Dai-Rai

By the spring semester of their senior year at Grey City College, Y/N and Nicholas had officially been dating for eight months.

Somehow, the time had flown by.

Their relationship didn't look quite like most of the relationships around them. And neither of them minded.

Instead of traditional date nights, they had naturally fallen into the habit of planning "date days."

Early mornings suited them best.

The world was quieter then.

Coffee shops and bakeries hadn't filled with too many customers yet. 

Museums, aquariums, and zoos were still peaceful only a few minutes after opening their doors. 

The botanical gardens were calm enough to hear birdsong and chirps between conversations.

Even picnics felt different beneath the soft glow of a sunrise instead of the bustle of an afternoon crowd.

It wasn't just about avoiding overstimulation for Y/N. Nicholas discovered he genuinely enjoyed those slower mornings, too.

They never had to compete with noisy crowds or long lines.

It felt like they had the world to themselves for just a little while.

When daytime outings weren't possible, their dates usually took place at Y/N's apartment.

They baked cookies that were sometimes a hit or miss from the original recipe. They experimented with new dinner recipes. Hosted overly competitive trivia and game nights. Built blanket forts for movie marathons.

Sometimes they didn't do much of anything at all.

Those evenings became some of Y/N's favorites.

More often than not, they simply enjoyed sharing the same space.

Nicholas would work on assignments at the kitchen table while Y/N curled up on the couch with her laptop and noise-cancelling headphones.

Other times, she'd read, crochet, or “puzzle" while he played a video game with headphones so that the sounds wouldn't bother her.

Hours could pass with barely a dozen words exchanged.

Neither of them found the silence uncomfortable. If anything, it was comforting.

Y/N had once described it as "adult parallel play." Nicholas preferred calling it "existing together."

Whatever the name, it quickly became one of their favorite ways to spend time with each other.

It meant more to Y/N than she could ever fully explain.

Before Nicholas, she'd been teased by classmates and even people she'd once considered friends.

"You're such a grandma." "You're so boring." "Don't you ever want to do something fun?"

Apparently, preferring quiet mornings over loud parties and nightclubs made her seem old before her time.

With Nicholas, she never had to justify herself.

She'd simply say, "Crowds aren't really my thing."

Or...

"I think I'd rather stay in tonight."

And his response was almost always the same.

"Okay."

No questions. No guilt. No attempts to convince her otherwise.

Just respect.

One afternoon, while they were sitting together on the couch, Y/N happened to glance over as Nicholas unlocked his phone.

She wasn't trying to snoop. Her eyes simply landed on the screen.

The note he had open was titled: Y/N

Curiosity got the better of her.

"...What's that?"

Nicholas looked down at his phone before smiling sheepishly.

"Oh. It's...kind of embarrassing."

"What is it?"

"It's just a list."

"A list?"

"So I don't forget things."

He handed her the phone without hesitation.

Inside was a surprisingly organized collection of notes.

Her favorite foods. The foods she avoided because of her ARFID. Sensory preferences. Boundaries they'd talked about over the past eight months. Date ideas she'd casually mentioned wanting to try someday. Gift ideas she'd unknowingly dropped into conversation months earlier. Her class schedule. Important appointments. Their anniversary.

Little reminders like:

Ask before hugging if she's had a long day.

Bring her headphones if she forgets them.

Y/F/G/B going on tour this summer. She wants to try to go. Research possible accommodations and call the arena. 

Y/N stared at the screen for several long moments.

Her vision blurred. "...Nicholas."

He immediately looked concerned. "Did I do something wrong?"

She shook her head. "No."

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. "You remembered."

He blinked. 

"...Of course I did. You told me those things because they mattered. So they matter to me."

Y/N looked back down at the phone.

For someone else, it might have looked like nothing more than a simple list.

To her, it looked like love.

The quiet, thoughtful kind that paid attention. The kind she'd spent years wondering if she'd ever find.

The arrival of spring semester also meant one thing at Grey City College.

Basketball season.

Which meant Nicholas was busier than ever.

Between classes, practices, games, film sessions, and traveling for away games, he often came home just as mentally exhausted as Y/N was after a long day of masking.

One late afternoon, following an especially grueling two-hour practice, Nicholas shuffled into Y/N's apartment, kicked off his shoes, and immediately collapsed face-first onto her couch.

His voice was muffled by the throw pillow beneath him.

"...Is this what masking all day feels like to you?"

Y/N looked up from the blanket she was crocheting. A small smile spread across her face.

"Pretty much."

She set her crochet hook aside, walked over, and gently kissed the top of his head.

"My poor baby."

He let out a dramatic groan. "My social battery is in the negatives."

She laughed softly. "Welcome to my world."

Despite everything on Nicholas's schedule, Y/N did everything she could to support him.

It just looked a little different from everyone else's version of support.

Most of the other players' girlfriends rarely missed a game.

Home. Away.

It didn't matter.

They proudly wore matching jerseys, coordinated school colors, and Wolves merch while cheering from the front rows.

Eventually, they'd formed their own tight-knit friend group.

They planned brunches together, went shopping between games, and spent plenty of time talking about basketball...and about their very popular boyfriends.

Y/N admired how close they seemed.

She just knew that environment wasn't one she could comfortably exist in.

She'd never attended one of Nicholas's games.

Not because she didn't care. Because she cared enough to recognize her limits.

Hundreds, sometimes thousands, of screaming fans. Buzzers echoing through the arena. Music blasting through oversized speakers. Constant announcements. Bright lights. The unpredictable energy of a close game.

It wasn't simply loud. It was overwhelming.

And Nicholas couldn't exactly leave the court to help ground her if she became overstimulated.

That thought alone made her chest tighten.

Instead, she found other ways to support him.

Whenever practices were open to students, she'd occasionally stop by.

Always carrying the same tote bag.

Noise-cancelling headphones. A crochet project. Whatever book she happened to be reading. And her oversized puzzle book filled with sudoku, crosswords, logic puzzles, cryptograms, and word searches.

Whenever Nicholas spotted her sitting quietly in the stands, he'd grin before waving and blowing a kiss.

Sometimes she'd wave. Sometimes she’d catch it and throw one back. Sometimes she'd only smile.

He always noticed regardless.

Before every televised game, Nicholas texted her the broadcast information.

Channel 8 tonight. Tip-off at 7. 💛

She never missed one.

Throughout the game, she'd send little messages he wouldn't see until afterward.

Great steal.

That block was incredible.

Proud of you.

Win or lose, she'd always be waiting afterward.

If practice had been rough, she'd wrap him in one of her signature deep-pressure hugs.

If the team lost, he'd usually arrive at her apartment to find freshly baked chocolate chip cookies cooling on the counter.

Sometimes they didn't even talk.

She'd simply sit beside him on the couch while he rested his head in her lap.

For Nicholas, that was more than enough. It was everything.

Still, every once in a while, Y/N wondered if she should be doing more. If she could do more.

The thought lingered after one particular open practice.

As usual, the other girlfriends sat together near the front of the bleachers. 

It wasn’t just the girlfriends of Nicho’s teammates. It consisted of girlfriends of players from the baseball, football, soccer, and hockey team at Grey City too.

They laughed about classes. Weekend plans. Which players looked cutest during practice.

Y/N considered introducing herself multiple times.

For exactly three seconds.

Then she quietly decided against it.

The conversations felt performative. Surface-level. Like everyone was trying a little too hard to impress one another.

Y/N had never enjoyed small talk. Pretending to enjoy it sounded even worse.

So she stayed where she was.

After practice ended, she packed her things and headed toward the locker rooms to meet Nicholas.

As she rounded the hallway corner, she heard familiar voices. She slowed.

"...I still don't get it."

"What?"

"Nicho and that girl."

"You mean Y/N? I think that’s her name."

"Yeah. Her. I wonder what he sees in her."

“No, literally. She seems so…boring.”

"Honestly? Nicho's always been kind of intimidating."

"Right? He's attractive, but he always looks so serious."

"Like he never smiles."

"Maybe that's why they're together. She never smiles either."

The group laughed.

"I've literally never heard her say more than five words."

A few of them snickered.

"Honestly, every time I see her she looks miserable."

"Right? Like she'd rather be literally anywhere else."

"She always has those huge headphones on."

"And either a book. Or she's crocheting."

"Who crochets at a basketball practice?"

The group laughed while one girl shrugged.

"I don't know. She kind of gives off…weird vibes."

"She acts like she's too good to talk to anybody."

"I tried smiling at her once. She barely even looked at me."

"Maybe she just doesn't like people."

"Or maybe she thinks she's different."

Someone scoffed.

"My thing is...if you're dating one of the best players on the team, shouldn't you actually...I don't know...show up?"

"I've never seen her at a single game."

"Seriously."

"If I were dating Nicho, I'd never miss one."

Another voice chimed in.

"Maybe she just doesn't care about basketball."

"Poor Nicho."

"He deserves someone who's actually proud to be with him."

Y/N's entire body went still. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.

Each sentence landed harder than the last.

Not because the girls knew her. Because they didn't.

They'd built an entire version of who she was from a handful of quiet moments.

To them, she was weird. Cold. Boring. Unsupportive.

The familiar ache settled in her chest.

It reminded her of every time someone had mistaken her silence for arrogance. Every time she'd been called strange before anyone had bothered getting to know her.

What hurt even more was hearing them talk about Nicholas.

She knew he'd spent years worrying that people only saw him as the intimidating, broody basketball player. The "grumpy" guy.

She wished they could see the Nicholas she knew.

The one who laughed loudly over terrible puns.  Who remembered every tiny detail she ever mentioned. Who carried an extra pair of earbuds just in case she forgot her headphones.

Before anyone noticed she was standing there, Y/N quietly turned around. She walked as quickly as she could back toward the now darkened gym.

Only once she'd reached the empty bleachers did she allow herself to sit down.

She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. The tears came anyway.

About ten minutes later, Nicholas stepped back into the gym, his gym bag slung over one shoulder.

He smiled the moment he spotted her.

"There you are."

He climbed the bleachers until he reached her row.

"You usually wait outside the locker room." 

He tilted his head. "What happened?"

Y/N hurriedly wiped beneath her eyes before looking up.

"Oh..." She forced a small smile.

"Nothing." She looked away.

"Your teammates' girlfriends were out there. I didn't want to…interrupt."

The conversation outside the locker room lingered in Y/N's mind for days.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to silence it.

"She always looks miserable."

"Poor Nicho."

"He deserves someone who's actually supportive."

The words replayed over and over until they started sounding less like strangers' opinions and more like her own thoughts.

Nicholas noticed the change almost immediately.

She smiled less. Laughed less.

She spent more time staring off into space than actually participating in conversations.

Even when they were together in the comfort of her apartment, something felt...off.

That evening, Y/N lay curled up on the couch with her head resting in Nicholas's lap.

One of her favorite episodes of Tom and Jerry played quietly on the television.

Normally, she'd already be giggling at Tom's latest failed attempt to catch Jerry.

Tonight, she hadn't reacted once.

Nicholas absentmindedly petted her hair. 

"Hey, sunshine..."

No response.

He gently bounced the leg her head was resting on. "Sunnnnshine..."

"Hm?"

She blinked before looking up at him. "What was that for?"

He smiled. "I think you just took a trip to Mars."

A tiny smile tugged at her lips.

"Oh. …Sorry."

She turned her attention back toward the television.

A few more moments passed.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked quietly.

Y/N hesitated. "...Basketball."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "Basketball?"

She nodded.

"I've been thinking..."

She paused, searching for the right words.

"I think I want to try going to one of your games."

His hand stopped petting her hair.

"Really?"

She nodded again. "I think so."

He smiled, but there was still concern in his eyes.

"Sunshine...that's a really big step."

"I know."

"Are you sure this is something you want?"

Y/N looked down at the blanket covering her legs.

"...I want to try."

A brief silence settled between them.

"I just..."

She swallowed.

"I feel like I should be doing more."

Nicholas frowned.

"More?"

"I don't know."

"I know you say everything I do is enough, but..."

She picked at a loose thread on the blanket.

"...Sometimes it doesn't feel like enough."

His expression softened.

He had no idea where this was coming from.

To him, she'd been the most supportive partner he could have asked for.

"You already support me, sunshine."

He spoke gently, wanting her to believe every word.

"You watch every game. You text me encouragement. You celebrate the wins with me. You bake me cookies after the losses. You let me collapse on your couch after practice."

He smiled.

"You've never made me question whether you're in my corner."

She looked away.

"...I know. But I'd still like to try."

Nicholas studied her for a moment.

He couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't telling him everything.

But he also knew pushing her rarely helped.

Instead, he nodded. "Okay."

Her eyes met his.

"We've got a home game next Saturday."

He thought for a moment.

"It's in the same gym where we have open practices. And it's an afternoon game, so the student section usually isn't quite as wild."

Y/N nodded.

"I can ask Coach if we can reserve a seat near one of the exits. If you get overstimulated, you leave. No guilt. No apologies."

She nodded again.

"You don't have to stay for me."

Y/N smiled softly.

"...Okay."

"And one more thing."

"Hm?"

"I'll probably be checking on you more than the scoreboard."

That finally earned a genuine laugh.

"I figured."

He grinned.

"So...you'll tell me if it gets to be too much?"

"I will. I promise."

"Good."

She gave him a playful salute.

"Yes, sir."

Nicholas laughed before gently bouncing his leg again, making her head bob slightly.

She let out an exaggerated sigh.

"You're impossible."

"And yet..."

He smiled down at her and snuck in a quick nose peck.

"...you're still dating me."

"I suppose I am."

For the first time in days, the weight in Y/N's chest felt just a little lighter.

Not gone.

Just...lighter. 

The following Saturday arrived far sooner than Y/N would've liked.

Several times throughout the week, she'd considered texting Nicholas with an excuse.

A headache. Feeling tired. Too much homework.

Anything that would allow her to stay safely inside her apartment.

But every excuse felt temporary.

Sooner or later, she'd have to face the fear that had been sitting quietly in the back of her mind.

She wanted that day to be today.

That didn't stop her from pacing the living room nearly all morning.

Every few minutes, she'd glance at the clock.

Then back at the list she'd written in her planner.

Seeing the schedule on paper made everything feel just a little more manageable.

1:30 p.m. — Leave apartment.

1:40 p.m. — Arrive at the gym.

1:45 p.m. — Find reserved seat.

1:50 p.m. — Locate nearest restroom and exits.

1:55 p.m. — Return to seat. Deep breaths.

2:00 p.m. — Tip-off.

Approximately 4:00 p.m. — Game ends.

The plan wasn't rigid. It simply helped.

If she knew what came next, her brain had fewer opportunities to spiral into every possible "what if."

She also spent part of the morning standing in front of the bathroom mirror.

"Hi."

Too enthusiastic.

"Hey."

Too casual.

"Hi, I'm Y/N."

Too formal.

She sighed.

Maybe she wouldn't have to talk to anyone at all.

That would be ideal.

At exactly 1:30, she locked her apartment door behind her. Right on schedule.

The walk to the gym took a little less time than she'd anticipated.

Not because she'd left early. But because anxiety had her walking nearly twice as fast.

By the time she reached the arena, she still had several minutes to spare.

One thing at a time.

She found the reserved seat Nicholas had arranged for her.

Just as promised, it sat on the end of a row only a few steps from one of the exits.

She smiled to herself. He'd remembered.

Before sitting down, she quietly walked the perimeter of the concourse.

Women's restroom. Closest exit. Secondary exit. Another restroom.

Okay. I can do this.

Back at her seat, she slipped in the wireless noise-cancelling earbuds Nicholas had surprised her with a few weeks earlier.

Unlike her oversized headphones, these were discreet enough that they didn't draw much attention.

She adjusted the volume until the sounds of the arena softened from overwhelming to manageable.

Not silent. Just quieter.

Thankfully, this game was being played in Grey City College's smaller gymnasium rather than the university's main arena.

The crowd was noticeably smaller.

Students chatted while finding their seats. Parents waved from across the bleachers. The band warmed up in one corner of the gym.

It was still louder than Y/N preferred. But it wasn't unbearable.

She focused on her breathing.

In for four. Out for four.

One sound at a time. One moment at a time.

When the teams ran onto the court for warmups, Nicholas immediately scanned the bleachers.

The moment he spotted her, his entire face lit up.

He tapped his chest before blowing her a kiss across the court.

Y/N couldn't help smiling.

This time, instead of pretending to catch it, she blew one right back.

Nicholas clutched dramatically at his heart as though she'd completely knocked him over.

She laughed quietly to herself.

Several of his teammates rolled their eyes.

He only grinned wider.

By the time the opening tip-off began, Y/N realized something surprising.

She was...okay. Not perfectly comfortable. But okay.

She found herself following the rhythm of the game.

Watching the players rotate through offensive sets. Listening to the squeak of sneakers against the hardwood. Joining the crowd in polite applause after a good defensive stop.

Every so often, Nicholas glanced toward her during a dead ball.

Not to make sure she was still there. To make sure she was still okay.

Whenever their eyes met, he'd offer a quick wink or an exaggerated thumbs-up before jogging back into position.

Each tiny interaction grounded her.

Maybe, just maybe...

She could do this after all.

Everything she'd worked so hard to manage began unraveling during halftime.

After the Grey City dance team's performance, Y/N decided to take advantage of the break and use the restroom before the second half started.

So far, everything had gone according to plan.

She'd stayed regulated.

The noise had been manageable.

She'd even found herself genuinely enjoying parts of the game.

Maybe she really could do this.

As she finished washing her hands inside the accessible stall, the restroom door swung open.

A chorus of laughter echoed against the tile walls.

Her stomach dropped. She recognized the voices immediately.

"...Wait, did you guys see Y/N out there?"

"Oh my gosh, yeah."

"I was honestly shocked."

"Same."

"I didn't think she'd actually come."

Y/N froze.

"As she should."

"I mean...it's about time she supported her boyfriend."

Another girl laughed.

"I know."

"I've never understood how you date one of the biggest basketball players on campus and somehow never show up."

"Seriously."

"If I were dating Nicho, I'd be at every single game."

"I thought she'd be sitting there looking miserable. But she actually looked...kind of happy."

"I wasn't expecting that."

A few quiet giggles followed.

One voice spoke again.

"Did you notice she wasn't wearing those giant headphones today?"

"Yeah."

"I guess she's finally trying."

"I still don't really get it."

"What?"

"Nicho. I just don't see what he sees in her."

There was a brief silence.

Then—

"I mean..."

"I don't want to sound mean..."

"...but she always comes across so...childish."

"Not in a cute way."

"Just...socially awkward. And kind of boring."

"She acts like she'd rather read than talk to people."

Another girl snorted.

"Isn't that exactly what she does?"

The group laughed again.

"I don't know."

"They're kind of an odd match."

"I always pictured Nicho with someone who had a little more..."

She searched for the word.

"...personality."

Someone else chimed in.

"Honestly?"

"They kind of fit."

"He's always looked so broody and serious. And she always looks sad."

"They're probably the most depressing couple on campus."

Another laugh.

"It's a shame. Nicho's actually really cute."

"I always imagined he'd end up dating someone with a little more confidence."

A quieter voice finally spoke.

"...Well..."

"As long as they're happy, I guess."

The conversation moved on.

Y/N stood perfectly still.

Her hands had stopped moving beneath the running water.

The warm stream poured over her fingers unnoticed.

Childish. Boring. No personality. Depressing.

Each word lodged itself somewhere deep inside her chest.

Eventually, she forced herself to turn off the faucet.

Thank goodness for the accessible sink inside the stall.

She didn't think she could've stood by them right now.

She took one steadying breath. Then another.

Then opened the stall door.

The laughter outside stopped instantly. Five pairs of eyes turned toward her.

Shock. Embarrassment. Regret.

No one said a word.

Y/N's gaze flickered across each of their faces before settling back on the floor.

She couldn't bring herself to look at them any longer.

She quietly walked past the sinks...past the door...and back toward the gym.

The second half was set to begin in just three minutes.

She made it to her seat. Sat down. Folded her hands tightly together in her lap.

But she wasn't watching the players warming up anymore.

She was replaying every sentence she'd just heard.

Childish. Boring. No personality.

Her throat tightened.

Those weren't new insecurities.

They'd followed her throughout childhood. They'd only grown louder after receiving her autism diagnosis.

She knew she experienced joy differently than many people.

She knew some of her interests—crocheting, puzzles, watching cartoons, collecting facts about her favorite subjects—were often dismissed as "childish."

She knew socializing didn't come naturally.

None of those things made her immature. None of them made her incapable.

She lived on her own. Maintained good grades. Managed her own appointments, finances, and responsibilities.

She had built a life she was proud of. 

She knew all of that. Logically.

But knowing something and believing it in moments like this were two very different things.

The referee's whistle pierced through the gym.

The second half had begun.

Only now, everything sounded different.

The band was louder. The whistles were sharper. The sneakers squeaking across the hardwood grated against her ears.

The student section erupted after the opening basket. Someone behind her jumped to their feet. Another fan yelled loud enough that she flinched.

The sounds she'd been filtering out all afternoon suddenly crashed into her at once.

Her breathing became a little shallower. A little quicker.

She wrapped her arms around herself without realizing it.

She could feel it. Her nervous system was beginning to reach its limit.

For the opening minutes of the second half, Nicholas remained on the bench.

It gave him the rare opportunity to watch the game from the sidelines. It also gave him a chance to check on Y/N.

Almost instinctively, his eyes drifted toward the section where she'd been sitting all afternoon.

His smile faded. Something was wrong.

During the first half, she'd been smiling. Clapping after big plays. Even laughing when he'd dramatically pretended one of her blown kisses had knocked him over.

Now, she looked impossibly small.

She sat curled inward, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her fingers repeatedly rubbed and picked at the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

Her shoulders rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths.

She wasn't watching the game anymore. She was staring at the floor.

At one point, she glanced toward the nearest exit. Then back at the court. Then the exit again.

Nicholas knew that look.

She was trying to convince herself to stay. Trying to decide if she could make it just a little longer.

He silently willed the clock to move faster.

Just hold on a little longer, sunshine. You don't have to prove anything.

A whistle stopped play.

He looked back toward her.

She'd slipped one earbud out, attempting to adjust the noise level with shaky hands.

Immediately, another roar from the student section filled the gym.

She flinched. Her hands immediately flew back to her ears.

Nicholas's chest tightened.

He watched her take one slow breath. Then another. Then another.

She was trying. She really was trying.

But when he looked back a few moments later, her seat was empty.

His stomach dropped.

The moment Y/N stepped into the hallway, the dam broke.

The muffled sounds of the game still echoed through the walls.

Whistles. Music. Cheering. Footsteps.

Even though they were quieter now, they still felt impossibly loud.

She hurried farther down the hallway until she found a secluded corner tucked away near the bathrooms.

The second she realized no one else was there, her knees gave out beneath her.

She slowly slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor.

Her breathing became uneven. 

Too fast. Too shallow.

No matter how hard she tried to slow it down, her body refused to listen.

Hot tears blurred her vision.

"I'm okay..." She whispered to herself.

"I'm okay."

But the words didn't feel true.

Everything she'd been holding in since halftime came crashing over her all at once.

The comments. The noises. The lights. The pressure she'd unknowingly placed on herself to prove she was a "good enough" girlfriend.

A sob escaped before she could stop it.

She wrapped both arms tightly around herself, rocking back and forth as her body searched for something—anything—that felt grounding.

Her hands began rhythmically tapping against her shoulders.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

The familiar pattern helped.

Just not enough.

Another loud cheer erupted from inside the gym. She immediately clapped both hands over her ears.

It was too much. Everything was too much.

Back inside the gym, Nicholas had already made his decision.

He hurried toward the end of the bench.

"Coach."

His voice was calm, but urgent.

"I need to go."

Coach Harris looked toward the empty seat in the stands where Y/N had been sitting only moments before.

He immediately understood. His expression softened.

"Go."

No questions. No hesitation.

Years of raising his autistic son had taught him to recognize the signs of someone approaching sensory overload.

When Nicholas had requested the aisle seat for Y/N before the game, Coach Harris hadn't thought twice about approving it.

Now he silently hoped she'd made it somewhere quiet.

Nicholas was already sprinting into the hallway before the assistant coach could call for a substitution.

The crowd buzzed with confusion as players and spectators watched one of the Wolves' starters disappear from the bench.

He barely noticed.

"Y/N?" he called, his voice echoing through the corridor.

"Sunshine?"

Nothing.

He turned another corner.

"Y/N?"

Then, he heard it.

Soft sobs. Quick, uneven breaths. The gentle, pounding sound of someone rocking against the wall.

His heart sank.

He rounded the corner and found her curled tightly into herself in the far corner of the hallway.

For a moment, he didn't move.

He simply knelt a few feet away, making sure not to crowd her. 

His voice was barely above a whisper.

"...Hey, sunshine. I'm here."

Y/N's eyes darted toward the voice.

The moment she saw Nicholas, something inside her immediately softened.

Relief.

Not because the overwhelm disappeared. 

Her body was still caught in it.

But because she wasn't alone anymore.

Nicholas stayed exactly where he was, giving her the space she'd need if she wanted it.

His voice remained calm and steady.

"Hey, sunshine. I'm right here."

She squeezed her eyes shut as another tear slipped down her cheek.

"Can you breathe with me?"

Y/N nodded quickly.

Nicholas took one slow breath in. Then slowly exhaled.

Again. And again.

Y/N tried to match his rhythm.

At first, her breaths caught halfway through. Her chest still felt tight.

But little by little, her breathing became less frantic.

Not steady. Just steadier.

Nicholas waited another moment before speaking.

"Is touch okay?"

Another quick nod.

"Deep pressure?"

She nodded again.

Without rushing, Nicholas moved behind her and lowered himself to the floor.

He positioned himself carefully so that if she leaned backward, she'd rest against him instead of the wall.

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, applying the firm, even pressure he knew usually helped her nervous system settle.

Y/N immediately melted into him.

She rested her head against his chest. Listening.

His heartbeat. The slow rise and fall of his breathing.

The familiar rhythm grounded her in a way words couldn't.

Nicholas gently kissed the top of her head.

"I'm here," he whispered. "You don't have to go through this by yourself."

He began gently rocking the two of them back and forth.

Just enough to mirror the movement she'd already been making.

Slow. Predictable. Steady.

Minute by minute, Y/N felt her body begin releasing some of the tension it had been desperately holding onto.

The tears didn't stop. But they came more quietly now.

Eventually, her voice emerged as little more than a whisper.

"...I'm sorry."

Nicholas's arms tightened just enough for her to feel it.

"There isn't anything to apologize for, sunshine."

Another tear slipped down her face.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize."

"I couldn’t do it. And I scared you."

His heart ached. "Oh, sunshine..."

He rested his cheek lightly against the top of her head.

"The only thing I'm thinking about right now is making sure you feel safe."

Y/N buried her head deeper against his chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, almost automatically.

The words weren't really for him anymore.

They were for the embarrassment. For the exhaustion. For the guilt that always seemed to follow after her nervous system finally began to settle.

Nicholas didn't argue with her this time. He knew she wasn't ready to believe him yet.

Instead, he simply held her.

Breathing with her. Rocking gently with her.

Waiting for the storm inside her to pass, one slow breath at a time.

Later that evening, Y/N hadn't spoken more than a handful of words since Nicholas had found her in the hallway.

She simply didn't have the energy.

Recovering from a meltdown always left her feeling as though every ounce of energy had been drained from her body.

Her muscles ached. Her head felt heavy. Even forming complete sentences sounded exhausting.

At the moment, the two of them were curled up together on the couch.

Nicholas lay stretched out across the cushions while Y/N rested directly on top of him, her head tucked beneath his chin.

A weighted blanket covered them both, cocooning them in a comforting heaviness.

One of Y/N's favorites, We Bare Bears, played softly in the background.

Over the last three hours, she'd drifted in and out of sleep more times than Nicholas could count.

Every now and then, she'd stir just enough to shift a little closer to him before falling asleep again.

Nicholas wasn't much different.

He'd dozed off once or twice himself, though never for very long.

Every time he woke, he'd gently brush his fingers across her head, rub slow circles across her back, or press a soft kiss against her forehead before settling back into the quiet.

Neither of them felt the need to talk. Simply existing together was enough.

Eventually, however, Nicholas reluctantly glanced toward the clock.

They hadn't eaten since 11 that morning.

With a quiet sigh, he carefully slipped out from beneath the blanket.

Almost immediately, Y/N frowned. A sleepy, dissatisfied noise escaped her lips.

"Nicholaaas..."

He couldn't help but smile.

"I know, sunshine."

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

"I'll be right back."

Another tiny whine.

"But you're warm."

"I’ll be back in a few minutes, I promise."

That earned him the faintest huff before Y/N burrowed deeper beneath the weighted blanket.

Nicholas chuckled softly as he made his way into the kitchen.

He decided to keep dinner as simple as possible.

Grilled cheese.

Whenever Y/N had an especially difficult day, one of her safe foods almost always helped make the evening feel just a little more manageable.

It wasn't about fixing what had happened. It was about giving her something familiar.

Something predictable. Something comforting.

As the butter and mayo-covered bread sizzled gently in the pan, the warm, cheesy aroma drifted into the living room.

From beneath the blanket, Y/N's nose twitched.

A moment later, she slowly peeked over the edge of the couch.

"...Grilled cheese?"

Nicholas glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "You guessed it."

A tiny smile appeared on her face.

"I figured today called for one."

She nodded almost immediately.

 "...Yum."

"And..."

He held up a plate of freshly washed celery sticks. "I even made your favorite side."

Her eyes brightened just a little. "With creamy Italian dressing?"

"Wouldn't dream of forgetting it."

For what felt like the first time all day, Y/N smiled without forcing it.

A few minutes later, the two of them sat side by side at her small kitchen table.

The apartment remained comfortably quiet.

No pressure to make conversation. No expectation to explain herself.

Just the occasional crunch of celery or the soft clink of silverware against ceramic plates.

Y/N dipped another celery stick into the creamy Italian dressing before staring thoughtfully at the table.

After a long moment, she spoke.

"...I think I'm ready to talk about what happened earlier."

Nicholas looked up from his sandwich.

"You don't have to, sunshine. There’s no rush."

She gave a small shake of her head.

"I'm not completely ready."

She paused.

"I don't think I'll ever feel completely ready."

A nervous laugh escaped her.

"My therapist says I spend too much time waiting until I feel one hundred percent prepared."

She looked down at her plate.

"And if I keep doing that...I'll probably never say it."

Nicholas reached across the table and rested his hand beside hers.

Not touching.

Just close enough if she wanted it.

"Okay."

His voice was gentle.

"I'm listening."

"Whenever you're ready."

She softly took his hand. “Thank you.”

Once they finished eating, Nicholas quietly gathered the dishes and carried them into the kitchen.

Y/N returned to the couch.

She tucked her legs beneath herself and absentmindedly picked at a loose thread on one of the throw pillows while she waited.

The apartment was quiet except for the sound of running water from the kitchen sink.

She rehearsed the conversation in her head. Then rehearsed it again.

By the time Nicholas returned a few minutes later, she still wasn't sure how to begin.

He sat across from her on the couch, folding one leg beneath himself.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Nicholas could see the conflict written across her face.

Vulnerability had never come easily to Y/N.

She often knew exactly what she wanted to say. Getting the words from her mind to her mouth was the difficult part.

Without saying anything, Nicholas simply held out both of his hands. Y/N looked down at them before slipping her own into his.

Almost instinctively, his thumbs began slowly rubbing gentle circles across the backs of her hands.

"It's okay, sunshine," he said softly. "Take your time."

She nodded.

Took one slow breath. Then another.

"...You remember how, after your practice a few days ago..."

She hesitated.

"...I seemed kind of...down?"

Nicholas nodded.

"And when I said I'd been thinking about coming to one of your games?"

Another nod.

"That...wasn't the whole reason."

She stared down at their joined hands.

"I was waiting outside your locker room after practice. Like I always do. There were a bunch of girlfriends standing out there."

She swallowed.

"Not just from basketball. There were girls from baseball...football... and a few other teams."

Another pause.

"I overheard them talking."

Nicholas felt his stomach tighten.

"...About me. And about you. And about us."

His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. He forced himself to stay completely still.

Y/N needed him to listen first. She didn't need his anger.

"They said..."

Her voice caught.

"...that I always look miserable. That I'm boring. That I'm weird because I always bring my headphones...and my crochet...and my puzzle books."

Tears began gathering in her eyes. She blinked rapidly, trying to keep them from falling.

"They kept saying you always looked intimidating. Broody. Like you should be dating someone who matched your image."

Nicholas slowly inhaled through his nose.

He knew exactly how much those comments would have hurt her.

"And..."

Y/N's voice grew quieter.

"I think...I think that's why I wanted so badly to come to your game."

She finally looked up at him.

"I wanted to prove them wrong."

A tear escaped despite her efforts.

"I wanted to look..."

She laughed weakly through her tears.

"...normal."

Nicholas's heart broke.

"Oh, sunshine..."

She shook her head.

"It didn't even matter. Because then…I went to the bathroom during halftime. And they walked in. They didn't know I was in one of the stalls."

Her breathing hitched.

"They were still talking about me."

She squeezed Nicholas's hands a little tighter.

"They said I looked childish. They said I had no personality. They said we looked like the most depressing couple on campus."

Another tear rolled down her cheek.

"They said..."

She stopped speaking altogether.

Nicholas waited patiently.

"They said...you deserved someone better. Someone who matched your reputation. Someone who wasn't..."

She swallowed hard.

"...me."

The room fell silent.

"I know they don't know me."

She sniffled.

"And I know they were making assumptions. But..."

She looked down at her lap.

"...it made me wonder if everyone sees me that way."

Another tear slipped free.

"And then...I couldn't stop thinking about it. I tried. I really did. I kept telling myself to focus on the game. But my brain just..."

She gestured helplessly.

"...wouldn't let it go."

She took a shaky breath.

"And I think...everything together...The comments. The noise. The lights. The pressure I put on myself. It all became too much. I couldn't stay regulated anymore. It really hurt me."

Nicholas slowly nodded.

"I know, baby."

His voice was barely above a whisper.

"I know."

She wiped at her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

"The worst part...was seeing them when I walked out. They all looked embarrassed. Like they regretted saying it."

She gave a small, defeated shrug.

"But...the damage was already done."

The apartment fell quiet again.

Nicholas let the silence linger for a few moments.

Not because he didn't know what to say. Because he wanted her to know she'd been heard.

Finally, he spoke.

"...Can I hug you?"

Y/N nodded almost immediately.

Without another word, Nicholas gently pulled her into his arms.

She curled against his chest as though she'd been holding herself together until that very moment.

He wrapped his arms firmly, but carefully, around her.

"I'm so sorry, sunshine."

His voice trembled slightly.

"I'm so, so sorry they made you question yourself."

Y/N buried her face against his shoulder.

"...It's okay."

Nicholas gently shook his head.

"No."

He kissed the top of her hair.

"It isn't."

Nicho pulled out of the hug before lifting Y/N into his lap.

"You didn't deserve a single word of what they said."

She wiped another tear.

"And none of it changes who you are. Or how much I love you."

Y/N slowly lifted her head from Nicholas's shoulder.

"...What?"

He smiled, brushing a few loose strands of hair away from her face.

"I love you, sunshine."

Her eyes searched his for a moment.

"...Really?"

"Really."

A soft chuckle escaped him. "Very much so."

Y/N's face immediately softened.

Without saying another word, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him again.

Nicholas hugged her just as tightly, pressing a gentle kiss against the side of her head before resting his cheek against hers.

The two of them stayed like that for a long moment.

Safe. Quiet. Comfortable.

Eventually, Nicholas spoke again.

"And as for those girls..."

He sighed softly.

"They don't know you. They don't know how incredibly kind you are. Or how brilliant you are. Or how thoughtful you are."

"They've never seen the way you light up when you talk about something you love. They've never seen you spend hours crocheting gifts for other people just because you thought it'd make them smile.” They've never seen how hard you work. So don't let people who've only seen a tiny piece of you convince you they know your whole story."

Y/N felt another wave of tears prick at her eyes.

This time, they weren't from hurt.

Nicholas smiled playfully.

"And besides..."

He shrugged dramatically.

"They're probably just jealous."

Y/N raised an eyebrow.

"...Jealous?"

"Well..."

He grinned.

"They do have to watch the hottest guy on the basketball team go home with someone else."

She laughed, shaking her head.

"Nicholas..."

"What? I'm kidding."

He paused.

"...Mostly."

She laughed again, louder this time.

The sound made his heart swell.

"But seriously..."

His smile softened.

"There's a reason I call you 'sunshine.'"

Y/N looked at him curiously.

"Because your heart reminds me of sunshine. It's warm. It's gentle. And somehow..."

He squeezed her hand.

"...it makes everyone around you feel a little safer."

"You've been a light in my life ever since we met."

Y/N blinked rapidly as fresh tears gathered in her eyes.

"They judged you without ever taking the time to get to know you. That says far more about them than it ever will about you."

He gently rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand.

"Your parents know who you are. Your friends know who you are. I know who you are. And every single one of us is lucky to have you."

She smiled shyly before ducking her head.

"And..."

Nicholas added with a grin,

"I'm really proud of you."

She looked back up.

"You spent almost an entire half at your very first basketball game. I know today didn't end the way either of us wanted. But that doesn't erase how brave you were."

Y/N smiled. "...Thank you."

She thought for a moment before laughing quietly.

"I think I'll stick to supporting you from the couch."

Nicholas nodded without hesitation.

"I'd love that. You don't have to prove anything to anybody. Not to me. Not ever."

A comfortable silence settled between them.

"...Nicholas?"

"Hm?"

"I love you too."

She smiled bashfully.

"Like...a lot."

He smiled.

"I know."

She laughed.

"It kind of scares me sometimes."

Nicholas reached up and gently cupped one of her cheeks.

"I think that's okay."

He smiled warmly.

"Big feelings can be a little scary. But I wouldn't trade them for anything."

Y/N pulled back again and cupped Nicho’s cheeks with her hands.

"I think I know what you're about to ask."

She laughed through the remnants of her tears.

"...Can I kiss you?"

"You absolutely can."

She closed the distance between them, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to his lips.

Nicholas returned it just as softly, one hand resting comfortably against her back while the other remained lightly intertwined with hers. 

For a few moments, all that was heard was the gentle smacking of lips.

Nicholas then tilted his head to deepen the kiss just a little.

Y/N gasped, allowing Nicho to use his tongue to brush hers softly.

Y/N pulled away first, needing to catch her breath. But, neither of them moved very far.

Their foreheads rested together.

"...Hi," Nicholas whispered with a smile.

Y/N giggled.

"...Hi."

He chuckled before peppering a few playful kisses across her forehead and cheeks, making her scrunch up her nose and laugh even harder.

"I love you so much, sunshine."

Y/N smiled, her eyes brighter than they had been all day.

"I love you too, Nicholas."

I hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to like, comment, and reblog! <33

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Y/N and Nicholas met during the fall semester of their junior year.

The setting wasn't glamorous or romantic.

It was MATH357—Mathematical Patterns.

A required general education course neither of them had been particularly excited to take.

It had been the first day of the fall semester. 

And Nicholas was late.

He walked in with a note from the head basketball coach, apologizing for his lateness due to meeting with the entire basketball team that ran over time.

Because he was over 20 minutes late, the classroom had practically been full. Especially due to the fact that it was a small class of only 12 students.

In the classroom, there were 6 rows of tables, 3 on each side of the room, each seating 2 students.

Only one table held an empty seat. The left table in the front.

It was the seat next to Y/N. 

Having no other choice, Nicholas sat down next to her.

As one of the starting players for Grey City College's basketball team, the Grey City Wolves, Nicholas was used to attracting attention.

Whether he wanted it or not, people recognized him.

Girls smiled at him in passing, struck up conversations before class, or found excuses to sit nearby.

During one lecture class the previous semester, his professor had actually moved him across the room after the girl beside him spent more time staring at him than taking notes.

But, Y/N hadn't even looked at him.

Not when he'd apologized for squeezing past her. Not when he'd pulled out his laptop to follow along with the professor in the syllabus. 

Not even when he'd accidentally bumped the table.

If anything, she seemed determined to pretend he wasn't there.

For Y/N, it wasn’t anything against him.

For the first twenty minutes of class, Y/N had quietly convinced herself the seat beside her would stay empty for the rest of the semester.

Her brain had already begun building a routine around it.

The table was close enough to the exit that she could step outside if the room became overstimulating.

The front of the classroom meant fewer distractions.

And an empty chair beside her meant one less social interaction to mentally prepare and mask for every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Then the classroom door opened.

The routine she'd imagined disappeared before it had even begun.

She kept her eyes glued to her iPad as the late student approached. She noticed him only through her peripheral vision while he slid into the empty chair.

It wasn't that she meant to be rude.

She simply wasn't sure whether she was supposed to introduce herself, smile, make eye contact, or pretend nothing had changed. Faced with too many possibilities at once, saying nothing felt safest.

It also didn’t help that Nicholas had a bit of an RBF.

Which made Y/N feel slightly more intimidated than usual.

During the first two months of the semester, the two of them mostly kept to themselves.

Some days, Nicholas arrived right as class began. Some days, he slipped in a few minutes late with a quiet apology. Other days, basketball commitments kept him from showing up altogether.

Y/N, meanwhile, was always there five to ten minutes early. Every class.

She liked having those extra few minutes to settle into her seat, organize her notebook, put on her noise-cancelling headphones, and mentally prepare herself before the room filled with conversation.

It was part of the routine she'd come to rely on.

One afternoon, about a week before midterms, the professor gave everyone the class period to work independently on a review packet.

Nicholas stared down at problem #6 for several minutes before letting out a quiet sigh.

Normally, he'd just walk over and ask the professor for help.

Today, though, nearly everyone had been gathering periodically around her desk, and he wasn't exactly eager to try to time a moment to speak to her.

Instead, he glanced beside him.

Y/N was already halfway through the packet, pencil moving steadily across the page as soft lo-fi music played through her headphones.

After a brief moment of hesitation, he gently tapped her shoulder.

The unexpected touch made Y/N jump slightly.

She instinctively paused her music before sliding one side of her headphones off her ear.

"...Yes?" she asked quietly.

Nicholas offered an apologetic smile.

"Sorry. You look like you've actually figured this stuff out."

He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck before pointing at his paper.

"Can you help me with number 6?"

Y/N blinked.

No one had ever described her as approachable. Usually people assumed she wanted to be left alone.

"...Sure."

She scooted her notebook a little closer to the middle of the table.

"I think the professor wants us to recognize the recursive pattern first."

For the next several minutes, the two quietly worked through the problem together.

It wasn't much. But it was the first real conversation they'd ever had.

And somehow, after that day, talking to each other became...easy.

It started with Nicholas asking questions about homework or concepts he'd missed while traveling for away games.

On days he knew he'd be absent, he'd ask if Y/N wouldn't mind sharing her notes afterward. She always said yes.

In return, he'd buy her a snack and drink out the vending machine down the hall after class.

Neither of them ever talked about becoming friends. It just...happened.

As the semester continued, studying together before and after class became routine.

He learned that Y/N loved logic puzzles, animal and nature documentaries, and organizing everything with meticulous precision.

Nicholas admitted he switched majors twice before finally finding one he enjoyed.

She learned that basketball wasn't just something he was good at—it was something he'd dreamed about since he was a kid.

He learned that silence never meant Y/N was uncomfortable.

Sometimes, it meant she felt comfortable enough not to force herself to fill every quiet moment.

Little by little, Y/N stopped feeling the need to constantly monitor herself around him.

She no longer worried about whether she'd made enough eye contact or if she'd paused too long before answering a question.

Nicholas never seemed bothered by any of it. 

He simply waited. And listened.

By the time finals were approaching, Nicholas had realized something.

He liked being around Y/N.

More than that...

He liked her.

She was thoughtful. Funny in ways she didn't always realize. Incredibly intelligent.

And, if he was being honest with himself, one of the most beautiful girls he'd ever met.

So, after one of their study sessions, Nicholas finally worked up the courage to ask her out.

The question caught Y/N completely off guard.

Not because she hadn't developed feelings for him. 

(She had. More than she cared to admit.)

But dating felt...complicated.

She took a long breath before quietly telling him something very few people knew.

She'd been diagnosed with autism during the spring semester of her freshman year after experiencing a period of severe burnout that left her physically and emotionally exhausted.

Looking back, the diagnosis explained so many things she'd struggled to understand about herself growing up.

Her need for routine. The exhaustion that came from constantly masking around other people. How overwhelming social situations could become. Why change always seemed harder for her than it did for everyone else.

"If we're going to do this..." she said softly, twisting the sleeve of her sweatshirt between her fingers, "...I need to take things really slowly."

She hesitated before continuing.

"I've never been in a serious relationship before."

A small, nervous laugh escaped her.

"Honestly...I don't have much romantic experience at all."

Growing up undiagnosed had made it difficult to understand both herself and other people.

For a long time, she'd convinced herself that relationships simply weren't something she'd ever be good at.

So if Nicholas wanted to be with her...

He needed to understand exactly what he was signing up for.

When Y/N finished speaking, silence settled between them.

She tried to read Nicholas's expression, but quickly gave up.

Her stomach twisted into a knot. She'd had this conversation before.

Not with someone she liked.

But with classmates. Lab partners. Acquaintances.

And it almost always ended the same way.

Sometimes people blinked in disbelief before saying,

"Really? You don't look autistic."

As if autism had a certain face.

Other times, their entire demeanor changed.

Their voices became slower. Softer. Patronizing. Like she'd suddenly become a five-year-old girl instead of a young woman in her early 20s.

And then there were the people who somehow managed to make her diagnosis about themselves.

"Wow...you're so inspiring."

"If you can do college with autism, I have no excuse."

Every response left her feeling like she'd somehow become a different person the moment she said the word autism.

She quietly waited for Nicholas to do the same.

Instead, he smiled.

Not out of sympathy. Not out of surprise. Just...warmly.

"Thanks for trusting me enough to tell me."

Y/N blinked.

"And...it's okay," he continued. "We can take things as slowly as you need to."

He shrugged. "I'm not in any hurry."

For several seconds, Y/N simply stared at him.

"...Really?"

"Yeah."

"...That's it?"

Now it was Nicholas's turn to look confused. He tilted his head slightly.

"Was there supposed to be more?"

"I just..." She looked down at the table. "People usually react differently."

"Differently how?"

She hesitated before letting out a small sigh.

"They either tell me I don't 'look autistic,' start treating me like I'm a little kid..." She gave a humorless laugh. "...or tell me I'm inspiring for just existing."

Nicholas frowned. "...Seriously?"

She nodded.

"That sounds exhausting."

Y/N looked back up at him.

There wasn't pity in his eyes. Or discomfort. Or forced optimism. Just genuine understanding.

"So..." Nicholas said after a moment, "you're still the same person I've been studying with for months."

She smiled a little. "I guess."

"The same person who organizes everything."

She laughed softly.

"The same person who helps me with math.”

Another smile.

"The same person I like."

Y/N felt warmth spread across her cheeks.

"Oh."

"So..." Nicholas smiled. "Why would I suddenly start treating you differently?"

For the first time since she'd brought up her diagnosis, the tightness in her chest eased.

"...Thank you."

He smiled. "You don't have to thank me."

"I do."

A comfortable silence settled between them.

Then Y/N gave him a teasing look.

"I honestly thought you basketball jock-types liked to move a lot faster."

Nicholas laughed. "That's the stereotype?"

She shrugged innocently. "I may have made a few assumptions."

"Well," he grinned, "I hate to disappoint."

"It doesn't."

He raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't?"

Y/N took a steadying breath.

"I like you too, Nicholas."

Her voice was quiet.

"But I really do need to take things slowly."

His smile softened. "I can do slow."

He rested his hand on the table between them but didn't reach for hers. Instead, he let it sit there, giving her the choice.

After a brief moment, Y/N looked down at his hand before carefully placing hers in it.

His fingers curled gently around hers.

No rush. No pressure. Just enough to remind her she didn't have to navigate this new chapter alone.

"I'm really glad you said yes," he admitted.

Y/N smiled. "...Me too."

A comfortable silence settled between them, accompanied by a pair of shy smiles neither of them could quite hide.

After a moment, Nicholas chuckled to himself.

"You know," he said, "you can just call me 'Nicho.'"

Y/N tilted her head ever so slightly. "I've heard other people call you that."

"So...?"

She gave him a small, matter-of-fact smile. "I think 'Nicholas' is a perfectly suitable name."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Stubborn already, huh?"

"I prefer 'particular.'"

"Fair enough."

He smiled at her before standing from his chair and slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

"Whatever you say, sunshine."

Y/N felt warmth creep into her cheeks.

As he walked away, she quietly repeated the nickname to herself.

"...Sunshine."

She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about it yet. But she didn't dislike it, either.

Despite agreeing to take things slowly, very little about Y/N and Nicho's relationship actually changed. At least, not on the surface.

They still spent hours studying together after class. They still grabbed vending machine snacks after lectures.

They still wandered around campus after finishing their homework, talking about everything and nothing at all.

The only real difference was the quiet affection that had slowly woven itself into their routine.

Hands brushing together before naturally intertwining. Hugs that lingered a few extra seconds. Soft kisses pressed to her forehead or cheek whenever they said goodbye.

They never rushed toward defining what they were. They simply enjoyed being together.

Over time, Nicholas began learning Y/N's boundaries—not by making assumptions, but by paying attention and asking when he wasn't sure.

He discovered that she didn't dislike physical affection. Quite the opposite.

She loved hugs, hand-holding, and gentle touches from the people she trusted.

She simply preferred having some control over when they happened.

Sometimes that meant she would be the one to initiate them. Other times, she'd ask.

"Nicholas?"

He looked up from his textbook. "Hm?"

"...Can I have a hug?"

A tiny pause.

"...A deeper one than usual, please."

Without saying a word, Nicholas stood, opened his arms, and waited.

The moment Y/N stepped into them, he wrapped his arms around her a little tighter than normal.

Not enough to overwhelm her. Just enough to make her feel grounded.

After nearly a minute, she let out a quiet sigh. "Thank you."

He smiled. "Anytime, sunshine."

Nicholas also learned that spending time together didn't always mean being together.

There were days when Y/N's social battery was simply...empty.

After hours of lectures, group discussions, and navigating conversations, she needed time alone to decompress from the effort of masking throughout the day.

On those afternoons, Nicholas never took it personally.

Instead of asking if she'd wanted to hang out, he'd send a simple text.

Thinking of you. Hope you're getting some rest. 💛

Sometimes she replied immediately. Sometimes she’d simply like the message. Sometimes she didn't answer until the following morning.

But, he never pressured her. He knew she'd respond when she had the energy.

As the months passed, Nicholas made it a point to learn more—not because he believed every autistic person was the same, but because he wanted to better understand Y/N's experiences.

His search history became filled with questions.

What is autistic burnout?

Why is masking so exhausting?

How can I support an autistic partner?

Whenever he found conflicting information, he asked Y/N instead.

"So...does this actually apply to you?"

Sometimes she'd nod. Sometimes she'd laugh.

"Not really."

He quickly learned that autism didn't come with a universal instruction manual.

It came with Y/N.

And she was more than happy to teach him what she needed.

More than anything, she appreciated that he asked.

No one besides her parents had ever shown such genuine interest in understanding her—not to change her, but simply to love her well.

That meant more to her than Nicholas probably realized.

The spring semester came and went in a blur of lectures, late-night study sessions, and final exams.

Once their last final was behind them, Nicholas insisted they celebrate.

His idea? Ice cream.

"We survived junior year," he'd joked. "That deserves at least two scoops."

Now the two of them sat in a quiet corner of a local ice cream shop just off campus, absentmindedly eating their treats while the conversation drifted from finals to summer plans.

Y/N traced the edge of her paper cup with the plastic spoon in her hand.

"Nicholas?"

"Hm?"

"I've been thinking."

His attention immediately shifted to her.

She kept her eyes on the melting ice cream instead of meeting his gaze.

"These past few months..." she began softly, "...have been some of the happiest months I've had in a really long time."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Nicholas's lips.

"You've been incredibly patient with me."

She paused, carefully choosing her next words.

"You've never made me feel rushed. You've never made me feel...difficult. And you've always asked what I needed instead of assuming."

She finally looked up at him.

"I don't think you realize how much that means to me."

Nicholas's smile softened. "It wasn't hard."

"It wasn't?"

He shook his head. "No."

He reached across the table, resting his hand beside hers without expecting her to take it.

"I told you from the beginning, sunshine. I was willing to wait."

Y/N smiled to herself.

Another comfortable silence settled between them. Then she took a slow breath.

"I think..."

She stopped. Collected her thoughts. Then she  tried again.

"I think I'm ready."

Nicholas blinked. "...Ready?"

She nodded. "For a relationship. A real one."

She laughed nervously. 

"I mean...we've basically been dating without calling it dating."

His grin grew. 

"I've noticed."

"I think..." She smiled shyly. "...I'd like us to officially be boyfriend and girlfriend."

For a moment, Nicholas simply looked at her.

Not because he was surprised she'd asked. But because he wanted to make sure she wasn't saying it just because she thought she should.

"Are you sure?" he asked gently.

Y/N let out a quiet breath.

"If I'm being completely honest..." She looked back down at her cup.

"...Not entirely."

His expression remained calm.

"It isn't because of you."

"I know."

She nodded.

"I keep wondering if I'm going to mess everything up.  If I'll get overwhelmed. If I'll need more space than most people. If I’ll weird you out."

She sighed.

"I just keep second-guessing myself."

A sheepish smile crossed her face.

"My therapist keeps reminding me that I'll probably never wake up one day feeling one hundred percent ready."

"Sometimes," she continued, "you have to let yourself do something before your brain decides it's safe."

She glanced up at him.

"So...I guess this is me trying to take a leap of faith."

A faint grimace crossed her face.

"...Does that make any sense?"

Without saying a word, Nicholas set his spoon down.

He reached across and gently took both of Y/N's hands in his own, applying the firm, steady pressure he'd learned she found comforting.

Y/N instinctively relaxed.

"First..." he said softly, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand, "thank you for trusting me with all of that."

His smile was gentle.

"I know these conversations aren't easy for you."

"They're not," she admitted quietly.

He nodded. "I figured."

For a moment, he simply looked at her. Then he continued.

"Sunshine...there isn't anything you could've told me today that would've made me think less of you."

Y/N felt her throat tighten.

"You experience the world differently than I do."

He shrugged lightly. "So what?"

"That doesn't make you any less deserving of love. It doesn't make you too much. It doesn't make you difficult. It just means I love you in the ways that help you feel safe."

Tears immediately welled in Y/N's eyes.

"And one more thing."

He smiled.

"When I asked if you were sure, I wasn't questioning whether I wanted this. I've wanted this for a long time, actually. I just didn't want to ask before you were ready."

His cheeks flushed slightly.

"I promised I'd let you set the pace. And I meant it."

He squeezed her hands once more. "So..."

A grin spread across his face. "I would absolutely love to be your boyfriend."

The tears she'd been trying so hard to hold back finally escaped.

Before she even realized what she was doing, Y/N stood from her side of the booth and walked around to Nicholas.

She slid in beside him before wrapping both arms tightly around his shoulders, resting her head against him.

Nicholas immediately hugged her back, matching the same firm pressure she always asked for.

One hand gently rubbed slow circles across her back. He kissed the top of her head.

Neither of them spoke for several moments. They didn't need to.

"...Thank you," Y/N whispered.

Her voice cracked.

"Thank you, Nicholas."

She paused.

"...I mean..."

A watery laugh escaped her. A real, genuine laugh.

"...Boyfriend."

Nicholas couldn't help but laugh too.

The kind that left their shoulders feeling lighter.

Eventually, Y/N lifted her head. Her eyes lingered on him for a few seconds.

"Nicholas?"

"Hm?"

She fidgeted with the sleeve of her sweater.

"...Can we kiss?"

His smile softened. "Of course we can..."

He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"...Girlfriend."

He waited. Just long enough for her to lean the rest of the way toward him. 

Then he gently cupped her cheek and pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was everything their relationship had been. Slow. Gentle. Patient. Safe.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N kept her eyes closed for another second, quietly taking in the feeling before opening them again.

"...Wow."

Nicholas chuckled. "Good wow?"

She nodded. "My first kiss."

He smiled so warmly it made her chest ache. "I'm honored."

He leaned over and pressed another quick kiss near the corner of her mouth.

"And if I'm lucky...hopefully the last first kiss you'll ever have."

Y/N's cheeks immediately warmed.

After another comfortable silence, Nicholas smiled at her.

"You know..."

"Hm?"

"You never have to ask permission every single time you want to kiss me."

Y/N blinked.

"But... You always ask before you hug me. Or hold my hand. You always make sure I'm okay with physical affection."

She shrugged. "So...I thought it was only fair."

Nicholas's expression softened even more. "I appreciate that, I really do."

He intertwined their fingers.

"But if it helps..."

He smiled.

"I really, really like it when my girlfriend kisses me."

A shy smile spread across Y/N's face.

"I think..." She glanced down for a moment before looking back up.

 "...I like kissing my boyfriend, too."

Nicholas laughed quietly. "I was hoping you'd say that."

A/N: I already have a part 2 coming for this that was supposed to be the original, but I got so caught up in writing the backstory that I decided to split it. Thank you for reading! XOXO, Dai <333 Update: Part 2 Out Now!

Taglist: @chloe2444332 @donut-crazs @wildnindigo @sunsun-sunny

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Y/N and EJ met during the first semester of their senior year at Grey City College.

GC474 — Senior Seminar.

On the very first day of class, they were assigned as partners.

Y/N sat in the front row of the lecture hall while her interpreter, Alyssa, sat directly in front of her, signing everything the professor said.

The moment she saw the sign for partner, her stomach dropped.

Over the past four years at Grey City College, she'd had plenty of group projects and assigned partners. And more often than not, she'd been met with the same reactions when her classmates realized they were paired with the "deaf girl."

The awkward pauses. The disappointed sighs. The barely concealed frustration. 

Some students tried to hide it. Others didn't. Either way, she always noticed.

Then her interpreter signed a name. "E-J."

Y/N blinked.

"The professor asked him to raise his hand," Alyssa added.

Her gaze swept across the lecture hall until she spotted a hand raised a few rows back.

And—

Wow.

Y/N wasn't usually the type to get flustered over appearances, but EJ was easily one of the most attractive men she'd ever seen.

Dark boba eyes. Soft smile.

As if sensing her staring, EJ glanced toward the front of the room.

Their eyes met.

For a moment, neither of them looked away.

Because if Y/N thought EJ was beautiful, EJ was having a very similar problem.

He had not expected her.

Not with her warm smile and bright eyes that immediately made his heart skip.

A small smile tugged at his lips.

Slowly, the raised hand turned into a shy little wave.

Heat rushed to Y/N's face.

She quickly waved back before turning toward the front of the room again, hoping nobody had noticed.

Unfortunately, Alyssa had. 

A quiet laugh escaped her. "He's cute."

Y/N immediately groaned. "Please don't start."

Alyssa's grin only widened. "Too late."

Once everyone had been assigned a partner, the professor dismissed the lecture and designated the rest of the class period for introductions.

"You'll be spending a lot of time together this semester," Alyssa signed the reminder from the professor.

Great. Just great.

Y/N barely had time to mentally prepare herself before EJ stood up and made his way toward the front of the lecture hall.

When he reached the empty seat beside her, he offered a small smile.

"Hi, I'm EJ."

At the same time, he lifted his hands and signed the greeting.

The movement wasn't perfect. A little hesitant. But it was sign language.

Y/N blinked.

Beside her, even Alyssa looked surprised.

"You know sign language?" Y/N asked.

A faint blush crept across EJ's cheeks.

"A little," he admitted. "I'm still learning."

Y/N stared at him for a moment.

In four years at Grey City College, she'd never been assigned a partner who knew any sign language at all.

Outside of her interpreter and the friends she'd made through the Deaf/HOH and Sign Language clubs, she rarely met hearing people who could sign.

Most relied on pen and paper. Others used their Notes app. Some expected her to read their lips the entire conversation. And there were always the people who spoke exclusively to her interpreter instead of speaking to her.

Yet here was EJ, sitting beside her and signing. Even if it wasn't perfect.

"I'm Y/N," she replied, signing and speaking at the same time.

Her spoken voice wasn't flawless, but over the years she'd become more comfortable using it when necessary. It often made conversations easier for hearing people.

EJ nodded, clearly paying attention to both her voice and her signs.

Then he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Can I ask you something?"

Y/N nodded.

"What's the easiest way for you to communicate?"

The question caught her completely off guard.

Not “Can you read lips?”

Not “Can you hear me?”

Not “How are we supposed to do this project?”

“What do you prefer?”

Y/N couldn't remember the last time someone had asked that.

"I mostly use sign language," she explained. "At least on my end. But I can speak too if I need to. I can lip-read a little, and I have a cochlear implant, so you can talk normally if you want."

As she signed, EJ watched closely.

Whenever he missed something, he briefly glanced toward her interpreter before returning his attention to Y/N.

Not once did he direct the conversation away from her.

"Then I'll keep practicing sign language," he said.

Y/N couldn't help smiling.

"Really?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "You're more comfortable signing, right?"

Y/N nodded.

"Then that's what I'll work on."

The smile on her face widened.

"Just promise you'll correct me when I mess up."

"You'll probably mess up a lot."

EJ laughed. "That's fair."

"And I'll teach you more signs."

"Deal."

He signed before holding out his hand. "Partners?"

Y/N looked at his outstretched hand for a second before taking it.

"Partners."

Three months later, spending Friday afternoons together had become routine.

The library's third floor had practically become Y/N and EJ's unofficial study spot. Most afternoons, one of them would claim their favorite table by the windows while the other grabbed coffee or snacks before settling in for a few hours of work.

Today was no different.

Y/N sat surrounded by notebooks and colorful index cards, carefully turning lecture notes into flashcards for an upcoming exam.

Across from her, EJ was focused on a paper, his fingers flying across his keyboard.

The comfortable silence between them wasn't awkward. It never was anymore.

Three months ago, Y/N had worried about being partnered with a stranger.

Now she couldn't imagine going through her final year without him.

EJ finished typing a paragraph before lightly tapping the table to get her attention.

Y/N glanced up.

"I'm getting hungry," he said. "How about you?"

She immediately set down her pencil. "Actually, yeah. I'm starving."

A grin spread across his face.  "I've been thinking about Five Guys for the last hour."

Y/N laughed. "Only the last hour?"

"Okay, maybe the last three."

"That sounds more accurate."

"I even have enough money to splurge today."

"Ooh." Y/N nodded approvingly. "Now you're speaking my language."

"Five Guys?"

"No. Free food."

EJ laughed as he began packing up his laptop.

The two gathered their belongings while continuing their conversation.

Somewhere over the past three months, switching between sign language and spoken conversation had become second nature.

EJ's signing had improved dramatically since their first meeting. It was still far from perfect, but he practiced constantly, and Y/N had become his unofficial teacher.

In return, EJ had helped her grow more confident using her speaking voice. Y/N grew used to people being mean and condescending about her “deaf accent.” But with EJ, she had been talking more than she had in years just within 3 months of knowing him.

The arrangement had started as a classroom partnership. It hadn't stayed that way for long.

As it turned out, Senior Seminar hadn't even required a major project. Their professor's goal had simply been to pair students together for the semester—someone they could rely on, study with, or befriend.

In Y/N and EJ's case, it had worked almost too well.

They studied together. Ate together. Ran errands together. Spent hours hanging out in each other's dorms.

At some point, they had become each other's favorite part of the day.

EJ adjusted the strap of his backpack as he sat, waiting for Y/N to finish up.

"So, any exciting plans this weekend?"

Y/N shrugged.

"Not really. Just the usual."

"Same." EJ chuckled.

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence as Y/N zipped her tote bag.

Then EJ casually added,

"Although Alyssa told me your birthday is next weekend."

Y/N stopped immediately.

Slowly, she turned to look at him.

"Betrayal."

EJ burst out laughing.

"That's your takeaway from what I said?"

"Absolutely."

"I'm texting Alyssa later and thanking her."

"Traitor and accomplice."

"I'll accept those charges."

Despite herself, Y/N smiled.

"Yes," she admitted. "My birthday is next Saturday."

The words came out noticeably less enthusiastic than they should have.

EJ's smile faded slightly.

"Wait."

He tilted his head.

"Why do you sound sad about that?"

Y/N looked away.

"Because birthdays aren't really my favorite thing."

His eyebrows furrowed.

"How is that possible? A Saturday birthday is literally elite."

She let out a small laugh.

"Maybe for other people."

Something in her voice made EJ's expression soften.

For the first time since the conversation started, he realized she wasn't joking.

Y/N shifted her tote bag higher on her shoulder.

"Let's just say..." she said quietly, "I've never really been a fan of celebrating big on my birthday."

Birthdays had always been complicated for Y/N.

Growing up, she watched classmates throw elaborate birthday parties every year.

There were bounce houses, sleepovers, laser tag arenas, skating rinks, and entire classrooms filled with invitations.

She'd come home from school and excitedly tell her parents about them, secretly hoping that one day she'd have a party like that too.

But money was often tight.

Most years, her birthday consisted of a homemade dinner, a cake, candles, a heartfelt card, and a few carefully chosen gifts.

And honestly? She loved those celebrations. She loved spending time with her family.

She loved how hard her parents worked to make every birthday feel special, regardless of what they could afford.

Still, a small part of her always wondered what it would be like to have a big party surrounded by friends.

That opportunity finally came during her freshman year of high school.

After months of saving, her parents told her they could afford to throw her a real birthday party.

The kind she'd dreamed about for years.

Y/N had never been so excited. She spent weeks planning everything.

The decorations. The food. The guest list. The playlist. Every detail mattered.

When she handed out invitations at school, she felt something she rarely allowed herself to feel. Popular. Included.

Normal.

Twenty-five people were invited. Almost all of them RSVP'd yes.

For the first time, she genuinely believed people wanted to celebrate with her.

Then the messages started arriving. One cancellation became three. Three became seven. Seven became fifteen.

By the morning of the party, her phone was filled with apologies and last-minute excuses.

Some sounded genuine. Others didn't.

By the time the party started, only four of the twenty-five invited classmates actually showed up. Four.

Y/N still remembered standing in the party room and glancing at all the empty chairs.

Trying not to count them. Trying not to notice how much food was left untouched. Trying not to let her parents see the disappointment written all over her face.

Her family did everything they could to make the day special. They laughed. They danced. They took pictures. They showered her with enough love to fill the room twice over.

But no amount of love could completely erase the sting.

Especially when many of the people who hadn't shown up were people she'd considered friends.

People whose birthdays she'd attended. People she'd supported. People she'd believed would do the same for her.

After that, she stopped asking for parties. Stopped expecting them.

When her parents suggested another birthday party, or even a graduation party, during her senior year of high school, she immediately declined. Once had been enough.

By then, most of the people she'd known as a freshman had drifted into other friend groups.

Y/N mostly kept to herself.

Sometimes she found herself missing how easy friendship had seemed when she was younger.

Elementary school hadn't cared about differences nearly as much.

High school did.

Whether people intended to or not, Y/N often felt like she was standing on the outside of conversations, friendships, and experiences everyone else slipped into naturally.

College wasn't entirely different.

She'd made a handful of friends through Grey City's Deaf/HOH and Sign Language clubs, and she was grateful for them. Truly.

But many of those friendships never seemed to extend much beyond meetings, events, and occasional conversations.

Nothing that felt permanent. Nothing that felt like home.

Because she'd chosen a college several hours away from her family, birthdays became even quieter.

Every year, she followed the same routine.

She'd buy herself a small cake from a local bakery. Order takeout from her favorite restaurant. Call her parents. Open whatever gifts and cards they mailed her. Reply to small birthday messages on social media. Then she'd spend the rest of the evening alone.

By now, birthdays no longer felt exciting. They felt like reminders.

Reminders of empty chairs. Missed expectations. The lingering fear that she cared about people far more than they cared about her. And loneliness.

EJ frowned.

"Well, I, for one, think you should celebrate."

Y/N rolled her eyes.

"EJ, it really isn't that serious."

"It is a little serious."

"No, it isn't."

"Y/N."

The look he gave her immediately made her sigh.

"EJ."

"It's our senior year," he argued. "You're telling me you've spent four years at Grey City and never done anything special for your birthday? Not once?"

Y/N shoved her hands into her jacket pockets.

"Does takeout and a cake count?"

"No."

She paused. "Then no."

EJ looked genuinely horrified. "That's actually depressing."

"Wow. Thank you."

"I'm serious."

Y/N laughed despite herself. "I survive somehow."

"Clearly not."

"You're being dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic. You're treating your birthday like it's a mandatory dentist appointment."

"It's not that bad."

"It sounds exactly that bad."

Y/N shook her head.

"What's so special about birthdays anyway?"

EJ looked at her as though she'd just asked why water was wet.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." She shrugged. "It's just another day. The Earth keeps spinning. Life goes on."

The words came out casual. A little too casual. Because they both knew there was more to it than that.

After a moment, Y/N sighed.

"I already tried the whole big celebration thing once."

EJ's expression softened. "And?"

She looked away. "It didn't exactly work out."

That was all she said.

But it was enough. Enough for EJ to understand there was a story there. Enough for him to know he shouldn't push.

At least not right now.

"Okay," he said quietly.

Y/N glanced at him, surprised by how quickly he'd backed off.

Then he pointed a finger at her.

"But that doesn't mean you have to throw some huge party."

She groaned. "EJ—"

"I'm serious."

"You always say that right before saying something annoying."

EJ opened his mouth. Then immediately closed it.

"That's what I thought."

He ignored her.

"My point is, birthdays don't have to be huge. They don't have to be expensive either."

Y/N remained unconvinced.

"It's just about doing something special."

"I already do something special."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"You order takeout."

"I like takeout."

"You order takeout multiple times a week."

Y/N paused, then swatted his shoulder.

EJ laughed. "See? Even you know I'm right."

"I hate that you're right."

"I know."

The smug grin on his face made her want to hit him again.

"At least think about it," he said. "Please?"

Y/N hesitated. 

For some reason, it was difficult to say no when he looked at her like that. Like he genuinely cared. Like her birthday actually mattered.

Finally, she relented. "Fine."

EJ's grin immediately widened.

"I'll think about it."

"Amazing."

"You look way too happy about that."

"I am."

Y/N shook her head. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're avoiding the possibility of having fun."

Before she could come up with a comeback, EJ stood up and started walking towards the library’s exit.

"Now come on."

"Where are we going?"

He looked back at her. "Five Guys."

"Oh, right."

"I'm starving."

"That's because you've been thinking about burgers for three hours."

"Closer to four now."

Y/N laughed and followed after him.

What she didn't notice was the small smile that crossed EJ's face.

Because while she had agreed to think about her birthday—

EJ had already started brainstorming.

It was nearly midnight when Y/N and EJ found themselves on the rooftop terrace of their apartment building.

The terrace was quiet at this hour, illuminated by strings of warm fairy lights that hung overhead. Beyond the railing stretched the campus and the surrounding city, glowing beneath the dark night sky.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

They sat side-by-side on a patio sofa, watching the lights below and enjoying the comfortable silence that had become second nature between them.

Eventually, EJ broke it.

"So... hypothetically."

Y/N immediately groaned. 

EJ laughed. "What?"

She rolled her eyes and tipped her head back dramatically. "Every time you start a sentence with 'hypothetically,' I know you're about to ask something crazy."

"That's not true."

"It is absolutely true."

His grin widened. "Okay, maybe a little."

Y/N shook her head. "Go ahead."

EJ leaned back against the cushions.

"If you did decide to celebrate your birthday..." he began carefully, "...what would you do?"

Y/N stared out at the skyline. The honest answer? She had no idea.

"I don't know, EJ."

"Not even a little?"

She shook her head.

"I haven't really thought about it in a long time."

"How long is a long time?"

His voice became softer. Gentler.

"Years," she admitted quietly.

The answer seemed to surprise him.

A few moments passed before he spoke again.

"Have birthdays always been rough for you?"

Y/N considered the question. "No."

The answer came easier than she'd expected.

"They used to be okay."

EJ glanced toward her. "Used to?"

She nodded.

Another silence settled between them. This one felt heavier.

"What happened?" he finally asked.

Then, quickly, he added, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Y/N swallowed.

Normally, she would've brushed the question aside. Changed the subject. Made a joke.

But this was EJ. And somewhere over the last three months, he'd become someone she trusted. So instead of speaking, she lifted her hands and began to sign.

"My birthdays were always pretty simple growing up."

EJ immediately shifted his attention to her hands.

"They were mostly family celebrations. Just me and my parents."

A small smile crossed her face.

"I loved them."

She paused.

"But I used to see other kids having huge birthday parties. Sleepovers. Arcades. Event halls. Friends showing up to celebrate. I wanted that too."

Her smile faded.

"So one year, my parents saved up enough for me to finally have a big birthday party."

EJ's expression softened.

"Freshman year of high school."

Y/N looked down at her lap.

"I invited twenty-five people. Most of them RSVP'd."

For a moment, she could almost see it again. The decorations. The food. The excitement she'd felt. The certainty that people actually wanted to come.

Then came the messages. The excuses. The cancellations.

"I think only four people showed up."

Her chest tightened even now. Years later.

"It's stupid."

EJ's eyebrows immediately furrowed and furiously shook his head.

Y/N ignored him and continued signing.

"I know it happened forever ago."

Her hands slowed.

"But it felt like a big deal at the time."

A lump formed in her throat.

"I always went to everyone's parties."

She blinked rapidly.

"I showed up for people because I never wanted anyone to feel forgotten."

The next sign came slower.

"But when it was my turn..."

She couldn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to. EJ understood.

The silence that followed was brief. Then she felt him move closer. Carefully. Giving her every opportunity to pull away if she wanted.

When she didn't, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and gently pulled her against his side.

"I'm sorry."

Y/N laughed weakly through the sting behind her eyes. "Why are you apologizing?"

Her voice sounded much smaller than she'd intended.

"You didn't do anything."

"No." EJ's voice was quiet. "But you shouldn't have gone through that."

The sincerity in his words nearly broke her.

Because he wasn't treating it like a silly high school memory. He wasn't brushing it off. He wasn't telling her to get over it. 

He was simply acknowledging that it hurt.

And somehow, that made the tears even harder to hold back.

Y/N lowered her gaze.

Still tucked against his side, she lifted her hands and signed again.

The movements were smaller this time. More vulnerable.

"It was already hard enough being the deaf girl growing up."

EJ's arm tightened slightly around her shoulders. Not enough to overwhelm. Just enough to remind her he was there.

Y/N swallowed.

For years, she'd never said this part out loud. Not to anyone.

"I just..."

Her hands trembled.

"I just wanted to feel normal for once."

The confession barely left her before tears filled her eyes.

And for the first time since they'd started talking about birthdays, EJ finally understood.

This had never really been about the party.

It had been about belonging.

A few tears escaped before Y/N could stop them, slipping down her cheeks.

Immediately, EJ noticed.

Without saying a word, he tugged the sleeve of his sweatshirt over his hand and gently brushed away the tears.

The gesture was so simple. So natural. As if comforting her was the easiest thing in the world.

Y/N let out a shaky laugh. "Sorry."

EJ frowned. "For what?"

She shrugged weakly. "Crying over something that happened years ago."

"Hey."

His voice was firm enough to make her look at him.

"You're allowed to be hurt by things."

The knot in her chest tightened again. Not painfully this time. Just enough to remind her how much his words meant.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The city lights twinkled in the distance while a cool breeze drifted across the rooftop.

Then EJ sighed dramatically. "Well…"

Y/N narrowed her eyes. "Uh-oh."

"Nope." He pointed at her. "Now I'm really determined."

"Determined to do what?"

"Give you the best birthday you've ever had."

Y/N immediately groaned. "EJ."

"I'm serious."

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips as she rubbed at the corners of her eyes.

"Just... nothing too extravagant, okay?"

EJ's smile softened. The kind that always made her suspicious.

"No promises."

Y/N dropped her head into her hands. "I knew you were going to say that."

EJ laughed, pulling her a little closer against his side.

And for the first time in a long time, the thought of her upcoming birthday didn't feel quite so dreadful.

The next morning, EJ was awake far earlier than he needed to be.

By mid-morning, he was sprawled across his couch with his Notes app open, staring at a growing list titled: Y/N Birthday Ideas. 

The problem was that every idea felt either too small or way too much.

Y/N had specifically said she didn't want anything extravagant. But she also deserved more than a slice of cake and takeout in her dorm room.

EJ sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

Why was this so difficult?

Actually, he knew exactly why.

Because this wasn't just anyone's birthday. It was Y/N's.

The girl whose smile could instantly improve his entire day. The girl who patiently corrected his sign language every time he messed up. The girl who somehow made every errand feel fun.

The girl he'd developed a very inconvenient crush on.

Which was exactly why he wanted everything to be perfect.

Not because he expected anything in return. Not because he was trying to impress her. He just wanted her to feel special. Wanted her to feel celebrated. Wanted her to have at least one birthday memory that didn't end in disappointment. 

She deserved it.

For the next several hours, EJ bounced between apps. 

Notes. Google. Pinterest. TikTok. Back to Notes. Then Pinterest again.

Every time he found an idea he liked, he'd write it down.

Every time he found one he loved, he'd immediately convince himself it was probably too much.

By lunchtime, his notes looked like the ramblings of a conspiracy theorist.

Birthday dinner? Movie night? Flowers?

(Too much?) (Maybe not?)

Ask Alyssa for help? Absolutely ask Alyssa for help.

He was halfway through another TikTok search when a video caught his attention.

A college student had surprised his girlfriend by decorating her dorm room.

Nothing outrageously expensive.

Just thoughtful.

Balloons. Streamers. A few gifts. Her favorite flowers. A small birthday cake. Photos and handwritten notes.

The girl's reaction was immediate. She started crying before she'd even made it halfway through the doorway.

EJ sat up straighter.

Then watched the video again. And again.

A slow smile spread across his face.

This was it.

Not the exact decorations. Not the exact gifts.

But the feeling. The thoughtfulness. The effort. The fact that someone had taken the time to make another person feel loved.

That was what he wanted for Y/N.

Immediately, he created a new note. 

Operation: Best Birthday Ever

Underneath it, he began typing.

Y/N’s favorite flowers. Her favorite snacks. Cake flavors. Gift ideas. Decorations. Things Y/N had casually mentioned over the past three months.

Little details most people would've forgotten. EJ remembered all of them.

The list grew longer and longer.

Soon he was watching YouTube tutorials, scrolling through blogs, comparing decoration ideas, and adding entirely too many things to his online shopping cart.

At one point, he looked at the total price and physically winced. Then added another item anyway.

By the end of the afternoon, he leaned back against the couch cushions and admired his work.

Was he slightly overthinking this? Probably.

Was he already way more invested than a normal person should be? Definitely.

Did he care? Not even a little.

A grin spread across his face as he looked down at his growing plan.

This was going to be her best birthday yet.

Meanwhile, several floors above, Y/N sat curled up on her couch, absentmindedly staring at her laptop while her thoughts drifted elsewhere.

More specifically, they drifted toward EJ. And whatever birthday plan he was undoubtedly plotting.

A sigh escaped her.

I really hope he doesn't go overboard.

Knowing EJ, that hope felt unrealistic.

The thought made her smile despite herself.

Still, beneath the nervousness was something else. Something she hadn't expected.

Curiosity.

Because as much as she tried to pretend birthdays didn't matter, a small part of her couldn't help wondering what it would be like to actually enjoy one again.

To wake up excited. To spend the day making memories. To feel celebrated.

Just because she mattered to someone.

The thought made her chest ache unexpectedly.

Growing up, she'd always felt loved by her family. There was never any doubt about that. Her parents had spent years reminding her how cherished she was.

But friendship was different. Being chosen was different.

And if she was being completely honest with herself...

She wanted that too.

She wanted someone to be excited about her. To think about her when she wasn't around. To look forward to spending time with her the same way she looked forward to spending time with them.

A warmth crept into her cheeks.

Okay.

Maybe she wanted something even more specific than that.

Maybe she wanted that from EJ.

The realization wasn't exactly new. It had been growing quietly for months. Ever since the first day of Senior Seminar.

The first time she'd looked across the lecture hall and seen him raising his hand. The first time he'd sat beside her and introduced himself. The first time she'd discovered he was learning sign language.

That moment alone had nearly been enough to give her a crush. Everything afterward had only made it worse.

The late-night study sessions. The grocery runs. The random conversations that somehow lasted for hours. The way he always made sure she was included. The way he looked directly at her when she signed. The way he never treated communication as a burden.

Before she'd realized it, EJ had become her favorite person.

And somewhere along the way, friendship had stopped feeling like enough.

She wanted movie nights that were actually dates. She wanted to hold his hand without needing an excuse. She wanted to know what it would feel like to lean over and kiss him.

The thought alone made her immediately bury her face in a pillow. After a moment, she sat back up and groaned.

This was exactly why she'd been trying not to think about it.

Because the more she liked him, the more complicated everything became.

EJ was her best friend. The person she spent the most time with. The person she trusted most at Grey City.

And she had absolutely no idea whether he saw her as anything more.

For all she knew, he viewed her exactly the way she was supposed to view him. As a friend. A really good friend.

The possibility made her stomach sink.

So she'd done what she always did when things felt uncertain. She kept her feelings to herself.

It was easier that way. Safer.

Whatever was happening between them right now mattered too much to risk.

And honestly? She was already grateful for what she had.

Even if it wasn't everything she secretly wanted.

Her gaze drifted toward the window. A small smile tugged at her lips.

Whatever EJ had planned for her birthday was probably going to be completely ridiculous. Possibly expensive. Definitely overthought.

But for the first time in years, she found herself looking forward to her birthday.

Not because of the day itself. But because of him.

Because regardless of what happened, EJ cared enough to try.

And somehow, that meant more to her than he could possibly know.

Saturday arrived much faster than either of them expected.

The entire week leading up to Y/N's birthday had been absolute torture for EJ.

Not because of classes. Not because of assignments. But because he was trying—and failing miserably—to keep a secret.

Every day, he told himself he would act normal. And every day, he lasted approximately five minutes.

Y/N noticed immediately.

During one study session, EJ spent nearly an hour staring at the same paragraph of his textbook without turning a page.

When Y/N asked him a question, he responded with a single sign.

Another question. One-word answer.

A third question. A thumbs-up.

That was it. Y/N eventually lowered her notebook and narrowed her eyes.

EJ refused to look at her.

The harder he tried to hide his excitement, the more obvious it became.

Honestly, it was adorable. And entirely predictable.

After all, this was the same guy who had accidentally spoiled the gift she'd gotten Alyssa for National Interpreter Appreciation Day.

The second he'd mentioned it, Y/N had sent him the most offended glare imaginable.

EJ had immediately realized his mistake. Then spent ten minutes apologizing.

Needless to say, keeping secrets was not one of his strengths.

Which was exactly why Y/N knew something was coming.

Normally, she would've spent the entire week teasing him. Trying to trick him into talking. Poking holes in his terrible poker face.

But this time?

She wanted to be surprised.

So she let him suffer.

Saturday morning arrived.

At precisely 10 A.M., there was a knock on her apartment door.

Y/N opened it to find EJ standing there with a takeout bag in one hand and a drink carrier in the other. The smell alone made her smile.

"You got breakfast?"

"I got your favorite breakfast."

Y/N laughed and stepped aside to let him in.

A few minutes later, they were sitting at her kitchen table enjoying brunch from her favorite restaurant.

Everything felt surprisingly normal.

Until EJ suddenly slid his debit card across the table. 

Y/N blinked. "What is this?"

"An assignment."

Her eyes narrowed. "EJ?"

Y/N immediately looked up. "EJ."

"Nope."

"EJ."

"Not listening."

"EJ."

He pointed dramatically toward the door before signing. "Go."

Her jaw dropped. "You are not serious."

"I am extremely serious."

"EJ, this is already too much."

"It's not."

"It is."

"It isn't."

Y/N groaned. "EJ."

He crossed his arms. "Y/N."

She knew she'd lost. Still, she tried one more time.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Like... really sure?"

"Yes."

"Positive?"

"Y/N."

She laughed. "Okay, okay."

Then she paused. "Wait."

EJ immediately regretted whatever was coming next.

"What?"

"You remembered me talking about needing new clothes?"

"Of course."

Y/N blinked. She'd mentioned that weeks ago.

Something about her body changing over the last couple of years and half her wardrobe fitting differently now. “Second puberty” and all. (A/N: ifykyk)

He remembered that?

The realization warmed her chest.

"Go enjoy your birthday," EJ said.

"Fine."

She grabbed her purse. "Fine."

Then she pointed at him. "If I come back and you've done something ridiculous—"

"I'm offended you'd even suggest that."

Y/N stared at him. He stared back. Neither of them believed that statement.

"Bye, EJ."

"Bye, Y/N."

The second the apartment door closed behind her, EJ sprang into action.

Showtime.

Thankfully, he wasn't alone.

Since Alyssa was currently a graduate student at Grey City, she'd agreed to help with the setup.

For the next three hours, the two of them hauled supplies between apartments like they were preparing for a covert operation.

Boxes. Bags. Decorations. Gifts. More decorations. An unreasonable amount of tape.

By the end of the first hour, Alyssa had completely stopped asking questions.

The second hour was spent inflating balloons. Or rather, EJ inflated balloons while Alyssa handled the decorating.

"Thank God for air pumps," EJ muttered.

"I was just thinking the same thing."

Soon, balloons covered the living room ceiling. On one wall, metallic letters spelled out: HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

And, of course, every decoration featured Y/N's favorite colors. EJ had made sure of that.

Once the decorations were finished, Alyssa left to pick up the cake and candles while EJ made a final snack run.

By the time she returned, everything was coming together perfectly.

The cake sat waiting in the kitchen. Her favorite snacks were arranged neatly in a gift basket. A bouquet of her favorite flowers rested on her bed beside several gift bags.

The entire apartment felt warm. Celebratory. Loved. Exactly what EJ had wanted.

Three hours later, he and Alyssa stood in the doorway admiring their work.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Alyssa smiled.

"You did good."

Relief immediately washed over him.

"You think so?"

"I know so."

As she gathered her things, she slid a gift bag and birthday card into the pile on the bed.

Then, casually, she added, "You better tell her how you feel."

EJ nearly dropped the roll of tape in his hand. "What?"

Alyssa looked at him blankly. "What do you mean, 'What'?"

"How do you know?"

Now it was her turn to look offended.

"EJ."

He winced.

"Your crush is painfully obvious."

"Is it?"

"It absolutely is."

EJ opened his mouth. Then closed it. Because unfortunately, she was right.

Alyssa laughed. "I was in undergrad once too, you know."

EJ buried his face in his hands. "This is embarrassing."

She patted his shoulder sympathetically. "For what it's worth, I think you have a shot."

EJ's head immediately snapped up.

Before he could ask another question, she was already opening the door. "Good luck."

Then she pointed toward the decorations. "And tell Y/N I said happy birthday."

With that, she disappeared into the hallway. Leaving EJ alone.

And suddenly very aware that in a few minutes, Y/N would be coming home.

Sure enough, about ten minutes later, EJ heard footsteps and the faint sound of keys jingling outside Y/N's apartment door.

Immediately, he sprang off the couch.

His heart began pounding. Way harder than it should've been.

He quickly ducked behind the wall near the entrance, trying—and failing—to calm himself down.

A second later, the door opened. Y/N stepped inside. And gasped.

Her shopping bags nearly slipped from her hands.

The apartment looked completely different.

Balloons floated against the ceiling. The decorations filled the room with her favorite colors.

The giant "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" display stretched across the wall.

Streamers. Confetti. Lights. Everything.

Before she could fully process it,  EJ jumped out from behind the wall.

"Surprise!" He signed and spoke at the same time.

Y/N froze.

For a moment, she didn't say anything. She simply stood there. Looking. Taking everything in.

Slowly, she stepped farther into the apartment.

Her eyes moved from the balloons to the decorations. Then to the lights. Then back to EJ.

The room felt warm. Full of love.

And suddenly, it hit her. All of it.

The planning. The effort. The timing. The fact that someone had done all of this for her.

Her bottom lip trembled.

EJ's smile immediately disappeared.

Tears filled her eyes. Within seconds, they spilled over.

"Oh no."

EJ crossed the room almost instantly.

"Oh no, no, no."

He wrapped his arms around her.

"What's wrong?" he asked quickly.

"Is it too much? I knew I should've scaled it back. I knew the balloons were probably too many. Or maybe it was the confetti—"

"EJ."

His rambling stopped immediately.

Y/N pulled back just enough to look at him. Her hands remained around his waist.

"It's perfect."

The words came out through tears.

EJ blinked. "What?"

"It's perfect."

She laughed shakily and looked around the apartment again. "This is beautiful."

Fresh tears appeared.

"Oh no." EJ reached for her again.

"No, these are happy tears."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Positive?"

Y/N laughed. "Yes, EJ."

Relief washed over him.

A moment later, she buried her face against his shoulder again. "Thank you."

The words came out muffled. But EJ heard them anyway. His arms relaxed around her.

"You're welcome."

For a while, neither of them moved. They simply stood there holding each other.

And for the first time in years, Y/N didn't dread her birthday. She actually felt gratified.

Eventually, they pulled apart. Though not without EJ carefully helping wipe away a few lingering tears.

Once he was satisfied she wasn't about to cry again, he clapped his hands together.

"Okay."

Y/N immediately laughed. "What?"

"Important question."

His expression became completely serious. "Do you want cake first or gifts first?"

Y/N stared at him. "There’s gifts?"

EJ looked horrified. "Of course there’s gifts."

"EJ, you literally gave me your card and sent me shopping."

"And?"

"That wasn't enough?"

"No."

Y/N dropped her head into her hands. "You are ridiculous."

"I've been told that before."

She laughed. "Cake first."

"Excellent choice."

EJ immediately led her toward the kitchen.

The birthday cake sat waiting on the counter. Two candles glowed on top.

As he lit them, he began singing Happy Birthday. Softly. And a little off-key.

Y/N smiled the entire time.

When he finished, she closed her eyes. Made a wish. And blew out the candles.

"Okay," EJ announced. "We can eat cake later."

"What?"

"Gifts."

"EJ."

"Gifts."

Before she could protest, he was already guiding her toward her bedroom.

Y/N slowly pushed open the door. And stopped.

Again.

The bouquet of her favorite flowers sat on her bed. Beside it was a basket overflowing with her favorite snacks. Several gift bags surrounded them.

Her eyes immediately filled with tears.

"EJ."

"Oh, come on."

He rushed to her nightstand, grabbed the tissue box, and hurried back. "I just got you to stop crying."

Y/N laughed through her tears. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize."

He handed her a tissue. "I'd probably be emotional too."

That only made her laugh harder.

Once the tears finally subsided, she settled onto the bed and began opening gifts. One by one.

A new purse. A restock of her favorite perfume. Makeup. Skincare. Self-care essentials. Books she'd mentioned wanting to read months ago.

And finally, a LEGO set.

Y/N stared at it. Then looked at him.

"EJ."

"What?"

"You hate building LEGO sets."

"I don't hate them...I dislike them."

Y/N laughed. "You bought this for us, didn't you?"

EJ tried and failed to hide his smile. "Maybe."

Her chest tightened.

Because every gift told the same story.

He listened. He remembered. He cared.

By the time she'd finished opening everything, Y/N was overwhelmed all over again.

"EJ..." She carefully set the final gift aside.

"This is amazing."

His smile softened. "I told you I wanted to make this birthday special."

"It definitely is."

For a moment, they simply looked at each other. Then EJ tilted his head.

"So..."

Y/N immediately knew that look. "So what?"

He grinned. "Did I successfully cancel out all previous negative birthday experiences?"

Y/N groaned. "You can't be serious."

"I am very serious."

She shook her head, laughing. Then launched herself at him.

"Yes, you dork!"

EJ barely had enough time to react before she tackled him backward onto the bed.

His laughter filled the room.

And for the first time in a very long time, Y/N's birthday felt exactly the way it was supposed to.

Happy.

Later that night, EJ insisted on preserving one of Y/N's birthday traditions.

Takeout.

Because, according to him, "traditions are important."

So they ordered food, curled up on the couch, and spent the evening watching Y/N's favorite movie.

By the time the credits rolled, the clock was creeping closer to midnight.

The decorations still hung throughout the apartment. A few balloons had started drifting lower toward the floor. And the apartment felt warm in a way it never had before.

Now the two sat in the kitchen sharing slices of birthday cake.

For once, the silence between them wasn't filled with studying or homework.

Just contentment.

At least on EJ's end.

Y/N, meanwhile, couldn't stop thinking. 

Not just about the act itself, but the fact that someone had spent weeks planning something just to make her happy. The fact that someone had looked at her and decided she was worth all that effort.

When they finished eating, EJ gathered their plates. "I got it."

"You always say that."

"And yet I always do it."

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately as he carried everything to the sink.

She followed him into the kitchen a moment later and hopped onto the counter beside him.

For a while, she simply watched him. Watched him rinse the plates. Watched him hum quietly to himself. Watched him exist.

A smile tugged at her lips. "EJ?"

"Hmm?"

He didn't look away from the sink.

"Why did you do all of this for me?"

A small smile appeared on his face. "I already told you."

"You wanted to make my birthday special."

"Exactly."

Y/N stared down at her hands. "No."

Her voice was quieter this time.

"I mean... why me?"

That got his attention. The water stopped running. Slowly, EJ turned around.

Y/N swallowed. "I know you said you weren't going overboard."

A nervous laugh escaped her.

"But this was..."

She looked around the apartment. 

"It was a lot."

EJ immediately looked concerned. "Too much?"

"No."

The answer came so quickly it made him pause.

"Not too much."

She shook her head. "It was perfect."

Her voice cracked slightly.

"That's what makes it hard to understand."

EJ frowned.

Y/N looked toward the floor.

"All of this..."

Her fingers twisted together in her lap.

"...for little old me?"

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Immediately, EJ's expression softened. He crossed the kitchen and stepped between her knees.

Close enough that she could see every detail of his face. Every beauty mark. Every lash. Every ounce of sincerity in his eyes.

Gently, he tilted her chin upward.

"Look at me."

Y/N followed.

"EJ—"

"No."

His voice was firm. Not angry. Just grounded.

"Y/N."

The way he said her name made her heart ache.

"I did all of this because it's you."

Her breath caught.

"You listen to people. You show up for people. You care about people."

His thumb brushed lightly against her cheek.

"You make everyone's day better without even realizing it."

Y/N felt her eyes beginning to sting again.

"And honestly?"

A nervous laugh escaped him.

"I think you’re my favorite person."

The confession settled between them. Warm. Honest. Terrifying. Beautiful.

Y/N stared at him.

Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she reached up. Placed both hands on his face. And kissed him.

For a second, EJ froze.

Not because he didn't want to. Quite the opposite, actually.

Because he'd imagined this happening so many times that it almost didn't feel real.

Then he kissed her back. One hand settling gently at her waist. The other finding her cheek.

The kiss was soft. Careful. The kind that felt like a question being answered.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N's eyes widened.

Reality crashed into her all at once.

"Oh my God…EJ, I am so sorry."

"What?"

"I don't know why I—"

She immediately started rambling.

"EJ, I wasn't thinking and—"

This time, it was EJ who interrupted. Not with words. But by leaning forward and kissing her again.

The second kiss wasn't rushed or uncertain. It was deliberate. Grounding. Like he'd spent months wanting to do exactly that.

When they finally pulled apart again, both of them were smiling.

Neither one seemed entirely capable of speaking. For several seconds, they simply stared at each other.

Then EJ lifted his hands.

"Was that okay?" He signed the question carefully.

Y/N's face immediately softened. Still slightly stunned, she nodded.

"Yeah."

A smile spread across EJ's face. "Yeah?"

"Definitely yeah."

He laughed. The sound filled the kitchen.

Then he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. This time, Y/N hugged him back without hesitation.

EJ pressed a kiss to her forehead.

And for a moment, neither of them wanted to let go. Eventually, he glanced at the clock.

12:03 A.M. Technically, her birthday was over.

A grin tugged at his lips.

"So."

"So?"

EJ squeezed her hand.

"Best birthday ever?"

Y/N looked around the apartment. Then back at him.

At the boy who had somehow managed to change everything she thought she knew about birthdays.

And maybe a few other things too.

A smile spread across her face. "Best birthday ever."

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Y/N and EJ met during the first semester of their senior year at Grey City College.

GC474 — Senior Seminar.

On the very first day of class, they were assigned as partners.

Y/N sat in the front row of the lecture hall while her interpreter sat directly in front of her, signing everything the professor said.

The moment she saw the sign for partner, her stomach dropped.

Over the past four years at Grey City College, she'd had plenty of group projects and assigned partners. And more often than not, she'd been met with the same reactions when her classmates realized they were paired with the "deaf girl."

The awkward pauses. The disappointed sighs. The barely concealed frustration. 

Some students tried to hide it. Others didn't. Either way, she always noticed.

Then her interpreter signed a name. "E-J."

Y/N blinked.

"The professor asked him to raise his hand," her interpreter added.

Her gaze swept across the lecture hall until she spotted a hand raised a few rows back.

And—

Wow.

Y/N wasn't usually the type to get flustered over appearances, but EJ was easily one of the most attractive men she'd ever seen.

Dark boba eyes. Soft smile.

As if sensing her staring, EJ glanced toward the front of the room.

Their eyes met.

For a moment, neither of them looked away.

Because if Y/N thought EJ was beautiful, EJ was having a very similar problem.

He had not expected her.

Not with her warm smile and bright eyes that immediately made his heart skip.

A small smile tugged at his lips.

Slowly, the raised hand turned into a shy little wave.

Heat rushed to Y/N's face.

She quickly waved back before turning toward the front of the room again, hoping nobody had noticed.

Unfortunately, her interpreter had. 

A quiet laugh escaped her. "He's cute."

Y/N immediately groaned. "Please don't start."

Her interpreter's grin only widened. "Too late."

Once everyone had been assigned a partner, the professor dismissed the lecture and designated the rest of the class period for introductions.

"You'll be spending a lot of time together this semester," her interpreter signed the reminder from the professor.

Great. Just great.

Y/N barely had time to mentally prepare herself before EJ stood up and made his way toward the front of the lecture hall.

When he reached the empty seat beside her, he offered a small smile.

"Hi, I'm EJ."

At the same time, he lifted his hands and signed the greeting.

The movement wasn't perfect. A little hesitant. But it was sign language.

Y/N blinked.

Beside her, even her interpreter looked surprised.

"You know sign language?" Y/N asked.

A faint blush crept across EJ's cheeks.

"A little," he admitted. "I'm still learning."

Y/N stared at him for a moment.

In four years at Grey City College, she'd never been assigned a partner who knew any sign language at all.

Outside of her interpreter and the friends she'd made through the Deaf/HOH and Sign Language clubs, she rarely met hearing people who could sign.

Most relied on pen and paper. Others used their Notes app. Some expected her to read their lips the entire conversation. And there were always the people who spoke exclusively to her interpreter instead of speaking to her.

Yet here was EJ, sitting beside her and signing. Even if it wasn't perfect.

"I'm Y/N," she replied, signing and speaking at the same time.

Her spoken voice wasn't flawless, but over the years she'd become more comfortable using it when necessary. It often made conversations easier for hearing people.

EJ nodded, clearly paying attention to both her voice and her signs.

Then he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Can I ask you something?"

Y/N nodded.

"What's the easiest way for you to communicate?"

The question caught her completely off guard.

Not “Can you read lips?”

Not “Can you hear me?”

Not “How are we supposed to do this project?”

“What do you prefer?”

Y/N couldn't remember the last time someone had asked that.

"I mostly use sign language," she explained. "At least on my end. But I can speak too if I need to. I can lip-read a little, and I have a cochlear implant, so you can talk normally if you want."

As she signed, EJ watched closely.

Whenever he missed something, he briefly glanced toward her interpreter before returning his attention to Y/N.

Not once did he direct the conversation away from her.

"Then I'll keep practicing sign language," he said.

Y/N couldn't help smiling.

"Really?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "You're more comfortable signing, right?"

Y/N nodded.

"Then that's what I'll work on."

The smile on her face widened.

"Just promise you'll correct me when I mess up."

"You'll probably mess up a lot."

EJ laughed. "That's fair."

"And I'll teach you more signs."

"Deal."

He held out his hand. "Partners?"

Y/N looked at his outstretched hand for a second before taking it.

The next morning, you woke up entirely too awake for 5:30 a.m.

No groaning. No sleepily pressing the snooze button. No dramatic internal bargaining about “just five more minutes.”

Instead, the second your eyes opened, you were hit with one very specific realization: Today was your date with Bang Chan. Thee Bang Chan.

You immediately sat upright in bed, the soft comforter pooling around you as the reality of that sentence hit all over again.

For a brief moment, you genuinely wondered if maybe, just maybe, you were still asleep. Because surely your life had not changed this drastically in less than twenty-four hours.

But then your brain, ever so helpfully, began replaying every detail from the night before.

You had sat next to him at the Fendi show. You had somehow managed to hold an actual conversation with him without fully combusting. He had flirted with you (repeatedly). He had asked you on a date. And—

Your hand immediately flew to your lips. Oh my God.

He had kissed you. Your first kiss.

You promptly fell backward into your pillows and stared at the ceiling like it personally owed you answers.

“It was real.” you whispered to absolutely no one.

And even though it was real, it still felt dangerously close to a dream.

The kind of dream your brain would normally conjure up after too much caffeine, doom-scrolling, and one too many Stray Kids edits.

And yet, your phone sat on your nightstand, holding undeniable proof. Because Chan had texted you the night before. Right after you’d gotten out of the shower, still wrapped in a towel, lotioned up, and halfway through your skincare routine.

You’d heard the notification sound, glanced over casually, and immediately almost dropped your moisturizer.

The night before, you had spent an almost embarrassing amount of time digging through your suitcase in search of the perfect outfit.

And by “digging through,” you really meant absolutely dismantling your luggage like your life depended on it. Clothes were draped across the hotel bed. Shoes lined the floor. Accessory options were carefully laid out like you were preparing for a highly fashionable military operation.

Because this was not just breakfast. This was breakfast…with Bang Chan.

After what felt like an eternity of trying things on, second-guessing yourself, dramatically staring in the mirror, and mentally debating every possible option…

You finally found the outfit.

Cute, simple, polished, and just casual enough to say I look this good all the time, even if that was objectively false.

Once the outfit was secured, you carefully picked out your accessories too, because details mattered. Jewelry. Shoes. Bag.

By the time you were done, your hotel room looked like the aftermath of a very glamorous storm. But it was worth it.

As you finally crawled into bed, you felt almost… giddy. Like, actual-kicking-your-feet giddy. The kind of excitement that made sleep nearly impossible. It reminded you of being a kid the night before a school field trip, too excited to fully relax because tomorrow felt too important.

Only this time, instead of a museum or zoo, you were going on a date with your bias. 

So naturally, sleep came in waves of excitement, disbelief, and repeatedly checking your phone just to confirm Chan’s texts were still real.

And then, morning came. Or rather…very, very early morning.

The sky outside was still dark, painted in deep blue-gray shadows, but somehow that did absolutely nothing to dull your mood.

The second your feet hit the floor, you were moving. Practically gliding.

Your entire morning routine felt suspiciously cinematic.

Skin? Looking flawless. Hair? Styled. Makeup? Light, yet still effortless.

At one point, while softly humming to yourself and moving around your hotel room in the dim early light, you caught your reflection and immediately had one thought:

Oh my God. Is this how Cinderella felt before the ball.?

For once, everything felt light. Easy. Exciting.

You were so busy floating through your routine, half humming, half mentally rehearsing how to act normal, that by the time you were putting the finishing touches on your outfit, you almost didn’t hear your phone buzz. (A/N: if you don’t like the outfit, you can imagine another one)

Almost. But then, your stomach flipped.

Because there it was again. A text notification.

The second you saw his text, your brain stopped functioning. Fully. No coherent thoughts. Just pure, immediate panic. Because this was not a drill.

Bang Chan was on his way.

To you. To your hotel room. Right now.

“Oh my God.”

You practically launched your phone onto the bed before making a beeline for your perfume like it was a life-or-death emergency.

You strategically sprayed your favorite scent and then came the purse check.

Phone? Check. Lip gloss? Check. Room key? Check. Wallet? Check. Tiny emergency essentials you absolutely did not need but insisted on carrying anyway? Check.

By the time you were done, you somehow still had nervous energy to spare. So, you paced. You paced back and forth across the hotel room floor like a woman waiting for her Prince Charming or on the brink of complete psychological collapse. Maybe both.

Every few seconds, you stopped to check your reflection again. Hair? Fine. Lip gloss? Still intact. Outfit? Still cute. Breathing? …Somewhat.

You even paused in front of the mirror at one point, placing both hands dramatically on the counter.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “You are a grown woman. You are intelligent. You are accomplished. You have survived academia.”

Deep breath. “You can survive breakfast.”

And then, two knocks. You froze. For one horrifying second, you just stood there.

Then, with the speed and caution of someone in a spy movie, you scurried over to the door and peeked through the peephole.

And, it was him. Bang Chan. Actually standing there.

And somehow, even through the slightly warped peephole lens, he looked devastatingly good. Like, offensively good.

Your breath caught immediately.

Because not only was he standing there looking effortlessly handsome, he had the curls out. The curls. The curls. The exact curls. The ones you had shamelessly spent years liking edits of. The ones you had absolutely supported in comment sections alongside countless other Stays begging for their return.

And now? Now they were here. In person. At your door. For you.

You took one final steadying breath, unlocked the door, and slowly opened it.

And there he was. Standing in front of you looking unfairly beautiful in the hotel’s dim lighting. Curls perfectly tousled. Bare-faced. Relaxed. Like he’d stepped directly out of one of your TikTok collection folders.

Your eyes dropped slightly. He was holding flowers. A bouquet of roses. He brought you flowers.

He brought me flowers?!

Chan smiled first.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you managed back, suddenly very aware of your own existence.

His gaze softened almost immediately. “You look beautiful.”

Your heart absolutely betrayed you. “Oh—”

You glanced down at yourself instinctively, suddenly shy. “This isn’t anything special…”

Chan’s expression shifted into something almost disbelieving.

“Still,” he said, his voice warm and certain, “you look gorgeous.”

This man was going to ruin your life.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

And because fairness mattered, you looked him over properly. Which, honestly, was a mistake. Because wow.

“You look…” You paused. “…Very handsome.”

Chan grinned. “Even bare-faced?”

You laughed softly. “Especially bare-faced.”

And before your brain could stop you, your hand lifted slightly, fingers gently brushing one of his curls.

“You even brought the curls out?”

Chan’s smirk turned almost unbearably amused. “Oh?”

He leaned ever so slightly closer.  “So you like the natural look?”

You blinked at him. 

“Are you kidding?” You laughed, suddenly gaining a little confidence. “Do you know how long Stays have been fighting for this hairstyle to come back?”

Chan laughed—fully laughed.

“Well…”

He glanced around dramatically before lowering his voice just enough to make your stomach flutter.

“Lucky for you…” He handed you the bouquet. “Only you get to see it like this right now.”

…Excuse me?

You turned away quickly, partly to place the flowers carefully on the credenza near the door…and partly because your face was absolutely giving you away.

“Yep,” you muttered, smiling to yourself. “Lucky me.”

Then, feeling just a little braver than usual, you turned back toward him, rose slightly on your toes, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice gentler now. “For the flowers.”

Chan looked almost surprised for half a second, but in the best way.

“It’s nothing, really.”

You shook your head immediately. “No.” Your smile softened.

“It’s everything to me.”

And for a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stood there. Looking at each other. The kind of silence that somehow felt louder than words.

Then, because Chan apparently had impeccable timing, he smiled and held out his hand. “Are you ready for our date?”

Your heart did that deeply inconvenient thing again. But this time, instead of panicking, you smiled. Nodded. And slipped your hand into his.

Not just holding it. Interlacing your fingers with his.

Chan glanced down briefly, his smile growing just a little.

And together, hand in hand, you stepped out into the hallway.

The walk to the café felt… easy.

Somewhere between leaving your hotel and stepping out into the crisp Milan morning, whatever lingering nerves you’d had slowly began to melt away.

Maybe it was the early sunlight spilling gold across the city.

Maybe it was the surreal fact that you were walking through Milan hand in hand with your longtime celebrity crush.

Or maybe, it was just Chan.

Because somehow, despite the chaos your brain had expected, being around him didn’t feel intimidating. It felt natural.

The conversation picked up right where it had left off the night before—effortless and warm, bouncing between teasing remarks, random observations, and surprisingly genuine moments.

You talked about everything.

Your favorite comfort foods. His travel stories. Your academic disasters. His members.

At one point, you laughed so hard at one of his stories that you had to physically stop walking for a second.

And then, the two of you paused. Right there on the sidewalk. Because the sunrise over Milan was…breathtaking.

Soft streaks of gold, pink, and amber stretched across the sky, painting the city in the kind of beauty that almost didn’t feel real.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stood there. Watching. Taking it in.

And maybe it was cheesy…

Fine, maybe very cheesy—

But for your first real date, it felt perfect.

Not overly extravagant. Just simple and comforting. Everything younger you would’ve dreamed a first date could feel like.

And Chan? He was making it significantly harder not to completely fall apart. Because apparently, being charming wasn’t enough. He also had to be a gentleman.

At one point a little early into your walk, he gently guided you to the inside of the sidewalk, switching places with you so he was walking closer to the street.

You blinked. “Wait… what are you doing?”

Chan looked down at you like it was obvious. “Sidewalk rule.”

Your brows furrowed. “The what?”

He smiled. “The person closest to traffic should usually be the guy.”

You stared at him.

“You’re telling me there are actual rules to this?”

Chan laughed. “Maybe not official ones.”

And then, with that dangerously soft smile—

“But I like taking care of you.”

Oh. Okay. So this was actively becoming a problem.

By the time you arrived at the café, your heart had already experienced enough emotional whiplash for one morning.

The café itself looked like something straight out of a postcard: charming, elegant, and tucked away just enough to feel special.

“After you,” Chan said, holding the door open.

Of course he did.

And then, because apparently he had committed himself fully to this gentleman agenda, he pulled out your chair for you.

You looked up at him, genuinely caught off guard.

“Okay,” you said as you sat down. “This is setting a chivalrous standard.”

Chan grinned as he gently pushed your chair in.

“Good.”

You stared at the menu for a solid minute, trying very hard not to look like someone who had no idea what half the words meant.

Chan noticed immediately. “First time here?”

You looked up sheepishly. “First time here… first time in Milan… first time doing a lot of things, actually.”

His laugh was soft. “Do you trust me?”

You briefly paused before answering. “Yes.”

Chan nodded once, looking far too pleased with your answer. “Okay. I’ve got you.”

And just like that, he ordered for both of you.

When your food arrived—a brioche con crema paired with a vanilla cappuccino—you were initially skeptical.

But then, one bite. 

Your eyes widened immediately. “Oh my God.”

Chan, naturally, looked unbearably smug. “Good?”

You quickly covered your mouth politely before speaking. “This is incredible.”

He leaned back slightly, entirely too satisfied with himself. “See?”

He gestured lightly. “Best café in Milan.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re enjoying being right a little too much.”

“Maybe.”

Breakfast continued much like your walk had. Easy. Light. Filled with laughter.

And by the end of it, you realized something almost terrifying. You were comfortable. Like, actually comfortable. 

No overthinking every breath. No panicking over every word.

Just you. And him. Together.

But somewhere after the last sip of your cappuccino, your thoughts began drifting. Your gaze wandered past the café windows, up toward the soft morning sky.

And suddenly, it all hit you again.

Milan. Fendi. The Traitors. Your Ph.D. Bang Chan sitting across from you. Your life.

How had this become your life?

“A penny for your thoughts, Ms. Traitor?”

Chan’s voice gently pulled you back down.

“Huh?” You blinked, realizing you’d gone quiet.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression softer now. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

You laughed quietly, a little embarrassed. “Sorry…”

You glanced down at your cup before shaking your head slightly. “It’s just…”

Your voice softened. “I still can’t believe any of this is real.”

Chan stayed quiet, letting you continue.

“You and me, sitting here in Milan…”

You laughed faintly in disbelief. “Winning The Traitors. Becoming… all of this. Even still pursuing my Ph.D.”

You exhaled. “Sometimes I just have these moments where it all kind of hits me at once.”

You hesitated.

“Like… does someone like me really deserve this?”

The words came out quieter than you intended.

And there it was. That ugly little voice. The one that whispered imposter even in your happiest moments.

You gave him a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry. I don’t know why I keep randomly unloading my existential crises onto you.”

But Chan didn’t laugh. He didn’t brush it off. Instead, he reached across the table and gently placed his hand over yours. Warm. Steady. Grounding.

“No,” he said softly. “Don’t apologize.”

You looked up. There wasn’t teasing in his expression. Just understanding.

“I actually know exactly what you mean.”

You blinked.

Chan’s thumb brushed lightly against your hand.

“I trained for seven years,” he said quietly. “And even after debuting… even now…” He gave you a small, honest smile.

“I still have moments where I wonder if I really deserve all of this.”

Your heart ached a little at the vulnerability in his voice.

“So…”

You slowly turned your hand over, intertwining your fingers with his.

“I know we technically only met yesterday…”

A small smile tugged at your lips.

“But I already know you deserve all of this.”

Your thumb brushed gently across his hand.

“And more.”

For a second, he just looked at you. Like your words actually mattered. Then, that soft smile again. The dangerous one.

His thumb slowly traced across your skin, soothing something deep inside you.

And quietly, almost like a promise, you spoke. “You too.”

By the time the two of you made it back to your hotel, you were fully convinced your heart needed to be medically examined.

Because surely…surely it was not supposed to be doing all of this.

The walk back had been just as effortless as the rest of the morning: soft conversation, playful teasing, comfortable silences.

The kind that no longer felt unfamiliar. Just… easy.

And somehow, that almost made everything feel more risky.

Because this was no longer just celebrity-crush panic. This was rapidly becoming something real. Something that felt a little too natural. A little too easy.

And that? That was terrifying. But, in the best possible way.

As you reached your hotel room door, your intertwined hands finally slipped apart, though the warmth of his fingers somehow still lingered against your skin.

You turned toward him, suddenly feeling a little shy all over again.

“I had a really great time today, Chan.”

And you meant it.

Not because he was Bang Chan. Not because this whole thing still felt surreal. But because you were genuinely enjoying your time around him.

Chan’s smile softened into something that made your stomach flip all over again.

“Me too, Ms. Traitor.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. And suddenly, the hallway felt very quiet.

Not awkward. Just charged.

Like both of you were standing there, aware that this moment mattered.

Then, Chan spoke. Softly enough that it almost felt like the words were just for you.

“Do you mind if I steal your second kiss?”

Oh. Your heart absolutely malfunctioned. Not because of what he asked, but because he asked.

Soft. Patient. Like your answer actually mattered. And even though it's the bare minimum, it still made your chest ache in the softest way.

You looked up at him. And nodded.

Chan smiled. Not smug. Not teasing. Just… warm.

Then slowly, Like he was giving you every chance to change your mind, he leaned in. And kissed you.

Soft. Sweet. Warm enough to make your thoughts completely dissolve.

Just like your first kiss, it was gentle. But this one lingered a little longer. A little deeper. Still tender. Still careful. But more destined. Like the difference between a question and an answer.

Your lips moved together slowly, naturally, like neither of you were in any rush to let the moment end. 

Like soft waves meeting the shore on a warm summer day, it was steady. Comforting. The kind of kiss that didn’t demand anything. It just allowed the two of you to…feel.

When you finally pulled apart, neither of you moved very far.

Your foreheads rested together gently, breaths mingling, and for one completely surreal moment, you just stayed there.

Chan’s voice was quiet when he finally spoke again.

“I’ll call you tonight, Ms. Traitor.” His smile was guileless. “I expect you to answer, okay?”

You laughed softly, your brain still somewhere far, far away. “I’ll be looking forward to it…Channie.”

Chan laughed.

“Channie?” he repeated, like he was testing it out.

Your face immediately warmed. “I—”

He grinned. “No, no.” 

His smile somehow widened. “I like it.”

You sighed slightly.

“See you later, Y/N.”

And with one final smile, one that absolutely should’ve come with a warning, he stepped away.

You somehow managed to unlock your hotel room, slip inside, and close the door behind you.

Silence. For exactly one second. Before you let out the most shrill squeal known to mankind.

“Oh my GOD.”

You spun around, pressing your back dramatically against the door, both hands flying to your face.

Then came the pacing. Then the jumping. Then the aggressively silent screaming into your palms.

And finally, you launched yourself face-first onto the hotel couch in complete disbelief.

Your first date. Your second kiss. Breakfast in Milan.

You groaned loudly into a pillow, then lifted your head just enough to stare blankly at the wall.

Yeah. You were absolutely done for.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep the last two nights. Maybe it was the emotional whiplash of spending an entire morning in Milan being adored by Bang Chan.

Or maybe your body simply decided it had reached its limit.

Either way, the second you got back to your hotel room, exhaustion hit you like a truck.

So naturally, you decided to take a quick nap.

Just an hour. A short little reset. Nothing serious.

—Three hours later—

Your phone was vibrating itself into cardiac arrest somewhere beneath a couch pillow.

You groaned softly, barely conscious as you blindly reached around for the source of the noise.

The screen finally lit up in your face. And immediately, your stomach dropped. Several missed calls from your manager. And, you missed calls from Chan too.

“Oh no…”

Before you could even fully sit up, your phone started ringing again. Your manager. Again.

You answered immediately, your voice thick with sleep. “Hello?”

“Y/N—thank God.”

Your manager sounded somewhere between relieved and stressed out of her mind.

“I have been trying to reach you for the last thirty minutes. Were you asleep?”

You rubbed your eyes tiredly as you sat up straighter. “…I was.”

“Okay, well—I know you had your breakfast date with Bang Chan this morning—which I’m assuming went well—”

You frowned immediately. 

“You blew up my phone over that?” Your voice still carried the slight grouchiness of someone violently ripped away from peaceful sleep.

There was a pause.

“…No.”

You blinked. “But yes,” you continued suspiciously, “it went very well, actually.”

You stretched slightly as you yawned. “Why?”

Another pause. This one worse. Your stomach twisted.

“Y/M/N.”

Your manager sighed heavily. “…I’m trying to figure out how to say this calmly.”

“What happened?”

“Well…”

You heard papers shuffling on the other end of the phone.

“Someone leaked photos of you and Chan together.”

Silence. Then—

“WHAT?!” You shot upright so fast you nearly launched yourself off the couch entirely. Fully awake now.

“Yeah,” your manager said carefully. “We don’t know if it was paparazzi or fans, but either way…”

You could hear her hesitate.

“It’s everywhere.”

Your heart sank immediately. The café. The walk. The hand-holding.

Oh God.

You pressed a hand against your forehead. “Is it bad?”

Your manager exhaled slowly. “For you? Not really.”

Which meant—

“But for Chan…”

There it was.

“You know how the K-pop industry can get with dating rumors.”

Your chest tightened.

“I’ve already been dodging calls from his management team all morning.”

Guilt hit you almost instantly.

“I mean—that’s literally why we went out so early,” you said, frustration creeping into your voice. “To avoid this exact situation.”

“I know,” your manager said quickly. “I know.”

Her tone softened slightly. “But listen to me carefully.”

You closed your eyes.

“Do not spiral over this.”

Too late.

“These situations usually settle down.”

You laughed once. Short. Humorless.

“Yeah. For someone like me.”

Your voice grew quieter.

“Not for someone like him.”

Because this wasn’t just celebrity gossip. This was idol culture. 

Dating rumors. Obsessive fans. Scrutiny. Speculation. People who felt entitled to every part of his life.

And now, your name was attached to him.

“I already saw comments last night,” you admitted quietly. “Just from us sitting next to each other at the show.”

Your mind flashed back to the posts. The photos from Fendi. Some people had been sweet. Excited. Curious.

But others…not so much.

At the time, you’d brushed it off.

But now? There were actual dating rumors. Photos. Evidence.

Your manager sighed softly. “Y/N.”

Her voice lost its professional edge for a moment. Now she just sounded worried.

“I’m saying this as your manager and as someone who loves you…”

Your chest tightened.

“Please don’t blame yourself for this.”

You stared down at your hands silently.

“Stay off social media for a while, okay?”

That might’ve already been impossible.

Still—

“Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll try.”

“I love you.”

You swallowed the lump suddenly forming in your throat. “I love you too.”

“We’ll figure this out.”

The call ended with a soft click.

And suddenly, the room felt unbearably quiet.

You sat there for a moment, phone still clutched tightly in your hand. Your mind racing. Your stomach twisting tighter and tighter.

Part of you knew your manager was right. Looking online would only make things worse. You knew that.  You really did.

But another part of you, a much more anxious part, needed to know. Needed to see how bad it was.

So despite every warning in your head telling you not to, your thumb slowly moved toward your social media apps.

You opened Twitter. And immediately regretted it.

Because the very first thing waiting for you at the top of your feed was a photo of you and Chan at the café. Sitting close together. Hands intertwined across the table.

Your stomach dropped instantly. You scrolled. Another photo.

This one of the two of you walking through Milan side-by-side, fingers laced together beneath the morning sunlight.

The pictures themselves weren’t bad. Actually, they looked almost painfully sweet. Like something out of a romance movie.

But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was everything surrounding them. Because you still weren’t used to this level of visibility.

Sure, after The Traitors, people recognized you more often. People discussed you online. Clipped your interviews. Made edits. Commented on your outfits.

But this? This was different.

This was thousands upon thousands of strangers suddenly dissecting something deeply personal in real time.

Some comments were supportive. Excited, even.

“Oh my God, Chan finally got a girlfriend.” “They actually look cute together.” “She’s gorgeous.” “Good for him honestly.”

You even laughed quietly at a few dramatic comments from fans claiming they’d “been begging this man to date already” because he was “pushing thirty.”

That part, admittedly, was a little funny. But then, you kept scrolling. And the mood shifted almost immediately.

“Who even is she?” “She’s not his type.”“Why her?” “She needs to stay away from Chan.”

Your chest tightened. And the worst part? This wasn’t even new to you.

During your time on The Traitors, you’d already dealt with the ugly side of visibility. Weird comments. Cruel comments. Racist comments. People projecting insecurities and hatred onto you simply because you existed on their screens.

You’d learned—at least somewhat—how to survive that.

But this felt more personal. More vulnerable.

Maybe because this wasn’t about your gameplay. Or your intelligence. Or your public persona.

This was about something softer. Something private. Something you were still insecure about even before fame entered the picture. 

Your relationship status. Your desirability. Your worth. Your compatibility with someone they loved.

Falling in love. Being wanted. Being chosen.

And now those insecurities suddenly felt exposed beneath a spotlight you never asked for.

You swallowed hard and opened Instagram next.

Mistake number two.

The comments were somehow even worse there. 

Some people were kind. Genuinely kind. Telling you that you looked beautiful. That you and Chan looked happy. That they supported him. That they supported you. 

But kindness became harder and harder to absorb when cruelty sat right beside it. Because no matter how many supportive comments existed, the hateful ones still landed. Especially the racist ones. Especially the comments implying you didn’t belong beside him.

That you weren’t enough. Too much. Too different. Too unfamiliar.

Your throat tightened painfully.

And suddenly, every ugly comment you’d tried to bury over the past year came rushing back all at once. 

Every insult. Every microaggression. Every moment someone made you feel like you were too much of something…or not enough of something else.

They all fed that same awful voice lurking in the back of your mind. The one you tried so hard to silence. But it always waited. It loitered patiently. For moments exactly like this.

You turned your phone off abruptly and dropped it onto the couch beside you before collapsing backward against the cushions.

The room suddenly felt smaller. Quieter. Heavier. And before you could stop yourself, the thoughts started spiraling.

Of course this was too good to be true.

This is your fault.

This is why you shouldn’t let yourself get excited about things.

You ruin everything eventually.

Your chest ached.

They’re right.

What is someone like him doing with someone like me?

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, as if it would somehow stop the thoughts from multiplying. But they only grew louder.

And then…

Buzz.

Your phone vibrated beside you. You ignored it.

Buzz.

Slowly, reluctantly, you turned your head toward the screen. Chan. A text message. Then another. And another.

This morning, seeing his name light up your phone had felt magical. It gave you butterflies. It felt warm. You felt excited.

Now? Now it made your stomach twist painfully with anxiety.

Because suddenly, all you could think was—

What if he regrets this now too?

Your phone rang again. Chan.

You answered.

“Hello?” Your voice came out much quieter than intended.

Immediately, Chan spoke. “Y/N—”

The concern in his voice hit you instantly.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry about all of this.”

Your chest ached at how genuinely upset he sounded.

“Are you okay?”

The question lingered in the air.

And for a brief moment, you considered telling him the truth. That no, actually, you weren’t okay.

That the comments hurt more than you wanted to admit. That every cruel word was clawing at insecurities you thought you buried deep enough to silence them on your own. 

That a part of you was terrified this whole situation would become too much for him. That it would be too messy. Too complicated. Because of you.

But then another thought crept in immediately after.

He already had enough to deal with. His management. His fans. The rumors. The pressure.

You didn’t want to add yourself to the list of problems sitting on his shoulders. 

So instead, you lied.

“I’m okay.”

The words felt hollow the second they left your mouth.

“It’s nothing I’m not used to.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then Chan spoke carefully.

“What do you mean?”

You swallowed. “It’s not really the first time I’ve gotten comments like this.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around your phone. “Even during The Traitors, people had a lot of opinions about me.”

You tried to laugh softly. “Winning didn’t exactly stop that.”

Chan was quiet for a moment. And somehow, his silence felt heavier than any immediate response could’ve.

“That still doesn’t make it okay, Y/N.”

His voice was gentle now. Firm.

“You shouldn’t have to get used to people treating you like that.”

Your throat tightened painfully. Because he was right.

The comments still hurt. No matter how much experience you had pretending they didn’t. No matter how many times you told yourself it came with visibility.

“Well…” you murmured weakly, “I guess it’s just part of being on TV.”

Another pause. Then— 

“No.”

The word came quickly this time. Certain.

“Don’t do that.”

You blinked slightly. “Do what?”

“Act like it’s normal.”

His voice softened again. “People being cruel to you isn’t something you should just have to accept.”

The tears you’d been fighting finally began burning behind your eyes again. You squeezed them shut immediately. 

No.

You refused to cry over strangers on the internet. Not now. Not while talking to him.

“I promise,” you whispered quietly, “I’m okay.”

I hope that sounded believable.

A buzzing sound echoed faintly through the phone.

You heard Chan sigh softly.

“I’m sorry.”

Frustration laced his voice now. “I have to take this. My management’s been calling me nonstop for the past hour.”

Guilt twisted sharply in your stomach again.

“It’s okay,” you said quickly. Too quickly.

You forced out a small laugh that sounded far emptier than you intended. “My manager said they’ve been blowing up her phone too.”

Chan went quiet again.

And somehow, you could practically hear him thinking. Like he wanted to say something else. Something bigger. But didn't know how yet.

Finally, he exhaled softly. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

You nodded instinctively before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Okay.”

There was another pause. A reluctant one.

“I’m serious, Y/N.”

His voice turned softer. “Don’t sit alone and read that stuff, okay?”

Your chest tightened. “…Okay.”

Even though you already had. Even though the damage was already done.

“Talk to you soon, sweetheart.”

“Okay.”

The line clicked off.

And suddenly, the silence in your hotel room felt unbearable once again.

You stared blankly up at the ceiling, exhaustion and sadness settling heavily into your chest. One sigh escaped you. Then another.

At this point, it felt like you’d sighed twenty times in the last half hour alone.

Your thoughts kept circling endlessly. The comments. The photos. Chan’s management.

The guilt. The fear. The ugly little voice in your head growing louder and louder by the second.

Eventually, the emotional exhaustion became too much for your body to keep fighting.

So you curled back into the couch cushions, pulling the blanket loosely around yourself.

And somewhere between spiraling thoughts and quiet hurt, you fell asleep again.

Not because you were peaceful. But because sleep felt easier than feeling everything all at once.

You woke up to another knock at your door. Soft, but persistent.

Your brows furrowed as you blinked awake slowly, disoriented from yet another accidental marathon nap.

The room was dim now, the sun attempting to shine through some afternoon clouds .

You reached for your phone. Another three hours had passed.

“Oh my God…”

Another knock echoed through the room.

You groaned quietly as you pushed yourself upright, your body still heavy with emotional exhaustion.

At this point, you weren’t even sure if sleeping was helping anymore or if you were just using it to avoid thinking (Probably the second one).

You stretched slowly before shuffling toward the door, still half asleep.

You didn’t even bother checking the peephole. You assumed it was your manager coming to emotionally babysit you.

So with a sleepy sigh, you unlocked the door and pulled it open, and froze. Because standing there was Chan. Your eyes widened immediately.

“Oh.”

He looked… softer somehow. Still wearing the curls that had already caused enough (positive) emotional distress for one day, but now dressed comfortably.

A white tank top beneath a black, unzipped hoodie. Gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Relaxed. Warm. Like he’d rushed out without caring much about appearances.

And somehow that made him look even more devastating.

Which would’ve been fine, if you yourself did not currently look like someone recovering from emotional warfare.

Oversized T-shirt. Short biker shorts. Bonnet. And your glasses, the pair that magnified your eyes enough to look like Bugsy from Bedtime Stories. (A/N: if you don't know what I'm talking about, please google this reference immediately😭😭)

Immediately, self-consciousness flooded your brain.

“Oh—Chan.”

You awkwardly adjusted your glasses.

“I thought you were my manager.”

Chan’s expression softened the second he looked at you properly.

“I wanted to check on you in person.”

His voice was gentle. “You weren’t answering your phone.”

Your stomach twisted slightly with guilt.

“I figured I’d come see you myself.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured quietly.

“But I wanted to.”

The answer came so naturally it almost hurt.

Then, he lifted one of the bags in his hand slightly.

“And…” A tiny smile tugged at his lips. “I brought food.”

He lifted the second bag. “And snacks.”

As if summoned by divine timing itself, your stomach growled loudly. Mortifyingly loud.

You closed your eyes immediately. “Oh my God.”

Chan blinked once. Then laughed softly.

“I’m guessing I made the right choice.”

Despite everything weighing on you, a small laugh escaped anyway. “Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

You stepped aside reluctantly, allowing him into the room.

And for some reason, that simple act alone made your chest ache a little.

Because he came here. Not because he had to. Not because it looked good. Not because management told him to. 

He came because he was worried about you.

You slowly wandered back toward the couch, curling into your previous spot while Chan carefully set the bags down on the coffee table.

The smell of food instantly filled the room.

Only then did you realize you genuinely hadn’t eaten since your date this morning.

Chan sat down near the other end of the couch, leaving just enough space not to overwhelm you.

And then, silence.

You suddenly became deeply interested in literally everything except him. The table. The carpet. The curtains. Your own hands. Anywhere but his face.

Meanwhile, you could practically feel him watching you. Not harshly. Not judgmentally. Just…patiently. Like he was waiting for you to stop running.

And unfortunately, he knew exactly what you were doing.

“So,” he said softly after a moment, “are you going to tell me the truth now?”

Straight to the point.

Your stomach tightened immediately.

“What do you mean?” you asked, attempting innocence that fooled absolutely no one.

Chan tilted his head slightly. “You said you were okay earlier.”

His voice remained calm. “But it didn’t sound very convincing.”

You immediately sat up straighter. “What? No—Chan, I’m fine. Really.”

Too fast. Too rehearsed. Even you heard it.

Chan’s expression softened further. “You don’t have to lie to me, sweetheart.”

A pause.

“I’m here.”

You swallowed hard.

“Chan, I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” Your fingers twisted anxiously together.

“Like I said, it’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

And there it was again. That same exhausting survival instinct. The need to minimize your own pain so nobody else had to carry it.

But Chan saw right through it.

“You don’t have to be strong with me, Y/N.”

The words hit harder than you expected. Because suddenly, you realized how emotionally tired you were. 

Tired of always pretending things hurt less than they did. Tired of swallowing feelings before they became “too much.” Tired of acting unaffected just to make everyone else comfortable.

You stared down at your lap.

Then, you finally whispered—

“No, Chan…”

Your voice wavered. “You don’t get it.”

He stayed quiet. Listening. (A/N: a dream for all black women😩)

“I don’t really have a choice but to be strong.”

Your throat tightened painfully. The words started spilling out before you could stop them.

“I already feel like a burden.”

Your eyes burned immediately.

“To you. My manager. My family. My academic advisors. Everybody.”

Chan’s expression shifted instantly.

“And now all of this happened because of me.”

You shook your head, frustrated tears beginning to form.

“I don’t want to make things harder for people.”

Your breathing grew shakier now.

“And everyone expects me to just… handle things.” You laughed weakly through the emotion.

“If I’m emotional, it’s too much.” You wiped angrily at your eyes.

“If I don’t react enough, then I’m cold.”

Your voice cracked.

“And God forbid I actually say how I feel.”

Tears finally spilled over despite your best efforts. You looked away immediately, embarrassed.

“It doesn’t matter if the comments hurt.”

Another tear slid down your cheek.

“I still have to keep going.”

Your chest physically ached now.

“And honestly…”

Your voice became barely above a whisper.

“Some of those comments already sound like the things I say to myself anyway.”

Chan’s face fell.

“So who am I to say they’re wrong?”

Silence.

Then suddenly, movement.

Chan closed the space between you before you could retreat further into yourself.

One second he was sitting across from you. The next, he was right there beside you. Close. Warm. Safe.

His hands gently cradled your face, careful like you might shatter if he held too tightly.

And with his thumbs, he softly wiped away the tears sliding down your cheeks.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

His voice was quiet.

“I promise.”

That finally broke you.

The tears you’d spent all day forcing down came rushing out all at once.

A sob escaped your chest before you could stop it. Then another. And another.

Immediately, Chan pulled you into his arms. No hesitation. No awkwardness. Just warmth. Security.

You buried your face against him as the sobs grew heavier, years of pressure and insecurity pouring out all at once.

And through it all, Chan simply held you.

One hand rubbing slowly up and down your back. The other gently cradling the back of your head. Whispering soft reassurances into your hair over and over again, like he was trying to soothe every cruel thought directly out of your mind.

Eventually, your crying began to quiet down into small sniffles and shaky breaths.

The emotional weight in your chest still lingered, but it no longer felt quite as crushing as before.

Slowly, you pulled away from Chan’s chest, embarrassed warmth creeping onto your face now that the storm had passed.

You avoided eye contact as you wiped beneath your eyes with your sleeves before taking your glasses off completely to clean the foggy lenses with the hem of your oversized shirt.

“Sorry about that,” you murmured softly, voice still rough from crying.

Immediately, Chan frowned.

“Hey.”

His tone was gentle but firm.

“Don’t apologize.”

You glanced up briefly.

“I knew you were holding everything in.”

His expression softened further. “You needed to let it out.”

Something in his voice made your chest ache all over again, but in a softer way this time.

Once you slipped your glasses back on, Chan gently pulled you back against him without hesitation.

This time, instead of holding you tightly through sobs, he leaned back comfortably into the couch and settled you against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

One arm wrapped securely around your shoulders while the other rubbed slow, soothing circles along your arm. Grounding you. Steadying you.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. You simply listened to the quiet sound of his breathing beneath your ear.

Then finally, Chan spoke softly.

“I know I can’t fully understand your experience.”

You looked up slightly at him.

“I can’t speak on what it’s like being a Black woman navigating all of this.”

His thumb brushed gently against your arm.

“But I do know one thing.”

You stayed quiet, listening carefully.

“Every feeling you have is valid…No matter what anybody online says.”

Your throat tightened slightly.

“And you shouldn’t have to shrink yourself just to make other people more comfortable.”

The words settled somewhere deep inside you.

Because the truth was, you had spent a lot of your life doing exactly that.

Making yourself smaller. Softer. More digestible. Less emotional. Less intimidating. Less “too much.”

Just so other people wouldn’t misunderstand you.

Chan looked down at you gently. 

“So promise me something?”

You blinked. “What?”

He lifted his hand slightly between the two of you. Pinky extended.

The sight was so unexpectedly adorable that it pulled a small laugh out of you immediately.

“Promise me you won’t hide from me anymore.”

Your chest warmed painfully. Despite the tears still clinging to your lashes, and your puffy, red eyes, you smiled. Softly hooking your pinky with his.

“I promise.”

Chan smiled too. A quiet, relieved sort of smile.

Then another comfortable silence settled between you before he suddenly spoke again.

“Do you know what drew me to you so quickly?”

You looked at him curiously. “What?”

“It was how genuine you are.”

His answer came immediately.

“I meet a lot of people through work.” He sighed softly.

“And honestly? A lot of them know how to perform for cameras.”

You hummed slightly in understanding.

“They’re charming until the cameras disappear.”

His expression turned thoughtful.

“Then suddenly they’re cold. Or arrogant. Or completely different people.”

“But you…” His gaze softened as he looked at you.

“You weren’t like that.”

Your heart fluttered quietly.

“There was just something really… real about you.” 

He laughed softly under his breath. “And that’s saying something considering I literally met you yesterday.”

You couldn’t help laughing a little too.

“Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds insane.”

“A little bit,” he admitted.

“But honestly?”

His arm tightened around you slightly.

“It feels like I’ve known you way longer.”

Your expression softened immediately. Because you understood exactly what he meant.

“I feel the same way,” you admitted quietly.

And for a moment, Chan just looked at you. Like your answer genuinely meant something to him.

His voice softened again. “Well, I’m glad.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Why?”

“Because…”

A tiny smile tugged at his lips. “I really want to pursue this with you.”

Your breath caught. “You do?”

Chan looked almost offended.

“Of course I do.”

He shook his head slightly in disbelief. “You think a few dating rumors are enough to scare me away from the woman I like?”

Your brain completely stalled. “…You like me?”

Chan stared at you for half a second before laughing softly.

“Sweetheart…”

“Was I not obvious enough?”

Your face immediately warmed. “I mean—I just…”

You groaned softly, covering part of your face with your hand. “I’m still kind of new to this whole dating thing.”

Chan smiled fondly. “It’s okay.”

His thumb brushed gently against your shoulder.

“I’m a patient man.”

Your heart threatened to dissolve on the spot.

Slowly, you melted back against his chest again, feeling lighter than you had all day.

And then—

“Sweetheart?”

You tilted your head upward again. “Yeah?”

Chan gently gripped the side of your face, turning you toward him slightly.

His expression turned serious again. Soft. Earnest.

“You deserve this.”

Your chest tightened instantly.

“You deserve good things.”

His thumb brushed softly beneath your eye.

“And I need you to stop convincing yourself otherwise.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly made you emotional all over again. So instead, you simply nodded.

“…Okay.”

Chan smiled faintly.

Then leaned down and kissed you again. Your third kiss.

And somehow, it was different from the others. The first was sweet. The second had been tender.

But this one felt reassuring. Comforting. Like he was trying to pour every kind thing he’d said directly into you through the kiss itself.

Slow. Warm. Patient. As if he wanted you to feel safe more than anything else. 

And for the first time all day, you actually did.

When you finally pulled apart, your forehead rested lightly against his again. You smiled softly.

“Thank you, Channie.”

Chan’s expression immediately melted. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

He pressed one final gentle kiss to your lips before finally sitting back properly. Then, glancing toward the untouched takeout bags on the table, he sighed dramatically.

“Now…”

He pointed toward the food.

“Before I have to fight your stomach for attention again—”

A tiny laugh escaped you.

“Let’s eat.”

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! :)

Taglist: @chloe2444332 @donut-crazs @wildnindigo

Flashes of light burst around you the second the tinted SUV door opened.

You stepped out beside your manager, the sound of screaming fans and rapid camera shutters instantly filling your ears. The barricades were packed with people calling your name, waving signs, and holding up phones.

Just six to eight months ago, your life looked completely different.

You were a somewhat struggling Ph.D. student in Boston, juggling seminars, coursework, and a part-time receptionist job in the same academic building where you spent countless hours studying—all to make up for the expenses your monthly stipend couldn’t quite cover.

Your days were a blur of lectures, research, and answering emails at the front desk.

Then everything changed.

When Peacock and NBC announced they were casting everyday civilians for a new season of one of your favorite reality competition shows, The Traitors, you applied almost immediately. (A/N: To all my Traitors fans, this is actually happening, so stay tuned!)

You knew the game. You understood the strategy, the deception, the psychology.

So you auditioned without hesitation, leaning hard on your knowledge of the show and your confidence in your ability to outplay the competition.

You figured it was a long shot. Something fun to try. You never expected to actually get chosen. 

But you did. And somehow…you won.

Week after week, audiences watched as you expertly navigated the manipulation and mind games of the competition while still staying grounded, authentic, and unapologetically yourself.

People admired that. They admired you.

Almost overnight, you became a fan favorite.

And once the finale aired, your life skyrocketed. Brand deals started pouring in. Magazine features followed. Red carpets. Interviews. Partnerships.

Suddenly, you weren’t just a Ph.D. student anymore, you were a public figure.

Leaning into your newfound platform, you started posting more online, especially on YouTube and TikTok, where your personality shined even brighter.

You loved sharing little pieces of your life, whether it was casual vlogs, your academic journey, your hobbies, random thoughts, or camera chats about whatever crossed your mind.

Though, honestly, your ability to talk naturally to a camera probably came from all those years of pretending you were filming GRWMs and morning routines when you were bored. (A/N: me too, girl)

And somehow…that whirlwind journey led you here.From a struggling grad student, to The Traitors winner, to influencer, to Fendi Brand Ambassador.

You waved and blew kisses as you approached the red carpet entrance, slipping easily into the routine you’d done countless times before.

Then the photographers started shouting.

“BANG CHAN!” “BANG CHAN, THIS WAY!” “LOOK HERE!”

Your attention snapped toward the commotion.

And there he was. Bang Chan, leader of Stray Kids. 

You froze.

Your manager gently bumped your shoulder. “Earth to you.”

You blinked, quickly tearing your gaze away and continuing forward.

“Sorry,” you said flatly.

Your manager laughed quietly. “Oh, don’t worry. I saw exactly who you were staring at.”

You sighed in defeat. “Yeah… I figured.”

She’d known about your K-pop obsession since the day she met you.

More specifically, she knew about your love for Stray Kids.

And she definitely knew that their leader was your bias (and parasocial celebrity crush).

Which was exactly why, when you received the news that you were becoming a Fendi ambassador, she celebrated in the most ridiculous way possible.

Cake. Flowers. Red wine.

And a tiny Wolf Chan SKZOO keyring you’d been trying to get your hands on for months.

When she gave it to you, you’d just stared at her.

“…Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked. “You know he’s a brand ambassador too!”

Before you knew it, it was your turn to walk the carpet.

“Y/N, Y/N, GIVE US A SMILE!”

“A LITTLE TO YOUR RIGHT, Y/N!”

“LOOK THIS WAY!”

Camera flashes fired nonstop as you paused, turned, and posed the way you’d practiced a hundred times before. After a few chaotic minutes, your manager gently guided you off the carpet while an usher approached to escort you inside.

As you stepped into the venue, the noise from outside faded into a low hum of conversation and music. Your body moved almost automatically as you took in the atmosphere—the lights, the elegant décor, the sea of celebrities already filling the room.

You still couldn’t quite believe you were here.

“Your seats are just over there,” the usher said, gesturing ahead.

“Thank you!” you and your manager replied at the same time.

You both laughed softly as you continued toward your table.

Suddenly, your manager stopped so abruptly that you bumped lightly into her back.

“Hey—what happened?” you asked.

She slowly turned around, her expression oddly serious.

“Uhhh… promise me you won’t freak out?”

Your brows furrowed. “Why would I—what’s wrong?”

Instead of answering, she stepped dramatically to the side.

You sighed at her theatrics and looked forward, spotting the small place card with your name on it.

But then your gaze shifted to the chair beside it. And the person sitting there.

Your entire body froze.

Bang Chan.

Your eyes widened immediately.

Out of all the celebrities you could’ve been seated next to… it had to be him.

You slowly turned back toward your manager, your expression somewhere between disbelief and panic. The second she saw your face, she rushed over.

“Hey, hey—it’s okay,” she whispered quickly, smoothing down your outfit to calm you. “You’ve interacted with celebrities before.”

You leaned closer to her and whisper-shouted, “This is the first celebrity I’ve interacted with that I’ve been obsessing over for the past five years!”

She winced. “Well… yeah…”

You sighed deeply & dramatically, like your body was trying to physically expel the panic before it consumed you.

For a few seconds, you just stood there, staring at the floor and mentally hyping yourself up.

Come on, Y/N. You’ve met celebrities before. What’s the difference now?

…

Okay, you know exactly what the difference is.

But still—be cool. Act normal. Pretend he’s just some average guy you’re meeting.

Your brain immediately scoffed.

Be serious. That is not some average guy. That is Bang Chan.

For the love of all things holy, he’s even more handsome in person.

Get. It. Together.

You inhaled slowly, straightened your posture, and turned back toward your manager with a determined nod. She looked at you carefully… then nodded back like a coach sending her bench warmer onto the field.

Without another word, she took the lead. Frankly, she didn’t trust you to start this conversation on your own. There were simply too many risks.

Stuttering. Forgetting how to speak. Saying something deeply embarrassing. Passing out. …Possibly all four.

By the time you reached your seats, your pulse was so loud in your ears you were convinced other people could hear it.

Your manager smoothly removed your place card from the table. The movement immediately caught his attention.

Bang Chan glanced up, then stood politely from his seat, ready to greet whoever would be sitting beside him.

Since you were still half-hidden behind your manager like an anxious child on the first day of school, he hadn’t actually seen you yet. Your manager smiled first.

“Hi! I’m Y/M/N,” she introduced warmly. Then, before you could protest, she gently tugged you out from behind her. “And this is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

There was a brief moment where Chan’s eyes landed on you fully for the first time. And you nearly forgot every language you’d ever learned.

“Hi…” you managed softly, your voice significantly quieter than intended. “I’m Y/N.”

So far, so good…

Chan’s smile widened—warm, polite, and somehow even more charming up close. He extended his hand toward you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he said. “I’m Bang Chan, but most people just call me Chan. Or Chris. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Your brain short-circuited slightly at whatever you’re comfortable with.

“Uhhh… okay!”

…Nailed it, Y/N. Absolutely nailed it.

Internally, you wanted to evaporate. Still, you shook his hand, somehow managing not to combust on contact, before quickly sitting down.

Your manager, clearly satisfied that you were still alive, gave you one final knowing look before heading to find her seat a few rows behind you.

And then, it was just you. And him. Sitting side by side. No pressure.

After a moment, Chan turned slightly toward you, his expression easygoing.

“So,” he started conversationally, “is this your first time at one of these?”

You blinked.

“Red carpets? No,” you answered, your nerves making your honesty come out faster than expected. “My first time being a brand ambassador for one of the most globally recognized luxury brands in the world?”

You gave him a nervous smile. “Absolutely.”

To your relief, he laughed.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Don’t worry—it gets easier with practice.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Says the leader of one of the biggest K-pop groups in the world right now.”

He let out a surprised laugh, glancing at you. “Oh? So you know Stray Kids?”

You immediately regretted how quickly you answered.

“Yeah—I mean, yes. I’ve been a Stay since… 2020? Maybe 2021? Honestly, I don’t remember the exact date. A friend showed me ‘God’s Menu,’ and then…”

You paused, realizing exactly how this sounded. “…I kind of spiraled.”

Chan laughed again, this time louder.

“‘I kind of spiraled,’” he repeated, clearly amused. “That might be one of my favorite ways anyone’s described becoming a fan.”

Your face warmed. “Glad I could be memorable.”

“No, seriously,” he said, still smiling. “It’s actually really nice meeting a Stay somewhere like this. Usually people just ask who I am.”

You stared at him. “…Seriously?”

He shrugged dramatically. “Keeps me humble.”

That got a genuine laugh out of you, one that finally loosened some of the tension in your shoulders.

“I guess I kind of get that,” you admitted. “Considering I’m still adjusting to… all of this.”

Chan’s expression softened with genuine curiosity. “If you don’t mind me asking… what exactly brought you into all of this?”

“Oh, right.” You straightened slightly. “I won a reality competition show in the U.S. a few months ago. And then everything kind of…exploded from there.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Really? Which show?”

“The Traitors.”

His face lit with recognition. “Oh! My parents watch the Australian version!” (Side Note: I know the Australian version ended in like 2023, but let’s pretend it's still a thing😭😭)

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “I actually don’t fully know how it works, though.”

You smiled, suddenly feeling more at ease.

“Okay, imagine Big Brother…”

He nodded.

“…But then add murder mystery, manipulation, strategic lying, betrayal, and just a small yet concerning amount of paranoia.”

Chan blinked. “…That sounds incredibly stressful.”

“It was,” you admitted. “But also weirdly fun.”

He looked at you for a moment, a grin slowly pulling at his lips.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone a little more playful now.  “I can tell.”

You gave him a small smile before quickly glancing down at your lap, suddenly finding the intricate details of your outfit very interesting.

Chan, clearly picking up on your lingering shyness, tilted his head slightly.

“Now that I know you’re a Stay…” he began, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes.

“…Who’s your bias?”

Your head snapped back up so fast it nearly gave you whiplash.

Chan immediately burst into laughter at your expression.

“Oh my God,” he chuckled. “That reaction alone tells me everything.”

“Oh… um…”

You briefly considered lying. Maybe saying Hyunjin. Or Changbin. Or literally anyone else in the group.

But unfortunately, your ability to function had completely abandoned you.

“…You,” you finally whispered, barely audible as you avoided eye contact like your life depended on it.

Chan leaned in slightly, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“Hm?” he teased. “It’s kind of loud in here, I didn’t quite catch that.”

You narrowed your eyes, fully aware of what he was doing.

“It’s you,” you repeated, this time with slightly more volume but significantly more embarrassment.

His smile somehow widened.

“Really?” he said, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. “I’m honored.”

You deadpanned. “I’m so glad my public humiliation is bringing you joy.”

“Well,” he said with an amused shrug, “if I’m your bias, then you should already know I enjoy teasing Stays.” 

Unfortunately, he had a point. (A/N: #OnlyChans, ifykyk)

You sighed dramatically. You were in for an eventful night.

As the two of you waited for the show to begin, the conversation flowed surprisingly easily.

You told him about your time on the show. How a simple, impulsive audition from your living room turned into becoming tv and social media royalty. 

In return, he told you about the upcoming U.S. dates for the DominATE tour, his excitement obvious.

“You know I’m going to one of the shows, right?” you said casually.

Chan blinked. “You are?”

“Yep. Boston.” (Side Note: I know there was not a Boston show, but for the sake of the story, let’s say there was😭😭)

“Oh, really?” he asked, sounding genuinely excited. “Where are you sitting? I’ll have to look out for you.”

You laughed. “Oh, you absolutely will not see me. My friend and I lost the ticketing war, so we’re in Section 3.”

Chan gasped dramatically. “No floor seats?”

“Listen,” you said, holding up a finger defensively, “I wanted the authentic Stay experience.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The authentic Stay experience?”

“Yes,” you said seriously. “Waking up at 5 a.m., logging into the ticket site on four different devices, fighting for my life, and crying out to God.”

Chan laughed so hard he had to look away for a second.

“That sounds incredibly stressful.”

“It was,” you said proudly. “Builds character.”

He shook his head, still smiling.

“You know… you could’ve just asked for VIP tickets, Ms. Traitor.”

You scoffed. “Absolutely not. I earned my struggle.”

“Right,” he said, clearly entertained. “Very noble of you.”

Before you could reply, the venue lights suddenly dimmed. The room erupted into anticipation.

Chan glanced over at you with a grin. “Well…”

He leaned back into his seat.

“I guess we’ll continue this after the show, Ms. Traitor.”

And for some completely unreasonable reason…the way he said that made your heart skip.

The show was breathtaking.

No, breathtaking somehow still didn’t feel like a strong enough word.

Every piece that graced the runway was stunning. Elegant. Dramatic.

Honestly, the entire night felt surreal.

As you watched model after model walk beneath the lights, one thought kept circling through your mind: This is my life now.

It was both thrilling… and mildly terrifying.

You stayed focused on the show—or at least, you tried to.

Because while your attention was mostly on the runway and the dangerously beautiful pieces you were already mentally adding to your wishlist, you couldn’t help but notice something else.

Or rather…someone else.

Every so often, you felt it. A glance. A lingering stare.

And each time, your brain immediately came to the same conclusion.

No. Absolutely not. You’re imagining things.

So, naturally, you tested your theory. The next time you felt it, you casually turned your head ever so slightly.

Bang Chan immediately looked back toward the runway. Interesting.

The first time? Coincidence.

The second time? Maybe it was still a coincidence.

But by the third? Oh, this man was definitely sneaky.

Determined to prove to yourself that you weren’t delusional, you tried again later. This time, though, you caught him.

His eyes met yours for half a second before you offered a small, amused smile.

And to your complete internal collapse, he smiled back. Warm. Easy. Almost like getting caught wasn’t embarrassing for him at all.

Yep. This is definitely my life now.

By the time the final look disappeared backstage and the lights brightened, signaling the end of the show, applause filled the venue. Guests slowly began standing, mingling, and exchanging farewells as the once-captivated audience shifted back into social mode.

Beside you, Chan stood as well, stretching slightly after sitting for so long. You did the same.

And then, against your better judgment, you spoke first.

“So,” you started, glancing over at him, “how’d you like the show?”

Chan turned toward you, looking almost suspiciously casual. “It was incredible,” he said easily.

You nodded. “Right? The styling alone—”

“Though,” he interrupted, his tone suddenly more playful, “something else caught my attention a few times too.”

Your brain stopped functioning. Fully. Completely. No thoughts. Head empty. Just buzzing tv static. You stared at him, internally buffering so hard it should’ve been audible.

Did he…Was he…No. Surely not.

Before your spiraling could physically consume you, Chan laughed softly, clearly noticing your struggle.

“Are you going to the after-party?”

And just like that, your brain rebooted. 

“Oh—yeah,” you said quickly. “Of course.”

“Good,” he replied, adjusting his jacket. “Do you mind if I walk with you? My manager said it’s upstairs somewhere, and I’d rather not accidentally end up in the wrong room.”

You blinked. He wanted to walk with… you? Your immediate instinct was to look toward your manager.

Of course, she was already watching and listening. 

And, because she clearly enjoyed seeing you suffer, she gave you an aggressively enthusiastic thumbs up… followed by a wink. You sighed internally. 

You looked back at Chan, attempting to appear significantly calmer than you felt. “I… guess that would be okay.”

You meant for it to sound casual. It came out slightly suspicious.

Chan raised an amused eyebrow. “‘I guess?’”

You immediately groaned. “No, wait—that’s not— I just meant—”

His laugh cut you off before you could embarrass yourself further.

“Relax,” he said warmly. “I don’t bite.”

He paused, then added with that same teasing glint you were quickly learning was dangerous, “Usually.”

Your eyes widened. He laughed again.

“Kidding.”

…You were in so much trouble.

Then, offering you an unexpectedly gentlemanly gesture, he motioned toward the exit. “Come on, Ms. Traitor,” he said.

And somehow, hearing him call you that again made your heart do something deeply inconvenient.

“Let’s go have some fun.”

By the time you and Chan made your way upstairs to the after-party, it somehow felt like stepping into an entirely different world.

If downstairs was elegance, upstairs was indulgence.

Soft golden lighting bathed the room, reflecting off crystal glasses and polished marble accents. Fashion insiders, celebrities, designers, and brand executives drifted through the space in couture and custom tailoring, all while soft jazz music hummed through hidden speakers.

The entire atmosphere practically screamed luxury.

You barely had time to fully process it before an usher approached and guided the two of you toward a smaller, more secluded seating area tucked slightly away from the main crowd. Which, frankly, you were deeply grateful for.

A little distance meant a little less pressure…in theory.

You and Chan sat down just as servers floated by carrying trays of champagne and delicate hors d’oeuvres that looked far too expensive to pronounce.

Before you could even reach for a drink, Chan casually grabbed two glasses of champagne and handed one to you.

“Thank you,” you said, accepting it carefully.

He lifted his glass slightly, his smile playful. “To The Traitors, Stray Kids, and Fendi.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Honestly? That might be the most chaotic toast I’ve ever heard.”

He grinned. “Is that a bad thing?”

You lifted your glass. “Not at all.”

With a smile, you clinked your glass against his.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

You both took a sip.

And just as you set your glass down—

“I don’t think I properly told you this earlier…”

Oh no. You turned toward him.

Chan’s gaze was warm, sincere… and just teasing enough to make you nervous.

“You look really beautiful tonight.”

…

Your brain truly needed to stop doing this weird shutdown thing.

For a second, all you could do was stare. “Oh—”

Excellent start, Y/N.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice softer now. “You look amazing too. As always.”

Chan smirked. “‘As always,’ huh?”

Your soul nearly left your body.

“Oh my God—I didn’t mean—I mean, I did, but not like—”

He immediately laughed.

“I’m kidding,” he said quickly, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Thank you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You really love making me panic, don’t you?”

“Maybe a little.”

You took another sip of champagne, mostly to give yourself something to do besides combust, and for a moment, the two of you simply sat there, soaking in the glamorous chaos around you.

Surprisingly, it felt comfortable.

Then Chan spoke again.

“So,” he said, leaning back slightly, “I know what you do now…”

His eyes flickered toward you curiously.

“But what were you doing before The Traitors?”

“Oh,” you said, straightening a little. “Well… I’m actually still a Ph.D. student.” (A/N: I like to make my Y/Ns educated, mmkay??💅🏾)

Chan blinked. “…You’re what?”

You laughed. “Yeah. I’m in my second year.”

“No, hold on,” he said, clearly stunned. “A Ph.D.?”

You nodded, suddenly amused by his reaction. “In (insert field/major here).”

“Wow.”

The way he said it, genuinely impressed and not performative, made heat rise to your cheeks.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling shyly. “Before all of… this, I was balancing school and working reception in my academic building.”

You shrugged. “So… not exactly glamorous.”

“Are you kidding?” Chan said immediately. “That’s incredibly impressive.”

You blinked. “It is?”

“Absolutely,” he said, like it was obvious. “You won The Traitors, became a brand ambassador, and you’re getting a Ph.D.?” He shook his head dramatically.

“Should I call you Ms. Traitor, or Ms. Brains?”

You laughed—really laughed. “It honestly doesn’t matter.”

Chan smiled. “Good.”

His tone turned teasing again. “Because I plan on using both.”

Yeah. You were absolutely in trouble.

As the night continued, conversation between you became surprisingly effortless.

Favorite foods. Favorite colors. Music. Hobbies. Childhood memories. Embarrassing stories.

Somehow, despite the surrealness of your circumstances, talking to Chan felt… easy. Natural. Which was probably why his next question caught you so off guard.

“So…” he said, his voice more casual now.

You looked over.

“Are you seeing anyone right now?”

Oh. Dating?

Honestly, between academia, survival, and your recent accidental rise to fame, dating had never exactly been a priority.

Or maybe, if you were being painfully honest, you’d buried yourself in school because it was easier than confronting how invisible you’d often felt and academic accomplishments were the only way you felt seen. (A/N: story of my life •𐃷• )

You glanced down at your glass.

“Honestly… no.”

Chan stayed quiet, listening.

“I haven’t dated in a long time,” you admitted. “Actually…”

You laughed awkwardly. “Kind of ever.”

He said nothing, so you kept going (possibly because champagne had betrayed you).

“Back in school, people didn’t really look my way like that. And the people I did like never liked me back.”

You gave a small shrug, trying to play it off.

“So by college, I kind of just threw myself into academics.”

You let out a quiet laugh.

“Easier to focus on grades than loneliness, I guess.”

And then, silence.

Your stomach dropped. Oh no. Why did I say that?

You immediately winced. “Sorry—that was probably way too much—”

“No.” His response was immediate.

You looked up. Chan was already staring at you, his expression unreadable for half a second.

“I’m just trying to figure out how that’s even possible.”

You blinked. “…What?”

He frowned slightly, like the concept genuinely offended him.

“How has no one looked your way?”

Your breath caught.

“Y/N,” he said, more firmly this time, “you’re gorgeous.”

Oh.

“They seriously missed out.”

You stared at him, completely caught off guard, your heart suddenly beating much louder than seemed necessary.

“Oh…”

Brilliant. Elite response.

“Um, thank you…”

Then, because apparently your self-preservation was nonexistent—

“But, why do you ask?”

You reached for your champagne, hoping the sip would somehow stabilize you. It did not.

Because Chan, somehow even calmer than before, simply asked—

“Because I was wondering if you’d want to go on a date with me.”

Your glass froze halfway to your lips.

Slowly—very, very slowly—you lowered your glass.

“A date?” You paused.

“With… me?”

Chan smiled. Soft. Determined.

“Yes,” he said. “With you, Y/N.”

“Oh—okay! Yes. Sure!”

You immediately cringed at yourself.

“I mean—” you laughed nervously, your words tripping over each other, “I’d really like that. A lot.”

Thankfully, Chan only smiled wider. “I’m glad.”

And somehow, instead of making you feel embarrassed, it actually calmed you down. At least a little.

Before your brain could fully process the fact that Bang Chan had just asked you on an actual date, your phone buzzed loudly in your hand. You glanced down.

“Oh—” You couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s my manager.”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

“Apparently,” you said between laughs, “we have to leave in five minutes.”

You glanced back at the message. “Something about needing more pictures…” Your eyes skimmed lower.

“…And ‘real food before I pass out trying to survive off fancy hors d’oeuvres alone.’”

Chan laughed immediately. “Honestly? Valid.”

“Very.”

You shook your head, already knowing she was being dramatic, but also correct.

Reluctantly, the reality that your night was ending far too soon began to settle in. Still, not all hope was lost.

You and Chan quickly exchanged numbers, and you tried very hard to act normal about the fact that his contact information now existed in your phone.

You were not normal about it. Not even slightly.

As the two of you stood, smoothing out your outfits, Chan glanced at you.

“So…are you free tomorrow morning?”

Your heart did an extremely inconvenient little flip.

“Yeah,” you answered, perhaps a little too quickly.

His smile turned softer. “Good.”

He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“I’d like to take you out to breakfast.”

Your brain, already fragile, nearly collapsed again. “Breakfast?”

He laughed lightly. “Yeah. Breakfast.”

“No! I mean—” You winced. “Breakfast is good. Great, actually. I love breakfast.”

…Please stop talking.

Thankfully, Chan looked thoroughly entertained rather than alarmed.

“Good,” he said, his smile impossible to ignore. “I’ll text you tonight with the details.”

You nodded, trying to appear composed.

“Great.”

There was a brief pause. Not awkward. Just a pause. Like neither of you were entirely sure how to end this without it meaning something.

And maybe that was why the hug felt so natural. Warm. Comfortable.

You smiled against it, still slightly in disbelief that this was real life.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Chan.”

And before your brain could stop you, you leaned up slightly and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek. It was innocent. Sweet. A harmless little goodbye.

…Or at least, that’s what you thought.

Because the second you turned to walk away, a gentle hand caught your wrist.

Your breath hitched.

Before you could even process what was happening, Chan carefully pulled you back. And suddenly, you were right there. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him. Close enough to forget how breathing worked.

One hand settled softly at your waist. The other gently cupped your cheek.

Your heart was no longer beating normally.

“Chan, what are you—”

And then, he kissed you. Soft. Slow. Sweet enough to make time feel suspended.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn't dramatic. It was gentle. Intentional. The kind of kiss that somehow said more than words ever could.

And for one completely surreal moment, nothing else existed. Not the party. Not the noise. Not the cameras. 

Just him.

When you finally pulled apart, your brain was so thoroughly gone that the first thing out of your mouth was—

“…That was my first kiss.”

…

Silence.

Chan blinked.

“Wait.” You immediately covered your face.

“Oh my God, did I really just say that out loud?”

He laughed, but not in a mocking way. More like he genuinely couldn’t believe how adorable you were.

When he gently lowered your hands from your face, his expression had softened into something almost disarmingly tender.

“Really?”

You nodded, suddenly too shy to form proper words.

And to your surprise, he smiled. Not smug. Not teasing. Just…flattered.

“Well,” he said softly, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, “I’m honored.”

Then, with one last smile, the kind that absolutely should’ve come with a warning label, he stepped back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Traitor.”

And just like that, you were left standing there, staring after him like your entire life hadn’t just changed in the span of one evening.

Your manager was going to lose her mind.

It had been a long day of Thursday classes at Decelis University for Y/N Y/L/N.

All she wanted was to change into her pajamas, curl up in bed with her Steam Deck, and order some Chinese takeout, but she still had to make it to the men’s basketball team’s evening practice.

As a senior majoring in Kinesiology, with a minor in Biomechanics, Y/N had earned a position as a student athletic trainer aide for the Decelis Vamps. 

She’d applied the previous September at the start of her junior year and received her acceptance just weeks before the start of last year’s basketball season in early November.

Now, with the final stretch of the spring semester of senior year underway, championship season had arrived once again.

The team had racked up win after win this season, securing their place in the championship game against their long-time rivals, the Grey City Wolves. (A/N: Any EnLuné out there?)

With so much on the line, the head coach had arranged for additional practices on top of their usual schedule, today included.

By the time Y/N pushed open the door to her apartment, a tired sigh slipped past her lips. She dropped her bookbag by the entrance and made her way straight to the bathroom to freshen up.

A quick change later, she was in her trainer uniform: a simple Decelis polo embroidered with the school’s logo, flared khakis, and a pair of Nike M2K Teknos. She adjusted her layered French curl box braids with a black headband, letting the hip-length strands fall neatly down her back.

After a light spritz of her favorite perfume, she stepped out and moved to pack her tote bag: the one she always brought to practice.

By the time Y/N reached the top floor of the Decelis Student Athletic Center, the sound of bass-heavy music was already pulsing through the hallway.

She pushed open the gym doors and stepped inside, immediately greeted by the sight of the team mid-practice. Players in t-shirts and basketball shorts moved through layup lines and drills, sneakers squeaking rhythmically against the polished floor.

As she moved toward the sidelines and set her bags down along the row of bleachers, a familiar figure peeled away from the court.

Ni-Ki jogged over, a basketball tucked under his arm, a grin already tugging at his lips.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

Y/N barely had time to react before he stopped in front of her, all easy confidence and lingering energy from practice.

Their friendship was…complicated.

They’d met on her very first day as a student trainer—an introduction marked by a basketball flying straight at her head, courtesy of Ni-Ki himself. He’d rushed over immediately after, tripping over apologies and insisting on making it up to her with a late lunch after practice.

Somehow, that had turned into a routine.

Late lunches became their thing. Then came walking each other to class, late-night study sessions, early morning gym runs, and post-game snack runs that stretched far too late into the night.

And somewhere along the way, it blurred into something else. Teasing remarks that lingered a little too long, playful banter that edged into dangerous territory, and touches that felt a little too familiar for just friends.

To everyone around them, it was obvious.

His teammates saw it. Her friends saw it. Classmates noticed it. Even strangers passing by could pick up on it.

Everyone knew. Everyone except Ni-Ki and Y/N.

Ni-Ki slung his free arm around her shoulders, and Y/N immediately recoiled.

“Ew, get off me. You’re sweaty.”

Instead of letting go, he pulled her closer.

“Alright, alright, I get it,” he teased. “You’re just that happy to see me.”

Y/N grimaced, trying (and failing) to wriggle out of his grip. At 6’2, he barely had to try to keep her tucked against his side.

“Ni-Ki…seriously—”

“Okay, okay.” He relented, finally releasing her, only to rest his arm casually on top of her head instead.

“Is this better, sweetheart?” he asked with a smirk.

“No.”

“Wow. Tough crowd.”

She shot him a flat look, mildly offended at being used as an armrest.

“Are we still on for food after practice?” he asked.

Y/N nodded, glancing up at him despite herself.

“Cool—”

“NISHIMURA!” The sharp voice of the coach cut across the gym.

“Stop flirting and let Y/N do her job! Two laps!”

Ni-Ki straightened immediately. “But coach—”

“Make it four!”

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle alongside his teammates.

Ni-Ki let out a dramatic sigh, already backing away toward the court. “This is funny to you, huh?”

“Just a little,” she replied, barely containing her smile.

“Ha. Ha.” He pointed at her as he started jogging off. “You know where to find me after practice, sweetheart.”

Y/N shook her head, watching him go before turning back to her bag.

Practice dragged on. With no rehab or preventative care needed today, she kept herself busy handling small administrative tasks, restocking first-aid supplies, and organizing the equipment they’d need for the championship game that weekend.

After a grueling three-hour practice, an hour longer than usual, Y/N doubled back into the now-empty gym to grab her tote before heading toward the men’s locker room.

She barely made it down the hall before she spotted them.

Ni-Ki… and Emily.

Y/N paused, her expression tightening slightly as her memory settled in. Of course. The Decelis cheer squad’s practice overlapped with the Vamps’ Thursday schedule.

And of course Emily would be here.

Emily stood a little too close, talking animatedly, her perfectly styled blonde hair bouncing with every dramatic gesture. Everything about her practically screamed look at me—and she made sure everyone did.

Y/N knew her type all too well.

Emily had a reputation: bouncing from athlete to athlete, losing interest just as quickly as she gained it. Lately, her attention had locked onto Ni-Ki. She hadn’t been subtle about it.

Not that Y/N, or Ni-Ki, was particularly thrilled.

As Emily continued rambling, Ni-Ki’s gaze flicked past her shoulder and landed on Y/N.

Relief flashed across his face.