soumaya lives here

The first one doesn’t even feel real..

You’re talking. Of course you are. You’re always talking.

Something about Alfred’s cookies being better than literally any bakery in Gotham and how that should be illegal, actually, because..

Dick is half-listening, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile he refuses to let win.

“You’re staring,” you say, grinning up at him. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Yeah,” he says easily. “Annoyance.”

You gasp, dramatic, offended. “Rude. I am a delight.”

He exhales a laugh before he can stop himself. You see it, see the exact moment he loses the internal battle.

And then he’s stepping closer.

Too close.

Before your brain can catch up, he presses a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. Barely there. Soft. Almost casual. Like it’s something he’s done a hundred times before.

Like it means nothing.

You freeze.

He pulls back just as fast, already turning away. “Relax,” he says over his shoulder. “Don’t make it weird.”

You stand there, heart doing parkour in your chest, thinking:

Oh. It’s weird. It’s so weird..

The one where he does it in front of people..

You’re laughing too loud. Again.

Bruce gives you that look. Jason mutters something about earplugs. Dick "traitor" covers his smile with his hand.

“What?” you say. “I bring joy.”

“You bring noise,” Jason corrects.

“You love me.”

“Debatable.”

You’re mid-retort when Dick suddenly hooks a finger in the belt loop of your jeans and pulls you just enough to steal your balance.

“What—”

He kisses you.

Right on the lips this time. Quick. Clean. Unapologetic.

The room goes dead silent.

Dick lets go like nothing happened. “Anyway,” he says, clapping his hands once. “Mission briefing?”

Jason stares at you. Then at Dick. Then back at you. “…What the hell was that?”

Your face is on fire. “I—I don’t know.”

Dick doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t explain. Just keeps talking like he didn’t just short-circuit your brain in front of his entire family.

Later, you corner him in the hallway.

“You can’t just kiss me,” you hiss.

He shrugs. “Sure I can.”

“That’s not how people work!”

His eyes flick down to your mouth. Back up. “Seems to be working fine.”

The almost-gentle one (the most dangerous)

You’re upset. Not crying, just quiet. Which, for you, is alarming.

Dick notices immediately.

He sits next to you on the couch, knees brushing. Doesn’t joke. Doesn’t tease.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You shrug. “Yeah. Just…thinking.”

He studies you for a long moment. You can feel it. The weight of his attention.

“Hey,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up with two fingers.

Before you can ask what he’s doing, he kisses you again, slow this time. Not rushed. Not playful. His lips linger at the corner of yours, forehead resting against yours after.

It feels…intentional.

Your voice comes out small. “Dick.”

“Mm?”

“Why do you keep doing that?”

He doesn’t answer right away. When he finally pulls back, his smile is gone.

“…You overthink everything,” he says, standing up.

And just like that, he walks away.

You sit there, stunned, realizing this one hurt worse than the others.. Because for half a second, you thought it meant something.

The one that finally breaks you

You’re done pretending it doesn’t bother you.

“So what,” you say, arms crossed, blocking his path. “You just kiss people whenever you feel like it?”

Dick sighs. “You’re making this a thing.”

“It is a thing.”

He looks at you then. Really looks. Something unguarded flashes across his face.

“You’re annoying,” he says quietly.

You swallow. “I know.”

“You’re loud. You get under my skin.”

“Dick—”

“And every time you smile at me,” he continues, voice low, “I want to kiss you just to shut you up.”

Silence.

Your heart is pounding. “That’s not fair.”

He steps closer. “I know.”

“So why—”

He kisses you again, this time full on the mouth, longer than ever before. No audience. No jokes. No escape.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“I don’t do this with people I don’t care about,” he admits.

You whisper, “Then what are we?”

His smile is soft. Uncertain. Real.

“…Complicated.”

Real heartbreak occurs quietly. It chips at you slowly; small cracks at first until you can no longer ignore the gaping wound in your chest. The missing center behind your ribcage. By the time you realize what has happened, the hole is too big to fill. The chasm impossible to bridge. They don’t tell you that it sneaks up on you, the curl of a cold-blooded snake around your neck that restricts your ability to breathe, to function. It hisses in your ear, a gentle whisper that only gets louder when the puncture isn’t tended to. 

Before you know it, the serpent has bared its teeth and sunk its poison into you. 

You didn’t think you would experience heartbreak with Dick Grayson. The man is loyal, loving. He anticipates your needs before you can even determine what’s missing. Raised to be observant and thoughtful, Dick is a fierce protector of those he cares about. You happen to be lucky enough to be one of them. 

You’ve seen how he is with his family, his friends, the people that he chooses to protect with his body, mind, and soul. There is not a thing he wouldn’t do to keep those he cherishes safe, even if it means sacrificing himself. 

Because of all this, Dick has to juggle one too many priorities. Not only are they things he already planned on doing, but he also has to account for the emergencies that crop up from time to time. Given that this is Blüdhaven, time to time means all the time. 

You’re used to it. Coming in second, that is. 

Your relationship with Dick is relatively new. Your dates aren’t life or death. So when he has to up and leave in the middle of dinner, it’s something you’ve grown accustomed to. The moment his phone vibrates on the table, you set your expectations. 

The first vibration, he ignores. 

The second one, his eyes flick down to his device before he refocuses on you.

Third time’s the charm. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly after you finish recounting your day. “Let me just check and make sure it isn’t anything urgent.”

But you already know the answer to that. It’s always urgent. It’s the city. You can’t blame him for it. Corruption is the norm in Blüdhaven; it bleeds through every crack and corner. From the police commissioner to the mayor, to the elites. Dick is ambitious, he thinks he can rid the city completely of its decrepit moral compass. 

The flicker of guilt that passes through his baby blues is the first sign. Then comes the sour curl of his lips when he realizes that he can’t disregard the threat alert from Oracle. Then comes the sympathetic look when he finally turns back to you. 

It’s that look that you can’t stand. That’s the one that always gets to you. Because you don’t want him to pity you. 

So you plaster a smile onto your lips and nod. “Go. The city needs you.”

Apologies automatically fall from his lips as he places a chaste kiss on your forehead, presses his credit card into your hands, and takes off. His dinner sits cold on the pristine white tablecloth. 

And you wonder if there will ever come a time when Blüdhaven will no longer need Nightwing. Or Dick Grayson. 

Maybe then you’ll have a chance at coming first. 

In his defense — and perhaps it comes from months of making excuses first for him as a friend and then as a lover, he does try. He tries to make time for you, slipping you into the little gaps he has in between investigations, philanthropic work, and patrols. It’s how you met him in the first place. 

Your job at the community center allowed you some governmental access which you used to help him take down a few bad apples in the mayor’s office. Small-time fry. But then he started doing more work for the people, building affordable housing and programming to help the city’s children, and you started seeing more of this elusive Dick Grayson. 

At first, you had been starstruck. The man is renowned all throughout the city — a savior to the good, a menace to the bad. The more time you spend with him, the more you learn about the Dick that he doesn’t show to the outside world. 

It’s the man who is weary down to the bone, cutting off one evil head only for two more to grow. It’s the man who bears the city’s burdens on his shoulders, carrying the weight of a million expectations with the limited resources that he has. It’s the man who slinks back into your arms after a long day and curls himself around you like it’s the only place he is meant to be. 

Falling in love with Dick had been all too easy. It’s like taking a nosedive off a cliff, knowing you’ll land in a wide-open ocean with a life jacket. 

When you find out that he also spends his nights as the masked hero Nightwing, he had been wary of how you would react. It’s ridiculous to think that you would feel anything other than pride when you see him in full gear for the first time. 

For some reason, Dick feels… further once you learn this fact. He already felt unattainable before —untouchable — as this generous, intelligent billionaire, heir to the famous Wayne family. Now that you know he is also a crime-fighting superhero, you feel those buried feelings of insecurity rise to the surface. The creeping voices clawing into your skin to question how you could ever be an adequate partner for him. 

How could you — someone so normal, so average — compare to the living legend Dick Grayson?

Of course, once the Nightwing gates are open, you also see the people he surrounds himself with. Martians. Kryptonians. Shapeshifters. Trained assassins. And Barbara Gordon — how do you even begin to describe Barbara Gordon?

Between Kori and Barbara, you were convinced that Dick had a thing for redheads. Dick reassured you that he really didn’t have a particular preference. No, no preference in terms of hair, but you can clearly see the pattern — all of his exes are skillful. Powerful. Hot.  

Gorgeous in a way that takes your breath away. Not only that, they’re fierce and bold and intelligent. They are out there saving the world day in and day out, whether it’s through ultraviolet energy projections or hacking into the most secure servers on the planet. 

That monster inside of you peeks around the corner with its talons out, ready to pierce through your fragile heart once more. You hate yourself for even thinking this way. It’s part of his job, these are his friends. You should feel lucky that you were even introduced to them. 

But that feeling has taken root and consumed your heart. Insufficient. Inadequate. Incapable. Who are you compared to all this greatness? 

It’s why you keep your head down, why you keep your mouth shut even as the fissures begin to appear in your heart. You disregard them, brush them off as a temporary blip in your confidence. You tell yourself that you’re lucky Dick’s even giving you the time of day. You can’t be another burden for him to bear. You should be making his life easier. 

So when he apologizes, you wave off his concern and tell him to go out there and save the world, Boy Wonder, because that’s what he does. The world comes first. You come second. It’s how it’s always been. It’s how it should be. 

The deeper you try to bury these feelings, these insecurities, the greater the cuts you slice inside your heart. You’re carving it out slowly, an excruciating process as you try to preserve what’s left of your emotions. 

Dick makes it up to you each time with flowers, with butterfly kisses, with the gentle touch of his hand. He promises you that next time will be better. He keeps his word. A few dates over the course of a few weeks, uninterrupted time, undivided attention. You’re on cloud nine by the time he drops you off at the doorstep, lingering for a fraction longer, enough time for you to invite him in to stay. 

He does. Every time. 

There are nights he returns to your side in uniform. His suit ripped, blood coating his skin crimson. These are times you’re reminded that he’s mortal. Human. You’re reminded that you could so easily lose him in all the work that he does. 

Nothing makes you feel more powerless than knowing that all you can do is help him tend to the aftermath. Your hands shake when you dab the antiseptic, when you wipe off all the red, when you wrap up the gauze around his body. 

You’re different from Barbara who guides him, who serves as his eyes and ears, and maps him a solution and exit each time. You’re different from Kori who fights alongside him with powers that he doesn’t have. You’re different from Bruce, Jason, Tim, and Damian, who know him in such intimate ways, moving in sync as he works through the city. 

You are someone watching from the sidelines. A character that could be so easily removed from his story, and nobody would blink twice. 

The thought pains you, but you suck it up and deal with it anyway. It’s easy to let these thoughts go when Dick murmurs saccharine sweet phrases into your neck. It’s easy to forget your place when he marks constellations across your body when he feels like having your company. 

You didn’t think it could get worse. You can only help. Right?

But you’re proven wrong the one time you’re all gathered at the Wayne Mansion. It’s a family dinner. The mood is light, the drinks are flowing, the food is delicious. Laughter ripples through the table and, for once, you aren’t overthinking your place at the table. 

That is, until an alarm sounds and everyone is immediately on high alert. They all seem to know what to do, whipping into action quickly while you sit there frozen. 

Dick gears up and then stiffens when he remembers you still at the dinner table, watching them all in awe and surprise. He looks at Alfred who is also preparing to help with the potential invasion of the mansion, then looks at you. “Stay here, okay? I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

You open your mouth, ready to offer your assistance, but stop when you look around the room. How can you possibly even think about helping these heroes? They are the heroes of the story. You are the damsel in distress. 

“Okay,” is all you manage to say.

True to his word, Dick returns a few hours later. You’re right where he left you. He looks relieved to see you untouched, immediately coming up to you to inspect you. “Are you okay?”

Even when the worst is happening, his concern is on you. You’re adding more weight to his already hefty load. 

“I’m okay,” you reassure him. “Is everyone else okay?”

He softens and nods. “Yeah, they’re okay. Let’s get you home, yeah?” 

Dick’s kisses should’ve chased away those worries as they always have, but the feeling persists. It’s an itch you can’t scratch. An invisible scar you can’t heal. The feeling festers and grows, sprawling into this ugly hopelessness inside of you. 

It doesn’t disappear when Dick picks you up from work the next day, chattering on about the programs he is hoping to stand up with the help of the new mayor. 

It doesn’t disappear when the two of you run into Barbara outside of his apartment, telling him that there’s work to be done with Blockbuster.

It doesn’t disappear when Dick shoots you an apologetic look, asking for a rain check on your movie night — even when he’s already carrying the bags of popcorn and treats. 

The more you think about it, the more you consider where you stand with Dick. He’s already so busy with everything else. The last thing you want to be is another item on his checklist, another to-do to cross off. He already has enough on his plate, you don’t want to make it harder for him by adding another thing for him to complete. 

So you do what you thought was best. 

“I don’t think this is working out, Dick.”

Dick’s gaze falters, a shudder in his confidence. “What— why would you say that?”

“You’re very busy. You have a lot of things going on. I don’t think a relationship is a good idea right now.” Not for you, you add in your mind. This is for Dick, you remind yourself. This is to help him, the only way you know how. 

He’s quiet, lips pinched together as he frowns. The two of you were supposed to get lunch together, but you thought it best to sever it clean before the two of you sit down for what would likely be an awkward meal. So here you two are, standing in front of a restaurant. People mill about, barely paying you any mind. Some pause to look at Dick in admiration, but he is only looking at you. 

“Is this what you want?” His voice is lower when he asks this. 

No. But, of course, you don’t say that. 

“Yes. I think this is what’s best.”

A part of you wants him to resist, wants him to fight for you. That selfish part of you begs him to beg you to stay, to tell you that he wants this as much as you do. That he cares about you as much as you do him. 

But the responsible voice inside of you wants him to agree and walk away. 

Luckily – or not, he agrees with the latter. So the two of you hug and part ways. You walk away with shoulders held high and the tears streaming down your face. You don’t let him see it. You never want him to see it. 

And that’s the day you walked away from Dick Grayson.

It may be dramatic to say that there is your life before Dick and a life after him. You never thought you would ever consider romance to be the end-all-be-all of your life — and it isn’t. But Dick Grayson is something special, isn’t he? He isn’t just any romance. 

He is the romance. 

The type that sticks to you, a permanent fixture like he’s been tattooed and engraved into an everlasting mark on your skin. He clings to you like a persistent memory. No matter how many drinks you swallow, how many things you do to keep busy, you can’t seem to shake the thought of him when you’re alone.

The nights are the worst. The world inside your head is too quiet, even in a city like this one. Even when there are sirens blaring from every corner of your apartment and neon lights glare into your bedroom, you’re left to pick apart the decision you’ve made, constantly turning it over in your mind to determine whether it was the right one. 

There are nights when you find yourself reaching for your phone, your thumb hovering over his contact. It would be easy to call him, to ask for him back. You miss him, incredibly so. It would be so simple to send him a text saying as such. 

I miss you. What are you doing tonight?

Thinking of you, are you thinking of me?

I made a mistake. Will you have me again?

You try not to think about him, but the ask is akin to asking you not to breathe. Thinking about Dick comes naturally to you. It’s in the places you frequent, the ghost of him is the only constant lurking in the shadows. It’s the voice inside your head, calming you down when the city gets too much. It’s the absence that you feel the most — the sudden quiet when you don’t have him talking to you about his day, about his family, his friends, his ambition. The silence when he isn’t peppering you with follow-up questions about your week, sincerity and genuine curiosity entwined into his every syllable. 

And just as you’re swirling into this black hole, your phone lights up with an email reminder. A date the two of you were supposed to have. Movie tickets booked weeks ago because you had been so excited to see it, Dick had purchased the tickets immediately. With everything that has happened, you completely forgot to cancel it. 

However, instead of wallowing, you decide to go for it anyway. You’ve been cooped up in your home for too long, burying yourself under this mountain of self-despair. Quality time with your friends helped, but it didn’t cease the voices at night when you’re alone. 

The movie is good, it could’ve been better if you didn’t have this empty seat next to you. The theater is full and yet there is this one gap that sticks out like a sore thumb on opening night. Your mind is half on the movie and half imagining what it would be like to be here with Dick.

He would get popcorn ahead of time, with extra butter, just the way he knows you like it. He would get sweet tea, not cola, because he knows how you don’t like to pair bubbly drinks with airy snacks. He would let you hold onto the bucket and take it as an opportunity to reach closer to you whenever he grabs a handful, even sliding an arm around you to tuck you into his side. When the popcorn is gone, he would hold your hand, squeezing whenever he thinks you need the extra support. 

It’s an almost miserable experience. It’s pathetic how far gone you are for him that you can’t even enjoy time by yourself anymore.

But as they say, heartbreak is supposed to get easier with time. Eventually, you won’t remember what his touch felt like, the warmth of his body next to yours. You won’t think about him every time you pass by the basketball court he used to frequent to keep the neighborhood kids company. You won’t cry when you realize how many people you’ve gotten to know and lost in the process. You won’t think about him and you’ll remember that you can be perfectly content on your own again. 

You try not to fall under the weight of your worries as you step out of the theater. Everyone else filters out in pairs or groups, and you’re left standing there alone in the golden light that casts a glow across the rain-streaked sidewalk. You’re waiting for a cab. A cab that you will soon learn won’t find you. 

Not when you feel the breath down your neck.

“Aren’t you a pretty little bird?”

The unknown voice has you jumping, but not too far when a firm grip wraps around your bicep. Your eyes flash to betray your fear as you take in the masked assailant. He looks familiar, like a photograph hung somewhere in the back of your subconscious. Maybe one of Dick’s files that he tends to strew across your coffee table. 

“You’re Grayson’s girl. I’ve seen you around with him. Blockbuster’s going to want to see you.”

“I’m not— we’re not—” together, you want to say, but you don’t get a chance to finish your words when the man zaps you out cold. 

By the time you wake, there is a dull throbbing on your side where you’ve been electrocuted. The room smells of wastewater but looks relatively clean. You must be near the sewage plant. There is no one in the room and your eyes quickly dart around. What would Dick do in this moment? 

Your hands are tied up with a rope behind your back, feet against the legs of the chair. You systematically go through your surroundings. A shelf with all sorts of items. Books, random paraphernalia, and a glass bottle at the top. An idea pops up in your head, the films you watch finally coming in helpful; it might not be one that Dick approves, but he’s not here to scold you right now. 

Based on the distance and the weight of the chair, you scooch your way towards it. You use your shoulder to bump the shelf, rattling it with the little force you have. You can hear the bottle stumble a bit, but it’s not quite there yet.

Another hard push with your limited movement has it finally dropping on its side, rolling down the shelf until it lands, split in pieces, on the ground next to you. Now, you have to carefully drop yourself onto the floor, making sure you’re not getting the shards on your skin. There is no graceful way to do this, so you just tip yourself over. With your face pressed against the cold cement floor, your hands wriggle around behind you to grasp a piece of the glass, slicing the tip of your finger in the process, but at least you have this. 

Slowly, you use the jagged edge to cut through the rope. It’s an arduous process. The entire time, you’re praying that maybe — on the very off-chance — Dick is still keeping track of you. That he’ll notice your disappearance. Maybe he’ll come to your rescue. It’s a naive thought, but it’s the hope that you cling to.  

When your wrists are finally free, you get to work on your ankles. Another slice on your leg in your hurry to break free before your captors return. You don’t know where you are or how you plan to escape, but that tiny window looks promising. 

You’re halfway up the wall, standing on your chair, struggling to unlock the window when the front door swings open. You whip around and see the imposing figure duck into the room. Fuck. It’s Blockbuster. He is the man who’s been out for Dick’s blood for as long as you can remember. 

And now he has you, trapped in this room. His broad frame takes up nearly half the width of the space. You fiddle with the lock faster, praying for some miracle that you can escape in time. 

But the man doesn’t even give you a chance — his thick arms wrap around your torso before he lifts you up and throws you back onto the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you swear you hear bones cracking. The pain that shoots through you is fast, blistering, blinding. It’s hot-white and has your vision spotting. 

“Where do you think you’re going, pretty bird?” Blockbuster rumbles in vile amusement. “You’re not leaving this room. You’re not leaving this space until I get some answers.”

“Answers about what?” You spit out, the liquid coming out in a smattering of red on the grey floor. 

“Grayson. I want to know his weaknesses, his vulnerable points. I want to know everything there is to know about him to destroy him.”

The wide smile that stretches across his face has your stomach churning in disgust. He crouches on the floor, leans towards you, close enough that his platinum hair brushes against your face. 

“Or maybe you’re it. Maybe you’re his only weakness. Maybe I already have the pretty bird in my hands to take him down.”

“He’s not going to let you get away with this, or anything. He’s going to destroy you before you even come close to him.”

Blockbuster laughs, the sound booming. “This bird’s got claws. I can see why Grayson likes you. Don’t worry, pretty. I’ll break each one before you leave today. I’ll make sure you can’t sing for him anymore. I’ll make you squawk.” 

The threat settles in deep in your gut and your heart plummets six feet under. 

Then it begins. The beating, the brutalizing. You’re on the ground, against the wall, and flying through the air. Your face, your ribs, your hair, your legs, your arms. It goes on and on for what feels like hours. The only light you see is the one that hangs overhead, but even that begins to fade as your eyes struggle to stay open. Your chest heaves with heavy breaths, strained wheezes slipping past your lips in your desperate attempt to stay alive. The glass bits you were so adamant on avoiding before are now affixed to your skin like glitter. 

Your vision goes between white and red and pitch black. When you start to lose consciousness, he jolts you awake again. The only sounds ringing in your ear are his questions, now a jumbled blur of words, and a cacophony of foul laughter. 

You’ve never been religious but in those final moments, you pray. You pray for a savior. You pray that you’ll survive this. You pray that Dick doesn’t have to see you in your final moments.

Despite all that has happened, you like to hope that Dick still cares — and when Dick cares, you know he would live with this weight for the rest of his life. The last thing you want to leave him with is another burden to carry. 

Your ears start ringing from the abuse you’ve undergone. At some point, the pain no longer flares, it ebbs and flows as your body grows numb. Not a single part of you untouched. You don’t think the man even has questions anymore; he only takes ill gratification in the fact that he has destroyed something of Dick’s. 

You swear you hear a different voice, a different sound. No longer your screams or his laughter. A curse, a thud, a yell. Your brain can’t fully comprehend it, not when your senses can no longer be trusted. Not when they barely work. In the spread of red, you see glimpses of blue and black. 

You hear your name. You hear it before you feel a gentle touch, a brush that’s barely there on your head. 

Then it all goes black. 

“We need you to let her go. Sir, we are trying to help.”

“You don’t know what she’s gone through—”

“We will work to diagnose all her injuries. For now, we need you to let us do our jobs.”

“I’m surprised she’s still breathing. The damage she’s taken…”

“Let’s just get through this and let the family know.”

“Sir, this is family only—”

“I am her family,” Dick’s voice snaps back. You’ve never heard him raise his voice like that before. 

Then you hear someone else, more stern, still warm. Bruce. “If you’ll allow my son to stay with her, she doesn’t have family in the area. I’ll handle the paperwork, if you’ll lead me.”

“Sweet girl, I’m so sorry.”

“No, I’m not leaving.”

“Dick, you need to eat at least. You can’t help her like this.”

“I’m the reason she’s here to begin with. I’m not leaving her.”

“How’s she doing?” The deep baritone, you think it’s Bruce. 

Dick’s voice frays at the edges, like he’s barely keeping it together as he inhales. You can feel his eyes on you. “Better. Doctors think she’ll be fine but she doesn’t have the energy yet to be fully conscious.”

“She’s a strong one. She’ll be fine, Dick.”

A pause. You wonder how Dick looks, if he’s been eating— “I don’t think I can ever forgive myself if she isn’t.”

“I should’ve been there with her, you know. We bought those tickets weeks ago. I thought she refunded them when she broke up with me. Didn’t think she’d go alone to such a late showing.” 

A sigh. More high-pitched. Maybe Barbara. She’s been worried sick about him based on how many times she has come to visit. Her voice is more familiar than others. “You can’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known that would happen.”

“It’s Blüdhaven, of course, something like this would happen. I should’ve expected this, that’s my entire job.” 

“Babs sent me here to deliver this. Can you please just eat first? Everyone’s worried about you.”

There’s the rustling of a plastic bag. You hope that Tim picked up Dick’s favorite Thai spot downtown, the one with the pad see ew he likes. Hopefully, that’ll cheer him up. “Thanks, but I’m good for now.”

“Dick, you’re not doing anyone any favors by punishing yourself. What would she say if she saw you like this, huh?”

“Well, she can’t really say anything now, can she? Because of me.”

“Stop blaming yourself. It’s Blockbuster’s fault. She wouldn’t want you to do this.”

“Should’ve been me in this bed.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. God, I’ll do anything — I’ll give up anything. Just please wake up. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t do this without you. I need you to wake up, pretty girl. Need to see those eyes again. Need you looking at me again.”

“I swear I’ll do better. I’ll work harder. Please. Don’t take her away from me.”

When your eyes finally flutter open, you feel as if it’s been years since you’ve seen the light. The bright fluorescent lamps above blind you as you groan and turn away. Crust nearly keeps your eyes shut but you reach up to brush them away, only to wince at the searing pain by your side.

“Hey, pretty girl, easy. Don’t move too fast. You’re hurt.” 

Dick. You slowly turn to the side to find him there. Then you briefly analyze your surroundings. 

White. All white. Hospital. The only splashes of color are in the flower arrangements sitting at the end of your bed. Large and wild. Alive. 

You’re alive. 

Christ, you’re alive. 

But Dick — he looks disheveled, the most you’ve ever seen him at least. There’s certainly more than a day’s worth of stubble peppering his jaw, his blue eyes shadowed by the circles surrounding them. His hair is a mussed-up mess, like he’s been running his hand through it nonstop for days. 

He’s fast to approach, gentle to touch. You swear you see the slight tremble in his fingertips as he brushes your hair away from your face. His eyes search yours, drinking you in like he is memorizing every inch of you. Old habits die hard, you suppose. He’s probably cataloging your injuries as if the doctor hasn’t done that already. 

“Hey, Dick,” you smile weakly, the stretch painful. Your throat feels dry, your voice comes out grainy. There’s a stiffness around your neck, which you soon realize is a brace. It hurts to breathe, let alone speak. “What day is it?”

Dick scrambles to grab the glass of water at your bedside table. He eases the rim between your lips, letting the cool liquid slowly pour between your chapped lips. “Easy, not too much. Not too fast,” he whispers, then adds, “Been four days.”

“Hmm, that’s a while, huh? Hope my boss doesn’t fire me for missing work that long. God knows we’re understaffed.”

Your attempt to laugh falls short when you feel the piercing twinge in your stomach, and it comes out as a raspy cough instead. 

Dick’s eyes widen and you shake your head to reassure him. You don’t like the way his forehead creases in concern, how dim his usually bright eyes are. Dick forces a smile at your poor endeavor at humor. “No, I’m sure you’ll be fine, sweetheart. Called in for you.”

“Good. What a waste of PTO though.”

“Sweet girl,” Dick breathes out, closer this time as he leans forward and presses his lips against your temple. You barely feel it, still slightly numb under the bandage wrapped around your head. His breath is shaky when he exhales. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been there.”

You roll your eyes, but it only makes your head ache. “Don’t be silly. Why would you have been there? It wasn’t as if we had plans.”

“We were supposed to go together. We—” Dick chokes on his words as he sits on the chair next to your bed, bringing your hand up to his face and flattens the back of it against his cheek. “I’m sorry. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that I wasn’t there.”

“You were, Dick. You came for me. I knew you would.”

“I wasn’t fast enough.”

“You were as fast as you could be.”

“I didn’t get him. I wanted to, but you were there and you were hurt and I needed to get you to the hospital first. He escaped and—”

“You’ll get him next time.”

“I let you get hurt.”

“You didn’t do anything except save me.”

Dick’s lips quiver as he inhales again, as he looks at you. 

“I love you.”

Then you hear another sharp gasp. Yours. 

“I love you. I should’ve told you that a long time ago, pretty girl. I love you so much. I shouldn’t have let you walk away. I should’ve fought harder for you. I just— I thought you deserved better than me. Someone who could treasure you properly. Hopefully, someone who loves you as much as I do, even if I don’t think it’s possible.”

Your throat is tight. Whether it’s the tears or from the injuries you’ve sustained, you’re not entirely sure. Your question is only answered when you taste the saltiness on your tongue, your fingers reaching up to touch the wet mess rolling down your face. 

“But I can’t let you go. People think I’m selfless, but god — I’m so fucking selfish when it comes to you. Never want you to leave my side again. I want you close so I can protect you, keep you safe, love you proper. I want you to know how much you mean to me. I want to remind you of it every day. I took it for granted before, but never again. I love you. I’ll do it right this time, if you’ll let me. If you’ll still have me.”

“Dick…”

“God, look at me babbling away when you should be resting,” Dick huffs, disgruntled with himself. “I’m sorry. I’ll get the doctor. I should’ve done that first.”

“Stay.”

“I have to—”

You reach for his fingers again, intertwining them. It’s been a while since you’ve had his big hands up close. These hands always remind you that you’re safe, that you’re his. Gentle, a contradiction against the harsh touch of Blüdhaven. “Just for a little while.”

Dick glances between the door and your joint hands in conflict. He caves in to you, because — of course, he does. He’s never been one to deny you when you want to touch him. It’s his weakness. If Clark had his Kryptonite, he had you. 

“For a little bit,” he murmurs reluctantly, “but I want them to check on you right after this, okay? I have to make sure you’re good.” 

For a while, the two of you let the silence seep in. It wraps around you like a blanket, warm and steady. The worries of the past few days — even the past few weeks — seem to melt away as you let your eyes slide close once more, your head pressing back into the pillow. Dick’s fingers twitch in your hand and you give him a squeeze to assure him you’re okay. 

“I was scared,” you admit quietly. You can’t meet his eyes. Not for this. “I wasn’t scared of Blockbuster. I was scared of what would happen if you found me a minute too late. If I didn’t make it.”

“Wh— why would you be scared of that?”

“Because I know you’d blame yourself. You already have, even though you saved me. I didn’t want to be another weight to carry. Another burden on your shoulders.”

There is a fracture in Dick’s voice when he says your name. Like a prayer. Like a desperate plea. “You could never be a burden. I— I don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t make it in time. I don’t even want to think about that.”

“Might make things easier for you,” you try to tease, but the joke lands bitter on your tongue. “One less thing to worry about. I guess I already was when I ended things.”

Dick is quiet for a moment, you can’t even hear him breathe. So you turn to look at him again, curious eyes finding his slumped shoulders. “Don’t even joke about that. That’s not something I’m entertaining. I’m never not worrying about you,” he mutters, “kept tabs on you even after you broke up with me. I wanted to make sure you always had someone looking out for you, even if it’s someone you didn’t care about anymore.”

You frown then. “Why would you think I don’t care about you?”

His head tilts in question then, brows furrowing. “Isn’t— I mean, isn’t that why you ended things? Because you weren’t interested in me anymore. I wasn’t a great boyfriend, I know that. I should’ve done more. That’s on me. I just thought, you… didn’t care about me anymore. Maybe you found someone else.”

“Dick, oh my— no, not at all. I just—” your teeth sink into your bottom lip, the truth hanging on the tip of your tongue but you refuse to let it slip. 

He looks at you with such earnest eyes, ones that urge you to continue. 

How can you say no to him? How could you think for one second you could let him go?

“I thought it would be easier for you, if we broke up,” you admit quietly and are immediately answered by the deepening of his frown, “you have so much going on. Between Nightwing, Blüdhaven and Gotham, and all the community outreach you were doing, it just didn’t seem like you had time for a relationship. It’s not as if I was helping you in any way, I can’t really do that. Not like the others. So I did what I thought was best.”

The look on Dick’s face now, you don’t think you ever want to see again. He looks absolutely crestfallen. His lips slightly parted, eyes carrying the sort of melancholy that comes after a loss. “You— fuck, you thought that breaking up would be easier for me? How can you— what would even make you think that? I know I’ve been busy and I haven’t been the best boyfriend, but god, you— you never made things harder. Ever. If anything, I feel so much lighter with you around. I feel as if I could breathe again. When this city chokes out the last of me, I know I’ll at least have you. And god, I wasn’t perfect, I was a terrible boyfriend, but you put up with me. I don’t know why you did for as long as you did, but— I didn’t know that’s how you felt with me. I wish you’d told me.”

A laugh of disbelief escapes him, rising from his chest with acid on his tongue. 

“You were always so patient. I thought— I thought that’s all you wanted from me. A few dates here and there. I didn’t want to ask more of you, didn’t want to scare you off. I can be intense, overwhelming. I know I can certainly be, and I didn’t want you to think I was being too demanding.” 

“Dick, you’re… unbelievable. Do you know how much I admire you? Everything that you do? Sometimes, I don’t know what you see in me. When you have all these incredible people around you, when you’re doing all these incredible things. I didn’t think I’d be… enough.”

Dick stands then, cupping your face in his hands. His eyes are wild, alive now. It’s as if he’s been electrified in the last few moments of your conversation. “You are more than enough. You’re everything. Every day I see how hard you work, how much of your heart you put into this city and its people, and it reminds me of why I want to protect this city. It’s because of you. I want you safe, I want you happy here — with me. God, I fucking love you, you know that. I’m going to remind you of it every day. If you’ll let me have you again, I promise you — you’ll never have a doubt in your mind ever again when it comes to where you stand with me. You’ll see what I see in you.”

You crack another small smile, cheeks aching. You’re probably ripping open a couple of stitches, but it’s worth it when Dick breathes a sigh of relief. “Love you too, Dick.”

The smile he offers you is magnificent. The kind that you memorize, print, and tuck away for safekeeping on a rainy day. He presses another kiss to your forehead, then your hand. Firm this time. More confident. He hesitates before he leans to brush his lips against yours. 

And it feels like homecoming. 

“I’m going to put a tracker on you from now on. I’ll drop you off at work and pick you up. I’ll install new security measures in your office and our apartment—”

“Our?”

He freezes then flushes, pink tinging his neck. “If you want. I mean, I think you’ll be safer there. I know we haven’t been together long but I’ll feel better if you’re with me. We can spend more time together, I don’t have to let you go at the end of the day. If you’re not comfortable, I’ll set up a separate room for you first — not to say I won’t be crashing in there every night, but—”

“Dick,” you reprimand teasingly. “I’ll think about it. That’s a big move.”

“Right, yeah. Of course. You don’t have to. I’ll implement new security cameras and sensors at your place. I’ll booby trap some of the windows so no one can break in. We’ll upgrade your—”

“Dick,” you say again, softer this time. “Your offer isn’t a bad thing. I just… I have to think about it. I love you, I do. It’s just been a lot.”

He nods solemnly and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Always working. Always looking for a solution. 

“It’s not a no, baby.”

The pet name has him perking up, his eyes illuminating for the first time in a while since you’ve seen him. Crystal blue staring right back at you. 

“And Dick—”

“Yeah?”

“Probably time to get the doctor. I might’ve split open a few stitches.”

“Oh, shit yeah.” He jumps to his feet, ready to run out when you call for him again. He pops his head back in, gaze curious, happy, concerned. 

Your lips tug into a smile. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, pretty girl.”

dick is flying to (taglist): @catclaw1 @lunexiax @esunarint @lunaryoongie @alli0-0 @avgdestitute @parker-barnes-af @onecojg @lynnidc @winnichu173 @c3liaaaaa @my-drvidess @fruitypebsworld @smorgasbrods @ruptureedspleen @take-it-on-the-run @a-very-fictional-girl @eiaf4uwn @vivianna2392 @w1nchesterfiles @ae1szn @its-pomegranite @athenxt

He simply nodded before tapping the pencil on the sheet. “Use the power rule here.” He said as he drew an arrow on your sheet. “You're taking the derivative, not the integral.” He scribbled his words down beside the arrow, marking it with a little star on top. For the rest of the class, he explained your concepts better than the teacher. 

After that day, you sat next to him during math and physics. And he seemed to not mind at all. 

You tapped his shoulder, “Seonghyeon, what do I do now?” 

He glanced at your sheet, “take the horizontal and vertical components separately, it’s easier.” Amidst solving, you realised you never asked him if it's ok for you to sit beside him. “Seonghyeon?”

“Hm?”

“Is it okay if I sit beside you?” 

He chuckled, “You always sit beside me, why ask now?” 

You glanced at him before looking back down at your notebook. “In case you sat with someone else.” 

“Nah, I don’t have many friends.” 

You scoffed, “Seriously?”

He tilted his head, glancing at you for a second, “Not as many as you think.” 

“You say hi to like 50 people everyday.”

“Just because I’m friendly with them doesn’t mean I'm close to them.”

For someone so smart, he was incredibly dense and utterly oblivious to the fact that you liked him. He never noticed how you saved a seat for him. Never noticed the extra pen you carried for him because he always threw his pens into his bag—always struggling to pick it up from the bottom of his book-filled bag.  Maybe he noticed, maybe he just thought you were being nice. Either way, it was starting to drive you insane.

So you did what any perfectly rational person would do.

You made a list. A list to make this nerd, your nerd.

It wasn’t supposed to be serious. Just something stupid you’d tell your friend every night. 

You: Seonghyeon really likes hot vanilla latte. So cute right?

Iroha: Girl it’s a vanilla latte, the fuck are you on?

And slowly, the list grew. Grew into something that looked like this:

1) Asking him to explain something, not because you don’t know. But because of the way he lights up.

Seonghyeon was a nerd. That much had already been established. Apart from patiently walking you through calculus and physics every other day, you'd noticed something else while walking to the cafeteria together. You randomly asked, “Why does plastic turn white when bent?” 

He stopped walking. Like actually stopped walking. You turned around only to find him staring at you with a big smile on his face. You couldn't help but smile back. Your eyebrows furrowed, “What?”

“I’m glad you asked.” 

For the remaining 20 minutes of recess, you were being schooled on polymers and how light reflects differently on different types of polymers.

2) Have his favourite acai toppings memorised.

Seonghyeon insited that toppings on acai didn't matter.

 “They all taste the same”

They didn't.

Because every single time his bowl came with blueberries, strawberries and banana, there'd be the tiniest smile on his face before he took the first bite. So it became routine for you to stop by the nearest cafe. Always grabbing him an acai bowl without being told to do so. 

3) Always tell him how helpful the little notes he scribbles on your notebook.

Seonghyeon has a habit of noting down stuff besides problems he doesn't get or messes up. He has a system. When it’s something trivial—a common mistake like the humble ‘z’ turning into a 2 mid-equation. It got starred once. 

★ watch your handwriting. Don’t rush

The number of stars increased as the mistake revolved around something he didn’t understand. The maximum being 3. Two stars for when it was a concept he didn’t grasp initially and 3 for something he needed to go through all over again. 

So whenever something he taught you was on the exam. Majorly the whole exam. You’d run up to him, jumping excitedly as you said, “Your little notes helped!” 

Sometimes during classes he’d lean over to see what you’re doing and smile despite himself whenever he saw you follow his system. And with how much he helps you, you gave him a nickname. Calling him professor whenever you need his help.

4) Text him something stupid and let him overthink it.

Seonghyeon may be the most outgoing, loud and friendly person you have ever met. But when friendships carry more than saying-hi-in-the-corridor value to him, he overthinks all of his actions. 

Once around 3 a.m you texted him, would u still send me notes if i was a worm?

You were left on seen for 20 minutes. Not because he ignored you, but because he drafted 5 messages before finally sending you one which was still, insanely unhinged. 

Another time, you asked him if fishes ever get thirsty

Not only did he reply 20 minutes later, he also called you up immediately after. You spent the whole night listening to him research about this. It’s safe to say, if anyone ever asks him this again—they’ll receive his infamous nerd-out sessions.

5) Compliment him, not his looks.

Seonghyeon’s gorgeous, no surprise there. Walking around campus with him meant girls turning their heads in attempts to seek just one more glance at him. Needless to say, he too knew he was handsome. He was told so multiple times daily. By a random woman on the bus, by his friends, even teachers. 

So why would you compliment his features like everyone else? 

Instead, you complimented the way he thought. 

You watched as he solved a sum for you. He scooted his chair closer, leaning in as he went on and on about various ways to go about this sum. Frankly, you weren’t listening. You rested your head on the table, spacing out staring at him. 

‘You could always evaluate the limit first. Oh! You can also–” his eyes landed on you. You were staring up at him. Your eyes never leaving his face. Heat crept to his neck, his ears visibly red. “What?” 

You hummed, slowly sitting straight. “How do you think like this?” 

He blinked, “What do you mean?” 

“You seem to solve complex questions so easily. It’s crazy how you think this way you know.” 

Watching him go quiet and be all flustered in a way he never is was something you could never get tired of.

6) Taking care of him when he forgets to.

Exam season always hit him too hard. He had a title to carry. People always expected Seonghyeons name to be on top of the grade listings. During exam season, he’d always sleep less, eat less and stress a lot more than he should. 

You’d watch him spend 12 hours straight in the library. No breaks. Not even to drink water. So, you always stopped by with takeout. Sitting beside him as you sweeped his notebooks and ipad to the side. Slamming the bag of food on the table. 

“Eat.”

“But I haven’t—”

“Eat.” 

You never gave him an option. 

7) Always steal his jackets in the winter.

You always ‘forgot’ to carry something to throw on in the winter. The cool breeze hits you and Seonghyeon the second you both step out the campus. Involuntarily, both your hands start rubbing your arms, trying to warm yourself up. Seonghyeon’s gaze lingers on you for a while, before he takes a layer off. 

He wraps his jacket around you, “Here.”

“Hyeon, you don’t have to it’s okay.” You say, taking the jacket off of your back. You extend your hand forward, ‘You’ll get cold.” 

He simply pushes your hand back as he starts walking. “I have a sweater on, all you’re wearing is a tank top.” You run, catching up to him. “What kind of idiot wears a tank top in the winters?” 

You whine, “The library has heaters!” 

Before giving him his jacket back, you made sure to spray an excessive amount of your perfume on it. Just enough that anyone standing a little too close would wonder why Eom Seonghyeon smelled like a girl instead of laundry detergent. And when he threw his jacket on while roaming with his friends. He was bombarded with questions. 

“Why do you smell like a girl?” Juhoon asked. 

James leaned in closer to Seonghyeon, sniffing the jacket thoroughly. “You smell like Yn.”

To which Seonghyeon didn’t respond, but his flushed face said it all. 

8) Let him talk about his family and actually listen.

Seonghyeon was an older brother. Which explained why he acted more like a second parent than a sibling half the time. He worried too much, overthought everything and somehow always found himself asking you what to do whenever it involved his younger sister. "I don't know what to tell her," he'd sighed one afternoon, resting his chin in his palm. "That guy's not serious about her."

You looked up from your notes. "Make a pros and cons list with her."

He blinked. "...A pros and cons list?"

"You like lists."

A laugh escaped him. "Fair enough."

About a week later, he walked into class looking noticeably lighter. You barely got the chance to say good morning before asking, "Something good happen?"

"My sister finally broke up with him."

"Oh." You smiled to yourself before returning to your notes. "I'm glad."

He ended up talking about it for the rest of lunch. A month later, the two of you were studying in the library when you looked up from your laptop. "Have you figured out what you're getting your parents for their anniversary?"

His pencil stopped moving. "...You remembered that?"

You frowned. "You told me."

"I know, but..." He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly avoiding your gaze. "You actually remembered."

You only smiled before pushing your physics worksheet towards him. "So, are you going to help me with this question or not?"

He let out a quiet laugh, still smiling to himself as he reached for your pencil.

9) Let him see you sad.

Not because you want comfort, but because you want him to know that it’s okay for him to be vulnerable around you too. You'd spent months watching him carry everyone else's worries on his shoulders. His sister's problems, exam stress, group projects, friends asking him for help every five minutes. Yet somehow, whenever you asked him how he was doing, his answer was always the same. "I'm okay."

You wondered if anyone had ever shown him that he didn't always have to be.

The chemistry exam had gone horribly. Not just badly, horribly.

By the time you got to the library, you'd already convinced yourself you'd failed. Your calculus worksheet sat open in front of you, but you'd been staring at the same question for nearly ten minutes, pencil unmoving. "You've been on that derivative for a while."

You looked up. Seonghyeon stood beside your chair, backpack slung over one shoulder. "I'm just... kinda sad about the chemistry exam." You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Nothing else."

He studied your face for a second before nodding. "Wait here."

"Huh?"

He was already gone. A few minutes later, he came back carrying your favourite chocolate and quietly placed it on top of your notebook. "You forgot to eat."

You blinked. "...Chocolate?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I figured it'd help."

Your fingers curled around it. "You didn't have to."

"Don't worry about the chemistry test." He smiled, the same reassuring smile he'd worn the first day he'd taught you the power rule. "You're smart. It's one exam."

Before you could answer, he reached over and gently patted your head. Your heart practically stopped. "You really didn't have to do all this."

"I wanted to." He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You always look after me." His smile softened. "Let me return the favour."

For someone who spent so much time taking care of everyone else...It was nice to know someone wanted to take care of him, too.

10) Make the first move cus u a girlboss.

Because he won't, not because he doesn't want to. He's just spent so long convincing himself he was imagining it that he'd rather die than risk getting it wrong. It was almost two in the morning by the time the two of you finally gave up. The calculus question you'd spent nearly forty minutes arguing over turned out to be wrong in the answer key. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I refuse to believe I lost sleep over a typo."

It was only fair the two of you walked across the street to the convenience store. Energy drinks for him. Chocolate milk for you. Maybe something sweet to make up for how tired you both were. Halfway through paying, rain hammered against the windows. By the time you stepped outside, it had turned into a downpour. "...Fuck." You looked over. "I don't have an umbrella."

You lifted your drink. "Me neither."

Neither of you moved. The tiny awning barely covered the entrance, rain splashing onto your shoes every time the wind picked up. Cars drove past, headlights reflecting off the wet pavement. You tilted your head back. "The moon's pretty tonight."

Seonghyeon followed your gaze before laughing quietly. "You can only see part of it because the sunlight's hitting—"

You stopped listening. For the first time since you'd met him, you stopped listening. Instead, you watched the way his eyes lit up whenever he explained something. The way his hands moved without him realizing. The tiny crease between his brows whenever he was trying to find the right words.

Cute.

God.

He was so unbelievably cute.

Before your brain could catch up, your hand had already reached for the front of his jacket. He blinked, sentence dying halfway through. "Hm?"

You stepped closer. Close enough to see the few raindrops that got caught in his hair because of the air blowing the drops. Close enough that his breathing faltered.

"Seonghyeon."

"...Yeah?"

You looked up at him. "Can I kiss you?"

His ears turned pink, he didn't say anything for a while. He just stared. And then, a tiny nod.

You smiled. "Use your words."

"...Yes."

You rose onto your tiptoes, one hand still clutching the front of his jacket, and kissed him. His hand caressed your cheek. The kiss was slow and gentle, the type of kiss that blurred out the sounds of everything happening in a distance. 

When you pulled away, Seonghyeon hadn't moved an inch. He simply stood there, eyes wide, face completely red. You couldn't help laughing. "Got nothing to say?"

He blinked, then covered his face with one hand. "Hold on. I can't think."

—

you were having a relatively shitty day.

the party that martin had convinced you to go to had turned out to be far too overstimulating for your liking, and after one too many ‘sorry, i have a boyfriend’s, you were left alone in a house full of asians, alcohol, and your thoughts. which, unfortunately for you, tended to spiral easily, especially when you were already uncomfortable and not allowed to drink.

after about five hours of pure torture, you managed to get a very intoxicated martin and juhoon into the car (with the help of an only slightly tipsy james) before driving back to your own shared apartment, where the six of you lived.

once you stepped through the front door, you immediately kicked off your boots, tossed your purse onto the counter, grabbed two drinks from the fridge, and flopped onto the couch dramatically.

james laughed at your position, taking a seat next to you and raising an eyebrow quizzically.

“was the party really that bad?”

you sighed, and took a long drink from the bottle in your hand before sending a muffled groan into the couch cushion.

“what’s wrong?”

“have you ever felt like you’re not actually korean enough?”

—

stereotypes. they are what we hide behind. the perfect beauty. that one kid in your class whose last name is lee or kim or park or choi and is the sole reason why the curve of your test is not 30 percent but 10. and those who don’t adhere to these stereotypes are targeted, because if they aren’t perfect then we aren’t either. if they aren’t perfect then that would mean our mask has fallen, that we no longer have worth or value and that our people would be seen for what we really are. broken.

—

at this, seonghyeon and keonho emerged from their bedrooms, one looking slightly confused and the other worried. seonghyeon shot a questioning glance at james, who shrugged, getting up from his seat and making his way to the kitchen.

“have you been drinking?” seonghyeon asked.

“what happened to hi, hello, how was the party?” james questioned.

“그런니까. and why the fuck are you two awake?” you added, doing a once-over of both of them, a slightly incredulous look on your face.

keonho crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “hi, hello, how was the party, we were playing mariokart and lost track of time. answer the question, noona, because what kind of question was that?”

you snorted, taking another sip of your drink. “you should have gone to sleep.”

“ignore that, noona, what do you mean by that? and why are you sitting like that? are you sure you’re not drunk?”

james’ laugh and his ‘sidetracked’ is crazy! could be heard from the kitchen.

you laughed before replying, “no, hyeon. i’m sober, i swear.”

he looked over at you, furrowing his brows. you were laying upside down on the couch, with your legs hooked over the top and your head hanging down near the bottom.

sober, indeed.

—

—

“just answer the damn question.”

james, who had taken a seat on the floor opposite martin, let out a quiet sigh, and took a large swig of the water that the yournger had handed him before meeting your gaze, concerned.

“what happened at the party, babe?” james asked, tone gentle.

you raised an eyebrow before maneuvering your body so that you was sitting upright, and slid off the couch to lean against him.

“왜? what makes you think something happened?” you scoffed, bringing the drink to you lips.

keonho set his cola down and flicked your forehead lightly.

“yah, why else would we think something happened? it’s not like this came out of nowhere.”

you frowned, pouting a little (most likely from the alcohol, or perhaps spending a bit too much time with keonho), but stayed quiet, sipping your drink.

martin, who had stayed silent for most of the conversation, spoke up.

“yeah, when i was younger, i kinda did. not as much when i visited canada, but when i lived in korea…it was kinda hard, y’know?” he bit into a cookie before continuing. “i mean, my dad’s genes definitely came on stronger than my mom’s, and surprising people with your ability to speak korean wears off after the first few times. but i guess i never really felt…not korean? like, english isn’t hard for me, but korean has always been a little easier for me, and i’m more used to the culture in korea than i do here.

“but i don’t feel, y’know, not canadian either. i guess after a while i stopped caring about what people thought.”

james nodded, then tilted his head to the side, as if considering his words.

“i think i felt similarly after coming to korea, too, for the first time. it’s not like i am korean, or was. but it was a little daunting…it felt a little awkward. like i was pretending to be someone that i wasn’t.”

y/n hummed, staring at her drink again, as if processing everything her boys had told her.

“are you okay?” james asked, placing a hand on her knee, the drinks and cookies long forgotten.

she merely hummed again, and ran her hand through her hair before responding.

“it’s just…i don’t know. nobody ever uses my korean name except for, like, yoonchae; everyone just calls me y/n. which isn’t, y’know, a bad thing, but…” she sighed, reaching over james' lap to grab her soju, “몰라요. and my korean is pretty…well, it’s not ass, necessarily, but my accent is so terribly american that some people can barely understand it. i’m literally a twinkie at this point.”

martin frowned. “who told you that?”

“nobody.” she took a sip of her soju before pursing her lips and opting for a cookie instead.

“y/n.” she looked up and saw james staring at her.

“what?”

"what does that mean?" keonho asked, before being shushed by juhoon, who tugged the younger three away from the conversation and towards their rooms.

“who the hell called you that?” james asked, frowning.

“nobody, james.”

“then why—”

“it’s just frustrating.”

james paused, reaching over to squeeze her hand, and frowned.

“it’s like i’m…stuck. not entirely american, evidently, because i’m too asian, but not fobby enough to be fully korean. stuck in this weird limbo, y’know? i’m 외국인 wherever i end up.”

james' features soften at this, a pitying expression coming to rest on his face.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, and you know he means it.

because what else is he supposed to say to that?

— 끝 —

tumblr post ; user preeoz // drafts ; user wooahoe

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you know seokmin wants to be held the moment he comes into your shared bedroom without a greeting, instantly going to the bed and falling face first into your lap. he's bigger than you, body covering your entire lower half without a second thought.

putting your phone down, you bring your hand down to rub your boyfriend's back. after a few minutes of silence, save for his soft breathing, he looks up at you, brown eyes wide with desperation as he sighs aloud.

"hi to you too." you chuckle softly, and seokmin cracks a smile at that, bare face handsome and beaming as he speaks. "sorry i didn't say anything when i came in. didn't feel like it."

you knew something was off the moment seokmin came into your room without a word, but you didn't want to press him on the situation, nodding with understanding as you smile. "it's okay. i'm just happy to have you back with me."

"can we cuddle, babe?" seokmin asks, face in a pleading expression as he scoots further up on the bed to kiss your lips softly. "i want to be held by you."

his words hold so much vulnerability in them, you agree without a second thought. nodding, you smile as seokmin gets up, putting himself beside you in the bed as he leans on your shoulder. you take him in your arms instead, letting him press his head against your chest as he lets his eyes close, taking a deep breath.

"good?" you ask gently, and seokmin nods, voice low and relaxed as he replies, "better than good."

smiling, you press a kiss to his forehead, letting him wrap his arms around your waist and keep his head pressed to your chest. he smiles against you a few moments later, and you giggle at the phantom feeling of his face moving against you, questioning him on the change of expression.

"what's so funny?" you inquire softly, and seokmin shakes his head ever so slightly, laughing moments later.

"i can hear your heart beating." seokmin says, and you giggle, nodding. "yeah. it means i'm still breathing."

"i know that," you can hear the 'duh' in seokmin's voice before he continues on, "i was just about to say how fast it's going right now."

even though you've been dating seokmin for seven months, the fact that you get nervous when he's close to you like this never changes. it's no surprise that your heart is speeding because he's so close to you.

"i think it's so cute when you go quiet because you don't know what to say," seokmin says aloud, and you scoff, knowing your cheeks are a bright red as you sigh. "i should have thrown you off of me the moment you got on me."

that causes both of you to laugh, your head falling on top of seokmin's as he laughs lowly against you.

"what if i went on a date?"

the question comes out of left field, and your eyes fly up from your chemistry book to jeonghan's face. he currently sits in front of his vanity, sweater slightly askew on his shoulders as he brushes his hair.

"a date?" you repeat slowly, unable to believe the words coming from your mouth. "but...you're dating me?"

"not really." he puts emphasis on the really, a smirk ghosting his soft lips as he turns to face you. "this is just an arrangement between us, remember? you take care of the science part of my major, and in return i pretend to be your boyfriend so you can brag to your family and friends that the cute nerd isn't single anymore."

the words aren't new to you, but they sting nevertheless. jeonghan and you had made the deal at the beginning of the year, and both of you had made good on your promises: you did his work and tests when required of you, and he pretended to be your boyfriend around your nosy family and friends.

"i know the..." you trail off, cheeks burning with embarrassment as you continue moments later. "...arrangement we made, but still. you can't just..."

"just what? go on a dinner date with someone tonight at 7?" jeonghan throws the question out flippantly, curling iron in hand as he curls his bangs.

"what? you already made plans?" you question, and jeonghan turns around, pretty eyes twinkling with mischief as he shrugs. "let's say i'm hypothetically speaking here."

you roll your eyes, stomach clenching with something you don't dare mention. it creeps up on you slowly, heart starting to sink with the growing notion that jeonghan does have a date with someone other than you. someone more popular, more pretty, more outgoing—

"you know, our relationship isn't going to look believable if you're going on a date with someone else while we claim to be together. you really want to keep feeding into the playboy rumor?" you move to the edge of the bed, watching the way jeonghan's eyes flick from his reflection in the mirror to you behind him.

"and what does it matter to you?" he stands up, leaving his place in front of the mirror and approaching you. he hovers just inches away from your spot on the edge of the bed, cologne just heavy enough to drift in front of you.

jeonghan's brown eyes are glued to your face, searching your own expression for any cracks. his pretty face sends a flutter to your stomach, but it does nothing to cure the sickening feeling that's spreading throughout your body.

"you're not jealous, are you?" jeonghan smirks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. you stand up at his words, crossing the distance between you two—now, the two of you stand just millimeters apart, bodies tense and the air around you two even more tense.

"and what if i am, jeonghan?"

you fall silent after that, and you notice the way jeonghan's eyebrows kick up in slight surprise. a blush comes to his cheeks in a way that shocks you into a blushed silence yourself, and the two of you find yourself leaning in before either of you realize it.

and then—all of it stops. the two of you lock eyes, realizing just how close you two are to kissing, and scramble a few feet back like you both just got burned by the other.

"i'm not going on a date with anyone." jeonghan says quickly, almost tripping over himself in stepping away from you. "i was just teasing you."