“gawa”

You adored making sweets-even more the days you've made better and moods you've lifted with them! Well everyone knew a yummy chocolate chip cookie made everything better. It was truly a dream. Most of the time.

With a pretty popular and booming company, unfortunately, crummy clients were...inevitable. Bad reviews would be left, food would be thrown away or spit out-and hey, you didn't have to be everyone's cup of tea, but it still undeniably hurt that one could treat something you made with so much love with so much hate.

Within your mix of customers and all of the newfound connections you'd made through your business, there was one that you thought about just a bit more than the others, one who walked around rent-free in your mind.

The first time he came in, you were working the register, dressed in a pretty gingham patterned apron and matching headband. It was just another day, sun filtering in through the large bakery windows, casting glowy shadows over everyone that occupied it. It was beautiful, and you couldn't be happier.

"Hello! Welcome, what could I get for you?" Your smile was as warm as the tone of your voice, your eyes crinkling at the ends as you looked up at him. You weren't just some establishment owner-you truly loved your job.

"Hello." He replied. His voice was monotone and smooth like french hot chocolate melting onto your tongue. It was the first of many things about him that encaptivated you. His dark hair framed his face perfectly, slightly covering his eyes. A tiny detail that reminded you of the macarons you baked. Was this man simply a pretty little mix of the things you made, or a treat all on his own?

"One strawberry shortcake slice, please."

"Ah, right." You nodded your head, face warming beneath his gaze. Could he tell what you were just thinking? That he was something edible. You registered the item in before looking back up at him. Come to think of it, he was unusually close.

"Of course, anything else?"

"Hm." He hummed, thumb to his lip as he scanned the menu.

"And whatever you'd say is your favorite."

"My favorite?" You repeated, your eyes finally locking into his.

"Correct."

Your smile widened ever so slightly, eyes shining beneath the lights. "Of course, I'll get it to you quickly! That'll be-"

Before you could finish your sentence he was already walking away, making his way over to a tiny 2-seater table in the corner of the bakery.

"Huh."

For a moment you were left dumbfounded, blankly blinking at him until another customer walked into line. You were forced to avert your attention, gaze focusing on the kid now in front of you.

"Hi, sorry. What could I get for you today?"

"A chocolate cake slice, please!" She smiled, a lollipop in between her lips.

"Got it!" You eagerly registered in her order, surprised when she suddenly spoke again.

"Ma'am..is this yours?"

"Hm?"

She held up a $100 dollar bill, crisp with zero creases. "Oh-no, I don't think." You stammered, slowly looking back at the man in the corner-just for a second. Was that why he didn't pay? Well—he did, but it was absolutely too much. He probably didn't have change, and expected to receive the rest when he got his food. Yep! That's it!

"It-it is, actually! Sorry." You politely accepted the bill, shoving it into your pocket to make sure you didn't forget.

"Awh man, thought I got lucky." The girl sighed, eliciting a smile from you.

"Hehe, maybe next time..but for now it'll be seven dollars and fifty cents, hon."

"Darn it."

She handed you exact change, grumbling just a bit beneath her breath as she plopped down at a different table. Kids will be kids you suppose…

"Here you go, sir." You carefully set down two plates in front of him. One was syrupy sweet with strawberries and cake and the other was beignets. He gracefully accepted the sweets, resting one hand on top of his knees while the other reached for a fork.

'It’s a New Orlean’s recipe. Tiana made them in ‘Princess and the frog’. Also, have your change-"

"I didn't require change."

"Huh..?" You went silent, watching him munch on the cake as a bit of frosting decorated the corner of his lip.

"Consider it gratuity for excellent customer service..and" he took a moment to swallow, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "delicious desserts."

You smiled softly, a sudden bashful feeling overwhelming you. "Do you mean it?"

"Of course, compliments are earned and you deserve it."

"Thank you."

"Hm." He replied, taking a second to observe the croissant you'd also set down." "This is your favorite.?"

"It is."

A moment of silence passed before he went back to the cake, popping a strawberry into his mouth.

"Thank you."

"No problem." Your voice wavered for a second, a bit of confusion fogging your brain. You took his quiet eating as the cue to leave, walking back behind the register to get back to work-yet you could barely focus. Curse him and his stupidly charming face and compliments.

You'd talk to him more next time. And you did.

He'd come in almost everyday around the same time, sit in the same spot, and order the same thing-except he'd always ask for what you were in the mood for, taking home an extra dessert with him every time.

You had not the slightest clue who the other pastry was for or why he had such a routine visit, but you weren't complaining...you were just curious. Not jealous. Not jealous at all. Maybe you'd ask if the dessert was for someone at home.

It's bold, but maybe it'll spark something? You couldn't deny the effect he had on you, but it was a bit embarrassing. How easily a simple regular could get you weak in the knees.

Unusually, there wasn't a next time. There wasn't a next time for a few weeks, actually and you were just a bit worried.

Almost a month and he'd never missed a day. Never. Your employees even began to call him "Strawberry guy", the tall, handsome, quiet boy that spoke to nobody but you and ordered nothing but a singular slice of strawberry shortcake and whatever you wanted.

"He'll be back. In fact I bet he's having withdrawal symptoms right now." Your best friend Stella spoke, trailing behind you as you delivered treats around the bakery.

"He probably got tired of my boring suggestions." You sighed heavily-almost comically as you placed a plate down onto a table. "Enjoy, sir.”

"You're hopeless! You don't have romance! He's simply so deeply infatuated he can't even face you! He's afraid once he does he'll immediately propose!"

"Oh god, you're the worst person to confide in.."

She stopped in front of you, dropping to her knees and grabbing one of your legs-just to prove her point.

"Marry me! Marry me, you beautiful bakeress! Take me as your doting wife! I won't live if you won't take me! I'll simply die"

You froze up almost instantly, eyes of the customers glued to you-and your best friend who apparently had no shame and loved to make fun of your love life.

"Folks are watching...stop humiliating yourself." You whispered through clenched teeth, wiggling your leg away before she even had a chance to speak.

"Fine..." she groaned, dusting off her pants as she got up before chasing you back to the register.

"You're simply..a small thinker."

You rolled your eyes, resting your cheek in your palm. "You simply read too much fanfiction."

"Low blow." She replied, clutching her heart in faux pain.

"Super low..."

"Ha-ha." You deadpanned, bonking her head with your free hand.

"Owch! Hey, I need compensation for that! You knocked some of my brain cells out!"

"Really? I thought you got all of them out when you started begging me to marry you."

"Eh, that did minimum damage." She sighed, rubbing her head where you'd lightly hit her. "Can I get a little cake for my troubles?"

You look to the side as if you were thinking, eyes slowly wandering back over to her. "Come during closing and I'll see what I can do."

"I'll be there."

Night time comes along sooner than expected, the entire bakery clean and ready for tomorrow. Stars were twinkling, shining a small light through the glass windows, creating a beautiful picture.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Moka!"

"See you!"

The last employee was on their way and all that was left was you, the treats on display, and lovely silence. It was nice to be alone sometimes, but most of the time when you were alone you started to think..and the only thing you could think of was him. Was he really gone forever now? People move to different places all the time..perhaps he's sick? Maybe..maybe he's found another bakery.

The chime of the door pulls you from your thoughts, and you quickly look up. "Moka.."

"Hello."

It's him, dressed in a simple white shirt and jeans-his posture the same as ever...Maybe you were imagining him. It was late after all...perhaps you were hallucinating from lack of rest. Strawberry guy ?

He walked closer, standing just the same way he had in front of you so many days ago.

"One slice of strawberry shortcake...and an almond croissant, please."

"I." Well, he's definitely real, but why is he here so late? After so long? ..Was this a prank? "Yes, of course. One moment, sir." You replied, auto-piloting your response as you tried to process the situation.

Without another word he went back to sit down in the exact same chair. All you could think of as you grabbed a slice from the display was all the questions he had yet to answer, and all of the things he could possibly say.

You let out a soft sigh, grabbing a few extra strawberries for a better presentation, maybe it'd sweeten him up too…

With careful steps you walked over to him, gently placing the plates down before sitting down in the chair across from him.

And for the first time-he ate the croissant first.

"Would it be odd to say I missed this taste?" He murmured, taking small bites of the fluffy pastry, his facial expression the same as always. Blank yet somehow slightly fond.

"I guess not. You're bound to miss something when you're away from it for a bit."

A pause.

"Speaking of, where have you been anyway?"

"Were you looking out for me?”

You raised an eyebrow. Answering your question with another one? This is your chance, just speak. Easy and slow.

"Family? Or maybe a girlfriend?"

"No. Just me."

"l meant if you had one."

"I do not."

A sound of what could've only been relief left you, a soft sigh escaping your lips. Would he take offense?

Quite the opposite.

The corner of his lips curved ever so slightly, his eyes glued to your face as you tried to hide your embarrassment.

"I just thought you must've..you probably brought those extra desserts to your...someone."

"You’d be dead wrong. They're for me."

"Noted" You quickly replied, thank God you can’t blush anyway.

A longer moment of quiet passed before he set down the bready treat, picking up a fork to bite into the cake before suddenly stopping.

"There's a few more strawberries than usual."

"We’ll take it as a welcome back gift free of charge." You joked, finally beginning to ease back into your usual self.

"You're extremely kind and trusting. Why?"

Your eyebrows rose a bit at the unexpected question, your lips parting ever so slightly.

"You never know what's going on in someone's life. I think it's always better to be kind, it's an even greater feeling to know you'd brighten someone's day."

"I see." He mumbled, before finally taking a bike into the cake, savoring the sweet syrup on his tongue.

"I guess you won't be frequenting as much then?"

"You’d be incorrect, again."

"Really?" You try to hide your excitement, but you can't physically find it in yourself.

"Of course. Perhaps then I could find an opportunity to repay you for those strawberries.

"Ah-I told you, they're free of charge." You chuckled, getting up from the chair to collect his empty beignets plate as you noticed it was getting particularly late.

But he stopped you, lithe fingers wrapping around your wrist to keep you from the plate. His hand was cold, but extremely soft. You'd only dreamed of him holding your hand. Not exactly in this situation, but you'd take what you could get.

"I wasn't speaking of money."

"You weren't?"

"Could I tell you what I would like to give you?"

You lean down a few inches, nodding your head as he tilted his own so his lips were just a centimeter away from your ear.

"A kiss."

You almost immediately turned your head, but before you could even utter your exclamation his mouth was over yours, overwhelming your senses until all you could think of was his warm and utterly smooth lips against yours.

He was careful in everything he did. From how he ate to how he held you now, his grip on your wrist loosening as you leaned into him, seeking more of his touch. You gratefully took all that he gave you, not once pulling away.

His tongue eventually grazed your lower lip, and all you could internally say was..

"Holy shit! I knew it!"

You squealed into his mouth before pulling away, watching your best friend stand at the front door-absolutely gobsmacked. How did you not hear the door!? She's probably here for her cake freeloader.

"You again.." You whispered under your breath, still holding his hand, still squeezing his palm. "And I thought I was the only one who could kiss you" She sighed, the most devilish smile adorning her lips.

You look back at him, his eyes staring blankly at your friend.

"You and your lying ass.”

"Fine! You should've just broken up with me instead of cheating on me like this!" She paused, staring right back at Juhoon.

"And I want my cake!!" With a dramatic exit, she left the building. Probably just to wait in her car for you to deliver her slice.

"She is not my girlfriend, I'm not even a lesbian.” You raised up your hands almost innocently.

"It's quite alright. I could tell she was lying."

"Oh well.”

He's still squeezing your fingers, rubbing his thumb against the back of your palm like it's muscle memory, and for a moment you feel completely at peace.

Now, why won't his mii get married to yours? he has been laying in his bed for hours trying to get the two fictional characters to marrying each other. Still stuck at "sweethearts" step, he's actually not in the mood for playing but got addicted because the interactions between the two of you keeps him company when you're not here.

He did try his best : forcing the two to meet and eventually think about marriage. But he would fail miserably. It took him hours, no, days to finally get the chance, and when he did, his face would turn into a frown when failing the fuck ass mini-games to get them to propose. "This game is such a hassle anyway.." “How do you even get ragebaited by a game such as tomodachi life?”

Juhoon changed positions, even playing while eating just to get this game done with. So imagine his face when he successfully fulfilled his mission, probably the greatest sigh of his life. The adorable cutscenes played as he got a small smile at how his mii looked at yours. At that time, you were laying half asleep beside him, so he showed the nintendo screen to you. It was late at night and really dark in the room. The brightness of his switch was all the way up, you squinted to let your eyes adjust themselves, chuckling at how cute it was. “Oh my, that's so sweet."

"I wanna give them a baby though." he looked at you as he said that and you nodded, "That'd be cute, Jju." he nodded, and so he's gonna spend at least another day playing despite almost deleting it when they didn't wanna get married to one another.

You'd texted him earlier, asking him to come over as every Saturday night, and of course, he accepted it before you could even tell him what you wanted to try; a detail that made your plan even better.

Once he arrived, using the spare keys he knew the location of, he heard loud, incredibly yours, music from the bathroom. He made his way there and opened the door, eyebrows already furrowed as his handsome figure appeared in your mirror's reflection. He immediately noticed the bowls, the brushes, a bunch of bottles of hair bleaching, and of course, your wet, sectioned and now kind of yellowish coils. But no worries, the toner sat not far from you.

He smiled, before stepping behind you, patting your hip and picking up your cup. "Hi babe"

"Hi, love." You said, smiling to yourself, happy to have him with you.

"I thought we'd meet to watch a movie or something, and of course you're dying your hair."

He picked up the dye bottle, his adorable confused expression appearing. "It's not even the brand you usually use."

You actually finished wrapping a towel on your head. "My supplier recommended this brand so I wanted to test it first before using it on my clients. Plus, I guess I'm apparently changing too often, so I thought I would kind of need to use lighter products this time."

“Talking ‘bout lighter products”

By taking a closer look, his face became even more shocked. "Did you cut your hair? Could be shrinkage but your ‘fro seems smaller”. You let out a chuckle. "Just split tips, don't worry." James sat on the edge of the bathroom's bath tub, fidgeting with his fingers for a while before whining like an impatient kid wanting his favorite toy back. "What do I do? I'm so bored, I wish we could do something fun right after." He trailed off the end of his sentence, side eyeing you innocently.

Your smirk appeared, amused, and your plan started. "Oh, gosh, won't you stay still?"

Half an hour later, you were sitting on your bathroom sink, legs slightly parted just so his hips would fit in between them. That man felt under zero pressure, he kept moving his head side to side, trying to see what the heck you were doing to his hair.

You'd decided to do something actually cool and that would make him even hotter than how he already is. So you'd start bleaching the back of his head just like you first did, which was a dangerously good idea.

"You know im nosy as hell." He justified himself, before starting to detach his attention from his reflection to your face in front of his. Suddenly, he'd gone quiet. He started to analyze your bare face, from the forehead to the nose, faint acne scars here and there on your cheeks. His gaze lingering on the places where you had moles, he had learned to remember each one of them.

You used your hand to gently guide his face to look sideways, and check your work of art. You were very satisfied, and you couldn't wait to see the result.

"Alright now, it’s looking good."

"You look better." He said, voice dropping an octave.

"Woah," You chuckled and released his chin, putting the brush back in the messy looking bowl and shaking your head. "That was smooth."

All of a sudden, his hands grabbed your waist a little firmer than usual, making you instinctively look back towards him, only to be shut up from his lips on yours. You let go, enjoying your time with your man, since you two don't always kiss for a long time or make out, that was kind of secondary. James treasured different types of quality time. But rarely you two also shared your little heated moments.

Your arms automatically wrapped around his neck, careful not to mess up with the bleach on the back of his upper neck, even though, while you kissed, you always adored touching his hair (and he did too). His hands slid down to your hips and brought them closer to his own, seeking closeness and contact.

Your pajamas, being brushed from his gentle yet bold hands, internally making contact with your skin, had this kind of effect that made your spine shiver. The kisses got bolder, and with bolder, it meant him towering over your figure and forcing you to lean back against the mirror, as you both started letting out little, clumsy yet incredibly hot sounds against eachother's mouth.Also, tongue wasn't absent at all.

"Yufan.." You murmured breathlessly, your voice rough and uneven from the kissing. He pulled away just an inch and opened his eyes, staring into yours deeply.

"Yeah?"

You smiled and held his shoulders with your hands, ignoring what just happened but mentally replaying it for the tenth time. “Just let me finish, after that, we can do whatever you want yeah?.” The hint of a little smirk became clearly visible, before he hugged you tightly and carefully buried his face into the nape of your neck.

Days later, during his stream, he'd proudly hide his hair under one of his beanies like he does each time, making everyone freak out knowing the fans will eat it up. Because he liked it so much that you ended up dying his whole head.

Any tension laying dormant was pushed aside as you reached into the refrigerator, selecting ingredients for today’s culinary endeavor: crisp bok choy leaves, thick udon strands slightly sticky to touch, and leftover samgyeopsal marinated with sesame oil, which filled the air with a slightly charred meaty smell while cooking yesterday. The symphony of chopped vegetables thudding on a wooden cutting board, accompanied by a sizzling pan flanked by the soft purring of the refrigerator, announced another evening feast showtime.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore.

“Stop staring and say something, Yufan.”

He blinked at the name, his gaze lifting from the coffee mug in his hands to meet yours. “You look…”

“Don't say it.”

"Okay."

You let out a sigh of relief, turning back to the stove.

"I wasn't going to say you look good"

"No?"

“Nope," he said, maintaining eye contact while parking his well-loved first edition Red Panda mug with a soft thud. "You've got this 'This is my kitchen' glow about you—no make-up, and my shirt on your body... You look like you belong at home, in this kitchen, with me.”

"Oh, shut up, Yufan. Are you sure the tea wasn’t spiked? That bag of Oolong you've been hoarding since you bought it from that traditional tea house back in Taiwan?”

He laughed then, a deep, rich sound that echoed warmly around the room, bouncing off the peeling sunflower-yellow wallpaper and the worn-out, wooden cabinets. "I promise, it's just regular tea. But if you're not careful, I might start spouting poetry next."

"I'd like to see you try," you challenged as you moved to add the noodles to the boiling pot.

At the same time, however, a soft melody began to fill the room. Turning, you saw James’s back turned towards you. He was hunched over an old radio placed precariously on the window ledge over the sink—an old one with a cracked case. It had been his mother's; he kept it out in the barn and listened to it while he was choring.

He now keeps it in the window because it's the only place where it will pick up local stations. It was secondhand even then, when he gifted it to her after earning his first paycheck, but when it was unwrapped and she saw what it was, she grinned until it seemed her face would crack and how she thanked him. Over and over!

The tinny sound of the old device was playing a song that you recognized immediately-it was your mother's favorite song. A smile tugged at your lips as you watched him, his fingers delicately turning the knobs to get the best reception.

At the end, he cocked a thumb at the radio and said, stupidly proud of his useless knowledge,

"This one is Ella Fitzgerald’s. The original version."

"Yufan...I-"

You had no idea where to go from there, and it seemed there was no need. The man raised the forefinger of his left hand like a teacher who meant to make a particularly important point, and the smile actually resurfaced on his lips. Some sort of smile, anyway.

"Wait," he said.

"Wait?"

He looked pleased, as if you had grasped a difficult concept. "Wait."

And before you could say anything else, he simply walked off behind you, turning off the stove before his hands found your waist. His warm body pressed against your back, his head burying itself in the crook of your neck.

The aroma of your cooking, mixed with the familiar scent of his and the sound of the old song playing on the radio, transported you back to simpler times. Times when life was all about grades, and saving up.

It’s about enjoying moments like these. He began to sway, his movements leading you in a slow dance around the kitchen. His touch was gentle yet firm and you allowed him to lead, your body moving in rhythm with his as you danced barefoot on the cold ceramic tile floor.

Beyond the rustic kitchen windows, Mother Nature cooed her own ballad-soft chirps cushioned in cool country air under the moon's watchful eyes, dressing everything in stretched-out shadows-that played on repeat. It felt so simple and yet intimate. You were just a woman, dancing in the kitchen with the man you secretly might like.

Turning you around, he looked down at you, his gaze soft and filled with emotions you could not decipher. Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked up at him through your eyelashes, your fingers idly playing with the hem of his worn-out shirt.

The world outside did not matter at this moment.

The only thing that mattered was Yufan and the way he held you, the way he looked at you. You could see a mirror of your own feelings in his eyes-longing, mostly vulnerability.

As the last note of the song played, you rose to your tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was filled with promise, with hope-a kiss that said more than words ever could.

As you pulled away, you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as the two of you stood in the middle of the kitchen, the smell of your cooking still lingering in the air.

“The most unrealistic part in the movie is the fact he never got to pull anybody.” You shamelessly stated, lightly kicking your feet.

It was one of those times, average movie night at Martin’s place. Small warm lights here and there — nothing too aggressive — just enough to set the mood right. The large Moroccan rug you successfully bagged for his studio last time you went thrifting with him, two months ago or so. You’re both currently settled on the sofa, your head softly resting on his shoulder.

He side eyed you at your statement, “He was lowkey a loser in it.”

“Wait, was it supposed to be a bad thing?” You slowly raised your legs back to your chest, holding them together.

“I can’t believe you.”

“Hey, you can’t blame me, I think we as a society moved on too fast from guys wearing eyeliner.” you raised your hands up, admitting.

“Oh, so you're into boys wearing eyeliner?” He huffs a laugh, his eyes flicking toward you amused, then staying there. An idea just popped in your head, you’re already biting your lips to stop yourself from smiling, slightly. There’s a switch in his composure, he can read you like an open book by now.

You’re immediately rushing to his bathroom, it’s crazy how Martin has memorized the way you laugh, how you stop right away whenever you make a piggy noise. He wanders toward the speaker and puts out something you love before heading back to you.

He leans into the door frame, easily grabbing it at the top and you feel his eyes staring at your soul from behind. You’re currently kneeling, struggling to find the makeup bag you left here last time you came.

“Try the left drawer at the bottom, that’s where I store the things you leave here.” You searched and found a bunch of items you thought you would never see again, like that small jar of shea butter for your hair, the content almost melted due to the temperature.

You glanced back at him, now holding the precious object that’d potentially make the night even better.

“You bought me a new eyeliner? And it’s the same one thank you!” He rubbed the back of his neck a bit awkwardly. It is possible that he looked through your makeup stuff and noticed that your liner was finished, so he decided to buy you a new one.

You got up and you sat upon the countertop. Your back facing the mirror, you gesture two fingers at him to come closer and he acts instantly.

“It’s waterproof so we might struggle to take it off but it’s worth it!” you explained all smiley, little to no reassurance at all.

Martin stepped into the space between your knees, bracing his hands firmly against the countertop on either side of your thighs. The move effectively caged you, leaving you nowhere to go but closer to him. The proximity makes it impossible for the blonde haired boy to look anywhere but into your eyes.

You swiftly cupped his chin with one hand before he could change his mind, he leaned in your touch anyway, effectively holding you captive in his own bathroom.

“Now look up for me..” He obeys and you're already focused on testing with a first and small stroke at first.

A year or two of friendship had passed since, months of exploring the tension and ambiguity in this relationship neither of you could put a name on it where boundaries are never clearly defined. It’s a mix of mutual hesitation and curiosity about whether to take it to the next level. Is it worth risking a friendship for the possibility of something more?

“Your hands aren’t so steady anymore.” he notices and his eyes are already back at your face. “I don’t..know what you’re talking about” your voice came out quieter, maybe hoarse even.

“You’re thinking way too much about it.” you felt the weight of your hand holding his chin shifting, as he leaned his head to the side. It was so subtle that you wouldn’t have even noticed if it weren’t for your hand.

“I’m done with the makeup.”

“Well I’m not done with this conversation.” For a moment, neither of you move. You let the silence hang and it narrows to the music speaker playing from the living room.

Martin could describe that special state of your relationship as feeling something and not immediately trying to act on it. It’s about wanting to get closer, wanting to define it, wanting to lean in faster and choosing not to. That’s the part he never really told anyone about. The way he feels something building, seeing the patterns of constant push and pull and feeling the curiosity growing altogether, still give it space. Still let it unfold without trying to control the pace of it.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop here.” He whispers, his eyes desperately chasing yours for something, anything. That’s when you bring your gaze up to his, and the clock ticks once more.

That tiny moment before lips meet is when everything inside you goes still. When you know it’s coming, but it hasn’t yet, and the air between you becomes unbearable. The inhale before collision. The second before surrender. In that space, the universe holds its breath. Whatever answer you were gonna give him immediately died between your lips when he pushed his on yours.

Tentative enough that it almost felt questioning, like Martin was waiting for you to change your mind halfway through. Somehow, that encouraged him more. He kept it slow and intentional like he’s been fantasizing about it too many times and was terrified of ruining it now that it was for real. Years and years of tension, pent up frustrations, and almost’s, leaked into the kiss.

The quiet exhale he let out against your lips when you parted ways made you fold like crazy.

“So you like it?”

“What? The kiss or the makeup?”

You ran a hand through his blonde hair, hiding your nervousness. “Shut up.”

You softly smiled at her, amused. It was a place you mentioned very few times, that never compared to how much you actually set your heart on it and you're surprised he remembered it.

Martin, Stella, you and Juhoon stayed at that cute airbnb they found near the sea, the sight, breathtaking. The boys went out for a walk and you’re currently helping Stella refresh her hair, the dark roots contrasting with her blonde dye.

You did learn how distance would reshape closeness, and how friendship bends without always breaking, but deep down you feared it could potentially collapse, like a house of cards.

You didn’t notice the plastered smile on her face when she was drying off her hair. You’re too busy overthinking the whole situation.

“He seemed okay last time we all were on FaceTime call last week though.. I think the two of you need to communicate.”

-

There was a small private patio outside the room where you had your breakfasts and dinners. That evening Martin chose to rather eat at the beach around the bonfire with everyone.

Juhoon sat on the sand across from you, the bonfire at the center of the little group, his eyes lingering on you, always on you, scanning your slightest movements. The warm orange light from the fire glowed, highlighting your face the best way possible.

From his point of view, you seemed pensive, — almost absent — lost in your own thoughts. He knows you well, you would be sharing random but interesting stories from overseas.

It hit him hard in the face when you finally looked up to glance back at him, shortly after you quietly excused yourself, something about your exhausting flight. You did not even try to hide the lie, nor thought how much it affected you.

-

Alright, maybe the flight did tire you. You don’t even remember falling asleep. It was unexpected that you woke up around five in the morning, a part of the word still asleep.

Wandering around the house, you realize Juhoon’s shoes are missing near the entrance. It wasn’t very concerning, aware of how the boy was a morning person. Brushing your teeth, your face reflecting in the mirror, you took the piece of advice Stella gave you earlier and you decided to go look for him.

It’s an early summer morning and the dawn takes over the sky little by little. You’re one of the only few people awake, there is the smell of fresh cut grass and a light humidity that adds to it.

-

It did not take you long to finally see him from afar. You’re approaching him taking in the fact that he is sitting on a large beach blanket big enough for him to sit in the middle, but he’s sitting on one side as if he was waiting for someone.

Or maybe he knew you were coming. His gaze came to rest on the ocean, his body not even flinching when you sat next to him noiselessly.

“You’re not a morning person.” He stated.

“Jju, you've been acting weird toward me lately. I wanted to know if maybe I did something that offended you so I could properly apologize to you” You had the habit of fidgeting with your fingers when nervous or overwhelmed, he was mindful of it.

“So that’s why you got up this early?” He smiled at the nickname.

“Stop playing.” You gently shoved his shoulder with yours. It’s so sweet the way you lean your head on his shoulder for the first time in so long and the way he rests his head over yours in return.

“It’s been consuming me like crazy for quite sometime now.” His gaze dropped to the sand “I thought I’ll let you know that I’m in love with you. I can’t hold it anymore.” His voice cracked when he pronounced your name.

You tried to bite back a smile, something inside of you felt lighter, the anticipation left your soul. You pulled back to watch him, his hands scrambled to his face, quickly wiping the forming tears away like they were never there. He’s crying and his voice is small, almost punched out.

“I swear, I’m not trying to be selfish or a burden to you. I don’t want to make your life difficult.” He had to face the facts : both of your worlds were linked, sure, but your life was unfolding somewhere he was not. He tried many times to bury his feelings for you. To Juhoon, choosing to love a girl from thousands of miles away is declaring that absence is not a threat, but rather a measure of worth.

Of course it ached every time you’d leave him at the airport. But it would still cherish those special goodbye’s, because your arrival felt like seeing you for the first time, something he could never forget.

The longing for you was worth it though he’d yearn for your presence close to him daily, pure torture. There was something intimate, in how easily he would show his vulnerable side shamelessly when it was only the two of you.

His face — wrecked by the tears — was filled with desire and desperation. Most importantly it was now all written over his face that these feelings were for you.

You cupped his face, life it’s the most fragile thing in the world at the moment. He leans in your touch, his lips lingering over your palm, still hesitating. His reddish eyes looked up at you, searching for permission, your eyes told him everything he needed to know. He raised his hand, now covering the one holding his face. Juhoon left soft kisses all over the inside of your hands.