I wanted to ask michael to do the moonwalk in my living so bad gurl.”

“so michael,” porsha asked, leaning forward, “how do you deal with her?”

you frowned, eyes rolling. “excuse me?”

porsha laughed. “i’m serious.”

michael thinks for a second before answering. “patience.”

the table erupts in laughter but you weren’t laughing . inviting michael was a hit.

GO NAILS- ATL GA-

the camera finds you outside the nail salon first, already smiling when LaToya enters your eyesight.

they hug quickly, familiar and warm.

“hey you,” you spoke, sighing. latoya looks you up and down.

“you’re too calm. that’s suspicious.”

you cackled. “I’m always calm.” latoya doesn’t believe that for a second.

they walk inside together, cameras subtly shifting as they move through the salon.

once seated in their pedicure chairs, the noise settles around them, dryers humming, soft chatter, the usual atlanta background noise that never quite feels like background.

latoya tilts her head. “so what’s going on?”

you exhaled slowly. “nene’s coming to the event.”

that alone changes latoya’s expression. “okay.”

“and she is willing to forgive and forget,” you added.

LaToya gives her a look.

“i didn’t do anything.”

you raised you brows. “no shade, toya. you did call her out her name and you know how nene gets.” you shrugged.

LaToya leans back, slightly defeated. “it’s always a thing with her.”

“I just want peace,” you explained. “for michael. for me. for the house. for juneteenth, my ancestors don’t wanna hear all that mess.” you huffed, shaking your head.

you continued, softer now. “I invited her anyway. I just don’t want you walking in there acting like you need to brace yourself.”

latoya laughs lightly. “me? brace myself?”

“yes,” you nodded, pointing slightly. “don’t be intimidated. don’t overthink it. just enjoy the event.”

then latoya nods. “okay. I can do that.”

you relax a little.“good.”

CONFESSIONAL- Y/N JACKSON

“I just want everyone to show up, enjoy themselves, and not turn my house into a battlefield,” you muttered, fiddling with your chanel earrings. “especially for michael. he doesn’t even like drama. poor baby, just somehow ends up in it.”

back in the salon, latoya smirks. “i’m still not promising nene won’t make it interesting.”

you groaned. “oh trust me, i know. just don’t add to it.”

latoya laughs, the high pitched ‘he he he he’ filling your ears. “no promises.”

the camera lingers for a second too long as the nail tech starts the polish.

tonight was going to be a night.

JACKSON ESTATE - ATL GA

later that day, the cameras descend on your estate for a Juneteenth cookout. Red, black, and green decorations everywhere, soul food grilling scent of ribs, brisket, collards, mac & cheese, cornbread very potent in the air. music bumping, and the whole vibe celebratory. 10-year-old jaafar and 6-year-old jermajesty run around with little star, playing tag near the bounce house, making the environment warm and playful.

then they came one by one. first, nene steps out of a flashy suv in a bold red and gold caftan that screams “expensive auntie energy,” big statement earrings swinging, hair freshly laid, and strappy heels. she’s giving confident, loud, and ready-to-run-it energy. as soon as she stepped into the mansion, you eyes met with hers. “hey bitchh, this house is niiiice.” she exclaimed, bringing you into a hug.

“thank girls, it’s all me. michael left the job to me.” before you could get another word out, someone else came.

porsha williams arrives next in a chic white sundress with gold accents that hugs her curves perfectly, big sunglasses, and a wide-brim hat. she’s serving fresh, smiling brightly while carrying a bottle of wine.

“heyyy queens.” she squealed, coming toward you and nene. sounds of women squealing and hollering joined the ambiance, along with the sounds of then just like that, someone else came.

shereé whitfield struts up in a stylish black and green jumpsuit with designer shades and statement jewelry, carrying herself like she’s on a runway.

phaedra parks pulls up in an elegant floral maxi dress with a structured jacket over it, pearls, and her signature polished look. “well, this is certainly an event. let’s see what kind of mess we’re walking into today.” she says under her breath before walking in the house.

you’re in a stunning red sundress, flirty and performative as ever, making rounds and hyping the celebration for the cameras.

you turn to the group, raising a glass of lemonade. “juneteenth at the jacksons! family, food, and a little drama because what’s a cookout without it?”

the peace shatters when nene spots latoya jackson arriving. nene’s face changes instantly.

nene speaks, loud enough for the camera. “oh, here we go.”

latoya, makes eye contact, but looks away. nene wastes no time she pulls latoya aside, inside the house toward the kitchen for a “private talk.” the cameras follow eagerly, soaking up every second.

nene’s voice raise as soon as they’re in the kitchen. “you had the nerve to sit on a podcast talking about how you don’t rock with me? latoya I don’t appreciate you using my name in a negative way” she began.

“you tryna act as if I said I didn’t like you and I never said that, and this has nothing to do with personal, this is strictly business.” latoya narrows her eyes at her, in her red dress with a glass of champagne in her hand. “if anything you should say im real, and if you don’t like it, go in the bathroom n' hide!.” nene’s voice got louder.

latoya shot back. “I’m right here, you don’t have to yell.” she says, softy placing her hand on her heart.

CONFESSIONAL- LATOYA JACKSON

“that nene, is a big bully. I promise you. she has a big mouth and that’s all she uses is mouth and heighth and she uses that for her advantage.”

nene continued to yell. “I worked my ass off, while you sat there lookin' like casper the ghost!”

the argument escalates fast into full verbal warfare, loud, animated, fingers pointing, voices overlapping. the production crew is scrambling to capture every angle.

michale hears the commotion and rushes inside, frantic, still holding grill tongs. “toya! nene! please, not today, this is a celebration. let’s calm down.

you follow right behind him, white sundress flowing, trying to play peacemaker while slipping in a little shade. the mixture of yelling and ‘early in the morning’ by gap band was overstimulating you to the highest degree.

you stepped between them, hands up but voice firm with a playful edge. “okay, okay, ladies, we are not doing this on juneteenth in my house! latoya, I love you, but you know how nene gets when she feels disrespected. and nene, sis, you came to celebrate freedom, not start world war III in my kitchen. we can all be grown and talk it out without the whole block hearing.”

some of the jackson siblings who followed inside laugh at the absurdity, a few throwing in “y’all wild for this”, while others try to help cool it down with “come on now” and gentle mediation, especially by janet and rebbie. jermaine remains seated outside in his lawn chair the whole time, just watching the scene unfold with marlon, a calm, almost entertained expression over them, shaking their head slightly. marlon was the most tickled.

nene was still heated, pointing in Latoya’s face.

“be gone casper !”

“are you done?”

michael looks visibly stressed, waving his hands between them. “please… for star, for the family. let’s take a breath.”

you place one hand on michael’s arm reassuringly while shooting a look at both women. “exactly . michael is over here trying to keep the peace like the king he is, and y’all are turning my juneteeth cookout into a reunion preview. handle it with some class or at least take it outside where the cameras can get better lighting.”

the cameras eat up every second of the chaos: raised voices, porsha, phadrea. and shereé jaw agape, michael’s frantic mediation, your calm-but-shady intervention, the jackson siblings’ reactions, and the pure mess unfolding in the jackson kitchen.

after the cookout drama cooled down, filming wraps for the day. one the driveway under the night sky, you pull michael into a playful spin while star sleeps inside. laughter as cameras roll. he holds you close, kisses your forehead, one last shy smile to the lens and him confessing his love for you.

CONFESSIONAL - Y/N JACKSON

you shift in the seat. “I don’t know what to say, those bitches aren’t allowed at my house anymore.”

You quietly left the bedroom and went towards the living room, knowing that your husband would be there. After what happened between you and Joshua days ago, you've been a little more distant than before. The feel of His lips pressing against yours had you dizzy just from the memory. Now inches away, As great as it felt to kiss him, you couldn't help but to feel kind of bad about being with him. That is, until you remember why met him that day.

Then the guilt melts away.

Still, you never thought that would've got to the point of being on top of Him in his car, or him grinding up during the kiss. Entering the room, you stood behind him, Quietly. Simon was sitting on the cream colored couch, massaging someone. Feeling your annoyance flare,  you cleared your throat to get his attention.

Looking up, Simon flashed a fake smile at you, turning his phone off. alarmed by your sudden appearance. "Hi, babe. What's up?" He asks.

"Nothing much," You shrug, coming around the couch. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

He watches you come over, Simon could feel his heart in his throat as you sat down next to him. You press your lips together,  Simon knew this look, you were about to ask for something.You turn fully towards him. Playing up the act.

"You know our anniversary is coming up in a few weeks, we should celebrate.. with a party."

"A party?" Simon asked Incredulously, crossing his arms. You were never a party-goer, when his friends threw them, you'd keep to yourself and hangout in a corner while he'd speak to his friends and their wives. It was annoying, having a "partner." That doesn't play along. "You don't like parties."

"Well, I've been thinking about changing my outlook. You know, being more.. outgoing and fun. Imagine," You say, faking a smile. Simon stiffened up as You move onto his lap, ignoring the urge to hit him. "Us celebrating at the contrary club, you get to invite your friends and family and I'll invite my parents. It'll be perfect, please!"

Sure, he's excited to hear that you're seeing things his way and becoming more of the women he desires, but something didn't feel right. Simon rubbed circles over your leg, eyeing you with curiously. 'She's finally accepting it, stop worrying about it.' Clenching his other hand behind your back.

He puts his suspicion aside and nodded. "Alright. Let's have an anniversary party.. I'll get in touch with the manager and ask if we can have it there–"

You squeal happily, pressing kisses over his face before getting up. "Thanks baby, you're the best! I can't to call my family, this will be so great." Simon nods, telling you that it's no problem as you walk away. After you left, Simon slumped back, rubbing his face. His thoughts were filled with suspicion.

You walked back to the bedroom, Curling your lips in disgust, you pull out a paper towel and wiped them clean. That was infuriatingly easy. A few kisses and sweet words was all it took for Simon to fall for it. what a dumb-ass.

"I can't believe I'm doing this." Joshua got out of his car and shut the door, locking it behind him as he walks up the driveway, It was weird to be at your house, especially since it's his first time being there but he trusts you. Now at the door, he took a deep breath and rang the bell. "Coming!"

Joshua immediately peaked up, now standing with his shoulders back, Hopefully looking less miserable. When The door opened, Your whole face lit up at the sight of him. "Hi, Josh." You stepped to the side to let him in. Walking inside, Joshua lets out a low whistle as he took in the inside. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem. So, uh, where is he?"

"He's looking for the whiskey glasses. But I hid them, so give him minute." Letting out a soft 'ah.' He nods and comes closer to you. Your breath hitches when Joshua rested his hand on your lower back, causing a certain heat to radiate across your ears down to your fingers tips. Amused, You look at him over your shoulder.  "What are you doing?"

"Nothing." He shrugs innocently, trailing his hand to your ass, sighing quietly as he gives it a squeeze. "Just want to feel you, that's all." Feeling a little cheeky, You gave him a sultry grin before wrapping your arms around his neck. Glazing into his eyes, his eyes flutter closed as you lips captured him in soft, tender kiss. He hums, pressing himself against your body, That buzz was back.

Now somewhat powering his brain off with an erotic bliss. Joshua palms lingered on your pliant flesh, his breath becoming more uneven as the kiss continued. Damn, He couldn't pull away, you felt right in his arms. It was addictive to him, you are addictive to him. Giggling softly, You pull back to see his face, his eyes were half-lidded, his breathing was heavy and lips were swollen. Joshua was drunk on sensation and You knew just what to do.

He groans quietly as you rubbed the base of his neck. "Now, you know you can't kiss me here like that. You'll get me excited." You laugh teasingly, patting his chest as you caught your breath.

Joshua licks his lips as he observed you, his eyes were half-lidded and glazed. Hearing your comment, His fingers dug into the softness of your hips. "I could help you with that." Leaning towards your ear, his sandalwood cologne enters your nose. "Nothing my tongue couldn't fix.." He whispers, kissing the side of your jaw.

'Oh my god.'

"Mhm." You hummed, pressing your lips in a fine line. How dare he.. how dare he do this, this man is ruining you with words. Looking back, you let out a startled laugh before grinning. "Keep talking like that, then I'll show you my trick."

"What trick?"

"The one I told you in your car." You reply, Stepping away from him with a smirk. He took a forward to grab you again, only to stop when Simon returned with two glasses in his hands.

Quickly, Joshua stepped back and smiled at him as Simon sat them on the coffee table before walking up to him. "Hello, Mr. Martín. It's nice to meet you, I'm Simon Weston." Simon said. Stretching his hand out. After asking for a party last week, Your husband has been overwhelmed ever since.

.Anytime he had a moment to himself, whether at work or home, you'd call and ask for something. One day, you joked about a 'Secret girlfriend.' Taking up his time and his heart fell to his ass. He laughed it off and quickly payed for the party food afterward.

He's thankful that you didn't pick up it, because if you did? He'd be in trouble. Joshua smiles, taking his hand in his. "It's nice to meet you too. And please, call me Joshua.." He glances over to you, feigning interested. "And You are?"

Simon looks back and saw you by the doorway. He quickly took your hand and pulled you next to him. "This is my beautiful wife,–" He says your name, lovingly. Excellently Playing the role of a faithful husband. You held back your grimace at his touch, it made your skin crawl and itch. "Hi, it's so nice to meet you. Joshua."

Joshua nods and looks you up and down, a polite grin growing on his face. "It's nice to meet you too.." Simon's jaw clenches, tasting a sudden bitterness in his mouth at Joshua's words. He didn't like the way he said that nor the way he stared to you, like you were jewel. he was flirting with you and you weren't picking up on it.

'She's mine, stop looking at her–The fuck am I doing!?'

Simon couldn't believe himself, here he was, jealous of A another man possibly wanting... you? No, no. He's just imagining things and besides, He needed to as charming as usual to what he wants. He clears his throat, forcing a smile on his face as he adjusts his weight from foot to the other in an attempt to calm himself. "Well! I hope you like rum, Joshua. 'Cause I have enough for us."

Joshua chuckles, nodding slowly. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his shirt pocket. "Matter of fact, I do. Will she be joining us?" He asks, Gesturing towards you. You quickly spoke up, cutting your husband off before he had the chance to speak

"Oh no," You smile softly. "I'm going out with a friend of mine. You two have fun, guy-talking to whatever you do, See you later, Simon, Joshua." You got your purse from the table and went to the door, it closes behind you with a soft 'click.' Now alone we each other, the men made their way towards the couch. Simon started pouring drinks as Joshua sat down.

Bitter. His eyes caught the wedding picture on the mantle. Your smile was gorgeous in it, the white dress you wore was simple but gorgeous on you. Simon looks up and turns to the fireplace, seeing the photo too. "That was our wedding day..."

He stood up and went towards it, picking the picture up, Simon took the frame im his hands, lovingly glazing at it. "I remember it like it was yesterday. We had got married at a small, hole in the wall chapel, we didn't have a lot then, but we made it work. families dinner at the restaurant down the street to celebrate..." Simon turns to Him and sits it down, taking his seat across from him.

"You uh, you got a wife? Joshua." Simon asked curiously. Joshua nods, his hand quietly tightened around his cup at his question. His body tensing up, clearly pissed.  "Yes, for awhile now." Simon nods, an annoying smirk growing on his face.

The temptation to hit him was at its highest, just to imagine his fist colliding with Simon's face. God, his hand itching to do it."I bet she's amazing woman, Joshua."'Do it for her, keep your cool for her.'But instead of giving in, Joshua simply nodded and listened to his inner thoughts, "She is, she truly is." raising his glass, Joshua gave him a faint smile.

"To our, wonderful, lovely wives, cheers." Simon brought his glass toward him, tapping it against Joshua's with a short yet sharp clink.

"To our ladies."

Entering the high-rise building, you pull your sunglasses off as you went to receptionist desk. The man looks from his computer and smiled. "Hello, is there anything I can help you with?" He asked politely.

"Hi, I'm here to meet with Mr. Landon. I'm his two o'clock." You reply, pulling down the sleeve of your cardigan.

"Of course, allow me to let him know you're here. Have a seat." You kindly decline the offer and kept standing as He picks up the phone and calls upstairs, You stare up the clear elevators and stairs. Every bit of the building was sleek, dark, and expensive.

Turning back to you, the man smiled and pointed at the elevator. You thank him and entered it, pressing the door closed, Within minutes, you were walking out of said elevator and passing cubicles. The corner of your mouth curves up in amusement as walked toward his office,

Knock, Knock!

"Come in." You push open the door and came inside the office. The room was lit with natural lighting, thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The older black man continues to read the documents on his desk as you shut the door. "You know, I would like to be acknowledged when I'm paying you a visit. I'm kinda hurt." You say, crossing your jokingly.

His head snaps to you, putting the papers down, Mr. Landon came from behind his desk towards you. Smiling widely as he said your name. Narrowing your eyes, You look away. "No, i don't want a hug. My feelings are hurt. You've hurt my feelings."

He stares at you in amusement before a deep, boisterous guffaw left his mouth. Calming down, he happily Plays along. "I, Warren Landon, apologize to my niece for neglecting to acknowledge her. Please take this hug, as my do-over." Warren opens his arms. You quickly wrapped your arms around him, hugging back.

He pats your back, pulling back. "How are you today, are your parents enjoying they're vacation?" You nod, putting your bag down.

"They're having a great in the Jamaica, Mom says they're at the beach everyday, And I'm doing well. I've come to tell you about Simon and I's six year anniversary party." You dug through your purse and gave him the invite. Your uncle reads the card, grinning.

"Monte Vista Point, eh? Snazzy. Never knew you liked country clubs."

"Well, not usually." You chuckled softly. Crossing your arms casually. "But you know, things change and i want to see what a party there will be like. Would you like to come? I mean, i can't imagine not having my uncle there."

A smile tugged at his lips as he looked up from the card. "He still doesn't know that I'm his boss, right?" He asked, knowing the weight of his question.

"He does not." You answer.

"Good. Last thing I want is for him to think that he's got a shortcut in my company." He nods, putting the paper down. This is was perfect, He still hated Simon. Having your uncle there will break him completely. Uncle Warren sit on his desk, fixing his suit sleeve. "What time does it start?"

"It starts at Seven."

"Alright, I'll be there–ah!" You threw your arms around his torso, hugging him tightly. He laughs and hugged your back. "I'm already going. You don't have to pay me in hugs."

"I know... It just feels nice." You stepped to stand in front, you pull your purse onto your shoulder. Smiling softly. "I have to go now. Thanks for letting come see you and hug you." He waved his in dismissal, silently saying no problem. "It's fine."

"And thank you for Simon's promotion. Without it, we'd probably wouldn't be having said celebration at all. Goodbye." You wave at him before walking out, gently closing the door behind you. Warren sighed and chuckled to himself before setting his eyebrows in a deep furrow.

Curious, he carefully circled around the desk and pressed the call button for downstairs. The receptionist picks up with a swiftness.

"Yes, Mr. Landon?"

"Jay, can you do me a favor and call up Larry from accounting. I need him to check something for me."

"Do you want to leave a callback number?"

"Yes. The one for my office, please."

"On it."

Joshua was still on the couch, drinking on the first pour of his rum, Up until this moment you had been gone for awhile now and by the hour mark, Simon wanted more stronger which led to him, pulling out tequila and pouring shots.

Joshua watches with keen eye, sipping from his cup, Simon brought his shot glass to his lips and threw his head back, He coughs, licking the spittle off his bottom lip. Joshua glances away, Crinkling nose in disgust. Simon hums, holding his "Give me more."

"Uh, are you sure?" Joshua asked as he tilted his head, taking a small sip from his glass once again. Raising an eyebrow in faux concern. Simon's forehead creased as he glared at him through bleary vision.  "You're not bossof me," He hissed drunkenly. "This is my house. And can I do.. what- hic–Whatever the hell I want. Got it."

Joshua held his palms up, backing off. "Alright, alright. I'll drop it. Take the bottle." He sild rum towards Simon before sitting back, You were right, it was easy for Simon to make an ass of himself. As Simon took a swig from the bottle, the small smirk on Joshua's face was easily concealed by his cup. Thinking.Before Josh could ask anything, Simon pipes up. "Hay... heeyy.. you wanna hear–hic–a secret?" He slurs, Drinking from the bottle."Sure."

"I'm seeing this chick, we fuck when My wife isn't hoome~ and we fuck a lots~" He sang, swaying slightly. Joshua hums, setting the glass on the table. "You call her over when she's not here?"

 Simon nods playfully, causing Joshua to snort in annoyance. "Don't you feel bad? you're cheating on your wife with a married woman."

Simon shook his head and grinned, leaning forward. "Nah, i used to. But i got over it. I take care of her, I give her money, I gave her this house, I give her whatever... so she doesn't leave. She doesn't know that I've seeing other people, she'll never know. She's too ditzy to pick up on it.."

He furrows his brows. "So, if you don't love her anymore.. then why make her stay?"

"Because she makes me look like a better man. That's why." Simon answered, smiling.

Unable to stop his reaction, Joshua blinks in disbelief as Simon laughed and threw his head back, his body shaking with laughter. he's just admitted to cheating in you, in front of the husband of his mistress like he asked about the weather.

He help but to scoff at the absurdity of it. He could feel the anger bubbling in chest, he crosses his arms, staring daggers into him. He couldn't think else to say, Joshua wanted to beat him senseless but held back, playing along.

"How about another drink. You got any whiskey?"

Simon eyes lit up, he nods eagerly. Pointing towards the bar.

"And this has two bedrooms, two baths, and a higher than the one we looked at." She says, guiding you through the empty apartment. You nod, checking out the kitchen area.

You ran over the black counter top, humming softly. watches you explore. Smirking, she came over, holding a portfolio. "Is alright? Let me guess; It's not big enough. I get it, we have a four bedroom–"

"Si, when you called me. I wasn't completely honest with you." She drew her brows together, staying quiet to let you finish. Sylvia was confused, why were you so on edge? Dread builds in chest at the thought of you being sick or in fear. You quickly went towards the entranceway door, closed it, and came back. your stomach knotted up as you looked at her.

Now anxious, Sylvia motions for you to continue. "I'll just say it, Simon's been cheating on me for two years."

Sylvia's face contorted from neutral to uncontrollable shock. You could practically feel the pain in her jaw from low it fell. She attempts to set her book tour book down, only to miss the counter completely.

The book falls to the floor with loud 'thud'. You did it, after years of being her friend, you finally broke her. "Eh–What?" She croaks softly.

"And he's been doing it with multiple women, I got the evidence of it from his computer and the P.I, it's a lot."

"Two years!? Wait–"

"And with the General manager of Monte Vista Point."

Totally stunned, Her eyes bulge out. "Girl!" She grabs you by the shoulders, blinking several times before pulling you into a hug.. "First off, I am so sorry. You shouldn't be going through this, What an asshole. Also,"

Sylvia stepped back, A soft smirk growing on her face. "I know you, How are you going to ruin him?"

You laugh, leaning against the wall. "Public humiliation."

Sylvia squealed excitedly, Clapping her hands. "How much dirt do you have on him, a lot i bet?"

"Well.." You cupped your hand over her ear and whispered, hiding your plan from nonexistent audience. Her eyes slowly widen as you told her what comes next, pulling away, you smiled. "That's all."

She blinks at you before grinning. "... And you're making him pay for his downfall."

"I am. " You got her invite from your purse. Before smiling. "And when I'm done, I'll make my great escape to this apartment, i wanna put down an offer."

"Thank god!" Sylvia bent down and got book, holding it tightly. "This place screams you. Come on, let's go to the office and I'll get the paperwork started. Girl, this is juicy fruit."

Opening the door, the two of you exited the apartment. You struggle to hold back your laughter as you drop the finally piece of info. "Also, her husband is helping me too."

"HUH!?"

A few hours later, Your keys jingle against the door as the sun began to set, You were met with the familiar white walls of your house. "Baby, Are you up?" You asked. As you went towards the kitchen, You strain your ears to listen, the sound of the sink running had you attention as you walked in.

He rinsed out his cup and opened the refrigerator, the muscles in his back shifts under his shirt as he reached for pitcher. After watching with a keen eyes, not wanting to miss any of his moments, you decided to speak up. "Hi, Joshua. You're still here."

Joshua glances at you before turning back to the refrigerator. "Yeah, I wanted to say goodbye before leaving, so I waited for you." He pours some ice tea into a clean glass, closing the door, he took a sip of the tea. Running his eyes over you. "How was lunch with your friend?"

"Good, good. She and I had great time, we're caught up on each other now."

A smile tugged at his lips as he sips. "I'm glad." Sitting down his glass, Joshua looks back at you. "Does she know about.." He gestured between you and him, silently filling in the blank. You let out a gentle huff, nodding and a smile. "Yes. But I know her, she's knows where the bodies are buried. If you know what I mean."

"I'm happy to hear that." He snickered. You two stood in silence, and surprisingly, it was nice. Up until now, you and Joshua have only been in moments of chaos. You're been survivor mode for so long, with a mind so loud, that you almost forgot how to enjoy the silence. It was the peace that you have been asking for. Moving closer, you wrap your arms around him, Hugging his back.

Turning around in your embrace, Joshua rests his cup on the counter before hugging you back. Hesitantly, you ask. "Is he asleep?" Joshua nodded slowly, rubbing your back. "Yup. Out like a light. He got drunk and started talking."

"What did he say?"Joshua sighs, still feeling uncomfortable from before, He shakes his head, pulling you closer. "I really don't want to repeat his words," he pulls back, staring into your eyes. "But just know that you were right, he doesn't respect you, At all."

You sucked your teeth at his answer. God(s), was what that bad, you couldn't help but to kick yourself a little. If only you'd left him earlier, you wouldn't be– No, stop that now. You didn't know that Simon was cheating and you didn't that he was with Lindsey. It's not your fault.

You just didn't know, it's okay, sure. You could've been more nosy to begin with, but you shouldn't have to be. All you asked for was to loved and respected. was that so hard to ask for? "It's alright, let it out..." he whispers, pressing a kiss on the crown of your hair.

His thumb brushes across your cheeks, wiping the stray tears as they started to fall. You were so caught up in your thoughts, that You didn't even realize that you were crying.

"I'm sorry." You Whimpered.

"Don't apologize. Baby, Say what's on your mind, like you did in the car."

Feeling weight leaving your body, you sigh, blinking away tears. "I.. hate him. I hate Simon so much, it's not even funny. The idea of his touch now makes me nauseous, I loved him hard in my 20s and I regret it. I wish I listened to my gut on our wedding day. I wanted a nice wedding, at a nice venue, and the long white dress. You know, the works." Joshua nods, listening with a somber expression on his face. You sniffle, crying softly.

"But we couldn't, He told me that it was easier for his grandparents if we did it at a courthouse.."His brows pulled together as he stared at you, confused. "He said you guys at married at a chapel." A bittersweet laugh comes from your lips, shaking your head. The small, hole-in-the-wall bit. Of course, he told him that.

"Oh no,"

You back away, sitting down as you continue. "there never was a chapel and we had money. He tells that lie to not look like a dick for lying to his new wife. I respect those who had a courthouse wedding, but I didn't want one. I wanted a nice, small venue at the lake.. Simon knew that I respect my elders and used that against me, And funniest part of it all; they didn't even come! They can't stand him either. So, I never got my dream wedding day. All because... I was soo in love."

Crossing his arms, Joshua stared at you, long and hard, his gaze almost piecing into your soul. "I wouldn't done better."

You look at him in confusion as he came over sits, the stool squeaking as he sat next to you. His fingers combed through your when he put your hand in his. "I would have given you that lake wedding at the your dream venue, i would've done... anything to make you happy. I would treat you the way you should be treated, the way you deserve. You wouldn't have to think about.. neglecting yourself to make me happy, I'd happy when you're happy."

"Oh yeah?"

He nods. You observe his face, hoping for a lick of a lie. But no, he's staring at you with absolute sincerity. Your heart squeezed inside, Joshua cuts you off before you could your words out. "Let me take you out, please. I want to have dinner with you, I want.. you."

He kisses your knuckles before resting your hand against his cheek. Glancing around with wide eyes, you released a shaky breath and finally looked at him.

"We can't out. Someone might see us and think that we're the cheaters. Simon is going outside the city for a week, so let's have dinner together.. in private."

Joshua chuckles and gave a tender kiss to your lips, he rests his head against yours. Happily. "Then let's have dinner."

You’re not allowed to cheat on her, you’re not allowed to lie to her face, you’re not allowed to bully her the way she’s bullied other people. Lucille lives in this bubble in which only she can pop it. Only she decides what’s good for her and what’s not.

So why are you even friends with her? I mean, considering the fact that she’s also fucked you over and blatantly stole your boyfriend way back when, why are you even friends with her?

Sure, you’ve had your flings left and right and messed around with guys; you’re not a saint either.

You think it’s probably because of pity.

There’s no way someone can be this miserable and insecure about themselves to the point that they have to make it everyone else’s problem. Lucille was a piece of work and you concluded that whenever you were a terrible person, you’d think of Lucille and feel better about yourself.

You were the only person that could put up with Lucille and you couldn’t think of the stress that she’d put on someone else.

You guess you could say that you were taking one for the team.

But, fuck if you didn’t want to strangle her right now.

For the past year and a half, she’s been dating this guy named Sim Jaeyun or Jake, as he prefers. You were pleasantly surprised when she was actually putting in the work to get him, even going as far as deleting the contacts of her old flings and trying to change.

You supported her and did what you could to make sure she could be happy. Lucille had even started paying some people back and had briefly quit her selfish antics.

You felt you could breathe. All the times you had to bend over for her had finally paid off.

For about 3 months.

You started noticing the habits emerging again. The way she would subtly cancel plans last minute, make excuses that contradict each other, ask Jaeyun for things with no intention of returning the favor and the secret messages she’d send when she was sure no one was looking.

To anyone else, it’d seem innocent or harmless. But after years of dealing with Lucille, you’d learned to spot the red flags quickly.

Your efforts to tell Jaeyun was futile.

“She’s going through something, her art career never made it through.”

“Lucille is sensitive. If doing this makes her feel better, then I’ll gladly do it for her.”

“You’re thinking too deep into this. Lucille would never do this to me.”

Excuses, excuses, excuses. You’d know because once upon a time, they were the same words coming out of your mouth.

Jake was just so damn sweet and loyal that it actually pissed you off. How could one be this naive? Everyone could see that she was practically cheating on him and yet you’d have yet to figure out why he was going along with it.

And you came to a pretty terrifying conclusion:

You.

You see, somewhere along the months of Lucille and Jake dating, you’d started to notice something about Jake. How he always seemed to linger near you, his eyes looking for you in a crowded room, the lingering touches that seemed innocent but set your skin on fire. You’d seen it all.

And so what if you were playing into it? You weren’t doing anything wrong. As long as you never made an explicit move, you and Jake could continue this cat and mouse game as long as you needed to.

As annoying as Lucille is, she wasn’t a fucking idiot. She could sense the tension between you and always got mad at you, like you were purposefully enticing him. You’d always deny it and then get into an argument where you’d ignore each other for a day or two until she called you crying, begging you to pull her out of whatever problem she was in.

Everything about this was toxic. You tried at first to stay away, to keep your distance.

But for some reason, you always have a knack for stirring up trouble.

Jake had texted you, wondering if Lucille was okay because she wasn’t answering her phone. They had a meet up planned and you were sure that Lucille had stood him up to go flirt with other guys. You don’t know what came over you when you texted him to come over, that you'd probably be better company than Lucille.

That brings you to your present situation.

You cooked dinner for both of you, cracked open a bottle of wine and were now tipsy and laughing over nothing.

“And I told Lucille that it was a bad idea but she still insisted. And then she ended up getting a flat tire and missing the concert entirely.” You recalled, laughing at the memory of Lucille’s poor planning.

“She’s always been prone to poor planning, but that’s just how it is.” Jake agrees, taking a sip of his wine.

“And poor decision-making.” You agree. “Especially when it comes to her love life.”

You regret the words as soon as they come out of your mouth. You don’t know what prompted you to say that, but judging by the way Jake’s face falls, you only feel 10 times more guilty.

“Jake…” You begin, trying to find the right words. “I didn’t–”

“Do you think I made a mistake?” He quietly asks you, staring at his wine glass.

You don’t get to respond before he continues.

“I see everything. The pity looks, the judgmental glances, the way everyone is always walking on eggshells around me. Everyone is saying that I made a mistake, that Lucille is using me, that I’m too blind to see that this relationship is only going to kill me. But they don’t know anything. They don’t know what Lucille is going through, what she’s really like behind closed doors. She’s good to me and people can’t see that—why can’t they see that?”

The next time you see Lucille, you’re gonna strangle her. You don’t know what kind of bullshit she’s been feeding him to have been vividly defending her like this. Lucille is the fakest person you know but you’re aware that she’s already got Jake under her spell.

“But even I am starting to see it. The way she treats me. Like I’m expendable, like I’m something she feels possessive over.” Jake takes another sip, a larger one, and he locks eyes with you. His lips quirk up, like he’s discovering something all over again.

“Have you always been this pretty? I mean, I knew you were but seeing you up close just–”

“Jake, you’re drunk.” You set your glass down and stand up to take his own away but you’re shocked when he grabs your waist and brings you to stand between his legs.

“Let me just say this, please. I don’t know when I’ll get another chance.”

You shouldn’t let this happen. He’s your best friend’s boyfriend, you’re supposed to stop this from happening.

But the way Jake is looking at you, his eyes desperate and hopeful, you can’t say anything. And he takes that as his sign to keep going.

“I’m not supposed to feel this way. Every time I look at you, my chest just tightens. I look for you in crowded rooms, I make excuses to touch you just to feel what it’s like. I think about kissing you more than I think about whether Lucille is out ignoring my messages and letting guys flirt with her. I try to memorize your scent everytime I come over—fuck, it’s like I’m obsessed with you. I think about you when I shouldn’t, when I’m lying in my bed alone thinking about your voice, your face, your tits every time I jerk off—”

“Jake!” You scold, your hand coming up to cover his. Your face heats up, both flustered and—

Fuck, you’re turned on.

You’re not supposed to be. You need to control yourself. You’re both drunk and talking out of your asses. You’re not supposed to be letting him admit that he’s come at just the thought of you.

“Jake, that’s enough. You shouldn’t be telling me this.” You try to reason with him.

“When should I?” He speaks through your palm. He grabs it and kisses the inside of your wrist, never once breaking eye contact. “When I’m drunk again? When I can’t take it anymore? When Lucille has ditched me again and I desperately need company? When should I be honest to myself and say that–”

“Don’t.” You say, firmer this time. Though it pains you, you peel yourself away from Jake and put some distance. “Don’t finish that sentence. Just… don’t.”

“Why?” He sounds so defeated, like you’re denying him the right to be honest with himself.

“Because if you admit it, there’s no going back. It changes everything. And I don’t think you’re ready or lucid enough to deal with the consequences.” You say.

There’s a weird finality to your tone, like you’ve drilled it into his head that this conversation is done now.

“You should probably go. Or you can take the couch. I don’t really care.” You quickly clear the table and rush to the kitchen, pretending to occupy yourself.

You can’t stop thinking about his words. His desperation. The dilemma he’s been fighting with himself. You also can’t get rid of the hot feeling in your stomach, the pride that comes from the effect you have on Jake.

You wonder how he did it. How he lay on his bed and could do nothing but stroke his cock to the thought of you, knowing he shouldn’t but ultimately succumbing to his guilty pleasure.

His guilty pleasure being you.

Your thighs squeeze together and you bite your lip. You shake your head to rid yourself of these thoughts.

‘He’s your best friend’s boyfriend.’ You remind yourself.

Sim Jaeyun is sweet. He is loyal. He’s like an adorable puppy, always latching on to people. He’s also smart. He has a lot of unique interests. He doesn't deserve this. He doesn’t deserve a girl like Lucille, one that will make him question his worth, his standing or his decisions. He doesn’t deserve someone as toxic as Lucille, someone who will always paint herself as the victim, a girl allergic to accountability.

Lucille doesn’t deserve Sim Jaeyun. She doesn’t deserve someone as sweet as him, someone who will always give him the benefit of the doubt, someone who will always go out of his way to make sure she’s accommodated for, someone who is such a selfless person. A guy that wants to be loved as much as he loves others. A guy who is the most perfect guy a girl could ask for.

Lucille doesn’t deserve Sim Jaeyun.

Lucille doesn’t deserve Sim Jaeyun.

Lucille doesn’t deserve Sim Jaeyun.

And you’ll make sure she knows it.

—

This game between you and Jaeyun has definitely progressed. In fact, he seems to have gotten bolder now that he knows you know what he’s been thinking about.

Lucille doesn’t know about what happened when Jake came over that night, and you’ve made it your mission to make sure Lucille never finds out. Despite how it ended, you’re sure she would jump through hoops and hoops to try and justify why her boyfriend came on to you. Lucille truly thinks she’s the shit, like people are lucky to have her.

The thing about Jaeyun is that he can’t really take what he dishes. He’ll provoke you first, hands hovering around your waist under the guise of getting something, he’ll make excuses to talk or text you, pretending that he needs to relay a message to Lucille or that he needed your opinion on something, and he’ll make layered comments right in front of you.

When you fire back—a hand trailing his shoulder or texting him suggestive pictures of your outfit or maintaining eye contact with him—he suddenly can’t take it anymore, suddenly rushing out of whatever room he’s in or trying to shake off your glances. Whether it’s to jerk off or to hide his blush, you can’t deny the rush of power you feel. The fact that you can make him come this undone fills you with arousal and pride.

There’s no room for guilt, surprisingly. Your goal is clear: give Lucille a taste of her own medicine. Maybe this wake-up call is what she needs to start acting right. Either way, you’re not feeling like the loyal best friend you’re supposed to be.

But this time, it doesn’t feel too bad.

The problem, however, is that despite Jake having told you that he wants you, he’s still holding on to those flimsy morals of his. He’s still in a relationship, Lucille still hasn’t given him a reason to suspect her, or your favourite: “That’s not who I am!”

Right, like you just imagined it when he said that he jerks off to the thought of you, but yes! Sim Jaeyun is a saint, apparently. And it’s never pissed you off so badly before.

Either he’s a freak with the way he’s edging himself or these morals are the only way he can eradicate the guilt he’s feeling on his end.

It doesn’t matter to you. Two can play that game.

You had texted Jake a picture of yourself in what seems like an innocent picture of your outfit, but anyone can see the implication behind it. Your heels, your dress, your pantyhose, all of it would be enough to make any guy pop a boner. You’re hot and you know it.

But for some reason, Jaeyun’s opinion is the only one you want right now.

jakey ❤︎⁠:

cool outfit, where u going?

you:

goin out with the gals, wbu?

jakey ❤︎⁠:

just preparing for my date with lucille

You roll your eyes behind your screen. Of course, he’d be thinking about Lucille when you’ve practically sent him a non-provocative provocative picture, if that even makes sense.

you:

ah, i see

have fun, ig

jakey ❤︎⁠:

c’mon, don’t be like that

you look really good

kind of jealous

it’d look better off

Bingo.

Your smirk probably looks wicked but you’ve got him exactly where you want him. You see how quick Jake is to unsend the message, realizing that he probably gave himself away.

you:

it’s okay jake

don’t be embarrassed

your secret is safe with me

ttyl <3

Something tells you this will be the best night of your life.

In more ways than one.

—

You’re already bored out of your mind.

You’ve been nursing your drink for the past 10 minutes, one friend on the dancefloor and the other trying to get into the pants of some random guy. You hum again, setting your drink down and playing with the ice via the stick in your drink. The club was boring, the music was bad, and the alcohol quality was shit. If you had known that this was what you were to spend your Friday night over, you would’ve canceled and continued flirting with Jake up until his date.

Speaking of which, you haven’t heard from Lucille.

Not that you want to, but that it’s customary for her to send pictures of the date and gush over how sweet and loyal Jake is which just makes you sick.

Gushing over how loyal Jake is while simultaneously cheating on said man just enraged you beyond reason.

The more you think about it, the more pissed off you get so you decide to just pay for your drinks and get out of here. You have better things to do. You grab your bag and are just about to leave when you spot something.

Or rather, someone.

And it’s none other than Lucille.

She’s clearly flirting with some guy, her heel tracing a line from his ankle to his calf and you can tell she’s pretending to be interested in whatever he’s saying. He laughs and she laughs back, placing her perfectly manicured nails on his arms, trying to butter him up. All to get in his pants.

You scoff, shocked at her audacity. You immediately pull out your phone and take pictures, darting out before she can see you.

There’s a weird rage bubbling in you. Jake doesn’t deserve any of this. He doesn’t need someone like Lucille. All your best friend does is piss you the hell off and it’s starting to get to you.

At the mention of Jake, you stop in your tracks.

Isn’t he supposed to be out with Lucille?

The rage turns into something else, into realization.

Right now, Lucille is occupied. Jake is probably disappointed in Lucille for standing him up again. And you’re bored from a disappointing night out.

This is your chance.

Of course, the rational part of yourself says that this is wrong, regardless of whether Lucille was a horrible friend or not. You wouldn’t be the bigger person, you’d be stopping to her level.

But then again, it’s not like you were a saint either.

—

Jake has no idea how he ended up here.

In your room. On your bed. Jerking off to the thought of you.

In his defense, it sort of just… happened.

He was supposed to go on a date with Lucille. That was almost two hours ago. Before she, yet again, stood him up.

He shouldn’t have been surprised though. He was… disappointed? Was that the best way to describe what he was feeling? He hadn’t expected her to show but he was hoping that this one time he could see a change in her.

With no response from Lucille, he visited her house only to find that she wasn’t home. He tried visiting other places that screamed Lucille which meant going through bars after bars and even contemplated going into a strip club. Calling her didn’t work. Texting her didn’t work. Reaching her through her friends didn’t work either.

Defeated and lonely, he hadn’t even realized that he went to your apartment until he was in front of the door. He was going to knock but remembered that you were out and probably weren’t home right now. Almost like the universe was watching, his phone buzzed with a text from you.

heyy. the club was boring so i left. coming home rn. wanna join me?

it’ll be fun, i promise ;)

Jake texted back and used your spare key to enter your apartment. He took off his shoes and sat on your couch in the living room.

To say that Jake felt awkward was an understatement. He felt like he was at his cousin’s house, on his best behaviour, afraid of doing the wrong thing.

What was Jake afraid of though? He remembers the night that he had drunkenly admitted that he felt something for you, in a way a boyfriend shouldn’t feel for his girlfriend’s best friend.

Jake is shameless.

His greatest strength and his weakness.

It’s how he ended up here.

Jake swears he was just exploring, wanting to see what the rest of your house looked like. He entered your room just with the intention of looking around, laughing at all the cute and ridiculous things he was going to find, not with the intention of lying on your bed and jerking off.

He couldn’t help himself! Your sheets smelled so much like you and he’d been thinking about you more lately and–

Welp, there’s no use trying to justify it now. Not when his pants and boxers have been lowered to his thighs and his hand is wrapped around his cock, frantically moving it up and down.

It hasn’t even registered that you may come home any minute now, all that matters to him is his pleasure, the throbbing need that is his dick. Fucking pervert, he couldn’t even wait until he got home. Who jerks off in someone else’s house?

“Oh, fuck–” Jake cuts himself off when his fingers squeezes the base of his cock, a bit more precum leaking out from the tip. He has long since stopped biting his lips to stifle his moans, instead choosing to let them out as they get increasingly louder and louder.

Jake has never felt this strung up over someone before, even more over someone he shouldn’t be wanting but for once Jake wants to be selfish. He wants to let himself have this before he is reminded of his reality.

Jake imagines it’s you, your hand wrapping around his dick, your velvety voice whispering in his ears, telling him he’s doing good for you, that you love seeing him like this. He wonders what it would be like to kiss you, how well you would taste, how addicting you would be.

He’s so wrapped up in his fantasies that he doesn’t even see the pair of eyes intently staring at him from the cracked bedroom door.

Jake continues saying your name over and over again. He can feel his peak coming, all he has to do is just—

“Well, aren’t you just a pretty thing, Jaeyun.”

Jake stops dead in his tracks, like someone just poured ice cold water all over him. He sits up so fast his head spins–most likely a combination from Jake coming down from his ruined orgasm and the fact that you’re in front of him, standing in the center of your room, your arms crossed as you intently stare at him.

Jake frantically pulls his pants up, guilt and shame filling his body. Well, to be fair, it’s not like you don’t know that he’s jerked to the thought of, but it’s more the fact that he got caught.

“Shit–when, uh… when did you get back?” He weakly asks.

“A couple of minutes ago. Did you not get my text?” You ask, but your tone is neutral, almost like you’re contemplating something, like you’ve made up your mind about something.

Jake just gets straight to the point. “...How much of that did you see?”

“Enough.” You say, dropping your purse on the floor.

The sound of it hitting the floor sounds like finality and Jake wishes that the floor could just open up and swallow him whole.

“I can explain–”

“Explain what? That you were touching yourself to the thought of me? To the thought of fucking you stupid? Or both?”

The words sound rude coming out of your mouth but it only turns Jake on. He shouldn’t be getting hard but it’s you. Of course it’s you he’s this distraught over. It’s only you that can get him like this.

You roll your eyes and turn around and Jake thinks that he’s truly messed up this time. He tries to get up but he forgets that he’s still sensitive and he falls to his knees in front of your bed.

“Wait, don’t go–I’m sorry, please it won’t happen again, I promise!” Jake frantically pleads, words coming out a mile a minute. “I know it was wrong of me but I just couldn’t help myself! I was just–”

He’s interrupted by you dragging your stool from your vanity across the floor, setting it infront of him, taking a seat on it. Jake notices that you hadn’t taken off your heels; he must’ve been loud enough that you immediately investigated the noises he was making. Which only makes Jake blush harder.

“Well? Don’t stop on my account, show me what you were doing.” You prompt, leaning back on your hands as you place them on the back of the stool.

“Huh?” Jake says, now sitting on his heels. “I mean, not that I’m saying no but–”

“I really don’t wanna have to repeat myself.” Your tone leaves no room for negotiation.

His cock has gotten rock hard now and Jake is a little embarrassed at how fast he was to comply, slowly pulling down his pants to reveal the boxers that already have a wet patch in the front of it.

Jake is about to pull down his boxers until you abruptly stop him, placing your heel on his chest.

“Guess who I saw at the bar.” You ask him, turning to the side to retrieve your purse.

Jake cannot see how that is important right now. “Uhm… I, uh, maybe Heeseung? Jungwon?”

You laugh before pulling out your phone. “Nope. Lucille. And she was getting really cozy with another guy.”

Jake’s eyes widen and of course he hurries to deny it. “What? That’s not true, Lucille would never–”

He’s interrupted by you shoving your phone in his face, the photo clear as day.

Lucille. With a guy. Clearing messing around. You even captured a photo of them kissing.

Jake is hurt. He’s feeling absolutely crushed. What did he do to Lucille to warrant this? Besides giving her love and attention and gifts?

“Aw, Jaeyun, don’t be sad.” You reassure, your heel trailing lower and lower, almost reaching his dick now. “I mean, you knew this was happening all along.”

“No, I just–I didn’t think she’d be cruel enough to do this!” Jake is scrambling again to make excuses, a habit that he still hasn’t learned to quit.

Fed up with it, your heel presses on his clothed dick and any train of thought from Jake disappears. Instead, he gasps, the pleasure from the touch fueling him.

“Everyone knew, Jaeyun.” You continue, simultaneously rubbing your heel across his cock. “Everyone knew and tried to tell you but you refused to listen.”

“I–I just wanted to believe her, I wanted to be good to her!” He’s blubbering now, not even realizing that his hips are moving on its own accord, bucking up to meet your foot everytime you grind on him.

“You stopped being good the moment you looked at me and saw me as more than your girlfriend’s best friend.”

You press your foot down on his dick and Jake lets out the prettiest moan. You grind your foot up and down before pressing down again. Jake’s forehead lands on your lap, his hands coming up to hold the side of your thighs, constantly trying to meet your ministrations.

Jake moans again, albeit a bit muffled before he lets out a sound of protest from you pulling your heel away.

“Wha… why’d you stop?” It’s so pathetic the way he says it, that it actually warms your heart.

“Don’t worry.” You kick the stool back, letting it fall on your rug-clad floor with a soft thud!

You kick off your heels, climbing on your bed and kneeling while facing him. Jake turns around and you note how beautiful he looks: flushed face, swollen lips and teary eyes.

“Come here Jaeyun.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He climbs on the bed as you grab his face and kiss him. It’s so much better than he’d imagined. The kiss is passionate, bold, full of pent up emotion that none of you dare to release. You taste better than he imagined, even when your tongue licked his lower lip demanding entry in which he easily grants. He moans at the feeling of your tongue in his mouth, swirling against his and he’s dizzy with how messy and wrong this whole situation is.

“Take this off.” You pull away and hurriedly take off Jake’s shirt, his hands joining you to aid him in peeling it off. You throw it somewhere across the room before you straddle his lap and wrap your hands around his neck, deepening the kiss.

It also doesn’t help that you’ve begun grinding down on him, chasing the heat in between your legs now. Jake moans at the feeling of your clothed core rubbing against his, his hips jumping up to meet you halfway.

The whole thing is messy, Jake separating from your lips to nibble kisses down your neck. His bites at a specific part of your neck that has you letting out a quiet moan as you grind down on Jake, working both him and you.

Your hands trail down his chest (his well-toned and defined body, you wondered if he worked out in his free time) and tug at his belt loops, signaling to him that you want them off. He hurriedly shakes out of his pants, leaving him in just his boxers while you are still fully clothed.

Something Jake doesn’t seem to like, coupled with the way he whines and pulls away, gripping your pantyhose-covered things while brushing lips across yours.

“You’re still clothed.” He whines, like he’s desperate to feel your skin against his.

You lean back and pretend to think. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

You lean on your back, one foot resting on his chest while the other is bent in front of you. Jake takes that as his sign, his fingers slowly trailing up your thighs underneath your dress. Your breath hitches at the touch all while you maintain eye contact with him. Jake is mesmerized though, his fingers digging into the band of your stockings to pull them down your legs. He gulps at the sight of your skin, his fingers tracing circles across your things, dipping in between them until his fingers brush against your covered core.

You jump at the stimulation, a pleased sigh leaving you.

“You’re so beautiful. So much more than—”

“Please don’t say her name right now.” You bite, a flare of anger rising in you. Along with that anger there’s another emotion present…

Jealousy?

Yeah, it is.

Why’s he thinking about her at a time like this? When you’re literally spread out for him? When you literally caught him touching himself and moaning your name?

“Sorry.” Jake sheepishly mumbles, his fingers still caressing your thighs. “I didn’t—I was just, uh, thinking a lot of things…”

“Ugh, now that's turned me off.’ You push his hands away, pretending to be disinterested. You sit up against your headboard and bring your knees up, an action which makes your dress ride up and expose your panties to the man in front of you.

“Wait, I’m sorry!” You want to laugh. You’ve breast said anything and he’s already begging. You hide your smirk and open your mouth.

“No, I mean, if you still wanna be loyal, I can’t force you. Maybe we should just end it here—”

The words nearly make Jake sob as he crawls closer to you, desperately kissing your face and whining into your neck. “Please, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, please, I’ll be better–I’ll be so good to you, please let me be good to you–”

You shut him up by pressing your lips against his, an action that makes Jake moan into your mouth.

“Tell you what, Jaeyun,” You begin, pulling away and letting your thumb trace his lower lip. “Eat me out and if you make me cum hard enough, I’ll fuck you real good. Okay?”

Jake is nodding before his head can keep up. “Yes, yes, anything! I’ll do anything–”

“Ugh, less talking and more moving.” You roll your eyes, pushing his head down towards your clothed heat.

You spread your legs for Jake, drool spilling out from his lips at the thought of tasting you. He leans in and sucks your clit through your underwear, drawing a moan from you. Your back slightly arches as one of your hands caresses his hair.

Jake continues this for a bit before he ultimately decides that he wants to taste you for real and is hurriedly pulling down your underwear and throwing it behind him. He dives in, licking a stripe from your hole up until your clit.

The taste of you on Jake’s tongue ignites something in him and he’s messily licking at you, desperate to get more of it. His head is hidden under your dress but you can see the frantic bobbing of it, his desperation evident.

Your thighs tighten around Jake’s head and he takes that as his sign to throw your legs over shoulders and add two fingers to the mix, your moans now freely spilling out.

“Oh, fuck! Feels so so good, Jaeyun!” You cry out, lifting the edge of your dress to see his face.

Jake lets out a moan at your praise, the vibrations only serving to heighten your pleasure. His hips are humping your mattes right now, the tightness in his pants too much for him to bear.

It’s not long before the coil in your stomach starts to tighten and Jake can tell you’re almost there with the way your moans are getting more frequent and higher.

“That’s it, I’m so close, fuck! Shit!–” You cut yourself off with a moan, gripping Jake’s hair and bucking your hips in his face.

“Please–” He begs but it’s muffled as he continues to eat you out, burying his face even more if that was possible.

Jake gives you clit one final suck before the coil snaps and you let out a loud moan, releasing all over his face. Jake laps up everything, until he’s gently pulling his face away.

His chin is glistening with your essence, smeared all over his mouth as he locks eyes with you. Your eyes trail down and you can see a growing wet patch in his boxers, emitting a laugh from you.

“Did you come in your pants, Jaeyun?” You’re a little shocked, you didn’t think that your pleasure would affect him this much.

Jake lowers his head, furiously blushing. “I couldn't help myself… I’m sorry.”

“Aww, don’t be.” You coo, leaning forward to kiss him. “I thought it was cute.”

You can taste yourself on his tongue, and Jake seems to get more and more desperate as he unzips the back of your dress and helps you tug it over your head. He stops for a moment, just admiring what he sees before your hand grabs his chin and gently lifts it to meet your gaze. You smile as your hands trail down his chest and help Jake out of his ruined boxers.

“You did so good, Jaeyun. Lie back for me, okay?”

You both switch positions now; Jake laying on his back and you straddling his lap as you guide his tip to your entrance. Jake’s hands are holding your hips, not to help you but more so to anchor himself.

You both let out a moan when you slowly lower yourself onto him, all in one go. You stop to adjust and collect yourself as you place your hands on his chest. You lean down and brush your nose against Jake’s, laughing at his flushed face.

“You ready?” You ask him.

Jake doesn’t get a chance to ask what you mean before you start riding him, the sound of skin on skin slowly filling the room. Jake throws his head back, moans spilling out of his mouth faster than he can keep up.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck, that feels so good–oh you feel so good.” He’s blubbering now, obsessed with how tight you feel around him and how good you;re giving it to him. Jake never thought he would’ve found himself in this situation twelve hours ago but he is not complaining. He’d do it all over again if it meant that he could be right here.

Underneath you. Watching the way you ride him into tomorrow. At this point it just feels like you’re using him to get off.

“C’mere. C’mere, let me feel you Jaeyun.” You say between your moans, needing him close to you.

Jake obliges and wraps his arms around your waist, your hands coming to cradle his head and smash your lips against his as you continue to bounce in his lap, your juices coating his dick.

Jake whimpers when you tug on his hair, deepening the kiss if it was even possible. Your mouth trails down to his neck, sucking marks into his neck as he whines into your ear.

“Fuck, you’re so big, Jaeyun. You’ve been hiding this from me all this while?” You tease, nipping his ear. You continue moving up and down, forcing more noises out of Jake’s mouth.

“Oh, please, please, please.” Jake doesn't even know what’s begging for. But he’s never felt this kind of pleasure, not when was with Lucille, not when he was alone. Not ever.

Jake has started kissing your chest, biting his own marks into it. His hands unwrap themselves from your waist and go to squeeze your boobs in his hands, his thumbs brushing your nipples. The action makes you clench around Jake which in turn makes Jake let out a loud groan.

“Lucille doesn’t even know what she’s missing out on.” You say, starting to get faster and Jake only cries in pleasure. “She’s over here flirting with any man that’ll give her attention while I’m fucking her boyfriend in my own bed.”

Jake groans at your words, continuing to bury his face in your chest. “Did that make you shy, Jaeyun? You like what you’re hearing, that you’re cheating on your girlfriend with her best friend?”

“No–I–It’s not that!” He protests, looking up at you with his teary eyes, something that makes you clench around him again.

“Really? Do you fuck all of your girlfriend’s best friends or it’s just me?” You respond, pushing him to lay on his back again.

Jake hasn’t even realized that he’s getting closer to his peak until he feels the coil winding up until he’s taken a look at the way you guys are connected. His fingers go to rub at your clit, helping you reach your peak as well.

“Oh, I’m so close–I’m so close, please let me cum!” Jake begs, his hips bucking up to meet yours.

“Tell me I’m better than her.”

“Huh?”

“Tell me I’m better than Lucille or I won’t let you cum. I’ll just use you to get me off and leave you shaking and ruined.” You order, bouncing on him faster now.

“Please! Oh, you’re so much better than her–she could never compare, she could never make me feel the way you do!” Jake is just saying whatever, anything that will keep you connected to him.

“C’mon, Jaeyun. Let go for me.”

Jake’s moans get gradually louder and louder until he drops the bomb that triggers your own orgasm alongside his.

“Ugh, fuck–mommy, please!”

You release all over Jake while he fills you up, a warm sensation that you can feel in your walls and some of it escapes from your cunt onto the base of his cock. Jake has his head thrown back while you both slowly come down from your highs.

“So…” You begin. “Mommy, huh?”

Jake’s eyes fly open, the memory of what he said hitting him full force as he grows embarrassed, his face covering his hands.

“Please forget you heard me say that.” He mumbles through his hands.

You laugh and let out a soft gasp as you pull out, some of his cum leaking out of you. You lean in and gently pry his face away from his hands, putting your lips against his. Jake reciprocates but doesn’t see that your hand is trailing down his chest and wrapping around his cock. Jake jolts at the feel of you slowly rubbing him, your touch much softer and delicate than all the times he jerked off to the thought of you.

“I kind of liked hearing you call me that. Think you can do it again?” You say against his lips.

“Wait, I’m sensitive!” Jake tries to protest but it’s muffled as he continues to make out with you.

“You keep bucking your hips into my hand. You’re sure you want me to stop?” You tease. Jake’s previous release mixed with your juices serve as a lubricant on his cock, your hand gliding easier and faster, all to make Jake fall apart quicker.

“Oh, f-fuck, mommy! Mommy, please! ‘M sensitive, I–” He’s interrupted by your thumb gliding over his slit, throwing his head back as you draw out a full whimper from him.

The pleasure has started to override his brain. His mind is slowly getting fuzzier now, clouded with the continuous pleasure that you continue to lay on him. Before he knows it, he feels himself reaching his peak again; a more intense one at that.

“You close? Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good, just focus on what I’m doing, yeah?” You reassure him, pressing a kiss to his chest.

Jake doesn’t even register your words. He only registers the feeling of him cumming again, releasing for the third time that night. It splashes all over your hand and Jake’s abs, and his face through it all just turns you on even more.

The problem is that you don’t stop. Jake doesn’t even get a chance to come down from his high before you sit yourself between his legs and lick his tip.

“Fuck!” He cries, bucking wildly before your hand presses down on his stomach, silently telling him to stay still. “I just came, please–!”

“One more.” You say, looking up at him. “You can give me one more.”

You take him in your mouth, all in one go and Jake can only let out whimpers and whines now, the sensitivity making his mind go haywire. His hands come to your hair as he feels your tongue swirling on the underside of his cock and he’s torn between chasing the pleasure or pushing your head away.

“Mommy, please!” His head is thrashing left right, small tears escaping his eyes as you continue to lick and suck away at his cock. “It–it’s too much–fuck, I can’t take it, please!”

“You can give me one more, Jaeyun.” You repeat, going to fondle his balls. All Jake does is buck his hips in your hand, tears fully streaming down his face.

You take him in your mouth again, Jake’s dick hitting the back of your throat. Jake has always imagined what your mouth would feel like, it was one of the fantasies he had when he would cum all over his hand in his room. But now that it’s real, Jake never wants this moment to end.

The coil in Jake is winding up and he can tell this release is going to be strong, maybe one of the strongest he’s ever had. His hands are slowly holding your head so that he finds something to hold on to.

“Mommy, mommy I’m gonna–I’m–shit!” Jake cries, not even finishing his sentence before he releases into your mouth, letting out the loudest moan as his back arches.

You eagerly swallow everything that he has to offer, not letting anything go to waste. When Jake is finally finished, he slumps into the sheets, fully spent. You sit up and wipe your mouth. You laugh at Jake’s fucked out state and straddle him to leave soft kisses all over his face, your last one on his nose.

“Has anyone told you how pretty your face is?” You murmur, leaving a lingering kiss on his lips. You don’t give him a chance to answer before you’re crawling over him, your pussy hovering over your face.

Jake’s mouth waters at the sight of your cunt but he also whines at the fact that he’s spent. “Mommy, please. I’m tired…”

“You came four times and I only came twice. Is that fair to you?” You ask him, pretending to be confused.

Jake frantically shakes his head. As always, eager to please you.

“Then you know what you have to do, right?”

—

It’s past midnight now, nearing 2 AM.

Next to you, Jake is passed out sleeping on his back. You can see the deep red lines you left on his back after you went at it two more times, Jake insisting to take the lead–with you guiding him, of course.

He’s beautiful sleeping like this. No stress, no people telling his everyday that he’s gullible for dating Lucille, that

Jake’s phone buzzes on the nightstand and you turn it over to see it’s a message from Lucille. You get a wicked idea, knowing the perfect way to let Lucille know she’s lost. You unlock his phone (he told you the password was your birthday) and type out a message.

luci <3

you up?

srry i couldn’t make it

let me see you

you:

[attachment sent]

sorry boo, he’s a little busy right now

luci <3

what the fuck??

dude, what the hell? why are you with my boyfriend right now?

you:

don’t cry 😿

since no one has the guts to tell you this, let me be the first

you’re genuinely one of the most miserable people i’ve ever met. you’re rude, you’re entitled and you’re a fucking snake. idk how i put up with your ass for this many years, but i’ve had enough. consider this a thank you for all the “kind” shit you did for me

luci <3

you fucking bitch

i knew you always wanted him but i didn’t think you’d stoop this low

jake is mine, he’s loyal to me

you:

you’re the last person to be talking about loyalty when everyone knows you’ve been passed around like a broken and used toy

you just can’t handle the fact that you’re getting treated the way you treat others

dw, i’ll take good care of him ♥️♥️♥️

have a horrible fucking life lucille 🖕

You turn off Jake’s phone just as he turns around and sleepily mumbles your name. You bring him closer and lay his head on your chest, Jake going straight to sleep.

Lucille really didn’t deserve Sim Jaeyun. And even if you weren’t any better in terms of moral, you’re positive you got your message clear:

Sim Jaeyun is yours.

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“Marlon!— no!— stop it!—” you squealed as you and Michael pushed against the closet door with all the strength both of you hand, trying to stop Marlon, Jermaine, and Tito from successfully closing the door on the two of you.

“uh-uh, y’all got business to handle! gon’ and get all that mushy out of y’all’s systems so everything can go back to normal!” Marlon remarked through boyish laughter as the three brothers suddenly shoved their body weight against the door in unison and the force sent you and Michael back from the door and tumbling to the ground, a yelp coming from you and a grunt coming from him while the two of you fell wrapped in each other’s limbs.

Michael’s brothers were known to toy with you and him, especially since it was obvious — to them, at least — that you and Michael had not-so secret feelings for each other, but three of them going as far as to shove you and him in a closet together was extremely embarrassing for both of you.

to be more specific, it was Marlon who dragged you to the closet and Jermaine who followed him with Michael in his arms, but it was Tito who held the closet door open for them to put both of you in there.

you and Michael had been friends since you were teenagers and spent much of your adolescence together, even going as far as sneaking out to see each other and hang out at odd times of the night. as time progressed, your bond grew stronger and the two of you were practically two peas in a pod, but somewhere along the way, things started to shift between the two of you.

it wasn’t very obvious, but it could be subtly felt. touches started lingering a bit more and eye contact felt different, almost as if layered with something deeper than platonic affection. the thin line between close friends and lovers was becoming blurred and neither of you realized it.

Jackie noticed it first, then Jermaine, and that’s when the rest of the Jackson brothers started piecing things together as well.

everyone knew Michael was shy at times, but you were no better than him. both of you were equally shy in your own ways, but especially when it came down to romantic feelings, relationships, or connections — truthfully, anything under the ‘romance’ umbrella made both of you very timid and quieter than usual.

so obviously, the Jackson brothers knew that you and Michael would never confess how you really felt about each other, so they decided to do what they do best: meddle.

“you okay?” the sound of Michael’s soft voice pulled you from your thoughts and you blinked as you looked up at him, realizing the fall had planted him right on top of you.

“yeah… y-yeah, i’m fine,” you answered softly as you searched his face for a moment and swallowed thickly, the confined space suddenly feeling smaller than before, “you?”

“i’m okay.” Michael reassured, a small shy smile creeping onto his face, as you instinctively smiled back and the two of you stood from the ground with each other’s help, both of you adjusting your clothing before you moved towards the door.

wrapping your fingers around the doorknob, you twisted it once, then twice, and your face dropped once you realized it was locked.

“hey!” you shouted with a huff as you let go of the doorknob and slapped the door with the palm of your hand instead, “y’all better open this doggone door!”

“not until y’all admit that y’all like each other!” Jermaine shouted back.

“and don’t lie ‘cause we all see how you look at him!” Marlon immediately added in, one of his infamous giggles slipping out mid-sentence.

“and Mike ain’t innocent either! boy be lookin’ like a lost puppy when you around!” Tito chimed in, causing the three brothers to erupt in laughter together.

huffing quietly, you took a step back from the door and leaned against the nearest wall as your gaze shifted to Michael, who was sheepishly covering his face with his hands — presumably due to the embarrassing statements from his brothers.

“…Mikey?” you called softly, your voice barely audible, as Michael peeked through his fingers and looked over at you before slowly — almost reluctantly — lowering his hands from his face, knowing that neither of you could avoid the conversation that was about to happen — at least, not anymore because of his meddling brothers.

“…yeah?” Michael answered back, his voice quieter than normal, as he slightly pursed his lips together before tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, a gesture he always managed to do when he was nervous.

you slightly parted your lips to speak, but nothing came out but quiet stammers that only fueled your embarrassment, causing a small comforting smile to form on Michael’s face.

“hey, hey, it’s okay… d-do you want me to go first instead?” Michael offered, finding your bashful stutters adorable, as your mouth closed and you slightly nodded, a shy smile spreading across your features.

“yeah, if, um… if that’s okay with you.” you finally managed to put a sentence together and crossed your arms across your chest to ease your nerves as Michael slowly nodded his head and swallowed hard, trying his hardest to maintain eye contact with you while he nervously toyed with the hem of his shirt.

“okay… okay, um… you know, we’ve been friends for a really long time now and, um, i really like spending time with you,” Michael spoke softer and more carefully, trying his best to stay calm in what he viewed as an embarrassing situation, “you… you make me feel so good inside. better than any other girl really has, honestly. so, um… i gotta’ tell you somethin’.”

you slightly stiffened and let out a quiet exhale as you slowly nodded your head, gesturing for him to continue while your arms slightly tightened around your chest, “…go ahead, Michael.”

“i…” Michael hesitated a bit, going quiet for a moment before exhaling shakily, “i like you… i really like you. and, um… my brothers been tellin’ me that you like me too, but i… i wanna hear it from you personally… please.”

Michael’s plea nearly made your knees buckle and you let out a soft breathless laugh filled with relief and lingering anxiety, a smile spreading across your face at his confession.

“oh, Mikey… i really like you, too. i wanted to tell you sooner, but i didn’t really know how to bring it up because the thought of it made me… nervous,” you admitted timidly as Michael smiled back at you and your arms slowly uncrossed, feeling the weight of your confession leave as quickly as it came, “i do hate that we had to confess like this, though… think i might have to fight your brothers after this.”

Michael giggled at your comment and you giggled with him, your combined laughter in the small room easing the lingering embarrassment in the air and causing both of your shoulders to slowly drop in unison.

“so… could i ask you somethin’?” Michael asked, his smile softening, as he took a small hesitant step towards you and you grinned a little before nodding your head.

“yeah. anything.”

“would, um… would you like to be my… girlfriend?” Michael asked bashfully, gently toying with the hem of his shirt again, as your eyes lit up and a wide smile quickly spread across your face, excitement overtaking you and completely diminishing any trace of shyness.

“yes! oh, yes, Michael!” you squealed as you suddenly threw your arms around Michael’s neck and pulled him into a tight embrace, catching him off guard and making him stiffen before he slowly melted in your embrace and reverently wrapped his arms around your waist.

Michael lowered his head into the crook of your neck and inhaled the scent of your perfume as his large hands splayed across your back, holding you against him while the two of you stood there silently holding each other and basking in the new beginning of your relationship — the shift from platonic to romantic sending gentle chills down your spine.

the two of you stood like that for a moment, your surroundings seemingly fading away the longer you were in each other’s arms, before Michael raised his head from the crook of your neck to properly look down at you, prompting you to raise your head from his shoulder.

meeting his gaze this time felt different, but in the best way — his gaze was softer yet more intensely, seeming overcome by joy and love that he couldn’t help but to look at you as if you were the best thing that ever happened to him.

“could i ask you somethin’ else?” Michael asked softly, searching your eyes, as you smiled a little and slightly nodded your head while you maintained eye contact with him, “can i— may i… kiss you?”

you blinked once, then twice, and that was when realization dawned on you and you realized that none of this was a dream. your best-friend-turned-boyfriend Michael Jackson just asked you for a kiss… and by this point, who were you to deny what both of you had been secretly wanting?

“yeah… yeah, of course.” you answered quietly, slightly nodding your head again, as Michael smiled a little at you and the two of you looked at each other for a moment before you began leaning towards each other in unison, your nose slightly brushing against his before his lips locked with yours.

the kiss was soft and tentative, both of you testing the waters and not trying to scare each other off, but once the two of you got used to the feeling of your colliding mouths, the kiss deepened. his mouth moved slowly against yours and you maintained that rhythm, neither of you wanting to rush this sweet moment of intimacy you had been denying yourselves.

however, the universe seemingly had other plans because the closet door suddenly flung open and every single one of Michael’s brothers now stood there watching the two of you, you and Michael breaking the kiss at the sound of the door opening as your heads snapped towards the doorway.

“ahh-ha, i knew it! i knew it, i told y’all! i told y’all they was in here kissin’!” Marlon squealed, giggling through his banter, as the other brothers erupted into laughter with him and Jackie shook his head instead, though a content smile rested on his face at the sight of you and his younger brother wrapped in each other’s embrace.

identically sheepish grins spread across you and Michael’s faces and Michael immediately turned away from his brothers to shield his face as you buried your face into his chest with a muffled groan of embarrassment, which somehow only fueled Marlon’s amusement because he started laughing even harder than before.

“Mikey, i swear i’m gonna kill Marlon.”

Chapter IV: How’s The Family, Jack?

Jack Abbot has always been terrible with his work-life balance. Even though he’s scheduled for the night shift, he frequently finds himself listening to the police scanner and showing up on the day shift. His therapist had long made a point of telling him that it was unhealthy to be listening in on dispatch calls, but Jack’s always been a bit stubborn.

Okay, maybe a bit is underselling it. Jack Abbot is as stubborn as an ox. Which is why, it surprises absolutely no one when he shows up on day shift to help out with a car pileup. Once the chaos dies down into a somewhat of steady flow, Jack settles at the front desk next to Dana and Robby as he charts. 

Jack pretends not to see the looks that Robby and Dana are both throwing him. He finally looks up and gives Robby a hard stare as the other man raises his hand in defense. 

“So, how’s the family, Jack?” Robby asks, finally breaking the tension.

Jack raises a questioning eyebrow before looking between Dana and Robby, “What are you talking about?”

“Word on the street is that you’re a happily married man, Abbot. There are also rumors of a certain cutie pie calling you Dada. Wasn’t that the word, Rob?” 

Robby nods, “I believe that’s the word I heard, too, Evans. So I guess we’re both wondering why you were holding out on this secret family from us?”

Jack shrugs, “I’m not holding out on anything. S’just not anyone’s business. But since you’re both very nosy, you remember the mom and kid that came here two months ago when she had the flu? Well, I’ve kind of still been seeing both of them.” Jack looks down at the computer as he thinks of you and Nova. His two girls. 

He feels the funny fluttering in his chest at thinking of the pseudo-family day that you, he, and Nova had the other weekend. He’s also still reeling from the gut-wrenching kiss that the two of you shared. 

Robby scans Jack’s expression and clocks how soft Jack looks once he’s mentioned you.

“When you say seeing them both, do you mean that you’ve been going out on family dates?” 

Jack rolls his eyes, “They’re just casual outings.” Even as the words leave his lips, they sound wrong. The outings that he was having with you and Nova were anything but casual. They meant something to Jack. He knows that there’s a large part of him that wants to protect the sacredness of his unit with you and Nova. He doesn’t want too many prying eyes on this. He just wants to enjoy this for what it is. 

“Doesn’t sound too casual if the kid’s still referring to you as her father,” Dana quips, as she looks at Jack over the bridge of her glasses. 

One point for Dana Evans. 

He shrugs, “I don’t know, it’s just kind of stuck, and I don’t really mind it either.” 

It’s Robby and Dana’s turn to lift their eyebrows at Jack. Dana takes her glasses off to stare at Jack, “Whoa, Abbot, you telling me you’re having baby fever this late in the game?”

Robby chuckles, “Look, we’re not trying to ruin your dynamic. We’re asking strictly as your friends if you’ve fully thought this all out. I mean, not only are you dating the mom, but the kid has a strong attachment to you, too. That means you’re a significant part of her life now. I just don’t want to see you or that little girl get hurt. You need to be sure that it’s what you want, Jack.” 

Jack takes a second to digest the words. Robby’s valid in where he’s coming from. He thinks back to the conversation that he had with you the other night. Jack knows that he’s serious about his relationship with you and Nova. There isn’t a doubt in his mind that he wants to stay close to both of you. 

Before Jack can reply, Robby’s called to handle another case. He claps a hand on Jack’s shoulder while giving him a soft smile. It’s only Jack and Dana at the desk, and she’s still giving him an inquisitive look.  

“Well, what’s the verdict, Abbot? You in or out?”

“In. I care about them both a lot. I wouldn’t do any of this if I were confused about my feelings. I want to be in Nova’s life, and I want to be in her mom’s life as well.” 

Dana smiles at him as she slides her glasses back on, “Well…welcome to fatherhood, Jack.”

You move around your apartment as your friend, Zara, plays with Nova. Zara tickles Nova’s sides as she giggles loudly. 

Zara looks up at you, “So you and hot doctor daddy are supposed to be going out this Friday?”

“Yeah, are you still good to watch Nova?”

Zara nods, “Yeah, girl, I wouldn’t let you miss your opportunity to get your back blown out.” You both peer over to Nova, who’s happily chatting away with Bun Bun.

“Girl, nobody’s getting their back blown out,” you respond, picking up Nova’s favorite blanket and folding it.

“Booo! Sis, when’s the last time you’ve been on a date or let a man put you through the mattress?” 

It doesn’t take you long to calculate the time frame. You and your vibrator are very familiar with your dry spell. “Not since I found out that I was pregnant with Nova.”

Zara almost breaks her neck turning to you, “Girl, that’s long! I know your coochie is crying for a little love.” She whispers the last part so Nova can’t hear her. 

You chuckle and roll your eyes, “She’s just fine, I have the appropriate tools to help her.” 

Zara stands from the couch and moves to stand in front of you, “Trust me, the tools are great. My rose toy and I are best friends, but trust me, it doesn’t beat the sensation of having a hot man pressing his body against yours. From all of the things you’ve told me about Jack, he sounds like he’d be really attentive to you and your needs.” She gives a wink at the end of the statement. 

You have to admit that you know she’s right. It’s been a while since you’ve been intimate with someone. The sex between you and Nova’s dad was passionate and enjoyable. However, once you became pregnant and he expressed his disinterest in fatherhood, you’d cut the intimacy off quickly. 

But you didn’t doubt that Jack would be attentive to your needs. Just with how careful he was with his hands, you imagined that he’d place that same amount of care and attention to bringing you to release. A shiver crawls up your spine at the thought.

Zara smirks, “You’re already imagining it. Listen, I’m not saying rush into anything that you’re not ready for. I’m just saying, have fun on your date with Jack. It’s your time to be you and not just Nova’s mommy. Don’t forget that you deserve to have some time too.”

A long sigh leaves your mouth, “I know. It’s just, I’ve gotten so used to being Nova’s mommy. It feels nice to have someone desiring me in that way, you know?”

“Of course. You’re entitled to that feeling.” 

Nova walks over to you and Zara and holds her arms up. You laugh softly before scooping her up in your arms. You press a kiss to her cheek as she giggles, “Mama, m’hungry.”

“What are you in the mood for, lovebug?”

“Mac-n-eese,” Nova responds, flashing her dimples at you. 

“Okay, pretty girl, do you wanna help me?” Nova nods her head as you walk to the counter and set her down. Zara stands nearby, making Bun Bun float in the air as Nova giggles. You grab all of the ingredients from the fridge as your phone vibrates on the counter. 

“Your man is calling you,” Zara teases, holding the phone up. You’re the least bit surprised at Jack FaceTiming you. He’d grown more comfortable with FaceTiming you and Nova, especially before he went in for his shift. Upon hearing the phone ring, Nova perks up and tries to stand to reach for the phone. 

Zara places a hand on her hip while guiding her to sit down, “Calm down, little girl, before you fly off this counter. You sure do love your Dada.” 

Nova excitedly grabs the phone and slides a finger across it to answer. She screams happily as the phone connects and she sees Jack’s face. “Dada!!” 

On the other end, Jack’s heart melts at the sight of his little Nova. He scans his gaze over her little puff balls and her chubby cheeks, “Hi, babygirl, you look so pretty. What did you do today?”

Nova starts to think before looking back at the phone, “I color and build blocks. I play outside with Kylie.” 

“Woah, you were very busy today! Did you and Kylie have a good time, sweetheart?”

“Mhmm, Dada.” 

“That’s amazing, sweetie. Have you been being good for mommy?”

“Mhmm, Dada, I’ve been really good. Mama makes mac-n-eese! Dada want mac-n-eese?” 

Jack lets out a gasp, “Oooo, that sounds amazing. I can’t have any mac-n-cheese tonight. I have to work really late, but I’ll call you before you go to sleep, okay?”

“Otay, Dada. Kiss.” You and Zara watch as Nova puckers her little lips and presses them to the screen. She lets out a loud mwah as she seemingly gives Jack a virtual kiss. Zara looks in your direction with her hand on her chest. She mouths, “So sweet” as she pretends to faint. 

Jack is in the same predicament as he feels like his heart is about to burst from cuteness overload. He wants to stuff his head in his pillow and cry tears of happiness at Nova’s love for him. 

Nova smiles at the phone before frowning, “Dada, kiss back.”  

You cover your mouth as the laugh leaves you because you know that Nova means serious business. Jack chuckles softly from his end of the phone, “M’sorry, sweetheart. Here, Dada will kiss you now.” You almost burst into tears as Nova holds the phone up to her cheek, and Jack moves to “give her a kiss.” He lets out a loud, dramatic mwah, to which Nova giggles loudly. 

“Thank you, Dada,” Nova said, smiling down into the phone. 

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Is your mommy around?” Jack asks. 

Nova nods before sticking the phone out to you, “Mama, Dada wants you.”

“Thank you, lovebug,” You respond, grabbing the phone from her hand. When you turn the phone to face yourself, Jack is already sitting there with a soft smile on his face. 

“Hi Jack,” You said, the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. 

“Hi, sweetheart. You look gorgeous,” He states, biting gently at his lip. 

You laugh, “I’m wearing a big t-shirt, and my hair’s a mess.” 

“Honey, you look beautiful to me no matter what you’re wearing. In fact, I think motherhood makes you look sexier.”

Zara’s head perks up at this, and she moves closer to listen to you and Jack. Jack catches sight of Zara as she peeks over your shoulder. You turn your head and laugh, “This is my best friend, Zara. Zara, this is Jack Abbot.”

“Ahh, so you’re the new daddy,” Zara quips. Your jaw drops, and Nova adds a “Dada” from the back. Jack smirks at the phone, “I guess I am.” 

You look between him and Zara, “I’m going to move the phone before you both start conspiring against me.” 

“Boo, no fun. Come on, Nova. Let’s give your mommy and daddy a little alone time,” Zara said, flashing a quick wink at you and Jack. She grabs Nova from the counter and starts making silly voices. 

You turn your gaze back to the phone, where Jack waits patiently. You both stare at each other silently as a shy smile crosses your face. 

“I can’t stop thinking about our date and the kiss from the other night.”

“One kiss and he’s hooked already,” You tease.

“Sweetheart, I was hooked on you the moment that I saw you sitting in my ER,” Jack states.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t stop thinking about you after I saw you that night. I wanted to ask for your number, but I know it’d be inappropriate, but it seems like fate…or rather Nova brought us back together.”

You can’t contain the smile that crosses your face at his words. Just as you’re about to respond, Nova walks in and tugs on your shirt, “Mama, me and Bun Bun hungry.”

“Okay, lovebug, mommy’s gonna finish your Mac-n-cheese. Say bye to Jack.” You kneel so that she can get a direct view of Jack.

“Bye bye Dada. See you later,” Nova states, waving her hand at Jack. She holds Bun Bum up to the camera, “Bun Bun say bye, Dada.”

Jack waves you to the camera, “Bye, babygirl. Bye Bun Bun. I’ll call you before you go to sleep, baby.” 

“Otay, Dada,” Nova said, turning the phone and puckering her lips again. Jack chuckles but obliges as they both share a virtual kiss to each other. 

As you turn the phone back in your direction, you give Jack one last smile, “Bye, Jack.”

Jack quirks an eyebrow, “Daddy doesn’t get a kiss from mommy?”

You can’t help the flood of heat that surges through your body. This man was doing ungodly things to your libido, and he’d only kissed you one time. 

You lower your voice, “Maybe, Daddy will get a kiss if he’s on his best behavior Friday.”

“Scout’s honor, sweetheart,” Jack replies. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

“I look forward to it. Have a good evening. Call me before you put Nova to bed, I want to say goodnight to both of my girls.”

You nod in agreement before the call ends. You can’t contain the goofy smile that comes across your face and how you just stare off into the distance.

“Oooo…you got it bad, girl,” Zara comments from the doorway. 

Truthfully, you were definitely down bad for Jack Abbot.

Friday rolls around quicker than you and Jack anticipate. He’s so nervous that he calls Robby in for reinforcements. 

“Okay how do I look?” Jack asks as he stands in front of Robby. 

“Do a quick turn for me,” Robby comments from him spot on the couch. Jack turns and quickly faces Robby again. He gives him an expectant look. 

“You look great man. I’d date you,” Robby teases.

Jack rolls his eyes, “Unfortunately, we’re already married for life.”

“I’m aware. Which is why I’m a little hurt that you’re choosing to replace me,” Robby states with faux hurt. 

Jack chuckles as he spritzes cologne over himself. Robby watches as he fluffs his hair again. “Jack, if you fluff it anymore, she’s gonna think you rolled out of bed. Relax man, it’s gonna go great.” 

“I know. I’m just nervous. I haven’t dated much since the divorce.” 

After Jack’s divorce from his ex-wife, Klara, he didn’t think that dating would ever be in the cards for him again. With much encouragement from Dana and Robby, he tried his hand at a few blind dates, but they never went anywhere. 

Jack’s phone buzzes from the bed. He picks it up and notices you contacts flashing across the screen. He answers the phone just as he puts the phone up to his ear, “Hey, sweetheart.” 

“Hey, I have some bad news. I have to cancel for tonight,” You announce solemnly.

“Are you and Nova okay, sweetheart?” Jack questions as he moves to grab his keys.

“Oh, we’re fine. My friend, Zara, who was planning to babysit has a stomach virus, so she can’t watch Nova. It’s a little too short notice for me to ask anyone else to watch her. I’m really sorry, Jack,” you explain. 

Jack exhales upon hearing that you and Nova are okay. “You don’t have to apologize to me, honey. I hope that Zara feels better. Do you need me to send Robby over to check on her?” 

Robby raises his hands upon hearing his name. 

“No, she’s fine. She said the worst was over. I was just really looking forward to this date with you.”

Jack thinks it over for a few seconds, “What if we bring Nova with us?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. We can still have our date, we just add Nova to our date. You get her all dolled up and we’ll go together,” He suggests. 

The other end of the line goes silent for a second. “You’d really be okay with taking her with us?” 

“Sweetheart, I meant it when I said that I wanted you and Nova. She means a lot to me now, so it’d be an honor if you would let me take you and her on a date tonight.” 

You sniffle, “I’d like that a lot, Jack.” 

He smiles, “Good, now do you mind if I ask Nova if she wants to come?”

“Sure, just second.”

He hears you walking before you start speaking, “Hey Nova, Jack wants to ask you a really important question.”

“Hi Dada!”

“Hey there lovebug. Now Dada has something very special he wants to ask you. Would you like to come out tonight with me and mommy?” 

“Mhmm, I spend time with mama and Dada.”

“That’s right, baby. You, me, and Mommy are going to have so much fun tonight,” He answers. 

“Yayy!!” 

Jack feels his heart clench at her excitement, “Okay pretty girl, you and mommy get all pretty, and I’ll be there to pick you up in a little bit, okay?”

“Otay, Dada.” 

Jack hears Nova passing the phone to you, “We’ll see you soon, Jack.” 

“See you soon, honey.” 

The line ends as he turns back to Robby, who’s watching Jack with a wide smile on his face. “What?” Jack asks.

“Brother, you’re far gone. You might as well get married. That was hands down the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I almost started crying,” Robby explains.

That soft looks crosses Jack’s face again. Robby hasn’t seen that look on Jack’s face in a long time. 

“I really care about them, you know? I know it seems really quick, but it just feels right. They feel like home,” Jack explains. 

Robby stands from the couch and crosses the room to pull Jack into a hug, “I’m happy for you man. You deserve this.”

“Thanks Robby.” 

“No problem. Now go pick up your girls.”

It take Jack a total of twenty-five minutes to get to your house. It would’ve been twenty if he hadn’t stopped to pick up another bouquet for Nova. 

He walks up to your apartment building and waves at the doorman. He rides the elevator up to your floor and he can feel the nerves beginning to settle within his body. 

He pushes them down as he knocks on your apartment door. You open the door and Jack feels like the breath leaves his body. 

Jack scans his eyes up and down your frame. He appreciates the way that the black dress hugs your body and your skin glistens under the light. A gold chain sits perfectly between your cleavage. 

“Sweetheart, you look beautiful,” Jack comments.

“Thanks. You clean up pretty nice, Dr. Abbot,” You state, running your fingers down Jack’s chest, but lingering where he has a button undone. 

You give him another sly smile, “Come in.” He clocks the double meaning but follows you nonetheless. 

Jack shuts the door as he walks behind you. “These are for you.” He hands you the bouquet of roses. 

“Thank you. These are gorgeous.” 

As you put the flowers in the vase, you smile at Jack, “Little Miss Nova is waiting to make her grand entrance.” You turn slightly, “Nova, Jack’s here.”

Jack waits patiently, but keeps his eyes on Nova’s bedroom. Soon, the little girl walks into the living room in her pink dress with her hair in two puffs, and big pink ribbons adorning both. 

“Oooo..look at my pretty girl. Give us a twirl, Nova,” you said, smiling at your pride and joy. Nova smiles at you and Jack before doing a little twirl. 

Jack think that he may need to invest in a heart monitor with how much that Nova gives an overload of cuteness. He walks closer and kneels in front of Nova. 

“Hi, babygirl, look at you. You and your mommy look so beautiful.”

“Thank you, Dada,” Nova replies before throwing her arms around Jack. He squeezes her back just as tightly before pressing a quick kiss to the crown of her hair. 

He pulls the flowers from behind his back, “These are for you, the most prettiest girl in the entire world.”

Nova looks down at the flowers and smiles so wide that her dimples appear, “Thank you, Dada!” She turns to face you, “Mama, look. Flowers!”

“I see! Why don’t you bring them over here so I can put them in water. That way they can live for a long time.” 

Nova nods her head and hands you the flowers. You make quick work of placing the flowers in appropriate vases as Jack and Nova talk to each other. 

Once you’re done, you grab Nova’s jacket as the three of you exit your apartment. Nova turns to Jack and raises her arms. Jack scoops her up and settles her in his arms. 

You watch as she gives him a soft smile and her eyes have stars in them as stares at him. Similarly, Jack gives her the same look as he turns to look at you. He holds his out, which you take. Jack laces his fingers with yours and pulls you close. 

It’s not lost on either of you how much you look like a family. No one would ever suspect that you’d met this man less than two months ago. 

When you make it out to Jack’s truck, you groan slightly, “Shoot, I forgot Nova’s car seat.”

“Already covered,” Jack states. You give him a confused look until he opens the back door of the truck to reveal a car seat. 

“When did you buy a car seat?”

“I bought it earlier this week. I figured that since I was planning on having you and Nova around more for our little adventures, it’d be nice to invest in a car seat, so you don’t have to worry about taking her car seat out of your car.”

Wordlessly, he places Nova in the car seat and buckles her up like he’s been doing this for ages. She hum happily and smiles at him. Jack reaches around her to hand her his iPad, “Here you go sweetheart, something to keep you preoccupied on the way over.”

“Thank you, Dada,” Nova replies, already tapping away on the iPad. 

“You’re welcome, babygirl,” He answers before closing the door gently. He turns to you and finds you still staring at him stunned.

“What?”

“You’re an amazing man, Jack.”

A blush creeps up Jack’s cheeks before he moves to open your door for you. As you step up into the truck, he holds a hand close to you so that your dress doesn’t rise up. Once you’re all buckled up, Jack comes around his side to enter the truck. 

He quietly checks over you and Nova before smiling in satisfaction. 

The drive to the restaurant isn’t very long. Nova had managed to find YouTube and was singing along to Ms. Rachel. 

As Jack pulls in front of the restaurant, you notice the valet rounding the truck to grab the keys. It’s only when the three of you are entering the restaurant that you understand how fancy the place is. 

Jack has his hand on your back while he carries Nova. The hostess looks up at the three of you with a smile, “How may I help you today?”

“We have a reservation for Abbot,” Jack responds. He doesn’t even realize that he’s subtly squeezing at your waist. You can feel the goosebumps rising on your skin. 

The hostess ushers the three of you to the table and brings a high chair for Nova. Jack gently sets her down as she looks around curiously. 

“This is really fancy, Jack,” You state. 

“Yeah, I wanted to go all out for my first date with these really pretty girls,” He responds with a boyish smile covering his lips. 

“Trust me, we’re already impressed by you.”  

You turn to Nova, “Isn’t it so pretty here, lovebug?”

Nova smiles at you, “Mhmm mama, really pretty.” 

You and Jack pick up the menus, and he can see that you’re hesitant at the prices. He reaches across the table to grab your hand, “Order whatever you want, honey. Don’t worry about any prices.”

He smiles at you before looking down at his menu. When the waitress comes to the table, you order salmon for you and Nova while Jack orders a steak. 

Jack turns his gaze to you, “How has work been?”

“It’s been good, we have a new installation for an Indigenous artist that’s releasing her new project. You should come by some time,” You respond. 

“I’d like that. I don’t usually have a lot of time outside of work, so I don’t get to enjoy this city as much as I’d like to.” 

“Why is that by the way?” 

Jack sighs, “I guess, I really just got caught up in working, especially after my divorce. My therapist’s been trying to get me to work on setting more boundaries.”

You nod, “I hope I’m not overstepping by asking this, but what happened between you and your ex-wife?”

“It’s fine, you can ask. It was a combination of factors, but mostly our inabilities to stop being workaholics. We just weren’t finding time for each other and we realized one day that the spark just wasn’t there. We tried for a little bit, but we both felt it was best to go our separate ways. It was clean and amicable though,” Jack explain, taking a sip from his water. 

“Where is she now?” 

“She’s remarried. Got a few kids. She seems happy, which is what I always wanted for her.” 

“And have you tried dating again?” 

Jack chuckles, “Briefly, Robby and Dana set me up on a few blind dates, but nothing really stuck. I tried some dating apps.”

You smirk, “Jack Abbot on Tinder and Hinge. Color me surprised.”

You both share a laugh until Jack shakes his head, “The novelty of swiping left and right didn’t feel too enticing, so I abandoned all accounts years ago. What about you? Any notable relationships or dates?”

“Nope, don’t get me wrong, I’ve entertained the idea a few times, but no one ever special enough to meet Nova. I just don’t want to confuse her or have different men coming in and out of her life, you know?”

You and Jack both peer at Nova, who’s focused on the coloring sheet that the waitress brought her. She had her tongue poked out in concentration as she colors the pony on the page. 

Jack’s eyes flicker to you, “I know what you mean, she’s a special kid. It’s good that you’re so considerate of her.”

“Dada look!” Nova said, holding up the picture to Jack.

“That’s amazing, sweetie. You’re so talented.” 

“Dada, picture.” 

Nova and Jack both look down at his phone before he laughs softly. He opens the camera app and points it at him and Nova. They both smile at the camera and make funny faces as Jack snaps each picture. 

After their impromptu photo shoot, the food arrives to the table. You reach over to chop up Nova’s salmon.

“Thank you, mama.” 

“You’re welcome, lovebug.” 

The three of you eat with idle conversation flowing as Nova entertains you and Jack with stories about Bluey and Bingo’s adventures. Jack catches her looking at his steak and giving him a smile. 

He cuts a piece of the steak and slides it over to his plate. He laughs to himself as Nova copies him with putting the steak on the fork and eating it. 

“That was actually her first piece of steak,” you point out. 

Jack gives you a surprised look, “Oh, I hope you didn’t mind me giving her a piece.”

“Not at all. I’m glad to see that she’s trying new food and by the looks of it, she likes it,” you state, watching as Nova continues to eye Jack’s steak. 

Without hesitation, Jack cuts the rest of the steak into pieces before sliding half to Nova. She smiles, “Thank you, Dada.” 

“Anytime, sweetie.”

After the meal, Jack pays the bill and guides you and Nova from the restaurant. 

He turns to you both, “Do you guys want to go get ice cream?”

Nova perks up, “Ice cream!!” 

You and Jack chuckle. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He drives to the nearby ice cream shop and holds the door open for you both. 

You all sit together once you get your respective ice cream cups. Nova’s has a mountain of sprinkles and gummy bears because Jack insisted that she get whatever she wants. 

“I’ve never been a mint chocolate chip girlie,” You announce, looking down at Jack’s ice cream.

You chuckle, “Sweetheart, are you judging my ice cream?”

“Yes! You might as well be eating toothpaste!” Jack laughs loudly before staring at you, “You’re missing out. Here, I think you may change your mind.” 

He slides the cup over to you. An idea pops into your head and you decide to roll with it. “Maybe, I didn’t want to mix my spoon with your ice cream. Wouldn’t it be better if I just had some from your spoon?”

Jack swallows harshly before nodding, “Yeah, you’re right. We wouldn’t want any cross contamination.”

You smirk, “You know best, Dr. Abbot.”

Jack looks down at the spoon before dipping it into the ice cream and holding it out to you. You lean forward and slide your lips along the spoon. Jack feels his mouth go dry when he sees a peek of your tongue gliding across the ice cream. Your glossed lips look amazing as you give him a heated look. 

You slide the spoon from your mouth, “Hmmm…you may be right. It’s better than I remember.”

Jack looks down at the spoon, which now has your lip gloss around it and some ice cream left. Wordlessly, he slides the spoon into his own mouth. 

He nods, “I think you’re right. It definitely tastes a lot better.”

The eye contact between the two of you doesn’t break. God, you really want to kiss him.

Jack drives you and Nova back to your apartment. You both catch her head lolling to the side as she tries to fight her sleep. 

Jack parks and rounds the truck to help you down. He moves to the back to scoop Nova up in his arms. She immediately lays her head down on his shoulder and he smiles at seeing her chubby cheeks pressed so comfortably against him. 

“She really does like you,” You comment as you both step onto the elevator. 

Jack rubs a comforting hand across Nova’s back, “I really like her too. I like her mommy just as much.” 

You smile and lean closer to his side. Your faces nearly touch, “Nova’s mommy likes you a lot too.” Before Jack can close the distance, the elevator dings. 

You open your apartment door as he walks in with Nova. He passes her over to you and she stuff her hand into your curls for comfort. It’d been a frequent habit of hers ever since she was born. 

Nova lifts her head, rubbing at her eyes. She glances at Jack, “Dada, bedtime story.”

Jack looks to you for permission, to which you nod, “Let me change her into her pajamas, then we can read her a story together.”

Jack nods and feels the anticipation rising in his chest. He never thought that he’d get the opportunity to read his kid a bedtime story, but the fact that Nova wants him to send a wave of emotions throughout his body. 

You appear soon and gesture for Jack to follow you. He enters behind you into Nova’s room where she’s laying in her pink bed. She has Bun Bun tucked into her side. 

You and Jack sit on each side of her bed. She smiles at you both. Her mommy and daddy are both here to put her to sleep. 

“Okay, sweet girl, what book are we reading?” Jack questions, keeping his voice soft. 

Nova looks at you both, “Goodnight, Little Bear.” You move from the bed to her bookshelf to grab the book. You pass it over to Jack and you both sit at the top of the bed next to Nova. 

Nova cuddles close to you and Jack as he starts reading. The soft lull of Jack’s voice, along with you rubbing at her hair has Nova drifting off almost instantly. She struggles to keep her eyes open until Jack makes it to the last page. 

You lean closer and press a kiss to her cheek, “Goodnight, my lovebug. I love you.”

“Night night, mommy. I love you too.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek. She holds Bun Bun out to you. You press a kiss to Bun Bun, “Goodnight Bun Bun, mommy loves you too.”

Nova turns to Jack, “Night night, Dada. I love you.”

Jack feels his heart steel inside his chest. He can feel the tears stinging at his eyes as he tries to will them away. He gives you a look, and you smile softly at him. 

“Goodnight, my Nova. Daddy loves you too,” Jack whispers back. He presses a kiss to her other cheek. Just as she’d done to you, Nova holds Bun Bun up and Jack presses a kiss to the stuffed rabbit, “Night Bun Bun. Daddy loves you.” 

Seemingly content with everything, Nova closes her eyes and her soft snores enter the room. You move to turn on her big night light, which illuminates stars across the room. 

Carefully, you and Jack exit Nova’s room. You leave the door cracked open in case she needs you later on. You and Jack walk back into the living room. 

He wipes at his eyes. 

“Are you okay, Jack?”

He smiles before sniffling, “Yeah, it’s just….I never thought I’d be able to have something like that. Thank you for allowing me to be here with you and Nova, sweetheart.”

You move closer, “Thank you for being present. There hasn’t been a moment where I doubted your intentions, Jack.”

Jack steps closer to you. He looks down at you before bringing a hand to the side of your face, “I care about you, sweetheart, a lot. I wake up every day, waiting for the moment when I get to see or talk to you and Nova. I’m serious about this. About us.” He takes a second to pause, “Would you be like to be my girlfriend, sweetheart?”

A wide smile crosses your face, “There’s nothing that I’d like more than being your girlfriend, Jack.”

That same wide and goofy look crosses his lips. You both look at each other before he leans down to press his lips against yours.

There in your kitchen with your baby girl sleeping a few feet away, you and Jack Abbot officially became a couple.

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Leehan paused in his movements, eyes widening just a bit before his jaw slacked. “You’re back…”

You dropped your duffel by the door with a now deflated look. “Did you expect me to stay in the woods for the whole summer?”

“Yes—I mean, no. No…we didn’t—no we didn’t. Right, Shota?” He turned to the younger, watching as he was on his phone—not even minding the interaction. “Dude!” Leehan snapped as he beamed a pillow at him.

With a thud, Shota’s phone hit the couch. “Yo—oh hey,” he looked at you with a smile. Standing up, opening his arms as he walked closer to you. “I missed you, Bun.”

“Yeah, at least someone did—ooh!” You grunted as Shota strong-armed you, wrapping his arms around you as he lifted you off your feet. “I missed you too, bro.”

He smiled at the words, “you smell like an airplane.”

Laughing, you wrapped your arms around him. Shota wasn’t always the brightest, but he was bright in every other way.

Shota, Leehan, and you all returned from your first years of college and though you didn’t get home right away—you were offered by your school’s writing club to go on a retreat with them after the semester finished. It was fun, enriching, and about five weeks. In a way, it was like summer camp for adults and it was nice to just unplug for a while after a hectic semester.

All three of you attended different schools. And while that was a hard summer’s end—you knew in some way it’d be good for you. The longest all four of you had been apart was a singular day since you were all seven years old. So eleven years later—after endless sleepovers, fights, makeups, robbing convenience stores blind, and late night phone calls—saying goodbye and seeing your cars go in different directions was the hardest thing you ever had to do.

“I missed you guys,” you said softly.

Leehan sighed, giving up his seeming distressed demeanor. “We missed you too,” he joined you and Shota as he wrapped his arms around you both. “How was everything?”

You were too enraptured in the comfort of being in the arms of your friends to realize that there was a third of your heart missing. “It was good…Learn-y, school-y.” Your feet still dangled in the air as you scanned the room; even eyeing the bathroom door for a moment hoping someone would come out. But knowing that it was early noon—Leehan’s little siblings were at day camp and his parents were working. None of them would be back until later in the day.

But even then, something felt hollow. Wrong. And you knew it when you only felt two pairs of arms around you. “Where’s Riki?”

Leehan’s arms stiffened first.

Not dramatically—just this tiny, telltale pause like his brain hit a speed bump. Shota let you down from his hug a little too fast, brushing his hands on his shorts like he suddenly needed something to do.

You frowned. “Hello? I said: where’s Riki?”

Leehan cleared his throat. “Uh…he’s, um…not here.”

“No shit. Where is he?”

Shota wouldn’t look at you. He kept glancing at Leehan like he wanted permission to talk.

“Guys.” You crossed your arms. “I’ve been home for ten minutes and you’re both acting like I asked you who killed Kennedy.”

Shota chimed in, “wasn’t it Harvey Lee Oswald?”

Leehan’s eyes didn’t leave you as he put his finger on Shota’s chest. “Lee Harvey Oswald and Riki’s…just not really around.” He shook his head as he walked to plop down on the couch.

You tilted your head in confusion. Eyes squinting as you had trouble connecting the dots. “What does that even mean? Did he move or some shit?” Crossing your arms as you approached him.

“We just—just drop it, man.” Leehan sighs. “Riki’s irrelevant.”

Your lips parted in surprise as you drew back. “Since—what? He’s been our best friend and neighbor since we were in the second grade and he’s suddenly old news?”

Shota interjected, “can you guys walk with me to the store? I want some chips.” 

Without looking at him, you nodded to the door. 

Shota tugged his hoodie on and headed out first, leaving you and Leehan in this thick, uncomfortable silence that felt wrong in a house you practically grew up in.

The walk to the corner store was familiar—same cracked pavement, same graffiti that had been there since middle school—but the energy between the three of you was off. Shota kept kicking a pebble like it personally offended him. Leehan jammed his hands deep in his pockets, shoulders tight.

Halfway down the block, you tried again.

“So we’re really not talking about it?”

Leehan exhaled hard through his nose. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

You snorted. “You’re lying. You’re bad at it. And you only get this weird when it has to do with some type of drama.”

Shota slowed his steps just enough for you to catch up. “Look…things got messy while you were gone.”

“What does that mean?”

Another shared look. You hated that look. It meant you’re not gonna like this.

Leehan ran a hand through his hair. “He wasn’t…he wasn’t really hanging with us much. We barely see him anymore.”

“So? We were away. He stayed back because of his stupid ass brother. We know that.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

Reo, Riki’s older brother, is heavily involved with a local gang—R12. 

R for the family’s first initial. 12 for the street you lived on. 

The kind everyone on the block pretends not to see but knows better than to cross. The name carries weight. Trouble, too.

When junior year rolled around, all four of you discussed college and looked forward to moving onto the next chapter of your lives. Shota, Leehan, Riki, and you all thought about attending the same school. Just fun, adulthood, parties, no rules.

But senior year happened and things got serious. Reo was all Riki had. Their mother passed years ago, father was hardly around and Reo had to sacrifice school to follow his birthright: the gang. The same gang everyone warned you about, the same one Riki swore he’d only ever be “adjacent” to.

It wasn’t a choice—more like gravity. Reo demanded more, and Riki got dragged with him. It started small. Doing quick runs, disappearing in the middle of sleepovers, seeing him with small bruises on his ribs. 

While the three of you were filing your FAFSAs, Riki hadn’t even made his login yet. Because he foresaw it, he knew that it just wasn’t in the cards for him. Reo made sure of it.

“Man, fuck him. Who even cares…?” Shota rolled up his sleeves as he kept walking.

You shot him a look. “You care. Don’t start lying now. And don’t talk about him like that.”

He didn’t respond—just kept walking, steps quick, like he could outrun the conversation.

Leehan let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s more than just him going through that. There’s…other stuff.”

“No,” you snapped. “Explain it. Because right now you two sound like you’re mad at him for not juggling college applications while dodging gang members.”

Shota kicked at a crack in the sidewalk. “It’s not that.”

“So what is it?!” You snapped, throwing your hands up in anger. “Bro, I’m tired of the fucking riddles like come on! What the fuck happened between when y’all got back and now?” Like usual, your temper was starting to overcome you but you inhaled sharply before the heat ran down your neck and into your gut. “Why are you guys talking like he’s public enemy number one? You have five seconds before I find him myself.”

Leehan looked at Shota wearily, like he was asking for backup but knew he wasn’t getting any. Shota just shrugged, wide-eyed, like you handle it, bro, and suddenly the air felt thick enough to chew.

Leehan dragged a hand down his face. “Because he said some shit, okay?”

“That’s vague as hell.”

He tried again. “He told us something about you.”

You stared at him. “Like what? That I eat my toenails? That I punch idiots that take too long to get to the damn point? What?”

Shota winced like he knew a bomb was about to go off. “He told us that you two…hooked up before we left this year.”

Your mouth parted, breath catching. For a second, you didn’t even react—your brain was too busy finding scenarios in which it’d be solid to break into his house and strangle him while he was sleeping. Nah…the front door was too obvious. All of our houses only have one floor so maybe taking a crowbar to his window wouldn’t be such a bad start. Then the anger hit—fast, hot, bright. 

It shot up your spine, tightened your jaw, curled your hands into fists before you even realized.

Leehan took one look at your face and actually stepped back. “Okay—alright—let’s not do the murdery face right now.”

“Murdery?” you scoffed. “Leehan, I’m being polite. You don’t wanna see murdery.”

Shota nodded too fast. “Yeah, she’s being polite, bro. Super polite.”

You didn’t even hear them. Your mind was still stuck on the image of Riki opening his stupid bedroom window at three in the morning to look at the street…only for you to be standing there with a crowbar like, hey bestie, remember me?

“Look,” Leehan put his hands on your shoulders as you heaved—a way of trying to push the anger below your feet. “We didn’t even believe him. We knew it was some bullshit and he didn’t tell anyone else. Just us and…just…” He pursed his lips. “Don’t worry, it’s contained.”

You shook your head as tears stung your eyes. Fists curled as you closed them and tapped your sneakers against the concrete. “I’m not gonna kill him.”

“Mhm, you’re not gonna kill him.” He encouraged.

“So you’re not gonna kill him?” Shota asked, a look of slight disbelief on his face.

“Not gonna.” You inhaled and exhaled smoothly as you opened your eyes. Letting the cool, Californian breeze run through your curly hair. “I’m going to chop his dick off with a cleaver and feed it to him.” You smiled as you backed up, booking it down the street.

Leehan didn’t even get to yell your name before you took off—full speed, booking it down the block with murder in your eyes.

“BRO—GO! GO!” Shota yelped, sprinting after you like his life depended on it.

Leehan was right behind him. “WE CAN TALK ABOUT THIS! YOU CAN’T JUST—HEY!”

But you were already gone—cutting corners, hopping curbs, powered by pure betrayal and cardio-fueled vengeance.

By the time they caught up, you were stomping up Riki’s steps, fist balled, and Shota barely managed to grab your arm as you slammed your hand against the metal screen door.

“RIKI!” you barked, pounding again like the door owed you money. “OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!”

The house door hummed a little as there seemed to be music playing from the inside. So loud that you don’t even think your banging made a difference.

“Dude, no—” Leehan walked forward, winded as he tried to reason with you. Shota grabbed him before he could advance further. “Just let her…”

Without another word, you forced the door open. The conversations inside cease abruptly. A huge group of guys, probably ranging from late teens to even late twenties, are scattered throughout the house as your view was clouded by thick, strong smelling smog. Through it, the opened door was able to let some of it out for you to see through. The living room was nearly trashed: beer bottles, ashes, wrappers all over the floor as your brows knitted tighter with every step you took inside.

The air was so dense you could taste it—like someone had hotboxed the entire zip code. The music thumped from somewhere deeper in the house, heavy bass rattling the picture frames and your last remaining nerve.

A couple dudes on the couch froze mid-laugh, eyes widening like they’d just seen a ghost with anger-management issues. One guy halfway through rolling a joint dropped the paper entirely. Another blinked at you through the haze, squinting like you were a hallucination he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Leehan and Shota hovered behind you in the doorway, both coughing like old men who’d wandered into the wrong nursing home.

“Goddamn,” Shota muttered. “Even my eyelashes are high.”

“Focus,” Leehan hissed.

You scanned the room—wrappers, beer bottles, someone’s shoe (just one), a chair flipped upside down like it hadn’t survived the last round of whatever chaos went down. And on the wall, barely visible through the smog, a neon light flickered BEER PONG CHAMPIONS, only barely hanging on.

Your voice came out low, deadly, and devastatingly clear:

“Where is Riki?”

The boys closest to you stiffened like you were pointing a gun, not a question. Their eyes darted toward the hallway as one of them lifted a shaky hand and pointed to the kitchen.

You didn’t even thank him.

You just stepped forward, shoulders squared, fury so sharp it cut through the haze better than the open door ever could.

Behind you, Leehan whispered, “Yeah, no, she’s gonna kill him.”

Shota sighed, resigned. “We can at least make sure it’s quick.” It was weird, kind of bizarre seeing you disappear into the smoke.

“Nuh-uh, I’m not going in there with those people.”

As you walked through and turned the corner to the kitchen, you saw him standing in a small crowd with a blunt hanging from his fingers. The moment his eyes found yours, they glazed over. You weren’t sure what exactly you saw in them. They were red, a little hazy and sleepy looking. But seeing you, blew it all.

“What the fuck is wrong with your brain?” You stomp over to him. “Huh?! I leave for writing camp and this is what I’m welcomed by?”

Riki blinks at you, clearly caught off guard by your sudden appearance. He quickly leaned off the surface as he put the blunt out on the counter—not caring if it left a mark. “Woah, hey—”

One of his other associates, a guy with some ridiculous fine line tattoos, cuts in. He eyes you up and down with a condescending smirk. “Who the hell is this chick?”

You turned to him. “This chick is Riki’s supposed childhood best friend. But I guess he wouldn’t know that.” Your attention goes back to Riki. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Disrespecting me like that to our friends?”

The guy stepped to you, his chest puffing up in anger. “Watch your mouth, little girl—”

“Alright,” Riki shook his head as he shifted his body to him. Shaking his head as his high was now fully blown. “You better watch your mouth,” his finger wagged slowly as it lightly rested on the elder’s chest. “Take that bass out of your voice, thank you.”

The tension in the room thickened, the music playing through the house seemed distant now as you watched Riki come to your defense. It wouldn’t be the first—a part of you hoped it wasn’t the last either. But the air seemed heavier than it did thirty seconds ago.

With a final sneer, the guy brushed Riki’s hand off. “Fine. But keep your friend under control, Riki. We don’t need any outsiders causing any problems.”

“I’m an outsider?!” You laugh humorlessly, “please ask—” you approached him angrily but before you could get closer, Riki grabbed you by the arm—his grip surprisingly strong. Pulling you aside in the kitchen “Yo, yo—calm the hell down.”

“Don’t tell me to—”

“Go outside.” He didn’t raise his voice—he didn’t have to. It was the tone. Low. Firm. The same one he used back when you’d get worked up over group project partners who didn’t do their share. Except this time, the stakes were way higher than a C-minus.

You yanked your arm, ignoring how warm his hand had been. “I’m not going outside. I’m not done talking to you—”

“I am not having this conversation in front of them,” he hissed, eyes flicking toward the guys watching like it was premium cable. “Outside. Now.”

“Oh, so you can make decisions,” you snapped. “Interesting. Too bad you didn’t use that skill before opening your fat-ass mouth to Shota and Leehan.”

Riki’s jaw flexed. A muscle jumped. “Bro, you’re gonna get yourself jumped, and then I’m gonna have to deal with that and your yelling. Please. Outside.”

You scoffed, loud. “Cute of you to assume I wouldn’t beat their asses and yours.”

That earned you a few offended scoffs from the crowd.

Riki dragged a hand over his face, muttering something in Japanese you were ninety-eight percent sure meant “please, God, not right now.”

With a tight breath, he stepped closer—close enough that his voice dropped and you felt it more than heard it. “You’re in my brother’s house, surrounded by his people. You can’t just bark at everyone and hope it ends well.”

You glared up at him, heat radiating off your skin like you were a human wildfire. “Funny. Because you didn’t seem to care about the consequences when you told the guys we hooked up.”

His eyes widened—there it was. Guilt. Flashing across his face like lightning. “Out. Side.” He grit out. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You stared him down, jaw tight, chest rising and falling like you were about to lunge first and think later. But the way he said it—low, edged, almost shaking—

Yeah. You knew that tone too.

So you spun on your heel and shoved past him, letting the front door slam behind you as you stepped into the warm air.

Riki followed seconds later, shutting the door softly this time. The music dulled to a muffled thump, the smoke-heavy air swapping out for something crisp, clearer…but still thick between you two.

He stayed a few steps away, hands planted on his hips as he stared at the concrete like it offended him. His voice was low, steadying. “What the fuck is wrong with your crazy ass?!” 

“I’m not crazy! I’m angry! How could sit up with our friends and just—”

“What?! Do what?”

 You shoved him hard but he barely stumbled. “Fucking dick! Forget that I ever knew you. I never wanna see or hear from you again! Just…” You hold up your hand in repugnance. “Ugh!” Turning to cross the street to go directly to your house, Riki catches your arm before you can make another step. “Stop, bitch—what part of ‘I fucking hate you’ do you not get?”

“Just let me explain! Look, before you at least try to walk out of my damn life—let me tell you—”

You nudged him. “Fuck off,” walking straight ahead and across the street to your house. Disappearing from the scene without another word. Riki groaned in annoyance, massaging his temples as he stood there. Torn between following you or respecting your desire for space. 

But after a moment, he lifts the bottom of his black tank top, sighing into it before he’s approached by Shota and Leehan—both boys coming out of the bushes.

Shota emerged first, twigs in his hair, looking like he’d just barely survived a nature documentary. “…She’s alive, right?” he asked, glancing between the street you stormed across and Riki’s murder-face.

Leehan stepped out after him, brushing leaves off his shirt. “We weren’t hiding—we were…tactically monitoring.”

Riki shot them both a look. “You were crouched behind a bush.”

Shota whispered, “Tactical,” under his breath.

Leehan ignored him, eyes locked on Riki. “So? Did you fix it?”

Riki barked a humorless laugh. “Does it look fixed?”

Both boys assessed him. Shota: “…You look like you got hit by a car.” Leehan: “Twice.”

Riki dragged a hand over his face again, jaw tight, chest still rising a little too fast. “She won’t even let me talk. I tried to explain, and she—” he gestured vaguely toward your house—“walked off like I’m nothing to her.”

“That’s because you messed up,” Leehan said bluntly. “Like really messed up. Like…badly.”

Shota hummed. “Honestly, I thought she was gonna deck you. And I was kinda ready to join in.”

Riki kicked a pebble, frustration simmering beneath his skin. “Please, I’ve been kicking your ass since the sandbox.”

Shota bristled instantly. “Bro, that was ONE time—”

“It was every time,” Riki shot back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You used to fall over if someone breathed too hard.”

Leehan waved a hand. “Yo, can we circle back to the part where you detonated your entire friendship in under thirty seconds?”

Riki’s mouth pressed into a thin line. The high was gone. The adrenaline was gone. All that was left was that tight ache in his chest, like someone was pulling each rib inward. “I didn’t mean for her to find out like that,” he muttered.

Leehan deadpanned, “you told us.”

“Yeah, because you’re my boys,” Riki snapped, pacing a short line on the sidewalk. “I didn’t think it’d turn into some weird telephone game while she was gone!”

“But you lied on your dick though. What type of cornball does that?” Shota shrugged obviously.

“I didn’t—” He inhaled, his fists curling up as he punched his palm—leaving it stinging.

Leehan sighed. “So you’re saying y’all fucked. She clearly holds the sentiment that you didn’t so…who’s lying?” He opened his hands, prepared to receive any type of clarity on the situation.

“It’s not even about who’s lying, how do I make her not angry enough to not want to punch me in the face?” He gestured to your house. “Bro, her temper is insane! She’s like a fucking chihuahua—”

Shota clapped a hand over his own mouth, eyes going wide. “Ooh, I’m telling on you.”

Leehan nodded gravely. “Yeah, we’re really gonna jump your ass then.”

Riki groaned, dragging both hands over his face. “I didn’t mean—I’m just saying she bites first and thinks later! She’s like—like—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Shota warned. “For your own safety.”

Riki let his hands drop, exasperated. “I’m being serious. She’s not gonna listen to me. She won’t even stand still long enough for me to get a sentence out. I—” He huffed. “I panicked, okay? I shouldn’t have said we—”

“Hooked up?” Leehan offered.

Riki shot him a dirty look. “Shut up. I know it was stupid.”

Shota crossed his arms. “Bro, she finished the year. She spends an extra few weeks on an isolated writing retreat. Missing time with us for whatever reason. She came home ready to hug you. And instead she got you with a blunt, a house full of gang extras, and a rumor that you two were bumping uglies behind her back. Of course she’s mad.”

Riki winced. “…Yeah.”

Leehan’s voice firm. “So start with the truth.”

Riki blinked at him like that was the most unreasonable suggestion ever. “What truth?”

“The real one,” Leehan said. “You said something happened. She said nothing happened. So which one is it? What are we actually dealing with here?”

Riki’s eyes flicked toward your house again—like the answer was written behind your window.

Shota said absentmindedly, lips pursed as he looked down at the dirt beneath his shoes. “She didn’t say nothing happened.”

“What?” Leehan furrowed his brows.

“She just got mad. She never said what did or didn’t happen.”

Riki walked backwards to his house, arms spread in vindication. “Hm. And you fuckers didn’t believe me.”

Leehan rolled his eyes so hard it was audible. “Relax, Socrates. All she confirmed is that she hates your guts.”

Shota pointed at Riki with a half-shrug. “Yeah, bro, don’t act like this is some big ‘gotcha.’ She didn’t say you were lying…but she also looked ready to kick your shit in.”

Riki dropped his arms, irritation sliding back in. “Still. None of you believed me.”

“Because your track record is dogshit,” Leehan said. “You lie about stupid shit all the time. One time you said you could backflip off Shota’s porch and you landed on his mom’s hibiscus.”

“Hey, that flowerbed recovered,” Riki muttered.

“No, it didn’t,” Shota said. “She still brings it up at family dinners.”

Riki threw his head back with a groan. “Bro, can we stay on topic?”

Leehan crossed his arms. “Cool. That means we’re back to the original question: what actually went down?”

Riki’s jaw ticked. He turned slightly, like the angle would help him dodge the question.

Shota wasn’t letting him. “Bro. We’ve known you since you had Lego hair. Just spit it out.”

A long beat.

Riki’s tongue pressed against his cheek, eyes dropping to the sidewalk. “I’ll catch y’all later.” He turned around fully to walk back up his steps.

“Wh—hey!” Shota calls out. 

Shota jogged after him, grabbing the back of his tank like a mom snagging a toddler about to run into traffic. “You are not gonna hit us with the dramatic exit when you’re the one who started this whole novella.”

Riki yanked his shirt free with a scoff. “I didn’t start anything—”

“You literally did,” Leehan yelled from the sidewalk. “You started it with your mouth. And continued it with your mouth. And escalated it with your…actually? Still your mouth.”

Riki spun around, eyes wide, offended. “Can the both of you get off my jock? Damn!”

Shota pointed at him, calm and judgmental like an annoyed substitute teacher. “No. Because you’re being a loser. And I say that with love.”

Riki lifted both hands to his face, dragging them down like he could physically wipe the embarrassment off. “Y’all are the worst friends alive.”

“And yet,” Leehan said, stepping closer, “we’re the only ones who can save your dumbass from getting rocked by your girl.”

“She’s not my girl!” Riki snapped instantly, which absolutely no one believed.

Both boys blinked at him like he’d just said the sky was green.

Shota said. “And I’m Scooby Doo.”

Leehan pointed at the door behind Riki. “Stop stalling. We asked what happened. You clearly don’t want to say it. Why?”

Riki’s throat bobbed.

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Shifted his weight.

Looked everywhere except at them.

Then booked it right into the house. Locking the door behind him with a click.

Shota and Leehan just stared at the locked door like it had personally offended them.

A beat.

Then another.

“…Did he just—?” Shota blinked.

“Yeah,” Leehan said flatly. “He ran.”

—

The rest of the night was a weird one. It felt like your college nights. Locked away in your space, biding the time until you were finally set free from the deadlines and expectations and able to leave. To be with your family but your friends most importantly.

All three of those boys meant something differently to you; and it almost made you worry about how your life would’ve transpired if you hadn’t been put next to them for talking too much.

Leehan was the diplomat. The water to everyone’s fire as the eldest one of the quartet. The one that spoke when you four were sent to the principal’s office for setting off a stinkbomb in Mrs. Jenson’s art class.

Shota was always in his own world. But he meant it for all of you. He was nearly impossible to hate to the point where if you were too mean to him, you’d start crying. Not only was he unreasonably peculiar at all times, he was the friend that you’d call in the middle of the night just to talk and he’d answer like he wasn’t mid rapid eye movement.

Riki was always very tricky. The rhyme was not intended, I promise. He was the wild card. The spark. The kid who lived like he had a personal vendetta against boredom. He’d drag you into trouble with a grin, swear you were overreacting, and then somehow sweet-talk the consequences down to a warning. He could charm adults, piss off authority, and get the three of you laughing in the same breath.

But he was also the one who always noticed.

When you were too quiet. When your knee bounced under the desk. When you smiled but didn’t mean it.

He’d nudge your foot with his sneaker. Or toss you a note. Or mouth a stupid joke until you cracked.

Riki was complicated. Not in the dramatic way—more in the “why does your chest feel weird when he looks at you too long” way.

Tonight he had you feeling everything except calm. You lay in your bed, staring at the ceiling like it contained answers or at least a refund policy for emotional tax. The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind that made your thoughts echo.

Shota, Leehan, Riki. Your boys. Your constants. Your headaches.

You exhaled slowly, sinking deeper into your mattress. You’d kill them before you ever lost them. Probably.

Just then, you nearly jumped out of your skin as you heard a sharp knock on your window. Turning your head to the right, you almost fell off your bed as Riki stood there—tall and looming over your window in a black hoodie.

He lifted a hand and knocked again—lighter this time, like that made it any less insane.

You hissed under your breath, scrambling off the bed and practically tripping over your blanket as you marched to the window. Sliding it up, you whispered harshly, “Are you out of your mind?!”

Riki blinked at you, equal parts guilty and stubborn. “You weren’t answering your phone.”

“So your next idea was breaking into my house?”

“It’s not breaking in if the window’s unlocked,” he shrugged, already hooking his fingers over the sill like he was about to climb in whether you liked it or not.

You smacked his hand. “Try it and I’m calling the cops.”

“You won’t.” 

“I absolutely will.” 

“You won’t,” he repeated, annoyingly sure.

He leaned closer, breath puffing in the cool night air. “Can you just—” His jaw clenched. “Let me talk to you.”

You crossed your arms. “Talk from out there.”

Riki shot you a look like you were being intentionally difficult. (You were.) “It’s cold.”

“It’s a Californian summer night, it’s sweater weather at best.” You shrug haphazardly.

“I’m anemic.”

“No. I’m anemic.”

“Same difference.” 

“Go.” You lightly pushed him back and out of the windowsill. “Don’t you have gang members to go rob a bank with, hard-ass?”

Riki’s face twisted like you’d just accused him of running a puppy-smuggling ring. “Rob a—what?!” he whisper-yelled, gripping the window frame before you could shut it. “You think I’d rob a bank with them? Half those dudes can’t even do basic math!”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” you said, trying to pry his fingers off the sill.

He held on tighter.

You glared. He glared back, a standoff worthy of a Western, except you were in pajamas and he looked like a raccoon rifling through trash.

“Why are you still here?” you hissed.

“Because,” he snapped back in a whisper, “my name is getting dragged through the mud, my best friend hates me, my other two best friends think I’m an idiot—”

“They’re right.”

“—and you still won’t let me explain!”

You gripped the window and started lowering it—slowly, deliberately—like a villain pressing a big red button.

Riki’s eyes went huge. “Don’t you—don’t you dare close this window on me.”

You kept lowering it.

“Bro—” Down another inch.

“Are you serious right now—” Another inch.

He shoved his hand under the frame, blocking it like some tragic action hero trying to stop a garage door from crushing him. “I’m not finished!”

“You said plenty,” you replied, voice flat as drywall. “So we’re even.”

“I didn’t get to say anything!” he whisper-yelled, face squished awkwardly under the descending window. “Okay—I said a little. But not in the way you think—ow, that’s my knuckle—can you just—STOP—”

You paused just long enough for him to yank his hand out before he lost a finger.

He immediately slapped both palms on the windowsill, breathless, like he’d just survived a natural disaster. “What is wrong with you?!”

“You came to my window at—” you checked the analog clock on the wall, “—one forty-six in the morning looking like you crawled out of a crime documentary and I’m the problem?”

He pointed at you, indignant. “Yes!”

You pushed the window down another inch. Closing it. 

He groaned, “oh come on you can’t—” He watched you lower the blinds, your narrowed eyes the last thing he saw before you closed the curtains. “Please?” Riki sighed, leaning against the window as he called out. “Come on, open up for me? Please—”

The TV you had on only increased in volume.

Riki’s head thunked against the glass like he was trying to transfer his brain cells through osmosis. “Are you—are you SERIOUS right now? You’re gonna drown me out with The OC?!”

You didn’t answer.

Cue the theme music swelling louder.

“Boo.” Knock, knock, knock. “Bunnyboo, I know you hear me.”

Silence.

Another knock, faster. “Bro, don’t do me like this. At least yell at me through the glass. Throw something. Flip me off. Give me anything!”

You turned the TV up another two notches.

He pressed his forehead to the window again, palms flat, voice dropping low—half pleading, half warning. “Don’t make me climb in here. I swear to God, I will break in like a raccoon with a vendetta—”

A pillow smacked the glass from inside—the clanging of the blinds as it hit the hard surface.

He flinched. “…Okay. Message received.”

But he didn’t leave.

He stayed right there—pacing once, twice—before finally planting himself on the little strip of concrete beneath your window, sitting down like he paid rent there. Legs stretched out, hoodie bunched at his elbows, head tipped back against your siding. “Come on…” He whispered to himself.

He rubbed both hands over his face, dragging down like he could physically peel the stress off. “I’m gonna die out here,” he muttered. “She’s actually gonna let me freeze to death on suburban concrete. Damn.”

You muted the TV for two seconds—just long enough for him to perk up—before turning it right back on. He deflated so hard you could practically hear it.

“Wow,” he said to the night sky. “She’s evil. She’s actually evil. And she wonders why I lie awake at night thinking about—”

You whacked the window again with another pillow.

He jumped. “HEY—okay, okay! I take it back! You’re not evil, you’re just—” He paused, searching for something nice. “—temperamental.”

Another pillow hit the glass.

He held both hands up like he was being detained. “How many pillows do you have?!”

For a moment, he just sat there, breathing out shaky frustration, knees bent, arms draped loosely over them. The porch light cast him in soft gold, and for once he didn’t look like the loudmouthed, idiotic menace who’d started this whole mess.

He looked like someone who’d been losing his mind over you all night. And then—quietly, almost too quiet: “…Boo. Please let me fix this.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers tapping anxiously.

“I didn’t tell them what you think I did,” he said, softer. “I swear. I didn’t make you look stupid. I didn’t—” His voice caught. “I didn’t disrespect you. Not the way you’re imagining.”

You froze behind the blinds.

He exhaled like the words tasted bitter. “I didn’t even tell them everything. Not the stuff that…mattered.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, tugging hard at the roots.

“You think I’m out here playing around,” he said. “But I’m not. And I don’t know how to prove that when you won’t open the damn window.”

You didn’t move. He didn’t expect you to.

He tilted his head back against the siding again, eyes closing, breath leaving him in a quiet, frustrated laugh. “Fine,” he murmured. “I’ll sit out here all night if I have to.”

A pause.

“Knowing my dumbass? I probably will.”

Then, he heard movement from inside the house. Leaning into the siding did he lean up as his heart rate jumped. He stood up, brushing his sweats off as he walked around the front of the house. Only for him to be met with your mom—robe, bonnet, and sleepy-face in tow.

Riki froze mid-step, eyes widening like he’d just walked into a horror scene. “Uh…hi?” His voice cracked somewhere between sheepish and terrified.

Your mom blinked at him, hands on her hips, taking in the hoodie, the sweatpants, the midnight energy radiating off him like a storm cloud. “Riki Nishimura,” she said slowly, voice low but deadly calm. “What exactly are you doing on my lawn at—” she glanced at her phone—“almost two in the morning?”

“I—uh—” He raised his hands like a surrendering cartoon character. “I had to go to the store for Reo. I forgot my keys and now I’m locked out…” This wouldn’t be the first time he’s lied to your mom, it was just about whether she’d believe him. “I called him a few times and he’s not answering so…”

“So…you couldn’t go to either of the other boy’s houses? You had to come to my daughter’s?”

Riki’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. He looked like a fish trying to talk its way out of being dinner. “Well—okay—hear me out,” he blurted, already panicking. “I would sleep at Shota’s but he snores insanely loud and the last time I did, he almost suffocated from the pillow I put over his face. And Leehan is entirely too particular about how I sleep like he wants the bed split right in—”

Your mom gave him a look so dry it could’ve dehydrated a cactus. “Inside. Now. Before I start asking real questions.”

Riki nodded so fast his hood nearly flew off. “Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

But as he followed her toward the door, he couldn’t stop the tiny, hopeful glance he threw toward your window—praying you hadn’t heard any of that, even though he knew deep down…you definitely had.

He kicked his shoes off as he entered, “I promise I’ll be out—” he whispered.

“Shut up, you’re not a guest here. I love you, goodnight.” She yawned as she walked the opposite way to her room. 

“Love you too, sleep well.” He whispered back.

Riki stood in the hallway like someone who’d just been adopted and arrested in the same breath. He watched your mom disappear down the hall, the soft shuffle of her slippers fading.

He took two small steps forward. Then froze when the floorboard under him squeaked loud enough to wake the dead. He saw your shadow moving around in your room from the small sliver of light that poked through the gap of the frame and door itself. His gut told him to speed up down the hall. To which he did—swiftly—before you could close the door on him. 

But he beat you there, wedging himself in. “Gotcha.” He beamed, shimmying through as he closed it softly behind him. 

“Are you crazy?” You whisper-yelled. “Coming into my house like this? Lying to my mom?!”

“I’m just as crazy as you are.” He unzipped his hoodie, tossing it onto the rack on your closet door. “Don’t act like you haven’t lied to Reo however many times—”

“That’s different. If we’re gonna be out late or something but—”

“Look, I don’t care about any of that. I came to fix things with you.” He stepped forward, ensuring you looked up at him. “Just hear me out…two minutes.” You studied him—hair messy from the wind, shirt rumpled, socks mismatched, eyes big and tired and a little frantic. You hated how familiar he looked in your room. Like this wasn’t the first time he’d slipped in after midnight.

“You get one.” You nod once. “And take off those dirty ass pants.” You sighed as you turned to your drawers. Scouring until you landed on a clean pair of black sweats.

With some rustling behind you, Riki stripped out of his pants. Revealing his black Calvin Klein boxers that you loved so much. That he knew you went crazy for.

“…Did you seriously just—?”

“What?” he said, way too innocent for someone in nothing but briefs in your bedroom at two in the morning. “You told me to take ‘em off.”

“I meant go change in the bathroom, you psychopath.”

He blinked. “Why would I walk all the way to the bathroom when your room is right here?”

You stared at him.

He stared back like this was the most logical sentence any human had ever spoken.

“Riki,” you said slowly, pointing the sweats at him like a weapon. “Put these on before I throw holy water at you.”

He snatched the pair from your hand with a tiny smirk—one he tried (and failed) to hide by looking down. “You always give me the soft ones,” he murmured, pulling them on.

“Well they’re yours…” you sigh, plopping right onto the edge of your bed.

He froze mid–pull, waistband halfway up his hips. “…What?”

You blinked at him. “What, what?”

He let the rest of the sweats snap into place, slow, like his brain was rebooting. “Did you just say they’re mine?”

You groaned, falling back on your palms. “Yes, Riki, congratulations, you own a pair of cotton-poly blend sweatpants. Don’t let it go to your head. So what? You’ve been here like a trillion times.”

But of course it did. You watched the shift happen in real time—his shoulders relaxing, his mouth tugging into that stupid boyish half‑smile he only ever got when he felt special.

He toed his discarded pants into a pile and padded over to you, the soft thud of his mismatched socks making him look criminally at-home in your space. “They’re mine,” he repeated, quieter this time. Like he’d just been handed a family heirloom instead of laundry.

You rolled your eyes. “Riki, don’t get sentimental, it’s literally the third time you’ve forgotten to take them back.”

He dropped down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “Still counts.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does,” he said, leaning back on his hands so his arm pressed along yours. “‘Cause that means when I come over…you expect me to stay.”

Your breath stuttered—just barely, but enough.

His voice softened. “And I know you’re pissed. And I know you’re pretending you’re not glad I’m here.” A beat. “But you said they’re mine.”

He nudged your knee with his. “Let me explain, Boo. Please.”

Your knee bounced, nerves bubbling up in the pit of your stomach as you looked down at your hands in your lap. “You promised, Riki. That you wouldn’t tell anyone what happened that night.”

Riki’s breath caught—not loud, not dramatic, just this tiny break in his chest like your words had clipped something vital. He didn’t move at first. Just stared at you, jaw set, eyes searching your profile like the truth might be written somewhere on your cheek. “I…I didn’t tell them in a malicious way.”

You turned your head as your anger bubbled up in your stomach. But he knew how to placate you. “No, no, no…listen. Look at me.” He gently grabbed your shoulders to turn you to face him. “Damn, you’re like a pitbull.”

You slapped his hands off your shoulders instantly. “Don’t call me a pitbull.”

“You are a pitbull,” he shot back, whisper‑yelling. “Small. Angry. Bites without warning.”

“I’m literally taller than you,” you snapped.

“You are not taller than—okay, you know what, that’s not the point.” He dragged a hand down his face, regrouping, then looked at you with that maddening mix of exasperation and adoration that made you want to smack him and kiss him in the same breath. “Listen to what I’m saying.”

You crossed your arms so hard your shoulders creaked.

He leaned forward, matching your intensity with his own. “I was just doing it for your protection.” He watched your face blend into confusion. “Not from the guys, from the guys my brother deals with.”

“Um…?”

“While you were gone, some of them were saying that they were gonna get at you when you came back. Obviously by that point, me and you already…” He trailed off. “And it was under wraps. But the way they were talking,” he shook his head, his tongue poking his cheek as he recalled the repulsive language. “I had to ‘claim’ you. Let them know you were mine.”

“I’m not an object, Riki.”

“I know, Boo. I know. I didn’t wanna put you in that position but I had to for the sake of those guys leaving you alone when you got back.”

Your brows pulled together, the heat in your chest shifting—still anger, but now tangled with something colder, sharper. “That’s not protection,” you said quietly.

Riki winced like you’d flicked him right in the soul. “I know. I know that. And if there was any other way—literally any—I would’ve taken it.”

You stared at him, trying to read past the excuses, past the dramatics, past the Riki-isms he wrapped himself in like bubble wrap. But his eyes weren’t dodging. Nor were they defensive. Just tired. And tense. And…a little fearful.

Your voice softened a notch. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He huffed out a laugh—dry, humorless, one shoulder lifting. “Because you’d say exactly what you’re saying now. That I don’t get to ‘claim’ you. That you’re not a trophy. That you don’t need saving.” He added, “plus by that time you were at your retreat, didn’t have your phone. Was I supposed to send a smoke signal? Letter in a bottle?”

“It would’ve been appreciated.” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I can’t stand you sometimes.”

Riki groaned, “dude, you’re so immature.”

“Me?!” You gasped, “I’m immature yet you fold under zero pressure and stutter when you lie?”

“Don’t do that. We’re grown now, I shouldn’t even be lying to anybody.”

“Right. So telling your groupies about our night of passion was sooo grown?”

He smiled, boyishly. “So you thought there was passion?” Slowing reaching his hand over to your waist before you smacked it away.

“No! I’m just saying that you’re a dick and never consider me for anything. Not me, Leehan, or Shota.”

Riki looked at you like you had three heads. “Are you—what are you talking about?”

You scoffed, “how did they even find out? Leehan told me that only he and Shota knew. Now you’re saying that—”

“I told them after the fact so they wouldn’t have to hear it from anybody else!” He stood up, “gosh, how low do you think I am? Like, do you really think I’m just some loser?”

Your head snapped up at his tone. He wasn’t yelling, but the hurt in his voice sliced sharp enough.

“Riki, that’s not—”

“No, because you’re talking like I’m out here giving press conferences about our business.” He pointed at himself, brows furrowed, genuinely offended. “You think I’d embarrass you like that? You think I’d embarrass myself like that?”

You opened your mouth, shut it, then crossed your arms tighter. “I think you do dumb things without thinking.”

His laugh was one sharp exhale. “Yeah? So do you.”

“That is not the point—”

“It is,” he cut in, stepping closer, eyes locked on yours with that frustrating intensity that made your stomach flip. “Because you’re acting like I’m some clown who doesn’t care about you. Like I’d run around bragging about us to look cool. That’s not me. That’s never been me.”

You faltered. Just a hiccup. Barely noticeable—except he noticed everything. “So telling people about us having sex on a summer night—”

“God, what do you not get?!” He put his hands out in frustration, “I didn’t tell anyone for fun! Or to lie on my dick—not that it was even a lie. I did it because otherwise, you’d have some weird ass guys pushing up on you and I can’t have that. For my sanity or your safety.”

You sighed dramatically, crossing your arms as you looked away from him. Turning your head away like you were a child.

“Look at me.” Riki said firmly but to no avail.

“Hm.” You shrugged as you crossed your legs. Your bare legs rubbing together over your checkered pajama shorts.

He shook his head. “Dude, you need to grow the fuck up and stop acting like a petulant child.”

You snapped your head back toward him so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. “Petulant?” you echoed, voice shooting up an octave. “Oh, wow. Big word. Did you eat a dictionary for breakfast or—”

“See?” he barked, throwing his hands up. “That! That right there!”

“What right there?!”

“You act like you don’t care but then you get mad like you care the most.” He pointed at you like you were a math problem he’d been failing for years. “You can’t even look at me without doing the dramatic little eye-roll-head-turn combo—”

“I do not—”

“You do,” he cut in, stepping forward, voice firm, eyes sharp. “You’re doing it right now.”

Your jaw dropped. “I am not—”

“You are,” he repeated, exasperated beyond mortal comprehension. “And it’s fine—like, it’s actually kinda cute when you’re not actively trying to ruin my life—but right now? Right now I need you to stop pretending you’re five years old and actually hear me.”

You scoffed so loud the walls probably shook. “Five years old? Riki, I swear to God—”

“No, seriously.” He crouched down a bit so he was more level with you, eyes narrowing just enough to make your pulse jump. “Grow. Up.”

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened.

You were halfway to telling him off when he added, annoyingly soft:

“I’m trying to talk to you. Not fight. Not yell. Talk. But you’re making it impossible.”

You blinked at him, chest tight, fury and embarrassment and something dangerously close to vulnerability twisting together.

His voice dropped low. “Stop looking away from me. I hate when you do that.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” He leaned in, jaw tight. “And it makes me feel like you don’t care.”

That sentence froze you mid-breath. “…What?” you whispered.

Your heartbeat kicked up so loudly you were sure he could hear it. You sat there, arms crossed, shoulders tense, but eyes finally—finally—on him.

Riki looked back at you with an honesty that stripped every smart remark right off your tongue.

“Stop acting like I’m some villain,” he murmured. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.” He reached up, brushing a curl that fell out of your ponytail—behind your ear. “And with that funky ass temper, I can’t get a word in.”

You stare at him for a moment, tilting your chin to the side his hand was on as your eyes flit to the side. Like you were almost embarrassed to enjoy physical touch from him. “Riki.”

“Yes?”

“How long have you known me for? Do you remember?”

His hand froze halfway down your cheek like you’d just hit him with a pop quiz he absolutely did not study for.

“…Huh?” he blinked.

You sighed, leveling him with a stare that could’ve melted steel. “How long have you known me? Since when?”

Riki straightened, shoulders pulling back as if bracing for impact. “Since we were seven.”

“And in all those years,” you continued, voice low, “has there ever been a moment where my mouth hasn’t gotten me or one of us into some type of trouble?”

He pursed his lips in thought, his eyes seeming to search through the crevices of his brain. “Um…no not really.” Riki looked back from ages seven to twenty—trying to assess when your sharp tongue and impulsive actions hadn’t done them well.

“See?” You smiled in jest. “And you guys just accept me for me. This is who I am. And the fact that you hate it now all of a sudden—”

Riki rolls his eyes, frustration flaring in his chest. “No one’s saying we don’t accept you,” he retorts, his tone firm. “But just because we’ve put up with your bullshit for years doesn’t mean you can’t be held accountable for your words and actions. This isn’t some free pass to act like a brat whenever you want.”

“Yes it is!” You laugh, “because I accept you for all your shit. You’re like a diet version of me.”

Riki’s whole face twisted, “please. You’re the most mini-me of anyone I know.”

“Are you trying to son me?” 

Riki laughed, leaning into you as he laid his head on your shoulder. “You are my son, you wanna be like me soooo bad.”

You shoved his forehead lightly. “Shut up.” 

He blinked at you, affronted. “Don’t hit your daddy.”

You smacked him again.

“HEY—”

“Keep talking like that,” you warned, “and I’m putting you in the home early.”

He leaned back, pointing at you like you were the crazy one. “You can’t put me in the home. You’re my dependent.”

“Riki, I am older than you.”

“That’s what makes this so embarrassing for you,” he said, absolutely delighted with himself. “Imagine being older and still being my mini-me.”

Your eye twitched so violently he had to bite back a laugh.

Then he softened, just a little—head tilting, voice dropping. “Come on, Boo. I’m messing with you.” His shoulder nudged yours. “You know I don’t think of you like that.” Leaning his head back on your shoulder as he reached down for your hand. “I’m sorry, again.”

You tried—tried—to keep your spine stiff, arms crossed, jaw tight. But the second his fingers brushed yours, your whole posture betrayed you. Your hand didn’t curl around his, but it didn’t pull away either. It just…sat there. Suspiciously compliant.

You exhaled, staring at the wall like it might give you divine guidance.

“I know.” His thumb brushed your knuckles. “I messed up. I scared you. I made you feel played. I talked too much, I didn’t talk enough—I know.” He lifted his head just enough to look at you. “But I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I swear to God, Boo, every dumb thing I did was me trying to keep you safe.”

Your throat tightened despite every effort to swallow the feeling down.

“And I know you don’t like being protected,” he added, voice threading into something shy. “But you matter to me. In a way that makes it hard to think straight sometimes.”

Ever since you could remember meeting him, Riki had been your protector. And the worst part? He’d never even asked for the job.

He just…took it.

The kid who yanked you out of trouble before you even recognized it. The teenager who stood in front of you during every argument you started. The grown man now sitting in your bedroom at two in the damn morning, wearing your/his pants and looking at you like you were the whole reason he learned how to fight in the first place. 

His knuckles grazed your jaw as he leaned in, nudging your cheek with his nose the way he always did when he was trying to make you smile. It worked—of course it did—your laugh spilling out small and helpless. “Your hero, your knight…” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. The smile that followed wasn’t cocky or teasing, but something almost…bashful. Like he couldn’t believe he’d earned the right to say it out loud. “Remember?”

But the word hero didn’t even begin to cover it.

He’d been a shadow and a shield, a tether and a torch—always one step ahead of whatever chaos you were about to fling yourself into. He carried your messes like they weighed nothing, shouldered your storms like they were summer rain. Half the time you wondered if he’d been assigned to you at birth, like some overworked guardian angel who accidentally got attached.

And you did remember. Every version of him. Every moment he’d stepped between you and the world like it was instinct. Like saving you was simply something he knew how to do—before he even knew how to save himself.

“Mhm,” you nodded—barely, quietly, like admitting it too loudly might crack something wide open between you.

His eyes softened even more at that tiny sound, as if your agreement carried an entire lifetime of shared secrets. His fingers slipped from your jaw to the side of your neck, feather-light, tracing the spot he always touched when he was trying to ground you…or ground himself. You could feel the tremor hiding in his thumb. He was steady for everyone else—impenetrable, unshakable—but with you? His armor always rattled just a little.

“Good,” he whispered, almost like he needed reassurance. Like he was afraid you might’ve forgotten who he’d always tried to be for you.

You hadn’t. God, you hadn’t.

If anything, the memories rose up all at once—him grabbing your sleeve before you stepped into the street at eight years old, him taking the blame for something you’d said at twelve, him pulling you behind him during the campfire argument at fifteen, eyes dark and jaw set like he’d burn the whole forest down before he let someone talk to you sideways. Him now, sitting inches from you, still trying to guard you from something invisible in the room.

He leaned in a little closer, forehead nearly brushing yours, his voice lowering like the hour demanded honesty. “I always wanted to be that for you,” he said. “Even when you didn’t need me to be.”

Your chest tightened—not painfully, but in that terrifyingly sweet way that told you he meant every word. “It’s not like I need you anyway…” You smile shyly as you nudge him with your elbow. 

“No?” He laughed, “you don’t need me, Boo?” He beamed, wrapping his arms around your waist—pulling your side into him.

You shook your head, “nope—oof! Dude—”

Burying his face into your neck as he blew raspberries into it, he pulled you back flat onto the bed as you both laughed. You hit the mattress with a soft thud, breath catching in your throat before dissolving into helpless laughter. “Riki—stop—!” you wheezed, kicking a leg uselessly as he doubled down, arms locked around you like he’d been waiting all night for an excuse to tackle you.

He blew another loud, obnoxious raspberry against your neck, the kind that made your whole body jolt. “Don’t need me, huh?” he taunted, his words muffled against your skin as he climbed on top of you. “Say it again. Go ahead. I dare you.”

You tried to twist away, but his grip only tightened, warm and solid and stupidly comforting. “I don’t—!” you squeaked, halfway grinning, halfway choking on your own breath. “I don’t need—Riki, seriously—!”

“Liar,” he declared, without even giving you a chance to finish, pressing his forehead into the curve of your shoulder like you were some sort of pillow he owned. “Biggest liar I’ve ever met.”

You fought him for another second—maybe two—before your muscles gave out in that familiar way they always did around him. The laughter faded into a soft, breathless quiet, the room still humming with the echo of it. His weight settled over you, heavy and warm, like he’d decided this was his new home address.

He exhaled against your neck, softer this time—pressing a gentle kiss there before he raised his head. Nose to nose with you as you both smiled when your eyes met, his voice dropping back to something unbearably gentle. “How was school? You haven’t found my replacement yet, huh?”

“Nuh-uh…no one could ever replace you.”

His lips quirked—not into that smug little smirk he wore when he was winning, but something smaller, almost startled. Like he hadn’t expected you to hand him an answer that soft, that honest, without putting up some kind of fight first.

His fingers brushed your waist, thumb tracing slow, unconscious circles like he was memorizing the shape of you. “Yeah?” he murmured, the word barely more than a breath. “You saying I’m…irreplaceable?”

You rolled your eyes, but it came out ruined—too fond, too warm. “That’s literally what ‘no one could ever replace you’ means.”

His thumb paused mid-circle on your waist, the warmth of his touch lingering like a question he was scared to ask out loud.

“Yeah, but…” he said slowly, eyes flicking over your face as if trying to read something between your lashes. “You say stuff like that and then pretend we’re just—” He waved a hand vaguely. “Nothing.”

Your breath caught. Not because he was wrong, but because he was painfully, dangerously right. “We are nothing,” you said a little too quickly, a little too defensively. “Like—we have to be. You know how it’d look if anyone found out.”

Riki stared at you like you’d just told him the sky was green. “How it’d look to who? Our friends?”

“Yes!” You sat up slightly, annoyed that he wasn’t getting it. “If they think I’m sneaking around with you, it’s gonna make everything weird. I don’t want Leehan or Shota or anybody else thinking there’s…a thing. I don’t want a rift.”

“A rift,” he repeated, deadpan. “You think you and me laughing at two in the morning in your bed is gonna break up the Fantastic Four?”

“That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke.” He tugged you a tiny bit closer by your hip, eyes locked on yours. “Boo, we’ve gotten through worse. They’re not gonna fall apart because we—” He hesitated, jaw working. “—because we care about each other differently now.”

You swallowed hard, your voice smaller now. “I just don’t want them picking sides.”

His expression softened like melting wax. He leaned his forehead to yours again, gentler this time. “No one’s picking sides. Not unless you start picking fights again, and even then I’m still betting on you.”

You snorted, the tension easing just an inch.

He took the opportunity, slipping a hand up your back, grounding you with his warmth. “Look,” he murmured, “I get not wanting to make waves. I do. But don’t pretend this is nothing just to keep the peace.”

Your heartbeat thudded once, sharp and loud.

“Because it’s not nothing,” he whispered. “Not to me.”

“I know, Riki…Just—please?” You bring your hand up to his cheek, brushing his chiseled jaw. Though he shook his head slowly with soft eyes, you whispered—lips brushing against his as you mumbled. “Please, for me? Please…?”

His breath hitched the second your lips grazed his—soft enough to deny, close enough to ruin him. His eyes fluttered half-shut, like he couldn’t decide whether to lean in or back away before he did something stupid. “Baby…” His voice was barely sound now, more exhale than words. You felt it against your mouth, warm and shaky. “You know I’d do anything you asked.”

You nudged closer—not kissing him, not quite, just letting the shape of him press into the shape of you. Your palm was warm on his jaw, your thumb sweeping the curve of his cheekbone. His breath stuttered again. “But you’re asking me to pretend,” he murmured, eyes opening fully. “To pretend I don’t…feel this. With you. About you.”

Your fingers flexed at his skin, and he shivered.

“I’m not asking you to pretend,” you whispered back. “I’m just asking you to help me protect what we already have. Before anyone else gets involved. Before it turns into drama or sides or expectations. I just…want us. Quietly. Carefully.”

His jaw clenched under your hand—less anger, more restraint. The kind he only ever showed with you.

“And if I say yes,” he asked, voice low, “does that mean I only get you in moments like this? When the door’s closed and everyone’s asleep?”

Your throat bobbed.

“If that’s what it takes to make sure that we don’t ruin our group.” you whispered.

For a beat, he didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Just stared at you, his forehead pressing to yours like he was steadying himself on the only thing that hadn’t ever failed him.

Then he exhaled, long and quiet, his hand sliding from your back to cradle the side of your neck. “Fine,” he murmured. “For you.” His nose brushed yours, gentle, aching. “But don’t ask me to act like you don’t mean something to me. Even if no one else gets to know yet.”

His thumb traced your throat, slow, deliberate. “I can’t fake that. Not even for you.”

— The next morning —

“Cousin?!” Leehan called out to his mom as she moved through the kitchen. “What cousin?!”

Mrs. Kim sighed as she chopped up vegetables, using the knife as a pointer to gesture to the basket of laundry on the counter that she needed her son to fold. “My friend from high school, Alexa, is sending her daughter to go to school here.”

With a roll of the eye, “school or university? Neither start for another month and a half.” He goes to fold some of the shirts in the basket. Tucking in the small ones of his younger brother and sister.

“She got into USC. I thought she could stay here, hang out with you and your friends. Just to get acclimated.” She says, looking down as she chops up a carrot. “Her mom’s staying back in Honduras where they live now and she just wanted to get out. See the world other than where she’s from. You get it.”

Leehan sighed, “we don’t need another buddy; and why do we need another person in here? It’s already crowded as is.” His little siblings breeze past him, pushing him into the counter as they giggle—running amok in the kitchen and living room.

Mrs. Kim slammed the knife down with a sneer. “No playing in the living room! Go in the yard!”

The two little ones scattered instantly, shrieking as they bolted for the back door. Leehan winced, rubbing the spot on his hip where a rogue elbow had caught him. “See?” he muttered. “Chaos. Pure chaos. And you wanna add another college student into this circus?”

His mom didn’t even look up as she slid the carrots into a bowl. “She’s not just any college student. She’s Alexa’s daughter. And she’s never lived away from home before. She’ll need support.”

“Support,” he echoed flatly. “Right. And by support you mean me.”

Mrs. Kim shot him a look that could level a grown man. “I mean all of us. But especially you. You’re the oldest. Responsible. Reliable.”

He blinked. “Mom, you asked me to unclog the shower last week and I nearly passed out from the smell.”

“Exactly,” she said, patting his cheek. “Builds character.”

He groaned into the laundry basket. “And what’s her name?” he asked, voice muffled in defeat.

“Xiomara.”

Leehan lifted his head like she’d just announced they were adopting a Bengal tiger. “Xiomara?” he repeated, slowly, like the name itself was a threat. “Mom, that sounds like a girl who walks into a room and immediately ruins my life.”

Mrs. Kim swatted his arm with a dish towel. “She’s very sweet!”

“That’s what people said about Riki before he started bossing me around,” he muttered.

From outside, one of his little siblings shrieked triumphantly, followed by a loud thump. Mrs. Kim didn’t even flinch. “You’ll take her around, introduce her to your friends, show her the area—”

“Mom.”

“—help her move in, make sure she’s eating—”

“Mom.”

“—maybe drive her to orientation—”

“Mom!”

Finally, she looked up.

“What?”

“I’m not a babysitter,” he huffed. “I barely babysit them.” He pointed out the window where one of the kids was trying to climb the garden hose like it was a rope in gym class.

Mrs. Kim clicked her tongue as she went to chop some garlic. “She’s not a baby. She’s eighteen.”

Leehan’s soul left his body. “EIGHT—Mom, that’s literally barely legal! I can’t be seen hanging out with a kid! I’m twenty! People will think I’m recruiting!”

Mrs. Kim pursed her lips, squinting her eyes as she clutched the knife tighter in her hands. No words were spoken as she tapped the surface slowly.

Leehan froze.

Not because she looked angry—but because that tap? That knife-tap? That was the “choose your next words like your life depends on it” tap.

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay. Alright. That came out wrong.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He gulped.

“What I meant,” he corrected quickly, “was that—uh—eighteen is…young. Very young. Like ‘still doesn’t know which side of the street has the bus stop’ young.”

His mother didn’t blink. “Continue.”

“And!” he added, voice cracking like a man under interrogation, “—and I am not qualified for mentorship. I’m barely feeding myself on time. I had cereal for dinner yesterday.”

“That’s because you refused to eat the stew I made.”

“It had mushrooms!”

Tap. Tap.

He winced.

Mrs. Kim sighed through her nose, the way women do when they’ve raised three children, a husband, and apparently now one extra stray. “She is not a kid. She is a guest. A guest who will be living under my roof. Which means she will be treated like family.”

Leehan nodded rapidly. “Right. Family. Like a sibling.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Perfect,” he said.

A beat.

“Except,” she raised a brow, “you will not treat her like you treat your siblings.”

He blinked. “Why not?”

“Because you terrorize them.”

“I don’t.” He shakes his head.

“I’m not arguing with you, son.”

“Fine.” He nods in relent. “So…where’s she gonna sleep?”

“Your room.”

The words landed like a brick to the skull.

Leehan straightened slowly, arms going stiff at his sides. “My…room,” he repeated, making sure he hadn’t misheard. “As in—my room, where I sleep. Where my stuff lives. Where I—exist.”

“Yes,” his mother said simply, drying her hands on a towel. “She needs a space that’s clean and quiet. And yours is the only one that makes sense.”

He stared at her, chest tight. “Mom, my room is my only space. The only place in this entire house that’s not—” he gestured around at the chaos, the abandoned toys, the scribbles on the fridge, the sticky handprints on the cupboards— “that.”

“I know,” she said, and her voice wasn’t sharp this time. It was steady. Unmoving. “Which is why I’m trusting you with this.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. The weight behind her words was unmistakable.

“She’s coming here alone,” Mrs. Kim continued softly. “No family. No support system. No familiarity. She’s walking into a country she doesn’t know, a language she barely uses, a school she’s hardly seen. She’s still a child to her mother, no matter how old she is.”

Leehan’s breath stalled.

“She needs safety,” she said. “And stability. She needs someone who won’t overwhelm her or talk down to her. At least give her sympathy.”

He pressed his lips together, throat tightening.

“And you,” she added, looking him in the eyes now, “are the one I trust the most to give her that. Not because you’re perfect. But because you’re my son and I raised you to take care of people always.”

Silence.

A thick, heavy silence.

He let out a slow breath. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll move my things.”

Mrs. Kim nodded, relieved—but not triumphant. “Thank you.”

He stared at the floor, at the laundry basket, at nothing in particular.

“…What’s she like?” he asked after a moment. Not annoyed. Not sarcastic. Just…trying to understand the person stepping into his life.

His mom paused, thinking. “Smart,” she said. “Kind. Quiet. More observant than she lets on. But she's a nice girl, you guys would like her.”

He nodded once.

Then again.

“Alright,” he murmured. “I’ll be good to her.”

“I know you will.”

A beat passed—the kind that settles into the air, makes everything feel more real.

“What time does her flight get in?” he asked.

“One hour.”

His eyes widened. “Mom—”

“Go,” she said, waving him off. “Take the car, I’ll move your stuff.”

He grabbed his keys, heart pounding as he jogged toward the door. 

And as he makes his way out to the beat up driveway, he comes across you walking up his porch. He steps back, soft laughter as he puts his hands up in defense. “Woah…gonna bite my head off, Chihuahua?”

“Shut up,” you cross your arms—rolling your eyes as you resist a laugh. “I left my bag here yesterday. I’ve come to retrieve it.”

He nods affirmatively, brushing past you as he gently yanks a curl of yours on his way down the steps. “It’s in my closet.” 

You reached down to swat his arm. “Where you going?”

He turns back, one foot already on the next step, breath still a little fast from the sprint out of the house. The sunlight catches on his face, softening everything he’s trying so hard to keep steady.

“Airport,” he says simply.

Your brows pull together. “Now?”

He huffs—short, almost incredulous—as if he just realized the timing doesn’t make any damn sense either. “Yeah,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Apparently I’m a morning person now.”

You blink at him. “Since when?”

“Since today,” he says, dead serious.

There’s no joke behind it. No smirk. He’s standing there looking wired, focused, too awake for someone who hasn’t even had breakfast yet.

You tilt your head, studying him. Something in his voice is different—quieter, heavier. “Family?”

He hesitates. Just long enough for the truth to flash across his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Kind of.”

“Can I ride with you?” You shrug, “I’m bored and I have literally nothing else to do.”

He jerks his chin toward the driveway, already moving, steps quick and purposeful. You follow him down the porch, your shoulder brushing his for half a second—a tiny contact, but he feels it. You can tell by the way his breath stutters before he masks it. Annoyance but patient in some way.

The car beeps unlocked.

He opens the passenger door for you without a word. You lean against the door before you sit, preparing to ask him something. But as you do, a voice calls out:

“Oi! Where are you two off to?”

You both turn to see Shota coming from across the street—backpack in tow as he bounces over. His dyed, blond hair shining in the beaming sun. “You two know I have attachment issues.”

You laugh softly as you brush your hair off your shoulder. “Ask your best friend, his mood is shot.”

Leehan sighed, “my mood isn’t anything, Bun—I just have to go and you’re making me late.”

“Late for what?!” Another voice calls across the street.

It was weird, yet convenient how your guys’ houses were lined up. The best way to describe it would be akin to a square and its vertices. Right beside Leehan was your house. Directly parallel to you was Riki, then parallel to Leehan was Shota.

Riki jogs down his driveway, one hand raking through his hair, the other shoving his keys into his pocket like he’s already annoyed at the world and hasn’t even reached the sidewalk yet.

He eyes the three of you gathered around Leehan’s half-opened car door. “What’s happening?” he asks, breath a little uneven like he’d been rushing.

Shota throws his hands up dramatically. “A betrayal is happening. They were about to leave me. Again.”

Leehan’s jaw flexes. “No one’s betraying anyone. I just have somewhere to be.”

Riki’s gaze flicks to you, quick and sharp, then to Leehan—reading the tension instantly. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Leehan mutters.

You answer for him. “He’s lying. Obviously. He opened the car door for me without calling me a dickhead. I’m concerned.”

Shota gasps like you’ve announced a national emergency. “Oh that’s new.”

Leehan drags a hand down his face. “Can you three—just this once—not be—”

“Entertaining?” Shota offers.

“Observant?” Riki adds.

“Inconveniencing?” you finish.

He looks heavenward, praying for strength. Then he jerks his thumb at the car. “Just get in. All of you.”

“Yay!” You and Shota cheered simultaneously. Riki smiled softly as he opened the back passenger door for the older guy to get in. 

Shota slid in the backseat, putting his backpack down by his feet—settling into the seat as he fanned himself. “Can you turn the AC on? It’s like a toaster oven in here.”

Leehan makes his way around the van. “The car’s not even on yet, genius.”

Riki snorts, “move over,” he tapped the top of the van as he waited for Shota to shimmy to the other side. But before he could even put his leg in, a deep, raspy voice—diagonal from the driveway called out for him. “Riki!”

 All four of your guys’ attention went in the direction of the sound. The birds chirped over the white noise of the block as somehow the sky clouded over. Reo.

You sighed, rolling your eyes as you turned your back again. Leaning against the car with your arms crossed. 

Reo was already discussed previously. Not in any depth anyway because as much as he seemed to matter to Riki—he mattered to you as well. 

As an enemy.

As an older brother, though, he was Riki’s sole caregiver and provider amidst their parents not being around. While Reo had to juggle being fifteen and taking care of his ten year old brother, he ensured that Riki was in school, was fed, and had what he needed to essentially have a normal childhood just as anyone else. 

However, as Riki grew and started to demand (not literally, but metaphorically) the presence of their mom and dad—Reo didn’t know how to handle it. Couldn’t fathom or configure the idea of wearing so many different hats at once. Mom, dad, brother, nurse, personal wallet, cheerleader, chauffeur until Riki was sixteen, the list goes on. 

Leehan, Shota, and you had always had the luxury of support by parental figures—something Riki didn’t have—but it was always afforded to him. Never did any of your parents turn him or Reo away for anything because they knew how hard their circumstances were. But no one dared to call social services because it meant that both boys would be lost in the abyss of the American foster care system and of course, everyone has heard such great things about what happens there.

If either of them needed food because Reo’s check didn’t clear—they got it. Christmas gifts. Clothes. Hot water. Anything in the world, those boys had it as long as you, Shota, and Leehan did.

But once Reo graduated high school (with a C average, just by the skin of his teeth)—he knew to follow in the legacy that his father had left him with—R12. Leaving him to stay in Freeridge and get Riki through middle school, high school, and everything else.

And things seemed fine. Reo was going to work. Participating in the gang dealings that both boys seemed to be familiar with but the older they got, the more the cracks started to show.

Riki learned how to be multiple people at once—a friend, support system, an advocate for all three of you…and Reo’s little brother, the kid everyone in R12 kept an eye on because Reo would set the whole block on fire if anything happened to him.

But it was a lot more complex than that. Reo ensured Riki wasn’t touched, ensuring he didn’t lose his respect. But something shifted once Riki turned fifteen.

He stopped caring about the sanctity of Riki’s youth. Disregarded everything that mattered when it came to his brother.

Riki had dreams. Ones that seemed small to others but too big for Freeridge. 

And it was simple: make it out.

Since he was a kid, Riki had wished upon a star, tossed a coin into a fountain, closed his eyes extra hard during every birthday wish, wrote a million times under his pillow—for his entire life—the same wish.

To leave.

Not to abandon, not to forget—just to escape the gravity of a place that had never loved him gently. Riki wanted sunlight without bars across it, air without someone else’s name on it, choices that weren’t choreographed by a gang legacy he never asked to inherit.

Reo saw that dream as an insult.

Because to him, leaving meant rejecting the only thing he had ever been good at. The only thing that kept a roof over their heads. The only thing that made him valuable in a world that chewed him up at fifteen and spit him out as a man.

So when Riki talked about getting out—going to college, traveling, anything that didn’t involve the R12 sign—Reo didn’t hear hope. Just betrayal.

And that’s when the shift happened. No more rides to practice. No more checking if Riki ate. No more showing up to school events pretending he wasn’t bone-tired.

Instead—cold orders. Sharp warnings. A hardness that didn’t belong in a home but lived there anyway.

Reo stopped seeing Riki as a kid. Stopped seeing him as a brother. Started seeing him as a liability—someone who wanted to run from the very life Reo had bled to keep intact for him.

Riki never said it out loud, not to you, not to anyone. But every time Reo’s voice cut through the street, every time those R12 men watched him too closely, every time his shoulders went rigid—

You could tell. Because you knew these three like yourself. If you were an impulsive, neurotic, hotheaded chihuahua then Leehan was a pressured, ticking time bomb with oldest sibling syndrome. Shota was a mildly deluded individual that blocked out the negativity in the world by living by his rules. Like Riki was a hurricane contained in a bottle—soft and mesmerizing one moment, destructive and untamable the next. He absorbed everything around him—the chaos, the expectations, the danger—and carried it with a grace that no one else could sustain. But inside, that wish to escape, to be free of Freeridge and the shadows of R12, was a constant pressure, a weight that bent him without breaking him.

And you could see it in the way he flinched when Reo’s name was mentioned, in the subtle tension in his shoulders when someone lingered too long on the block, in the way he smiled a little too hard, laughed a little too loud, just to convince himself he was still okay.

He was caught between worlds: the world he wanted, and the world that had claimed him before he even knew how to fight for himself. And you—well, you understood that storm better than anyone.

The older brother in question jogged across the street. His gaze never left his little brother the whole time. When he finally made it to the driveway, Reo—now twenty-five—stood before you and everyone. 

Him and Riki were exactly the same height. A nice six foot one. Reo’s presence hit like a wall, all angles and edges and deliberate weight. His hair, dark and cropped close on the sides, caught the sun in streaks of bronze where it had faded at the tips. His jaw was sharp, square, defined, with the faintest shadow of stubble that made him look older than his twenty-five years. Eyes like storm clouds—a very dark brown—hovered between calculating and exhausted, the kind of eyes that had seen too much too young. 

Broad shoulders, strong arms, and a chest that filled out his fitted shirt made him look like he could carry the weight of the street on his back. Even his stance—feet planted just so, fists loose but ready—spoke of someone who had fought to keep everything together, someone who moved with both authority and quiet warning. Every detail about him—the set of his brow, the crease at the corner of his mouth, the way his gaze flicked to Riki first—was a reminder that he wasn’t just an older brother. He was a force.

But he wasn’t impolite. 

He scanned the rest of you three with a masked smile. Bending down slightly, poking his head into the van—he caught Shota’s view. “Hi, Shota.”

The guy nodded silently, waving his hand as he put one of his wired earbuds in.

“Donghyun,” he nodded as he looked at Leehan—who leaned against the car with his hands and opened his palm. Hardly smiling but just enough to acknowledge the elder.

Then finally, his eyes fell to you. More like your side profile as you refused to even look at him. The last time you laid eyes on him was the day you left for college—so nearly a year ago. You hadn’t visited during breaks, money was too tight for you to come back and forth.

Watching him stand on the sidewalk beside his younger brother as the three of you all drove onto the next part of your lives was probably the most sadistic thing you’ve seen out of him. The memory was like a picture in your mind. Him, resting a hand on Riki’s shoulder as their eyes hadn’t left you. Like he was reminding him of what he never wanted to come to fruition for Riki. 

“Bunnyboo…” he called out with a smile. “You look beautiful. I’ve missed you.”

You stiffened at the voice, the familiar tone threading through the warm morning air, carrying all the weight of his presence. That smile—something in it was the same as before, teasing yet measured, like he had rehearsed it a thousand times to keep control—but there was an undercurrent there, an edge of something almost vulnerable, something carefully tucked beneath the force of his usual armor.

“Hm.” You inhaled, arms tightening as you crossed them.

He probed on though, “you’ve grown. You still carry your Bratz dolls in your backpack?”

You scoff, smacking your teeth. “That was like fifteen years ago.”

Reo chuckled, a low, controlled sound that somehow carried both amusement and a trace of disbelief. “That long, huh? I feel like that’s the kind of thing that sticks with you forever,” he said, eyes flicking briefly to the gold, nameplate necklace with your actual name on it. The one you wore every single day since you were a kid. There was a softness in that look, fleeting, but it was there—an acknowledgment of the person you were then, the person you’d become.

You rolled your eyes, brushing a curl behind your ear. “Yeah, well, some of us grow up,” you said, trying for a casual tone, though your voice carried just enough bite to hint that you weren’t entirely relaxed.

He took your jab and let it roll down his back. His tongue poked his cheek as he turned to Riki. “We got business.”

Riki’s shoulders tensed, the familiar flicker of unease crossing his features. “Business? Now? At nine in the morning?” His voice carried a note of incredulity that didn’t quite mask the edge of confusion.

Reo didn’t look at him, didn’t even blink. His gaze was fixed, sharp, deliberate, scanning the block like he already knew every corner, every potential obstacle. “Now,” he said again, voice low but iron-strong. “We move fast, or it’s done before it even starts.”

You leaned back slightly against the car, arms still crossed, observing the quiet, absolute command in his posture. Every movement was deliberate, economical—Reo didn’t waste energy on theatrics. Even the way he stood beside Riki, that protective shadow, made your stomach knot. The tension wasn’t just between the brothers—it radiated outward, threading through the air around everyone else, a subtle, undeniable warning.

Riki exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Okay…” He turned to the three of you with a look of frustration. “I’ll see y’all when you get back.”

You watched him hesitate for a moment, shoulders stiff, jaw tight, before he finally gave a small nod. “Be careful,” you muttered under your breath but loud enough for him to catch.

Reo’s eyes flicked toward you, the storm behind them softening just a fraction, like he recognized the weight of your gaze. No words, just a subtle tilt of his head—a silent acknowledgment. Then he turned, and with practiced precision, started walking down the street, Riki falling into step beside him like a shadow, smaller but unwilling to be left behind.

The van sat there idling, warm in the morning sun. You pressed your palms into each, trying to calm the sudden tightness in your chest. The air seemed heavier, charged, as if the space around them carried all the years of responsibility, anger, and unspoken plights between the brothers.

Shota leaned back against the seat, muttering, “Damn. That’s…intense.”

Leehan just shook his head, lips pressed together. “Yeah. That’s Reo for you. Always been that way.”

You stayed quiet, watching the figures recede, knowing that once they disappeared around the corner, the street would feel smaller—and emptier—but the echo of their presence would linger, a quiet warning you couldn’t ignore.

—

The drive south to LAX was relaxing, you on the aux as some music played comfortably. As Leehan pushed the van down the freeway, you hummed along to the music as you watched the world pass you by. 

But of course, silence was always short-lived as it pertained to your friends. “So, I assume you and Riki are together again?”

You turned to him with a flabbergasted, yet offended expression. “I’m sorry?”

His eyes widened, tightening on the steering wheel. “I said, ‘I assume you and Riki are hanging out together again?”

“Oh…”

“...as in, you guys aren’t fighting anymore?” He leaned back as he signaled to move to another lane.

“Oh…yeah.” You nodded as your heart rate simmered a little. “Yeah, we squashed it.”

“So what happened?” He said absentmindedly as he turned the music down a little so he could hear you properly. 

You gulp, keeping your eyes looking out of the window. “Nothing. We just agreed to…chill, you know. No beef.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Leehan laughed, “you were at his throat less than a day ago and now things are just squashed? What actually happened between you guys? Is what he said true or not?”

This was the thing you hated about lying: the guilt of it. But the fact that you had to think of a lie, say it convincingly, then remember it was entirely too stressful.

Riki didn’t even want to keep this up. He wanted to show you off, hold your hand walking down the street, kiss you whenever he felt like. Not in the dark or behind closed doors within the confines of your rooms or the city’s outskirts. But of course, he was a simple man—and entirely too easy. Whatever it took to be with you, he’d do it. 

But your fear of commitment and judgment superseded anything that either of you could want.

“No, we didn’t sleep together.” You said with finality. “He just said that because some of the idiotic R12 members were talking about getting at me. So he—” You used air quotes, “‘put a claim on me’ so that they wouldn’t try anything.”

“So why didn’t he tell us that he did that?”

You somehow reached a flow state. “Because he knows how you two run your fat mouths. It’s just better if everyone thinks the same thing, I guess. That way he doesn’t have to remember who knows what.”

Leehan’s brow arched so high it was nearly touching his hairline. “Mhm. Right. Because he’s soooo organized like that.”

You shot him a glare sharp enough to slice bread. “Can you just drive?”

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, eyes still on you. “Nah, because something’s not adding up. Riki said one thing. Shota and I heard another. You acted one way. And now this?” He motioned in a circle at your whole existence. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m an excellent liar,” you snapped.

“So you admit that you’re lying?”

You groaned, sliding lower into your seat until you were practically melting into the upholstery. The anxiety sat in your chest like a cinder block. Keeping a secret relationship hidden from a man like Leehan—who was basically a human lie detector fused with a nosy aunt—felt like trying to hide a fireworks show behind a napkin.

And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong. Your lies were getting thinner, shakier, stitched together by panic. You felt the guilt creeping up your throat—warm, prickly, accusing.

Leehan glanced at you. His voice softened just enough to unsettle you. “Are you scared of him?”

You blinked. “What? Who?”

“Reo.”

You laughed, actually laughed at how off he was. “Please, that dickhead has nothing to do with this.” You folded your hands over your stomach as you crossed your legs in an effort to warm them from the blasting air conditioner. “He doesn’t scare shit over here.”

“So what are you hiding and why lie about it?”

“Oh my god,” you groaned. “Bitch you are so fucking nosey!”

Leehan grinned like a cat who’d finally cornered a mouse. “Yeah. And?”

“And mind your damn business!”

“It is my business,” he argued, turning onto the main road like he wasn’t detonating your blood pressure. “Because every time you lie, Riki acts weird, and when Riki acts weird, I get dragged into some emotional bullshit I didn’t ask for.”

You clutched your chest dramatically. “So now I’m inconveniencing you?”

“Yes.” He didn’t even hesitate. “My chakras are weighed down.”

You stared at him. “You don’t even know what chakras are.”

“I know yours are clogged with secrets.”

You slapped his arm—not hard, but enough to make him jerk the wheel a little. “Leehan!”

“Hey! Assaulting the driver is crazy.”

“Being the IRS of my personal life is crazy.”

He snorted, glancing over at you for half a second. “So you admit there’s something to tax?”

Your jaw dropped. “I didn’t say that!”

“You said it with your face.”

“Shut up.”

He hummed, smug, fingers tapping the wheel like he’d solved a crime. “One day, you’re gonna tell me.”

“One day,” you shot back, “I’m gonna push you out of a moving vehicle.”

“Good,” he said, nodding. “Maybe the fall will knock the truth loose.”

“I wish death on you. A slow, agonizing death. But until then,” you sighed. “Which terminal are we headed to?” You gestured ahead to the iconic big white letters that indicated your arrival.

“Terminal B…” Leehan sighed as he leaned forward, inspecting the bustling airport and the pedestrians making their ways through.

You reached behind you to grab Shota’s backpack, shuffling through it for his bag of sour gummy worms. The owner of said bag extended his hand for you to give him some, not even speaking because he had his own music playing.

You dropped a few gummy worms into Shota’s waiting palm, then tore one in half with your teeth like a feral squirrel. “Thank you for your service,” you mumbled around the candy.

Shota gave you a thumbs-up without looking up, completely zoned out to whatever playlist he lived on. You swore the guy could sleep through a tornado but wake up instantly if someone opened a bag of snacks within a five-mile radius.

Leehan eased the car into the arrival lane, glaring at the chaos like it personally offended him. “Why are airports always like fever dreams?” he muttered. “Every time I come here, I lose five years of my life.”

“Who are we scooping anyway?” You say through a mouthful of candy. “An uncle or some shit?”

“No, my cousin—well…she’s not blood but…” He shrugs as he grabs a gummy from the bag.

You snorted, “I got you, that’s just how people of color work, I guess. Everyone’s a cousin.”

He nodded, “yeah, but this is my first time meeting her. Her mom and my mom went to high school together way back when. Then they moved and shit, now her daughter is going to uni here in the States. Or…will be.”

You furrowed your brows inquisitively, “where are they from?”

“Honduras.”

Your brows lifted in surprise as a smile hit your face. “Oh snap, look at Mrs. Kim knowing people. Mrs. Worldwide.”

Leehan snorted, shaking his head. “Please don’t gas her up like that. She already thinks she’s Pitbull.”

You laughed, leaning back in your seat. “No, because I know she be telling people she’s multicultural just for the fun of it.”

“She does,” he said flatly. “She told her nail tech last week she ‘turns up’ when she listens to reggaetón. Like who says that anymore?”

You slapped his arm. “Shut UP.”

He groaned. “I was like, Mom…you don’t even know who Bad Bunny is.”

Shota, still munching gummies with one earbud in, glanced up. “She thought his name was Benny.”

You wheezed. “Isn’t his name Benito? She was close.”

“Not the point.” Shota smiled, taking another gummy worm. “I just don’t get how…”

Shota’s joke faded into the background, but you barely heard it. Something in your chest shifted—tightened—like a knot being pulled slowly, deliberately, until it demanded to be acknowledged. Everything seemed like white noise.

You watched the crowds outside the car, people dragging luggage, hugging relatives, starting trips, ending them. Moving. Living. And it hit you—hard—that Riki should’ve been here. Should’ve been laughing with you all. Complaining about the LA traffic. Stealing Shota’s gummies and flicking his ear just because he could.

He should’ve been in this moment.

But he wasn’t. Because he was stuck.

Your fingers curled around the bag of candy, knuckles whitening. The thought rose before you could stop it, blooming sharp and aching in your chest. You didn’t say anything at first—just let the idea sit there, heavy, terrifying, obvious.

You didn’t even realize you’d spoken until you heard your own voice.

“…I want him out.”

Leehan looked over. “Who?”

“Wait, I didn’t even do anything…” Shota said with a frown.

You kept your eyes straight ahead. If you looked at either of them, you’d talk yourself out of it. “Riki. I want him out of R12.”

Shota sat up, the surprise on his face softening into something more careful. No jokes this time. No easy shrug.

The words kept coming, quiet but sure, like you’d been holding them back for years.

“I keep thinking,” you said, voice low, “about all the things he’s missing. All the things he’ll keep missing because Reo won’t let him go.” You shook your head slightly. “I can’t stand the idea of him still being there while the rest of us get to…grow. Move forward. Be young. Be stupid. Be normal.”

Leehan’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. He didn’t interrupt. Neither did Shota.

“He had the best grades out of all of us in school. Joined clubs, made friends, community service, everything. All down the drain because his selfish older brother couldn’t see past Freeridge. But it’s time for me to be selfish, guys, because I want more. For him.”

You swallowed hard. “And I don’t know…maybe it’s stupid, maybe it’s impossible, but I just—” you exhaled shakily. “I keep thinking there has to be a way to get him out. Really out. A way to give him a chance at the life he keeps pretending he doesn’t want.”

Shota let out a slow breath through his nose, like he was trying to process ten different emotions at once. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he murmured.

You didn’t deny it. Couldn’t.

Because once the thought crawled into your chest, it refused to leave—this stubborn, aching truth that wouldn’t unclench its grip. Riki laughing on a couch that wasn’t surrounded by lookouts. Riki sleeping without one eye open. Riki showing up to dumb little hangouts like this one, rolling his eyes, complaining about the snacks. Riki choosing things instead of surviving them.

You blinked hard. “I hate that I’m starting to picture him as a memory while I’m still alive.”

Shota’s jaw flexed. Leehan’s stare stayed glued to the road, but his knuckles had gone white.

“He’s not gone,” Leehan said quietly.

“No,” you agreed, throat tight, “but you know how that life is. You either end up in prison, dead, or both. And I don’t even want to think about either.”

Shota shifted, like the words physically hit him. “Don’t say that,” he muttered, but it wasn't a reprimand—it was fear.

You stared down at your hands. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Neither of them did.

The signs passed, blocking the sun for a moment—casting a shadow across the windshield, washing the car in gold every few seconds. Each flash made the ache in your chest feel sharper, more real, like the world itself was trying to illuminate a truth you’d been avoiding.

“I keep replaying stupid things,” you said softly. “Like him talking about wanting to visit a college campus. Or saying he wanted to see snow for the first time. Or—” your breath trembled, “—how he used to say he wanted to get out of Freeridge before he turned twenty-one.” You swallowed again, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “He says it like a joke now. Like something he already accepted he’ll never have.”

Shota looked out his window, voice barely above a whisper. “He stopped talking about the future altogether.”

That got you. A quiet, painful exhale left your lungs. “Exactly,” you murmured. “It’s like he’s already grieving a life he hasn’t even lived.”

Leehan finally spoke, low and certain. “Then we don’t let that happen.”

You turned your head, heart thudding. He wasn’t saying it like a fantasy. He was saying it like a plan.

“We figure out a way,” he continued, eyes still on the road but voice steady, “to give him a real shot. A clean break. Something he can’t walk away from, even if he tries.”

to be continued…

Copyright: © zorange13. 2026. All rights reserved. Do not repost, copy, or distribute without permission.

The fluorescent halls of The Bellagio are a blur.

This entire night has been a blur thanks to Eden.

Your close friend had seemingly made it her life’s mission to pull you outside the entrapping four walls of your apartment for the first time after the break up that’s been suppressing the free-spirited girl she’s always known you to be. 

Close friends since college, the two of you have lived many lives together. Many of which begin when the sun goes down because, as if you two are nocturnal, you come alive at night— bar hopping in New York, hookah lounges in Toronto, girls night out in San Antonio. Pictures of you two during your escapades are sprinkled throughout both of your social media accounts dating back several years prior, accounts that blew up following the success of both of your social media influencer careers.

Those escapades came to a gradual halt when you met your ex. It was a relationship that sucked you dry and turned you into a shell of the person you used to be, and the people around you recognized it before you did despite how frail you felt because of the depleted nutrients. Nasir was the type of man who looks like the sun until the door closes and takes the light with it.. 

It started off subtle and passive. Then verbal. Until you had to start wearing Miu Miu shades in the most casual of settings. You told yourself his last transgression was the final. And it was, because you left him a month ago.

Since Eden had a front row seat to all the shit he put you through, that alone called for celebration. The fact that tonight is also Wrestlemania is just the cherry on top.

Drinks in hand, the two of you sat ringside as you watched the matches leading up to the the main event. You weren’t really familiar with the sport and since she’s been to a few of these throughout the extent of her relationship with her wrestler boyfriend, you found yourself muttering questions to her every now and then. As many as she’s been to and as often as you tend to accompany one another to entertainment events like this, this was your first one ever. Any invitation you’d be sent by her to attend regularly scheduled programs like RAW, you’d reject. 

Simply because Roman has never made you feel particularly welcome. 

His demeanor with you is notoriously cold, with conversations short and clipped like you’re the most uninteresting gnat in the room. There’s something innately menacing about him, whether it be his build or his quiet and brooding disposition, or both, that just adds insult to injury. That makes you feel like a nuisance whenever you’re in his presence. 

Eventually, you made peace with it. After all, many men aren’t fans of their girlfriend’s homegirls and you’re sure you’ve done something to rub him the wrong way somewhere along the line.

In reality, you aren’t aware of just how much he really dislikes you. How he’ll stare a while longer when she's wearing a shade of lipstick that reminds him of your signature one. How much, despite your knowledge, his guilty conscious compels him to talk down on you to Eden in your absence, as if she knows the truth in her heart and doing so is the head-start he needs to convince her otherwise. How many nights the thought of you behind his lids were the only reason he was able to reach an eye-rolling orgasm inside of his girlfriend.

If fate worked in his favor that day in Miami, it would’ve been you instead of Eden.

He had his sights set on you since you first climbed onto the yacht hosting Zilla’s small get together; the orange bikini you were spilling out of, your black curls wrapped under a silk head wrap and freely cascading past your shoulders striking enough to pull him out the conversation he was having— but you weren’t alone. You were there with a man he would later assume to be your boyfriend, a close friend of Zilla’s.

He was staring at you long enough to pick up the subtle but tense interactions between you and him throughout the day: the way he jerked at your upper arm during your secluded conversation in the cabin that Roman could slightly see through the window from where he was seated, the way your face would light up when someone would address you after you returned only for it to quickly drop once everyone looked away as if it were never real, the way this all coincidently began after you started socializing with everyone— with the men. 

The way you seemed to sink into a cocoon of your own afterwards. 

Nasir never liked it when you were too social for his liking with other men. He always felt like you needed to be seen and not heard, and sometimes even the former was pushing it.

When Eden, who he thought was just another friend of Zilla’s, approached him, he entertained her even though his eyes kept wandering past her shoulders. She was interesting enough to hold a conversation. Held a couple degrees. A real stunner. Thick where it mattered. Brown like he likes. It wasn’t until a quick surf through the Instagram account she gave him when he got home revealed that she and you were not only friends, but extremely tight if the frequency that you appeared on her feed had anything to say about it. Courtside at the Cavaliers, oversea trips to Jamaica, dinners at Nobu.

He’d never admit it if he were ever confronted, but it’s why he decided to pursue her further. Something about you had captivated him and it was the only way for him to keep you in his orbit. He had to see you again.

Initially, the friendship between you and her was his saving grace. It was the tie that bound you to him. Yet, by the time general observation made it crystal clear that you were too loyal to mess around with someone your friend had already expressed interest in, he’d already found himself in a situationship with Eden. That realization about you and the one that he was starting to develop feelings for Eden, albeit far less strong than the ones he had to pretend like he didn’t have about you, morphed their situationship into a serious relationship.

He wanted to give him and Eden a chance. 

If that meant suppressing his feelings and icing you out to keep his distance, then so be it— and it has. For two years.

The crowd makes some noise as you and Eden smile, wave, and blow a kiss at the camera that broadcasts your faces on the celebrity guest Jumbotron with a centered textbox that reads: Eden Westbrook & Tatiana Montgomery. 

When it’s time for the main event, you watch the way he manhandles grown men in the ring like they’re his kids and he’s bringing them to work with him. The loud thud of the ring mat and the cheer of the crowd bookends every brutal move between he and the name of whoever it on the receiving end of the ass whooping he’s handing out. 

His wet hair drapes around the sharp lines of his nose and jaw, the exertion of sheer force glazing his tan body in a layer of sweat. And when he retains his title after the three count, he slowly raises the belt into the air above his head, smirking as the announcer enunciates the phrase ‘and still.’ 

The victory lap is easy, relaxed. As thundering pyro erupts into the sky and past the roofless stadium, he climbs on top of the middle rope turnbuckle to bask in the glory of adoration before he pauses when your presence catches his attention. You assume he’s looking at Eden and grin at her side profile as you clap alongside the fans.

The threesome was her idea.

Once the liquor starts invading her system, Eden has a track record that precedes her— she is easily the wildest girl you’ve ever met. She outpaces you by a large gap, which was one of the things most appealing about her when you two first met. She always brings a sense of fiery spontaneity to what can be a very mundane life. So once you’re all in the section of French .95 to celebrate the win and she’s had enough 1942 Don Julio to override her good judgement, she’s dropping the inquisitive bomb onto your lap.

It isn’t something he’s ever asked her for, but it’s something she knows he’s always wanted. And if she’s honest, once she gets past a particular level of tipsy, she starts feeling really sweet and generous; generosity that stems from a pool of love the shade of magenta pink. Because she loves him and she’s proud of him. Proud of the way he’s managed to overcome the years and years of adversity in the company and came out on the other side as supreme as he is. Tonight is living proof.

Giggly and tipsy yourself, you slither behind her as she drags you over to him in the ill-lit nightclub and file this under just another one of you and her’s unruly escapades despite the fact that you’ve never done anything like this before. Thinking about nothing past the present.

Twin bitches. Twin bitches. Twin bitches hoppin off a jetskiiiiiiiiiiiii.

Roman, just as intoxicated, bends his neck down so Eden’s mouth meets his ear as Travis Scott’s ‘Topia Twins’ blares through the crowded building. 

The tone of her ‘let’s get outta here’ is suggestive, but even more so considering the fact that you two are hand in hand and you're looking up at him with those watery doe eyes of yours. He’s almost positive he’s picking up what she’s putting down, but to confirm his hunch, he cautiously glances once more at his girlfriend and she responds to it with a wordless, coy smile.

The fluorescent halls of The Bellagio are a blur as you three walk to the door of their suite, you and her in a fit of nonsensical laughter at a joke cracked on the drive over fifteen minutes ago. The beeping of the key card precedes the swing of the door open before you blindly usher in and drop all your belongings onto the room’s wooden coffee table.

A flick of one switch out of many reveals a spacious and sleek suite before engulfing the room in dim but warm light. The floor to ceiling windows provide an omniscient view of the concrete jungle of downtown Houston’s horizon as building lights illuminate the city in vertical constellations in the dark backdrop of the night.

Everyone is in the middle of peeling off of their outermost layers and throwing them onto a heap on the bedroom carpet when a small gasp is sucked out of Eden’s lungs. She glares at the phone in her hand, “shit. It’s the Uber driver. He’s said he’s circling back. I left my I.D in his car.” She snatches her skirt off the ground and quickly squeezes back into it, “okay. Um. Get comfortable, I’ll be back in ten.”

You pause slipping the spaghetti straps off your shoulder and look between her and Roman.

“—We can wait.”

“—Lemme go get it.”

She slips into her sandals and picks up the key card as she rushes towards the door, “it’s just ten minutes, get comfortable. Just… no kissing and don’t get started started without me.”

When she slips out the door, you turn back around and suddenly feel trapped in the lions den once you spot him seated on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. At the same time, realization sinks in; tonight marks the first time you’ll be intimate with a man other than Nasir in years. A milestone that’ll belong to Roman of all people very soon.

Lowly, “c’mere.”

You hesitate, glancing behind your shoulder at the door Eden left out before looking back at him.

He smirks like he can read your mind, “you scared?”

“We can… wait.”

“You gon stare at me for ten minutes?”

You blink at the prospect and roll your lips into your mouth. That is silly. She did encourage you to get comfortable before she left. Break the ice, perhaps. Once you muster up the courage, you slip out of your cheetah print kitten heels and prowl towards him, taking the hand he holds out for you when you’re close enough and patting on his lap with his other hand as a cue for you to straddle.

When you once again pause to look at the door as if this a boundary you aren’t meant to cross, Roman lightly tugs on your hand to gravitate your eyes back to his. “We’re just following her instructions.”

You nod, exhaling a nervous breath and climbing onto his lap on the foot of the mattress. In the blink of an eye, he slinks his hand between your bodies to grip the hemline of his tee and pull it off his torso. It’s in that moment that you take a minute to, for the first time ever, mull over how strikingly handsome he is. You’ve never looked at him in that light before, but it’s undeniable in this moment as he slips his hands underneath your dress and runs them along the warm skin of your outer thighs. 

“Why’re you so tense?”

“Huh?”

“You’re tense, Tati. As fuck.”

“Oh uh. Sorry.”

His hands sneaks past your thighs as the supple of your ass spills past the gaps of his spread fingers, each knead drenching the gusset of your thong in the arousal from your radiating core until your hips start slowly following the motion over his growing bulge. 

As under the influence as he may be, he has an inkling that doing this with you out of all people isn’t the greatest idea in the world. He knows how he feels, and how long he’s felt that way. But selfishly, he’s always wanted to know what you were like. What you feel like. What you taste like.

Nasir never deserved you. Never. He’s half a man. Roman doesn’t know the full extent of the abuse, Eden would always keep the harrowing details to herself, but from what he has heard and seen himself, he knows you’re just something that happened to fall into the lap of a hungry wolf feeding off the light in your eyes. Hell, a couple of times he and Nasir got into small scuffles over unrelated matters far less trivial that showed your ex’s a bitch that cowers under the weight of men his own size. It’d get real sticky if Roman ever found out what he was doing to you behind the privacy of closed doors.

Eyes closed at the warmth traveling from your core and spreading throughout your body at the sensation of his erection pressing perfectly against your clit, you’re taken by surprise when you feel his mouth at your throat right under your ear. He sucks little red marks onto the sensitive skin until you’re whimpering and then pulls the fabric of your dress down so the supple swells of your chest spill out for his eyes to eat.

His name is a whisper that melts into a sensual moan as he takes one into his mouth and gropes the other one. His free hand at your ass pulls your thong into a fist, tightening the pressure of the fabric against your clit. You feel him everywhere and your pussy’s making a mess.

When Eden returns, positions are assumed. He lies down on his back with her sat on his face, your warm tongue lathering his dick up from tip to base before slowly taking him to the back of throat. 

He’s big. You aren't above admitting you salivated a little when he finally stripped down for you see bare. Veiny. Thick. Big enough to guarantee a hell of a great night. Gripping his base, you suction your cheeks around him as you bob until he’s groaning into Eden. And when you finally let up and revert to running your tongue on the underside of his throbbing length as you knead his balls, he suddenly requests a switch of position.

Eden straddles and slowly slides him inside her, her hands on his lower abdomen as she rides his dick. A few inches north, you’re straddling his chest with your body faced towards her. 

You bite your bottom lip as he licks and kisses, taking your swollen pearl into his mouth and applying gentle pressures with the tip of his tongue. He pulls your hips back onto his face when the intensity changes and you try to inch away from the pleasure, followed by a sharp smack against your ass. You mewl and coo as he eats you out within an inch of your life, your wet pussy drooling all over his mouth and beard. 

Once he makes you and Eden come at the same time, she unmounts him and lies on the bed to catch her breath— only crawling over to the edge of the bed when he stands between your legs as he sheaths himself in a condom.

One of his hands pushes one of your legs to your chest, and one of hers pushing your other reminds you of her presence. You close your eyes and lie your head onto the bed as he slaps his dick against your pulsating clit, sparing Eden one last glance before he’s pushing at your entrance. 

He stares at your parted mouth with a similar expression as he stretches your tight pussy out, a few experimental thrusts of his hips warming you up. It takes a little while for you to get accustom to him, but when you do, you’re gasping and inching away from the overwhelming sparks of pleasure running through you.

He tightens his grip on the legs pushed against your chest and tugs you closer to the edge of the bed to keep you still, his thrusts making your pussy drool all over his cock despite the resistant hand that flies up to his abdomen, “that feels so good, doesn’t it? Talk to me.”

“Yes. S…so good. Oh.”

You look so pretty. You always do, but especially right now. He has half a mind to stop and take the rubber off just to make it that much better for you but as much as he’s loosing sight of the fact that his girlfriend is still present, he’s still has a light grip on reality.

You’re creaming on him. All over him. You can’t help it. Each thrust of his big dick inside you presses so deliciously against your tight walls, you can’t help it. You cry out for him and you don’t know why, “Roman.”

It becomes biological. Primal. Prey and predator.

The only sounds audible in the suite are the wet squelch of sodden skin, his grunts, and your desperate cries as he nails you to the mattress. Your arousal drips past your pussy and flows down your ass, staining the duvet underneath.

Eden, growing slightly uneasy at something she can’t put a name on just yet, pipes up, “okay wait baby, slow down.”

Her hand moves from the back of your leg to his forearm, but you interpret that as a simple cue for him to take it easy on you and that’s the last thing you want so you shake your head and shakily speak, “n-no. It’s okay.”

His voice is low and provocative as he looks down at you through hooded eyes, “don’t want me to stop hm? Wanna come all over daddy’s big dick don’t you? Say it.”

He tugs on your hand and places his mouth over three fingers, slowly sucking on them for lubrication before placing them at your clit. You get the message and start rubbing yourself in tight circles as he stuffs you full and whine, “please don’t stop. It feels so good.” 

He fucks you like that for a long while. For so long, until your eyes are rolling back and you’re squirting in light spurts with every press of his hips, your head thrown back.

You go to turn your head to check in with your friend after the minute of reprieve he gives you, but he’s slowly pressing his big cock deep inside your creamy pussy again and it renders your effort useless. You moan and grope at your supple breasts, whining when his dick catches and massages your little sweet spot. “Oh.”

“There she is. This is my pussy now.”

Neither of you two register the implication of the words he just let slip, you’re too aroused to. He’s fucking you too good to. You just mewl and take the mind-numbing pleasure coursing through your veins.

Eden, on the other hand, registers it perfectly— and it’s sobering. Her brows lightly tipped inward, she blinks twice before looking between the two of you and slightly sitting up. 

His mouth at your ankle, he grunts as your creamy pussy winds tighter and tighter around his dick in no time. He presses into you slowly. Passionately. Until he’s not thrusting at all, just pasting his hips against yours and grinding it in an up-and-down motion. 

You don’t know what to do with yourself. Your fingers grip at the sheets and look up him with a pained expression, speechless despite your dropped jaw.

He nods with exaggerated, mock compassion as the bedsprings creak. “I know. I k-know. Fuck. Give it to me. You’re right there.”

He’s so big. Everywhere. His arms. His thighs. His chest. His dick. He’s all consuming. Engulfing. Despite it, you recognize how tender he’s become with the way he’s fucking you. It’s intimate in a way it probably shouldn’t, but it feels too good and you’re way too close to intervene.

When you can’t take it anymore, you slightly nod your head to silently communicate to him that you’re coming as you wrap your legs at his back and pull his cock deeper into your wet pussy. Your head cranes back into the bed, your back forming an arch as an intense, slow, long orgasm rips through you. 

In between your sweet cries of ecstasy, he leans forward onto you, his gyrating hips stimulating your clit as his fat cock presses at your g-spot— elongating it further. “Mhmm. Taking all that dick. M’so proud of you. Fuck, love this tight little pussy.”

Eden gets up, “actually, stop.”

Roman keeps working you through your orgasm, his eyes following her off the bed. Trance broken, “what?”

“I changed my mind cause… no. Just stop.”

Floating down from your high, you look up at her from underneath him. Airy, “huh…?”

He slowly slips out of you when he registers her serious expression, his balls pulsating and nerves still on edge from his missed orgasm. 

She looks at you, her tone clipped. “Get up. Get dressed and go to your suite.”

Roman’s brow’s furrow, “Eden.”

“I said get up.”

You rise off the bed and blink, slinking your undergarments back on as they do too. Her agitation feels like a cool bucket of water to the face. It’s sobering. Clearly, she’s upset. You can’t pinpoint at exactly what because your mind is too muddled from the best orgasm you’ve ever had, but the bottom line is that your friend is upset and you had a hand in it. That’s not a good feeling.

Roman pulls his boxers up to his waist and watches you slip your dress back on. He looks at Eden, “baby, relax. Why’re you acting like that?”

She didn’t like that at all. If she’s honest, you two looked too acquainted. It looked too natural. She could feel the chemistry and it made her feel like an outsider. The shit he was saying was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. Absolutely fucking not. But she’s too aggravated to communicate that at the moment so she spits out the unpacked version of the truth, “I changed my mind. I’m not comfortable with it anymore. I want her out.”

Upset with the way she’s going about it, he goes to argue with her, but you know her. There’s no conflict resolution with her when she’s in the heat of the moment, so you roll the spaghetti straps of your dress up your arms and decide it’d be better to give her the night to cool down and discuss what happened tomorrow. You slide into your kitten heels as she crosses her arms at her chest, “it’s okay. I’ll go, it’s no issue. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you in the morning, E.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, she starts to tear up. 

Roman, as lost as ever, gets closer. “Eden…?”

“That’s my pussy? I love this pussy? What the hell is the matter with you Roman?”

He blinks when the realization that that’s what must’ve upset her dawns on him. He just got so enthralled in you that he stopped trying to control his mouth, “baby. That’s just sex talk.”

It could just be sex talk, but that paired with what she saw? What she felt? It’s not just anything and she can’t be convinced otherwise. Her nose flares, “have you two fucked before?”

His heart starts racing, “are you serious?”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“No. We’ve never fucked before. I’ve never cheated on you, Eden. What the fuck?”

She stares at him for a second before snatching the remainder of her clothes off the floor, her voice cracking. “I’m going to the other bedroom. Don’t follow me.”

He watches her leave and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, sighing. A hand runs through his hair. 

He’s never seen her this upset before. Shit, maybe he did take it too far. He just couldn’t help himself. It’s you. Who knows if he’ll ever get the opportunity to have you like that? He couldn’t pass it up. He’d regret it for the rest of his life if he did. He loves Eden, and despite the fact that your existence make it difficult to be in love with her, he cares about her deeply. You’ve just plagued him his head and his heart for so long.

Now that he’s had a taste of you, he’s more conflicted than he’s ever been.

.

Your head is throbbing.

That’s the first thing you notice when you peel your eyes open in your Bellagio suite.

Light spills in through the gaps of the lace curtains and bathes you in its warmth as you groan and stretch underneath the duvet, which leads you to your next discovery. Your thighs, too, are sore.

The reminder catapults you into last night and sinks your stomach. You and Eden have never really been at odds in the past. So naturally, her being upset with you is unsettling. In hindsight, last night going left was inevitable. You don’t know what any of you were thinking. You, as her friend, should’ve never been in the mix. Also, there wasn’t enough clear communication about boundaries. Whatever it was that pissed her off, you’re sure it could’ve been avoided if that conversation was had.

Still, that doesn’t make you feel any less horrible about any of it.

And Roman.

Fuck.

You’d be lying if you said you’re not looking at him in a different light. It’s impossible to see the neat version of a piece of paper after it’s been crumpled. Especially since he’s the first man you’ve slept with since Nasir, which is just another reason why it was a terrible idea. You’re still too vulnerable. It wasn’t smart.

You sigh and blindly pat around the bed for your phone, bringing it to your face and unlocking it. 10:11 A.M. She’s usually up at this time. You roll your lips into your mouth and open you and Eden’s conversation on iMessage, typing, deleting, and retyping the perfect message on a loop before you eventually land on the right one.

to EDEN. 🍸 still @ the bellagio. let’s talk before you fly back to L.A tonight please. love you always.

Except when you send it, your usual blue message turns green.

Sent as SMS.

You blink twice and sit up, a fold between your brows. You call her number and you get sent straight to voicemail. You exit out of your messages, go to Instagram, and type in her username.

User not found.

————————————————————————-

Buddy hated when people finished his sentences.

He hated it more than missed shots, more than bad calls, more than the way reporters sometimes asked questions they already had an answer prepared for. He hated the little flash of impatience in people’s eyes when his words caught in his throat. Hated the way some people tried to be helpful by jumping in too soon, like they were saving him from himself.

But you never did.

That was one of the first things he loved about you.

You waited.

Not awkwardly. Not with pity. Not with that careful, uncomfortable silence that made him feel like everyone in the room had suddenly become aware of his mouth.

You simply waited like he had all the time in the world.

The first time it happened around you, the two of you had only been dating for a few weeks. You were sitting across from him at a late dinner after one of his games, your curls pinned up, lip gloss shining under the restaurant lights, one hand wrapped around your glass while you listened to him tell a story about growing up in the Bahamas.

He had been relaxed, smiling, leaning back in the booth with one arm stretched along the seat beside him. Then he got caught on a word.

“My m-m-m—”

He stopped.

You looked at him softly, but you didn’t move.

He tried again. “My m-m—”

His jaw tightened.

He looked down, frustration flickering across his face.

You could tell he wanted to skip the word. Change the sentence. Laugh it off before you could notice. But you had noticed. Not because it bothered you, but because you noticed him. The tiny shift in his shoulders. The way his fingers tapped once against the table. The embarrassment he tried to bury before it reached his eyes.

So you waited.

Buddy took a breath.

“My mama,” he finally said, voice quieter.

You smiled, gentle and warm. “What did your mama say?”

His eyes lifted to yours.

Something softened in him.

Like he had expected you to rush past the moment, but you stayed. Not on the stutter. On him.

He finished the story.

And you listened to every word.

After that, he fell a little harder than he meant to.

But loving you did not make the insecurity disappear.

It still showed up in small ways.

Before interviews, he sometimes got quieter. Before speeches, his hands moved more than usual. If he had to speak in front of a crowd, he practiced under his breath, pacing the room like he was preparing for a game seven.

You never made it a big deal.

You would just sit nearby, doing your makeup or folding clothes or scrolling through your phone, and let him practice. If he asked how it sounded, you gave him honest feedback. If he didn’t, you left it alone.

That was another thing he loved about you.

You knew when to hold him and when to let him keep his pride.

But the night it got bad, he couldn’t hide it.

It was after a charity event.

Buddy had been invited to speak to a group of young athletes about discipline, family, and believing in yourself. It was supposed to be sweet. Meaningful. Something close to his heart. You knew he cared deeply about giving back, especially to kids who reminded him of himself.

He wore a navy suit that fit him perfectly, his chain tucked beneath his shirt, his hair freshly cut. Before the event, he had stood in front of the bathroom mirror at home, practicing his remarks while you sat on the counter swinging your legs.

“You sound good,” you told him.

He looked at you through the mirror. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“You not just saying that because you love me?”

“I love you, but I am still very capable of telling you when you sound a mess.”

That made him laugh, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

“I know that’s right,” he said.

You slid off the counter and walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. Your cheek pressed against his back.

“Buddy.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to be perfect.”

He looked down at your hands resting over his stomach.

“I know.”

But he didn’t say it like he knew.

You kissed his shoulder. “You just have to be you.”

He turned in your arms, looking down at you with a softness that always made your chest ache.

“You always know what to say,” he murmured.

“No,” you said, fixing his collar. “I just know you.”

At the event, everything started fine.

He smiled with the kids. Took pictures. Signed jerseys. Laughed when one boy told him his jump shot was “almost as good” as his. You stood near the side of the room, watching him with pride in your chest.

Then it was time for the speech.

At first, Buddy was steady. His voice filled the room, warm and familiar, his accent wrapping around his words in a way you loved. He talked about being a kid with a dream bigger than his circumstances. He talked about discipline. About family. About how talent meant nothing if you didn’t work when nobody was watching.

The kids listened.

The room was quiet.

Then he got stuck.

It happened on the word “believe.”

“B-b-b—”

His mouth stopped.

His eyes flicked down to the paper in his hand.

You saw the change immediately.

The tension in his jaw. The way his throat moved. The way his hand tightened around the microphone.

He tried again.

“B-b-b—”

A couple of kids shifted in their seats. Not meanly. Just naturally. Someone near the back whispered something. It was small, barely anything, but Buddy heard it.

You knew he did.

His face changed.

Not much. Most people probably wouldn’t have caught it.

But you did.

He forced himself through the word and finished the speech, but the light in him had dimmed. He still smiled afterward. Still shook hands. Still thanked everyone. Still posed for pictures like nothing happened.

But you knew.

The ride home was quiet.

Too quiet.

Buddy drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. The city lights moved across his face in flashes, showing you pieces of him: the tight mouth, the distant eyes, the exhaustion sitting heavy on his shoulders.

You didn’t push at first.

You let the silence breathe.

When you got home, he loosened his tie before the front door was even closed. He slipped off his jacket and tossed it over the couch, then stood in the middle of the living room with his hands on his hips.

You set your purse down gently.

“Baby,” you said.

“I’m good.”

You hated how fast he said it.

“No, you’re not.”

He gave a short laugh with no humor in it. “I said I’m good.”

You crossed your arms. “And I heard you.”

He looked at you then, frustration sparking. “Then why you asking?”

“Because I know you.”

He looked away.

You softened your voice. “Buddy.”

He shook his head, jaw tight. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t do that thing where you look at me like you feel sorry for me.”

Your chest pinched.

“I don’t feel sorry for you.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No,” you said, firmer now. “I don’t.”

He turned away from you, running a hand over his face. “You saw it.”

“I saw you get stuck on a word.”

He laughed bitterly. “That’s one way to say it.”

“That is what happened.”

“Nah.” He pointed toward the door like the event was still outside waiting for him. “What happened was I got up there in front of them kids and sounded like I ain’t know how to talk.”

Your face fell. “Buddy.”

“I hate it,” he said, voice cracking at the edges. “I hate when it happens. I hate when I can feel it coming and I can’t stop it. I hate seeing people’s faces change. I hate when they start waiting for me to finish like I’m making them uncomfortable.”

You took a step closer. “You didn’t make anyone uncomfortable.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know what I saw.”

“And I know what I felt.”

That stopped you.

Because he was right.

You could comfort him, but you could not argue him out of an insecurity he had carried longer than he had known you.

So you nodded slowly.

“Okay,” you said. “Tell me what you felt.”

His shoulders dropped slightly, like he had expected you to fight him.

He looked tired.

“I felt embarrassed,” he admitted. “Like I was a little boy again. Like everybody looking at me and waiting for me to hurry up. I’m a grown man. I play in arenas. I can hit shots with thousands of people screaming, but then one word gets stuck and I feel…” He swallowed. “Small.”

Your heart broke quietly.

Not loudly. Not dramatically.

Just enough to hurt.

You moved closer, careful, giving him room to step away if he wanted. He didn’t.

“You are not small,” you said softly.

His eyes glistened, but he blinked it back fast.

“Don’t just say that.”

“I’m not.”

He shook his head. “You don’t get it.”

“You’re right,” you said. “I don’t know exactly how it feels. I won’t pretend I do. But I know you. And I know that stutter is not bigger than your heart, or your mind, or your voice, or anything you were trying to give those kids tonight.”

He looked down.

You stepped in front of him so he had to see you.

“You think they needed you to sound perfect?” you asked.

He didn’t answer.

“They needed you to be real. And you were.”

His mouth tightened.

You kept going, softer now. “Baby, do you know how many kids in that room probably needed to see someone successful not be perfect? Do you know how many of them might have something they’re insecure about? A voice, a body, a fear, a learning disability, anxiety, anything. And they watched you get stuck, breathe, keep going, and finish anyway.”

His eyes lifted to yours.

“That matters,” you said. “More than perfect ever could.”

He stared at you for a long moment.

Then his voice came out low. “I don’t want you to be embarrassed by me.”

The sentence hit so hard you almost flinched.

“What?”

He looked ashamed the second he said it, but he didn’t take it back.

“I don’t,” he said quietly. “When we out somewhere and it happens, I don’t want you standing there wishing I sounded different.”

Your eyes filled before you could stop them.

“Buddy, no.”

He looked away again, but you reached for his face, gently turning him back to you.

“Look at me.”

He did.

And you let him see everything.

The hurt. The love. The certainty.

“I have never been embarrassed by you,” you said. “Not once. Not for one second.”

His face shifted.

You moved your thumb along his cheek. “When you stutter, I don’t hear weakness. I hear you trying. I hear you choosing to speak anyway. I hear a man who has something to say and deserves the space to say it.”

His eyes shone now.

You smiled a little through your own tears. “And honestly? I love your voice. I love the way you talk. I love your accent. I love when you get excited and start talking fast. I love when you call me baby under your breath. I love when you tell stories and get dramatic with your hands. I love every version of your voice because it belongs to you.”

He exhaled shakily.

“You mean that?”

“Every word.”

He lowered his head, pressing his forehead to yours.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

You just stood there in the living room, his hands slowly finding your waist, your fingers still resting against his face.

Then he whispered, “Sometimes I wish I could just say it right.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Say what right?”

“Anything.”

Your heart squeezed.

“You do say it right,” you whispered. “Because it’s yours. You don’t have to sound like anybody else to be worth listening to.”

His arms tightened around you.

“I love you,” he said.

It caught slightly on the first word.

“L-l-love you.”

He closed his eyes, frustrated.

But you smiled.

Not because it was funny.

Because it was beautiful.

You reached up and kissed him softly. “Say it again.”

His eyes opened.

“What?”

“Say it again.”

He searched your face, unsure.

You nodded. “I want to hear it.”

His throat moved.

“I l-l-love you.”

You kissed him again. “Again.”

This time, a tear slipped down his cheek.

“I love you.”

You smiled against his mouth. “Again.”

A shaky laugh escaped him. “You greedy.”

“Very.”

His hands slid around your back, pulling you closer.

“I love you,” he said again, softer. Stronger.

You cupped his face. “I love you too.”

The kiss that followed was not rushed. It was slow, tender, and full of everything words could not hold. His mouth moved against yours like he was letting himself believe you, piece by piece. Like maybe love could be a place where he didn’t have to outrun embarrassment. Like maybe with you, he could stop bracing for impact.

When you pulled away, you wiped his cheek with your thumb.

“Come here,” you said.

You led him to the couch and sat down first, opening your arms. He gave you a look.

“I’m too big for all that.”

“You are never too big to be held.”

That made his face soften.

He lay down carefully, resting his head in your lap, one arm wrapped around your waist. You ran your fingers through his hair, slow and gentle, feeling the tension leave him little by little.

The TV stayed off.

The house stayed quiet.

After a while, he said, “I almost didn’t wanna do the speech tonight.”

“I know.”

“You knew?”

“You practiced it twelve times and cleaned the kitchen twice.”

He huffed a small laugh. “I was nervous.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t say nothing.”

“Because I figured you didn’t need me pointing at your fear. You needed me nearby.”

He turned his face slightly into your stomach. “You always nearby.”

“Always.”

His hand found yours, fingers lacing together.

“I don’t know why you love me like this,” he murmured.

You looked down at him. “Because you’re easy to love.”

He gave you a doubtful look.

You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t argue with me while your head is in my lap.”

His mouth twitched.

“There he is,” you whispered.

He smiled reluctantly, and you felt like you had won something precious.

A few days later, Buddy received a stack of handwritten letters from kids who had attended the event.

He sat at the kitchen table opening them while you made tea. At first, he read silently. Then he stopped.

You looked over. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then he handed you one of the letters.

The handwriting was messy, uneven, clearly young.

Dear Buddy,

Thank you for talking to us. I get nervous reading out loud at school because sometimes my words mess up. But you kept going, so I think I can too. My mom says brave means doing it scared. I think you are brave.

You read it twice.

When you looked back at Buddy, his eyes were wet.

“See?” you whispered.

He pressed his lips together, trying to hold it in.

You walked around the table and wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind.

“That baby saw you,” you said.

Buddy covered one of your hands with his.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“And they didn’t see something broken.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

“They saw brave.”

He bowed his head.

This time, he let the tears fall.

You kissed the side of his head and held him there in the quiet kitchen, sunlight spreading across the floor, letters scattered across the table like proof.

Proof that his voice mattered.

Proof that perfection was not the same as power.

Proof that the part of himself he had spent years trying to hide might be the very thing that made somebody else feel less alone.

Later that night, as you were getting ready for bed, Buddy leaned against the bathroom doorway watching you tie your scarf.