rb cause im reading this later

He chuckled quietly.

"Different."

"Not really."

Across the aisle, James looked up from his phone.

"You two are acting unbelievably old for people in their twenties."

Martin didn't even look over.

"We're literally sitting."

"You've been sitting like an elderly married couple for forty minutes."

Juhoon snorted from the seat behind him.

"I thought they looked comfortable."

James pointed dramatically toward the two of you.

"Look at them."

Everyone looked. You slowly opened one eye.

"...Why's everyone staring?"

James gestured again.

“Y/N’s been holding onto Tin’s sleeve like…all ride…”

You laughed quietly, hiding your face against his shoulder.

"Heh…sorry..."

"I think it's cute."

The words came so casually that you were genuinely caught off guard. Your face somehow grew even warmer as James made the loudest fake gag imaginable.

"Oh my gosh I’m going to puke."

Juhoon threw a crumpled receipt at him from the back.

"Leave them alone."

"I'm trying."

"No, you're nottt."

"I really am."

"No."

Martin smiled to himself but stayed quiet, his thumb absentmindedly brushing once against the sleeve you were holding. Just enough that you noticed.

♡ 

By the time the van pulled beneath the airport departure overhang, the sun had finally started rising. The peaceful drive disappeared, and you knew the chaos was just about to begin.

Cars lined every curb, rolling suitcases clicked a thousand times across the pavement, announcements echoed faintly through the automatic doors, and people hurried in every direction with energy drinks balanced between passports and backpacks. It was BUSY. Not unusual for the airport though.

One of the managers turned around from the front seat.

"Alright,” Everyone's attention shifted toward him. "Masks on. Caps on. Stay together. If security asks you to move, listen. And nobody wanders off."

A chorus of lazy acknowledgements, groans, and yawns answered him. You reached into your bag for your mask, and Martin quietly waited. The second you finished adjusting it over your nose, your hand found his sleeve again. Martin noticed, obviously. I mean, he’s always the one offering his arm anyways. 

He glanced down briefly before adjusting his arm just enough to make it easier for you to hold on while he reached for his suitcase with the other hand.

The airport doors slid open as cold air rushed over all of you. For exactly three seconds, everything felt normal. 

Then-

"Martin!"

"Oh my gosh, it's CORTIS!"

"Guys, over here!"

The first flashes exploded from somewhere near the entrance. Then another. Another. Another. And another. Within seconds, phones were lifting into the air from every direction. People began turning, walking faster, and mobbing. More voices and more footsteps started to fill the area. The managers immediately stepped forward.

"Keep moving."

Security shifted closer around the members almost instinctively. You tightened your grip just a little around Martin's sleeve. He looked down and smiled beneath his mask.

"You good?"

You nodded once.

"Mhm."

"You sure? Just know I've got you, okay?"

He gave the smallest tug of his arm, letting you know he wasn't going anywhere. For a brief moment, your shoulders relaxed.

Then, the crowd doubled. Someone hurried past your left side, another cut between two security guards, and cameras continued flashing from literally everywhere while voices bounced loudly off the high airport ceilings. The group kept walking anyways. Slowly, but together nonetheless. You kept your eyes mostly on Martin's shoulder instead of the people surrounding you. One step after another, your fingers remained hooked around his sleeve. Safe, overall.

But then, someone slammed into your shoulder hard enough to spin you halfway sideways.

"I'm sorry-"

Before you could even finish the sentence, someone else bumped into your other side trying to squeeze past. Your balance faltered and your fingers slipped just for a second. Instinctively, you reached forward again, but another traveler cut between you and Martin at exactly the wrong moment.

Your fingertips caught nothing but air. 

Was this seriously some kind of human pinball?!

♡ 

You weren't…THAT worried..heh. Crowded airports happened! People bumped into each other all the time, and you simply would just reach for Martin's sleeve again.

Except...he wasn't there anymore. Your fingers had caught nothing but empty air as another traveler squeezed between the two of you, pulling a large suitcase that clipped your shin just enough to make you stumble another step backward.

"...Sorry!"

You weren't even sure who had apologized.

Maybe them. Maybe you. Everything was blurred together. The security team surrounding CORTIS continued moving with the flow of people, unaware that one small gap had suddenly opened between you and Martin.

You quickly stepped sideways. Just one more person between us. I'll catch back up!

Easy. Then someone shouted-

"Move, move!"

A group hurried across the terminal from your left. You instinctively stepped back to avoid getting hit by one of their rolling suitcases. Another shoulder bumped yours. Your cap slipped lower over your eyes, and you adjusted it automatically.

By the time you looked up again...Martin was already several people ahead. Your stomach tightened.

"Martin-"

Your voice disappeared beneath dozens of others. Airport announcements echoed overhead, suitcase wheels rattled across the tile, someone laughed, someone called another passenger's name, and honestly, your own voice never stood a chance. You started weaving through people.

"Excuse me."

A businessman stepped directly in front of you.

"Sorry."

You moved around him. A family pushing two luggage carts blocked the next opening.

"Excuse me-"

Nothing. Nobody heard you. They were too busy trying to get where they needed to go.

Your heartbeat picked up. You could still see the tops of the members' caps. Not far. Just...far enough to where they couldn’t hear you. 

♡ 

Meanwhile...Martin smiled politely toward someone calling his name from across the barrier. He gave a quick wave without slowing his pace, as the managers always preferred keeping everyone moving quickly. Less stopping meant less crowding and less chance for problems.

His arm shifted naturally. Waiting for the familiar little tug on his sleeve. There. Still there.

...Wasn't it?

Security grabbed lightly at the back of his hoodie, guiding him around another group waiting near the entrance.

He barely noticed.

♡ 

You almost caught back up. Almost. You spotted Juhoon's backpack, James walking just ahead, Keonho’s bright red hat, Seonghyeon’s keychain, and Martin's gray hoodie.

Relief washed over you.

"There-"

Then, everything happened at once. Just out of your AMAZING luck, some louder shout spawned somewhere behind you and several people surged forward to see what was happening. The crowd compressed. Your shoulder slammed into someone else's, someone else's backpack caught your arm, and a suitcase wheel rolled over the toe of your sneaker. You lost your footing for only half a second…but it was definitely enough. Another body accidentally collided with yours from behind and your balance disappeared completely. The world tilted speedily. Your backpack slid awkwardly off one shoulder, your phone slipped from your hand, and…BOOM. You hit the floor hard enough that your palms burned instantly against the tile.

CRACK.

The sound made your stomach drop. Before you could even worry if you were okay, your phone skipped once...twice...and then spun beneath another traveler's feet.

For a horrifying second...nobody noticed. People were still moving. Someone hurried around you, another suitcase narrowly missed your arm, and one person's long acrylic nails accidentally dragged across the back of your hand as they caught themselves from falling too. The sting came a second later.

You curled inward instinctively, protecting your head more than anything else.

"Sorry!"

"I'm so sorry!"

"I didn't see you!"

Voices. Feet. Luggage. Everything felt loud. Way too loud. Your knee throbbed, your palms stung, and your ankle protested the second you tried pushing yourself upright.

"...Ow..."

You finally managed to sit up. Your breathing had become strangely uneven. Not because you were seriously hurt but because everything had happened so quickly that your brain hadn't caught up yet.

You looked around. The members were gone. Like totally gone from sight. Hidden somewhere beyond hundreds of moving people. Your chest tightened.

"No..."

You quickly looked toward where your phone had landed face down several feet away. You crawled awkwardly toward it before another suitcase rolled over the exact spot where it had been lying.

"...Please..."

By the time you reached it, the screen looked like shattered glass. Tiny cracks spread from one corner all the way across the display. 

You pressed the power button. Nothing. Again. Still nothing. Your reflection stared back through fractured black glass.

"...Seriously?"

Your voice came out much smaller than you'd expected.

♡ 

Up ahead, Martin's conversation with James came to an abrupt stop. Out of habit, his hand reached behind him to brush against the sleeve he'd felt tugging every few seconds since leaving the van. Nothing. His fingers met empty air. He frowned and reached again. Still nothing. He glanced over his shoulder casually at first. 

Then, he stopped walking completely.

"..."

James looked back.

"What are you doing?"

Martin scanned the crowd. His eyes searched automatically for your matching cap. Your black mask. Your black hoodie. Nothing.

"...Where's Y/N?"

James blinked.

"What do you mean?"

Martin turned fully around now. The smile had completely disappeared from his face.

"...She was right behind me."

Silence. Every member looked back at once. Only strangers filled the space behind them. Martin's heartbeat dropped straight into his stomach.

"...No,” His voice was barely above a whisper. "...No, she was just here."

Without another word, he started walking back the way they'd come…only for a security guard to step directly into his path.

"Sir, we need to keep moving."

Martin looked at him like he hadn't even processed the sentence.

"My girlfriend's back there."

"We understand, but-“

"No," His answer came instantly. "I need to go back."

The manager stepped in immediately.

"Martin."

"She got separated."

"I’m aware."

"I need to go."

"We're already contacting airport security."

"I don't care,” His voice cracked just enough to betray how frightened he actually was. "I need to go find her."

The manager grabbed his arm before he could push farther into the growing crowd.

"Martin, listen to me. We're going to find her."

Martin's eyes never left the sea of people behind them. Because somewhere in it…you were alone. He couldn’t imagine how you felt when you saw him walk away obliviously.

For the first time since he'd met you, he had absolutely no way to get to you.

♡ 

The next few minutes passed in a blur. Once you got up, you weren't entirely sure where you were walking anymore. All you knew was you needed to get away from the middle of the terminal where people continued rushing in every direction. 

Every step sent a dull ache through your right ankle…not enough to stop you, but enough to make you wince. You adjusted your backpack higher on your shoulder before limping farther down a quieter connecting hallway that branched away from the main departures entrance. The difference was immediate. Crowds thinned and the constant shouting faded into distant echoes. For the first time since being separated...you could actually hear yourself think.

You leaned briefly against the wall, closing your eyes.

"...Okay."

One deep breath…then another. Your hands still trembled as your gaze drifted back toward your phone. Still black…still lifeless.

"...Come on..."

You pressed the power button again. Nothing. You laughed quietly to yourself. A tired, defeated little laugh.

"Offfff course."

Your fingers carefully brushed over the shattered screen before sliding it back into your pocket. You considered sitting back down and waiting. Surely Martin would notice…and surely the managers would come looking. Right…? Your eyes wandered upward toward one of the large electronic departure boards hanging from the ceiling. Your flight number. Right there. Beside it-

BOARDING

Your heart dropped. You weren’t exactly worried about missing the flight, you just thought of Martin first.

Martin probably thinks I disappeared.

You pictured him looking over his shoulder, reaching for you, and not finding you…

You squeezed your eyes shut.

"...I'm sorry..."

The words came out small enough only you could hear it.

♡ 

Meanwhile, the managers had split almost immediately. One remained with the members, and the other two hurried toward airport security. Phones rang one after another while descriptions were repeated over radios.

"Female."

"Baseball cap."

"Black mask."

"Black hoodie."

"White sneakers."

"Name is Y/N."

"Traveling with CORTIS."

Airport security began checking nearby terminals, customer service desks, restrooms, restaurants, and almost anywhere someone might have wandered after becoming separated.

James watched the entire exchange unfold silently before glancing toward Martin. He hadn't moved. He stood exactly where the security guards had stopped him earlier, phone clutched tightly in one hand. Calling.

Again. Straight to voicemail. Again. Straight to voicemail. Again. Nothing.

Juhoon quietly stepped beside him.

"...Her phone?"

Martin shook his head once.

"...Dead."

"You don't know that."

"I do,” He stared blankly at his own reflection in the dark screen after another unanswered call. "...She would've answered."

♡ 

You pushed yourself away from the wall. One careful step, then another, and eventually the hallway opened into a quieter section of the airport. Families waiting for flights, business travelers working on their laptops, and a few children eating small snacks. It almost felt…strange in a way. Like the chaos from ten minutes ago had happened in some other dimension entirely. You slowed your pace, looking around for anyone who might know where customer assistance was.

Before you could ask, a voice spoke gently from beside you.

"Miss?" You turned. An older airport employee stood a few feet away pushing a small utility cart. His gray hair peeked out beneath an airport cap, and kind eyes settled immediately on the way you were favoring one foot. "You alright there?"

You instinctively straightened.

"I'm okay."

He looked unconvinced. His gaze dropped briefly to the scrapes and bruises on your arms and legs before returning to your face.

"...You don't look okay."

For some reason, that simple sentence nearly made your composure crack. Because…he was the first person all morning who had actually stopped. Who wasn't rushing somewhere…and who looked at you instead of through you. You looked down for a second.

"...I got separated."

"From your family?"

You hesitated.

"...ehh…sort of."

His expression softened.

"Come on,” He gestured gently down the hallway. "Walk with me. I was just making my rounds anyway."

You nodded quietly. The two of you started walking side by side at an unhurried pace. He automatically matched your slower steps without commenting on the limp. After a few moments, he reached into the pocket of his vest.

"You eaten this morning?"

You blinked.

"...What?"

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out a small packet of airport pretzels and held it toward you.

"They're not much, but low blood sugar doesn't help stressful mornings."

For a second, you simply stared at the little blue packet. Then…slowly accepted it.

"...Thank you."

"My granddaughter likes those,” He smiled.

"Says they're better than the fancy ones."

A tiny laugh escaped before you could stop it.

"I'll trust her judgment."

"Smart girl."

The smile lingered for only a moment before he glanced over again.

"You know...my granddaughter gets that same look."

You frowned slightly.

"...What look?"

He kept his eyes ahead.

"The one that says...’I'm trying very hard to be brave.'"

Your throat tightened. You looked down at the pretzels in your hands.

"...I'm trying."

"I know,” He smiled kindly. “I can tell."

A few more steps passed in comfortable silence before the customer service desk came into view at the end of the corridor. The older gentleman slowed to a stop beside it.

"Let's see if we can't get you where you need to be."

You nodded quietly, fingers still clutching the unopened packet of pretzels he'd handed you. You hadn't even realized you were squeezing it until the plastic crinkled softly beneath your grip.

He noticed.

"Nervous hands?"

You looked down sheepishly.

"...A little."

"I figured."

He reached for the desk phone before pausing.

"You mentioned you came with a group."

You nodded.

"They're..." You hesitated, instinctively lowering your voice. "...Well-known."

He smiled knowingly.

"I gathered."

"They had people following them…5here were cameras everywhere…I got pushed..."

Your voice caught slightly. "...and we got separated."

His expression softened even further.

"I'm sorry that happened."

You swallowed.

"They're probably..." Without meaning to, your eyes drifted toward the departures board mounted high above the concourse. Your flight.

FINAL BOARDING

Your stomach dropped so suddenly it almost hurt.

"...They're leaving."

It came out as barely more than a whisper.

The older gentlemen leaned a bit forward and followed your gaze before looking back at you.

"No." His voice was calm and certain. "They're not leaving you."

You tried to smile…but it didn't quite reach your eyes.

♡ 

Several terminals away, the atmosphere had completely changed. Nobody was talking anymore. The managers had spent nearly twenty minutes arguing with airport staff, security personnel, and airline representatives. Every minute the aircraft remained at the gate cost money, and every minute increased the chance of missing their departure slot. One of the gate agents approached again.

"We really do need to begin boarding."

"We're still missing one passenger," the manager replied immediately.

"I understand, but air traffic has already approved your departure window. If we miss it..."

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. The manager closed his eyes for a brief second.

"...Give me one minute."

♡ 

Martin hadn't stopped staring toward the terminal entrance. Every person who rounded the corner made his heart jump, but every single time...it wasn't you. 

His phone remained clenched tightly in his hand. Call. Straight to voicemail. Again. Voicemail. Again. Nothing.

His knee bounced relentlessly against the airport flooring. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

James quietly watched him from the seat beside him. He'd never seen Martin like this.

Not after difficult performances, not after injuries, and not even after exhausting schedules.

This...this was different.

♡ 

"Martin," He barely looked up as the manager stood in front of him now. "We have to board."

"No,” It came instantly. "I'm staying."

"You can't."

"I'm not getting on that plane without her."

The manager crouched slightly so they were eye level.

"We have airport security looking, customer assistance at every nearby terminal, and we're checking cameras. They're all searching."

Martin shook his head.

"...Then I'll search too."

He stood, but only for another manager to gently catch his arm before he could disappear back into the crowd.

"Martin."

"No."

"Listen-"

"No."

His breathing had become uneven now.

"I wasn't paying attention. I should've noticed. She was holding onto me." His voice cracked. "...She was right there."

Nobody corrected him, because everyone knew he was replaying the exact same moment over and over. The tiny absence of pressure on his sleeve, the moment he'd looked back, and the empty space.

"I should've turned around sooner."

The manager's grip tightened just enough to keep him grounded.

"This isn't your fault."

Martin didn't answer…because somewhere deep down...he'd already convinced himself it was. 

Another airport employee approached the gate as the manager looked toward them and then back at Martin. His expression changed.

"We have to board."

Martin stared at him.

"...Please,” It was the first time he'd sounded genuinely helpless. "Just five more minutes."

"I know."

"Please."

"I know."

The manager took a slow breath…then quietly nodded toward the aircraft door.

"They're holding the plane as long as they can. If they tell us the door has to close..."

His sentence trailed off, but Martin already understood. A long silence settled between them. Finally, with visible reluctance, Martin lowered his head.

"...Okay."

Not because he'd given up, but because there was nothing else he physically could do.

♡ 

The cabin felt impossibly quiet. Martin lowered himself into his seat almost mechanically. Across the aisle, James settled into his own pod without a word. Even Keonho stared blankly out the window.

Nobody reached for the entertainment screens, nobody joked, and nobody even unpacked their bags.

Martin's pod sat directly beside yours separated only by a sliding divider. Earlier that morning, you'd smiled while looking at the seat map on your phone.

"We're next to each other! We can put the divider down and watch movies together."

Now, your seat remained untouched. The blanket was still neatly folded, the headphones rested exactly where the flight attendant had placed them, and the reading light glowed softly above an empty chair.

Martin couldn't stop looking at it. His knee continued bouncing. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. He unlocked his phone again. Your chat.

Calling...

Straight to voicemail. Again. He let the phone fall limply into his lap before covering his face with both hands. 

Across the aisle, James quietly reached over. His hand rested once against Martin's shoulder. A silent reminder.

You're not alone.

Martin didn't move.

♡ 

Back at customer service, the gentleman, who you found out was named David, pulled the desk phone a little closer before looking back toward you.

"Alright,” He offered another gentle smile. "Let's see if we can get ahold of your people."

You nodded hopefully. He picked up the receiver.

"Do you happen to know anybody's phone number?"

Your heart sank almost immediately.

"...No." 

You'd never needed to memorize one. Why would you? You were always with them and you always had your phone. The thought made your shoulders droop slightly.

David noticed.

"That's alright. We'll figure something out."

You looked down at the packet of pretzels still clutched in your hands, trying to think.

Passport...wallet...boarding pass...phone-your phone. Still completely dead.

"...Wait."

David looked up. You frowned slightly before absentmindedly tugging at the sleeve of your hoodie.

"...I think..."

Your fingers paused before quickly pulling the fabric back farther. There it was. A thin black silicone wristband wrapped loosely around your wrist. You'd almost forgotten you were even wearing it. One of the managers had slipped it onto you that morning before everyone left for the airport.

"Just in case. Emergency contact's printed on the inside so it looks normal to outsiders. If anything ever happens, someone can call us."

You'd laughed when he'd handed it to you.

"Nothing's going to happen."

"...Guess I jinxed that."

David smiled warmly.

"Looks like somebody was thinking ahead."

You carefully flipped the wristband around your wrist until you saw the tiny white lettering of that ran along the inside.

Emergency Contact - Tour Manager - +82-010-xxxx-xxxx

Relief washed over you so suddenly your knees almost felt weak.

"I found it."

David pulled a small notepad closer.

"Go ahead."

You slowly read the number aloud while he wrote it down carefully to make sure every digit was correct. Once you'd finished, he dialed.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. You unconsciously started picking at the edge of the pretzel packet again, and David noticed without saying anything. Then-

Click.

"Hello?"

David immediately straightened.

"Good morning,” His voice remained calm and friendly. "My name's David, and I'm with airport customer assistance. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time." A pause. “I'm calling because I have a young lady here who says she became separated from your travel group."

He glanced toward you. His expression softened.

"Before we go any further..." He covered the receiver with one hand. "I never actually asked. What was your name, sweetheart?"

You blinked.

"...Y/N."

He smiled.

"Full name?"

You quietly answered.

"Y/N L/N."

He nodded before lifting the phone back to his ear.

"Thank you."

"The young lady's name is Y/N L/N."

Silence. For exactly one second. Then a voice exploded through the receiver loud enough that even you could faintly hear it from where you stood.

"...YOU FOUND HER?!"

David instinctively pulled the phone an inch away from his ear. His eyebrows lifted slightly before he looked back at you with the smallest amused smile.

"I'll take that as a yes."

♡ 

The manager was already on his feet before David could say another word.

"Where is she?"

David's smile remained calm despite the panic pouring through the speaker.

"She's safe."

The words seemed to stop the manager's breathing for a second.

"...She's safe?"

"Yes, sir."

"She's here with me at customer service. I found her walking through Concourse C."

The manager closed his eyes and one long exhale escaped him.

"...Thank God."

Behind him, every member had gone completely still. Martin's head snapped up so quickly his neck cracked.

The manager looked toward him. Not saying anything yet…still listening.

David continued.

"She has a few scrape and I believe she twisted her ankle. But she's alert. Just understandably shaken."

Martin didn't wait another second.

"What?” His voice came out rough. “What did he say?"

The manager held up one finger, asking him to wait. It was the longest second of Martin's life. 

David glanced over toward you. You were stood up quietly beside the counter, still holding the pretzels. Your hoodie sleeves covered most of your hands again, and your backpack hung from one shoulder.

You looked so...small.

"...Would she like to speak with you?"

The manager answered immediately.

"Please."

David offered you the receiver.

"The gentleman would like to talk to you."

You hesitated.

"...Okay,” You carefully took the phone with both hands. "...Hello?"

Silence. Then-

"...Y/N?"

The familiar voice of the manager almost shattered every ounce of composure you'd been desperately holding together.

"...I'm here. I'm okay." Another pause. You heard him exhale shakily. "I've been trying to call you."

"I know."

"My phone..." You glanced toward the cracked screen tucked into your hoodie pocket. "...It broke. I'm sorry." The apology came out before you could stop it. "I'm really sorry."

On the other end, the manager pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. You hear me?"

"...Okay."

"You got hurt because people weren't paying attention. This isn't your fault."

You nodded instinctively before realizing he couldn't see you.

"...Okay."

"You stay right there, I'm sending someone. I'll have airport staff escort you straight to the gate."

You looked toward David. He smiled encouragingly.

"...Okay."

"And Y/N?"

"...Yeah?"

A gentler smile tugged at the manager's voice now.

"...Martin's okay."

Your shoulders loosened.

"I was worried..."

"I know."

"He was worried too."

♡ 

The manager slowly lowered the phone. Nobody spoke.

Then he looked directly at Martin.

"...They found her."

Martin simply stared. As if the words hadn't quite reached him.

"...What?"

"They found her. She's safe. She’s at customer service concourse C."

The silence broke all at once and Martin stood so quickly his seatbelt caught against the armrest with a sharp snap.

"I need to-"

"The airport staff are already bringing her."

"I'll meet-"

"You can't."

"The cabin door is still open."

"I know, but security has already cleared boarding."

Martin's jaw tightened. Every instinct in him screamed to run anyway, but the manager stepped closer.

"She's coming to you. I promise."

Martin slowly looked toward the still-empty seat beside him with the divider up between your two pods. The blanket sat perfectly folded like before and your headphones hadn't moved. His eyes burned. From the sheer emotional exhaustion of the situation.  James quietly leaned forward from across the aisle.

"...She's okay."

Martin swallowed.

"...Yeah,” His voice barely existed. "...She's okay."

For the first time in nearly half an hour, his knee slowed in its bouncing. All his adrenaline had suddenly crashed at once.

…but just outside the aircraft, an airport cart was already pulling up to customer service.

David smiled warmly as he picked up your backpack for you.

"I think," he said, opening the passenger door with a small flourish, "it's about time we got you back to your people."

♡ 

The airport cart slowed to a stop beside the aircraft and your stomach twisted as you looked out the window. You'd never been driven across the tarmac before. Everything suddenly felt...very real.

David climbed out first before offering you a hand.

"Easy now."

You accepted it carefully, testing your sore ankle as your sneakers met the pavement.

"You've done wonderfully."

You laughed quietly.

"I don't think I've done much."

"You kept your head." He smiled. "That's harder than most people think especially after getting mobbed."

You looked toward the aircraft stairs.

"...Thank you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"The circumstances could've been better."

"They usually are,” He chuckled warmly. "Now go before somebody inside that plane worries themselves into another gray hair."

♡ 

The lead flight attendant stepped inside first. She leaned toward one of the managers near the front.

"They're here."

The words were barely above a whisper, but Martin heard them anyway. His head snapped toward the cabin entrance. Every passenger in first class suddenly seemed to disappear as he looked at the curtain. The aisle, the seats, the chatter…everything blurred. 

Then, you stepped inside. Baseball cap still pulled low, mask still covering half your face, and backpack hanging unevenly from one shoulder. Your hand lightly gripped the wall as you favored your injured ankle.

You found him almost immediately. 

When your eyes finally met, the relief on his face hit you harder than anything or anyone that had all morning. Immediately, you fast walked toward him, but Martin was already halfway there. He stopped only when he reached you…almost as if he almost couldn't believe you were actually standing in front of him again.

"...Hi,” Your voice came out small. "I'm sorry I-"

He shook his head immediately.

"No."

Before you could banter back, he wrapped both arms around you and lifted you up. Like he was going to physically carry you the rest of the flight. Your forehead pressed against his shoulder as your own arms slipped around his waist.

Finally…you let yourself breathe.

"I'm here," you whispered.

"I know,” His voice sounded muffled against your hair. "I know."

Neither of you moved, and the cabin around you stayed respectfully quiet. Even the flight attendants seemed content to let the moment happen.

Eventually, Martin let you down and leaned back just enough to look at you. His eyes immediately dropped to your scraped palms…and then the faint red marks crossing the backs of your hands…then the beginning of a bruise blooming beneath the sleeve of your hoodie…and finally, your ankle.

"...You walked all this way?"

You shrugged weakly.

"Well…I had to find you and…not miss my flight."

Something in his expression jumped between disbelief and relief. He reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair back beneath your cap with surprising gentleness.

"You don't have to find me." His voice was quiet. "If something like this ever happens again..." He swallowed. "I'll find you. I…I was just held back from doing so today."

He gave off that quiet certainty that settled somewhere deep inside your chest. You smiled, it lightly reaching your eyes.

"I understand."

♡ 

A few minutes later, the divider between your seats slid open with a soft click. You settled carefully into your pod, wincing only slightly as you stretched your sore ankle beneath the blanket.

Martin looked over immediately.

"Does it hurt?"

"A little."

"We'll have someone look at it when we land."

You nodded.

"...Okay."

Silence settled comfortably between you. Peaceful. The captain's voice echoed softly through the cabin.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience this morning. We apologize for the delay. Cabin crew, prepare for departure."

The aircraft finally began to push back, and Martin looked over at you one last time. Almost like he wanted to reassure himself you were actually there.

You noticed. Quietly, you brought your hand across the gap between your seats. Not for his han…but for the cuff of his hoodie. Like always.

Martin looked down, and then back at you. A tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"...finally."

You smiled back, huffing out a slight sigh.

♡ 

MINI EPILOGUE 

The following week after a concert, before your next flight, one of the managers quietly walked over holding a second black emergency wristband.

He looked at Martin, then at you.

"I think...we're making these standard from now on."

Even Martin managed a small laugh.

"...Probably a good idea."

Martin held out his wrist, pulling his hoodie sleeve back so the manager can slip on the bracelet. When his arm fell to his side, your fingers had already found the sleeve of his hoodie.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 

A/N: Thank you guys again for showing me so much love and I’m sorry if I was a bit inactive! My birthday was this past weekend (like I said), so I was hanging out with family! 🙈 I hope you enjoyed this and I cannot express enough how thankful I am to have you guyssss ☺️

The coffee had gone lukewarm in your hands, but you did not really mind. James had finished his hours ago and left the mug on the floor near the TV, forgotten against the baseboard. You were both sunk deep into his couch, that oversized grey sectional that swallowed people whole, legs tangled under a blanket that smelled like his detergent and the faint trace of the vanilla candle he had lit earlier and promptly ignored.

You had been there since ten, still in your stuff from the gym, your small braids pulled back from your face with a soft band, a few loose ones framing your temples where they had dried weird from your washday. James looked even more undone. Sweatpants riding low on his hips, an old faded tee from some predebut photoshoot, hair still messy from sleep. He looked normal. Not like the guy you had watched on that music show last week, all sharp angles and stage makeup. Just James.

He had the remote but was not really using it. Some autoplay garbage ran on the TV, travel vlogs bleeding into clips of people falling off skateboards, whatever the algorithm decided to serve. Every so often he would laugh, this low huff that vibrated through the couch cushions, and his foot would nudge yours under the blanket like he was checking you were still there.

"You are not even watching," he said, nodding at your phone. You were scrolling through nothing, some food blog you would never cook from.

"I am. That guy just broke his tailbone."

"That was three videos ago."

"Multitasking girlfriend right?."

He smiled, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes, and stretched. His shirt rode up enough to show his stomach. He did not fix it. He never did. His hand landed on your knee when he settled back down, casual as breathing, thumb rubbing back and forth over the fabric of your leggings. Warm. Distracting.

The afternoon light came through the blinds in stripes, cutting across his shoulders. He looked soft in it, touchable. You felt yourself leaning in before you even decided to, drawn by the smell of his soap and the way he was looking at you, all soft focus and intent.

He noticed. He always noticed. His hand slid up your thigh, not grabby, just present, grounding. "Come here," he said, voice gone quiet and rough.

That was when your brain caught up. You glanced at the door, solid and locked but still, and felt your shoulders tense. "Wait."

He stopped immediately, hand stilling on your leg. "What?"

"What about the others??"

James blinked, confused for a second, then his face cleared into something gentler. "They’re at the studio. They are all at the studio. Training until six. I told you."

"I know, but..." You sat up a little, the blanket slipping to your waist. "What if one of ‘em forgets something? You know they always do. Keonho came back last Tuesday..."

"At four," James interrupted, soft but firm. He sat up too, turning to face you properly, his hand moving to your waist instead. "It was Tuesday at four, yeah, but that was a vocal lesson day. Today is choreography. They do not break from dancing. The choreographer would beat their asses if one of them even thought of leaving."

You bit your lip, still looking at the door. "And the manager?"

"He always calls first." James reached out, his fingers finding your chin, turning you back to look at him. "You know that. He calls. He waits. He complains. He is not gonna just kick the door down." He waited, thumb brushing your jaw. "We are good. I promise."

He was looking at you with that expression, the one that made you feel silly for worrying but also safe for admitting it. His thumb traced your cheekbone, back and forth, patient.

"You sure about that?" you asked, quieter.

"Positive." He leaned in, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the small scar above his eyebrow from some predebut accident he never fully explained. "It is just us. For like three more hours. Just us."

Something in your chest unclenched. You nodded, small and sure.

He smiled again, real and relieved, and closed the distance. His mouth found yours soft, unhurried, the kind of kiss that started like a question and got answered yes. His hand at your waist pulled you closer, easy, and you went, shifting up onto your knees so you could lean into him better. The blanket got messed up, kicked aside somewhere to the floor, but neither of you cared.

He tasted like the mint gum he had been chewing earlier, sweet and sharp. One of his hands came up to cup the back of your neck, fingers threading through your braids at the nape, not pulling, just holding, learning the shape of them. The other stayed at your hip, thumb tracing circles that you felt through your whole body.

When you pulled back to breathe, he did not let you go far. His forehead rested against yours, eyes half open. "Better?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

"Good." He kissed your nose, then your cheek, then your mouth again, deeper this time, less careful. You felt him smile against your lips when you sighed, embarrassed at the sound, but he just pulled you closer, his hands guiding you until you were fully in his lap, your knees settling on either side of his thighs.

He leaned back into the corner of the couch, taking you with him, his hands moving to your waist to settle you against him. The position brought you chest to chest, close enough that you could feel his heartbeat through his thin shirt. He looked up at you for a moment, really looked, his eyes tracing your face like he was memorizing it. Then he tilted his chin up and brought you down to meet him.

This kiss was different. Hungrier. His mouth moved against yours with purpose, firm and demanding, his tongue sliding past your lips to taste you deeper. His hand slid up your back under your hoodie, palm hot and flat against your skin, while the other cradled your jaw, angling you where he wanted you. 

He kissed you like he was starving, tilting his head to get closer, pulling back only to breathe before diving back in, his teeth catching your lower lip and tugging gently before soothing the spot with his tongue.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands finding the front of his shirt and fisting in the fabric, pulling him closer. He made a low sound in his throat, something between a groan and approval, and his hand at your waist tightened, fingers pressing into your hip. Your braids fell forward around your faces, creating a curtain, and he pushed them back with one hand, his fingers getting tangled in them, gripping slightly as he deepened the kiss.

"James," you breathed when he moved to your jaw, his mouth hot and open against your skin.

"Right here," he murmured against your throat, his voice rough, vibrating against your pulse. He kissed the spot hard enough to bruise, then soothed it with his tongue, his other hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling you flush against him. You felt him everywhere, the heat of him through his clothes, the solid muscle of his chest, the way his hips shifted under yours, seeking friction.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide, his mouth swollen and wet. "You good?" he asked, but his hand was already moving again, sliding up your side, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your hoodie.

"Yeah," you managed, your voice sounding strange to your own ears. "You?"

Instead of answering, he kissed you again, harder this time, his hand at your back pulling you down so you were pressed fully against him, chest to chest, hip to hip. His tongue swept through your mouth, tasting, claiming, and you met him with equal hunger, your fingers threading into his hair and pulling slightly. He groaned against your mouth, the sound sending heat pooling low in your stomach, and his hips bucked up slightly, seeking pressure.

"Fuck," he breathed against your lips, his hand at your thigh gripping tighter, his fingers digging in just enough to mark. "You feel so..."

He did not finish the sentence. He kissed you again, deeper, his hand sliding up to tangle fully in your braids, gentle with the tension but firm, holding you where he wanted you. His other hand roamed, tracing your spine, your side, the curve of your hip, then sliding back up under your hoodie to touch skin.

You shivered at the contact, his palm warm and slightly calloused against your ribs, and he swallowed the sound you made, his tongue stroking against yours in a rhythm that matched the slow rock of your hips.

The couch creaked beneath you, loud in the quiet apartment, but neither of you stopped. You were too far gone, lost in the heat of his mouth, the way his hands moved over you like he could not get enough, the way his body rose to meet yours with every downward press of your hips. His breathing was ragged against your mouth, his chest heaving against yours, and you could feel his heart hammering, fast and hard.

He broke the kiss to drag his mouth down your jaw, your throat, sucking at the skin there hard enough to make you gasp, his hand at your waist holding you steady while the other gripped your hip, guiding your movements. "Tell me," he demanded softly, his voice rough against your skin.

"Yeah?"

"If you want to stop." He looked up at you, his eyes dark, serious despite the flush on his cheeks, the way his hair stuck up where you had pulled it. "Tell me. I will stop."

You shook your head, your braids brushing your shoulders, and rolled your hips down against him deliberately. He hissed out a breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a second, his grip tightening. "Do not stop," you whispered.

He opened his eyes, looked at you for a long moment, then surged up to kiss you again, his mouth claiming yours with an intensity that made your head spin. His hands moved to frame your face, holding you still for his kiss, his tongue stroking deep, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones.

You felt every point of contact, the warmth of his skin under his shirt, the solidness of his thighs under yours, the hard line of him pressing against you through his sweatpants, the way his fingers trembled slightly against your jaw.

He kissed you like he was trying to consume you, like the afternoon was not enough, like he needed more. And you gave it, your hands fisting in his shirt, your body moving against his, lost in the heat and the weight of him, the taste of mint and coffee and James.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, chests heaving, his forehead pressed against yours, his hands still framing your face. "You okay?" he asked, voice rough, wrecked.

You nodded, your lips feeling swollen, your body thrumming. "Yeah, how about you?."

He made a soft noise, something like satisfaction, and pulled you down against him, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close, his face buried in your neck. You felt his heartbeat against your chest, fast and steady, his breathing hot against your skin.

The afternoon sun moved across the floor, striping the coffee table. Neither of you moved to fix the blanket. James's hand traced slow patterns at your lower back, though his fingers still trembled slightly, his body tense beneath you like he was holding himself back.

"Was it good?" he asked again, muffled against your collarbone.

You nodded, your chin brushing his hair, and carded your fingers through the mess you had made of it. "Do I have to answer?"

Fuck what a blessed sight…

He looked hot, way too hot. You immediately felt that familiar heat on the lower part of your stomach. Your phone was held too tightly in your hand as you kept scrolling through those pictures and videos. Shit you just wanted him to be here with you, holding you close and have his way with you.

The more you looked up, the hornier side of you started to build up…you knew it when your hand slowly reached out for your drawer, trying to find a familiar object you used when he wasn’t around. You instantly pulled out your little vibrator, the knot in your stomach, and the feeling of your cunt throbbing was the only thing you could feel at this moment, and it was getting frustrating. All you needed was a quick release, nothing crazy.

You gently turned it on, and slid down your pants, leaving yourself only wearing your damp panties. You moved the vibrator all along the damp tissue, teasing yourself while thinking about how hot your boyfriend was on stage.

“Fuck—“ you whispered, head tucked back agaisnt the pillow as you finally slid it past your panties, passing it over your clit, rubbing it lightly.

You felt good, warm and needy, all you yearned for was for James to be here instead of that stupid piece of plastic, you could’ve died to have him inside of you, kissing every inch of your body and just like that you applied the right amount of pressure, you gasped out his name without even thinking.

“James…” you let out almost pathetically when it started to felt too good. Your legs started shaking, hips lifting up unconsciously as you fantasized about his hands all over your body.

You were caught up in this moment, that you haven’t even heard the door opening, your eyes were still shut, trying to enjoy the moment as much as you can, when you suddenly felt hands on your legs.

You slowly opened your eyes, he was here… rubbing your thighs gently. James looked at you, your phone on your left hand, the right one holding the vibrator that was still working on your wet cunt.

“Oh baby, look at you” he whispered, looking at you with those soft eyes, his hand still caressing you. You couldn’t bring yourself to be ashamed or look away, it felt so natural that even your phone dropped off from your hand, your gaze staying on his the entire time, scanning his features and the look of love he was giving you.

“Fuck, im gonn—” before you could finish your sentence, he took the vibrator away from you.

“You’re not cumming on some vibrator” he said, slowly cupping your cheek, before bringing his lips to yours, his tongue gently melting on yours.

“I missed you so much” you whined in the kiss, the tip of your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jawline.

“I can tell” he chuckled, peppering kisses all along your neck. Your eyes closed, feeling the warmth of his lips on your skin. “Lemme take care of you, okay?” He mumbled agaisnt your collarbone before getting between your legs, looking around your bed for a pillow.

“Lift your hips for me, yeah?” He asked, voice soft, hands all over your body as you lifted your hips gently, letting him slide the pillow under your basin.

You cupped his jaw softly as he kissed the inside of your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours. And like that, his tongue gently lapped the outline of your cunt, taking his time to taste every single inch of you. You shivered at his actions, no matter how many time he ate you out, it would always fascinate you how your body reacts to it. James’s tongue started dragging itself on the middle of your pussy, leaving long, slow, wet licks.

Your hand quickly dropped on the back of his head, tangling in his silky hair. Your back arched as he made out with your cunt sloppily, the little whimpers he let out couldn’t satisfy you more. You already felt in heaven by the way his lips sucked on your clit feverishly, circling his tongue around it.

Suddenly he turned on the vibrator, his tongue fucked you while the vibrator stimulated your pearl.

“Fuck— James please” you pleaded, your toes curling and head fell back agaisnt the pillow as he ate you out and used the little toy at the same time.

The double stimulation was too much, you were already close when he first came in, and the visual appeal of him between your legs, mouth on you, sweat clinging to his forehead, with his focused demeanor was your last straw.

“Cmon baby, you can do it. Fuck you’re so beautiful my love.” He praised, moving his tongue faster, letting the toy move on your sensitive nerve.

“James— I can’t ! That’s too much” you gasped out, pressing his head against you tightly.

“Give me your hand, please” you asked, wanting to feel his fingers laced with yours as you climaxes.

He nodded and moved his hand from your thigh to your hand, interlocking his fingers to yours.

“Oh… James” you chanted his name, that bundle of heat on your abdomen was ready to give up, you closed your eyes a last time, focusing on all the stimulation he was giving you. Before you finally reached your highs.

You let out a desperate moan, squeezed his hand so hard he’ll probably have a cramp later.

“Just like that, you did so good baby” he whispered, still between your legs.

You were still trying to catch your breath, when he turned off the vibrator, putting it aside. He kissed your stomach softly before bringing his lips to yours, letting you taste the mess you made on his tongue into your mouth.

“I love you” you breathed out, cheeks burned by the heat, eyes still teary.

“I love you too” he said, caressing your cheek gently. You looked into his eyes and all you could see was admiration, love and so much affection. He gently pulled you agaisnt his clothed chest, letting you rest on him. His hand slowly playing with your hair. There was a comfortable silence, the only audible noise were the one of your breathing and the faint sound of the city outside.

Your hand drew patterns on his neck, feeling cherished and wanting him to feel that way too.

“So how was the concert yesterday ?” You murmured, your hands still intertwined.

“It was good, but not better than the sight I saw you in tonight” he replied.

You chuckled, looking up at him before deposing a soft kiss on his cheek.

“I got you some take out food by the way” he said.

“Kebab?”

“With extra tahini?”

“Of course” he said, before letting you go, knowing you’re excited to just devour your food.

“James chao” you held both his hands together. “The last one who arrives in the kitchen is a looser.

He laughed and you both quickly rushed to the kitchen, there was actually no losers, only satisfied belly and a happy woman who luckily has the best boyfriend in the world.

𝑯𝒊𝒊 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏!!! 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒖𝒖𝒖 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒉𝒉!!

𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅!! 𝑬𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 ♡♥︎

He noticed how it changed to short and not the usual silly texts:

The first thing Martin noticed was your texts.

Your messages you had normally sent him were all over the place in the best way possible.

Blurry pictures of things you found pretty that you swear looked better in person and extremely long voice notes that were just you complaining about one of your grumpy teachers. And yet again more pictures of coffee with the caption saying how you swear it's your last cup for the day. (It never was)

"Studying."

"Busy."

"Sorry, I'll text later."

"I'm fine."

To him it started feeling like every conversation he had with you came to an end before it even started.

He kept trying to convince himself to not overthink your words or read too much into it. He knew how important your exam season was for you, he also knew how big of an impact it had one you.

He remembered how you had warned him a few days before your exams, "If I disappear for a bit, don't take it personally. I'll probably be drowning in notes."

He had that usual gentle grin on his expression as he said, "Then I'll come rescue you."

"Please don't. I actually need to pass."

So he respected your choice and gave you the needed space you wanted, though he kept sending you little reminder texts. Reminders like:

"Don't forget to eat."

"Get some sleep tonight, okay?"

"Drink some water."

You replied to the texts with a simple, "I will!", but sometimes you only reacted with a heart. Whether you actually listened to his sweet reminders was another story he didn't know.

During the exam season, your daily routine had become very questionable. You had coffee early in the morning as soon as you woke up, coffee in the afternoon and when you finally remembered you were hungry, you only ate instant noodles.

You kept repeating to yourself that you just needed to push for a few more days and you'll be able to rest all you want after exams.

You barely slept. It had become optional, ranging from four to one hour. Sometimes you barely even slept more than 30 minutes.

When your first headache came, you choose to simply just ignore it. Then your throat started to itch and slight dizziness started form each time you stood.

Your sweater hung loosely off your shoulder, your hair up in the messiest bun imaginable and there was noticeable dark circles under your eyes that your light makeup couldn't hide.

After more than one weeks apart he finally saw you again. He decided to surprise you by stopping by after one of your exams.

His smile faded almost immediately as you opened your apartment door and his eyes landed on you. He noticed how you tried your best to keep your smile high, but he could see the tiredness in your eyes as you mumbled, "...Hey."

You could see the concern on his expression, "You look exhausted."

You let out the smallest laugh he's ever heard from you, "I've just been studying."

"I can tell." He mumbled as he slowly reached up and brushed a few single loose strands of hair from your pretty face.

As he brushed the strands away, his fingers slightly touched your forehead, making his frown grow bigger, "...You're so warm."

"I'm okay." You immediately sighed, your voice was a little shaky as you talked.

"You've got a fever." He protested, the concern in his voice growing by the second.

"It's probably nothing." He quickly rested the back of his hand against your forehead just to make sure.

It was most definitely not nothing and he knew you were downplaying your condition, "How long have you felt like this?"

He could hear the hesitation in your voice, "...A day or two."

He sighed as he stepped inside your apartment, he looked around and noticed how your textbooks were on almost every surface.

Sticky notes plastered across the coffee table with a few empty coffee cups and energy drinks. He also saw how the curtains were still closed even though it was almost 5pm. His eyes traveled back to yours, "When did you last eat something that wasn't instant noodles?"

You blinked up at his question, slightly taken aback, "...I don't remember."

His heart ached at your answer, it hurt him more than he thought it would.

He sighed and made his way to your kitchen, hoping to find something for you to eat.

Your fridge was almost completely empty, only being filled with a half full carton of milk and some yogurt that was definitely expired.

There wasn't really anything else in there. He let out the smallest sigh before closing the fridge door, "You've really been running yourself into the ground."

"I've just been busy." You tried your best to hide the yawn that followed but failed.

You tried to clear your throat, only for it to turn into one massive coughing fit and you instinctively turned your back on him, trying to hide it from him. It didn't work and as the coughing finally stopped, you slightly started swaying on your feet, your dizziness returning with a new force.

"I know." His voice stayed gently, "...I know, baby, but being busy... doesn't mean you stop taking care of yourself."

Martin, without thinking, reached for you, steadying you on your feet before you could further lose your balance.

"I've got you." He softly whispered, the concern not leaving his tone anytime soon.

"I'm fine." You said trying to convince yourself more than trying to convince him.

"You almost fell over." He tried to reason with you, "I stood up too fast."

The look he gave you was enough evidence that he wasn't buying your excuses, not for one single second, "I think you need to rest."

"I still have another exam." You whined out in slight anger, but not at him. You didn't even know at what your were angry at.

"And you'll do better on it if you're actually functioning." Martin tried his best to convince you, desperation forming in his tone.

You let out a sigh and rubbed your eyes, "I can't afford to fall behind, Martin"

"I know." He he said as he took a few steps closer to you, "But you also can't keep pushing yourself like this."

There was something in his voice, he was so calm and patient. It started to make the wall you'd been building up crack into tiny little pieces.

"I just..." You swallowed, "I feel like if I stop now, I'm wasting time."

"Rest isn't wasted time."

Your eyes stung a little at his words, "I've worked so hard."

"I know you have." He answered almost immediately.

"What if it still isn't enough?" He heard the little choke in your voice.

He didn't rush to give you a respond, he just simply pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapped around your waist.

You almost instantly melted against his chest, a slight hum leaving your lips.

Martin caressed your hair softly as he murmured, "I don't expect you to be perfect," he pulled away to look at you, "And the people who care about you don't either."

Before you could stop them, your tears started flowing down your cheeks, slightly making a mess of Martin's shirt.

The stress that was caused by weeks of preparing, the sleepless nights and the pressure you've been secretly carrying on your own had finally caught up with. And the worst part is that it all came at once. Martin knew he couldn't take all your problems away, though he wished he could, so he just simply held you tightly against his chest. One of his hands slowly rubbed circles on your lower back until he noticed as your breathing finally started to settle again.

As you eventually pulled away you, you slightly sniffed and quietly laughed at yourself, "Sorry."

"What for?" He asked confused, his own laugh slipping through.

"You've barely seen me in almost two weeks." You sighed with a slight pout forming.

In response he gave you his charming, sweet smile, "I figured exam season had kidnapped you."

" I'm sorry..." You whispered out again softly.

Martin sighed, "You don't have to apologize for struggling."

You looked down at your hands, your fingers slightly picking at each other, "I should've told you I wasn't feeling well."

He softly bumped your shoulder with his, "You probably should've." He gave you another gentle smile, "But we'll work on that next time."

After a few minutes, your legs felt unsteady again and before you could protest against him, he slipped an arm around your waist, "Come on."

"I can walk." You quietly whispered, a slight giggle leaving you.

"I know." He paused at your reaction before continuing, "But humour me?"

You slightly rolled your eyes with a tiny smile forming, "...Fine."

Martin gently settled you into your bed, adjusting the blankets around you and opened the curtains just enough to let some light in. He also opened one of your windows for some fresh air before whispering, "I'll be right back."

About thirty minutes passed when you woke up to the smell of your favorite soup filling the apartment.

He smiled as he saw your sleepy figure making your way towards him, "There you are!"

He must have went shopping for some of the ingredients.

You sleepily wandered into the kitchen to see Martin stirring a pot with his sleeves rolled up and quietly humming to himself.

"I was checking if I dreamed you." You laughed a little as you hugged him from behind.

He let out a little chuckle as he felt your hands wrap around his waist, "Nope. Still here, baby."

After you had taken some of the medicine he brought you, you took a seat on the couch since of the big mess on all the other tables. But you did notice how the mess wasn't that big anymore.

Martin sat beside you with a warm bowl of soup he balanced on his hands, "Here."

"I can manage." You giggled a little, the sound brining a big smile to Martin.

"I know." He said with a fake stern tone but held out the spoon full of soup anyway, "...But you look like you could use a break."

You finally gave in with a tiny smile, "Just this once."

He grinned like a idiot, "I'll take it."

Martin was already awake next to you before you could even have called to him.

That night, your fever got worse as you woke up coughing. Your body shivering despite being covered with 2 fluffy and tick blankets.

"You should be asleep," you mumbled, your voice slightly raspy.

"Hey." His voice was soft as he handed you a class of water.

He waited for you to catch your breath before swapping the now-warm cloth on your forehead for a new cool one.

"So should you." He said with a smile tugging on his lips.

"...Fair point." You mumbled, laying back onto the bed, a smile forming on your lips, before you started slightly coughing again.

"You know," he said quietly after a while, "you scared me a little."

"I'm sorry." You avoided his eyes, feeling guilty about not asking him for help earlier.

"I don't need an apology." He reached over to you, brushing your hair back.

"I just need you to let me help before it gets this bad." He said quietly, his own voice getting slightly small.

You quickly nodded, "I'll try."

He gently smiled down at you, "That's all I'm asking, baby."

You fell asleep with your head resting on his shoulder.

He didn't move an inch, absentmindlessly he brushed your hair away from your eyes every so often as the lose strands of hair fell down. He checked your temperature now and then just to reassure himself that you're doing better.

He glanced back down at you and smiled to himself and quietly whispered, "You've done enough for today,"

"So just rest."

And for the first time in a few weeks, you actually did, even though your exams were far from over, but right now you didn't care.

𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒖𝒖 ♥︎

𝑯𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚𝒆𝒅!!!

you sighed dramatically before insisting you were fine and that you’d grab something later. “later,” he repeated. “your favorite word.” you tried to hide your grin, but it slipped through anyway. “i’m serious.” “so am i,” you replied, tapping your keyboard again.

without another word, he disappeared into the kitchen. you assumed he’d given up until the unmistakable sound of cupboards opening and pans clinking reached you. five minutes later, the smell of garlic and butter drifted through the apartment, pulling your attention away from the screen despite your best efforts.

james leaned against the doorway, arms folded. “come eat.” you shook your head immediately. “i just need another twenty minutes.” he checked the clock. “you said that forty minutes ago.”

“i’m almost done,” you insisted. “you always are.” he wasn’t teasing; if anything, his voice carried the patience of someone who’d had this exact conversation dozens of times. “you’ll think better after you eat.” you clicked your tongue, refusing to move.

“james.”

“what?”

“stop treating me like i’m helpless.”

that should’ve ended the conversation, but pride had a funny way of making simple things difficult. you crossed your arms and looked back at your screen, pretending to reread the same sentence for the fifth time. james didn’t argue. he simply walked over, slid the chair beside yours out, and sat down.

the silence stretched comfortably between you until you finally sighed. “you’re not leaving, are you?” he smiled without looking up from the notebook he’d picked up. “probably not.”

you tried to outlast him. ten minutes passed. then fifteen. every few minutes he’d glance over, watching you rub your eyes or erase the same line repeatedly. eventually he reached across the table and nudged your pencil away. “you’re making the same mistake because you’re tired.” you frowned. “no, i’m not.” he quietly turned the notebook toward himself, circled the spot you’d missed, and slid it back.

you blinked at it for a moment before letting out the smallest, most reluctant laugh. “…’kay. maybe a little.”

“there she is,” he said, standing up again. “come on.”

this time, instead of arguing, you simply groaned dramatically as you followed him into the kitchen. the food was already plated, and he’d somehow remembered exactly how you liked it without asking. he passed you a fork before taking the seat across from you. “see?” he said. “the world didn’t end because you stepped away for fifteen minutes.”

you rolled your eyes. “you’re so annoying.” “i’ve been called worse.”

halfway through dinner, you caught him reaching for your empty mug. “i’ll wash that,” you said automatically. james was already at the sink.

“sit.”

“james—”

“sit.”

there wasn’t an ounce of sharpness in his voice, only the kind of calm certainty that made arguing feel pointless. you watched him rinse the dishes while talking about something funny that had happened at work earlier that week, purposely steering the conversation away from deadlines and assignments until you were laughing hard enough to forget what had been stressing you out in the first place.

when everything was cleaned up, you wandered back toward your desk only to find your notebooks stacked neatly, your charger untangled, and your scattered pens gathered into a mug. james noticed your expression immediately. “before you complain,” he said, “i didn’t touch the order of your notes. i know better than that.” you looked over the desk, realizing he’d somehow organized the mess without actually moving anything important.

“you’re impossible,” you murmured. “experienced,” he corrected with a grin.

the work that had felt impossible earlier suddenly came together much faster than expected. james stayed beside you, not hovering, just existing in the same room with a book in his lap and one leg stretched out toward your chair.

every so often he’d glance up to ask if you wanted more water or if your neck was hurting from sitting too long. the questions were small, almost forgettable, but they made the evening feel lighter. there was something comforting about knowing someone cared enough to notice the things you forgot to notice yourself.

by the time you finished, the apartment had gone dark except for the warm lamp beside the couch. you leaned back with a satisfied sigh before turning toward james. “i guess… thanks.” he raised an eyebrow. “guess?” you laughed and walked over, slipping your arms around his waist.

“thank you.” he rested his chin lightly against the top of your head, holding you for a long moment without saying anything.

then, almost absentmindedly, he brushed a few strands of hair away from your face. “you don’t have to do everything alone,” he murmured. “i know you’re capable. that was never the point.”

you looked up at him, feeling slightly embarrassed that he’d been right from the beginning. “i just don’t like asking for help.” james nodded as though he’d known that long before you admitted it. “then don’t ask.” you blinked. “i’ll notice.”

his smile was small, warm, and impossibly reassuring. “you don’t have to earn being looked after.” before you could think of anything clever to say back, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and reached for your hand.

“now,” he said, intertwining your fingers with his, “how about we spend the rest of the night doing absolutely nothing?”

pensieri the layout is ass i’m sorry 😢 i made it in a rush because i haven’t posted in so long :P

It’s finally summer. Uni classes are over, which means exams are over too.

Summer has always been a mix of feelings for you. On one hand, you love it—it’s the season of doing nothing, of hanging out with friends, of late nights and no deadlines. But on the other hand… it’s also the season of shorts, skirts, bikinis, and the beach. It’s not that you don’t like those things. You do. It’s just that growing up plus size made it hard to feel fully comfortable in them. You don’t usually care that much about what people think, but still… you never feel 100% at ease.

And somehow, that feeling only got worse when you started dating.

Not because of your boyfriend—never because of him—but because of the voice in your head that got louder the moment you had something real.

You’ve always had guys call you pretty, sliding into your DMs, flirting like they meant it. But almost every time, the moment they realized you were plus size, they disappeared. It was shitty, but you got used to it.

Until Anton.

It all started on a random Tuesday. You were in an elective you decided to take—Classic Literature. It wasn’t part of your main major, but it was something you’d always wanted to study. What you weren’t expecting, though, was the captain of the swim team to walk into that same class.

Anton Lee. Captain of the swim team. Popular, but somehow still shy. Tall, handsome… and, apparently, your assigned partner for the semester.

That’s how it started.

Afternoons working on projects turned into study dates. Study dates turned into actual dates. And two months later, in March, Anton asked you to be his girlfriend.

He was—quite literally—the perfect boyfriend. Attentive, reassuring, responsible… the whole package.

Now it’s July. You’ve been dating for four months. You’ve met his friends, he’s met yours. And right now, you’re in the passenger seat of his car, on the way to one of his friend’s beach houses on a thursday for the weekend—a little reward for surviving exams.

Anton is driving, one hand resting on your thigh. You’re staring out the window, but you’re not really seeing anything.

You’re thinking. Overthinking.

All you can picture is the beach. His friends. Their girlfriends. All of them with perfect bikini bodies and—

“Hey, you good?” Anton’s voice cuts through your thoughts, his thumb gently brushing against your thigh.

“Oh—yeah, I’m good,” you say, giving him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asks, glancing at you briefly.

“Yeah, Tony, it’s all good. I’m just a little tired,” you mumble, turning your gaze back to the window.

He looks like he wants to say something else.

But he doesn’t push it.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

You guys finally arrive at the house around 10 p.m. You step out of the car while Anton grabs both your bags, and the two of you head inside.

You’re immediately greeted by loud voices and laughter. The boys are all in the living room, playing some game, yelling over each other. Anton goes straight to them, getting pulled into the chaos, while you just smile at everyone in greeting.

Your eyes drift toward the kitchen, where you spot Sungchan’s, Eunseok’s, and Shotaro’s girlfriends talking together.

You walk over. “Hey guys.”

“Hey, girly,” Shotaro’s girlfriend says with a grin.

“How was the trip?” Eunseok’s girlfriend asks.

“It was good. Anton drove the whole way, even when I told him we could switch. You know how he is,” you laugh lightly.

They nod knowingly, and soon you’re all chatting, catching up. Since you’re all in different majors, there’s always something new to talk about. Every now and then, you glance over at Anton, catching him already looking at you, a small smile on his face.

About an hour later, everyone’s gathered in the living room, just talking and drinking, the energy calmer now.

Shotaro and his girlfriend are the first to call it a night. They say their goodnights and head upstairs.

Anton leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your head. “You wanna go too? You look tired,” he murmurs.

You look up at him, smiling, and nod.

“We’re gonna head up too, guys,” he says, standing and pulling you up with him, your fingers lacing together.

You both head upstairs, grabbing your things to change and go through your night routine.

You’re standing in front of the mirror, washing your face, already in your pajamas—one of Anton’s oversized shirts and your sleeping shorts—when he comes up behind you. His arms wrap around your waist, and he rests his chin on your shoulder, both of you looking at your reflection.

“Hey,” you say, smiling softly.

“You look so pretty right now,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You give him a look through the mirror. “Are you serious?”

“I’m serious, baby. My favorite version of you—looking all cute in my shirt, no makeup, all cuddly,” he says, lightly biting your cheek.

You giggle. “Ahh, stop it, Tony, it tickles.”

“Hm, it does?” he teases, immediately starting to tickle you.

“AHH—Anton, stop!” you laugh, trying to push him away.

He keeps going, and you stumble backward, both of you laughing until you end up falling onto the bed.

He hovers over you, still smiling, then leans down, nuzzling his nose into your cheek and peppering kisses all over your face. You’re still giggling when he pauses, looking at you for a moment—really looking.

Then he leans in and kisses you properly.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, soft and warm. You both smile into the kiss, relaxed, familiar.

After a moment, he pulls away slightly. “I need to go wash up, and then we can sleep, okay baby?”

You nod, still a little breathless.

He heads to the bathroom while you slide under the covers, getting comfortable.

A few minutes later, he joins you, wrapping himself around you from behind, pulling you into his chest.

“You ready for the beach tomorrow?” he asks softly.

You almost forgot about the beach.

Your body tenses just a little, but you just nod, not trusting your voice.

“Okay… goodnight, love.”

“Night, Tony,” you murmur.

He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, holding you a little closer as the room falls quiet.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

It’s roughly 9 a.m. when Anton wakes up. He turns his head slightly, eyes softening when he sees you sleeping soundly next to him. For a moment, he just watches you—peaceful, relaxed—before deciding to wake you up.

He leans in, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder. “Baby? Wake up,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to gently caress your cheek.

You stir, turning slightly into his touch. “Hm? What time is it?” you mumble, still half-asleep.

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “It’s 9 a.m., we need to get dressed to go to the beach.”

You nod, not really processing his words yet.

Slowly, you get up and head to the bathroom, going through your routine in a bit of a daze.

When you come back to the room, Anton is already dressed—swim shorts and a tank top, hair slightly messy but still looking effortlessly good.

“I’ll be downstairs waiting for you,” he says.

You nod and walk over to your bag, pulling out your bikini and getting dressed.

As you do, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

You stop.

You look at your belly, the softness of it. Your thick thighs. Your arms that suddenly feel out of place. The stretch marks scattered across your skin.

And before you even realize it, your vision blurs.

You’re crying.

Tears slide down your cheeks as thoughts come rushing in all at once—how is Anton with you? How are you supposed to go out looking like this?

Your chest tightens.

You grab your phone and quickly text him.

You: Anton im not feeling well, u can go i dont mind

Downstairs, Anton is in the middle of talking with Sohee when his phone buzzes. The second he reads your message, his expression shifts.

“Is everything good?” Sohee asks, noticing.

“Ugh, Y/N’s not feeling good. I don’t know what’s going on. You guys head out, I’m gonna go see what’s up,” he says quickly.

He doesn’t wait for a response—he’s already heading upstairs.

When he opens the door, he finds you sitting at the edge of the bed, still wearing his shirt, your cheeks stained with tears.

His heart drops.

“Hey, hey, baby, what’s going on?” he asks, immediately kneeling in front of you.

You quickly wipe at your face. “What are you doing here? I told you to go, Tony.”

“You really think I would leave after that text and not see if you’re okay?” he says, gently grabbing your hand.

You look down, avoiding his gaze.

“Baby, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I—” You cut yourself off, trying to steady your breathing, but more tears threaten to fall.

He moves up onto the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

“You’re scaring me. What happened?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“I’m… I don’t get how you like the way I look, when all I can see is flaws when I look in the mirror,” you finally admit, your voice shaking.

He pulls back just enough to cup your face, making you look at him. “Where is this coming from?” he asks, concern written all over his expression.

“I just don’t get it. Why would you—the captain of the swim team, all ripped, surrounded by athletic people—pick me, when I’m clearly none of that?” you say, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I’ve been anxious about this trip all week because of the beach. I can hide myself with pants and big t-shirts, but I can’t hide in a bikini.”

“Baby… why would you hide yourself?” he asks softly, wiping your tears.

“Why wouldn’t I? When all I see when I look in the mirror is big, plus-size… how am I supposed to go out looking like this when all the girls on this trip are literally like models?”

Anton goes quiet for a second, taken aback. He never imagined you were carrying this.

“Y/N, look at me,” he says, gently lifting your chin again.

“My love, I don’t ever want you to think like this. It doesn’t matter if I’m swim captain, popular, or whatever. I like you for you. I love your body, I love your looks, I love your personality… I love you,” he says, his hand resting warmly on your thigh. “I couldn’t care less about other women with model bodies. I love yours the way it is.”

You freeze slightly.

“You… love me?”

It’s the first time you’ve heard him say it.

“I do, baby. So much,” he says softly. “Let me show you? Show you how much I love you and your body.”

You hesitate for a second… then nod.

“Okay, let’s get rid of this shirt first,” he says gently, pulling it off you.

His eyes immediately darken slightly.

“Fuck, that bikini looks so good on you,” he says, his voice dropping as he looks you over.

Heat rushes to your face.

“I kinda wanna fuck you in it,” he adds, licking his lips.

Your breath catches, your body reacting before your mind can.

He leans in, hovering over you as he pushes you back onto the bed.

His lips find your neck, trailing kisses down your skin while his hand slips under your bikini bottoms.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already,” he murmurs.

You moan softly at the contact.

He slides two fingers inside you, slow at first, while his other hand pushes your bikini top aside, letting your chest spill free. He leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

“Anton, please, I need you,” you gasp, your hips moving against him.

“Patience,” he murmurs. “Lemme appreciate all of you… all of your curves.”

His hands move along your sides, his lips following, kissing over your stretch marks, your stomach, every part you were trying to hide.

“You’re so beautiful. All these marks… it’s what makes you you. All these curves—the ones that drive me crazy, and you have no idea,” he says, before finally kissing your lips.

You moan into the kiss, and he smiles against your mouth.

“That’s it, pretty girl, moan for me.”

He slowly pulls his fingers out, making you whimper, and stands just long enough to get rid of the rest of his clothes.

Then he’s back.

He undoes the strap of your bikini bottoms, pushing them aside just enough. He gives himself a few quick pumps before sliding along your folds, gathering your slick.

Then he pushes in with a low groan.

“Fuuuuck.”

“Fuck, Anton,” you moan.

“You’re so tight… you feel so good, love,” he breathes against your ear.

He takes your hand and places it on your stomach, applying gentle pressure, making you whimper.

“So fucking beautiful… all of this for me to love,” he murmurs, his free hand moving over your body.

“Faster, Tony, please,” you plead.

He obeys immediately. “Fuck, I won’t last long like this, baby.”

His hand slips between you again, finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles.

You gasp at the sudden intensity.

“Anton—!” you cry out.

He smirks slightly, picking up the pace.

“Anton, I’m cumming,” you warn, your body tightening.

“Me too, baby, fuck,” he groans.

Right as he’s about to finish, he pulls out, spilling over your stomach and bikini.

He collapses beside you, both of you breathing heavily.

After a moment, he turns his head, brushing your hair away from your face before kissing your nose.

You giggle softly.

“I hope you never think bad of yourself, baby. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes… you truly are a goddess.”

“I’ll try to believe you… it’s just past trauma,” you admit quietly.

He gently grabs your chin again. “I’m here to help you through that, okay?”

“Thank you, Anton. Really. I love you.” you say, leaning in to peck his lips.

He smiles as he hears you finally say it back.

Suddenly, he sits up. “Let’s go then? Wanna join them?”

You shift, propping yourself up against the headboard. “Yeah… I will go, and we’ll have fun.”

“Let’s go!” he cheers, fist bumping the air, making you laugh.

Then he pauses, looking back at you.

“Uhh… I hope you brought more bikinis, though…”

You look down—and immediately see the mess.

“ANTON.”

“Sorry—I got carried away,” he says, already blushing.

You roll your eyes, but smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You get up, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before heading to change.

And for once, the thoughts in your head are quieter.

Because you have Anton—and maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to see yourself a little more the way he does.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

When you finally spotted him, he was hunched over a drink, his large frame looking almost too big for the mid-century stool. He looked different, but the way he held his glass—fingers long and steady, tracing the rim—was exactly the same.

"You still take a long time to get ready, I see" Anton said before you even reached the bar.

He didn't look up immediately. He let the words hang there, a soft, teasing blow that landed right in the center of your chest. When he finally lifted his head, the dim light caught the sharp line of his jaw and the soft, observant depth of his eyes. His gaze didn't just land on your face; it swept down, taking in the dress, the way the fabric pooled at your hips, the way your collarbone dipped as you took a shaky breath.

He let out a short, dry huff of a laugh, shaking his head as he looked back at his drink. "You're really wearing that one? That's mean, even for you."

"I didn't think you'd remember it" you lied, sliding onto the stool next to him. The proximity was an immediate mistake. You could smell him—that familiar mix of something clean and something woody—and it made your head feel heavy, just like the lyrics of that song you’d both obsessed over.

"I remember the zip was stuck" he muttered, his voice dropping into that low, mumble-soft register that used to vibrate against your skin in the dark. "I remember how much you complained about the price. I remember everything, actually."

He finally turned his body toward you, his knee brushing against your thigh. It was a ghost of a touch, but in the vacuum of your shared history, it felt like an electric shock. Anton looked tired, his eyes carrying a weight that wasn't there a year ago. He looked like a man who had spent too much time thinking and not enough time feeling.

"We're just catching up, right?" he asked, though his eyes were searching yours for a contradiction. "No patching things up. No messy 'who-did-what' talk. Just... a drink. Like people who didn't ruin each other."

"Just a drink" you agreed, your voice sounding thin to your own ears.

Anton leaned in then, his elbow resting on the bar as he moved closer, invading your personal space with a practiced ease. He reached out, his thumb catching a stray strand of hair near your ear and tucking it back. His skin was warm, and he let his hand linger for a second too long, his thumb grazing the shell of your ear.

"Liars" he whispered, a small, sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "We're both such good liars."

You pursed your lips, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you shook your head. It was so typical of him—trying to set boundaries that he was already breaking with a single look.

"You're the one who started it" you murmured, watching as he signaled the bartender.

He led the way to a small, circular table tucked away in a booth that felt a little too private, a little too much like a sanctuary. He didn't even have to ask; he ordered a strawberry mojito for you and a simple plate of snacks to pick at. It was that effortless familiarity that hurt the most—the way he didn't need to consult a menu to know exactly what you wanted when your nerves were shot.

For a while, the conversation was safe. You talked about work, the mutual friends you’d drifted away from, and the mundane updates of a life lived apart. Anton listened with that quiet, heavy intensity of his, nodding along, his eyes never really leaving yours. It was easy, almost too easy, to pretend that the months of silence between you were just a long pause in a conversation that hadn't actually ended.

But then, a lull fell over the table. The kind of silence that happens when you run out of small talk and the big talk starts looming in the shadows.

The speakers overhead crackled softly before the first warbling, lo-fi chords of the song began to bleed into the room. It was raw and hazy, the guitar notes sounding like they were being pulled through water.

Anton froze for a split second, his glass halfway to his lips. He knew this song. He knew what it meant to both of you. He set the glass down with a slow, deliberate click and looked at you, his expression softening into something dangerously vulnerable.

"Dance with me" he said. It wasn't really a question.

You felt the heat crawl up your neck, a deep blush staining your cheeks as you instinctively shook your head, looking down at the melting ice in your drink. "Anton, no. There’s hardly any room, and I’m..."

"You're in that dress" he interrupted softly, standing up. He didn't wait for a second rejection. He moved around the table and came to a halt in front of you, towering over you in that way that always made the rest of the room disappear.

He reached down, offering his hands, palms up. His fingers were long and steady, waiting for yours. You let out a long, shaky sigh—the sound of someone who had already lost the fight—and placed your hands in his.

He led you to the small, cleared-out space near the back where a few other couples were swaying in the dim light. The floorboards creaked under his boots as he turned to face you.

Anton didn't hesitate. He slid one large hand around your waist, his palm warm and firm through the thin silk of your dress, pulling you just close enough that your breaths began to sync. His other hand stayed locked with yours, his thumb tracing the back of your knuckles.

You settled your free hand against the center of his chest, feeling the steady, heavy thrum of his heart beneath the fabric of his shirt. The song swirled around you, messy and emotive, and for a moment, the distance between "catching up" and "falling back" completely vanished.

You kept your gaze fixed on the buttons of his shirt, a bittersweet ache blooming in your chest that felt heavier than the silence between you. The scent of him was a cruel reminder of every night you’d spent trying to forget how safe you felt in his arms. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff you’d already fallen off once before.

Anton seemed to sense the shift in your breathing. He shifted his weight, leaning down until his forehead brushed yours before he tucked his face into the crown of your head. He took a long, shaky breath, inhaling the scent of your hair as if he’d been starved of it.

"I'm sorry" he murmured, his voice muffled and thick with a regret he hadn't let himself voice until now. "I’m so sorry I pulled away."

His hand on your waist tightened, drawing you flush against him. "Things just got... too hard. Life was being mean, and I could feel myself starting to get meaner too. I didn't want to be that person for you. I didn't want to take it out on you, so I thought if I just backed off, I’d be saving us." He let out a ghost of a frustrated laugh against your hair. "But I just ended up hurting you more, didn't I? I was trying to be noble and I was just a coward."

Your fingers curled into the dark fabric of his shirt, bunching the material tightly in your fists. The honesty in his voice was a sharp blade, cutting through the protective layers you’d built up over the months. Your eyes stung, the familiar heat of tears blurring your vision as you shook your head against his chest.

"Anton" you whispered, your voice trembling. "Stop. You’re going to ruin my makeup."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb catching a stray tear before it could track down your cheek. His expression was soft, a pained sort of tenderness in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat.

"Sorry" he said again, his voice dropping into that low, gentle register. "Stay here."

He stepped away for a brief second, returning with a clean napkin from the bar. He didn't just hand it to you; he held your chin tilted up, watching with focused intensity as you took it from him and carefully dabbed at the corners of your eyes, mindful of the eyeliner you’d spent thirty minutes perfecting.

A small, genuine chuckle broke from his throat as he watched you work. "True. Sorry. It really would be mean to mess it all up now, especially when you took so long getting ready."

You let out a wet laugh, your hand flying out to hit his shoulder softly. "Shut up, Anton. Seriously."

"I'm being for real" he said, his smile lingering even as his gaze turned serious again. He reached out, his fingers skating over your hip, the touch lingering on the silk of the dress. The tension hadn't fully dissipated, but the air felt clearer, lighter. "Look, it’s late. Let me take you home, at least? Just so I know you got back okay."

You stayed quiet for a long moment, pursing your lips as you weighed the risk. You knew how this story usually went—one of you would say something you didn't mean, or worse, something you did mean, and the night would end in a beautiful, tangled mess. But as you looked at him standing there, wait-listed for a second chance he didn't even think he deserved, the logic didn't matter. You just needed him. You needed the closure, or the beginning, or whatever was left of the "us" you’d been grieving.

You gave a small, resigned nod, and the tension in his shoulders visibly ebbed away.

The walk to his car was brisk, the night air turning sharp and damp. True to form, he beat you to the passenger side, pulling the door open and holding it steady while you tucked the hem of your dress inside. The drive was a heavy, quiet blur. Anton didn't need to ask for directions; his hands moved on the steering wheel with the muscle memory of a thousand previous trips to your apartment.

Outside, a soft drizzle began to smear the streetlights into hazy orbs of gold against the pavement. The radio was nothing more than a low, static-laced hum, filling the gaps where neither of you knew what to say.

When he pulled up to the curb, he didn't just let you out. He reached into the back for an umbrella, stepping out into the rain and circling the car to shield you before you could even reach for the handle.

"Don't want the dress getting ruined" he murmured, tilting the umbrella toward you as he walked you toward the lobby door.

You stood under the small overhang of the entrance, the sound of the rain hitting the canvas above you like a frantic heartbeat. The silence here felt different—final. Anton looked at you, his face unreadable in the shadows, before he gave a slow, stiff nod. It wasn't an angry gesture; it was the look of a man accepting a sentence.

"Okay" he said, his voice barely audible over the rain. "I'll leave. Goodnight."

He started to turn away, his boots scuffing against the concrete, and for a second, you almost let him. But then your hand shot out, your fingers hooking around his pinky finger—a small, desperate anchor.

Anton froze. He looked down at your hand, then back up at your face. You were looking at him with wide, glassy eyes, your bottom lip trembling just enough to be dangerous. You smeared your lipgloss as you bit your lip, your head shaking a slow, silent no.

"Come... in?" you asked quietly, the words almost getting lost in the wind.

The umbrella tilted slightly as his grip on the handle tightened. He didn't answer with words; he just let out a long, shaky exhale and followed you toward the door.

The elevator ride up was a quiet hum of shared breath and unspoken questions. When the door to your apartment clicked open, the transition felt surreal. Anton stepped inside, leaning the dripping umbrella against the wall and stepping out of his shoes with a practiced ease that suggested he’d never really been gone.

You watched him as he moved into the living room. His eyes roamed the space, curious and sharp, landing on the new sage-green sofa and the plush rug that replaced the one you’d spilled wine on a year ago. He looked like a man visiting a museum of a life he’d helped build but was no longer a part of.

"You changed the rug" he noted softly, his voice echoing in the quiet of the room.

"Yeah" you breathed, standing in the middle of the floor, feeling suddenly shy in your own home. "It was... time for a change. Do you want some water? Or—"

You started to turn toward the kitchen, but Anton moved faster. He stepped into your space, his large hands reaching out to find your waist, the heat of his palms soaking through the silk of your dress instantly.

"No" he murmured, shaking his head before you could finish the offer.

He didn't pull you in roughly; instead, he leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours, his eyes fluttering shut. His thumbs traced the curve of your hip bones, steadying both of you. "No water. Just... stay here. Let me touch you for a second. I just need to know you're real."

The honesty in his voice broke the last of your defenses. You reached up, wrapping your arms around his neck and rising onto your tiptoes to close the gap. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, hugging him with a desperate, bone-deep tightness that said everything you hadn't been able to put into words.

Anton let out a jagged sigh, his arms winding around your back, crushing you against his chest as if he were trying to merge back into your life by sheer force of will. He held you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, his nose brushing against your temple.

"I missed you" he whispered against your skin, a confession that felt like a prayer. "God, I missed you so much."

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands framing his face, your thumbs smoothing over the sharp line of his cheekbones. His eyes were dark, but the edges were beginning to soften into something much more tender.

Neither of you moved for a long beat, just staring, memorizing the way the low light hit the other’s features. Then, as if the gravity between you finally became too much to resist, Anton leaned in.

The kiss was soft at first—a tentative, bruisingly sweet question. It tasted like the strawberry of your drink and the lingering rain from outside, a slow-motion collision of two people finally finding their way home through the dark.

The kiss shifted instantly, losing its tentative edge and sharpening into something desperate. It was the sound of a year of holding your breath finally being exhaled. Anton’s hands, which had been so steady at the bar, were suddenly restless, his palms sliding up from your waist to cup your face, his thumbs hooking under your jaw to tilt your head back. He tasted like the night—cool rain and the lingering sweetness of fruit—and he made a low, needy sound in the back of his throat when your tongue flicked against his.

"The bedroom" he rasped against your lips, not waiting for an answer.

He didn't let go of you as he backed you toward the hallway, his socks scuffing the floor in a clumsy, urgent rhythm. He pinned you against the doorframe for a second, his mouth dropping to your neck. He wasn't being gentle anymore; he was breathing heavily, his open-mouthed kisses hot and damp against your skin, marking the spot right where your shoulder met your throat. A jagged moan escaped him, vibrating against your collarbone.

"Anton" you breathed, your hands scrambling for the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers were shaking, fumbling with the fabric until you managed to pop the first few. You pushed the shirt off his heavy shoulders, the material pooling on the floor as he finally reached for the back of your dress.

He found the zipper, his fingers catching on the familiar snag. "Still stuck" he muttered, a frustrated, breathless huff of a laugh escaping him. He didn't force it; he worked it with a focused intensity, until the silk finally gave way. The dress slid down your body, a dark puddle of fabric at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your bra and lace.

His eyes were dark, almost black in the shadows of the room, as he took you in. He reached behind you, his large hands dwarfing your frame as he unhooked your bra with a practiced flick of his wrist. When it fell away, he let out a sharp, hitching breath, his hands coming around to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until you whimpered.

He moved you toward the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight as he pushed you back onto the pillows. He stayed between your legs, his hands roaming over your ribcage and down to your tummy, his kisses following the path of his fingers. He was so vocal now, every breath a heavy huff of desire, every touch accompanied by a low, guttural rumble of approval as he pulled your lace down your legs.

He leaned down, his mouth moving from your stomach to the soft skin of your inner thighs. He went agonizingly slow, peppering the sensitive skin with biting kisses that made your hips arch off the bed.

"You taste so good" he groaned, his voice thick and wrecked. "I’ve spent every night thinking about this."

He didn't make you wait. He moved lower, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you open for him. When his tongue finally met you, it wasn't tentative. He used his tongue flat and firm, tasting your sweetness with a rhythmic, hungry focus. He was thorough, his face pressed into you as he drank you in, his own moans muffled against your skin. The sensation was overwhelming—the heat of him, the friction, the way he seemed to know exactly how to drive you to the edge of the cliff you’d been hovering over all night.

Your fingers tangled into his hair, pulling softly—not enough to hurt, but just enough to ground him as a needy, broken sound left your throat. "Anton, please... I need you. I really need you."

He paused, looking up at you with a small, breathless smile that was more tender than anything you’d ever seen. He leaned in for one last lingering kiss on your inner thigh before standing up at the edge of the bed. You watched him, your breath hitching as he unbuckled his belt and let his jeans and boxers fall to the floor. Even in the dim light, he looked like a god—broad-shouldered and solid, a sight you’d replayed in your head a thousand times during the year of silence.

He crawled back onto the mattress, looming over you as he braced his weight on his forearms. He took a moment to wipe his face with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours, before leaning down to capture your lips in a deep, searing kiss. His hand reached down between you, coating himself in your shared dampness and his own saliva, preparing you both with a focus that made your stomach flip.

"I've got you" he whispered against your mouth. "I'm right here now."

Then, he guided himself in. He moved slowly, his face contorting with a low, guttural moan as he finally slid home, the friction of it making your eyes roll back. He didn't rush into a rhythm; he just stayed there for a beat, buried deep inside you, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a shaky exhale.

His hand found your waist, his fingers splaying wide across your skin, while his other arm braced himself firmly beside your head. He began to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate, pulling almost all the way back before pushing back in with a heavy, grounding force. He was navigating the familiar terrain of your body with a precision that only came from years of loving you.

When he adjusted his angle, finding that one specific spot that made your toes curl and your breath hitch, he let out a soft, triumphant huff. He smiled against the skin of your neck, his lips grazing your pulse point as he felt you pulse around him.

"There it is" he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "I remembered."

You couldn't answer, your hands reaching around to his back, your nails grazing the skin of his lats. You held him tight, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper, needing to close every millimeter of space between you. The sound of the rain outside was drowned out by the steady rhythm of his body against yours and the way he kept whispering your name like it was the only word he knew.

The pace began to climb, the friction of the silk sheets beneath you and the heat of his skin against yours creating a fever pitch. Anton was increasingly vocal, his usual quiet reserve completely shattered. He was making low, desperate sounds in the back of his throat, his breath coming in sharp, staggered hitches. He went faster, his movements turning into a blur of deep, heavy friction that made your vision swim and your heart hammer against your ribs.

He was focused, his eyes locked onto yours even as his face contorted with the effort of holding back. But then, his grip on your waist tightened until his knuckles went white, his head falling back as he reached the peak.

his body was shuddering with a violent release. He filled you up so completely, the sensation of him coming inside you making your own climax ripple through your nerves until you were breathless and shaking.

He didn't pull away. He collapsed forward, his weight heavy and grounding as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his chest heaving against yours. The room was silent except for the sound of your shared, frantic breathing and the rain still drumming against the window.

Anton shifted slightly, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at you. His hair was a mess, his eyes were blown wide, and he looked more "home" than he had in years. He reached out, his thumb gently wiping a stray, happy tear from the corner of your eye before he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

"I love you" he whispered, the words steady and sure this time, no longer shadowed by the angst of the bar or the regret of the past.

You let out a long, shaky exhale, your eyes rolling back for a second in pure, exhausted bliss. A small, tired smile stretched across your lips as you reached up, tangling your fingers in his hair one last time to pull him down for a soft, sweet kiss.

Sunghoon chose the worse time to come over. Your home was in a state of disarray; boxes against the wall, clothes scattered everywhere, and leftover food on the coffee table from lunch that you’d yet to put away. You were supposed to welcome him to… this?

Before you can even hurriedly clean and shove clothes into the closet, the door knob jiggles a bit. The door opens carefully when Sunghoon pushes inside with his bag in hand. He looks at you like this was normal. Like he was just supposed to walk in when he so desired.

“Hello,” he nods. As if sensing your confusion, he holds up a key and shuts the door behind him. “You gave me a spare, if you remember.”

Suddenly you were cursing the you of five months ago, because why on earth did you give him a key? You can only laugh awkwardly and shift your weight while your eyes dart around your house. He’s judging you. You just know it. He’s judging your modest home—despite the absurdity of a girl your age owning a home—and he’s mentally scrutinizing how messy it is. He has to be.

You never get your confirmation to that, though, because he sits on your couch like he owns the place. Sunghoon beckons you over with a hand and a polite nod, urging you to sit like a guest in your own home.

“You might be wondering why I came. I… well, I needed help choosing centerpieces.”

Centerpieces? Like, the same centerpieces that you’d literally witnessed him choose at the cake tasting? How could he need help with centerpieces? Sunghoon takes out what looks to be a catalog from his bag and clicks his pen, sliding them across the coffee table while skillfully avoiding the leftovers.

“I chose the one circled in red.” Roses, black eyed susans, and daylilies were clustered in a vase in varying shades of yellow and orange on the paper. Frankly, it looked a hot mess. Sunghoon realized it with the grimace on your face. “You don’t like it.” A statement, not a question.

“It’s so… um, wow!” You laugh awkwardly, glancing up at him with a strained smile. You hate it. The flowers look messily clustered together like someone just looked up “yellow flowers” on google and picked the first three that showed up. Who would do such a thing? “It’s definitely something.”

“But… the colors. Are they not beautiful?”

“The yellow and orange is great, just… not like this. Honestly, this is so fucking ugly.” Sunghoon flinches at your straightforwardness. His lips form a weirdly attractive mix of a frown and a pout. Wait, what? Focus.

“Island Citrus is the wedding color of the year. How could you not like it?” His brows pinch together. He truly cannot fathom your dislike for it. He spent hours researching what type of bouquet a woman your age would like and now you’re telling him you hate it..? “Brides magazine said so.”

“Brides what? Sunghoon, nobody cares what some bride blog says. This is terrible,” you can’t help but laugh at his stupidity. Maybe ‘Stolid Sunghoon’ wasn’t so robotic after all.

“Well, which one do you like?” He tilts his head and nods at the catalog. It takes two minutes of silence for you to flip through the catalog and find one you like. Sliding off the couch, you plop down on the floor to lean across the table when you push the catalog back and point at the bouquet.

“Pretty, no?” The bouquet is a complete turn around from what he’d picked. The catalog showed vase holding dark hellebores, black knight scabiosas, and chocolate cosmos. He blinks down you twice. Is he supposed to sit with you? Should he sit on the floor? He doesn’t usually do such a thing. Is your carpet vaccumed? Cleaned? How often do you do it? What if—

“Um, hello? Do you not like it that much?” You furrow your eyebrows with laughter. It snaps Sunghoon out of his trance. With what he considers a brave, noble act, he slides down and sits on the floor as well. His hands rest folded in his lap as he nods.

“It is… dark?” He offers, pressing his lips together. He can’t say he hates it, but it’s just not what he was expecting. “Do you like it?”

“Mhm.”

“Then it’s a done deal.” Sunghoon grabs the pen from your side of the table and circles the bouquet, writing ‘chosen.’ beside it in what’s weirdly the most legible handwriting you’ve ever seen from a man. “Thank you for your help. It was a truly vexing matter.”

Honestly, it was anything but vexing. Sunghoon personally couldn’t care less about a centerpiece; but, he assumed it mattered to you. With his hours of research about what a woman would like, he chose what he thought you’d enjoy. Come to find out you didn’t even think you were being represented in the wedding? That was the last thing he wanted. He’d already been in the area anyway—meaning, he was thirty minutes away and made the drive in fifteen—so why not travel to your place and find your opinion on the matter?

“Right. Well. Glad I could help.” You offer him a small smile that you can only home looks real. An awkward silence overtakes the room. At least, awkward for you. Sunghoon’s buzzing inside with satisfaction thinking he’s finally pleased you. Maybe this way you’ll be more willing to marry him. He’d hate to go into this marriage with your intense hate for him. He’s halfway through daydreaming what you’d name your first born daughter (yes, daughter. the first born must be a daughter, he thinks.) when you cough.

“Oh, right. Well, I… guess I’ll be on my way,” he nods almost solemnly. On the outside, he looks normal. Unaffected, per usual. You’d never think he was silently hoping your children would have your eyes and his moles. Sunghoon pushes himself up, dusting invisible lint off his clothes. He stares down at you expectantly.

What the hell does he want? you wonder. Why’s he looking at you like that? It’s weird. Make him stop. Ugh, stop!

“Aren’t you going to see me off?” He furrows his brows in confusion. Isn’t this the part where you kiss him goodbye?

“Oh, sure.” You stand and lead him to the door, opening it for him. He stands there. Expecting. Waiting. The only things going through your mind are questions about why he’s not out yet.

Sunghoon almost laughs. Ah, he gets it now. You’re shy, aren’t you? That’s okay. He can help you work your way up to a real kiss. Sunghoon leans down to kiss your cheek, his arm sliding around your waist to pull you into a hug right after. He pats your back like he’s done some incredibly good deed before pulling away.

“I’ll see you on Friday at seven for the dinner run through. Goodbye,” he waves and turns on his heel out of the door. 

Did this guy just fucking kiss your cheek?

You’re left staring at his car as it pulls out of your driveway. He doesn’t look back. At least, not by turning his head. He uses his side mirrors, though. You laugh incredulously.

“Fucking weirdo,” you whisper to yourself, shutting the door and turning back to packing up your things. 

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