Bleu

"Give it a second, Hee. You’re being impatient," Jake said, his tone remarkably calm for a guy dealing with someone as sleep-deprived as his best friend. "I just recalculated the shear stress. If we want it to hold a literal city bus, the viscosity needs to be higher at the point of exit. Check the temperature again."

Heeseung sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was exhausted. Not the kind of exhausted you get from staying up late to cram for an exam, but the kind that settled into your bones and stayed there. The kind that came from spending six hours in back-to-back engineering lectures, three hours at the campus library, and then four hours swinging through the soot-stained alleys of the city trying to make sure nobody got mugged on their way home from work.

Being Spider-Man was a full-time job that paid zero dollars and offered zero sleep.

"If I check the temperature one more time, I'm going to throw this beaker at the wall," Heeseung whispered.

"Don't do that. Glass is expensive and I'm not cleaning it up," Jake replied, finally looking up. He leaned back in his swivel chair, his hair a messy nest of brown curls. He looked at Heeseung—really looked at him—and frowned. "You look like a zombie, man. When was the last time you actually closed your eyes for more than twenty minutes?"

"Yesterday? Maybe?" Heeseung leaned back, his spine popping in three different places. "I tried to nap during Fluid Mechanics, but the professor has a voice like a foghorn. It’s impossible."

"You’re going to crash," Jake warned, pointing a pen at him. "And when you crash, you’re going to miss a ledge, and then I’m going to have to explain to your mom why you’re in a full-body cast. I’m not doing that. She scares me."

Heeseung opened his mouth to argue, but his phone buzzed on the metal table. The vibration was loud in the quiet lab, a sharp zzzt-zzzt that made him jump. His reflexes were so keyed up that his hand shot out and grabbed the device before the screen even fully lit up.

It was a notification from the group chat, named something completely ridiculous, because Sunoo was the one who insisted on naming it.

Heeseung’s heart did a weird, fluttering skip when he saw your name. He swiped the screen open, the brightness of the display making him wince.

It was a photo. A grainy, flash-brightened picture of a massive, glistening plate of chili cheese fries. In the background, he could see the tacky neon signs of the 24-hour diner near the edge of campus.

Your face was partially in the frame, tucked next to Sunoo’s, both of you grinning like idiots. He thought he saw Yunjin somewhere in the back, too, but his eyes were fixed on you.

You looked vibrant—your hair a little messy, your cheeks flushed from the cold night air, and your eyes sparkling with that bright shine that always seemed to draw people toward you.

Heeseung stared at the photo. He stared at the way you were laughing, the way your hand was reaching for a fry, and he felt a sharp, familiar ache in his chest. It wasn't his Spider-sense warning; it was just plain, old-fashioned pining.

He wanted to be there. He wanted to be sitting in that cramped booth, arguing with Sunoo about music or listening to Ni-ki complain about basketball practice. Most of all, he wanted to be near you. He wanted to hear your voice without a police scanner crackling in the background.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He started to type: Save some for me?

Then he paused. He looked down at his hands—his knuckles were bruised from a fight with a car thief two nights ago, and his fingernails had traces of black grease under them. He looked at the red and blue suit stuffed into the bottom of his backpack, hidden under a pile of dirty laundry and a copy of Thermodynamics for Dummies.

He couldn't go. He was a junior engineering student with a secret identity and a lab report due. He was the guy who was always too busy, too tired, or just plain gone.

"She looks cute in that photo, doesn't she?"

Heeseung flinched, nearly dropping his phone. Jake was leaning over his shoulder, a knowing grin on his face.

"Shut up," Heeseung muttered, quickly locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket.

"I didn't say who 'she' was, but you clearly knew," Jake teased, sliding back into his seat. "Just text her, Hee. Tell her you’re coming. Take a thirty-minute break. The web-fluid isn't going anywhere."

"I can't," Heeseung said, his voice flat. "I have too much to do. And besides… she's… she's her. Look at that photo. She’s friends with everyone. She’s pretty, she’s nice, she’s literally the campus sweetheart. And I’m just the guy who falls asleep in the back of the room and smells like chemicals."

"You smell like nice laundry detergent and existential dread, actually," Jake corrected. "And she likes you, man. She always asks where you are when you don't show up to the hangouts. Sunoo says she mentioned you three times yesterday."

Heeseung’s heart gave another annoying thud. "She was probably just wondering if I died. It’s a valid concern."

"She thinks you’re mysterious. Use it to your advantage."

"I'm not mysterious, Jake. I'm a mess." Heeseung looked back at the beaker of soup. "I’m a guy who spends his nights hanging off the side of a skyscraper because I have an overactive sense of responsibility. I can't take her to a diner. It took me three weeks to tell her my last name because I was so worried that some guy in a mask was going to follow her home."

Jake’s expression softened. He reached over and clapped Heeseung on the shoulder. "You’re doing a good thing, Hee. But you’re allowed to be a person, too. You’re allowed to want the fries."

Heeseung looked at his phone again. He imagined walking into the diner. He imagined the way you’d look up, your face lighting up when you saw him. You’d probably slide over to make room for him in the booth, your shoulder brushing against his, smelling like that sweet, flowery perfume you always wore.

He was just about to reach for his phone again when the silence of the lab was shattered.

A small, black box on the workbench—the police scanner Heeseung had modified to pick up local precinct frequencies—erupted into a burst of static.

"All units, we have a code 3. High-speed pursuit in progress. Suspects in a black SUV heading north on Mapo Bridge. Shots fired. Repeat, shots fired."

The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. The warmth of the diner photo, the longing, the simple desire for a plate of fries—it all vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. Heeseung’s posture straightened. His eyes went from tired to laser-focused in a matter of seconds.

Jake cursed under his breath, turning back to his laptop to pull up the city’s traffic cam feed. "That’s heading right toward the residential district. If they don't stop them at the bridge, things are going to get messy."

Heeseung didn't say a word. He stood up, grabbing his backpack from the floor. He didn't look like a shy engineering student anymore. He looked like someone who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and didn't have time to complain about it.

"Viscosity is still low," Heeseung said, his voice tight. "But it’ll have to do." He reached into his bag and pulled out the mask. The fabric was soft, but it felt heavy in his hands—a reminder of everything he had to give up every time he put it on.

He moved to the shadows at the back of the lab, where the security cameras had a blind spot he’d mapped out months ago. He stripped off his oversized hoodie and jeans, the cool air hitting his skin. He pulled on the suit, the tight fabric clinging to his frame like a second skin. It was damp in a few spots from his earlier patrol—he really needed to wash it—but he didn't have time to care.

He thought about you. He thought about the diner. He thought about the fries.

Then he pulled the mask over his head.

The world turned red and digital. The heads-up display flickered to life, highlighting the fastest route to Mapo Bridge. The HUD also showed a lingering notification in the corner of his vision—a small icon representing the group chat message he hadn't replied to.

Heeseung swiped the notification away with a flick of his wrist.

"Save me some caffeine for when I get back," Heeseung said, his voice now filtered through the suit’s vocoder, sounding deeper and more confident than he felt.

"I’ll have the lab results ready by the time you're done," Jake replied, already typing again. "Try not to get shot. It’s bad for the suit’s aesthetic. Also, blood is really fucking hard to get out of spandex."

Heeseung didn't respond. He moved to the window at the back of the lab—the one he’d loosened the latch on weeks ago. He slid it open, the cold Seoul air rushing in, whipping against his masked face. He climbed onto the ledge, looking out over the city.

The lights of the skyline stretched out before him, a sea of neon and glass. Somewhere out there, you were laughing in a diner. Somewhere else, people were in danger.

Heeseung took a breath, checked his web-shooters, and dived into the night.

The fries would have to wait. The city wouldn't.

The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall felt like they were vibrating. It was 9:00 AM on a Friday, and Heeseung was pretty sure he was vibrating, too—partly from the four shots of espresso Jake had practically force-fed him ten minutes ago, and partly from the sheer, bone-deep exhaustion of having spent the last five hours chasing a stolen SUV through the narrow backstreets of Mapo.

He sat in the very last row, slumped so low in his seat that his chin was almost touching the scarred wood of the desk. He had his hoodie pulled up, the fabric shielding his face from the harsh glare of the overhead lights.

His eyes were bloodshot, the whites of them crisscrossed with tiny red veins that throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Every time he blinked, it felt like someone was dragging sandpaper across his corneas. Not pleasant.

He didn't look like a hero. He looked like a guy who had spent the night fighting a losing battle with his bedsheets.

His knuckles were still stinging, tucked safely into the pockets of his sweatshirt. He’d taken a nasty hit to the ribs during the chase—one of the suspects had a literal crowbar—and every breath he took felt like a dull knife scraping against his lungs.

Sure, he healed faster than most, but there was only so much that he could do. But the SUV was in a ditch, the suspects were in zip-ties, and the police had recovered three crates of stolen tech.

A win. Theoretically.

But as Heeseung stared down at the blank pages of his notebook, his brain felt like it was made of wet cotton. The professor, a man who seemed to take personal offense at the concept of joy, was droning on about structural integrity and load-bearing beams.

It was ironic, really. Heeseung spent a lot of his life now thinking about structural integrity—mostly while swinging off of it—but right now, he couldn't even remember how to spell the word 'load.'

He shifted slightly, trying to find a position that didn't make his side ache, and his gaze drifted downward, scanning the sea of heads in the lecture hall.

The room was packed. It was one of those massive, stadium-style halls where everyone looked like a tiny speck from the back. But Heeseung’s eyes found you instantly.

It was like his brain had a specialized tracking system just for you. No matter how many people were in a room, no matter how loud the noise or how dim the light, his focus always snapped to you. You were sitting three rows down, tucked into the middle of a row next to Sunoo.

Even from this distance, you looked like you belonged in a different world than him. You were leaning forward, your chin resting in the palm of your hand, looking perfectly awake and attentive. And pretty. So pretty. You wore a soft, cream-colored sweater that made you look warm and approachable, the kind of person people instinctively wanted to stand near.

Next to you, Sunoo was busy doodling in the margins of his notebook, his soft hair catching the light. He looked bored out of his mind, but every few seconds, he’d lean over and whisper something in your ear, making you let out a small, silent laugh that made Heeseung’s chest tighten.

Heeseung watched the way your shoulders shook slightly when you laughed. He watched the way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He felt a familiar, dull ache in his throat. This was his routine. He watched from the shadows, a silent observer in a life he wasn't quite sure he was allowed to join.

He was so busy staring—so busy memorizing the curve of your neck and the way you tilted your head—that he didn't realize Sunoo had looked up.

Sunoo’s eyes scanned the back of the room, squinting against the light, until they landed on Heeseung. A huge, mischievous grin broke across his face. He didn't care about the professor’s lecture on tension or the fifty other students between them. He raised a hand high in the air, waving enthusiastically at Heeseung.

Heeseung froze. He wanted to melt into the floor. He wanted to vanish into the vents and crawl back to the lab. He didn't want to be perceived—not like this, not when he looked like he’d been dragged behind a bus.

Sunoo nudged you, pointing toward the back row.

You turned around.

The air seemed to leave the room. Heeseung stopped breathing entirely. For a second, he forgot about his bruised ribs, his ruined sleep schedule, and the lingering smell of exhaust on his hoodie. He just saw you.

Your eyes locked onto his, and for a heartbeat, your expression was one of pure surprise. Then, your gaze softened. You took in the dark circles under his eyes, the messy state of his hair, and the way he was practically hiding in his oversized clothes.

Instead of turning back around, you gave him a small, sympathetic smile. It wasn't the courteous smile he saw you give everyone else. It was softer. Kinder. It was the kind of look that said, I see you, and you look like you're having a really hard time.

Heeseung felt a jolt go through his body. It was his Spider-sense this time, but it was wrong. It was malfunctioning. There was no danger in the room, no ceiling about to collapse, no hidden villain in the front row. But his skin was prickling, his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, and his stomach felt like it had dropped into his shoes.

He couldn't look away. He felt like he was caught in a spotlight. You crinkled your nose at him—a tiny, playful gesture—before turning back to the front of the room, leaving him breathless and reeling.

He was so dazed that when his phone started vibrating against his thigh, he almost jumped out of his skin. He fumbled for it, his hands clumsy and trembling, nearly knocking his notebook off the desk. He caught the phone just before it hit the floor, his heart racing.

He ducked his head, hiding behind the person in front of him, and checked the screen.

It was a text from Jake.

Heeseung blinked, his face flushing a deep, hot red. He risked a glance to his left. Jake was sitting five seats away, pretending to take notes, but he had a tiny, smug smirk on his face. He didn't even look up, just tapped his pen against his desk in a rhythmic, mocking beat.

Heeseung looked back at his phone, his thumbs hovering over the screen.

Heeseung’s hand flew to his forehead, rubbing frantically at his skin. He felt like a total idiot. He was a superhero. He fought criminals. He saved lives. And here he was, getting bullied by his best friend over a girl who had done nothing but smile at him.

He looked down at you again. You were back to taking notes, your head bowed. Sunoo was back to doodling.

Heeseung let out a long, shaky breath, leaning his head back against the wall. The exhaustion was starting to win again. The adrenaline of the smile was fading, leaving him feeling heavy and hollow.

He closed his eyes for just a second. Just one second.

The professor’s voice became a distant hum. The scratching of pens on paper sounded like rain. Heeseung drifted, his mind floating somewhere between the Mapo Bridge and the diner from the night before. He imagined you sitting next to him, handing him a fry, telling him it was okay to be tired.

Zzzt-zzzt.

He snapped awake, his head jerking forward. He had no idea how much time had passed—five minutes? Ten? The lecture was still going. The room hadn't changed.

He checked his phone again.

Heeseung stared at the message. You haven't seen him in forever. You wanted him there. You were asking for him.

He felt the familiar tug-of-war in his chest. One side of him—the tired, lonely side—wanted to say yes immediately. He wanted to sit on a floor in a crowded dorm room, surrounded by his friends, and just exist. He wanted to be near you without a mask on.

But the other side—the side that currently had a bruised rib and a police scanner in his bag—was already calculating the risks. Tonight was Friday. Friday nights were busy. Crime didn't take a night off just because some college juniors wanted to have a mixer. If he went, he’d be distracted. He’d be checking the time every five minutes.

He’d be a ghost at the party, just like he was a ghost on campus.

He looked at your message again. He could almost hear your voice saying it—that bubbly, sweet tone that made even a text message feel like a hug.

He started to type. I’ll try to be there.

Then he deleted it.

I have a lot of work to do. Maybe next time.

He deleted that, too.

It was a non-committal, cowardly answer. It was the best he could do.

He put the phone away and tried to focus on the lecture. Something about trusses. Something about equilibrium. He looked at the back of your head, the way your hair bounced slightly as you wrote.

He felt like he was walking a tightrope. On one side was the life he wanted—the life where he was just Heeseung, the guy who liked you. On the other side was the life he had—the life where he was a secret, a symbol, a protector.

He didn't know how much longer he could stay in the middle.

The lecture finally ended with a sharp, dismissive comment from the professor. The room erupted into the chaotic sound of zipper-closings and chair-shuffling. Heeseung stayed put, waiting for the crowd to thin out. He didn't want to get caught in the rush. He didn't want to have to talk to anyone.

But Sunoo had other plans.

From three rows down, Sunoo stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and started climbing over seats toward the back. You were right behind him, moving a bit more gracefully, navigating the narrow aisles with ease.

Heeseung’s heart started that annoying hammering again. He scrambled to pack his things, stuffing his notebook into his bag with trembling hands. He accidentally knocked his pen onto the floor and had to dive under the desk to retrieve it.

When he sat back up, Sunoo was standing right in front of him, leaning against the desk with a grin that was far too bright for this early in the morning.

"Heeseungie! You survived!" Sunoo chirped, poking Heeseung’s shoulder. "You look terrible. Like, really, truly awful. Did you get hit by a truck?"

"Rough night," Heeseung muttered, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself. He kept his head down, focusing on the zipper of his bag. "Just a lot of studying."

"Studying? You're always studying," Sunoo scoffed. "You’re an engineer, not a monk. You need to live a little."

"I live plenty," Heeseung said, finally looking up—and immediately regretting it.

You were standing right behind Sunoo. Up close, the kindness in your eyes was even more overwhelming. You were looking at him with genuine concern, your head tilted slightly to the side.

"Are you okay, Heeseung?" you asked, your voice soft and steady. "Sunoo’s right, you look exhausted. You’re not getting sick, are you?"

"No," Heeseung said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, trying to sound like a normal human being. "No, I'm fine. Just... didn't sleep much. Projects and stuff."

"Well, you should come tonight," you said, stepping a little closer. Heeseung could smell your perfume now—something light and sweet, like cherries. It was a dizzying contrast to the smell of burnt rubber that was still clinging to his skin. "Yunjin and Megan missed you at the diner last night. We all did."

We all did. Heeseung felt like he was melting. "I... I'll try. I have a lab report due, but maybe I can finish it early."

"Don't let Jake help you," Sunoo joked, glancing over at Jake, who was finally standing up from his seat. "He’ll just talk about physics until your ears bleed."

"Hey, I heard that!" Jake called out, walking over to join the group. He looked perfectly fine, of course. He hadn't been the one chasing SUVs. He’d just been the guy in the chair. "And for the record, physics is fascinating."

"It's nerd talk," Sunoo countered.

While they were bickering, you stayed focused on Heeseung. You reached out, your fingers lightly touching his forearm for just a second. The contact felt like a lightning strike. Heeseung almost flinched, his muscles tensing under your touch.

"Seriously, Heeseung," you whispered, so the others wouldn't hear. "Take some rest. You look like you're carrying the whole world on your shoulders."

Well, you hadn't been too far off.

Heeseung looked into your eyes, and for a terrifying moment, he thought you knew. He thought you could see right through the hoodie, right through the lie, and see the red and blue suit hidden in his bag.

But you just smiled—that sweet, soft smile that made everyone love you—and gave his arm a tiny squeeze before letting go.

"See you tonight?" you asked.

"Yeah," Heeseung said, the word leaving his lips before he could stop it. "Yeah. See you tonight."

You beamed at him, then turned to Sunoo. "Come on, Sunoo, we’re going to be late for our elective."

"Damn, already? Bye, Heeseung! Bye, Jake the Nerd!" Sunoo waved over his shoulder as the two of you headed toward the exit.

Heeseung stood there, frozen, watching you walk away. He watched the way you navigated the crowded hall, waving to a few other people, clearly the person everyone wanted to talk to.

"You're so whipped," Jake said, leaning against the desk next to him.

"I'm not whipped," Heeseung muttered, though his face was still burning.

"You literally just promised to go to a party after spending all night getting beaten up by car thieves. You can barely stand, Hee. How are you going to survive a party?"

Heeseung slung his bag over his shoulder, the weight of the suit shifting against his back. He felt the ache in his ribs, the sting in his knuckles, and the fog in his brain.

"I'm... not," he said.

"What do you mean?" Jake asked him, tilting his head.

Heeseung looked toward the door where you had disappeared.

"I panicked," he admitted. "I can't go. I have patrol. Plus, I think I'm falling behind in some of my classes."

He walked out of the hall, his heart still doing that strange, fluttering dance. He was exhausted, he was hurting, and he was a mess. He hated that he lied to you, that he got your hopes up. If he could even call it that. Heeseung wasn't sure you actually cared about him. You were polite like that... it didn't mean anything.

He just hoped the city would stay quiet for one night. He just wanted that for a few hours, where he could be Heeseung, and not the guy in the mask.

But as he walked down the stairs, he felt a familiar prickle at the base of his neck. It was faint—barely there—but it was a reminder.

The city never stayed quiet for long. And he was the only one who could hear the noise.

The night air was sharp, biting through the thin spandex of the suit as Heeseung perched on the cold steel of a suspension cable. Below him, the Han River looked like a sheet of black glass, reflecting the neon hum of the city. Usually, the height was where he felt most at home—away from the crowded hallways and the crushing weight of his engineering textbooks—but tonight, his mind was miles away.

Specifically, it was stuck in a dorm room on the other side of campus.

He checked his suit’s internal clock. 11:45 PM. By now, Soobin’s mixer was in full swing. He could almost hear the muffled bass of the music through the walls, smell the cheap snacks, and see you laughing in the middle of a circle of people.

He imagined you looking at the door every time it opened, wondering if he was finally going to show up. Or maybe you weren't. Maybe you had already forgotten the stuttered "yeah" he’d given you in the lecture hall.

He let out a long, foggy breath that clouded his eye lenses for a second.

"You’re brooding again, Hee. I can hear the dramatic pouting through the comms."

Jake’s voice crackled in his ear, sounding far too crisp and awake. Heeseung could hear the faint click-clack of a keyboard in the background. Jake was likely sitting in their shared dorm, surrounded by three different monitors and at least two empty ramen cups.

"I’m not brooding. I’m patrolling," Heeseung muttered, shifting his weight. His ribs still throbbed—a dull, rhythmic reminder of the crowbar from the night before—but the adrenaline of being in the suit usually acted as a decent enough numbing agent.

"Patrolling is just brooding with more gymnastics," Jake countered. "Why are you even out there? I told you the police scanners have been dead for an hour. Go to the party. Go see the girl. Live a little before you turn into a literal gargoyle."

"I told her I had a lab report," Heeseung lied, even though Jake knew better.

"No, you told me you had a lab report. You told her you’d see. Which, in girl-code, means you’re coming. If you don't show up, you’re just the guy who flaked."

Heeseung winced. "I can't just... walk in there, Jake. Look at me. I’m exhausted. I’ve got a bruise the size of a dinner plate on my side. I wouldn't even know what to say to her. Spider-Man can talk to anyone, but Heeseung? Heeseung can barely order a coffee without tripping over his own feet."

"That’s the secret, man. You’re the same guy. The mask just gives you an excuse to stop overthinking. Just pretend you’re wearing the suit under your clothes. Big, hero energy. You got this."

"You were invited, too. Why don't you go? You don't have to be here, y'know. Go live your life."

Jake paused for a moment before responding, "Solidarity, dude." Heeseung cracked a smile at that. There were times he felt that his best friend was too kind to him, and this was one of them.

"I'm hanging up now," Heeseung said.

"Fine. But don't come crying to me when Sunoo texts me saying you missed the best party of the semester. Be safe, Spidey."

The comms went dead with a soft beep. Heeseung sighed, standing up on the cable. He looked toward the campus buildings in the distance. He really should just go home. He should sleep. He should be the responsible student his parents thought he was.

But his feet didn't move toward the dorms. He shot a line of webbing toward the underside of the campus bridge, swinging out into the open air. The wind rushed past him, tugging at the suit, and for a few seconds, the heavy thoughts in his head felt a little lighter.

He was just finishing a sweep of the perimeter near the south entrance when his Spider-sense gave a tiny, almost imperceptible prickle. It wasn't the "get out of the way of a speeding bullet" kind of warning. It was more of a "pay attention" nudge.

He stuck to the side of a brick pillar under the bridge, his gloved fingers clinging to the rough surface. He looked down.

There was someone walking on the pedestrian path above.

Even from the shadows, he knew it was you. You were walking alone, your dress a bright spot against the dark pavement. You looked a little tired, your shoulders slumped, but you were still smiling as you looked down at your phone. You were probably texting the group chat, telling them you’d made it out of the party and were headed back to your dorm.

Heeseung felt that familiar, painful tug in his chest. You were so close. If he just climbed up, if he just took off the mask...

But he stayed still, hidden in the dark. He watched you walk, a silent guardian who couldn't even say hello.

You were halfway across the bridge when you stumbled. It was a small thing—your foot caught on an uneven piece of concrete—but it was enough to make you lurch forward. Your phone, which you’d been holding loosely in your hand, slipped from your fingers.

He watched it happen in slow motion. The phone hit the ground, bounced once, and started sliding toward the gap between the bridge floor and the railing.

"Well, fuck," Heeseung murmured.

You gasped, lunging for it, but your fingers missed the glass by an inch. The phone slid through the gap, vanishing over the edge.

Heeseung didn't even think. He didn't have time to.

He let go of the pillar, dropping into a freefall. He shot a web at the underside of the bridge to swing himself upward, his body arching through the air. He saw the phone—a small, silver rectangle tumbling through the darkness toward the rocky bank of the river.

He tucked his knees to his chest, spinning once to gain momentum, and reached out. His fingers closed around the cool metal of the phone just a few feet above the ground.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, he shot another web toward the bridge’s support beam, using the tension to slow his descent. He landed silently on the pavement directly in front of you, his boots hitting the concrete with a soft thud.

He stood up slowly, the phone held safely in his hand.

You were frozen, your eyes wide, your hands still hovering in the air where you’d tried to catch the device. You looked like a deer caught in headlights—breathless, shocked, and incredibly pretty. The moonlight hit your face just right, and for a second, Heeseung forgot he was supposed to be a mysterious hero. He just wanted to stare at you.

But then he remembered. He was wearing the mask. He wasn't the guy who stuttered in the back of the lecture hall. He was Spider-Man.

He stepped forward, the white lenses of his mask narrowing as he looked at you. He felt a strange, intoxicating rush of confidence. It was like Jake said—the mask was an excuse.

"Looking for this?" he asked.

His voice was different when he was in the suit. It was steady, tilted with a bit of a playful edge that he could never manage as Heeseung. He held the phone out to you, the screen still glowing with a half-finished text message to Sunoo.

You blinked, finally coming back to your senses. Your face went from pale shock to a deep burning within seconds.

"Oh my god," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. "You... you caught it. How did you... I didn't even see you."

"I have a habit of being in the right place at the right time," he said, stepping even closer. He was well within your personal space now, close enough to smell the faint scent of cherries on your skin. It made his head spin. "You should be more careful, sweetheart. Gravity is a clingy boyfriend. It’ll take everything you give it."

You let out a small, breathless laugh, reaching out to take the phone. Your fingers brushed against his gloved hand—a tiny, electric spark that made Heeseung want to jump out of his skin. But he didn't move. He held his ground, watching you tuck the phone into your pocket.

"Thank you," you said, looking up at him. You were still blushing, your eyes searching the blank white lenses of his mask. "I would have been so dead. All my photos, my notes... everything was on there."

"Can't have that," Heeseung said. He leaned one hand against the railing of the bridge, posing slightly. It was a total Spider-Man move—arrogant, smooth, and completely unlike him. "A girl like you shouldn't be walking home alone this late anyway. It’s dangerous."

"A girl like me?" you teased, finding your voice again. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, a gesture he’d seen you do a thousand times in class. "And what kind of girl is that?"

The kind I’ve been staring at for six months, he thought. The kind who smells like cherries and makes me forget my own name.

"The kind who’s too distracted by her phone to see a superhero swinging by," he said instead. "The kind who probably had a long night at a party she didn't want to leave."

You looked surprised. "How did you know I was at a party?"

"Lucky guess. You look like you’ve been dancing. Or at least trying to avoid being danced on."

You laughed again, a bright, genuine sound that filled the quiet night. "You're not wrong. It was a bit much. My friend Soobin throws loud mixers."

Heeseung felt a pang of jealousy. He was talking to you. He was actually having a conversation with you, and he wasn't fumbling his words. You were looking at him with admiration, with interest. You liked this version of him.

"Well," he said, pushing off the railing. He knew he couldn't stay too long. The more he talked, the more likely he was to slip up. "Since I’m already here, I might as well make sure you get to your door in one piece. Wouldn't want gravity to try anything else tonight."

"Are you offering to walk me home?" you asked, a mix of curiosity and something else in your eyes. "Is that part of the superhero service?"

"Special occasion," he said.

He didn't walk with you, exactly. He hopped up onto the railing, crouching there like a bird, moving along the edge as you walked on the pavement. It was a show-off move, and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted you to keep looking at him.

"So," you said, looking up at him as you walked. "Do you do this often? Save phones from certain death?"

"Only for pretty girls," he said. The words came out so easily it almost scared him. "The guys usually have to buy their own replacements."

You flushed again, ducking your head. "You're a flirt, Mr. Spider-Man. I didn't expect that."

"I've been told I have a certain charm," he said. "Though usually, I’m just told to be quiet and stop webbing up the police cars."

The walk to your dorm felt far too short. Usually, the trek across campus felt like a marathon when Heeseung was carrying his heavy engineering bag, but tonight, he wanted the bridge to stretch on forever. He listened to you talk—really talk. You told him about how you were tired of school, how you missed your family, and how you had this one friend who was always disappearing.

"Heeseung," you said, the name hitting him like a physical blow. "He’s an engineering major. Super smart, but he’s like a ghost. He said he’d come tonight, but he flaked. Again."

Heeseung felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He looked away, staring out at the dark trees lining the path. "Maybe he’s just busy. Engineering is hard."

"I know it is," you said softly. "I just... I worry about him. He looks so tired all the time. Like he’s carrying a lot of weight."

Heeseung turned back to you. You were looking at him, but he knew you were thinking about him—the other him. The messy, tired version.

"He’s lucky to have someone like you worrying about him," he said, his voice dropping a bit.

You smiled, a sad, sweet little thing. "I hope so. Anyway, this is me."

You stopped in front of your dorm building. The lobby lights were bright, casting a long shadow behind you. You turned to face him, your hands tucked into your sweater sleeves.

"Thank you again. For the phone. And the walk."

"Anytime," Heeseung said. He stayed on the railing, looking down at you. He wanted to reach out. He wanted to tell you that he was right there. He wanted to tell you he was sorry for flaking.

But he just gave you a two-finger salute. "Sleep well, sweetheart. And stay away from the edges."

He shot a web at the top of the building and swung away before you could say anything else. He didn't look back until he was three roofs away.

He landed on a ledge, ripping the mask off his face. His skin was cold, but his cheeks were burning. He leaned his head against the brick wall, his heart racing.

He loved it. He loved the way you looked at him. He loved the way you laughed at his jokes. He loved being the guy who could make you blush.

And he hated it.

He hated that he had to hide behind a mask to get you to notice him. He hated that he was jealous of his own shadow. He hated that the version of him you liked wasn't the version that had to sit next to you in class and pretend he didn't care.

"How was the walk?" Jake’s voice came through the comms. He’d clearly been listening.

"Shut up," Heeseung said, his voice cracking.

"You called her sweetheart, Hee. That was bold. A little cheesy, but bold."

"I'm going home, Jake."

"Yeah, yeah. See you at the dorm, lover boy."

Heeseung stuffed the mask into his bag and started the long walk back. He felt like a fraud. He felt like a hero. But mostly, he just felt like a guy who was falling deeper and deeper into a hole he didn't know how to climb out of.

He looked up at your window as he passed your building. The light was on.

He wondered if you were thinking about the hero. He wondered if you were still mad at the guy.

He didn't have the answer. He just had a bruised rib and a secret that was getting heavier with every swing. He walked into the shadows of his own dorm, the ghost returning to his grave, while the hero stayed tucked away in a backpack, waiting for the next time gravity tried to take something precious away.

The gym was a cavern of echoes, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a basketball competing with the squeak of sneakers against the polished wood. Heeseung sat on the bleachers, shoulders hunched, feeling like he was vibrating out of his skin. He was only here because Jake had insisted he needed "human interaction" that didn't involve soldering irons or police scanners, but as usual, Heeseung felt more like a ghost than a person.

"You look like you’re waiting for a root canal," Yunjin said, nudging his shoulder.

Heeseung blinked, shaking himself out of his trance. Yunjin was sitting next to him, her eyes glued to the court where Soobin, her boyfriend, was currently setting up a three-pointer. She looked perfectly comfortable, her legs crossed, a relaxed smile on her face.

"I’m just tired," Heeseung muttered, pulling the strings of his hoodie until the fabric partially obscured his face. It was his default defense mechanism.

"You’re always tired, Hee. It’s your brand," she teased, but her attention quickly snapped back to the game as Soobin made the shot. She let out a loud whistle that echoed through the high-ceilinged room. "Nice one, babe!"

Heeseung looked down at the court. It was a heated game of pickup. Soobin was holding his own, and Jay—always the most charismatic and driven of the bunch—was leading the flow with a bold, effortless energy that Heeseung secretly envied. Then there was Riki.

Riki was a sophomore, like you. Even though he was a year younger than the rest of the group, he moved like a blur of sheer, terrifying talent. He played with a professional level of focus, his eyes sharp as he navigated the court.

Heeseung watched them move, his brain unconsciously tracking their trajectories, calculating the force needed for a jump. It was an engineering habit, but also a survival one. He knew exactly how fast Jay was going to pivot before he even did it.

"Nice hustle, Riki!" Jay called out, clapping his hands together. He wiped sweat from his forehead, looking like he could go for another three hours. Jay didn't do anything halfway; if he was playing a casual game, he was playing it like it was the finals. "Riki, you’re dropping your shoulder on the drive. Keep it square!"

Riki rolled his eyes, leaning over with his hands on his knees. "I'm not dropping my shoulder, Jay. I'm just dying of thirst. I forgot my water bottle in the dorm and my throat feels like a desert."

"Determination, Riki! Push through it!" Jay joked, though he was grinning.

Riki checked his phone, which was sitting on the sidelines. A small, knowing grin touched his face. "It's fine. I texted for reinforcements."

Heeseung didn't think much of it until the heavy double doors of the gym groaned open. The sound of the basketballs hitting the floor seemed to sync up with the thumping of Heeseung’s heart the moment you walked in.

You weren't dressed up like you were for the mixer. You were wearing jeans and a hoodie, your hair pulled back in a half-up, half-down. You looked casual, comfortable, and devastatingly pretty in the harsh, yellow gym lights. In your hand, you held a large, bright red bottle of Gatorade.

"Reinforcements are here!" you called out, your voice carrying across the court.

Riki’s face lit up. He jogged over to the sideline as you approached. To anyone else, it might have looked like a romantic gesture, but everyone knew the truth. You and Riki had been friends since you were toddlers. Your parents were practically family, and the two of you had grown up like siblings—or even twins, given you were the two sophomores in a group of juniors.

You were each other's safe haven. He was the one person who could text you at 9:00 PM to complain about a water bottle and actually get a response.

"You're a lifesaver," Riki said, snatching the bottle and taking a massive gulp.

"You're a dork," you replied, reaching out to ruffle his sweaty hair, which he dodged with a laugh. "I was right in the middle of a movie, you know. I expect interest on this delivery."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll pay you back in snacks later," he said, already turning back to the guys.

The game didn't start back up immediately. The guys drifted over to the sideline to grab their own drinks, congregating near where you stood. Heeseung stayed on the bleachers, feeling his skin start to prickle. He wanted to say something, to wave, to let you know he was there—but he also felt that familiar, heavy shyness pinning him to the metal bench.

"Hey, look who showed up," Sunoo said, appearing from the other side of the gym where he’d been chatting with some other students. "The hero of the hour."

You laughed, leaning against the padded wall near the court. "I'm just the delivery girl. How's the game going? Is Jay winning by sheer force of personality yet?"

"Always," Soobin said, walking over to press a quick kiss to Yunjin’s cheek as she hopped down from the bleachers to join the group.

Heeseung felt like he was watching a movie he wasn't cast in. He stayed seated, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He watched you interact with them—the way you joked with Soobin, the way you easily matched Jay’s boldness. You were the glue. You always were.

"So," you said, your eyes shining with a sudden, excited energy. "Speaking of heroes, I have to tell you guys something crazy. You’re not going to believe what happened last night after I left Soobin’s."

Heeseung, who had been trying to look at his shoes, felt his entire body go rigid. He knew exactly what you were about to say. He reached for his own water bottle, which was sitting next to him on the aluminum seat, and took a long, desperate swig to keep his mouth from going dry.

"What happened? Did you run into a cat again?" Riki teased, leaning on his knees.

"No!" you said, swatting at his arm. "I dropped my phone. Like, right off the side of the bridge near the dorms. I thought it was gone. I was ready to cry."

"And?" Jay asked, crossing his arms, looking genuinely curious.

"And Spider-Man caught it," you said, your voice going a little higher in pitch. "I’m serious! He literally dropped out of the sky, caught it mid-air, and landed right in front of me."

Heeseung’s throat suddenly decided to stop functioning. He tried to swallow the water he’d just taken in, but it went down the wrong pipe. He erupted into a violent, hacking cough, his face turning a shade of red that rivaled the Gatorade you’d brought.

"Whoa, Hee, you okay?" Jake asked, looking up at him with a suspicious, knowing glint in his eyes.

Heeseung wanted to sock him in the jaw, but he couldn't answer. He just kept coughing, clutching his chest, while Yunjin patted his back with a little too much force. "Geez, breathe, Heeseung. The water isn't going anywhere."

Once the coughing fit subsided into a pathetic wheeze, Heeseung wiped his eyes and tried to look normal. It was impossible.

"You were saying?" Jay prompted you, completely ignoring Heeseung’s near-death experience. (Heeseung was grateful for this.)

"He was so... I don't know, charming?" you continued, your cheeks flushing. "He didn't just give it back and leave. He actually talked to me. He was so witty and cool. He even walked me to my dorm building. Well, he swung along the railings while I walked, but still. He was so smooth."

Heeseung felt a strange, conflicting surge of emotions. Half of him—the Spider-Man half—was incredibly proud. He’d done that. He was the charming guy you were gushing about. The other half—the Heeseung half—felt like he was being stabbed in the heart with a dull pencil. You were blushing over a version of him that didn't even have a face.

"Smooth, huh?" Jay said with a chuckle, bouncing the basketball once. He wasn't being mean, just his usual audacious, skeptical self. "The guy wears spandex and crawls on walls. He’s probably some theater major in a unitard who likes the attention. It's a bit theatrical, don't you think? The whole 'mysterious hero' act?"

Heeseung’s eye twitched. A theater major? He spent ten hours a week doing differential equations and another twenty recalibrating web-fluid viscosity in a basement that smelled like ozone.

"It's not an act, Jay," you defended, your voice firm. "He saved my phone. He didn't have to do that. And he was really nice. It felt... I don't know, real."

"It's a mask," Riki added, taking another sip of Gatorade. "Anyone can be 'smooth' when nobody knows what they actually look like. He's probably a forty-year-old dude with a receding hairline."

"He is not!" you exclaimed, laughing. "He sounded young. And he was... I don't know, athletic? Obviously."

Heeseung wanted to scream. He wanted to stand up, rip off his hoodie, and show them the bruise on his ribs. He wanted to tell Jay that a "unitard" didn't have reinforced carbon-fiber padding. But he just sat there, looking every bit as depressed as he felt. As one would feel after hacking their lungs out in front of their long-time crush.

"I think he's cool," Sunoo chimed in, always the one to support a good story. "He makes the city feel more like a movie. I’d love to meet him."

"You just want a selfie for your Instagram, Sunoo," Soobin pointed out.

"And? It would get, like, a million likes."

You turned away from the guys then, your gaze drifting up toward the bleachers. You saw Heeseung sitting there, looking small and rumpled. Your expression softened, and you walked over to the base of the bleachers.

"Heeseung," you said, your voice much gentler than it had been when you were arguing with Jay. "You’ve lived here longer than some of us. Have you ever seen him up close? Spider-Man, I mean?"

The group fell quiet, all eyes turning toward Heeseung. Jake had his arms crossed, watching Heeseung with a look of pure, unadulterated amusement. He was enjoying this way too much.

Heeseung felt the weight of everyone’s gaze. He felt your eyes—so bright and curious—waiting for his answer. He felt like he was suffocating.

"I... uh," he started, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "No. Not really. I mean, I've seen him on the news. In the distance, maybe."

"You don't think he's cool?" you asked, noticing his lack of enthusiasm. The disappointment in your voice makes him want to throw himself off the Lotte World Tower. Without his web-shooters.

Heeseung felt a petty, irrational urge to defend his civilian self. If you liked the hero so much, maybe you should know that the hero wasn't all that special.

"I don't know," Heeseung said, shrugging with a forced nonchalance. "I think he's probably... mid. Like, he’s just a guy doing his job, right? It’s kind of a lot of work for not much reward. And the suit is probably really itchy."

The silence that followed was heavy.

You looked at Heeseung like he’d just grown a second head. Your eyebrows shot up, and your mouth hung open just a tiny bit. "Mid? Heeseung, he saves people! He caught my phone from like a fifty-foot drop!"

"Yeah, but... he could’ve just used a net or something," Heeseung said, digging his own grave. "The swinging looks dangerous. It’s statistically inefficient."

Oh, God. A net? Really?

"Statistically inefficient?" you repeated, shaking your head. "You are such an engineer, Heeseung. Honestly, sometimes I think you don't have a romantic bone in your body."

You turned back to the guys, clearly done with Heeseung’s "mid" take. "Ignore him. He’s just being a hater because he’d rather be looking at a blueprint than a hero."

"Hey, I'm not a hater," Heeseung protested, but it was too late. The guys were already moving back toward the court.

"Back to the game!" Soobin yelled.

You stayed on the sideline for a few more minutes, chatting with Yunjin. Heeseung watched you from the bleachers, his heart feeling like it was being squeezed by a giant, invisible hand. He’d done it. He’d successfully annoyed you. You were currently thinking he was a boring, uninspired buzzkill, all while you were harboring a crush on his alter-ego.

Jake caught his eye from across the court and mouthed the word: Mid?

Heeseung flipped him off under the cover of his hoodie.

As the game resumed, the gym filled with the sounds of squeaking sneakers and the heavy thud-thud-thud of the ball. Heeseung tried to focus on the game, but his mind was spinning.

He was his own worst enemy. He was competing with a version of himself that didn't exist in the daylight. He was jealous of a piece of fabric and a pair of white lenses.

When the game finally ended an hour later, the guys were exhausted. They collapsed on the sidelines, panting. You were still there, helping Riki pack up his bag, still talking about the bridge incident to anyone who would listen.

"I'm telling you, his voice was so familiar," you said to Yunjin as you both walked toward the exit. "But I can't place it. It was like... I've heard it a million times but in a different context."

Heeseung, who was walking a few paces behind you with Jake, felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

"Maybe you should ask him for his number next time," Yunjin joked.

"I should," you laughed. "I wonder if he has a phone. Or does he just use a tin can and a web?"

The two of you disappeared out the doors, your laughter fading into the night air.

Heeseung stopped in the middle of the parking lot, staring at his shoes. The cool night air felt good against his skin, but it didn't help the knot in his stomach.

"You really leaned into that hater angle, didn't you?" Jake said, bumping his shoulder.

"I didn't know what else to say," Heeseung admitted, his voice quiet. "I can't exactly agree with her, can I? 'Yeah, I'm super charming and my voice is amazing.' That would be even weirder."

"You could’ve just said he was okay. You didn't have to call yourself 'mid'. That's a blow to the ego, man."

"It's the truth," Heeseung sighed. "Heeseung is mid. Spider-Man is the one she wants."

"She’s talking to you in class, Hee. She’s bringing Gatorade to your friends. She’s worried about your sleep schedule. She doesn't even know Spider-Man’s real name."

"Exactly," Heeseung said. "She likes the mystery. If she knew it was just me... the guy who chokes on water and talks about statistics... she’d be disappointed."

Jake looked at him for a long moment, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "I think you're wrong. I think she'd be relieved. But you're too stubborn to see it."

"Whatever. I'm going to the lab," Heeseung said, turning away.

"It's 11:00 PM!"

"The web-fluid won't recalibrate itself, Jake."

Heeseung walked away, his shadow stretching long and dark behind him. He looked at the silhouette on the pavement—the tall, lean shape of a boy in a hoodie. It looked nothing like the hero on the news. It looked like a ghost.

As he reached the lab, he didn't turn on the lights. He sat in the dark, surrounded by the smell of acetone and chemicals. He pulled the mask out of his bag, the white lenses staring back at him in the moonlight.

"Charming," he whispered to the empty room. "Smooth."

He threw the mask onto the workbench and put his head in his hands. He was winning the war against crime, but he was losing the war for your heart—and the worst part was, he was losing it to himself.

He stayed there for hours, the only sound the distant hum of the city he was sworn to protect. He thought about your smile, the way you’d defended him against Jay, and the way you’d looked at him on the bleachers.

He wanted to be the hero. But more than that, he just wanted to be the guy you didn't think was mid.

And right now, that felt like the hardest mission he’d ever faced.

The university basketball arena was a different beast than the quiet, echoey gym where the guys played pickup games. Tonight was a legitimate campus event, and the energy was electric. The air was thick with the smell of overpriced popcorn, floor wax, and the collective roar of a thousand students who had nothing better to do on a Tuesday night than scream themselves hoarse.

Heeseung sat in the middle of a packed row of bleachers, and he was currently losing a very difficult battle with his own eyelids.

He had been out until 4:00 AM. A group of specialized thieves had tried to break into a high-end tech warehouse near the docks, and Heeseung had spent most of the night playing a high-stakes game of hide-and-seek among shipping containers. By the time he’d webbed the last guy to a crane and made it back to his dorm, the sun was already threatening to peek over the horizon.

He’d had exactly two hours of sleep before his first lecture, and the three cups of coffee he’d downed since then were currently doing absolutely nothing.

On his left sat you. You were wearing a university hoodie that looked slightly too big for you, and you were cheering with an intensity that made Heeseung’s head throb in a rhythmic, dull way. On his right were Yunjin and Megan, who were currently busy taking selfies and trying to spot Soobin and Jay on the court.

"Look at them! Jay is actually terrifying when he’s in the zone," Megan shouted over the noise, pointing toward the court.

Jay was indeed in the zone. He was moving with that signature bold, charismatic style, barking plays at the rest of the team. Riki, the star sophomore, was weaving through defenders like they were standing still, and Soobin was a literal wall under the basket. Jake was darting around the perimeter, his eyes sharp, looking for an opening.

It was a great game. A thrilling game.

And Heeseung was about five seconds away from passing out.

The roar of the crowd started to sound like a distant ocean. The bright, flickering lights of the scoreboard blurred into a singular, warm glow. Heeseung felt his chin drop toward his chest. He snapped his head back up, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on the orange blur of the basketball.

Stay awake. Stay awake. You’re in public. You’re with her. Don’t be weird, he told himself.

But his body was done. Every muscle ached from the dockyard fight, and the warmth of the crowded arena was like a heavy blanket. His head started to nod again. It was a slow, rhythmic movement. Down... up. Down... further down...

He didn't mean for it to happen. He didn't even realize it was happening. But as his consciousness finally slipped away, his head tipped to the left. It drifted through the air until it found a soft, steady place to land.

Your shoulder.

You froze. You had been in the middle of shouting something to Yunjin, but the words died in your throat the moment you felt the weight of Heeseung’s head press against you. You looked down, your eyes wide. You sat perfectly still, your back as straight as a board. Your face was very warm.

You didn't move an inch, terrified that any slight shift would wake him up. You could feel the weight of his head, the softness of his hair against your skin, and the warmth of his breath through your shirt. It was the most domestic, heart-stopping moment of your life, and you were currently being broadcasted to the entire friend group.

Heeseung was out cold. His breathing was deep and even, his face finally relaxed and free of the stressed engineer expression he usually wore. Without the glasses and the constant look of worry, he looked... peaceful. Vulnerable.

Yunjin noticed almost immediately. She nudged Megan, pointing at the two of you with a mischievous grin.

"Oh my god," Megan whispered, fumbling for her phone. "Look at the sleepy little guy. He finally crashed."

"Don't," you hissed, though you didn't move an inch. You were terrified that if you even breathed too deeply, he’d wake up and realize what he was doing, and the resulting awkwardness would probably cause him to flee the state.

"I have to," Megan said, her thumbs flying across her screen as she opened the group chat. "The guys need to see this. Heeseung actually chose a person over a nap in the library. This is historic."

Sunoo, who was sitting in the row directly in front of you, turned around with a devious glint in his eyes. He saw Heeseung slumped against you and let out a tiny, delighted giggle.

"Is he dead?" Sunoo asked, reaching out a finger.

"Sunoo, stop it," you whispered, trying to sound stern.

But Sunoo was Sunoo. He leaned over and very gently poked Heeseung’s cheek. Heeseung didn't even flinch. He just let out a tiny, soft sigh and tucked his face a little closer into the crook of your neck, seeking the warmth.

"He's definitely dead," Sunoo concluded. "Or he’s just really, really comfortable. Look at his face. He looks like a kitten."

Megan snapped a picture—the flash was off, thank goodness—and sent it to the group chat with the caption: rip heeseung. he’s never living this shit down!

You felt your face heating up. You could feel the warmth of his skin through your hoodie. It was a strange sensation—having him so close. Usually, there was a visible three-foot radius of complete secrecy around Heeseung, but right now, that wall was completely gone.

You felt a sudden, sharp surge of protectiveness. You knew how hard he worked. You saw the dark circles under his eyes in class, the way he was always the last one to leave the lab, and the way he seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his back. You didn't know why he was so tired—you just knew that he deserved this rest.

"Leave him alone," you said to Sunoo, who was reaching out for a second poke. "If any of you wake him up, I will personally make sure you don't get any of the snacks I brought."

Sunoo pouted but retracted his hand. "Fine. But if he drools on you, don't say I didn't warn you."

You looked down at him again. His eyelashes were long and dark against his skin. You noticed a small, faint scratch on his jawline that you hadn't seen before. You wondered how he got it. He was always getting these random little nicks and bruises—clumsiness, he called it.

You leaned your head back against the bleacher, trying to stay as still as possible. The game continued below you. Riki made a spectacular dunk that sent the crowd into a frenzy, but you didn't jump. You didn't even cheer. You just sat there, smiling like an idiot, leaning into his touch.

It was a strange feeling. You were still thinking about the bridge—about the hero who had saved your phone and walked you home. He had been so smooth, so confident. And yet, here was Heeseung, who was the complete opposite. Heeseung was quiet, awkward, and currently using you as a warm pillow.

And yet, you found yourself wanting to tell the whole world to be quiet. You wanted the announcers to stop talking, the cheerleaders to stop dancing, and the crowd to stop roaring, just so he could get another twenty minutes of rest.

You found yourself shifting just a tiny bit, making sure he was as comfortable as he could be. You didn't care about the game anymore. You didn't care about the group chat or the fact that Megan was probably recording a video of the two of you right now.

You just cared about the way his breathing hitched for a second before smoothing out again.

Then, the buzzer for halftime went off.

It wasn't just a buzzer. It was a sharp, loud, electronic blare that seemed to vibrate through the very marrow of your bones. It was designed to be heard over ten thousand screaming fans, and in the relatively enclosed space of the arena, it sounded like a bomb going off.

Heeseung didn't just wake up. He launched into consciousness.

His Spider-sense, which had been blissfully dormant while his brain tried to recover, suddenly screamed DANGER at the sudden, violent noise. To his sleeping brain, the buzzer sounded like a building collapsing or an explosion in the dockyards.

His body reacted before his conscious mind even realized where he was.

He jerked upright with such force that he nearly knocked you over. His eyes snapped open, wide and bloodshot, and his hands instinctively flew to his wrists, his fingers twitching in the specific motion used to fire a web-string.

"Who? What? Where?" he barked, his voice loud, jagged, and full of a combat-ready adrenaline that absolutely did not belong in a college basketball arena.

He scrambled backward, his sneakers squeaking against the metal bleachers as he tried to create distance from the "threat." He nearly tumbled over the row behind him, his heart hammering against his ribs so hard he was sure everyone could see his hoodie vibrating.

He looked around wildly. He didn't see a villain. He didn't see a falling crane.

He saw the court. He saw the cheerleaders starting their halftime routine. He saw a thousand students looking confused.

And he saw Sunoo, who was currently doubled over, clutching his stomach as he laughed so hard no sound was coming out.

"Oh my god," Megan wheezed, holding her phone up. "I got the whole thing. I got the jump-scare of the century."

Heeseung’s brain finally started to catch up with his body. The red mist of adrenaline began to clear, replaced by a cold, crushing wave of realization. He felt the phantom weight of your shoulder where his head had been just seconds ago.

He turned his head slowly, his neck feeling stiff and heavy.

There you were.

You were looking at him with a mix of genuine concern and a tiny, suppressed smile. Your shoulder felt suddenly very cold and empty, and you were still slightly tilted from the force of his sudden departure.

"Good morning, Sunshine," you said softly, your voice a calm anchor in the sea of his panic.

Heeseung stared at you. He felt like he was hovering about three inches off the ground. He looked down at his shirt, his hands trembling as he smoothed out the fabric.

"I... did I..." he stammered, his face rapidly turning a shade of red that was probably visible from the moon. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—was I leaning on you?"

"For about twenty minutes," you said, tucking a loose hair behind your ear. "You looked like you needed it. You were out like a light."

"Twenty minutes?" Heeseung whispered, horrified. He checked his chin, his hand frantically searching for any sign of drool. He had visions of a giant, embarrassing wet spot on your hoodie. He imagined the group chat. He imagined moving to a different country and changing his name to something like 'Evan'.

"You didn't drool, Heeseung. Relax," you said, noticing his panic.

"I... I'm so sorry," he repeated, his voice barely audible over the music playing on the loudspeakers. "I didn't sleep much. I was... studying. Late."

"Must have been some intense studying," you said. "You jumped like someone had just pulled a fire alarm."

"I have a startle response," he lied, his heart finally starting to slow down. "Engineering stress. It’s a real thing."

"Sure it is," Sunoo chimed in, finally catching his breath. "Riki is going to lose his mind. He didn't think you were capable of physical contact with anyone other than a calculator."

"Sunoo, don't you dare," Heeseung groaned, burying his face in his hands.

But it was too late. On the court below, the halftime break had started, and the guys were heading toward the bench. He saw Riki grab his phone from his bag, look at it, and then immediately whip his head around to stare up at the bleachers.

Riki caught Heeseung’s eye and gave him a massive, theatrical thumbs-up, grinning like a maniac. Jay, standing next to him, looked at the screen, looked up at Heeseung, and just shook his head with a smile. And then there was Jake, with his eyes wide, like he was doing a double take. Right before launching into a fit of laughter, grabbing Soobin’s shoulder as to not topple over.

Heeseung wanted to vanish. He wanted to turn into dust and be swept up by the janitorial staff.

"They're never going to let me live this down," he muttered into his palms.

"It's just a nap, Heeseung," you said, reaching out and gently patting his arm. The touch was brief, but it sent a jolt of electricity through him that was stronger than any buzzer. "It's not a big deal. Honestly, it was kind of nice to see you actually relax for once."

Heeseung looked at you through the gaps in his fingers. You didn't look annoyed. You didn't look creeped out. You looked... happy?

"You're not mad?" he asked.

"Why would I be mad? You're a good pillow," you joked.

Heeseung let his hands fall, his face still glowing pink. He looked down at the court, where Jake was now waving at him mockingly.

"I'm still going to kill Megan for taking that video," he said, though there was no heat in it.

"Good luck! I’ve already uploaded it to the cloud," Megan said, not looking up from her phone. "You’re a viral sensation in our circle now, Hee. Embrace it."

The rest of the game was a blur for Heeseung, but for a completely different reason. He wasn't sleepy anymore. He was hyper-aware of everything. He was aware of the inch of space between his arm and yours. He was aware of the way you smelled like cherries and laundry detergent. He was aware of the fact that for twenty minutes, he had been closer to you than he had ever been to anyone in his life—without a mask on.

As the final buzzer sounded—which Heeseung handled much better this time, only flinching slightly—the crowd began to pour out of the stands.

"We're going to meet the guys at the diner," Yunjin said, standing up. "You guys coming?"

"I think I should go back and actually sleep in a bed," Heeseung said, his voice a bit more stable now. "I don't think my heart can take another halftime buzzer."

"I'll walk with you," you said, surprising him. "I'm a bit tired too. All that cheering is exhausting."

Heeseung’s heart did a little flip. "You don't have to. You should go eat with the others."

"I want to," you said, and there was a finality in your tone that he didn't dare argue with.

The walk back to the dorms was quiet. The campus was cool, the air smelling of damp leaves and distant woodsmoke. For the first time, Heeseung didn't feel the need to fill the silence with technical facts or stammered apologies.

"Seriously though," you said as you reached the fork in the path where you had to head toward your building. "Get some sleep, Heeseung. You're working too hard."

"I'll try," he said. "Thanks for... you know. The shoulder."

"Anytime," you said, giving him a small wave. "See you in the lecture hall tomorrow? Try not to fall asleep on the professor’s shoulder."

"I'll do my best," he promised, face heating up.

He watched you walk away, the same way he had on the bridge. But this time, he wasn't crouching on a railing. He was standing on his own two feet.

He felt a strange sense of victory. Spider-Man had saved your phone, sure. Spider-Man had been charming. But Spider-Man had never felt the warmth of your shoulder or the way you had protected his sleep.

Maybe being Heeseung wasn't so "mid" after all.

He walked back to his dorm with a slight spring in his step, oblivious to the fact that his phone was currently vibrating in his pocket with a relentless stream of messages from the group chat.

He didn't care about the photos. He didn't care about the jokes.

He just cared about the fact that for twenty minutes, he didn't have to be a hero. He just had to be a guy who was tired, and you had been there to catch him.

He reached his door, unlocked it, and collapsed onto his bed without even taking off his shoes. As he drifted back off to sleep—this time a real, deep sleep—his last thought wasn't about web-fluid or crime rates.

It was about the way you had called him 'Sunshine'.

The night was quiet, but the air against Heeseung’s face was anything but calm. He was currently crouched on the side of a brick chimney three stories up, his gloved fingers finding purchase in the mortar. Below him, the university campus was a map of orange streetlights and long, dark shadows.

It had been nearly two weeks since the basketball game—two weeks since he had practically catapulted off your shoulder in a state of sheer panic—and the memory still made his stomach do a weird, uncomfortable flip every time he saw you in the lecture hall.

He hadn't been sleeping much (which wasn't new). Between the mountain of engineering projects and the fact that a group of carjackers had decided to make the north side of the city their personal playground, Heeseung was running on fumes and caffeine. But tonight, his... patrol had taken a very specific, very intentional detour.

He shot a line of webbing toward the roof of your dorm building, swinging through the crisp night air with a practiced ease. He landed silently on a ledge just above the fourth floor. He knew which window was yours. He’d "accidentally" seen it from the ground enough times to memorize the position.

He crawled down the brickwork, moving like a shadow, until he was perched just to the side of the glass. He stayed in the darkness, the white lenses of his mask narrowing as he looked inside.

This was not creepy, by the way. He was not being creepy. He was just a guy checking on his... friend. Or something like that.

The room was bright and warm, a stark contrast to the biting cold of the rooftop. You were sitting at your desk, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks and highlighters. Your hair was up in a messy bun that looked like it was held together by sheer willpower and a single pencil. You were wearing fuzzy, light blue pajamas—the kind with little clouds on them—and thick wool socks.

Heeseung felt that familiar tug in his chest. You looked so normal. So safe.

But you weren't alone.

The door to your room was open, and he could see Yunjin and Megan in the common area, their shadows dancing against the wall. Suddenly, the two of them burst into your room, music blaring from a phone. They were laughing, doing some synchronized TikTok dance that involved a lot of arm-waving and rhythmic jumping.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as they circled your desk, trying to get you to join in. Even from behind the glass, Heeseung could tell you were fighting a smile. You swatted at them with a highlighter, pointing toward your open textbook, but they just laughed harder.

Heeseung watched for a long time. He felt like a voyeur, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. This was the part of your life he never got to see—the messy, loud, roommate-filled reality of being a student. In the lecture hall, everything was academic and structured. At the mixers, it was crowded and overwhelming.

But here, in the glow of your desk lamp, you were just... you.

Finally, after one last dramatic pose that nearly knocked over your lamp, Yunjin and Megan retreated. He heard the muffled sound of your door closing as they headed out to the kitchen or down the hall.

The room went quiet. You let out a long sigh, rubbing your eyes before leaning back into your chair.

Heeseung waited a beat. Then, he reached out and gave the glass three soft, rhythmic taps.

Tink. Tink. Tink.

You jumped, nearly falling out of your swivel chair. You spun around, eyes wide, staring at the dark window. For a second, you looked terrified, but then you saw the faint outline of the mask and the flash of red and blue.

Your face transformed instantly. The exhaustion seemed to vanish, replaced by a bright, genuine light that Heeseung could feel even through the glass. You scrambled toward the window, fumbling with the latch before sliding the frame up.

"You!" you breathed, the cool night air rushing into the room. "What on earth are you doing here? I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"And leave my favorite phone-dropper behind?" Heeseung asked, his voice tilting into that smooth, playful edge he only had when the mask was on. "Not a chance."

He hopped onto the windowsill, crouching there with his knees tucked to his chest. He looked around the room, making sure the coast was clear. "Are your roommates gone? They seemed pretty busy with... whatever that was."

You flushed, leaning against the window frame. "You saw that? God, they’re obsessed with that dance. I’m trying to pass my classes, and they’re trying to go viral."

"It wasn't bad," he teased, his head tilting to the side. "Though I think you could’ve handled the footwork better."

"I wasn't even doing it!" you laughed, throwing a stray eraser at him. He caught it out of the air without even looking, tossing it back onto your desk. "What are you doing here anyway? Isn't there, like, a bank being robbed somewhere?"

"It’s a slow day," he shrugged. It wasn't every day that the city was this quiet, and maybe he should've been at home, using this time to rest up—but it seemed like he could never say no to the idea of you. "Besides, I figured I’d check in. See if you’ve managed to keep your phone in your pocket for more than forty-eight hours."

"I have, thank you very much," you said, crossing your arms.

His lenses scanned you up and down, settling on the fluffy blue fabric of your outfit. "Nice pajamas, by the way. Are those... clouds? Is there a matching hat, or is that reserved for special occasions?"

You looked down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious, and smoothed out the fuzzy fabric. "They're comfortable! It’s cold in this building, and I have a lot of studying to do. Don't judge my fashion choices, Mr. Spandex."

"Hey, this isn't spandex," he countered, leaning closer into the room. "It's a highly sophisticated tri-weave polymer. Very high-tech. Very serious. Not at all like fuzzy clouds."

"It looks like you're wearing a unitard," you teased, echoing Jay's words from two weeks ago.

Heeseung flinched internally. "A unitard? Ouch. That’s a low blow. I’ll have you know this suit is aerodynamic. It helps with the swinging. Fuzzy clouds, on the other hand, probably create a lot of drag."

"Well, I'm not planning on swinging anywhere tonight, so I think I'm safe," you said. You looked at him, your expression softening. You reached out, your hand hovering near the edge of the windowsill. "You look tired. I mean, I can't see your eyes, but your shoulders... you look like you haven't slept in a week."

Heeseung felt a jolt of panic. Was it that obvious? Was his Heeseung side leaking through the mask?

"Occupational hazard," he said, trying to regain his footing. "The city doesn't sleep, so I don't really get to either. It’s fine. I’ve had plenty of... uh, coffee."

"You sound like a friend of mine," you said, a small, sad smile touching your lips. "He’s an engineer. He works himself to the bone. He actually fell asleep on me during a basketball game last week. I think I've mentioned him before," you hummed.

Heeseung felt the air leave his lungs. He stayed perfectly still, his heart thumping against his ribs. "Uh, yeah. I think you have. Sounds like a real thrill-seeker, this friend of yours."

"He's not," you said softly. "He’s quiet. A bit awkward. He called you 'mid,' actually."

Heeseung let out a dry, forced laugh. "Mid? Wow. Remind me to web his locker shut tomorrow."

"Don't you dare," you said, but you were smiling. "He’s actually really sweet. I think he’s just... lonely. Or maybe he’s just carrying something he won't tell anyone about. I felt really bad for him. He woke up so panicked, like he was expecting a fight."

"Maybe he was just embarrassed," Heeseung suggested, his voice dropping an octave. "Maybe he didn't want the girl he likes to see him at his weakest."

You paused, your eyes searching the white lenses of his mask. "The girl he likes?"

Heeseung realized he’d said too much. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight on the ledge. "I mean... lucky guess. A guy doesn't just fall asleep on someone unless he’s comfortable with them, right?"

"I guess so," you said, though you sounded a bit distracted. You looked back at your desk. "Anyway, I should probably get back to these equations. If I fail this midterm, my parents are going to kill me, and not even a superhero can save me from that."

"Right. Uni work. Nasty stuff," he said. He stayed for a few more minutes, teasing you about the way you chewed on your pencil when you were thinking, and listening to you complain about your professor. It was the easiest conversation he’d had all week. There was no stuttering, no tripping over his feet, no embarrassing himself.

He was smooth. He was the hero. He was the guy you were leaning toward with interest in your eyes.

"I should go," he said finally, standing up on the ledge. "The clouds are calling you, and I have a city to... not rob."

"Wait," you said, reaching out and catching the fabric of his sleeve.

He froze.

"Will you come back?" you asked. "I mean... I know you’re busy. But it’s nice having someone to talk to who doesn't try to make me do TikTok dances."

Heeseung looked down at your hand on his arm. He felt a wave of affection so strong it made his head dizzy. "Yeah. I'll be around. Just keep your window unlocked."

"It's a deal," you said.

He shot a web at the building across the street and leaped into the night. He did a celebratory flip in mid-air, the adrenaline of the conversation buzzing through his veins. He felt invincible. He felt like he was on top of the world.

But as he landed on a nearby rooftop and looked back at your glowing window, the feeling started to change.

He pulled the mask off, the cold wind hitting his sweaty forehead. He leaned against a cooling vent, his chest heaving.

The high was fading, and in its place was a sharp, bitter sting.

He thought about the way your eyes lit up when you saw the mask. He thought about the way you laughed at his jokes and the way you flirted back with Spider-Man.

And then he thought about Heeseung.

Heeseung, the guy who had sat next to you for months and barely managed a "hello." Heeseung, the guy who had finally, by some miracle, ended up with his head on your shoulder—only to ruin the moment by launching himself into the air like a startled cat.

You liked the guy in the mask. You liked the confidence, the wit, and the mystery. You liked the version of him that was a lie.

The version of him that was real—the tired, awkward engineer with the scratched jaw and the inability to talk to his crush like a normal person—was just a boring friend. You felt bad for Heeseung. You felt protective of him. But you looked at Spider-Man like he was something special.

Heeseung looked at the mask in his hand. It was just a piece of fabric, but it was a wall he had built himself. A wall that kept him safe, but also kept him out.

He imagined telling you the truth. He imagined landing on your windowsill and pulling the mask off. He saw the look of shock on your face—and then, he imagined the disappointment. The realization that the charming hero was just the guy who drooled in his sleep.

"She doesn't like you, Heeseung," he whispered to the night air. "She likes the suit."

He felt a sudden, irrational flash of jealousy toward his own alter-ego. He wanted to rip the suit to shreds. He wanted to be the guy who made you laugh without needing a voice changer or a hidden identity.

But he wasn't that guy. He was just a boy who was too afraid to be himself, competing with a shadow that he could never beat.

He put the mask back on, but the magic was gone. The suit felt heavy. That stupid fucking polymer weave felt like lead.

He turned away from your window and started the swing back to his dorm. He would see you tomorrow in class. He might sit next to you, and if he did, he would probably stutter when you asked him for a pen. You would look at him with that kind, pitying smile, and then you would probably go back to thinking about the hero who had visited your window.

It was a cycle he didn't know how to break.

As he reached his own room and crawled through the tiny gap in the window, he didn't feel like a hero. He felt like a fraud.

He changed into his own pajamas—plain gray ones, nothing as cute as fuzzy clouds—and climbed into bed. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a message from the group chat.

Heeseung turned the phone off and stared at the ceiling.

You had called him 'Sunshine.' Well, you called Heeseung that. But that one word wasn't the same as anything else you'd said to Spider-Man. He was the guy who had your heart, but he was also the guy who could never have it.

He closed his eyes, hoping for a dream where the mask didn't exist. But even in his sleep, he could hear the sound of his own heart beating for a girl who would never see him the way he saw her.

With Oliver’s wedding only four days away, the lie had grown teeth. The whole Norris family would be there—parents, siblings, cousins, and probably a handful of distant relatives who still pinched his cheeks and called him “Lando-bear.” 

Every single one of them would be bringing a plus one.

Everyone except Lando.

It had been a running joke in the Norris family for as long as he could remember. His parents loved bragging about their children’s accomplishments, his siblings took every opportunity to tease him about his chaotic (and scandalous) dating life, and somehow every family gathering—birthdays, holidays, even Sunday lunches—ended with the same question: why Lando never seemed to have a serious girlfriend.

Usually he brushed it off with a laugh, a shrug, some half‑hearted joke about being too busy or too picky. It never bothered him enough to do anything about it.

But this time, when the question came up again—“So, Lando, are you bringing anyone to the wedding?”—something in his brain simply… snapped. Short‑circuited. Went offline.

And before he could stop himself, he heard his own voice answering.

Yes.

Yes, he was bringing someone.

Not just anyone, either. He’d doubled down, told them he had a normal, stable girlfriend. Someone grounded. Someone real. Someone who absolutely did not exist.

Now there were less than four days until Oliver’s wedding.

And Lando Norris still didn’t have a girlfriend.

Lando sat at the table in his apartment, staring at the wall like it might suddenly offer him a miracle. His brain was running laps, trying to find a way out of the mess he’d created, but every possible solution felt dumber than the one before it.

There had to be something.

Some kind of brilliant, last‑minute, save‑your-own-ass idea.

Except… nothing he came up with even came close.

For a brief, unhinged moment, he wondered if he could convince Oscar to throw on a wig and pretend to be his date. 

Yeah. No. Absolutely not. Oscar’s girlfriend would murder him before they even reached the venue.

He let out a long, miserable groan and dragged both hands down his face.

Okay. New idea.

Maybe he could just tell his family that his girlfriend—his very real, very fictional girlfriend—had suddenly fallen ill and couldn’t make it. That sounded believable enough… in theory.

But in practice? His mum would immediately start asking for her address so she could send homemade soup. His sisters would demand details. His dad would suggest rescheduling the introduction for the next family gathering.

Which meant he’d still be trapped in the same problem, just with more lies stacked on top of the original one.

And the truth was painfully simple: girlfriends were not something you could conjure out of thin air, no matter how desperately you needed one. Not even when you were the Lando Norris.

He slumped back in his chair, staring at the ceiling now, wishing the universe would hand him a solution.

Or a person.

Preferably both.

But then—

Yes.

God, yes.

The idea hit him so hard he actually sat up straighter, eyes going wide, lighting up like someone had plugged him directly into a power outlet. It was brilliant. Completely ridiculous. Potentially life‑saving. And, most importantly… actually possible.

Because as he sat there, staring at the blank stretch of wall in front of him, he finally remembered who lived on the other side of it.

You.

You, with your soft smile and your quiet kindness. You, who he wasn’t close to—not really. You weren’t friends, you weren’t even acquaintances. You were neighbors in the most literal sense. Sometimes you shared an elevator. Sometimes you exchanged a polite “hi.” Sometimes you held the door for him when his hands were full.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing meaningful. Nothing that suggested you were about to become the answer to the stupidest problem he’d ever created.

And yet… in the middle of his panic, you suddenly seemed like the perfect solution.

Of course, that led him straight into the next problem—one he faced every time he stumbled onto an actually good idea: how the hell was he supposed to ask you? What if you laughed? What if you slammed the door in his face? What if you said no and he had to return to his table, sit back down, and accept that he was still girlfriend‑less with a wedding in four days?

He groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

What were his other options? Post an Instagram story asking for volunteers? Hold open auditions in his living room? Pray someone magically appeared on his doorstep?

No. Obviously not.

You were the only choice he had.

And now he just had to hope you didn’t think he was completely insane.

Lando paced his apartment for a grand total of three and a half minutes before reaching a very scientific conclusion: pacing solved absolutely nothing. All it did was make him more aware of how sweaty his palms were and how loudly his heart was trying to escape his chest.

So the next step became painfully, horrifyingly clear. He had to go ask you. In person. At your door. With his whole panicked, malfunctioning self on display.

He grabbed his keys like they might give him courage and muttered under his breath, “This is fine. Totally fine. Nothing terrifying happening here.” It sounded unconvincing even to him.

By the time he reached your door, whatever flimsy confidence he’d managed to build had dissolved completely, leaving him standing there like a man about to face a firing squad. He knocked once. Then twice. Then, because he was Lando and panic was his brand, he knocked three more times in a frantic burst.

“Too much. Too much,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and praying the universe would show him mercy.

The door opened.

And there you were—looking perfectly normal, perfectly calm, perfectly unaware that your evening was about to take a dramatic turn.

“Hey,” you said, head tilted, curiosity softening your expression.

“Hi,” Lando managed, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to keep his head attached. He looked like a lost puppy who’d wandered too far from home. Mostly because he was one.

“You need something?” you asked, giving him a quick once-over. “You don’t look great. You’re really pale. Come in, sit down.” You stepped aside, warm and worried and gentle in a way that made his stomach twist.

Lando swallowed hard and perched on the very edge of your couch, like sitting normally might somehow make this whole thing worse. His knee bounced, his fingers twisted together, and he looked one deep breath away from passing out. “Right… so… um…”

You raised an eyebrow, watching him fidget like a kid who’d been caught doing something he absolutely shouldn’t have been doing.

“I know this is gonna sound completely insane,” Lando said, voice wobbling in a way you had never heard from him. “I… I need a—big. Huge. Gigantic favor, Y/n.”

Your confusion only grew. This was Lando Norris—confident, charming, annoyingly magnetic Lando—now sitting on your couch like a drenched stray dog someone had forgotten to bring inside. He couldn’t seem to look at you for more than half a second, and his hands were practically tying themselves into knots.

“Lando?” you said softly, nudging his knee with yours. “Just talk. You’re scaring me a little.”

Lando’s hands wouldn’t stay still. They fidgeted in his lap, fingers tapping against each other like he was trying to summon courage through sheer friction. “Okay… so… this is gonna sound completely ridiculous, but just—just hear me out,” he said, his voice pitching upward in panic.

“My… my brother—Oliver—he’s getting married in, uh… four days. Four days, Y/n. And… um… well… I kinda… told my family I had a girlfriend.”

You stared at him, confusion knitting your brows. “And…? What does that have to do with me?”

“Well—I don’t have one!” Lando blurted, the words bursting out like they’d been trapped in his chest.

You blinked. Hard. Because… what? Lando Norris didn’t have a girlfriend? Lando Norris, who always seemed to have someone on his arm, someone texting him, someone laughing at his jokes?

“You don’t have a girlfriend?” you repeated, eyebrows shooting up. “You always have someone around.”

“Ha. Ha. Not helpful,” he muttered, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. His eyes darted everywhere—your bookshelf, the floor, the ceiling—anywhere except your face, like looking at you might make this whole thing even more humiliating.

His knee bounced. His throat bobbed. And for the first time since you’d met him, Lando Norris looked genuinely, painfully out of his depth.

Lando threw his hands up, breath coming too fast, like his brain had officially abandoned ship. “I lied! They’re always making fun of me for being the only sibling without a ‘stable love life’!” His gestures got bigger, more frantic. “So I lied! I told them I finally have a normal girlfriend! I told them she’s the right—”

You cut in before he could spiral any further. The amount of information he’d just dumped on you was… a lot. Especially coming from someone you’d only ever exchanged elevator small talk with. “Lando… breathe. You’re kind of having a panic attack.”

He froze mid‑wave, arms suspended awkwardly in the air. His chest rose and fell too quickly, eyes wide and unfocused, like a startled animal trying to decide whether to bolt or faint.

And something in you softened.

Before you could overthink it, the words slipped out. “I can do it. I can pretend to be your girlfriend—if that’s what you need.”

Lando blinked at you, stunned into silence. For a moment he just stared, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

Then his whole face lit up, relief crashing over him so visibly it was almost endearing. “Really?!” he burst out, voice cracking with disbelief and something dangerously close to joy, like you’d just handed him the winning ticket to his own rescue.

“Yes,” you said, a small smirk tugging at your mouth. “You don’t deserve to be humiliated by your entire family. Not this week, at least.”

“Ha-ha, hilarious,” he muttered, but the grateful smile pulling at his lips gave him away. “But seriously… thank you. Jesus, Y/n, you’re actually saving my life here. What do I owe you?”

You lifted a brow, pretending to think. “Hmm… maybe start by not panicking every two seconds?”

He nodded so fast it was almost comical. “Right. Yeah. I can do that. I’ll try.”

And then—naturally—he let out a loud, shaky exhale, his fingers immediately twisting together again, looking like a man who was absolutely not succeeding at the whole “not panicking” thing.

It made you smile, just a little, because for all his charm and confidence, Lando Norris was clearly a disaster in need of rescuing.

────────────

You and Lando sat at your dining table, both of you silently questioning every decision that had led to this exact moment. Well… you were. Lando looked like he was still trying to remember how to breathe. You had just agreed to pretend to be the girlfriend of a man known across Formula 1 for his charm, his speed, and—most famously—his impressive track record of short-lived romances.

“So,” you said, aiming for calm even though your pulse was doing laps, “if I’m going to fake-date my neighbor—who I barely know—I think we need some rules.”

“Rules?” Lando repeated, brows lifting, confusion flickering across his face. For once, he didn’t look cocky or confident. He looked… unsure. Almost nervous.

“Yes. Rules,” you said, holding up three fingers. “Only three. I promise they’re not complicated.”

He leaned in, elbows on the table, eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and mild panic—like a student bracing for a pop quiz he definitely hadn’t studied for. “Okay. Tell me,” he said quickly, already trying to memorize them before you’d even opened your mouth.

His eagerness made you smile despite yourself.

“Rule number one: no disgusting pet names. Like… honey, light of my life, or whatever. I hate those. Babe, darling, and love are fine,” you said, keeping your voice as steady as you could.

Lando nodded immediately. “Yeah, no, same. Anything too cheesy makes my skin crawl.”

“Rule number two: no hooking up. No sex.” You said it firmly, maybe a little too quickly. It was mostly for your own safety—your heart’s safety. You’d heard the stories. You’d seen the headlines. And you had absolutely no intention of becoming another one of Lando Norris’s charming little footnotes. (Not that you weren’t already halfway there.)

Lando blinked at you, eyes widening in a mix of shock and exaggerated offense. “I would never.”

You gave him a look that said please, I know exactly who you are.

He cleared his throat.

You continued, “and the most important, absolutely non-negotiable rule: no falling in love.”

“Right,” Lando said, nodding like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Simple.”

But the way his knee bounced under the table, the way his eyes flicked to your mouth for half a second, the way your stomach twisted at the thought of just hearing him say love—you both knew it wasn’t going to be simple at all.

Not even close.

Lando looked far too pleased with himself for someone who had been on the verge of a full emotional collapse less than twenty‑four hours ago.

“Do we even have a solid backstory?” you asked, giving him a look that said you already doubted the answer.

“Oh, we do,” he said, leaning back in his chair with the smug confidence of a man who absolutely should not have any.

You narrowed your eyes, waiting.

He lifted his hands in surrender, grinning. “Okay, fine, I just came up with it. But don’t worry—it’s a good one.”

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. “Alright, genius. Let’s hear it.”

“We met in the elevator,” he announced instantly. “Which is technically not a lie.”

You stared at him. “Seriously? That’s the best you’ve got? They’ll never buy that.”

Lando looked genuinely offended, like you’d just criticized a work of art he’d spent years perfecting.

“Hey, it’s realistic,” he insisted, chin lifting. “People meet in elevators all the time.”

“Yes,” you said slowly, giving him a look that could only be described as are you hearing yourself right now? “And then they say hello, maybe smile awkwardly, and go to their own apartments. They don’t magically start dating.”

Lando waved a hand like you were being dramatic. “Details.”

You leaned back in your chair, trying to piece together something that didn’t sound like it had been written by a twelve‑year‑old. “Okay, so maybe I dropped something and didn’t notice when I left the elevator. You picked it up and returned it to me later—”

“We got stuck together in the elevator!” Lando declared, pointing at you with the enthusiasm of a man who believed he had just cracked the Da Vinci code.

You stared at him. Blinked once. Twice.

“Lando.”

“What?!” He threw his hands up like you’d personally offended him. “You’d be surprised how often elevators get stuck in this building!”

“It happened, like, twice,” you said, crossing your arms. “And I live next door, remember? I think I’d know.”

“And it happened to me both times!” Lando shot back, jabbing a finger at his own chest as if that somehow strengthened his argument. “Suspicious, right?!”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed.

Because you remembered. Oh, you remembered exactly how that last incident went. The entire building had known within minutes that Lando Norris was trapped in the elevator. Neighbors had gathered in the hallway. The building manager had been sweating bullets. And Lando—poor, panicking Lando—had been shouting through the metal doors that he was “perfectly calm,” while sounding anything but.

Honestly? The story was ridiculous.

But believable.

Painfully, hilariously believable.

“Right. So… we were stuck, and then what? Fell in love while panicking?” you asked, skeptical.

“We talked,” Lando said with a grin, leaning back casually. “Found out we’re neighbors, started seeing each other more, and realized we’re both charming, funny, and attractive people.”

“Funny?”

“Absolutely.”

You grabbed the nearest napkin from the table and tossed it at him.

Lando laughed, easily dodging it. “See? Perfect. The chemistry is already there.”

“Oh my God,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Your poor family.”

“My family will love you,” he said confidently. “You’re kind, you’re funny, and you already tolerate me—which is honestly the hardest part.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward anyway. Just a little.

────────────

Warm air wrapped around you the moment you and Lando stepped out of the airport in Sicily, the kind of soft heat that made your shoulders drop and your lungs loosen. It felt like the whole island exhaled around you. Thank God it was Sicily—you’d spent the entire flight quietly panicking that he might’ve dragged you to rainy England instead. At least here, if everything went horribly wrong, you’d have sunshine.

“My brother’s gonna pick us up,” Lando said, tugging his suitcase behind him as he wove through the crowd with the confidence of someone who’d done this a thousand times.

You hurried after him, trying to match his long, impatient strides. Your heart was already beating too fast, and not just from the travel. “Wait—what are your parents’ names? You haven’t even told me!”

Lando barely slowed down. “My mum’s Cisca, my dad’s Adam. My brother is Oliver, and his fiancée is Sav. My sisters are Flo and also Cisca.”

You blinked, your brain scrambling to keep up. The names felt like someone had thrown a handful of puzzle pieces at you and expected you to assemble them mid‑run.

“That’s… a lot of names,” you said, breath catching a little. You were suddenly very aware that you were about to meet all these people—people who believed you were dating their son. People who probably asked a lot of questions.

Lando shrugged like this was all perfectly reasonable, even though your pulse had started doing gymnastics. “It’s not that bad.”

“It is when I’ve met exactly zero of them,” you shot back. “And in, what, ten minutes? I’m supposed to convincingly pretend I’m dating you in front of your entire family.”

“Relax,” he said, dragging his suitcase along like he wasn’t dragging you straight into chaos. “My family is nice. A bit chaotic, but mostly nice.”

“Chaotic?” you repeated, the word landing in your stomach like a stone.

“They’ll probably ask a lot of questions,” he added casually, like he was telling you the weather forecast.

Your heart dropped.

Questions.

Of course they’d ask questions.

You’d known Lando for—what—three days? Four? And that was being generous. Sure, he’d lived next door for years, but elevator small talk and awkward hallway smiles did not prepare you to play his girlfriend in front of people who had known him his entire life.

“Not helping, Lando,” you muttered, shaking your head as you tried to keep up with him through the crowd.

Then another thought hit you so hard you actually stopped walking.

“What if they ask how long we’ve been dating?!”

Lando turned around and stepped closer, the warm Sicilian breeze ruffling his curls as if even the weather was more relaxed than you were.

“Five months, babe.”

Your eyes narrowed so fast he actually flinched.

Too soon. Way too soon for that word.

“Don’t call me that,” you warned. “Yet.”

He lifted both hands in surrender, though the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. He was enjoying this way too much for someone who had begged you for help less than four days ago.

“We’ve been dating for five months,” he said, slipping back into that calm, annoyingly confident tone. “Long enough for it to seem serious, but short enough to explain why they’ve never met you.”

You let that settle in your mind. Five months. Not too long, not too short. Enough time to know each other, but not enough time for family introductions. It actually… made sense.

“…Okay,” you admitted slowly. “That’s not terrible.”

But then something clicked. The way he said it. The ease. The certainty. The fact that he hadn’t even hesitated.

You looked at him again, suspicion creeping in. “Wait—you already thought about this?”

Lando’s smirk widened, soft but undeniably smug, like he’d been waiting for you to catch up.

“Of course I did.”

And for a moment—just a moment—you saw the truth behind the grin:

he’d been thinking about this way before you ever agreed.

The car behind you honked—sharp, impatient—and you jolted like someone had poked you with a live wire.

“That must be Oliver,” Lando said, already turning toward the parking area with that casual confidence you absolutely did not feel.

You followed his gaze and spotted a dark car rolling up to the curb, sunlight bouncing off the windshield. The driver leaned out just enough for you to see him squinting through the Sicilian glare.

“Lando!” he called out.

“Yep. That’s him,” Lando confirmed, far too calm for someone about to introduce his fake girlfriend to his real brother.

Your stomach tightened.

This was it.

The first test.

The first family member.

The first person who could look at you and immediately think, Nope. She’s not his type.

“Just greet him,” Lando murmured quietly, noticing how stiff you’d gone. His voice dropped, softer than usual. “You don’t have to say much.”

Oliver climbed out of the car with an easy, warm smile—the kind of smile that made you understand instantly why people liked him. He had that same Norris charm, just steadier, more grounded. Older brother energy radiated off him.

“Finally,” Oliver said, pulling Lando into a quick hug. “You’re late.”

“Blame the airport!” Lando shot back, grinning like he hadn’t been panicking for days.

Then Oliver’s gaze shifted to you.

And suddenly you were hyper-aware of everything—your hair, your clothes, your posture, the way your hands were awkwardly gripping your suitcase handle.

“You must be Y/n,” he said warmly.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you replied, smiling even though your heart was thudding against your ribs.

“I’m Oliver,” he said, offering his hand.

“I’m Y/n… but you already know that,” you added with a small laugh. The words came out a little too confident, and you immediately prayed it sounded playful instead of arrogant.

Oliver chuckled, clearly unfazed. “Nice to officially meet you, Y/n.”

And just like that, some of the tension in your chest loosened. He didn’t look suspicious. He didn’t look confused. He didn’t look like he was about to interrogate you.

He just looked… kind.

Which, honestly, was almost worse—because kindness made it harder to lie.

Oliver drove with the kind of calm confidence that made you wish you felt even half as steady. Warm Sicilian sunlight spilled through the windows, turning the dashboard gold. Outside, the world looked soft and bright and easy.

Inside the car, Lando was talking like he’d been plugged into a power source.

He and Oliver were deep in race talk—corner speeds, tire degradation, strategy calls—Lando gesturing wildly, Oliver chiming in with that older‑brother mix of teasing and genuine interest. It was like watching two people speak a language you’d only ever heard in passing.

“You saw that last corner from Russell, right?” Oliver asked, glancing at Lando with a grin. “Absolutely insane overtaking maneuver.”

“Yes!” Lando lit up instantly. “But the tires, the line he took—it was borderline genius. I mean, I would’ve done it slightly differently, obviously.”

You sat in the back, hands folded tightly in your lap, nodding along like you understood even a fraction of what they were saying. You caught words—Monza, grip, strategy—but they floated past you like puzzle pieces from the wrong box.

Then Oliver’s eyes flicked to you in the rearview mirror.

“What about you, Y/n? What did you think of the race?”

Your brain blanked.

Completely.

Utterly.

“It… uh…” You tried to sound thoughtful, like you were recalling something meaningful. “I thought it was… exciting?”

Lando snorted under his breath. “She’s very diplomatic.”

Oliver laughed, warm and easy. “Fair enough. Hard to argue with that.”

You sank back into your seat, cheeks warm, trying not to overthink the fact that you were already improvising. Already lying. Already pretending to be someone who fit into this world.

And Lando—of course—kept glancing back at you with these tiny, amused smiles. Like he could see every thought running through your head. Like he knew exactly how flustered you were and found it… cute.

You weren’t sure if that made things better or worse.

The car wound through the narrow Sicilian roads, sunlight flickering across your lap, and with every turn your nerves pulled tighter—like someone was slowly winding a string inside your chest. This was only the warm‑up. The easy part. The real performance waited at the end of the driveway, where an entire family believed you were in love with their son.

Oliver parked smoothly and stepped out, probably to gather the rest of the Norris clan. The moment the door shut behind him, the car felt too quiet, too warm, too full of everything you were suddenly terrified of messing up.

“Relax,” Lando said, glancing over at you with a half‑smile. “You look like you’re about to meet the mafia.”

“I kind of am,” you muttered, rubbing your palms against your thighs. “Did I say something bad? About the race? I feel like I said something bad.”

Lando laughed softly, leaning back in his seat like he had all the time in the world. His grin was easy, warm, annoyingly reassuring. “Calm down. You were fine.”

You followed his gaze out the windshield—and your stomach dropped.

The whole family was already gathered at the end of the driveway. Talking. Laughing. Waiting. A cluster of people who knew each other inside out… and were about to meet the stranger pretending to be part of their world.

Your breath caught.

Lando noticed. Of course he did.

He reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face with a touch so light it barely registered—except it did. It settled something in you. Or maybe it unsettled everything. Hard to tell.

“You’ve got this,” he said, voice low, teasing, but steady in a way that made your pulse slow just a little.

You took a deep breath, trying to believe him. Trying to believe yourself.

Then the car door opened, warm air rushing in, and there was no more time to think.

It was showtime.

Lando’s arm slid around your waist like it had always belonged there—easy, natural, practiced in a way that made your breath catch for half a second. It wasn’t tight, just enough pressure to say mine without actually saying it. Enough to make you look like a couple. Enough to make your heart do something stupid.

“My dearest family! Your best son is back! Even with a girlfriend!” Lando announced, laughing like this was all a big joke he’d been waiting to deliver.

“Move, Lando, I want to see your lovely girl,” his mum, Cisca, said, gently shoving him aside with the confidence of a woman who’d been doing it his whole life.

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. Lando pretended to be offended, hand over his heart, but then shot you a mischievous smirk—like he was enjoying this way too much.

Cisca stepped closer, warm and bright, the kind of person who made you feel welcome before you even spoke. “Y/n, I’m Cisca, and this is my husband, Adam. My daughters, Flo and Cisca, my soon‑to‑be daughter‑in‑law, Sav, and my sons, Oliver and… well, you know, Lando.”

She reintroduced everyone as if Lando hadn’t rattled off their names in the car, but you smiled anyway, greeting each of them—twice, just to be safe. Your cheeks were warm, but no one looked suspicious. If anything, they looked excited. Curious. Happy to meet you.

“Lando told me a lot about you,” you said, smiling—and immediately realized how that could sound. “Only the best things, of course.” You let out a nervous laugh, hoping it landed somewhere between charming and believable.

“See?” Lando said, his smirk widening into something almost proud. “Perfect son—and now boyfriend.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a tiny spark of warmth in your chest at how confidently he said it. Like he’d imagined this moment before. Like he’d rehearsed it. Like he’d been waiting for you to step into this role long before you agreed.

And that thought… well, that was dangerous.

Lando’s arm stayed around your waist as Sav led you down the hallway, her voice bright and cheerful, completely unaware that your heart was doing somersaults. You and Lando exchanged a quick look—yours full of are you kidding me?, his full of that infuriating, smug confidence he wore like a second skin.

“C’mon, lovebirds, I’ll show you your room,” Sav said, swinging open a door with a flourish.

You stepped inside, taking in the soft lighting, the open window, the warm Sicilian breeze drifting through the curtains. It was a beautiful room—cozy, airy, romantic in a way that made your stomach twist.

And then your eyes landed on the bed.

One bed.

A big one, sure. But still one.

Sav didn’t seem to notice your internal meltdown. “Dinner’s at six! Don’t be late,” she chirped before disappearing down the hall.

The door clicked shut.

You turned slowly toward Lando, raising an eyebrow so high it practically left your face. “There’s only one bed.”

He didn’t even blink. Didn’t even pretend to be surprised. He just leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

“We are a couple, remember?” he said, voice low and annoyingly smooth.

You let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Right. Almost forgot.”

But the truth was, your pulse had picked up. Just a little. Because the room suddenly felt smaller. Warmer. And Lando—smirking, relaxed, completely unfazed—looked far too comfortable standing there like he belonged in this space with you.

You still stood there, arms crossed, staring at the bed like it had personally wronged you. It sat in the middle of the room—big, soft, innocent—and yet somehow the most stressful piece of furniture you’d ever encountered.

Meanwhile, Lando looked like he’d just walked into a hotel suite he’d booked himself. He pushed off the doorway, wandered in, and dropped his bag by a chair with the ease of someone who had absolutely no shame.

“You’re overreacting,” he said, tone maddeningly casual.

You turned your head slowly, like a horror movie character realizing the killer was behind them. “Overreacting? Lando, there is one bed.”

He glanced at it, then back at you, completely unfazed. “Yeah. I can see that.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And where exactly do you plan on sleeping?”

He shrugged, all innocence. “In the bed?”

The pillow was in your hand before you even thought about it. You launched it at him. He caught it mid‑air, laughing like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week.

“Relax, I’m kidding—kind of.”

“‘Kind of’ is not reassuring,” you snapped, brushing past him to your suitcase because you needed to move before you strangled him.

Lando watched you for a beat, then let out a dramatic sigh worthy of an Oscar. “Fine. We’ll figure something out. I’m a gentleman.”

You paused, turned, and raised one eyebrow. “You?”

He clutched his chest like you’d stabbed him. “Wow. That hurt.”

“Good.”

────────────

You stepped out of the bathroom for what felt like the third time, maybe the tenth, maybe the hundredth—time had stopped meaning anything somewhere between outfit number four and the moment you realized Lando was absolutely no help at all.

He was sprawled across the bed like a cat in a sunbeam, scrolling through his phone, not a single worry in sight. Meanwhile, you were one bad outfit away from a full emotional collapse.

“What about this?” you asked, voice tight with the kind of stress only family dinners and fake‑dating could create.

Lando looked up.

And for a moment—just a heartbeat—he didn’t move. His eyes dragged over you slowly, like his brain had forgotten how to function. You shifted under his stare, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of fabric on your body.

“What?” you asked, trying to sound annoyed instead of flustered.

He blinked, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Hot.”

Your eyes narrowed instantly. “Lando.”

He sat up a little too fast, rubbing the back of his neck, that small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. It softened him in a way you weren’t prepared for. “I mean—you look nice. Really nice. That’s all.”

The words hung in the air, warm and a little dangerous. And even though you rolled your eyes, you felt your stomach flip, just once, like it was testing the waters.

Lando definitely noticed how stiff you were, how your fingers kept twisting together like you were trying to wring the nerves out of them. He sat up a little, the teasing fading from his face, replaced by something softer.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice low in a way that made it hard to pretend you were fine.

“Just… stressed,” you said with a shrug, trying to make it sound small even though it felt huge in your chest.

“Hey,” Lando said, pushing himself off the bed so quickly it almost startled you. “Stop stressing, Y/n. They already love you.”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. “They don’t even know me.”

“They don’t need to,” he said, stepping closer like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re kind, you’re funny, you didn’t run away the second you met my family—honestly, that’s already impressive.”

A tiny laugh escaped you, but your shoulders stayed tight, your pulse still too fast. And of course he noticed. He always noticed.

“Come here,” he said suddenly.

You frowned. “What?”

“Come here,” he repeated, gentler this time, like he wasn’t asking—just quietly waiting.

You hesitated, then stepped closer.

He reached out, fingers brushing lightly against your hair as he tucked a strand behind your ear. Then he smoothed it down, slow and careful, like he’d done it a hundred times before. His touch was warm, steady, nothing like the loud, chaotic version of him everyone else saw.

“There,” he murmured, eyes lingering on you for a beat too long. “Perfect.”

Your breath caught before you could stop it, a tiny hitch you hoped he didn’t hear.

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips before you could hide it.

“At fake dating?” he asked, eyebrow lifting in that way that always made him look like he was two seconds from trouble.

“At not being a completely insufferable asshole,” you shot back—though the laugh that slipped out ruined any attempt at sounding annoyed.

Lando let out a soft huff, shaking his head. “Wow. I’m really raising the bar here, aren’t I?”

“Bare minimum,” you teased.

“Rude.”

“But accurate.”

He stepped closer, just enough that you felt the warmth of him, his voice dropping into something lower, softer—something that felt like it was meant only for you.

“And yet,” he murmured, a hint of a smirk curling at his mouth, “you still agreed to be my girlfriend.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t move away. If anything, your feet stayed rooted, your pulse doing that stupid fluttery thing again. “Fake girlfriend.”

“Right,” he said, nodding slowly, eyes lingering on yours. “Keep telling yourself that.”

For a second, neither of you moved. The air felt thick, warm, charged with something you weren’t ready to name. His hand was still close to yours. Too close. Close enough that if either of you breathed wrong, your fingers might brush.

Then reality snapped back into place.

You cleared your throat, stepping back just enough to break the moment. “Come on. Your family’s waiting.”

Lando grinned, falling into step beside you like nothing had happened—except his eyes were brighter, and his smile was a little too pleased.

“Let’s go, babe.”

You shot him a look.

“…We said that one was allowed,” he added quickly, hands raised in mock innocence.

You didn’t reply—just shook your head and walked out of the room with him, your hand still resting lightly on his arm. It felt steady there, even though nothing inside you felt steady at all.

The closer you got to the dining area, the louder everything became. Laughter spilling over laughter. Voices overlapping. Cutlery clinking. Chairs scraping. A whole family in full motion.

Chaos.

Warm, loud, overwhelming chaos.

You slowed down without meaning to.

Lando noticed instantly.

“Hey,” he murmured, leaning closer so only you could hear him. “Breathe, remember?”

“I am breathing,” you whispered back.

“Barely.”

You shot him a look—half glare, half panic—but before you could argue, you stepped into the dining room.

And immediately—

Every head turned.

“Oh, there they are!” someone called—Flo, you were pretty sure.

“What took you so long?” Sav added, wearing a smirk that said she absolutely thought she knew the answer.

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “It takes him forever to get ready,” you said, jerking your thumb toward Lando.

The table erupted with laughter.

And for the first time since you’d arrived, the tension in your chest loosened. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was the noise. Maybe it was the way this whole thing was starting to feel… weirdly doable.

“Oh?” Lando turned to you, smirking, clearly not expecting you to fire back so quickly. “That’s interesting, considering you changed your outfit, what—four times, love?”

You rolled your eyes again, but there was no heat behind it. Just a spark of something lighter.

“Dinner’s getting cold! Sit, sit,” Cisca urged, waving you both toward the table with the kind of warmth that made it impossible not to smile.

You slid into your seat, Lando taking the chair beside you like he’d been doing it for years. His knee brushed yours under the table—light, accidental, but steady enough to make your pulse jump. You didn’t move it away. Maybe you couldn’t.

Adam reached for the wine bottle. “Wine?”

“Yes, please,” you said a little too fast, and Lando’s quiet laugh beside you didn’t help.

Glasses filled, plates passed around, and for a few minutes everything felt almost… normal. You smiled, nodded, laughed when everyone else did. You were doing it. You were blending in. You were surviving.

Then Sav leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity. “So. Tell us everything. How did you two meet?”

There it was. The question. The one you’d been dreading since the airport.

You glanced at Lando for half a second—barely long enough for anyone else to notice, but he caught it instantly.

“We got stuck together in the elevator,” he said smoothly, like he’d been waiting for this moment.

You exhaled quietly, picking up the thread. “For two hours,” you added with a small laugh. “Very, very long two hours of my life.”

“Speak for yourself, darlin’,” Lando cut in, not missing a beat. “Best two hours of mine.”

The table erupted with laughter—Flo snorting, Sav shaking her head, Cisca smiling like this was the cutest thing she’d ever heard.

And you… you felt your face warm, but not from embarrassment. More from the way Lando said it—light, teasing, but with a softness underneath that wasn’t entirely fake.

Cisca leaned in, eyes bright with curiosity. “So what happened after? You got out and just… what? Went on a date?”

You froze for half a second.

Lando didn’t.

“I asked for her number,” he said smoothly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your head snapped toward him.

Oh.

That was new.

And dangerously believable.

“And I said no,” you added quickly, because your brain clearly decided honesty‑but‑not‑really was safer than silence.

Lando looked at you, eyebrows lifting. “You did not.”

“I absolutely did.”

“You hesitated,” he corrected, pointing at you with his fork. “And then gave it to me anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, a small laugh slipping out. “I didn’t trust you.”

Adam chuckled, shaking his head. “Smart girl.”

The table laughed, the moment loosening—until Lando spoke again, his voice dipping just slightly, the teasing softening around the edges.

“But,” he said, glancing at you, “she eventually said yes.”

Your eyes met his.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for something warm to settle low in your chest, something you weren’t prepared for.

“…Eventually,” you echoed, quieter than you meant to.

And the strange part?

It didn’t feel like a story anymore.

Not a script.

Not a lie you were both juggling.

It felt like something that could’ve happened.

Something that almost did.

Lando looked away first, but not before you caught the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—soft, knowing, like he’d just read your mind and liked what he found.

You talked for another three hours, and somehow—it was suspiciously easy.

No interrogation. No awkward pauses. No slip‑ups. No one trying to poke holes in your very real, very not‑real relationship. If anything, they just… welcomed you. Laughed with you. Pulled you into conversations like you’d always been there.

And that almost made it worse—because it felt natural. Too natural. Like you weren’t pretending at all.

Eventually, plates were empty, wine glasses half‑full, and the warm Sicilian night hummed softly through the open windows.

“I think we’re gonna head to our room,” Lando said casually, stretching an arm around your shoulders like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged there. “Y’know, get some rest.”

Damn.

He was good at this. Too good. The kind of good that made your stomach flip, because he didn’t even have to think about it—his voice warm, his touch easy, his smile soft enough to sell the whole thing without trying.

And the worst part?

For a split second, you didn’t feel like you were acting either.

As you stood, his hand slid down your arm, fingers brushing yours in a way that felt almost accidental—except it wasn’t. Not with the way he glanced at you, just briefly, like he was checking if you were still okay… or maybe checking something else entirely.

You stepped into the room and the door clicked shut behind you, sealing off the noise from downstairs like someone had dropped a blanket over the world.

Silence settled—thick, warm, a little too intimate.

Your eyes drifted immediately to the bed.

One bed.

Again.

You turned slowly toward Lando.

He was already staring at it too, hands in his pockets, jaw shifting like he was trying not to laugh.

“…Right,” you said.

“Yeah,” he replied.

A beat.

Another beat.

The kind of beat where you could practically hear both of your brains screaming.

“You’re not seriously telling me this is becoming a pattern,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

You didn’t even bother hiding the disbelief in your voice.

“We are dating, babe.”

“Fake dating, babe.”

“Still counts for logistics.”

“There are two chairs,” you said, pointing at them like you’d just discovered a legal loophole.

Lando didn’t even look. “You want one of us to sleep on a chair?”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it again.

“…No.”

“Exactly.”

You dragged a hand down your face. “This is insane.”

Lando flopped back onto the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly, looking far too relaxed for someone who had just detonated your entire nervous system for the day. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s literally one bed.”

“And?” he asked, glancing up at you with that maddeningly calm expression.

You stared at him.

He stared right back.

Then, slowly—dangerously—that familiar smirk crept in. “We behaved perfectly fine tonight, didn’t we?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, voice infuriatingly casual, “if we can survive interrogation over dinner, we can survive sleeping in the same bed.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“It kind of is.”

You stared at the bed like it might magically split in half if you glared hard enough.

“Fine,” you sighed. “But if you’re snoring, I’m kicking you out.”

“I don’t snore,” Lando said instantly—way too instantly.

You turned your head slowly.

He blinked.

“…I don’t,” he repeated, much quieter now.

You raised an eyebrow. “That was way too fast for someone telling the truth.”

He scoffed, kicking off his shoes like he lived here. “I’m an athlete. I’m basically engineered for optimal sleep conditions.”

“Sure,” you nodded, deadpan. “And I’m the Queen of England.”

Lando grinned, grabbing his suitcase. “Well, Your Majesty, feel free to take the left side of the bed.”

“There are sides now?”

“There are always sides.”

You hesitated for half a second, then crossed the room and sat on the edge of the mattress. It dipped under your weight, soft and warm, and you watched him move around the room—unpacking, stretching, tossing his hoodie onto a chair—like he’d done this a thousand times.

Like he belonged here.

Which was the annoying part.

He made everything feel… normal. Easy. Like sharing a room, sharing a bed, sharing this whole ridiculous lie wasn’t a big deal at all.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” you muttered.

Lando glanced over his shoulder, smirk already forming. “Too late.”

────────────

The washed dishes weren’t even dry yet when the Norris family was already on their feet again, buzzing with the kind of chaotic energy only they could produce. Someone— definitely Sav—clapped her hands together like she was kicking off a national broadcast.

“Okay! We’re playing How Well Do You Know Your Partner!”

Instant groans. Instant cheers. A chorus of excitement and dread rolled across the terrace.

You slowly turned your head toward Lando.

“…We are fucked,” you mouthed.

Lando didn’t even blink.

He gave you a calm, reassuring nod that was so painfully unconvincing it almost made you laugh.

“We’ll be fine,” he mouthed back.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

Liar.

Because even as he said it, his mouth twitched—just a tiny, traitorous twitch—like he was already regretting every life choice that had led him to this exact moment.

Around you, chairs scraped against the floor as everyone moved back toward the table. Pens appeared, paper was handed out, and suddenly it looked way too official for something that was supposed to be “just a game.”

Flo was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing in her seat like she’d been waiting all night for this exact moment.

“First question!” she announced, pausing dramatically like a game‑show host.

Everyone leaned in.

You braced yourself.

“What is your partner’s biggest pet peeve?”

Of course.

Of course that was the first question.

Lando immediately bent over his card, writing like this was the easiest thing he’d done all day. No hesitation, no thinking, no panic—just pure, irritating confidence. He even tapped his pen against the table afterward, relaxed, smug, like he already knew he’d get it right.

You stared down at your blank paper.

Biggest pet peeve.

You barely knew your own biggest pet peeve, let alone his. Your mind went completely empty, like someone had unplugged your brain and walked away with the cable.

You risked a sideways glance.

Lando was done.

Done.

Already leaning back in his chair, looking like he was waiting for the rest of the class to catch up.

Show‑off.

You sighed quietly and wrote the first thing that made sense: people driving too slowly.

It wasn’t a wild guess. More like a logical conclusion. He drove fast cars for a living, lived fast, talked fast—slow drivers probably felt like a personal attack on his soul.

Hopefully.

You set your pen down, trying to look confident.

You absolutely did not feel confident.

And beside you, Lando’s knee brushed yours under the table—light, steady, like he was silently saying we’ve got this.

Flo practically vibrated with excitement. “Ready?”

Everyone flipped their papers.

Lando’s answer: cheesy nicknames.

You blinked.

Right.

That one barely counted—he only knew because you’d ranted about it earlier. Still, Sav burst into laughter.

“You hate nicknames, Y/n?”

“Hate,” you said instantly, no hesitation at all.

“Especially ‘light of my life,’ right, Y/n?” Lando added, laughing like he wasn’t actively trying to get himself murdered.

You shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass.

“Don’t push it.”

He only grinned wider, the menace.

Then his eyes dropped to your board.

He read it.

And his whole expression shifted—slowly, deliberately—into a smug, satisfied smirk that told you he was about to be insufferable.

“Oh,” he said, dragging the word out like he was unwrapping a present.

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

He leaned in just a little, enough to make it feel like he was invading your personal space on purpose. “Not bad.”

You glanced down at your own paper.

people who drive too slowly.

Lando let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head like he was both impressed and personally offended.

“That’s actually kind of good,” he admitted, still smirking. “Like… annoyingly accurate.”

You shrugged, trying to look casual even though your stomach did a tiny, traitorous flip. “At least I didn’t embarrass us.”

He nudged your knee under the table—light, warm, intentional.

“You could never embarrass us, darling.”

That nickname sent shivers down your spine.

And the worst part?

The part you refused to acknowledge?

For a moment, you almost believed him.

Flo clapped her hands again, absolutely delighted with the chaos she was creating. She looked like someone who’d been waiting her whole life to host this exact moment.

“Okay! Next question!”

She paused dramatically, eyes sparkling.

“What is your partner’s most annoying habit?”

You felt Lando shift beside you immediately—pen already in hand, posture straightening like he was preparing for a qualifying lap. He didn’t even hesitate. He just started writing, confident and focused, like he had a whole list ready to go.

Meanwhile, you stared at that damn paper again.

Most annoying habit.

Where were you even supposed to begin?

He had so many.

You risked a glance at him.

He looked calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that made you want to throw your pen at him. Of course he was confident. Of course he thought he knew exactly what you’d write. He lived for this.

You exhaled slowly and wrote the first thing that felt right: leaving cabinets open.

It was oddly specific, but it fit him. He had that chaotic energy, the kind that probably left a trail of half‑open cupboards behind him like breadcrumbs.

“Ready!” Sav announced.

Everyone flipped their papers.

There was a half‑second of silence.

Then—

Cisca gasped, pointing at your answer like she’d just discovered buried treasure. “Yes! Y/n! Thank you—finally! That has driven me mad ever since he was a kid!”

The table erupted into laughter.

Lando whipped around to his mum, offended. “Traitor!”

“I’m sorry,” she said through her laughter. “It’s true!”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed too. And as the noise settled, you felt Lando nudge your knee under the table, a tiny, wordless I can’t believe you just exposed me like that.

You didn’t look at him.

But you smiled.

You looked at Lando’s board.

overthinking and stressing over everything.

You blinked.

Oh.

For a moment, the laughter around the table dimmed, like someone had quietly turned the volume down. The terrace was still full of noise and warmth and clinking glasses, but it all felt a little distant—like you’d stepped half a beat out of sync with the room.

Because that answer…

That wasn’t a joke.

That wasn’t a throwaway guess.

That was painfully, uncomfortably accurate.

Your eyes lifted to him.

He wasn’t smirking this time. No teasing, no smugness, no dramatic flourish. Just Lando watching you with this quiet, steady kind of awareness that made your chest tighten. Like he’d seen it. Not just tonight, but before. Like he’d been paying attention in ways you hadn’t realized.

You let out a small breath, something caught between a laugh and disbelief. “Okay… that’s a bit too accurate.”

Lando shrugged lightly, but there was something softer in his expression now—something that didn’t belong to the game or the performance or the lie you were both maintaining. “You make it kind of obvious.”

The words weren’t mocking. They weren’t even teasing. They were gentle, almost careful, like he was trying not to push too hard.

And for a second, you felt it again—that strange, unsettling shift.

The one where the line between fake and real blurred just enough to make your heart stumble.

A few hours later, the noise from inside had finally faded, replaced by the soft hum of the evening—warm air brushing against your skin, distant laughter drifting from somewhere down the hill, the faint rhythm of waves rolling in and out like the night was breathing with you.

You leaned against the balcony railing, letting your shoulders drop for the first time all day. It had been… a lot. Fun, chaotic, terrifying, weirdly comforting—a mess of emotions you hadn’t sorted yet and weren’t sure you wanted to.

“Enjoying your victory?” a familiar voice drawled behind you.

You didn’t even turn. “We did not win.”

“Debatable,” Lando said, stepping out onto the balcony like he belonged there, like he’d been waiting for this quiet moment.

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “We survived. Barely.”

He came to stand beside you, leaning his elbows on the railing, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. “You were good.”

You let out a soft snort. “I guessed half of it.”

“And still got it right,” he pointed out, like that settled the matter.

You shook your head, staring out at the dark horizon. The sky was a deep blue, the kind that made everything feel softer, slower. “That’s not the point.”

You looked at him now, really looked, the balcony light catching the edges of his face in that soft, golden way that made everything feel a little too intimate.

“You, on the other hand… what was that?”

Lando blinked, all faux‑innocence. “What was what?”

“That whole ‘overthinking and stressing over everything’ thing?” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Bit personal, don’t you think?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t joke. Didn’t deflect.

Instead, he gave a small shrug, gaze drifting out toward the dark horizon for a moment, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“It’s true.”

You crossed your arms, partly defensive, partly trying to keep your heartbeat from doing something stupid. “You don’t even know me.”

He turned his head then, slow and deliberate, meeting your eyes with a steadiness that made your breath catch.

“I know enough.”

It wasn’t flirtatious.

It wasn’t teasing.

It was quiet, honest, and it hit you harder than you expected.

You looked away quickly, pretending to focus on the waves you couldn’t actually see. “You got lucky.”

“Twice?” he said, the teasing finally slipping back into his voice.

You rolled your eyes, grateful for the shift. “Don’t get cocky.”

He smiled to himself, that small, private kind of smile that told you he was enjoying this far more than he should.

After a moment, he nudged your arm lightly with his elbow. “You were good too, by the way. The cabinet thing? My mum’s never going to let that go now.”

You laughed under your breath, the sound easing some of the tension in your chest. “I take pride in that.”

“You should,” he said, turning back toward the view. “You’ve officially turned my family against me.”

“Part of the job,” you replied, but your voice softened without your permission.

And for a moment, the two of you just stood there—side by side, warm air brushing past, the night settling around you—feeling something that didn’t quite fit the definition of fake anymore.

There was a brief pause—one of those rare, quiet moments where everything felt suspended in warm night air. Comfortable. Too comfortable. The kind of comfort that made you forget, for a second, that none of this was real.

Then, almost at the same time, your eyes drifted downward toward the garden.

And froze.

His entire family was there—clustered in little groups, pretending to chat, pretending to admire the flowers, pretending to do anything other than stare directly up at the balcony. Sav was leaning against a tree like she was undercover. Adam had his hands on his hips. Flo was perched on a lounge chair, chin in her hands. Cisca was the only one trying to look subtle, which somehow made it worse.

They were all waiting.

Watching.

Expectant.

“Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, heat rushing to your face.

Lando followed your gaze, and the moment he saw them, his shoulders dropped in exhausted disbelief.

“…They’re insane,” he said quietly, like he was afraid they’d hear him.

“They’re waiting,” you whispered, because there was no denying it. They were practically vibrating with anticipation.

“I can see that,” he murmured, jaw tightening like he was trying not to laugh or scream.

A beat passed.

Then another.

The kind of beat where your heart started doing something stupid in your chest.

Lando shifted closer—just a small movement, but enough that his shoulder brushed yours, warm and steady. When he spoke, his voice dropped low, soft enough that only you could hear it over the hum of the night.

“Can I kiss you, please?”

Your breath caught before you could stop it.

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes, and for the first time all night there was no smirk waiting for you, no teasing spark, no playful challenge. Just something softer. Something careful. Something that made your chest feel too tight.

“You’re asking?” you whispered, your voice barely carrying over the warm night air.

“Figured I should,” he murmured back, his tone low and steady. “Consent and all that.”

Despite everything—your nerves, the audience below, the fact that this was supposed to be fake—a small smile tugged at your lips. You couldn’t help it.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t want to break the moment. “But can I?”

You hesitated for half a second. Not because you didn’t want to. Not because you were scared of the kiss itself. But because suddenly, terrifyingly, it didn’t feel like part of the act anymore. It felt like something else entirely—something real, something fragile, something you weren’t sure you were ready to name.

Still, you nodded.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t rush. He didn’t joke. He didn’t turn it into a performance for the garden below. He just leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. His hand brushed your arm, light and warm, like he was checking—are you sure, are you sure, are you sure?

You didn’t move.

And then—

His lips met yours.

Soft. Careful. Warm.

It was meant to be quick, just enough to convince the family watching from below. Just enough to sell the story.

But neither of you pulled away right away.

Not even close.

For a moment, the world narrowed to the quiet press of his mouth against yours, the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth of his hand still resting against your arm. Everything else—the balcony, the night, the family waiting below—faded into a blur.

And all you could think was:

This wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

────────────

The pre-wedding party was… a lot. The kind of “a lot” that filled every corner of the villa with noise and warmth and movement. Music spilled across the garden in waves, loud and bright, mixing with the clinking of glasses and bursts of laughter that rose and fell like the night had its own heartbeat. Fairy lights stretched overhead, soft and golden, blurring slightly at the edges—or maybe that was just the alcohol. Hard to tell anymore.

Still, even with all the warmth and noise and celebration, something felt a little off.

Everyone here seemed to have their place. Their people. Their easy conversations and inside jokes and familiar rhythms. Sav floated from group to group with the kind of glow only a bride‑to‑be could pull off. Flo was dancing with someone’s aunt. Cisca was deep in conversation with a cluster of relatives you couldn’t keep straight. Everywhere you looked, there was a sense of belonging—woven into the air, into the laughter, into the way people leaned into each other without thinking.

And you… well. You were here. Present, technically. But not quite part of the current.

You took another sip of your drink, leaning against the bar, letting the cool glass steady you. Fourth drink? Fifth? You’d lost track somewhere between the speeches and the second round of music. It didn’t matter. The night was warm, the lights were soft, and the alcohol made everything feel a little easier to float through.

Across the garden, Lando was surrounded by his cousins, animatedly talking about F1, hands moving as he laughed at something one of them said. He looked completely at ease—comfortable in a way that made sense. This was his world. His people. His history.

He looked at home.

And you—

You just stood there, watching him for a moment longer than you meant to, feeling that small, quiet ache of being close to something without quite belonging to it.

You were still leaning against the bar, letting the music and chatter blur into a soft background hum, when someone stepped into your space from the side—close enough that you felt the shift of air before you heard the voice.

“Hey.”

You turned slightly.

One of Lando’s cousins stood there with an easy smile. Will—probably. Or Ben. Honestly, after your fourth drink, all the cousins had started blending into one tall, friendly blur of Norrises.

He offered his hand like you were meeting at a business conference instead of a pre-wedding party. “Will.”

“Y/n,” you replied, shaking it briefly.

He didn’t let go right away.

“Oh, trust me, I know,” he said with a small smirk, finally releasing your hand but not stepping back. “You’re kind of the main topic of conversation.”

Your brows lifted, a mix of amusement and mild alarm. “That’s concerning, considering this is Sav and Oliver’s wedding.”

He laughed softly, shoulders relaxing. “Fair point.”

Only then did he give you a little more space—though not much. Just enough to make it clear he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Relax,” he added, tone light. “It’s all good things.”

You gave him a look that said you weren’t convinced. “That’s not very reassuring.”

He grinned, hands sliding into his pockets. “Okay, I’ll rephrase. They like you.”

“That’s better,” you said, though you weren’t sure if the warmth in your chest was the alcohol or the words.

Either way, it was nice to hear.

Will’s smile lingered a little longer than it should have, the kind of smile that tried to look casual but didn’t quite land that way.

“You know,” he said, leaning one elbow against the bar so he was angled toward you, “I’m still trying to figure out how someone like you ended up with him.”

You let out a small laugh, swirling what was left of your drink. The ice clinked softly against the glass. “Wow. Straight to insulting him. Nice.”

“I’m not insulting him,” he said quickly, hands lifting in a harmless gesture. “Just… surprised.”

“Because?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, though your tone stayed light.

He shrugged, eyes flicking over you in a way that felt a little too assessing. “He’s Lando. And you seem… normal.”

That actually made you snort. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” he said, and this time his gaze lingered a beat too long. “I just mean—you could do better.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and awkward, settling between you like something you didn’t want to touch. You opened your mouth—ready to defend Lando, or correct him, or shut the whole thing down before it got any weirder—

“Hey, babe. Is everything okay?”

Lando’s voice cut cleanly through the moment.

Before you could even turn, his hand slid around your waist, warm and steady, pulling you gently but unmistakably toward him. The movement was instinctive, protective, and just a little too sure of itself.

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by how close he suddenly was.

But he didn’t look at you first.

His eyes were locked on Will—calm, unreadable, but with an edge underneath that you hadn’t heard in his voice all night. Or ever.

Will straightened immediately, hands dropping from the bar like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Yeah, just talking.”

Lando hummed once—a low, controlled sound that wasn’t quite agreement. It wasn’t loud, but it carried weight. Like he had a sharper response sitting on the tip of his tongue and was choosing, very deliberately, not to use it. His jaw tightened for a second before he smoothed it over, the kind of restraint that said more than any raised voice could.

Then he finally looked down at you.

“You okay?”

There was something in his tone—lighter than the look in his eyes, softer than the tension in his shoulders. It was a question meant for you, not for the audience around you. A check‑in, not a performance.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

A small beat passed.

His hand was still at your waist, warm and steady, fingers resting just firmly enough to make it clear he wasn’t letting go until you told him to. And without thinking, your own hand had settled against him too, holding on like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Good,” he said simply.

Then his gaze slid back to Will.

“Not sorry, Will,” Lando said, voice calm, almost casual—but with a quiet edge underneath. “I need to talk to my girlfriend.”

The emphasis was subtle, but unmistakable. A line drawn. A boundary set.

Will blinked once, caught between surprise and a laugh he didn’t quite commit to. “Yeah, alright.”

He lifted his hands in a small gesture of surrender. “Didn’t mean anything by it, man.”

“Cool,” Lando replied, smooth and final.

No warmth. No invitation to keep talking. Just a clean end to the conversation.

Then, without another word, he guided you away from the bar. His hand stayed firm at your waist, steering you through the garden, past the clusters of people, past the fairy lights and music and noise. You didn’t resist. You didn’t even think about resisting. You just let him lead you, the warmth of his touch grounding you in a way the alcohol never could.

He didn’t loosen his grip once.

Only when you were finally inside the villa—away from the crowd, away from Will, away from the eyes and the noise—did he slow down. His steps eased, his hand softened, and the air between you shifted into something quieter, heavier, waiting.

The moment the bedroom door clicked shut behind you, the noise of the party vanished like someone had cut the power. No music, no laughter, no clinking glasses—just silence. Thick, heavy, the kind that settled over your skin and made the room feel smaller than it was.

Lando finally let go of your waist, but only so he could turn toward you fully. His movements were sharp, controlled, like he’d been holding something in since the moment he saw you at the bar.

“What was that?” he asked immediately.

You blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. “What was what?”

“That guy,” he said, jaw tightening just enough for you to notice. “The way he was talking to you.”

You scoffed, trying to brush it off, trying to keep the moment light. “It’s literally your cousin. He was just talking.”

“He is the biggest idiot of all of them,” Lando shot back, voice low, “and he was not just talking.”

“Oh my God,” you laughed once, shaking your head, trying to defuse the tension. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes,” he said instantly.

And that—more than anything—made you stop.

He wasn’t teasing.

He wasn’t playing the part.

He wasn’t performing for anyone.

He was actually annoyed.

“You’re overreacting,” you said, quieter now, because suddenly the space between you felt charged in a way you didn’t know how to handle.

“I’m not,” he replied, and there was no hesitation, no doubt. 

A beat passed—quiet, heavy, stretching just long enough to make your pulse stumble.

Then Lando stepped closer again, closing the space you’d tried to keep between you. His voice dropped, low and rough around the edges. “I didn’t like it.”

Your breath caught, sharp and involuntary.

“You don’t get to say that,” you whispered, even though the words didn’t come out nearly as steady as you wanted them to.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s fake,” you reminded him, but your voice wavered, softening at the end like even you didn’t fully believe it anymore.

The word fake landed between you like something sharp. Something that should have pushed him back.

It didn’t.

Lando looked at you for a long second—long enough that you felt it everywhere. Like he wanted to argue, like he had a dozen things he wanted to throw back at you, but none of them made it out fast enough.

“Right, fake.” Lando laughed, but it was dripping with sarcasm and bitterness. “You looked like you didn’t want me there,” he said finally, quieter now, but somehow more honest.

The words hit harder than they should have. Harder than you were prepared for.

“I did,” you shot back, heat rising in your chest. “I just didn’t need you to—”

“To what?” he cut in, stepping closer again. “To act like I care?”

Silence.

Thick. Electric. Unavoidable.

Your chest tightened, breath catching somewhere high in your throat.

“Lando…” you warned softly, but it didn’t come out like a warning. It came out like something fragile. Something unsure.

And he was already too close again—close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, close enough that stepping back didn’t even cross your mind.

This time, you didn’t move at all.

“I care,” he said, and the words were so quiet, so steady, so painfully real that they seemed to settle right under your skin.

That changed everything.

Your breath stuttered, catching somewhere high in your chest. For a moment neither of you moved, like the air between you had turned solid.

Then—

Something in you snapped.

You grabbed the front of his shirt, fingers curling tight in the fabric, and pushed him backward. He didn’t resist. He barely even blinked. He just let you guide him until the backs of his legs hit the bed and he fell onto it with a soft thud, eyes wide, breath unsteady.

You climbed over him before he could say a word.

And kissed him.

Not careful this time. Not soft. Not measured.

This kiss was messy, urgent, horny, full of everything you’d been holding back. No hesitation. No pretending. No audience to perform for. Just heat and frustration and something that had been building for far too long.

Lando’s hands were on you instantly—gripping, grounding, pulling you closer like he needed you right there, right then. His breath was warm against your mouth as he managed a half‑laugh, half‑groan.

“…So that’s how we’re resolving things now?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled against his lips, refusing to pull away.

He did, just barely, just enough to look up at you with that infuriating, familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What happened to rule number two, darling?” he teased, voice low, eyes bright with something that made your pulse jump.

You didn’t even think.

“Fuck rule number two.”

His smile widened—slow, wicked, knowing.

And then he pulled you back down.

────────────

The wedding had been beautiful.

Perfect, actually—the kind of perfect that made your chest ache a little if you thought about it for too long. Everything glowed. The flowers, the lights, the people. Sav looked like she’d stepped out of a dream, and everyone cried at least once. Even you, even though you barely knew half the people in the crowd. Oliver was nervous in a sweet way, stumbling over his vows, and Lando… well. Lando was the prettiest best man anyone had ever seen, all soft smiles and quiet pride, looking like he belonged in every photo taken that day.

But you hadn’t really been thinking about the wedding.

Not the ceremony.

Not the speeches.

Not the dancing.

You’d been thinking about last night.

About the way he’d looked at you.

About the way he’d said I care.

About the way you’d grabbed him, kissed him, lost yourself in something that wasn’t supposed to be real.

Which was exactly why you’d spent the entire day avoiding him.

You kept yourself busy—helping Sav, talking to Flo, pretending to be deeply invested in the seating chart, slipping away whenever you felt his eyes on you. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t graceful. But it was the only thing you could manage, because every time you caught even a glimpse of him, your stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with the memory of his hands on you, his voice in your ear, his breath against your mouth.

You weren’t ready to face him.

Not yet.

Not when everything inside you still felt unsteady.

So you smiled, you mingled, you clapped during the speeches, you danced when someone pulled you in—but underneath all of it, there was this constant hum in your chest.

A reminder. A question.

And no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, you could feel him somewhere in the crowd, watching you like he was waiting for you to stop running.

After the ceremony, everyone drifted inside, swept up in dancing and champagne and the kind of joy that filled every corner of the villa. Music echoed off the walls, laughter spilled across the room, and the whole place felt warm and alive in a way that should have pulled you in.

But instead, you found yourself outside, sitting at the edge of the pool with your legs tucked close, staring at the water like it might offer some kind of clarity.

It didn’t.

Obviously.

The surface just rippled gently, reflecting the lights strung above you, turning everything into soft, shifting colors. It was peaceful, almost too peaceful compared to the noise inside. And maybe that was why you stayed out here—because the quiet made it easier to breathe, even if it also made it harder to ignore the thoughts you’d been trying to outrun all day.

You heard footsteps before you saw him.

Of course you did. You always knew when he was close, even when you didn’t want to.

“Here,” Lando’s voice said gently.

You didn’t turn around.

“I brought you water,” he added after a second, like he wasn’t sure if you’d accept it.

A small sigh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“Thanks,” you said, finally glancing over your shoulder.

He was standing there like he hadn’t been the reason you hadn’t slept properly, eaten properly, or thought about anything else properly since last night. Casual. Too casual. Like he hadn’t been in your head every hour of the day.

He sat down beside you—not too close, not touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. He placed the bottle next to you instead of handing it over, giving you space you weren’t sure you wanted.

Silence stretched between you.

Comfortable for him.

Unbearable for you.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said finally, his voice quiet but certain.

You let out a small, humorless laugh. “Have I?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, eyes still on the water. “You have.”

And there it was—the thing you’d been trying so hard not to face.

You kept your eyes on the pool, tracing the slow, gentle movement of light across the surface. The water shimmered in soft blues and golds, shifting every time the breeze touched it. It was easier to look at that than at him. Easier to pretend you were calm. Easier to pretend you weren’t unraveling a little.

“…I’m not avoiding you,” you said finally, though the words felt thin, like they didn’t quite hold their own weight.

Lando let out a quiet breath—one of those soft, almost-sighs that told you he didn’t believe you but wasn’t ready to push too hard. Not yet. He sat there with his hands loosely clasped, shoulders relaxed, but there was something in the way he watched the water that gave him away. He was waiting. He was listening.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Then what are you doing?”

The question landed heavier than it should have, settling somewhere deep in your chest. You swallowed, eyes still fixed on the ripples in front of you.

“Thinking.”

“Dangerous,” he muttered under his breath.

Despite everything—despite the tension, despite the nerves, despite the way your heart had been doing somersaults since last night—your lips twitched. Just a little. Just enough to betray you.

Another pause stretched between you. Not the comfortable kind from earlier. This one felt more honest, more fragile, like the air between you had thinned and you were both trying not to break it.

You hugged your knees closer, pulling them tight to your chest. “I just… didn’t expect it to feel like this.”

That made him turn his head toward you. Slowly. Carefully. Like he wasn’t sure what you were about to say but knew it mattered.

“Like what?”

You hesitated, because there were too many answers. Too many feelings you didn’t have names for yet. Too many moments from last night still echoing in your head.

“Complicated,” you said at last, the word slipping out on a breath.

A beat passed.

Then he nodded, slow and thoughtful, like that made sense to him too. Like he’d been carrying the same word around all day.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Same.”

It was full of everything neither of you were saying out loud—heavy, warm, impossible to ignore. The kind of silence that pressed against your ribs and made your pulse feel too loud in your own ears.

You picked at the hem of your sleeve, eyes still on the water. “We were supposed to be fake dating,” you said quietly, almost like saying it again might rewind everything, might pull you both back to the safe version of this. The version with rules. The version where your heart wasn’t involved.

Lando let out a short laugh—soft, breathless, almost disbelieving. “We were really bad at that.”

The corner of your mouth lifted before you could stop it. A small smile, but a real one.

“…Yeah,” you admitted.

Another pause settled between you, heavier this time, like the night itself was leaning in to listen.

Lando shifted beside you, just enough that you felt the movement through the air. “Do you regret it?” he asked again, but this time his voice was quieter, stripped of all the bravado he usually carried so easily.

You frowned a little, turning your head toward him. “What?”

He hesitated—actually hesitated—and that alone made something tighten low in your stomach. Lando never hesitated. Not with you. Not with anyone.

“You know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flicking away for a second. “Last night. Us. Sleeping together.”

Oh.

Right.

Your fingers went still against your sleeve. The world seemed to narrow to the space between you, to the way he was looking at you now—no smirk, no teasing, no easy confidence. Just Lando. Waiting. The real version of him, the one he didn’t show to many people.

You looked at him properly then, really looked, and your breath came out slower than you expected.

“I don’t think I do,” you said quietly.

A beat passed, soft and fragile.

Then, even softer—almost like you were testing the truth of it as you spoke—

“I don’t think I regret it at all.”

The words hung there between you, warm and terrifying and honest.

Lando looked at you for a second longer than usual, like he was trying to read the truth behind your words, trying to see if you meant it the same way he did. Something in his expression softened—barely, but enough.

“Same,” he said quietly.

A beat passed, stretching out between you like a held breath.

You let out a nervous exhale, trying to steady whatever was spinning too fast inside your chest. “Let’s not break rule number three, Lando,” you said, aiming for lightness, but your voice didn’t quite make it there.

His mouth twitched, but it didn’t turn into a smile. Not really. “You’re making it very hard,” he admitted.

That made you glance at him again, your pulse skipping. “Hard how?” you asked, careful, cautious, like you already knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway.

Lando exhaled slowly, eyes dropping to the water before lifting back to you. “Pretending this is just… nothing,” he said. “Pretending it was just a mistake we can laugh off in the morning.”

Silence settled over you—thick, heavy, honest. The villa noise felt distant now, like it belonged to another world entirely.

You swallowed. “We agreed on no falling in love.”

He let out a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

Then he shook his head slightly, like he was frustrated with himself, like he’d been fighting something he’d already lost. “That rule’s kind of pointless now,” he said softly.

Your breath caught.

“Lando—”

But he didn’t let you finish.

He turned toward you fully, closer than before, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him even with the space still between you. His voice was quieter now, but steady in a way that made your heart stutter.

“I think I’m already there,” he said.

Everything in you stopped.

The pool light rippled across his face, catching in his eyes, making them look impossibly open, impossibly vulnerable. He wasn’t hiding behind jokes or smirks or bravado. He wasn’t performing. He wasn’t pretending.

He was just telling you the truth.

And then, like it was the simplest thing in the world—even though you could hear the fear tucked beneath it—

“I love you,” he added.

The words hung in the air between you like they had weight.

I love you.

No jokes followed.

No smirk.

No quick escape route disguised as humor.

Just silence.

Your heartbeat felt too loud in your ears, like your body was trying to catch up to what he’d just said. You searched his face, hoping—maybe—that you’d find some hint of exaggeration, some playful twist you could latch onto and turn this into something lighter. Something easier to handle.

But there wasn’t anything like that.

Lando didn’t look away.

He just waited.

And for once, he didn’t look like he was performing anything at all. He looked real. Open. A little scared. A lot sincere.

Your throat tightened.

“I—” you started, but the word broke apart before you could finish it. You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, trying to make sense of the way everything inside you felt like it was shifting at once.

This was supposed to be fake.

This was supposed to be simple.

This was supposed to be safe.

You swallowed hard.

“I didn’t plan for this,” you admitted quietly, the truth slipping out before you could stop it.

A small, almost sad smile flickered across his face. “Neither did I.”

Something in your chest loosened at that—just a little, just enough to breathe again. You looked back at the water, watching the lights ripple across the surface, but it didn’t help. It didn’t make anything clearer.

Because the truth wasn’t complicated.

It was just terrifying.

“…I think I do too,” you said finally, the words soft but steady.

Lando went completely still.

You turned your head toward him again, your voice gentler now, more certain even if your hands weren’t. “I think I’ve been trying not to say it all day,” you added. A breath. “Probably longer than that.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore.

It felt different.

Settled.

Like something had finally clicked into place.

Lando exhaled slowly, almost like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until that moment. “Yeah?” he asked quietly.

You gave a small, nervous nod. “Yeah.”

A beat passed.

Then he let out a soft laugh under his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe either of you. “We are so bad at rules.”

That pulled a laugh out of you too—quiet, shaky, but real. You wiped at your face quickly, as if that would fix anything, as if that would make you feel less exposed.

“Awful at them,” you agreed, laughing.

© verstarris 2026

babsie radio ! heyy….. how are you….long time no see….sorry if this is bad, i tried to overcome my writers block somehow… also I (re)discovered bella kay’s iloveitiloveitiloveit and sombr’s canal street so im in mood for some angst….

The day you were informed of the arrangement, your whole world crashed on you. To be fair, you knew it was coming, your parents made sure of it. The constant reminders to not waste time on the boys around you because you were bound to marry one of their choice.

Jake Sim, Son of one of the most wealthiest CEO’s in Australia. Before you married him, you met him briefly when your parents dragged you to Australia to confirm everything. You had no choice of course.

One thing you didn’t miss was how handsome he was. Not to mention that ridiculous accent, if it hadn't been an arrangement you would have definitely gone after him.

He didn’t love you though. Not in the way husbands love their wives. Because this was all for one thing, to join your families. And that's all he saw it as, just another task his parents assigned for him.

After you got married, he didn’t touch you for almost eight months. The only reason he did was because both of your parents, demanding, constantly asking why you haven’t announced your pregnancy to them. 

The night he did touch you that way, he could barely even look at you. If he was being honest, he enjoyed it but he wouldn’t dare to admit that out loud.

It felt good. You remember the feeling of him, the sounds, the words he let slip out in the moment, but after that it was meaningless. 

You lived together during the pregnancy, he helped you, he was caring. Caring in a way he hadn’t been before you had his child in you. Over the course of those nine months you grew a special connection together.

Becoming a mother was something you expected, but you had always thought of it to be different, not something arranged, a duty needing to be fulfilled.

Like the movies you would watch, the books you secretly read, maybe even the dreams you had, but then again—do they really always come true?

Then the arguments started, the fighting. He never laid a hand on you, never hurt you, but most of all he never touched you sexually again. Was it because he thought it wouldn't be good? Because you were no longer ‘fit’?

Which was many people's explanation why their husbands wouldn't touch them. But you constantly reminded yourself, he’s hardly your husband, this is simply an arrangement.

Which is exactly why you’re in your car now, with your four year old daughter, driving to Jake Sim’s house to drop her off for the week. 

On paper you two are married, but in reality you moved out when your daughter turned one. You couldn’t handle it anymore, and you figured it would be best if she didn’t grow up in a house full of arguments from the people who were supposed to be her role models.

Jake didn’t seem to mind, his time mostly consisted of working, trying to expand his knowledge on his father’s company which he was going to inherit. 

One thing you did agree on, was that you were able to see other people, date whoever, fuck whoever. Obviously you both had needs, needs that you weren’t willing to fulfill with each other. The only thing was you couldn’t introduce said person to Layla.

“Daddy said he’d buy me the whole barbie section from the store!” Your daughter says, playing with the dolls he apparently just bought her a few weeks ago.

“You already have all of them right sweetheart?” You ask, turning into the gated neighborhood, the houses are pretty spaced apart since they're huge. You don’t understand why he didn’t just move to a smaller place afterwards,  6 bedrooms is extremely unnecessary for one man.

“Not the camping ones” she looks out the window as you pull into his driveway with a smile on her face. You glance down at your outfit, So what if you are wearing something nice, and a little more makeup then normal..nothing wrong with dressing up a little. 

You move to the trunk to get the backpack with everything she needs from your place before getting her from the backseat “You ready Lay?” You ask helping her out, and holding her hand as you walk to his front door, before you're even on the front porch the door opens, you pause, she lets go of your hand to run to him, jumping in his arms. 

He’s wearing some jeans with a casual sweater, his hair styled, but messy at the same time. “Aw, sweet girl, you missed me?” He says hugging her back, holding her in his arms.

He offers a tight lipped smile to you before inviting you in, “I wanna play with the barbie house!” She says, squirming to get out of his arms, he puts her down, watching as she runs off to the living room to play.

You set the backpack down on the kitchen island before looking around, nothing seems different from the last time you were here.

“The drive was okay?” He asks, walking past you into the kitchen, hips brushing yours. You don’t know if it was intentionally, but you do know every nerve in your body felt it. “Yeah, traffic wasn't terrible.” You nod, slightly cringing at the attempt in small talk. 

“Im going to use the bathroom” You say abruptly, “Second door on the right.” He offers, “I know.” He lets his eyes drop to your outfit for a split second before you disappear down the hall.

You walk to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you before bracing your hands on the counter, looking up at your reflection. 

God, you're actually pathetic.

You wait a few minutes before you flush the toilet, you didn't even have to use the bathroom.

Jake moved to the living room, sitting on the couch watching Layla play with her toys with a smile on his face. You don't look at him before crouching down beside her 

“Mommy’s going to leave now okay?” You smile softly, “But I want you and Daddy to both play!” she frowns, looking at Jake than at you, you can't help but share the same frown before leaning in to give her a hug, she wraps her arms around your neck.

Jake watches the interaction, he cant help the slight ting of guilt that hits his chest, he watches you pull back to kiss her forehead before standing up. 

“I'll walk you out” he stands with you, following you to the door, you step out before turning to face him “I won't be able to call her goodnight tomorrow.” You say, watching him lean against the door frame, eye brow raised.

“Why?” he asks the question like it’s his business to know. “I'm just- I’ll be busy.”

“Ah, a date?”

“What- Thats none of your business” You say defensively 

“So a date then.” He sighs, watching the way your face morphs to irritation.

You dodge his question “No ice cream for dinner.” You mutter before turning to walk to your car, he closes the door once you drive off, before putting his attention back on his adorable daughter.

-

“She’s dating now? Damn, about time.” Sunghoon mutters, putting down the weights he was just lifting.

“About time? No, fuck no.” Jake replies back, grabbing heavier weights just to feel something. “Why’re you pressed about it? You’ve fucked plenty of girls since.” Sunghoon says casually.

“Well it’s–different..” 

“Nope, not that different.” 

“You’re not helping.”

“Did you guys not agree to do just that? It’s not like she’s getting married to another guy. She probably just needs to get laid.” Sunghoon offers bluntly, earning a glare from Jake.

Yeah, that was the agreement, but it doesn't help the thoughts going through his mind. Sure he’s had plenty of useless fucks, using his hand gets boring. But he hasn't dated officially, so you going on a date, just makes shit worse.

“When was the last time you actually got pussy then?” Sunghoon asks, finishing his set of bicep curls.

“Shit, like a few weeks back–”

“That’s why you’re so fucking frustrated.” He says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

“How’s things going with that Sara girl?” He questions, downing his water

“Who?” Jake asks, genuinely confused

“Sara, the girl you met at the bar?” 

“Oh–I don't know, She’s just kind of..boring.” 

“Wish she was y/n huh?” Sunghoon smirks 

“Bro fuck you, when was the last time you–”

“Last night.” Sunghoon replies immediately, Jake opens his mouth to speak, closes it.

“Okay, what were you saying about the weights?” Jake asks, changing the topic, earning a laugh from Sunghoon.

As soon as Jake gets home, he wakes up Layla, who attempts to sprint down the stairs just to see the guest he brought back.

“Hoon!” Layla practically screams, running up to his best friend to give him a hug, “Hey Lay, Just had to stop by to pick up something” Sunghoon smiles down at her, the cocky bastard exterior gone, making Jake roll his eyes. “The papers are in my study. I'll be right back.” Jake says, walking upstairs.

Sunghoon is his best friend, someone who he can really trust. He’s one of the few people in his life who know about the arrangement between you and him.

He also happens to work at his fathers company, one that Jake will soon inherit. The only steady thing in his life consists of work at this point. 

He can't help the laugh that slips past his lips when he sees Sunghoon sitting on the ground, holding a fairy barbie and talking in a pitch way too high for a 25 year old man.

“No! You were supposed to give up your wings so mermaid Barbie can swim!” Layla says in a sharp tone talking to Sunghoon “Sorry, sorry, take the wings please–” He apologises as if he’s scared of upsetting her-

“Having fun?” Jake smirks walking over to him “So much fun” Sunghoon replies standing up and taking the papers from him.

“Bye Layla, ill see you soon” Sunghoon says, rubbing Layla's head before turning to the door “Gym same time tomorrow?” He adds

Jake nods, walking to the kitchen as the front door shuts.

“Hm I guess ill just eat all this ice cream by myself” Jake says loud enough, less then 10 seconds pass until Layla's running over to the kitchen with a smile on her face.

-

The date was genuinely horrible. Some guy your friend tried setting you up with, all he did was talk about himself the whole time. You slip off your heels before stepping inside your house, who knew listenting to someone brag about themselve could be so fucking exhausting. 

You’re so sexually frustrated it's insane. Since when did finding a quick hookup become so hard? You crawl into your bed not bothering to change out of your dress. 

You lay there for a moment, contemplating, before deciding to reach into your side drawer, pulling out one of the things that has kept you sane this entire time.

You hike up your dress to your hips before brushing your fingers in between your legs, feeling the dampness coat your fingers through the thin fabric of your panties. You push them to the side before clicking the button on your vibrator.

The low buzz filling the silence of the room before you bring it down to your core, your hips instantly jolt at the feeling, you rub small circles on your clit with it, pinching your nipples through your dress before closing your eyes, trying to imagine someone else pleasuring you, bringing you closer instead of yourself..someone like–Jake..

Oh hell no.

You open your eyes, turning off the vibrator before sitting up. “No, no, absolutely not.” Anything but him, anyone but him. It’s like the universe wants you to think about him as his name flashes across your screen.

“Fuck.” You whisper, grabbing the phone, you fix your hair in the reflection looking back at you before clicking accept.

“Hey y/n, Layla wanted me to call you, she said she wouldn't sleep unless you said goodnight–are you good?” He pauses, looking at your flushed face on his phone

“What? Good, yes I'm good- why are you asking that. Just show me Lay.” You feel your heart racing in your chest, why does it feel like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't.

“Okay.” He simply says before giving Layla the phone

“Daddy said you wouldn't be able to call tonight but I still wanted to see you” Layla pouts, you can't help the warm feeling in your chest at how cute she is “I'm here now sweetheart, I hope you sleep well and have good dreams okay?” You say sweetly, blowing her a small kiss before Jake takes the phone back.

“Goodnight Layla” He says, you don't see his face but you watch the lights turn off and listen to the sound of the door shutting. “Alright bye-”

“How was the date?” He asks, walking to what seems to be his room and sitting on his bed, the camera is now on him, you watch him push his black framed glasses up his nose with his finger, fuck, why are his hands so damn hot.

“What–” 

“That bad huh?” He chuckles, the sound low, in amusement. “It's none of your business.” You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“I think it is my business what my wife does.” That has you fucking shook. “Your wife? Are you serious right now?”

“Very. If the date went well, you wouldn't have answered the phone. Yet here you are.” He can't hide the smirk that coats his face. “You have no room to talk–” You snap back, “You just answered my question for me anyway” He dodges your statement, with a proud look on his face, God–he’s such an ass.

“I’m not talking to you unless it's about Layla. Goodnight.” You say, tone stern before hanging up.

What the hell is wrong with him? You knew he was a cocky asshole the second you met him all those years ago.

But you can't deny, he’s a damn good father.

-

You got the call in the middle of the day while making yourself coffee in your offices lounge.

“Is she hurt?” You ask frantically, packing your bag and letting your boss know you have an emergency.

You don't have to work honestly, you're wealthy enough to spend your days slouching around the house, but you like being on your feet, because sitting down for too long is when the overthinking happens.

“No Mrs. Sim, She’s not hurt, but she did lay hands on another student. Which is completely unacceptable here.” The Director of Layla's pre-school says.

“Did you call her father as well?”, “Yes ma’am, Mr. Sim is on his way right now.” She says cliply. You let out a sigh “I’ll be there right away.” You say before hanging up and getting in your car immediately.

Once you get to the school, you see Jake pacing outside of the Director's office, he’s in a suit, he must have just come from work too. You smooth down your blouse and business pants before walking over to him, the sound of your heels being the only thing in the empty hallway, he stops to look at you, not having time to fully take you in

“Where is she?” You ask, hand gripping your phone hard. “They took her to a different classroom, some bullshit about needing to calm herself down.” He says, pushing his hair back.

“Layla would never do something like this, not just because anyway. There has to be a reason.” You bite your lip in frustration before knocking on the door of the office. “Come in.” you hear the stern voice of the Director say, before looking at Jake who nods. 

You both walk in, taking the seats in front of her desk, “Good evening Mr, and Mrs. Sim, I'm sure you know why I've called you here.” She says, eyes darting between the two of you.

You can't help the way your hand grips your phone tighter at the use of the last name, the one that feels like it doesn't even belong to you. “We also do not tolerate any form of violence here. Since this is the first and hopefully only time, we've given her a warning, due to the..circumstances of the action.” You raise a brow at that 

“What ‘circumstances’?” Jake asks, tone serious. “Well, another student had actually taken her..barbie doll, and–” She clears her throat “Ripped the head off..” She finishes, looking at the both of you and the confused looks on your faces

“So she kicked him.” You see Jake slightly relax in his chair, “So she was just defending herself then.” He offers, “Well, in a sense, but it's still not acceptable, like I said we forbid any violence. So there is another reason I called you both here today.” You raise your brow as she continues talking

“Is there something going on at home?” She asks, looking at you then at him. You scoff at that “No, everything's perfectly fine.” You simply say, you watch the way Jake shifts in his chair, earning a glare from you and a curious look from the director

“And you Mr. Sim?” She says, “Right, Yes everything's fine, nothing more than the perfect family.” He smiles, that performative one you always see in the business photos. “Good to hear. Layla should be waiting outside, Thank you for coming all this way.” You nod, before standing up, Jake follows after you. 

As soon as you see her, you crouch down to her level in the chair “Lay, baby–” You look down at the doll in her hand, ruined.

“Layla-” Jake whispers, sitting down next to her, she looks up at you, tears in her eyes, her face slightly red from crying earlier. You swipe them away with your thumb gently “H-he took it from me..a-and he broke it mommy” She says, voice trembling, you look up at Jake, you see that familiar look of anger flash on his features.

“I k-kicked him..I know I shouldn't have Im s-sorry” She says before breaking into a sob, and hugging you.

You hug her back immediately, hand smoothing down the back of her head before looking at Jake, He doesn't say anything before standing up and storming back into the directors office, shutting the door behind him. You don't stop him either, because you know exactly what he’s going to do.

You pull back to look at her, your heart hurts to see her like this. “Listen, I'm not saying violence is okay, but I'm glad you defended yourself okay?”

You tuck her hair behind her ear “I don’t want you to solve problems with violence, do you understand?” you ask gently, she nods looking down at her barbie ashamed, you press a kiss to her forehead before standing up. 

Jake walks out of the office not even 5 minutes later, "I've got the kids parents contact, he wont mess with her again.” Is all he says before picking up Layla in his arms and walking outside to his car, you follow after him, watching as he buckles her up in the car. He swipes a thumb over her cheek gently before shutting the door and turning to face you. 

“Perfect family huh?” You cross your arms over your chest, watching his face “She bought it.” He simply says. “Yeah, you’re pretty good at lying.”

“Fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means what I said.” You reply back snappy 

“Yeah okay y/n, im not doing this shit” He rubs his nose bridge before looking at you again “Typical of you, being an avoidant asshole.” You don't know where this is coming from, but you can't stop the words from coming out, the pent of frustration boiling in you.

He sighs, looking down at his shoes before back at you, something you can't quite pin flashing in his eyes. “I’ll see you on Friday.” His tone is sharp before turning around and getting in his car.

You don't say anything before walking to yours, the sole of your heels digging into your feet irritating you, but nothing can possibly be more irritating than Jake Sim.

-

Friday comes sooner than expected, Jake messaged you a brief “On the way.” 20 minutes ago.

You opted for some lounge pants and a sweater today. “Mommy!” Layla's bright voice says the second you open the door “Hi angel” You smile when she hugs your leg, before looking at Jake.

He’s wearing a navy suit today, glasses. You try not to think about how good he looks in those glasses.

You look down at the pink backpack on his shoulder “Oh- um, you can come in–” You say, walking back.

The place is perfectly curated to how you want. So much more different than his house, You don't see the deep inhale he takes.

It smells so much like you. “You can just put the bag wherever” You say briefly. “Y/n-”

“Mommy guess what!” Layla drags your attention to her, you tilt your head “Daddy said we're going to Italy with grandma and grandpa!” she says, tugging your pant leg, you don't smile. You look up at a very nervous looking Jake,

“Oh really sweetheart?” You ask, still looking at him. “Yup! Grandma called” She giggles, you lower yourself to the ground to talk to her face to face “Can you go to your room angel? Me and daddy need to have an adult conversation okay?” She nods, completely clueless that she just practically dropped a bomb on you.

When you see she’s down the hall you whip your head to Jake “What the fuck?” You look at him eyes wide

“I know, okay I know.” He buries his face in his hands, “When is this happening.”

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks Jake, are you serious? When the hell were you planning on telling me?”

“Come on y/n. You know how they get. They want us all to be one big happy family or something–” He sighs “Who else is going "

"I don't know, it was brief.” You look at him like he has two heads “No. No I cannot do this, I absolutely cannot fucking do this.” You walk to the kitchen, pacing around, he follows

“Like what the fuck was going through your head when you said I would go?” You try not to raise your voice so Layla doesn't hear.

“If I had a choice I would have said no. You know how they are, they expect you to be there.” He says, watching you.

“How long is it?” You ask, trying to remain sane.

“A week.”

“No fucking way, no actual fucking way.” You don't even know what to say. “I cannot be stuck in Italy with you for a week, no way in hell.”

“Geez, didn't know I was that bad.” He says, leaning against the counter, like he belongs in your house. 

It’s true, Jake isn't horrible, he picks up, he doesn't snore, too loud anyway. But that's not why you're stressed about this. It’s because you don't know what could happen.

“There's more..” He says, watching your reactions

“No.” because you know exactly what he’s going to say, you can feel it.

“They dont want us to stay at the estate with them in Milan. Something about us needing ‘couple time’.” You're going to throw up. You're actually going to throw up in front of him.

“I don't need them to butt into our–relationship, it's perfectly fine how it is right now.” He doesn't say anything to that.

“I know y/n. I tried to talk them out of it, but they are dead set on it.” You sit down, you can't be on your feet right now, you inhale and exhale, trying to calm the rapid pace of your heartbeat.

“I’ll probably be taking care of shit for the company anyways, it’s this whole thing with our partners from America–” He sighs, hand running through his hair in irritation.

“Okay. One week, seven days. Not bad, I can do that.” You voice your thoughts out loud unknowingly. You see him check his phone, “I have to go. We can talk about this later.” 

“Thats it? You're just leaving again? Dropping this on me?” You stand up, following him to the front door

“In case you weren't aware, I still have a company to run. Trust me I'm not thrilled about this at all, so don't get it twisted.” He says, looking down at you. 

“Fuck you.” 

He scoffs at you, “You’re fucking ridiculous.” he mutters before walking down to his car. You watch him for a moment before slamming the front door behind you. The pain in your chest doesn't go away, even when you tuck Layla in for bed that night. 

-

“Holy shit–Yeah, you might actually be fried,” Sunghoon says, not bothering to ask before sitting down at his desk across from him. “What does that even–” Jake mutters, running his hand through his hair. Attention that was once on the laptop before him gone. 

“All I'm saying is that this is not good, I mean when was the last time you two were actually together for more than one hour?” He doesn't respond

“Exactly.”

“I still haven't told her about the room situation.” Sunghoon laughs at that.

“So what? You’re just going to sleep in the same bed together” Jake nods, rubbing his eyebrows in thought “You gonna be able to resist then?” 

“What do you mean–”

“You know exactly what I mean. Let's not forget the fact that every woman you’ve been mildly interested in represents her in at least one way.” Sunghoon says, bluntly.

Jake looks down at his computer, not even bothering to argue because it's true. He made sure of it.

“I don't know, okay?” he finally says, that makes Sunghoon do a double take

“Shit. I wasn’t expecting you to admit it.” 

“Its not fair. Nothing about this is fair to her, to me. I just wish they would fucking stay out of it.” He mutters, almost to himself. Thinking back to when he first met you, he couldn't deny the immediate attraction he felt, but it all felt like this was just another thing given by his parents, you were just a task, a duty he had to fulfill. 

“It’s going to be torture. Having to put up that front, that everything is okay. Making it believable to all of them. When this whole situations fucked up.” Jake says, standing up, looking down at the city from his office window.

“I can’t say I understand it man, but if I was you, I'd meet up with her. Tell her how it’s going to go, I mean.. maybe she won't make it a big deal, right?” Sunghoon suggests, shrugging.

Sunghoon also doesn't know you as well as he does.

—“No, I dropped her off an hour ago.” You put your phone on speaker before setting it down on the bathroom counter.

“So you’re home right now?” Jake asks, you roll your eyes.

“Why?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Mhm, I'm working from home.” you say, trying on some designer dress you bought specifically for Italy.

And yes, obviously you would be excited to go, It’s not like you actually have to be with Jake the whole time anyway. You can spend some time by yourself, or with Layla.

You slip off your bra, the braless look is better for this type of dress anyway. “-outside”

“huh?” you ask, completely forgetting you were on the phone. “Im outside” He says like its the most normal thing

“Wait what-” You look at yourself in the mirror and then back at your phone “Im at the door y/n, let me in.”

“Fuck, fuck–shit” you hiss

“What, do you have someone you don't want me seeing?” That pisses you off even more. You storm downstairs, swinging the front door open with an irritated look on your face.

His gaze drops to your feet, the miss matched socks, to the extremely short, almost see through dress, to your face, and then the messy pony tail on your head.

“Playing dress up huh?” He says, walking in. You scoff before shutting the door, watching as he walks into your living room and sits on your couch.

“What are you doing here? I already said Layla was at pre school.” You walk to the living room, standing in front of him “I need to talk to you about Italy.”

“Okay what about it?” you ask, attitude leaking from your tone. “And aren't you supposed to be at work?” You look down at him, his outfit, black dress pants, to the white button up.

“No, meeting got cancelled.” Even if he was the one to cancel it himself. He decided to come straight here after talking to Sunghoon.

“Okay, spit it out then.” You cross your arms over your chest, he lets out a quiet chuckle. God, you need to be put in your place so bad sometimes.

“I tried requesting a separate room, but my parents found out about it.” He says, casually unbuttoning his shirt collar “So what the hell are you trying to say?” 

“You know exactly what I'm saying y/n.” He runs his hand down his face “Look– its one fucking week okay? Just play the part–”

“Of the perfect wife. Right.” You don't even bother sitting next to him. “We don't even have to talk to each other, I mean– when we get there we obviously have to see my mother and father, maybe the partners from America.”

He pulls out his phone “Great.” You watch him scroll through it. “This is a pretty big fucking deal for us y/n. Not everything is about you okay? You knew what you were doing the second you signed that contract five years ago.”

He stands up, gripping his phone tighter than normal in his hand. You open your mouth to speak–close it.

Jake immediately regrets his choice of words, of course you didn't know it would end up like this– separated family, separate houses–

“Y/n–” He drops his head, biting his lip in concentration “Get out Jake.” You watch the way his eyebrows furrow. You two stay there like that for a moment, in a silence, before he turns away from you. You only look at him when he speaks, his voice rough.

“I’ll message you more details later.” He says, shutting the front door behind him. You scoff, sitting down where he just was, trying to keep your cool, even if the very thing you want to do right now is slap his stupidly perfect face. 

-

You refused to take his offer of being driven to the airport, which was probably really stupid considering you were literally going to ride in his private plane, While also staying with him in Italy, while playing the part of his wife.

So obviously you wanted to hang on to your last ounce of dignity, even if paying for parking at the airport was definitely avoidable.

You look for the woman that Jake said to follow once you got to the airport. Spotting her immediately since she stood out, young, pretty.

You recognized her from when you were dragged to past work events, ones that you left 30 minutes into after making your appearance as Jake's “wife”. 

“Mrs. Sim,” She nods at you, offering to take your bags. “Thank you.” You reply shortly, falling into step beside her as she leads you to the plane, the very spacious one to be exact, from the brown leather reclining seats, to the marble accented ceilings.

You spot Layla immediately, she's sitting next to a man you recognize, Park Sunghoon. He's smiling down at something she said, holding one of her barbies in his hand. The woman next to you stares at him for a moment before facing you.

“Mr. Sim is talking to the Pilot, he wanted me to let you know this is your seat as well” She points to the window seat, among the many other ones, ah–so he's assigning shit to you now.

You set your bag down on it before walking over to Layla, “Hi angel” You smile down at her, her eyes lighting up the second she sees you “Mommy!” She yells in a high pitched tone, standing up in the seat and holding her arms out, you take her in your arms, hugging her back. 

“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Sim” Sunghoon says with a smirk, the tone he uses for your name hitting a nerve only someone as cocky as him could.

“You as well, Park.” Layla twirls a strand of your hair, before wiggling out of your arms, a sign she wants to be put down.

“Here you go Miss. Layla” Sunghoon hands her the fairy barbie in his hand, eyes looking past you to the woman you were talking to earlier..

You turn around, taking Layla to your seat.

Jake comes through the Pilots cabin shortly after, glancing down at you, his eyes softening when he looks at Layla beside you.

He stops at where Sunghoon and the other woman are sitting across from each other, both with their laptops out.

“You two do realise you don't have to work while we're on the plane. Save it for when we actually get to Milan.” He sighs,

“I just like to stay ahead.” The woman says, “Let's just say I'm feeling motivated.” Sunghoon adds, eyes not living Jake's other employee. “Yeah– okay, just don’t kill eachother.”

He rolls his eyes, walking back over to where you and Layla sit, you give her the tablet you occasionally let her use, along with her pink unicorn headphones, she happily takes it, leaning against your arm.

Your hand mindlessly brushes through her hair as Jake loosens his tie, his blazer discarded already. You look down at your outfit, a pair of nice fitted jeans, silk blouse, before looking back at him.

“Whats up with those two?” You ask, nodding behind you to where Sunghoon and Jake's other coworker sit. “Ever since I hired her, Sunghoon has had this– inferior complex thing going on.” He sighs, leaning against the cushioned plane seat.

“When they work together, they definitely get shit done, but when they argue it's annoying as hell.” Jake says bluntly, glancing down at Layla, whose focus is on her tablet.

“Oh, I see.” You reply quietly, looking out the window as the plane begins rolling for take off. 

-

After an extremely long flight, and parting ways with Jake's coworkers, you finally arrive at his parents' estate in Milan.

“Just play the part” He nods at you, moving to open the car door and get Layla from the backseat. You two don't even have a chance to mentally prepare yourself when you walk in, to see Jake's mother and father both at the door.

Ignoring you and Jake, their focus immediately goes to your daughter “Princess!” His mother says, Layla skips over to her, giving her a hug, “Grandma! Grandpa! I missed you” She says, voice filled with joy, something that both you and Jake can't mirror no matter how hard you try.

His parents finally look at the two of you, “Nice to see you y/n.” His mother says, you smile tightly. “I need to talk to you son, it's about the partners from America.” His father says, giving Jake a pointed look, he fixes his posture, looking at you for a split second before following his father to his study. 

“Mommy, you and Daddy will still come and see me right?” Layla looks up at you, eyes wide and childlike.

“Of course sweetheart, we just have important stuff to take care of” You smile down at her, before looking at Jake's mother for a split second, if you looked a little longer you would see the brief concern across her face.

She has no right to feel concerned for you though, considering she's one of the reasons you're here in the first place. 

Jake shuts the door behind him, following his father to his desk in the center of the room. “My assistant got the dates wrong for when you were supposed to come.” His father says, eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“What do you mean she ‘got it wrong’? You couldnt have let me know that before I flew my fucking family out?” Jake says, irritation written all over his face.

“I would have, if I knew. Park Jongseong landed a few hours after you, trust me this isn't ideal for either of us.”

“I need you to go to the Park international office headquarters before you and y/n head where you are staying. He expects you to be there, not for long, just to confirm meetings and etcetera.” His father says, leaning against the desk.

“This is a fucking mess.” Jake groans, running his hand through his hair. “Just get this done, there's going to be issues bigger than this when you actually fully take over the company son, take care of it.”

For some reason, that makes Jake even more upset. Hes fully aware of how this all ends up becoming his responsibility, hell, his whole fucking life has revoled around it, just a bunch of deals, negotiations, arrangements.

“I’ll handle it.” Jake straightens moving to the door, not looking back at his father as he approaches you.

“We need to go.” he looks at you for a brief second before he faces his mother and Layla in her arms. “Bye angel, mommy and daddy will come see you later this week okay?” His voice is gentle when talking to her

“Okay!” She says cheerfully, playing with Jake's mother's expensive diamond necklace, His mother leans up to press a kiss to his cheek, “Drive safe okay?” His mother says, giving him a look of warning.

“I know.” He sighs, walking towards the door, you give Layla one more kiss on her head before following him. Somehow it feels like all of this is a bad decision. 

“Where are we going.” It's not a question, it's something you're demanding to know as he pulls out of the stone driveway of his parents estate.

You look at him, his tense jaw, to his hands that are gripped on the steering wheel dangerously tight. “The Park International Office.” He replies back, eyes not leaving the road. “Okay, drop me off before then.”

“No.” 

You scoff, looking at him in disbelief “Why the hell not?” you ask, irritation leaking in your tone. The same tone he recognizes so well from when you two actually used to live together, even before you were pregnant with Layla.

“The faster we get this over with, the better.” His voice is stern, unmoving. “Fine. Don't expect me to be all enthusiastic and shit to meet your fancy clients.” You add a mocking flare to the last words, this time he actually looks at you, disbelieving.

“Gosh– I forget how fucking bratty you get.” He says, slight amusement leaking from his voice.

“Can’t forget how much of an asshole you are.” you reply back, rolling your eyes. He pushes his tongue against his cheek, gripping the steering wheel harder. 

As he puts the car into park, taking off his seatbelt, he pulls his black framed glasses from the center console, putting them on. You try not to notice the way they sit perfectly on his nose bridge.

“Just play the part.” He says low, opening the door, walking over to open yours but you already got out the second he did. You smooth down your silk blouse, he reaches to hook his arm around yours but you pull back.

“Y/n.” you let out an annoyed sound before taking his arm, the touch foreign, yet almost comforting in a way you don't want to admit. 

You see Sunghoon and Jake's other coworker once you enter the building, both with irritated looks on their faces as if they were arguing before falling into step beside Jake.

Sunghoon smirks down at you, before looking at Jake with his brow raised in a knowing look. You watch everyone's eyes follow a man, black hair, sharp features, even sharper jawline as he approaches you.

Jakes hand rests low on your waist, you feel the heat radiation off his palm through your shirt.

“Mr, and Mrs. Sim” He nods politely at you, before doing the same to Jake's coworkers out of respect. 

Jake nods back “Mr. Park.” He nods back, you cant help but notice how the man in front of you also looks like he doesn't want to be here.

You stay by Jake's side, even as the man you now recognize as Park Jongseong speaks business, the woman from the plane writing down things on a glass clipboard, while Sunghoon joins the conversation with them.

You sigh, slightly annoyed, your performative exterior crumbling the longer you have to stand by his side. 

What felt like hours, but was most likely only 30 minutes of having to perform as his ‘perfect little wife’ you two finally got to the place you were staying, an extremely nice estate, it was almost like a penthouse, overlooking the water.

You still don't understand why you and Jake couldn't have stayed at his parents estate, but you guess this is what everyone insisted on.

You shove past him to get in the room, ignoring the way he glares daggers at the back of your head, only to pause when you reach the bedroom.

He follows after you, letting one of the room service workers bring in your stuff. You both freeze, staring at the bed.

The rose petals covering the white comforter, you feel your cheeks flush when they land on the condoms, assorted to make some sort of heart on the nightstand, you quickly move, opening the drawer to shove them inside of it only for your whole body to still.

“What the fuck–” Your eyes meet a pair of handcuffs, next to them, a bottle of unopened lube.

You swear your whole body is on fire, “I-Is this some kind of like– sex resort?” You turn to Jake, gaping at him. 

He looks like he's at a loss for words, hand clutched tight around the suitcase handle. You move past him to the room service workers who are bringing in your stuff.

“Hi, sorry, I think we have the wrong room, I'm confused with all the–stuff laying around.” You can't help the slight tremble in your voice, the woman unloads your suitcase off the carrier, before standing straight.

“Ma’am, this was booked specifically with the additions to it.” She says warily.

Jake follows out the bedroom, realisation dawning. Sunghoon.

He should have known better than to have the idiot be the one to book where to stay.

“Shit.” He mutters, before looking at the woman, and the other two who helped bring your stuff up here

“You may leave, Thank you.” He hands her handfull of money, you couldn't see how much, but from the slightly shocked look on her face, you knew it was more than needed. 

The door shutting behind them, leaving you and Jake in a penthouse in Italy, alone.

One that practically screamed sex, you crossed your arms over your chest, giving him that look.

“Sunghoon booked it. I was busy with meetings– Fuck, I knew I shouldnt have let him.” He takes off his glasses rubbing the bridge of his nose in irritation.

“God, of course he would do something like this.” You look around, besides the..stuff, it was a really nice place, probably the nicest you could have gotten, but that was expected with how wealthy he was.

You sigh, not looking back before walking towards the bedroom to unpack your things.

His eyes follow you, trailing a path down your body, the way your jeans cling to your hips, swaying in a way that could make any man weak.

Example being the way some of the men in Park Jongseongs office eyed you down. 

You looked around the room- hell, Even the bathroom held the same aura as the bedroom, built for something intimate.

The shower lining the back, completely open, besides the glass in the middle, one shower head on the left, and one on the right, a fair distance away from each other, the dark tile made it feel even more dangerous.

This whole place was just one big temptation, with Jake being the center of it all. 

-

For being in the same penthouse as him, it was surprisingly easy to avoid each other. He mentioned something about Sunghoon, and this and that, in which you were half listening, half trying to ignore the way his short sleeved button up fit him.

There must be something in the air, there's stuff for that right? Perfume that makes you obnoxiously horny. Because that's the only reasonable explanation. 

You finish blow drying your hair, running the detangling oil through it, the one that smells like fruits.

Checking the time, 9:48. Layla is probably already asleep, you open your phone, checking for any notifications, a part of you already knows who you're looking for.

“Im so fucked.” Jake groans, hair messy, glasses forgotten, the first few buttons on his shirt open, his tone chest revealed.

He takes the drink the bartender offered him, her hand grazing his at the exchange, Jake doesn't even notice it. 

Sunghoon raises a brow at his state, looking at the woman behind the counter now serving a group of girls vodka shots.

The music isn't too loud, considering he specifically wanted a bar that wasn't meant for too much partying.

Jake looks around, the couples sitting down, happy, intertwined.

“Like I said, you just need some pussy.” Sunghoon mutters causally, looking as composed as ever.

“Yeah, hers.” Jake mumbles, making Sunghoon laugh, actually fucking laugh in his face. “I take it back, no amount of pussy is gonna save your ass.” 

“Fuck Hoon– they even put flowers on the bed. Don’t even get me started on the handcuffs either.” Jake rubs his temple in irritation.

“Hey, it took some real convincing to get them to go all in with the kinky shit.” Sunghoon raises his hands in defense, like that makes it any better.

“What makes you think I even–”

“Trust me, I know. Real recognizes real.” He says through a smirk. Jake can't help but let out a huffed chuckle, filled with amusement, and also disbelief.

“You know, this is honestly your fault.” Jake levels his gaze, downing the rest of his drink.

“You sure you don’t just need someone to blame for your heart throbbing obsession with your baby mama?” Sunghoon says through that shit eating grin he wears when he knows he's right. I mean hell, he might just be. 

Jake shakes his head, trying to get rid of any irrational thoughts, focusing on the truth, you want nothing to do with him in that way.

You probably hated him, most likely wouldn’t even be talking to him if it werent for Layla.

“Alright prove it then.” Sunghoon says, challenging. Jake raises a brow suspiciously, “That bartender right there in the tiny shorts, she's been eyeing you this whole time. You were too busy sulking about how much you want to fuck y/n to notice.” Sunghoon pauses for a moment, watching as Jake looks at the woman, her eyes locked on his before turning back to him.

“Flirt back, see where that leads you.” Sunghoon finished, downing the rest of his drink.

Jake chuckles, although there's no amusement filled in it, just straight up boredom. “Im not flirting with her, let alone fucking her.” Jake says, voice low.

Sunghoon's eyes light up immediately, victory gleaming in them. “Knew it.” He shakes his head, knowingly.

He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it as his screen lights up with a notification. Jake watches as Sunghoon picks up his phone, reading whatever it is, typing, sending, and standing up.

“We’ve been here for less than 24 hours and you already found someone?” Jake asks, a tone of exhaustion.

“You already know it.” Sunghoon offers a playful wink, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Don’t forget about the meeting we have with Park Jongseong either, The Prada ambassadors are also attending.” Jake says sternly, his voice he uses for business coming out.

“Yes, sir.” Sunghoon chuckles, leaning against the stool for a second “You good for tonight though?” he asks, slight concern around the edges.

“Yeah, I'm fine. I'm headed back soon anyway.” Jake says, giving him a tight smile, Sunghoon watches him for a moment, before parting ways.

Jake stays for about five more minutes before standing up and walking back to the penthouse– to you. 

He's always been good about handling his alcohol, plus he didn't have much to drink anyway. So when you hear the sound of the door being unlocked, shut, and footsteps coming to the bedroom, you attempt to put on the facade of being fast asleep.

He walks in, closing the bedroom door shut behind him, eyes immediately on you, curled into the sheets like it was natural.

He doesn't know what comes over him when he walks over to your side of the bed, wanting to get a closer look at you, because it's been so.. so long since hes seen you like this.

He can't help himself when he brushes a finger over your cheek, it takes everything in you to stop your body from reacting.

“What are you doing to me..” He whispers, low, that you almost couldn't hear it. The slight smell of the crisp fresh air, his signature cologne,  and faint alcohol lingering off of him.

He steps back immediately, touch gone from your skin, like you burned him, or like realisation finally dawned.

You don't open your eyes yet, You listen to the sound of his footsteps, descending away from you, moving to the bathroom. 

You let out a breath, the one you've been holding ever since he opened the bedroom door, your heart beating rapidly, in a way it did when the boy you had a crush on in high school glanced your way. Childish, stupid. 

The shower feels big, empty, even more so as the cold water hits his skin repeatedly, hardly helping with the burning of his body, or the way his dick throbs the second you invade his thoughts without permission, again.

He’s fucking pathetic, you have every right to hate him.

In this moment of him being alone, surrounded by the dark, the dimmed lights illuminating the cold bathroom, all he can think about is how he would do anything to go back in time.

Put his fucked up pride to the side, anything to not be in this situation right now, with this need– not just for anyone, not for some random woman, but for you.

Because it's something about you, not just because of Layla, not because you’re ‘forced’ to be in each other's presence, he can't deny it anymore.

He can’t deny that he’s utterly obsessed with you, and absolutely fucked. Just like Sunghoon said. 

-

Falling asleep last night might have been one of the hardest things, considering you could practically feel the heat radiating off his body the second he slipped in the bed with you.

You stayed turned so you were facing the large balcony slide door, watching the moonlight seep in.

You didn't want it to affect you this much, but somehow it still did. So after finally getting the strength to get up, and get ready for the day, because you might as well attempt to enjoy being here in Italy. 

You see Jake, standing up at the edge of the counter, taking a sip of some expensive coffee.

“Took you long enough.” He tries, and fails to hide the way his eyes roam down your body, the way the floral dress clings to you, it could be considered modest, but the way it hugs your curves, makes him think things he probably shouldn't.

You raise your brow in question, closing the distance to make yourself coffee as well. He places a mug in front of you instead, catching you off guard.

You turn to look at him, eyes scanning his face, the glasses sitting on top of his head to the rather simple outfit he's sporting today.

“Whats with you, do you want something?” You ask skeptically.

Fuck yeah he wants something, preferably you though, sitting on his face perchance?

“Am I not allowed to make coffee for the mother of my child?” He turns fully, using the counter as support to lean against. 

You level your eyes even more, “I was going to head to the estate, see Layla, maybe we can take her out for the day.” He takes another sip of his coffee, brushing past you to place the mug in the sink.

“Together?” You ask suspiciously, confusion settling in your tone. “Yes y/n, together.” He says like it's the most obvious thing. Like you two do this all the time, when in reality you don’t even remember the last time he suggested something like this, if he even did.

“I mean we're both here, she's always going on about how she wants us both.” He offers lightly, watching the way your face softens.

“Okay then, for Layla.” You clarify, taking a sip of the coffee he prepared for you, the rich taste settling just right. 

“We also have dinner in 2 days with Park Jongseong and his girlfriend.” He adds in casually. Washing the mug off in the sink.

Your brain pauses for a moment, processing what just came out of his mouth. “Knew you wanted something.” You chuckle, but it's humorless.

“Its one fucking dinner y/n.” he turns, facing you. “Yeah, and a whole week of being here, stuck with you.”

He opens his mouth to speak, closes it. “We can talk about this later. Right now let's focus on Layla.”

He says it like he's being the bigger person here. As if he's not dropping things on you left and right, and that irritates you even more.

But you don’t fight it, because a part of him is right, you two can stop your bickering for a few hours to spend time with your daughter. 

-

“The purple one?” Layla asks, looking up at you, than at Jake, you glance down at the gelato in front of you, “One lavender please” You smile at the man behind the counter as he scoops it into a cone, “One lavender Gelato for you” He hands it to her, her eyes lighting up as she takes it,

“Anything for the happy couple?” He asks, eyes darting between you and Jake, you don't notice the way he stills beside you. “Can I get the Raspberry please?” The kind man nods, handing you the cone, some of it dripping on your hand due to the warm weather.

“Ill take the salted caramel” He pays for it, walking on the other side of Layla, “Should we sit at the table?” You ask Layla, looking down at her as she tries to keep up with the steps you and Jake take, her pigtails swaying with her, you smile at how happy she is.

“Yes!” Jake helps her up, taking the seat next to her, you settle for the one across from them.

Jake smiles at Layla, as she goes on about something related to her toys, and how ‘Hoon’ needs to come back and play as the fairy doll again, his eyes go to you, the light pink gelato dripping down your hand, the way your tongue darts out to lick it off.

It's like his body reacts before his mind does, he reaches over, swiping his thumb across the bottom of your lip, the gelato that dripped being cleaned up.

You freeze, eyes immediately on him. He retracts his hand immediately, “Sorry– you had something-” He stops talking when the sound of his phone cuts through, picking it up and reading whatever is on his screen.

“Are you done, Lay?” Jake looks down at Layla beside him, she nods, “Let me guess, you have somewhere to be?” You ask unsurprising. 

“Its Park Jongseong and the Prada ambassadors— nevermind” He replies blandly, standing up and helping Layla, you chuckle, but not in amusement, or in surprise, because you knew this was going to happen anyway.

“Come on Lay, you know..” You smile down at her, before looking up at him, a certain glint in your eyes. “Daddy apparently has better things to do.”

You can feel his eyes boring into you, you don't look at him when you stand up and hold her hand. Who cares if it's childish, or bratty, you’re right anyway.

“I love you angel, be good okay?” You press a light kiss to Layla's forehead, Jake gives her a hug, before heading to the front door, you offer a tight smile to his mother before following after him. 

You don't bother looking at him, or trying to talk to him once you're both in the car. You watch as Sunghoon’s name flashes across the screen, a call.

Jake looks at you for a second, before hesitantly pressing accept. “Final fuckingly man, had me thinking you actually got some–” “You’re on speaker Sunghoon.” Jake cuts through his words.

“Oh shit.. Uh– hey y/n” you can practically see the fake concern on his face. Jake sighs, urging him to continue

“Right so, Park Jongseong’s assistant said the Prada ambassadors are already at his office, they're just waiting on us.” Jake bites down on his lip, hard. “Fuck– okay, tell them ill be there shortly.” 

“I got you, don’t get too distracted..” Sunghoon says through a chuckle before hanging up. You feel a slight blush coat your cheeks at that, turning your head more towards the window to avoid Jake's gaze.

Every few minutes, he can't help when his eyes shift to you, the faint sunkissed glow coating your skin, the way your dress clings to your body–

You regret the way you acted earlier, it was a little bratty, and petty..but then again you've always been, at least according to him.

He puts the car into park, unlocking the door, you don't say anything but before you step out, you turn your face towards him.

“About earlier.. It was uncalled for, I understand you’re busy, I shouldn't have said that in front of Layla.” You bite on your lip nervously, a habit he's noticed since the day your parents introduced the two of you. 

He raises a brow, a playful smirk on his face “Are you apologizing?” He asks, eyeing you up and down

“What– I mean.. I-” You stumble over your words, making him let out an amused laugh “It’s fine y/n. I know I'm not the best..” He pauses, looking down for a split second to think of the right word “..arrange..ment.” he cringes at the end,

“I try for Layla, even with the shit from the company piling up.” His hand rests steady on the steering wheel, You watch his face, his eyes, taking in the sincerity.

“You’re a good father, Jake.”

You don't try to put on a forced smile, before stepping out of the car fully, shutting the door behind you, the second you're out of sight he buries his face in his hands, letting out a strangled groan. God– you’re killing him, so fucking slowly. 

-

“Fuck– Ive been wanting to do this for so long” Jake says through a groan, pounding ruthlessly into you. You mutter something back, face buried into the soft pillows beneath you, not even caring about the saliva coming out of your mouth from how hard he’s fucking you. 

“Want me to fill this pretty pussy up again?” he leans down, pulling your hair back to expose your neck, hips slamming into you, making your back arch against his chest. You're a moaning mess under him, his teeth nip below your ear, his free hand holding your hip, grounding you as his thrusts grow sharper—

Jake freezes at the door of the bedroom as soon as he opens it, eyes wide looking at you, the sheets tangled around the ends of your feet, almost your whole body exposed, the oversized T-shirt you're wearing ridden up to reveal a glimpse of your underboob, your light pink sleep shorts practically sticking to your core, a faint outline of your pussy visible even through the clothing layers with how wet you seem to be.

Theres no fucking way– 

A whine escapes your lips, or was it a moan? He can't help but step closer, lingering at the edge of the bed, your body squirms, thighs squeezing together in a poor attempt to satisfy the throbbing heat between your legs.

The smell of you so fucking delicious, clouding his senses. He almost feels sorry for you, gosh you must be desperate if you're having a wet dream in the middle of your shared bed with him. You let out another small noise, or was it a word? 

He brings his finger up, gently swiping away a bead of sweat from above your eyebrow, trailing down your arm, lightly over the curve of your exposed hip, leaning closer to hear you better

“J-Jake..” You whisper, barely audible, he stills, stepping back, running a hand through his hair.

Fuck this is wrong.. This is so, so wrong, He looks down at you again, biting his lip in thought. 

He ultimately grabs the sheet, bringing it up from your feet to cover your body, trying to ignore the heat of your skin.

This cannot be real. He glances down at you one more time before going to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a soft click, leaning against it.

Letting the cool crisp air swallow him, anything to get rid of what he's feeling right now. He looks down, the hard bulge now clearly visible in his pants.

Bringing his hand down to palm himself through them, he hisses at the contact, how sensitive he is right now. 

He wastes no time unbuttoning his shirt, discarding his pants and underwear next, stepping inside of the big shower, cool tile against his feet, he turns on the water, the warmth coating his skin.

The water drips down his body, he lifts a hand to steady himself against the black tile wall, bringing his other down to wrap around his thick cock, practically standing on its own, tip angry and red from how much he's neglected his own pleasure.

Pumping his fist once, a bead of pre cum slips out of the slit, mixing with the warm shower water as it drains beneath his feet.

“Fuck..” He groans, fucking into his fist faster, leaning his head back as the water falls onto his face, his mouth hangs open, he closes his eyes, trying to imagine what you were thinking about, fuck his name sounds so pretty coming from your mouth, especially like that. 

His groans grow more ragged as he strokes himself faster, “y/n..” he bites his lip, hard enough to draw blood as his warm cum spurts out, coating the dark tile wall, dripping down, making a mess on his hand, he looks down, eyebrows furrowed as he attempts to milk every last drop, watching as the water washes it away.

He lets out a breathless chuckle, almost pitying himself and this whole situation. 

The next morning you woke up to an empty bed, the bright sun shining in through the sheer curtains illuminating the bedroom.

Even in the shower as the warm water hits your skin, you couldn't shake the dream you had last night, how real it felt, the way he spoke, the way he touched you– the closeness of it all, so vividly in your reach. 

You decided, well actually you were technically forced to use this day for yourself.

He was working. In all honesty, he didn't have to, but being with you again, alone, was killing him. 

You were enjoying yourself, as one would do in Italy of all places, soaking in the warm sun on the balcony, book in hand when you got the text, the one that made your phone vibrate a little too loudly against the glass side table.

Something about it already told you it wasn't going to be good.

Jake: Client dinner tonight with Park Jongseong and his girlfriend. 7:00. Your dress is being dropped off now. I’ll be there at 6:45 to pick you up. Clean up for me, yeah?

You read the message once, twice, practically hearing the smugness in his voice at the last few words.

You type out a reply, delete it. He smirks down at his phone, seeing that you read it was enough. 

Exactly 30 minutes later, the same woman from the airplane stands at the front door of the penthouse, garment bag in hand.

“Thank you.” You give her a soft smile, one that she attempts to mirror back, handing the dress to you. “Mr. Sim informed me you had the jewelry you needed, but if you need me too I can arrange–” 

“It's fine.” You reply back dryly, she pauses for a moment “God, Sorry I'm just stressed” You fold the dress over your arm.

“Thank you, and yes I have everything I need.” You say, breathing out. She offers a tight lipped smile, giving a polite nod before walking back towards the elevator, you shut the door once she's out of sight.

“Oh my gosh–” you gape at the dress, fully taking it out of the garment bag, laying on the bed before you.

The dark red contrasts with the white sheets, the cut a little too deep for something like this. You glance at the time on your phone, 5:26, if you start getting ready now you should be done before he gets here.. You bite your lip, contemplating. No harm in starting early, you have nothing to do in the meantime anyway. 

“Y/n–” Jake's eyes trail down your body, shamelessly, like he has the right– “You look..”

“Dont.” You hold your hand up giving him an almost strict look, while also suddenly feeling conscious of how low cut the dress is, the silk material soft on your skin.

He lets out a breathless chuckle, eyes staying glued to your chest without you knowing before putting the car into drive. 

Park Jongseong, or Jay, as his girlfriend called him came in shortly after you and Jake sat down, the restaurant had a warm glow to it, truly an elegant place.

His girlfriend had the most genuine smile on her face. The dinner was going smoothly, as anything work related with Jake could be until she asked a question that had both you and Jake tensing beside each other

“So, How long have you two been married?” She asks sweetly, genuine curiosity in her eyes, you look at Jake for a split second, missing the way Jay squeezes her thigh, “Um- well we-” Jake interrupts quickly

“We had Layla four years ago, so around that.. Time.” He says, clearing his throat. The conversation quickly switches thanks to Jay.

The ride back was quiet until Jake decided to open his mouth. “Do you think I was too obvious?” He asks, eyes on the thin road before him, you turn your head from the window, looking at him, analysing the nervous way he brings his lip between his teeth, the slight movement of his jaw.

“What? About how we’re not actually the perfect, happy family you seem to paint us as?” You ask, a surprising calmness in your voice.

He shoots you a look, eyes dropping to your lips for a split second, before looking away just as quickly.

You scoff, “Anyone with half a brain could see.” 

“Fuck is that supposed to mean?” He pulls the car into park, looking at you, expecting an answer.

“Im not doing this tonight.” You reach to open the car door but he stops your hand, grip tight, not enough to hurt, but enough to assert something deep. 

“No. Tell me what you mean.” You shake off his hand, the heat of it too much on your skin, praying that he didn't notice the way your pulse spiked the second his skin made contact with yours.

You sigh, facing him fully.

“You don't act like my husband Jake. You never have, anyone could see that. Honestly, we're practically strangers at this point, the only thing keeping us together is Layla.”

You pause, trying to point out whatever emotion is flashing behind his eyes before continuing with a sigh, “Our marriage is a mere title, so dont be fucking shocked when it becomes clear as day to everyone else.”

“Y/n—“ he starts but you’re already leaning away. He doesn't stop you when you open the door, shutting it a little too hard behind you as you make your way into the building, the sole of your heels digging into your feet in a way that makes you want to throw them on the ground.

Jake slams his hand down against the steering wheel, running a hand through his hair, he turns off the car, locking it behind him before following you, because no way in hell is he ending the night like that. 

Your heart is racing when you shut the door behind you, all while resisting the urge to sink to the ground.

You take off your heels by the door, immediately removing the unnecessarily heavy jewelry from your neck and ears.

You hold your hand up to your chest, feeling the consistent beating of your heart. The familiar click of the door lets you know Jake just walked in. 

You stand up quickly, moving to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you, acting as if it was another barrier between the two of you.

Without a thought you slip off the red silk from your body, letting it fall to the dark tiled ground. Walking into your side of the shower you turn on the water, letting it warm up enough till the steam is visible, you’re in need of anything to drown out how you're feeling right now, you step under it, letting the water fall into your hair, wetting your body, the steam clouds around you, almost creating a blanket in the open coolness of the bathroom.

You thread your fingers through your hair, letting the water seep into every bit of your scalp. The warm, dimmed light of the bathroom reflecting slightly off of the dark glossy tile wall before you. 

Jake tosses his keys on the marbled counter, swinging open the bedroom door, only to find it empty.

The faint sound of water falling onto tile seeping out from under the bathroom door has his attention immediately.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, leaning against his knees.

God, he's going to regret this.

He stands up, taking off his tie with practiced ease, doing the same with his belt, untucking his white button up, and unbuttoning it halfway before opening the door to the bathroom, the fan does nothing to get rid of the steam filling the open space. The large glass wall is fogged up, he can almost see the outline of your silhouette if he squints. 

You don't see him, or hear him, the only sound filling your ears being the water hitting your skin and the tile beneath your feet.

You turn to the side slightly, eyes closed, he traces the curve of your breast, swallowing before unbuttoning the other half of his shirt and discarding the rest of the clothes on the ground beside your dress.

He lets out a breathless chuckle, looking down at his flushed dick practically standing on its own from how fucking hard he is. 

Jake steps in, turning on the shower head a few feet away from you, the new heat bringing a fresh cloud of steam to cover you.

He doesn't look at you as he steps under the water, letting it wet his hair. You watch him, a slightly stunned expression on your face “Jake–” The word comes out breathless, almost pathetic.

He chuckles low. “Y/n.” He glances in your direction, eyes staying on your face.

The awareness kicks in, that you're in the shower alone, with only a few feet of distance between the two of you. 

You can't help your eyes, you really tried, but they trail down his body, his toned form.

Fuck, hes definitely been working out.

Your eyes ultimately land on his cock, watching the way the water drips down his body. The wetness forming between your legs has nothing to do with the shower water falling on your body, and everything to do with him. 

He notices you looking, even with the barrier of steam between the two of you.

He doesn't bother turning off his shower head, closing the space between the two of you. His hand reaches out, not touching yet. Completely lost in the moment.

You let out a noise, it was supposed to be a word, maybe for him to stop?

No, it was definitely for him to keep going. When he speaks it comes out rough, uncontrolled, so  different from how he speaks to everyone else. “Strangers huh?” You don't meet his gaze. 

He brings his hand to your chin, forcing you to look in his eyes, his thumb swipes over your bottom lip, your mouth opening almost on command.

His cock jumps at the sight. The warm water soaks through your hair, the sensation of it forgotten with this new heat before you.

“Do strangers do this?” He brings his hand down, tracing your collar bone with his finger, you shudder at the touch. 

He smirks at the way you're body reacts to his featherlight touches.

You gasp when his finger circles around your nipple smoothly. “Fuck, these tits are perfect” He brings his other hand up, repeating the motion on the other side.

You shudder, letting out a breathless sound, your nipples hardening from his teasing touch. “You’re sensitive huh?” He chuckles down at you, nudging his cock against your stomach.

“Shut up..” You’re cut off when he gives both of your nipples a firm pinch. “When was the last time someone touched you like this?” He asks, voice low, only for you to hear even though you’re alone.

He brings one of his hands lower, just past your belly button, pausing for an answer. You shake your head, closing your eyes. 

“Come on mama, give me words.” He encourages sweetly even as his cock jumps at the sight of you before him like this.

“Not since you.” You whisper so low the sound of the shower water covers it. He shakes his head, inching down lower, cupping your soaking heat in the palm of his hand, you let out a moan, reaching both hands out, grabbing his veiny forearm to steady yourself.

He slowly rocks his palm against you. “Say that again.” He presses harder, reaching around to tilt your head back so he can really see. 

“I said, not since you.” He lets out a sound that you definitely aren't mistaking as a moan.

“Fuck–” He bites back his words, hand still cupping you, your juices leaking past his fingers, blending with the warm water pooling beneath you both.

“So this whole time..” He pauses, removing his hand from your heat, earning a whimper from you, "..you've had nothing but these.”

He lifts your right hand up, brushing over your middle and ring finger, the touch gentle. 

You nod, a slight blush creeping up your face, a part of you would feel a little embarrassed, maybe ashamed if not for the situation right now.

“Show me.” He urges, bring your hand down, he backs you up a few inches until your back is flushed against the cool tile walls, the warm water contrasting,

“You have to do it too then..” You look down at his cock, veins prominent, tip aching. He follows your gaze, smirking.

You two match each other's pace, you spread your legs ever so slightly, the best you can for standing up, rubbing small circles on your sensitive bud, the feeling even more exhilarating with him watching you so intently.

The little ‘ah’ sounds you’re letting out sending pulses straight to his dick. He brings his own hand down, swiping his thumb over the slit of his cock. Mouth hanging open as he wraps his hand around the base.

You feel yourself get even more wet at the sight, the desperate huffs he's letting out, his eyes don't know what to focus on, ultimately landing on your pussy when you push one of your small fingers in, the squelching noise so clear above everything else, he lets out a groan, a bead of pre cum leaking from his tip.

“Let me taste you” He breathes out, hand stopping your wrist. You freeze, looking up at him “Please..I- fuck, I need to.”

He brings your fingers up to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick before sucking them clean, the sight alone draws a wrecked sound from you.

“Jake..” You whisper out, dragging your fingers out of his mouth, smearing them on his chin, he looks so pathetic like this.

He reaches beside you, turning down the pressure of the water before lowering himself to the ground, his eyes never leave yours.

He lifts one of your legs, pressing a light kiss on your inner thigh, trailing smaller kisses closer to where you need him most, he rests your leg on his bare shoulder, completely exposing you to him,

“You dont know how fucking bad ive wanted this y/n..” He whispers breath ghosting over your slick folds. “..how much I've craved this, even all those years ago.”

You bump your pussy against his face and he wastes no time licking a stripe from your hole to your clit, you arch against the cool tile wall, pressing yourself even more on his face, his hands travel up your body, cupping your ass in his hands, palming the soft flesh, bringing you impossibly closer.

He's completely lost in you, not letting a single drop of your arousal leak anywhere except in his mouth.

His nose nudges your clit every time he fucks his tounge into your hole, “Yeah.. fuck, f-feels so good..” You bring your hands up, lacing them in his wet hair.

He mumbles something back, the vibration making your hips jerk, he brings one of his hands down from your ass, sneaking it up to replace his tongue with two of his slender fingers, the new feeling so different from your own fingers.

He looks up at you, the way your head is thrown back against the cool wall, mouth hanging open, fuck you’re beautiful like this. 

He latches his lips onto your aching clit, flicking it with his tongue as his fingers work your tight hole.

You tug his hair harder, encouraging him without words, his fingers inside of you curl just right, hitting a spot that has you seeing stars, he sucks even harder on your clit, feeling your walls flutter around his fingers, greedily sucking them in.

A moan, almost a scream escapes from your lips as a fresh round of juices flood out of you, soaking the lower half of his face, he greedily drinks everything you let out, not letting a drop go to waste. 

He lowers your leg back on the ground, pressing a light kiss to your thigh before leaving wet ones up your body, kissing his way along your jaw, your cheeks, your lip–

He pauses when he feels your body tense against his. His lips less than an inch away from yours.

“Whats wrong–” He leans back slightly, eyes darting across your face “I..I cant” He tilts his head, hands still on your waist but a confused look washes over his face

"I'm not going to force you to do anything mama, but why?” He searches your eyes for an answer “Jake– we haven't even kissed since the wedding” 

“Y/n, you just let me eat you out, which to be fair I would do it a thousand times more, but a kiss is too much for you?”

You bring your hands up, burying your face in them “Fuck, I know okay? We were just caught up in the moment–” You don't see it, but he's looking at you with genuine sadness, not because you won't go any further, but because you’re not even comfortable enough to do so,

“Baby-” he starts, bringing his own hand up to pull yours from your face but you stop him, moving around, too ashamed to even look in his eyes.

“We can just forget this happened okay?” His hands fall to his sides, “But-”

“Please, I–I can't go through it again.” Your voice cracks, a pain sharpening in your chest.

He opens his mouth to speak but you turn before he can, grabbing a towel from the nicely folded pile, the water feels cold now, almost limp as he stares at the spot you were just standing in. 

He licks his lips, the faint taste of you still lingering.

He curses himself for acting on instinct, it was too fast and he knew it. But how couldn't he? You’re irresistible, the only constant desire in his life that never fades. So no, he's not just going to ‘forget this’.

He'd be stupid to.

-

You try to ignore Jake's eyes on you throughout the plane ride, focusing on anything except for him, whether it's Layla showing you something on her I pad, or Sunghoon and Jake's other coworker bickering over something useless.

It's best to just pretend like nothing happened, so treating him the exact same as you did before this trip is the best way to do that. 

You grab your bag from the overhead bin, helping Layla put her dolls in her small backpack, moving to get off his plane without a word, when he grabs your wrist.

“Sunghoon.” He says, eyes not leaving yours for a second. Sunghoon closes the distance, “Take Layla to y/ns car.” he nods before picking her up, Jake's other coworker follows after.

You turn fully to look at him, arms crossed over your chest in annoyance. “What?”

“I’m not forgetting what happened.” His eyes drop to your lips, making it known he's looking.

“Well I am.” you try to reply calmly, composed. But there's a slight tremble in your voice, one that he doesn't miss. Something washes over his face.

He straightens his shoulders “Okay.” Is all he says before brushing past you, leaving you in the middle of the wide aisle.

Him with the last word, one that you're trying to make sense of. Because there was so much more hidden underneath it, a part of you doesn't even want to know. 

You see Sunghoon crouching down to Layla's level, saying something that makes her giggle. He stands when he sees you, a cocky smirk plastered on his face.

“See you later Mrs. Sim.” You roll your eyes, opening the car door to help Layla get inside, closing it.

“Park.” You call out, Sunghoon stops, turning slightly with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Make sure he doesn't do anything reckless.” 

He lets out a low chuckle, looking at the ground before his focus is back on you. “I can try, but I can’t promise anything.” Is all he says before offering his infamous wink, hands tucked nonchalantly in his suit pant pockets, walking away.

-

Everyone has different ways of coping, sulking around could be one.

But that was never something Jake found relieving. So here he is, at some club with none other than Park Sunghoon.

“You’ve got this sexy dad look about you..” Some girl, who he doesn't even remember the name of says, fingers brushing over the collar of his shirt along the thin silver chain that clings to his skin. 

Jake's attention is brought back to her, she's a pretty girl, short black hair, but nothing she's saying is interesting to him.

She presses closer to him, purposely positioning her tits on his arm, teasing. She thinks she's being subtle but it's painfully obvious.

He looks over her shoulder, at the dance floor where Sunghoon has his hands on some blonde girl's waist as they practically dry hump each other.

He chuckles, the girl in front of him beaming proudly, thinking she's the one who made him laugh. 

“Do you wanna maybe..” The girl leans in close, standing on her tip toes to reach his ear, lips grazing “..get out of here?”

He looks down at her, boredom plastered on his face. “No.” Is all he says, the girl raises her brow, offended.

Jake takes another sip of his drink, not even sure what one he's on. She scoffs, stepping back from pressing against him

“What do you mean ‘no’?” She asks accusingly. “No, as in I don't want you.” He states in an obvious tone. 

Sunghoon curses under his breath whispering something into the ear of the woman he's dancing with before walking through the crowd effortlessly to get to him.

“Fucking—” She yells, a little too loudly, to the point where Sunghoon can hear it a few feet away, and heads are turning towards the scene.

Jake rolls his eyes, “Im not interested.” He shrugs, downing the rest of his drink, the girl straightens to say something else, but Sunghoon cuts in between the two.

“Alright, I think it's time for us to go!” He says a bit too energetically, hand resting on Jake's shoulder. The girl rolls her eyes “Your friends an asshole.” She mutters before walking away to go flirt with some other guy, Sunghoon turns, facing Jake completely now. 

“What?” Jake asks, like it's completely normal.

“Dude, you were the one who said you ‘needed some pussy to take your mind off things’ and when a chick practically throws herself at you, literally by the way, you reject it?”

Sunghoon looks Jake up and down like a mad man, "She's not her.” Jake mutters, voice low, as if you could hear him talking right now. 

Sunghoon chuckles, actually fucking chuckles at his state. “Oh I see, let me guess, you did some shit, right? Thought with your dick instead of your head?”

When he doesn't respond, Sunghoon laughs in his face. “I should’ve known, man.” 

“I fucked it up.” Jake groans, running his hand through his tousled hair, down his face, the slight stubble that he let grow a few weeks after the Italy trip scratching his hand roughly.

“You didnt fuck her right?” Sunghoon asks, an unfamiliar seriousness in his voice. “What– thats” “Okay thats answer enough.” 

“Maybe try actually sitting down, having a conversation?” Sunghoon suggests, trying his best with advice.

“She won't even look at me, and besides that she acts the same. But it fucking hurts.” Jake sighs, leaning against the bar counter.

Sunghoon watches him for a few seconds, making a ‘yikes’ face “Damn, you really got it bad huh?”

Jake pulls out his phone from his pocket, fingers finding their way to your contact, he clicks on the messages, the last thing in the chat being a photo of Him, Layla, and you eating Gelato in Italy together.

In the photo, someone might actually think he had the perfect family, beautiful wife, and daughter. If only they knew.

Jake types something, fumbling over the keyboard, Sunghoon looks down at the phone, eyes widening

“Absolutely fucking not.” He snatches the phone from Jake's hand earning a glare “I need to talk to her.” Jake says firmly.

“Not when you’re wasted like this” Sunghoon chuckles, tucking the phone in his own pocket. “Give me the fucking phone Hoon.” 

“No, because you’re literally going to kill me tomorrow for letting you text her.” Sunghoon backs up a step, Jake takes a step forward.

“Or I could now for not letting me text her.” Jake levels his gaze on him, “Alright fine” He says finally, pulling out the phone from his pocket

“Let me do something first though” Jake watches as he types something random on his phone, multiple times before realising “You fucking–” Jake snatches his phone back, 

iPhone Unavailable

Try again in 3 hours

“Whoops” Sunghoon shrugs, before his attention is pulled from the same blonde girl from earlier tapping his shoulder, Jake watches as his flirty persona immediately makes a comeback

“Bathrooms empty if you wanna..” Jake blocks out the rest of the words, signaling the bartender to come over “Do you guys have a phone I could borrow?” He asks, genuine curiosity in his tone, the younger man nods, handing him one from the counter.

Sunghoons eyes turn back to Jake for a split second to see him dialing your number “Fuck– fuck, no.” He snatches the phone from him, cursing before turning to the girl he was just talking to,

“Gimme a few minutes okay baby?” Sunghoon says to the girl, she blushes and nods, his attention goes back to Jake and the phone immediately.

“Hello?” You say confused, sitting up in bed, trying to see if you heard the words right.. Maybe someone accidentally called your number?

Sunghoon curses, glaring at Jake who shrugs with a cocky shit eating grin on his face. “Yeah, hey Y/n.” Sunghoon says, defeat evident in his voice. “Park?” You ask, now fully seated up in your bed.

You turn up the volume, the faint sound of music and chatter in the back, but the sound of him bickering with someone covers most of it, you only catch every other word–”Give me–the phone!” You sigh

“Park what's going on?” You hear him groan on the other end, and persumabley Jake say something along the lines of “Fuck you” 

“Sorry! Wrong number” Is all you hear before the line goes blank, you look down at your phone in confusion. 

“Yeah, we're leaving now.” Sunghoon says, turning to the blonde girl who was definitely about to be his fuck for the night.

She looks up at him, hope gleaming in her eyes, but frowns when he says he has to go. 

“You’re so fucking lucky to have me, I actually just saved your ass.” Sunghoon mutters, “Maybe I should just email her..” Jake contemplates, saying his thoughts out loud, tapping his screen to see there's 2 hours and 48 minutes left on his phone.

“Okay noted, take away the computer too.” Sunghoon shakes his head, chuckling.

-

Holy fuck. Is all you could think of when Jake answers his front door, grey sweatpants, and black fucking compression shirt out of all things on. Hair tousled, slick with sweat.

You should have known coming to drop off Layla in the morning wasn't a good move, especially since Sunghoon's car was also in the driveway. 

He chuckles at your reaction, like he knows something you don't. “Daddy!” Layla says, practically jumping into Jake's arms as if she wasn't falling asleep in the car a few minutes ago.

You tighten your grasp on her light pink backpack, Jake moves for you to step in, “You missed me Princess?” He asks in a gentle tone.

You walk to the open kitchen, but pause when you see Sunghoon, dressed in familiar attire to Jake, pouring what is probably a protein shake into two different cups. 

He doesn't look up to know it's you. “Hoon!” Layla wiggles out of Jake's arms, running over to Sunghoon who just laughs at her, “Mommy, can I have the mermaid doll please!” She asks, looking up at you with those adorable brown eyes, the ones that look just like Jakes.

You can't help the smile that lights up your face before getting them from her bag. She giggles before looking up at Sunghoon who sets down his shake.

“Well Miss. Layla, im ready when you are” He says, taking the doll from her and going to the living room where Jake has her toys set up. 

Jake lets a small laugh slip at the interaction. You bring your attention back to him, his eyes take in your clothes, from the business pants, to the blazer that fits you all too well.

“Okay, um– don't forget she has ballet lessons twice a week.” You bite your lip, trying to conceal how fucking nervous hes making you right now.

I mean, who even looks that good after the gym, gosh you shouldn't be thinking like this right now. Especially with everything–

“Y/n.”

“No.” You feel your heart racing as the word comes out, “I haven't even said–” He starts “Jake.”

“mama, please let me talk to you..” He closes the distance between the two of you, you try not to show a reaction at the name, the one he called you that night, the night you can't seem to forget.

You peak over his shoulder to see Sunghoon sitting on the ground with Layla, playing with the dolls. “Not here, not when she can hear.” You say quietly.

He nods, walking upstairs to his office, catching Sunghoon's eye, who just cocks a brow at him. 

“Okay, what's so important.” You shut the door behind you, watching as he leans over his desk, back to you.

He turns to face you, "I'm sorry for the other night, calling you like that was immature of me and as Layla's father I shouldn't have–” 

“Yeah, I know.” You interrupt, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I'm trying to apologize here y/n.” He sighs frustratingly, as if this is some chore or task he has to do.

“No, you’re trying to make yourself feel better.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation, “You would think someone who was going to inherit a billion dollar company in the next year would know better, but no–” 

“Im fucking trying here okay?!” He lowers his voice, trying to avoid getting into an argument loud enough for Layla to hear, even though the room is already noise cancelling.

“Thats the same shit ive heard since I was 13 years old y/n, its fucking drilled in my mind.” He steps closer to you, towering over your frame.

“Everything, planned, laid out, my whole future already decided the second I came out the womb.—So yes, I'm aware of what I inherit, I'm aware of the responsibilities I have.” You open your mouth to speak, but close it when nothing comes out.

He continues, “I know I fucked up–” He pauses, resisting the urge to pull you in, cling to you, because as of right now, even if you hate him you’re still the only thing he sees as an anchor in his life. 

“—And not just the other night. In Italy, I shouldn't have, it was reckless and-”

“Jake.”

“-and stupid, you just- I couldn't resist you”

“Jake!” You cut through his words like a knife. The only sound in the room being your trembling voice, and his unsteady breath.

“Dont do this to me. Not right now.” You clench your fist to steady the way it shakes. “Y/n, please– you wont let me any other time besides when either one of us drops off Lay.”

“Because you’re her father Jake! That's all you are. It might say you’re my husband on paper, but you’re not. We dont owe eachother anything, and you made that very fucking clear 5 years ago.” You watch his eyebrows furrow in the way a lost puppy would, an almost pleading look in his eyes.

You bite your tongue, regretting the way the words came out. It takes everything in you to not crumble to the floor, right here in front of him. 

Something shifts in his eyes, he takes a step back from you, distancing himself as much as he can in the confined space.

He doesn't look at you as he turns his back to you, leaning against his desk.

“You know the way out.” He says over his shoulder, tone cold. “Jake..” you whisper

“You know the way out.” he repeats more firmly. You watch him for a moment, before turning and walking out. 

It takes everything in him to not take back his words, to beg you to come back for him to say sorry a thousand times if he has to.

-

That night, you still couldn't get the interaction out of your head, you don't know how many times you tossed and turned in your empty bed, the silence of the house unbearable.

Even throughout the week, it replayed. The look in his eyes, the shift in his face when he told you to get out. 

You know he works hard, you know he is a good father. And you definitely know what it's like to have your life laid out for you. 

So walking through the front doors of the company building wasn't exactly a part of the plan, but it's like your feet were carrying themselves.

The bright daylight shining through the completely glass walls, the city streets bustling outside as usual.

As you walked to the front desk, heads turned towards you, some whispering, some silently observing. 

“Mrs. Sim?” You hear a familiar voice say, walking towards you, You don't have to look to know who it is.

“Park.” You say, turning to face him, leaning against the front counter. “What a surprise.” He can't hide the smug grin on his face as he approaches you. “Im here to see Jake.”

“Oh, you mean you’re not actually here just to see the office?” His tone is laced with sarcasm. You roll your eyes.

“I was just heading up there, come on.” He chuckles, “But I need to inform Mr.Sim–” The woman at the front desk starts, “Greta, baby, It's the Bosses wife we're talking about here.” You roll your eyes, “Don’t give us a hard time m’kay?” he says sweetly, winking down at her. You watch as she blushes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

You follow after him, stepping into the elevator. “You’re actually disgusting." You cross your arms over your chest, glancing sideways at him.

“What? It's not my fault they can't resist my charm.” Sunghoon shrugs, adjusting his tie.

The elevator dings, signaling its reached the top floor, you look at him, but your eyes drop to the hint of color below the collar of his white button up.

Your brow raises, squinting to see the slightly red hue of it. “First door past the window.” He nods down the hallway, stepping out of the elevator. 

You watch him for a split second, but he pauses when you call after him “Park.”

He turns to look at you, humming in response “You got a little something.” You say, pointing to his collar, he looks down, and you notice his frame immediately still.

You offer one of those too sweet smiles before making your way down the hall. 

Your hand hovers over the door, before finally knocking. Jake assumes it's one of his assistants so naturally he says a steady “Come in.”, accent sharp and cutting through your train of thought.

You inhale once before opening the door. He doesn't look up until the door clicks shut behind you, and when he does, his face shifts. 

“Y/n– what are you doing here?” He doesn't know why he stands, but he does anyway, hands braced on his desk, you look around his big office, the dark brown leather couch, to the tall bookshelves, and the window with a perfect view of everything 50 stories below.

You try not to stare too much.

“Um- well I just wanted to make sure you knew about Layla's ballet recital in a few weeks, they just sent the email out so.. Yeah.” You cringe slightly at the words, and with how obvious you are. 

He raises a suspicious brow at you, “So you drove here, to the same building you haven't bothered visiting in 5 years, just to tell me something that was sent in my email.”

It's not a question. “Well- I.. you know,” He can't hide the small smirk that plays on his lips

“I–” You pause, trying to regain your composure. “I wanted to..apologize.” You watch his reaction, the curious tilt of his head.

“Apologize?” he rounds his desk, leaning against the front of it, arms still crossed over his chest, assessing you. 

“For the other day.. In your study.” You try not to cringe at the memory, “And for Italy.” Something flashes over his face

“Y/n–” he starts “No. Let me finish.” He shuts his mouth immediately and you continue.

“I said some hurtful things that night, In the..shower.” You avoid his gaze “It was wrong for me to use you like that.” His tongue runs over his lips, remembering the taste of you that night. 

“And then in your study, when you tried apologizing to me– I didn't mean to go off on you like that, and I know you’re trying, I know the pressure you feel, and with everything you said about your life being planned–”

He's watching you closely as you speak, not interrupting. “But God, Its so fucking hard to forget Jake. I try so hard, for Layla—You look at her with so much love. And then you look at me, like I'm a– task.. A chore?”

You question your choice of words. “And it hurts so fucking much.” You breath out, the words rough and vulnerable.

You blink back the tears threatening to pour out, his hands fall to his sides, and it's like his body moves before his mind can process it. 

He closes the distance between the two of you, pulling you towards him , one hand wrapping around your back, the other cradling your head against his chest, resting on the top of your head.

“Jake..” You say through a trembling breath, hands clawed at his chest. “Shh mama, I got you.” he whispers, his thumb rubbing small circles on your back.

He pulls back, "I'm sorry too, I didn't mean to hurt you–I.. Fuck” He runs his hand through his hair, taking a step back to breath.

“You cloud every thought in my mind y/n. Every single day, every single hour, I can't stay mad at you for the life of me. Im—Im really not good at this..” he looks down at you, biting his lip nervously

“I don't think you understand how bad I regret how I treated you, How I made you feel.” He steps closer again, “I was– no I am an asshole. God, you have every right to hate me.” He chuckles but it's humorless

“Jake.. I don't hate you..” He meets your eyes at that, looking at you, really looking at you, the shared vulnerability between you two right now in this moment. 

Your hand moves from your side, hesitating before cupping his face in your hand, he leans into the touch immediately, his eyes fluttering shut at the contact.

“I can't get you out of my head y/n.” He turns his head to press a gentle kiss to your palm, a small gasp leaving your lips at the intimacy of it.

“Im sorry, I know we have a lot to work on—but please..” He whispers, holding your hand in his, moving it to press a kiss to your wrist, just above your pulse point, feeling how rapidly your heart beats.

His eyes don't leave yours. “I'm sorry..” He whispers again, lower this time, trailing small kissing along your arm, those same words leaving his lips in between.

His other hand slips to your waist again, pulling you closer, He cups your face in his hand, threading his fingers through the back of your hair, shutting his eyes, leaning against your forehead.

“Im so fucking sorry.” he breathes out, ghosting over your lips, you tilt your head up slightly, letting your lips graze over his. “Baby..” 

You close the distance between your mouths, lips pressed firmly against his, he pulls you closer, running his fingers through your hair more deeply, his other hand gripping your waist as if you were the only thing grounding him, your lips move together in a rhythm, his tongue runs along your bottom lip, begging for more access, you grant it and he groans into your mouth, eyebrows furrowing.

His tongue explores your mouth, tasting you. He pulls back, a string of saliva connecting between the two of you, “Please..” He begs, looking between both of your eyes, an almost pathetic look on his face.

You tilt your head “Please forgive me, y/n” He brings his hand down from out of your hair, gently rubbing small circles on your neck, tracing his thumb over your exposed collar bone, the touch electric. “I–” 

A sharp knock on the door has you two pulling away from each other like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't.

“Mr. Sim, I just wanted to inform you we have an online meeting with Park Jongseong in five minutes” A shy voice says from the other side, he watches you, the way you stare at your feet, he tries not to smile at your clear nervousness.

“Have the notes ready, let them know I'm coming.” He says, voice back to that professional tone. 

He leans down one more time, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before opening the door to his office and walking down the hall to the meeting room.

Once the door shuts behind him, you bring your hand to your heart, the rapid beating of it pounding against your palm.

You trace your lips with your fingers, still trying to process what just happened, and what's going to happen..

Jake turns the corner of the hallway, to see Sunghoon, leaning against the wall, his eyes trace over Jake's form.

“What the hell happened to you?” Sunghoon says through a knowing smirk, “Dont.” Jake replies, straightening his tie and walking into the meeting room. Sunghoon raises his hands innocently, following after. 

-

As soon as Jake got out of that meeting the first thing he did was pull out his phone, shutting his office door behind him, but pausing to inhale the faint smell of you, your sweet, sweet perfume and hair wash lingering in the air.

“Jaeyun?” His mother says into the phone curiously, “An important event came up, do you mind watching over Layla tonight?” He asks, knowing exactly what the answer will be, if anything he's surprised she didn't beg him to let Layla come over. His parents even have a room specifically for her on the rare occasion she go to their manor. “Yes!” she says eagerly, Jake chuckles, “Alright, I'll drop her off in a few.” He says briefly before hanging up. 

The feeling of his lips still lingered on yours even hours later. The memory of them causing a warm feeling to pool in your belly.

You tried to distract yourself, you really did. But not even working could make you focus. Slipping on your soft robe, you shuffle around your house, eager to take a bath, maybe that would help ease the consistent throbbing in between your legs. 

You were just about to untie it when a ring on your doorbell took you by surprise, you checked the time on your phone, 8:23.. 

You make your way downstairs, opening the door, freezing. “What are you..” You swallow, “What are you doing here?” a nervous excitement slipping through your tone.

Jake takes a step forward, eyes not leaving yours as he shuts the door behind him. “Where's Layla?”

“With my parents.” he replies, eyes trailing down your frame shamelessly, taking in the way your thin robe does nothing to conceal whats underneath. His tongue darts out for a split second, wetting his lips. 

Your eyes fall to his attire, wearing the same dress pants he had on earlier, blazer gone, white button up rolled up his forearms. He chuckles at the way your eyes drag along his arms, bringing your attention back to his face.

“You still didn't answer me.” He tilts his head, studying you. “What are you doing here?” He takes another step forward, crowding you in the entrance of your home.

“You think after what happened today, I was going to just leave you alone?” His eyes drop to your lips. 

“Well– I mean.. I didn't know you were going to just show up..” His eyes fall to the way you nervously play with the end of your robe.

“Mama, of course I did.” he brings his hand down over yours, stilling it so you could stop fidgeting.

“I wanted to see you.” He says confidently. He sighs, defeated, even though you haven't even said anything back. “wanted to touch you.”

His hand comes up, brushing his thumb softly along your cheek, you lean into it. “I want you–” He pauses, breathes–“I want you so bad.”

His eyes search yours before continuing “So bad that I can't fucking concentrate anymore, I can't think straight—“

“The idea of you not wanting me back–not loving me back, makes me sick.” You both freeze at the words, he opens his mouth to speak, closes it.

“I- fuck..” He pulls his hand away from your face, you stop it, placing yours above his. “I want you too, Jake.. I– I love you.” The second the words leave your mouth, something shifts in his face.

His other hand comes up to the other side of your face, holding you like you’re something precious.

“You don't know how long I've wanted- No, I've needed to hear that.” He tilts his head down, lips ghosting over yours, your lips part instantly

“I love you baby.” He whispers before pressing his lips to yours. 

You immediately melt into the kiss, giving him access to your mouth, his hand cups the back of your neck, holding you closer.

He kicks off his shoes, lips never leaving yours, you wrap your arms around his neck as he guides you backwards, you stumble back slightly, his hand immediately wrapping around your waist, you giggle against his mouth, earning a laugh from him. 

You gasp as he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his hips, his hands splayed on your ass. He makes his way up the stairs with you, carrying you with ease.

His lips crash against yours again, backing you up against the wall, you roll your hips in his hold, grinding against his hardening bulge in his pants.

“Fuck ma—you’re killing me..” He breathes, biting your bottom lip, a whimper escaping your lips at that.

“If I wasnt such a gentlemen, I’d fuck you right here, on your floor.” The dirty words have you grinding harder against him, he chuckles

“You’d like that huh?” You nod, a little bit too frantically, instead he walks further down the hall, in your bedroom, he kicks the door shut behind him, laying you down on the bed.

“No, I wanna take my time with you.” He presses a light kiss to your lips, savoring your taste. “Jake–please..” It comes out breathless. 

“Please what?” he teases, hand coming up to wrap around your throat, not to hurt you, more to claim.

He trails it back down, to the loosely tied knot of your robe. “Want you to fuck me..” You plead, squirming.

He smiles at that, pulling the string of your robe, causing it to fall open limply, he sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of you, laid out for him like this, like his next fucking meal.

He peels it off your body, tossing it to the ground, leaving you bare. “So needy, hm?” He parts your legs, nearly groaning at the sight and smell of your slick pussy.

You whimper at the cold air nipping your skin. He brings his hand down, cupping your breast in his hand, kneading the soft flesh

“I love these tits so fucking much” He says almost to himself, rolling your nipple between his fingers, his other hand comes up, repeating the motion on your other, making sure no part of your body feels neglected.

He bites his lip at the delicious sounds leaving your lips, the pathetic light moans. 

You expect him to undress next, but instead he kneels down, hitting the soft carpet, right between your spread legs, you prop yourself on your elbows, not wanting to miss a single moment of seeing him like this.

His eyes close, like he's already gone, licking a sensitive spot on your inner thigh, sucking on it gently, making sure to leave a mark.

Your mouth hangs open, letting soft moans leave your lips, he can't help the smirk that covers his face at how you’re not being shy with him.

He takes his time, leaving marks on your inner thigh, teasing you even more, while also making you even more wet.

His eyes lock on your glistening cunt, “This all for me?” He chuckles, earning a groan from  you, he blows on your puffy clit, enjoying how your hole clenches around nothing, the way you’re already throbbing.

You whine at his teasing, “Shh mama, wanna make you feel good.” He uses his hands, pushing your thighs farther apart, giving him even more access.

Your eyes roll at the first lick, sensual, gathering your juices on his tongue, his eyes flutter shut at the taste of you, how fucking natural it is.

One second its slow licks, the next he's diving in, devouring you. His nose bumping your clit as his tounge works your hole, he looks up at you, your absolutely fucked out face before focusing back on your pussy. Your juices coating the bottom half of his face.

He brings his attention back to your clit, taking the sensitive bud between his lips and sucking with such precision it has your back arching off the bed, hands flying to his hair.

He groans at the feeling of you tugging on the strands, sending a vibration straight to your core. He flicks his tongue on your clit, rolling the sensitive bud with the wet muscle.

bringing one of his hands down from your leg, watching how your pussy reacts as he rubs small circles on your clit.

You watch as he gathers some spit in his mouth, spitting right on your aching clit.

“So pretty,” He says quietly, mixing the spit with your juices leaking out, He pulls you even closer, hands tightening around your thighs, mouth closing around your pussy, making out with it messily.

“Fuck..Jake–” You cry out, gripping the sheets at your sides, He looks up, watching the way your breasts move with each movement, making his cock throb in his pants even more. 

He gives your hole a teasing lick, before plunging his tounge in, greedily fucking it in and out of you, he feels you clench around him. Burying his nose closer against your clit, applying the right pressure that has your hips bucking as you come on his face, you bite down on your lip, trying to conceal the moans leaving your mouth.

He greedily laps up everything you let out, your slick coats his chin, his mouth, the sheets beneath you, but he loves every second of it. 

Your legs fall spread limply, he stands up, unbuttoning his shirt, and his pants, discarding his clothes like they're useless, which in this case–they are.

His eyes are trained on the reddish purple marks coating your inner thighs. “Jake..” You breathe out, watching the thin silver chain glint under the dim light.

He pauses, looking at you curiously, “You still have it?” you point to your neck, and his fingers touch the chain, “I never took it off baby.”

Your mind goes back to when you gave him that necklace, it was when you were pregnant, and you felt like you had to get him something for helping you out so much, even with the arrangement. He had told you he didn't need anything, but you insisted.

He shifts and your attention is immediately back on the present. 

You watch him slide off his boxers, his cock springing out, hanging heavy, thick, veins prominent, similar to the ones coating his hands and forearms.

You let out a sound as your eyes lock on the bead of pre cum leaking out of his flushed pink tip. He leans down, lifting your hips to move you farther up the bed before climbing on top of you.

He strokes his cock, one, twice, the pre cum leaking down his length, Your hips buck up, chasing any form of friction you can.

“Hm, you’re so cute when you’re all needy.” He chuckles, nudging your sensitive clit with his tip, smearing his precum.

“Jake.” You meant for it to come out more firm, but it comes out with a whimper to it. “You want me to stuff you full mama?” He coons, tone playful.

He slaps his dick down once on your puffy folds, before guiding his tip to your entrance. He barely pushes the head of his cock in before letting out a choked groan, “Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts, hands clasping around your hips, anchoring him. 

“Breathe for me yeah?” He looks at your face, eyes leaving the delicious sight of you trying to adjust to his size.

You nod, attempting to ease yourself, he slides in some more, your pussy clamping around him tightly, he hisses at the feeling, so warm and wet.

“Loosen up for me mama..” He breathes out, thumb traveling down to apply pressure to your clit, he pushes in slowly, you moan when he bottoms out, his tip nudging that spongey spot inside you. 

It takes everything in him to not come right now, like some fucking teenager.

“Fuck– you’re squeezing me–” He leans down, pressing a kiss to your jaw, before sliding out halfway, setting a slow pace that has his balls tightening.

His lips hover over yours as you both let out pleasureful sounds, “F-faster jake..” You manage to say,

“Knew you were greedy” He smirks, before you can say anything back he crashes his lips onto yours, rolling his hips, thrusting in and out of you, his balls slapping against you at every thrust, the wet sounds filling the room are filthy. 

Your tounges tangle together as he fucks into you, hitting a spot you could never reach with your own fingers.

His other hand comes up to pinch your nipple, earning a shocked gasp from you, You clench around him, hole fluttering, greedily taking his cock, he presses harder on your clit, pinches your nipple, you thrash against him, moaning into his mouth as you reach your second orgasm of the night.

But he doesn't stop, instead he wraps his hand around you pulling you up so you're sitting on his dick facing him, he cups your ass in his hands, grinding you on him, you're pulsing around him, your nerves on fire with every drag of your clit against him.

You’re both slick with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead, he's lost in the feeling of your pussy dragging on him, “You gonna let me fill you up mama?”

He grips your ass harder, delivering a smack, you let out a high pitched sound at that, “God, you would look so pretty–”

He lays you back down on your back, the vision already clear in his mind, you–belly swollen, carrying another one of his children, breasts full, so sensitive– He'd take such good care of you, giving you everything you deserve and more.

“Can I breed this pretty pussy mama? stuff you full?” He fucks into you deeper, your legs lock around him in response, He lets out a sound almost a whimper, arms wrapping around you in a bear hug as his hips move frantically in and out of you, he can feel the pressure building, and by the way you’re fluttering around him again, he knows you’re close too.

“I love you baby– fuck, I love you so much..” He groans into the crook of your neck, your hands claw at his back, grasping on his hair as he buries himself deep inside you, your pussy clamps tight, eyes rolling back as your juices leak out, his cum shoots into you, the warmness pooling in a way that has your legs shaking, He doesn't pull out all the way, but he fucks into you once more, hard, making sure none of his seed leaves your sweet hole. 

You two stay like that, him inside you, hugging you with so much love it makes your heart flutter.

When he pulls out, he falls to your side, pulling you closely to him. You wrap your leg over his hip, and he nuzzles his face in between your breasts, causing a soft laugh to leave your lips.

“I love that sound,” he murmurs, “Hm?” You ask curiously, He lifts his head looking at you with so much adoration “Your laugh.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your neck before wrapping his hands around your body, embracing you, savoring this moment, because if he could, he'd stay here forever. 

— Bonus —

Jake is half asleep below you, one hand draped on your belly, your 6 month old baby growing healthily inside of you.

You try not to wince at the fabric of your shirt rubbing against your very sore nipples, but you fail miserably.

“Mmm..” He mumbles, feeling your body tense beside him, he opens his eyes slowly, looking up at you.

Worry flashes across his face at your pained state, he sits up immediately, "What's wrong? Are you okay mama?” His hand cups the side of your face, pressing his wrist to your forehead, checking your temperature

“Tell me what you need? Water?” His eyebrows furrow together, he runs a hand through his hair, his body flexing at the movement, you can't help your eyes from dragging down his frame, his bare chest, and his loose hanging sweatpants with no boxers underneath. 

You tug at your shirt, “They hurt Jake–” You breath out, realisation flashes across his face, his eyes falling to your pebbled nipples poking through your shirt.

“Ah..I see,” He swallows, before moving to lift your shirt over your head, the fabric dragging along your breasts making you wince.

He tosses the shirt on the bed, memorized with how full your breasts are, how hard your nipples get, he cant help himself when his hands come up, weighing them.

“Fuck–you’re so beautiful,” His fingers graze over your nipples, making the already damp spot in your panties grow, You whimper at the touch “So sensitive baby..” He dips his head, tongue grazing lightly over the peak.

You let out a sharp moan at the feeling, the pleasure overtaking you. He watches your face, his tongue flicking over the bud before lifting his fingers, he presses them on your lip, your mouth opening on instinct, you wrap your lips around his fingers, wetting them, he pulls them out, circling your other nipple with them, spreading your saliva on it.

“So warm, and soft..” He massages one with his hand, it helps ease the tension, making your body relax more into his touch, he presses his nose against your breast gently, your warm skin making the bulge in his sweatpants strain even more.

His hand inches down, past your belly, dipping between your spread thighs, His mouth freezes over your nipple at the wetness already soaked through your loose shorts.

“Shit, you’re dripping–” He moves the shorts to the side along with your underwear, dragging two fingers through your wetness, making a soft gasp leave your lips

“M’ gonna make you feel good” He whispers, before both of his fingers slip inside of you, curling immediately.

The sounds coming from between your legs are so lewd, wet squelching every time he takes his fingers out, just to shove them back in, his palm grinding against your swollen clit as he hits that spongey spot deep inside you.

“Jake–ah..” You breath out, hands lifting to grasp his veiny arm, it's all so sudden, the way you clamp down on his fingers, the juices that flood out of your pussy soaking the sheets, He drags his fingers out, rubbing your sensitive clit with the two, spreading your slick all over.

“God– you’re pretty when you come on my fingers like that..” He brings the two digits to his mouth, sucking them clean, eyes not leaving yours, your mouth hangs open as he does so.

He glances down at your lips, plump from the biting you’ve been doing, before closing the distance, letting you taste your musky sweetness on his tongue that he loves so much.

You don't register it, but his hand inches back down your body, rubbing your pussy slowly, before he shoves three digits inside of you, your nails dig into his forearm at the stretch, gasping into his mouth

“Oh my gosh–” You moan out, his fingers repeating the curling motion, “Shh.. let me make you feel good.” He whispers, repeatedly hitting that sweet spot inside of you just right, his tongue flicks just under your ear, spiking your sensitivity even more.

A warm gush of liquid coats his hand, your eyes flutter shut as you squirt on his fingers, soaking the sheets beneath you even more.

He curls his fingers deeper, letting as much as he can seep out, the wetness coating your inner thighs gradually. He kisses your lips once more, before pulling his fingers out slowly, admiring the way they shine under the faint morning sunlight. His palm slaps against your sensitive pussy lightly in a teasing manner.

"I'm going to get the bath ready, we still have some time before I take Lay to school.” he kisses your cheek softly, standing up, bulge evidently clear in his sweatpants. “But what about–”

“Mama, I said to let me make you feel good, we can worry about this later, Okay?” He walks around the bed, opening the door to your shared bathroom.

Jake insisted on you relaxing in the bath, while he gently rubbed your skin with your vanilla soap, but you had other plans, sneakily reaching behind you to stroke his aching cock until the only thing he could focus on was how good your hand felt around him while moaning softly into your neck.

After the bath he helped you get dressed, helped you down the stairs, making sure to set up the pillows so you were well supported before waking Layla up.

Once she was all dressed for school, her 2nd week of being a Kindergartner, she came running up to you, careful to not press against your baby bump.

“Mommy!” She smiles, you look at Jake's attempt of pigtails before chuckling, Layla reaches her small hand out, touching your stomach gently, as if she was petting a small puppy.

“You look pretty Lay,” She giggles, Jake walks back over,  bowl of strawberries in hand with nutella drizzled on top, a craving he knows you love.

He presses a light kiss to your forehead before handing Layla her sparkly pink backpack. “Ready princess?” He asks, looking down at Layla, she nods, skipping past him, you and Jake both laugh at her eagerness. 

“Ill be back in a bit” he says, pressing another kiss, this time to your covered baby bump, you can't help the blush that coats your face as he gives you that boyish smile.

Even when they both leave, shutting the door behind him, the warmness stays in your heart, Because this is even better than your dreams. 

-

Yeah so I need Jake asap.

okay hope you guys enjoyed!

peep the Sunghoon plot building.. (hoping to start writing it soon after i finish some of my other wips👀)

I am once again infodumping about F1, but this time it is about some of the lore in as unbiased of a fashion as I can.

If you notice anything wrong with this presentation (whether it be ALT text, a fact, something formatted oddly, etc.), please feel free to tell me, I will gladly fix any errors!

And, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask!