and maybe you did. because when practice ended and he walked off the court with his towel slung around his neck, sweaty and flushed, you were already waiting by the locker room doors.

“hi captain,” you said, leaning against the wall.

heeseung swore he forgot how to breathe.

“you do that on purpose?”

you tilted your head. “do what?”

he leaned closer, his hand finding the wall beside your head. “wear that when i’m supposed to focus.”

you blinked up at him, “what this old thing?” you teased, swaying your hips just slightly.

heeseung groaned, leaning in until your noses nearly brushed. “you’re evil.”

you smiled. “you love it.”

before you could say anything else, he ducked down and pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then the corner of your lips.

“you’re lucky i have self control,” he muttered.

“then come lose it.”

his hand dropped to your waist, tugging you forward until you were flush against him, that stupid towel falling to the floor. he kissed you like he was still breathless from practice, all hot skin and warm palms.

when a teammate whistled from the lockers behind him, heeseung didn’t even flinch. just kept kissing you like no one else existed, like you were the game, and he was already yours.

© jiwuu, all rights reserved.

“hey yn,” jake, one of your brother’s friends, says coming over to greet you.

“hi jake,” you mumble back, embarrassed that he has to see you in your pyjamas.

after that awkward interaction, you make your way upstairs and you swear you could have felt someone’s hand graze your waist. flustered, you look back only to see your brother and his friends talking nonsense.

you settle down in your chair, ready to work before you hear a voice outside your room, “is yn in here by any chance?” the voice is low and deep, laced with tease and you immediately recognise who it belongs to.

“get out of my room,”

“why not, sweetheart.”

the nickname rolls of his tongue so easily it makes you freeze in place, “i have important work to finish, now don’t distu— ”

he interrupts you, frustration laced in his voice, “yeah right, like i’m not important than that work.” he makes his way onto your bed, plopping himself down comfortably on the corner, eyeing you from head to toe.

“what are you looking at, sunghoon?”

“what, can i not appreciate how pretty my girlfriend looks right now?” the rhetorical question spills from his mouth and the smirk plastered on his face never leaves.

“the second my brother enters this room, me and you,” you point your index finger towards him, “are both dead meat.”

“i can just tell heeseung we are together, i don’t think he’d care.” your boyfriend replies, unfazed while pointing to the spot next to him, gesturing for you to sit next to him.

you blatantly ignore him, turning your attention back to your books, hoping he would let it go— but how wrong you were about that. he swiftly grabs you by the waist positioning you on his lap as he laces his hands around your hips.

embarrassed, you turn to him and retaliate over his grip, “hoon, let me go!”

“you have no way out, you’re stuck with me” he teasingly shoots back and you can hear the snigger in his voice.

as the two of you endlessly bicker, you both hear footsteps gradually get louder by the second, that sounded exactly like your older brother’s. without any hesitation, you grab sunghoon’s tall, large frame and shove him into your wardrobe, hoping you could hide him.

“have you seen sunghoon, he went up ages ago and he still isn’t back,” your brother asks you, cluelessly.

“check the bathroom, he might be there.” you reply with a hint of worry in your voice.

when brother eventually leaves, you finally call for your boyfriend to get out, “park sunghoon, come out of there,” however, to your dismay, sunghoon grabs your hands so now both of you are in the cramped closet.

maybe it’s the heat in the small space or the fact that your bodies are practically touching but your boyfriend looks so hot. his top is clinging onto his abs for dear life, his bangs are stuck to his forehead and you can see the beads of sweat glisten on his temple.

the thought of everything paints your cheeks with a red hue and you yell at him, hoping he wouldn’t realise, “what the hell, sunghoon? we need to get ou— ”

but before you can finish your sentence, he interrupts you, smirk tugging at his face and hand still on your wrist, “you thought by pretending to be mad at me would help cover up your red cheeks? yeah, not a chance,”

you slowly look up to him, batting your eyelashes, only to be met with his heavy, longing gaze. his eyes shamelessly set your lips, as if this was his first time.

but of course, you can’t always let him have his way, “what? is there something you want?” you tease bringing your hands around his neck— his weakest spot.

sunghoon swears his heart skips a beat, the sudden affection making his ears warm, but that smug grin tells you otherwise.

“oh, you know what i want.” his voice demanding and thick, it makes you unconsciously blush.

“and what would that b—”

before you can finish your sentence, you feel two hands cup your jaw and the sensation of his warm, sweet lips on yours. sunghoon loves how you taste. he can’t get enough of your saccharine lips, your addicting scent and the effect you have on him.

your hands tug at his dark locks as you feel his tongue slide into your mouth, exploring you for the nth time. your mind goes hazy, drunk on him, savouring his rich taste. he softly kisses your cheeks, temple and finally your lips one last time before you both break apart looking at each other, breathles.

“fuck, i missed you all week,” sunghoon confesses, his hands never leave your face as he kisses your jaw, “i can’t be without you for more than a day.”

“more than a day, huh?” your heads turn in unison only to find your brother standing at your door.

“heeseung?” you both erupt at the same time, gobsmacked and embarrassed.

“wait, hold up i’ll explain everythi—”

“you thought i didn’t know?”, your brother cuts sunghoon off, shocking the both of you with the confession, “it was so painfully obvious.”

“so you aren’t, mad?” you question him, confused.

“i put my trust in him ages ago, but if he ever makes you cry i’ll beat him up so bad he won’t be able to see you again,”

the threat shakes sunghoon up a little, but makes you let out chuckle— you realise how stupid you both have probably been for heeseung to have known this whole time.

“but please, don’t ever make out in front of my eyes, ever again, that traumatised me.” your face flushes red with embarrassed as you tuck your head into sunghoon’s chest while shooing heeseung out of your room.

sunghoon’s hand snake around your waist and you look up to make eye contact with him before saying, “we should’ve hidden it better, you blew our cover.”

“hey!”, he exclaims, “don’t blame me, we all know that you were awake until one just to be on call with m—” you lay a chaste kiss on his lips, hoping to shut him up.

your boyfriend stares at you in disbelief, before teasing you again with his cocky smirk tainted on his face, “you can’t start something you can’t finish, babe.” and before you knew it his lips were already back on yours, drowning in your taste.

리 𓈒 for jennbuns @tzyunaes mwah

just him holding you like you were something precious, whispering those words like a promise. it was enough to make the tears fall, quiet but uncontrollable.

“sorry,” you sniffled, burying your face deeper in his hoodie.

he held you tighter. “don’t apologize. if i could take the hurt out of you and put it in me, i would.”

you let out a broken laugh. “that’s dramatic.”

“i’m dramatic about you,” he said simply, brushing his fingers through your hair. “i’m allowed.”

when your breathing slowed and your hands relaxed against his chest, sunghoon kissed your knuckles softly and whispered, “you’re doing better than you think, you know.”

you looked up at him, and he smiled, soft, sincere, and just for you.

© jiwuu, all rights reserved.

JAY

no matter in what social setting you are or how much room there is left for you to sit— he is never going to let you sit anywhere but on his lap. he acts as if it was your destined sit, as if he was shaped for you to sit on him, the closest to him as humanly possible.

“c’mere,” is all he says before he grabs your wrist and pulls you onto your assigned sit. it is not the first time— and surely not the last— but you are always a bit surprised by his antics, which make you yelp as you land on his lap.

he adjusts your position, so you can be comfortable on his left lap. he wraps his arm around you, his hand resting on your thigh while you naturally lean against him, “perfect.”

JAKE

your boyfriend has multiple obsessions that are directly tied to you. however, there are some that outrank the other ones and if you had to give one of his silly fascination in the first place— it would honestly be touching your hair.

he likes to twirl one of your hair around his finger as he listens to you talk. he likes to tuck your hair behind your ear, making you look away shyly. but his favorite thing to do, if he had to choose, would be patting your head— a gentle praise leaving his mouth.

“that’s great, princess,” he says, his hand on the back of your head, caressing your hair in the softest way possible. you didn’t tell him anything in particular, if it’s not that you ate fries for lunch. nonetheless, he gives you a kiss on the forehead.

SUNGHOON

looking at him, you would have never guessed how big of a public display of affection he was. the fact that he is the one initiating any form of intimacy in public is almost ridiculous, even more so when you are the one who gets shy at the end.

the worst is that he never warns you when he decides to cup your face and pepper its surface with unwavering pecks. you fall weak under his attack, you are not able to fight, only frail protests leave the barrier of your lips. “hoon, stop—”

your words are swallowed by his mouth connecting with yours. you let yourself be kissed, unable to hide your smile. “what?” he pulls away a bit before kissing you again. “i can’t kiss my girl?”

SUNOO

he loves to hug you. he can’t really explain why, but he adores having you in his arms, jailed by his embrace. he feels at ease when your body is pressed against his, when he is able to hide his face in the crook of your neck.

he observes you for a really long time as you look at the cafe’s menu displayed on the big televisions behind the counter. he looks at how adorable you look with those clothes, with this haircut, with this face of yours.

he is hugging you before you can see anything coming. his weight is on you in mere seconds, interrupting your important decision taking. “you’re so cute,” he tells you, then he kisses your cheek sweetly.

JUGWON

his hand is always somewhere close to your waist. there is not a movement, when you are outside, where his palm isn’t pressed against your waist– holding it firmly as if it was his property.

his favorite thing to do is to make you move everywhere and anywhere. he likes to hold your waits and move you out of the way gently, he likes to hold your waits and lead you through the crowd, he likes to hold your waist and pull you closer to him—where you belong.

but of course, he always needs to be a little extra. which is why he doesn’t hesitate to manhandle you without warning you— he sweeps your feet off the floor in a swift motion and in one second you are on the opposite side of where you stood next to him.

RIKI

the boy is often here when you leave school— even if his classes finished hours ago, he always waits for you to finish yours. his favorite thing about coming to school is doing the way back home by your side.

he giggles when you run towards him with full enthusiasm. he lower himself with open arms to welcome you in his embrace. he doesn’t budge when you jump on him at full speed, effortlessly carrying you as if you weight nothing.

he doesn’t let you get back on your feet just yet. he enjoys having you this close to him. and even when he lets you touch the floor again, he takes your backpack and carries it for you. just so he can wrap his arm around your shoulders, just so he can keep you close.

To their credit, what is belief if not experience?

Still, you couldn't help but smile, pausing your long explanation to admire the keen focus in Anaxagoras' eye. Not once had his gaze wavered while you recited the discussion between two scholars you'd overheard earlier.

He did, however, tap a finger to his lips or rub his chin in thought from time to time, nodding when he agreed, shaking his head when he didn't, and huffing when something was particularly entertaining.

"Well?" He inquired, brushing the pad of his thumb along your lips. "Do I get to hear your own reflections or do you plan to keep me in suspense for the remainder of today?"

Both his tender caress and the teasing glimmer in his eye would undoubtedly be brushed off as tricks of the mind by any who only knew him on the surface. To you, they were a treasured part of the time spent in his presence, best cultivated in the secluded corners of the grove.

"Would withholding the information make you stay longer?"

The surprised grunt that left him when you nipped at his thumb was anything but dignified. Anaxa's own look of surprise making you fight to hold back a laugh, the sheer intimacy of his unrestrained reactions warming your heart.

"Regrettably, obligation must outweigh curiosity today," your eyes closed at the brush of his lips against your cheek, "it would be quite a debacle to miss a symposium that I myself am meant to host."

Catching the carefully concealed regret in his voice, your hands left the lush grass beneath you to instead rub his exposed shoulders. "I know," you began, giving a reassuring squeeze before moving closer to drape your legs across his, "but it was worth a try."

Your heart fluttered at the barely audible 'cheeky' that reached your ears just before Anaxa let an arm snake around your waist.

Although his stance on silence was quite clear, his own hypocrisy ignored, it was impossible to miss how he perked up when you continued. "My thoughts on the matter are that it was a pointless discussion, doomed to an eternity of circular arguments. Our mind decides what we see, it's never the unfiltered truth we're seeing," you clasped a hand over Anaxa's mouth before he could claim himself able, rolling your eyes upon feeling him smirk against your palm, "thus rendering the argument that things exist because we perceive them untrue."

Leaves rustled above as you took a breath, slowly moving your hand back down to squeeze Anaxa's thigh as you continued. "As for the counterpoint, if something exists purely in memory, it will also be warped, even moreso with time. And then we're back to dealing with a poor representation. My verdict," you paused for dramatic effect, forcing down a smile at Anaxa's quirked brow, "you scholars just like the sound of your own voice."

Silence prevailed long enough for you to catch your breath.

And take another mouthful of air.

And another.

Your heartbeat was steadily increasing as Anaxagoras continued to stare blankly at you, almost looking as if he'd retreated into himself. Perhaps you'd taken it too far this time, the hand on your waist slowly falling away.

A surprised squeak left you as that same hand wrapped itself around the back of your neck, cold metal rings pressing against your skin as he pulled you closer. It only took a moment for heat to rise to your cheeks, his lips brushing against your ear as he practically purred, "worked that out yourself, did you? My clever girl."

“But I have to,” you insist, voice rising in frustration. “I’m already behind, and my boss is gonna—”

“Shh…” He pulls you into his chest, cradling your head under his chin as your tears soak into his shirt. “You’re not going,” he murmurs firmly. “You’re staying right here with me.”

“I can’t,” you croak, your fingers curling weakly into his sleeve.

“You can,” he says softly, his hand tracing slow circles on your back. “And you will.”

You shake your head against him, breath still hitching. “But they’ll be mad—”

“I don’t care.” He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze steady. “You’re more important than whatever they’re gonna say.”

His thumb catches another tear as it rolls down your cheek. “I’m serious. One day isn’t gonna change anything.”

“I just…” Your voice wobbles again, and your face crumples. “I’m so tired hoon…”

“I know,” he whispers, tugging you back into his arms. “I know.”

For a while, you just sit there — his arms wrapped tightly around you, his heartbeat steady against your ear. Eventually, your breathing slows, the tension in your body easing little by little.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs again, his lips brushing against your hair. “We’ll spend the whole day in bed. You can wear my hoodie and steal my socks and I’ll bring you snacks, okay?”

You sniffle. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he says, his smile warm and soft. “Now come back to bed.”

© jiwuu, all rights reserved.

It had been a mistake.

Jake knew he wasn't the type of man to take a bet. During his university years, nonetheless! But the effect of alcohol, his aversion to confrontation, and his friends' rowdiness pushed him to keep at the lie.

One year ago, he drunkenly confessed to you at a party, and you gave him a chance. Twelve months into dating each other, his friends drunkenly told you the truth, and you cut him out of your life without so much as a tear.

Tonight was the first time you've voluntarily spoken to him. He didn't care that you only did it because you needed his help. He would have learned every skill under the sun if it meant you'd talk to him again—plumbing, repairing, installing, modifying, you name it.

Tires screeched over the white line and stopped. He turned off the engine and got out of the car, unfazed as the cold air hit him until he reached the door of the animal shelter you worked at.

The lights were on inside.

He breathed through his mouth because that was the only way to accommodate how much air he needed.

You were inside, waiting for him.

A moment passed after he knocked. You opened the door carefully, peeking over the door frame not because you were cautious of the visitor but because you weren’t ready to face Jake yet.

His hair was disheveled, and his small eyes were hidden behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. He did not wear enough for the cold weather, but the shelter was warm enough, so you tried to stop worrying about him.

Veins ran softly along his hands and arms, parts you’ve let touch you all over, inside and out. His limbs used to be confident and bashful, playfully reaching for your waist and shyly searching for your face.

Jake wouldn't dare to touch you now, not even to shake hands, not without your permission. He pulled at his fingers and watched you intently. His gaze traced your face, and his downturned eyes mimicked a dog on its death bed—timid, wishful, pleading.

"Hey," he greeted. "Is everything okay?"

You stared at him, subconsciously reminded of the first time you invited him to accompany you during a day shift at the shelter. Biting back a sob at the question, you shook your head and opened the door wider for him to enter.

“He’s back," you said. "Pluto is back."

Pluto was the golden retriever you and Jake fostered over the summer last year. He was adopted, returned, and adopted again after almost making it to his euthanasia day. It has been months since you last saw him so you thought he had found his forever home.

But, this afternoon, he surrendered again because the parents couldn’t handle having him and more than three children in the home.

You kept him company for most of your shift to ease his anxiety, but when it came time for you to close up and leave, he refused to enter the cage.

You attempted to lure him with toys and treats to no avail. It was as if he knew it would be over once he was locked up behind the metal bars.

“That’s...” Jake swallowed the frustration. He stopped hearing news about Pluto after you broke up. He had no idea it was given up once already. “That’s horrible.”

“I know. My coworker said she tried to convince the mother to bring Pluto home, but...” You trailed off in exhaustion. You rubbed your eyes and sunk your shoulders. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have asked you for help if I hadn’t run into a dead end. I don’t know what to do.”

"No, don't even–" he waved his hand dismissively with a soft chuckle– "don't even apologize. You didn't do anything wrong."

You smiled. He always told you that. You couldn't remember a time when he was mad at you and demanded an apology, even when some of your decisions had been questionable.

If he was ever upset, you remembered all it ever took were hugs and kisses to make him feel better, the things you give your pet dog to brighten your day and theirs.

Sometimes, you wondered if he was easy or if it only worked for you because he was in love with you.

He told you otherwise, though. After dumping him, he spent two months pestering you however possible with a variety of apologies and only ever one confession: I love you. I love you more than anything.

He stopped after you snapped at him in public, practically humiliating him for your subconscious fulfillment.

You had given him everything—all of your firsts, all of your mind, and all of your body. He had deserved it. He stopped bothering you afterward, which was understandable.

A dog beaten and bruised enough would never return.

“Let's see what I can do," Jake said.

You pursed your lips and gestured for him to follow you.

The shelter remained the way it had been since the last time he visited. White ceiling lights, disorganized papers on the reception table, stacked metal cages, dirty food trays, narrow spaces, a dirty whiff of air, and abandoned pets everywhere.

He didn’t expect otherwise. There were never enough donations or government funds to make it a better place. People wouldn’t even do that for other people, let alone animals.

Jake spoke to the animals along the way, ignoring the ones asleep and cooing at the ones who jumped to greet him. As you led him to the back of the shelter, a sullen mass of fur curled up in the corner came into view.

"Pluto!" he exclaimed with considerate joy as he crouched with open arms. "Do you remember me, sweet boy?"

Pluto remembered. It got up from the corner and pounced on Jake, scraping its paws on his shoulders for a hug and licking his face. He laughed and rubbed its back, letting the affection attacks continue as Pluto pleased.

It got distracted when you also neared. Barking once for good measure, it bounced between your feet and Jake’s embrace, reliving how it used to be when he was still living with you both.

“He looks healthy," Jake said.

“He wasn't abused, just abandoned," you clarified.

"Same difference."

You peered at him like a hit dog about to holler.

In the depths of your conscience, you admitted that you were the one who gave up. Maybe you were well within your right to, or maybe you didn't believe in clarification and second chances.

You tried not to think about it too much. It made you feel bad.

"Where is his cage?" Jake asked offhandedly.

You motioned your chin toward the corner without thinking. You’ve already placed a cartoon blanket inside as a makeshift bed, and the dog bowl was filled half way with dry food.

“Alright, buddy,” Jake said, hopping onto his feet. “Let’s get you inside so we can go home.”

Pluto jumped up to meet Jake’s knees. He played with the dog, swinging his hands around its peripheral vision and playing bitey. You discreetly reached for the cage to open it. When he noticed, he stopped to hold Pluto’s face in his hands before lifting it up by its paws.

Jake was always the good cop. You made Pluto wait for dinner, didn't let it jump on your bed, and never fed it food under the table. Jake was easier. He took it on morning jogs, ran with it when it had zoomies, and sometimes cooked it a small plate of steak.

A little affection and a wide-eyed gaze could go a long way for Jake, but not so much for you.

You always knew the dog liked him better than you. You didn’t realize it would be easy for Jake to pick it up. However, just as you thought your ex-boyfriend would succeed, Pluto dropped its whole weight onto the floor and refused to budge.

Jake yelped at the sudden pull. His feet stuttered to balance himself, forcing him to release Pluto onto the floor. Not giving up, he shook his hands and reached down to try and pull it up again. The dog still wouldn’t budge.

Deciding to try another approach, instead of pulling Pluto up by its torso, Jake thought he could begin with its front legs. Once he gets them through, the rest should follow.

"Come on, buddy," he encouraged. “I know it's scary, but you gotta sleep somewhere warmer than the shelter hallway."

Pluto began to whimper when its front legs reached inside the cage. It used them to support itself, weighing itself down onto them to avoid being pushed inside wholly.

You furrowed your brows as you listened to Jake’s fading encouragement. He was a mirror of who you were a few hours ago when your shift began. He wasn’t growing impatient, only frustrated that this was how it had to be for a beloved pet.

Your shoulders sunk in defeat when you noticed droplets on the floor. Jake paused when you curled a hand around his arm and gently pulled him away.

“Let’s stop. He’s scared,” you said. “He peed on the floor. I’ll go get the mop.”

He glanced at the floor, but he was trying to see if you touched him again. And then he looked up at you, nodding in grim agreement. When you released his arm to clean the floor, he rubbed the spot with invisible desperation, trying his best to somehow keep your hold

"What do we do?" he asked, pressing a firm hold over where you touched him. "Shit, I feel horrible."

"You and me both." you sighed as you watched Pluto shrink into a corner. “I'll stay over with him."

"At the shelter?"

“It's not any worse than my apartment," you said. “Actually, I might be safer here with all the animals around. They’ll look out for me."

He wanted to protest. This was less about safety and more about comfort.

You looked exhausted, and he knew why. Midterms were happening left and right before the winter break, so you must be burning the midnight oil already. You’ve also got a difficult job to juggle with your classes.

He used to have to pull you away from your desk and trap you in his arms to get you to sleep.

Regardless, you needed to sleep somewhere soft and warm, and the animal shelter didn't have anything remotely similar to that besides the furry babies.

The furry babies and him, he supposed.

“I'll stay with you," Jake said.

You shook your head. This would ruin your plan to get over him, which has been going on for over half a year yet has garnered no real progress.

You still thought about him day and night, seeing him in the shadows of your once-shared apartment and whispering his name into your pillow. You blocked and avoided him because you knew he could lure you back so quickly because you had unfortunately been in love with him the entire time.

“It’s fine. You should go home,” you said. “I’m sorry I called you up so late.”

"No, I don't mind," he protested. “It’s not like I was sleeping anyway."

He visibly gulped, swallowing any sentiment because you’ve rescinded his right to love you. And you bit your tongue to keep the fight and the cries in because it wasn’t easy to look at him and not do something.

You couldn't kiss him, you couldn't fight him, and you didn't want to hurt him.

"Do whatever you want," you muttered.

Jake watched you leave the room. He heard cabinet doors opening, and he moved against the wall to sit down. He reached a hand out, his palm facing skyward, and he gently lured Pluto onto his lap. When you returned, it was with two thin blankets, one for yourself and one for them.

You reached for the cage to take the food bowl out and closed the door, locking it. You sat next to Jake, across from his side, and wrapped the blanket around you.

"What are we going to do now?” You eyed the dog.

"What are the protocols?" he asked.

"We hold and look for housing," you said. "But–" you reached out to rub Pluto’s head–"he's getting old. It took long enough to find a family who's willing to adopt him, so there's no guarantee we will be able to find anything before he's put on the euthanasia list."

As Jake ran over what you said in his head, you took a small handful of dry food to feed Pluto, who released itself from pressing on Jake’s chest to eat. You smiled at its eagerness, but your brows were furrowed with unspoken sorrow.

It seemed you could already predict Pluto’s fate, but you needed to device a course of action for good measure. Anything to make sure you didn't give up immediately, even when there was nothing you could do.

There was nothing worse than being at the bottom. Knowing that after taking so many turns, you ended up at the dead end you were meant to reach anyway. Looking at you was almost like looking at himself—both of you have exhausted all your resources.

But Jake was known for going above and beyond. At least for you, he would.

“I can adopt him."

You perked up slowly in bewilderment. The reason why you two decided to foster Pluto back then was because of a dual income. If it was so affordable to own an old dog, you would have done it already.

"You live on campus. The dorms don't allow pets," you said. "You also don't have money. What are you gonna do if he gets sick?"

“I’ll move out. I’ll get a second job and pick up more shifts at the current one,” he said with a shrug. “There are cheap places to live, and I’m sure Jay will be willing to help me if it comes down to it.”

"Jake–"

“If push comes to shove, I’ll move back home,” he said, his voice slightly louder to drown out your worries with his optimism. “Let this be the last disappointing thing I do to my mom!”

You wanted to hold his face and talk him out of it. His optimism was both a friend and a foe. Sometimes, it pushes him to do amazing things, but mostly, he ends up embarrassing himself.

No, your coworker wouldn’t want to talk to you after being denied their vacation time over yours. No, your mother already thinks you buy enough unnecessary things; she won’t appreciate this. No, that won’t help anyone like you think it would.

You’ve often had to be his voice of reason for the most trivial things. It usually worked. His brain fries and he turns all putty when he’s being held, but he’s extra impressionable in your hands. He’d agree to anything just to keep you talking.

“You’re going to struggle," you warned.

“I'd rather that than have you feel guilty that you couldn't do more for our dog."

“You don’t know that I will,” you scoffed with a brief glare.

His eyes were on you. It has been on your since the moment you saw each other.

“I know you will. I know you," he retorted.

He was right. No matter how much you played up the role of a bad cop, or the nonchalant pet owner, ultimately, you cared. Maybe not as much as he did, maybe not as much as he could, and definitely not as openly as he could. But you loved the dog. 

It was your dog. It was you and Jake’s dog.

Pluto stayed with you for a few of the happiest months of your life. The months when you woke up seeing Jake and went to sleep talking to him. Losing the dog is a significant progression to an end.

"This isn't about me." You shook your head. “Don't do this for me.”

“I can’t not,” he said. “I want to."

“Why?" It came out before you knew it. It was a trap.

The room went quiet, accompanied only by the sound of chewing and the impossible thoughts of escaping such silence. You focused on the food disappearing from the metal bowl, doing your best to keep away the tremors from knowing his eyes were on you, from already knowing his answer to your question. 

Something has to happen when the food is gone. 

A distraction, an apology, a reconciliation, a blackout.

"Because I love you."

A confession.

You dropped the bowl and rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. Heat released from all corners of your body, traveling to the base of your neck where it pulled at your nerves, souring all the way up to your tear ducts. He kept saying that; it was the last thing you wanted to hear from him. 

His breathing quickened at your dismay, and the corners of his lips arched down in shame. He looked away from you at Pluto’s head, wondering what about his affection was so genuinely sickening that you had to reject it with so much force.

If it was about his bet with his friends, he had already attempted to explain that multiple times.

“I'm sorry I kept the bet from you. I really am. I will never deny that it was a terrible decision, that I was drunk when I first confessed to you," he said defensively, a whimper catching in his voice. 

“Won’t you just–“ you rolled your eyes– “just stop. Stop explaining it to me.”

“No! I need you to understand that I never lied about how I felt after!” he exclaimed.

It never changed. His story wouldn’t have a contradiction even if he tried to rip it apart on purpose. He lied to you because he was drunk, he pretended to be your boyfriend, and then he ended up becoming it. His friends told the same story, and he repeated it multiple times. You’ve heard it all.

A tear rolled down his cheek, and he wiped it with intention. When he realized his eyes had begun to cry, his voice and movement followed. Looking down at the floor helplessly, his shoulders hunched up as if to shrink small. 

You blew air into your cheeks and bit the inside of your lip. Seeing him cry made you cry. You never wanted to hurt him again. You didn't think that you could, and oh, how you were proven wrong. 

“How come you don’t believe me?” he asked, his voice timid as a child wronged by his parents. “I fell in love with you. You have no right to take that from me.”

Feeling a sob come up, you dropped your head and stared at the floor. Goosebumps lined around your heart, suppressing its beating with unease. That was the problem. He told the truth, which was the problem because you couldn’t handle it.

"Do you know how I felt when I found out?" you asked. "I wasn't angry, or frustrated, or even sad. I was just disappointed that it made sense."

Jake wasn’t a man of your caliber. Even when he first confessed to you, you mistook it as an act of aggression. Hence, you double-checked with him the next day through text; surprisingly, he didn’t deny it.

He was a great boyfriend. He was kind and supportive, handsome and strong, charming and considerate. The whole nine yards. He stumbled once in a while, but he never did anything wrong.

It was both agony and relief when you discovered that he initially stayed for a bet. While it was hurtful to know you and him would have never happened otherwise, it fulfilled your growing itch that needed a reason to feel bad. While you lost the love of your life, the loss helped you make sense of a greatness you didn’t think you deserved, all by forcing you to let go of it.

Jake didn’t do anything wrong. He couldn’t if he tried. It was just easier when he didn’t love you back. Because then you wouldn’t feel like you were taking up too much space, and your inferiority has a reason to exist. 

“It was hell to hate myself,” you said. “If I made it seem like you never loved me at all, then all the pain wouldn’t be for nothing.”

“I don’t understand.” His voice was tearful, and he played with Pluto’s fur so his hands wouldn’t claw at his skin to peel himself to death, knowing that you felt like hell when you were with him. “Did you always feel like that?”

You went around the answer but remained truthful. Yes, you felt like that all the time. No, it had nothing to do with him. 

You told him how great he was, how you appreciated everything about him. The fact that he remembers every little thing, how his voice is soft, and his willingness to always be the bigger person. 

Self-hate was an accumulated skill that can never be unlearned and only worsens. He was in the wrong position when it decided to show itself. 

You simply didn't love yourself enough to have him. That was it. 

Irregular drops of tears rolled down his face. He began to hiccup away the knots of air stuck in his throat that were supposed to be violent sobs. He looked everywhere but at you, and his hands curled and uncurled to catch pressure in the air.

He suffocated with every word you said. It didn’t matter that you admitted he wasn’t the reason; he was horrified that you thought his love would be better stored anywhere else than with you, his keeper.

For six months, he stayed cooped up inside himself, uncomfortable but unwilling to burst just in case you would come back to drain his soul out of him. He would return to where he belonged, through your mouth into your skin.

The dog on his lap had become a nuisance, but he kept it there. 

Jake pushes nothing away. He stretches and pulls until someone snaps him in half to stop him.

"Please don't be upset," you whispered after cutting yourself short. “I'm sorry for everything. It wasn't your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either,” he said. “The mind is–is a weird thing. It’s a weird thing. Sometimes you can’t help it. I understand. It’s not your fault, either. I don’t want–“ he pursed his lips, his hair shaking with his head– “I don’t want you to blame yourself. It hurts knowing you did something–something bad. I don’t want you to–uh,” his voice became smaller, “I don’t want you to hurt anymore.”

Scooting to sit next to him, you took off his glasses and set them on the floor next to you. You pulled at the hem of your sweater to wipe the tears around his tired eyes. You cleaned him and yourself, wetting your sleeve with mutual suffering.

“What do I do?” he asked, leaning his head against the wall with a faint shake. “I miss you.”

“I'm sorry," you said, disarming your mind. 

“I won’t say anything. You don’t have to believe I love you. We can just be friends,” he bargained. “I just want to be around. Please let me.”

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you pressed closer against his side and smiled bitterly at the notion that you’ll never find someone like him again. That was why you gave him a chance a year ago, but instead of his dashing looks and fit physique, it was his extraordinary affection this time. 

Who else would love you enough to pretend he doesn’t love you at all? It’s just him.

“I should probably go see a doctor, huh?” you joked, wiping under his eye with your thumb. “They can help me come around.”

Jake raised his hand. It shakily hovered around your wrist, waiting for permission.

You pushed the back of your palm toward it, allowing him to engulf your hand with his, and then you brought it to his face, holding him gently. He smiled a little; he couldn’t help it upon the familiar, long-awaited touch.

“I’ll wait for you,” he said. “I’ll help you.”

You glanced at his lips. Stained with tears, like it was rained on. You nudged his nose with yours, and you kissed him. He shuddered. His mouth was metallic and sour; you realized there was a canker sore in his mouth. It must be painful. He kissed you anyway, resting his whole life on your lips. 

Pulling away, he bumped his forehead against yours, his features softening in relief. 

It was always the same confession. He never deviated from it.

I love you. I love you more than anything. I love you more than me.

“Do you want to take care of Pluto together?”

‘So, how’s it going with him?’ Jake asks as he places his lunch tray beside yours at the college cafeteria. You look up from your phone to meet his hopeful eyes, ‘who…?’ ‘Omg, Y/N, your crush!? You’ve been talking about this crush for months now, when are you going to just go for it?’

You almost choke on your coffee, from when did Jake have such an interest in your so-called crush. The “mystery guy” as your friend group likes to call him. Little did they know that the boy in question was sitting right beside you and yeah, it wouldn’t be the wisest decision to let that out.

‘I… don’t think I can’, you answered hesitantly, that was the closest to the truth you could give Jake and you hated lying to your friend, especially when feelings were involved, feelings involving… him.

Maybe if you weren’t so close with him, it would have been easier to handle the overwhelming urge to confess to him, hold his hand and softly kiss his cheek. But life was definitely playing a cruel joke on you when your small hallway crush turned out to be your seatmate in freshman year, two years ago.

It was almost impossible not to be friends with Jake from then on. You found yourself talking to each other in class, which eventually led to exchanging numbers and the rest was history. He had this inborn kindness in him, which perfectly complemented his pretty face, the happiness that radiated off him was quite infectious. And with each day that you got to know him, you fell a little more in love with him.

'C'mon Y/N, it's worth a try plus most chances are he'd like you back, right?' you dont, Jake. 'Plus, I'm always here in case of any help. I know our friends may keep making jokes on it but I totally understand you', he ends with a small shy smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, you don't know why.

But you want to scream at his face STOP! Stop making it so hard for me to move on, Jake. Instead you return his smile, or at least you try, before quickly stuffing your face with your lunch, making it impossible for him to continue the previous conversation. Talk about healthy coping mechanisms...?

The slip up had just been a drunken mistake. It was one of those stupid drinking games Yunjin had roped you into and soon enough, you were mildly intoxicated or just way too lovesick to admit to your crush. You couldn't ignore the bitterness in your stomach every time a girl approached Jake at the party.

‘Okay, Y/N, drink up if you like someone present here’, Sunghoon passed you a mischievous smirk, which oddly enraged you, or maybe it was the alcohol already in your system. Before you knew it, you were drowning down the cup in your hand, gripping it tightly as if that’ll give you an ounce of strength. You gave one glimpse at Jake who had a concerned expression on his face.

Someone else, probably Yunjin, excitedly asked, ‘Omg who?! And how do I not know?’

Since then it has been a challenge in your friend group to “search” for him if they ever felt bored. You wonder who else can ever attract such an unemployed friend group, it is honestly a bit funny to see them try.

Your train of thoughts is broken when you feel someone sitting beside you, it’s Heeseung. ‘You know, staring at him from afar won’t do any good’, he shrugs. Alarmed, you look at him motioning towards where Jake is currently playing on the football field. You often find yourself sitting at the bleachers, after class waiting for him.

‘Hey! What d-do you mean?!’ you sputter, totally caught off guard at his words. How does Heeseung even know? No, how can he even get the slightest idea that you like Jake? You thought your masking skills were actually pretty good.

The boy gave you a small chuckle, 'you really think you are very sneaky and nonchalant about your crush don’t you? I’m surprised how our friends and even Jake haven't caught up to it.’

This little shit. You hit him with one of your books. ‘Woah, stop, at least I haven’t exposed you in front of them!’ He raises his hands in defense.

Well, he does have a point. He could have won whatever bet your friends had going on you, but he didn’t. ‘Okay, fine, thank you Heeseung for your kind gracious favour’, you roll your eyes at him. ‘That’s more like it, brat.’ You stick out your tongue in return.

You rest your back on the bench, your eyes naturally following the brunette as he scores another goal, a small smile tugging at your face. ‘But in all honesty, I think there’s a hole on Jake’s back with the entire staring contest you have going on.’ ‘fuck off if you can’t help.’

Heeseung sighs, ‘the only advice for this is for you to confess, a relationship isn't gonna form itself.’ ‘He’s my friend, do you see everything on the line?’ ‘And do you see that he could possibly like you back?’ he raises his eyebrows.

Yeah, the false hope, being delusional did not seem like a fun choice right now. You would have pushed Heeseung out of the bleachers if it weren’t for Jake running towards both of you, a weird look on his face, ‘Why are my two friends strangling each other?’ he yells over the stands. Heeseung ruffles your hair, ‘Friendly banter! By the way, you two want to grab dinner with me? His practice is almost over too.’

Something in your gut tells you that Heeseung may be up to no good and the shit eating grin that follows his requests, probably confirms your suspicions.

But Jake beats you to the reply, ‘Of course, I’m kinda starving. I need my extra fries.’

Something shifts in the air once the three of you are out of the campus. For starters, Heeseung finds it very funny to annoy you and Jake has this distant look on his face from earlier. He’s also very quiet and Jake is never silent, especially with Heeseung.

Once you enter the restaurant, you and Jake take your places in a corner booth. You sit across from him. ‘Hey, was everything okay at uni? You seem down.’ He finally makes eye contact with you, you have no idea why he refused to meet your eyes before, ‘Yes, Y/N, just a little tired.’ He retreats back to his previous positions.

You nod, not convinced with his explanation when a thought comes up. Did he… hear you both?! Nonono, he can’t! You’ll be beyond cooked and losing a close friend must not be a nice feeling. Yeah, he most definitely did but you cannot lose your shit in public so you try distracting yourself. You nervously look around, hoping for Heeseung, who was at the counter, to finally come and break the silence.

Goodness, this thick uncomfortable silence or is it the greasy smell of fast food oil? No, it is definitely the silence between the both of you which is really unheard of in your relation.

You finally see a figure approaching, balancing the three orders, and a small grin on his face. ‘Here we go, people.’ he takes a seat beside you and Heeseung doesn’t miss the subtle change in Jake’s expression, smirking at the latter.

‘Omg, Y/N, you should try the fries dipped in coke.’ ‘you are fucking disgusting, Lee Heeseung, get away from me’, you scrunch your nose in disgust but not before the boy pushes some soaked fries at your direction, making you gag.

Seeing the exchange, Jake hastily picks up the fry, removing it, and instead replacing it with his normal, not soaked in coke fries. The insult you were about to hurl at Heeseung dies in your throat, looking up at the boy who is back to quietly eating his burger.

What has gotten into him?

'I'm so full', Heeseung stretches walking out of the place into the cool night air. 'Ok then, see yall later, I'll head this way', nodding his head. You bid him goodbye when he mouthes something you're unsure of. go. for. it. before giving sly smirk and walking off.

You stand confused in your place, and realize that Jake has been silent for so long. You turn around to see him already walking down the footpath. You sigh deeply, tired with his weird actions before catching up to him.

'Yah Jake hold up!' he hears your voice call out behind him, stopping on his tracks. You stop your jog, slightly catching your breath. 'No why the hell am I chasing you in the middle of the road? Please drop this act.'

He turns around abruptly, face to face with you and you realize the distance between the both of you, your heart picking up its pace. Jake's face is unreadable, his eyes are closed off and expresionless. You are about to ask another question when he– 'Is Heeseung the one you like?' His eyes seem dead set. Despite yourself, you can't help but break into a chuckle.

Were you reading the situation right? 'Help what?! Not that dumbass, hell no. You know for someone as smart as you, you really are oblivious.' And it all starts to click in, Jake's rough behavior, his distant stares, and the glares he was throwing at Heeseung.

'Are you... jealous?' You ask, trying to peer into his eyes for something... anything. Jake shakes his head, raking a hand through his hair, 'It's no problem if you date him obviously, he's good guy, plus I think you look really cute together and I want the best–' 'I like you', you blurt out in middle of Jake's long ramble, freezing in your place.

Did you just–?! No how did you mouth even speak without coordinating with your brain? Your eyes widening in shock, Jake's expression is pretty much the same (oh here goes your friendship) before you see the shift in his face. Shock slowly giving way to a more shy face.

'What...?' 'Um, sorry, I messed it up so bad didn't I?' You may as well confess now that he knows. 'I... have liked you for the longest time, Sim Jaehyun and it is not easy to hide all these feelings when you're standing right here. I know I'll probably mess up our entire friendship but I can't lose you.'

there. here comes the rejection. you shuffle in your feet, resisting the urge to dash in the opposite direction. 'Is this real?' he says instead.

You look up to face him and his face has broken into a bright smile, and suddenly it's hard for you to breath because why are you seeing your crush beaming at you when you just confessed your feelings.

Suddenly you feel a pair of lips on yours, catching you off guard. Oh this cannot be happening. You melt into the kiss immediately, reveling at the feeling. Your rapid heartbeat has stilled, almost in tandem with his.

This kiss is short lived but it leaves you feeling breathless. 'Are we seriously this dumb? I... I like you too', Jake's the one to break the silence, placing a hand on your cheek.

You feel a small flower bloom in your chest at his words. He tugs at your hands, pulling you close, into a hug.

Resting your face at the crook of his neck, you mutter, 'We're in the middle of the road, we should move.' Although the lanes were empty, save for a few passing cars.

'I know but I like it here', Jake says softly and you can almost see the pout forming. Yeah you'd stay this way forever if it meant never letting him go.

reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated :D

You aren’t certain when this unimaginable pull happened, was it the way you first saw the dawn captured red upon his braided hair? Or was it his big eyes that furnaced and melted into gold ingots with flicks of honey?

Your heart flutters at the thought of simply just encountering him, your fingers bunching up your fabrics as your carriage arrives at the city gates.

With a table full of wine, goat cheese and fruits—it was easy to slip away from your father. He was too busy settling jovial talks about the kingdoms’ flourish with Kremnos’ leaders to realize your absence. The unfamiliar palace is bigger than you expected, grandeur even, completely different from your home city. When your eyes trace the intricate patterns upon their pillars you can immediately seize out the lion from its marble carvings. But despite its size, it was no challenge to locate the prince.

The sound of clashing wooden swords would indicate where he was since you are aware of his duties to fight—and it is said that crown prince Mydeimos is usually seen spending his leisure on swordsmanship practice with young lord Phainon.

At times, you envy how often Lord Phainon is mentioned around the prince.

They both seem really close.

When the harsh clacks of wood on wood floats around your ears, your hurried paces falter into quiet footsteps. You find yourself sneaking under an olive tree and peeking through the shrubs, eyes landing on two boys on the garden with cobblestone beneath their leather boots—they seem entirely engrossed in their sparring. Under the honeyed heat your lips purse, watching Mydeimos dance around Phainon, wooden swords blurring your vision, swishing and parrying in front of them as each boy exchange light blows with one another.

An exhausted rasp of a chuckle comes spilling down Mydei’s lips, he angles his sword to block when Phainon leans forward, cutting down hard in his direction. You’ve noticed their manner in fighting and can weed out the difference in an instant. Lord Phainon is calculated with his movements, there’s stability in his balance, reassurance woven into the sinews of his back beneath his white tunic. Prince Mydeimos on the other hand is more fluid, he makes use of his dynamics and his footwork is unpredictable, but there’s grace captured in it—like he’s dancing—lunging forward in strict confidence then sidestepping, bouncing back then spinning.

Mydei smiles—a boyish grin that crinkles his eyes—seemingly setting the whole place an inch brighter than before and you’re blinded by the setting sun. You tilt your head more, unable to deny the warm flush from the pillows of your cheeks when you see the hint of dimples on his face, dimples.

The prince is truly astonishing.

Years you were under the tutelage of different priests, learning about prophetic dreams and imagery and clairvoyance—but maybe you were too dizzy watching the boys zip around the gardens, or maybe you were too into your daydreams you didn’t notice how they had hastened their attacks. Mydei was now attacking Phainon in quick succession, seemingly drunk under the thrill to notice Phainon’s stuttering words of take a break or slow down your highness. You were too distracted to notice how the prince swipes up, cutting the atmosphere—the lord’s wooden sword flies out his grasp and comes spinning in your direction.

Oh.

You feel the solid plank crash against your forehead—barely registering the shock that jolts through the two boys when you stumble onto the marble floor, holding your face that seems to quickly heat at both the pain and the embarrassment.

Oh.

“Oh, lord what have you done—“

“Me?” Phainon panics. “You were the one that didn’t stop attacking, I told you numerous times how I prefer a great sword than a simple one. I’m unfamiliar with the weight.”

“Well, I—“

“Ow…”

Their attention snaps back to you. Mydei tosses his wooden sword onto the cobblestone uncaringly and along with Phainon, comes to your aid.

“Hey, are you okay?” Both holding out their hands when they ease you back to your feet. Phainon leans down to brush the crumbs of dirt from your attire, checking to see if you have other injuries whilst Mydei winces at your reddening face.

“I—truly, I apologize.” You can hear the sincerity and guilt in the young prince’s tone. “I didn’t mean…”

“No, I—“ you were quick to speak up as well. Your face furnacing even more when his concerned honey eyes latch with your own—to think your first interaction with each other would be this, how humiliating.

“I was the one who intruded.” You murmur, leaning down to bow. “I apologize for getting in the way, young lords i didn’t want to disturb—“

“Oh gods.” Phainon curses.

You lift your head, confused, until you feel something hot trickling down your nose. Both your hand and Mydei’s fly up to your face, barely containing the blood that rolls down your chin.

“Prince, I think we are in trouble.”

“Stop saying nonsense, Phainon. Tell a servant to fetch us a cloth and a basin of water immediately.”

He didn’t need to be told twice and he was swift, his feet tapping along the marble as he sprinted down the hallway and now you were left alone with Kremnos’ young heir.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest.

Luck was definitely not on your side today.

“Hey, uhm…” Mydei trails off. You see the cogs in his head turning before he gently lets go of your face, you feel a soft pressure at the back of your skull instead as the prince beckons you to lean down towards him.

“Here, press your nose on my tunic. It would be a problem if we don’t add pressure to stop the bleeding—“

Your eyes widen, cheeks hot as coals. You find yourself shaking your head fervently, using the young prince’s shirt to help your nosebleed? if your reputation hadn’t sunk to the bottom of a seabed, it had now. How could you, and to Prince Mydeimos of all people?

But Mydei is persistent, somehow unaware that your flushed face is more likely due to the shame you felt than your injury.

“Please.” He pushes gently. “I insist.”

His palm on the back of your head is steady, fingers rubbing the hair there, his other hand pinch his fabric shirt and tugs it up to press against your bleeding nose. ”Lord Phainon will be back soon, so rest assured. I truly apologize for my lack of manners today.”

It felt like a whole minute with you in close proximity with the Prince, then after that, when a servant came to tend to you—both prince Mydei and lord Phainon received an earful from the adults, to dare bring harm upon a young guest clergy from Janusopolis is an act of slander, they said to the young boys.

And you are no different as your father shakes his head at you, “you’re very lucky that they practiced with wooden swords, what were to happen if they were using actual weapons, what if it was a spear?”

You turn away, “I’m sorry, father—“

“That’s enough child. I should’ve known this would happen, especially with that curiosity of yours. I’ve told you time and time again to steer clear from training grounds, you are not fit for combat.” He pats your shoulder softly. “Come now, let’s not dawdle. We still have to visit the other cities.”

But father, it’s not mere curiosity. You wanted to combat but decide against it.

When you tag along with your father with flushed pink nose and defeated shoulders, you dare slip a glance from behind. Watching the young prince and the lord getting scolded.

But what you didn’t expect was Prince Mydeimos’ honey eyes already on you.

You turned away quickly and never looked back.

A week passes and your shame does not settle nor fade.

“Looks like you had quite a delightful time.” A throwaway comment from Anaxa, you don’t respond and he doesn’t even bother to look in your direction, flipping another scroll and perusing the text casually.

“What do I do, Anaxa, Hyacine?”

“What must you do?” Anaxa shoots you a puzzled look. “Bumping into Prince Mydeimos in Okhema is one in a million, and I am certain your father won’t take you back to Castrum Kremnos after that troubling incident.

“This is so unfair.” You bury your face onto your arms.

Your younger companion heartens over your shoulder, “Cheer up. I’m sure you’ll stumble into him eventually.” Hyacine smiles at you. “After all, Okhema is celebrating a festival. You never know.”

Your eyes gloss over the open window, from the distance you hear the alluring instruments hither thither in gracious waves, the warm winds gossip, the furors of the crowd echo, the clinking of wine and your companions’ soft murmurs from behind you. You lean your cheek against your arm, watching the sky like a meadow of blues.

Distracted, you don’t notice someone approaching until you see a hand come over your vision.

Your eyes flutter, tracing the calloused palm down the arm before meeting the face.

Honey eyes greet you back.

You jolt, Prince Mydeimos.

He sees the recognition spark in your eyes and he smiles, “So it was you.” He lowers his hand, tugging his cloak. “I thought I recognized someone familiar on the window, it’s nice to see you again!”

“Prin…Prince Mydeimos.” You've straightened now. “What are you doing here?”

Your heart seizes when you watch him lean close to you, his dimples are prominent from here, like an intentional dip on a carved marble. He presses a finger to his lips, his boyish grin almost contagious.

“I sneaked away.” He rasps. “It’s a little stiff to have servants follow you around in Okhema’s festival.”

“Oh, I see.” Your eyes fleet. It seems like it has caught the attention of your companions, for the young priestess and sage are now leaning against the wall beside the window, out of view from Mydeimos.

The prince places a hand on the windowsill. “Do you want to come with me?”

Your lips part. “Come with you?”

“Yes. I uhm.” Mydei turns away, then looks back at you. “I want to make it up to you, for what happened last week.”

“There’s no need for that, prince. I’m perfectly okay now and it’s my fault you and the lord got into trouble.” Despite your incessant shakes, he combats it with stubbornness.

“I understand. But I still feel responsible for what has happened.” He tells you. “Then, if not to make up for it, just keep me company?”

“I’m not supposed to…” You hesitate.

But then you felt a foot tap your ankle. Your eyes flicker briefly towards Anaxa and Hyacine—one giving you an encouraging nod and the other had apathy in the face, but he tilts his head on the window as if beckoning you to go. You crack a smile then turn to Mydei and nod.

His smile widens, then he hoists you out of the window frame, strong arms around your torso. Your cheeks darken at his actions.

When the two of you walk down the street, you are splashed with the joyful spirit weaving through the festival. You don’t usually participate whenever these festivals happen, you have no one to go with you. You never wanted to bother your father with your trivial requests, and you had your own duties to finish that you don’t have time for leisure.

The prince tries to match your pace, shoulders barely touching but it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. In fact, Mydeimos has been kind to you which was far from the confident boy who held a spear in the arena.

He treats you as if you are something to him—you immediately shake such thoughts from your head.

Mydei taps your shoulder, pulling you out of your daydreams. “Are you hungry?”

In the young prince’s hands were two figs. You graciously took one from him. “Thank you, Prince Mydeimos.”

The honeycomb in his eyes softened. “Please just call me Mydei.” The fruit is brought to his lips, a crunch resounds when he takes a big bite.

During that time, under the golden festival hue—Mydeimos appeared like a brilliant child, the spirit still flickering a candle in his eyes and the looks he gave you, they were so undeniably soft. You both stopped at small stands, lingered at performances and smiled at the musicians playing instruments—all the while the prince made sure you were entertained and satiated with food; soft bread, cakes, olives. He even goes on a tangent when you had said you never tried specific meat before—those that were exclusive to the high and wealthy.

The prince would take each meat from the table, cupping a hand beneath your chin when you take a bite out of his portion.

You perk up. “It’s good.”

“Right?” Mydei laughs. “This one’s my favorite. We usually only have these in Kremnos during—“

“Are you eloping, my dear prince?”

Your attention is dragged to the owner of the quip. Lord Phainon appears from the thick of the crowd, and his teasing tone brings heat to your cheeks. Mydei scowls at his companion, “why are you here?”

Phainon greets you by ruffling your hair, “have you even an inkling of remorse for your pitiful servants?” His ocean blue eyes aren’t laughing despite his smile. “They’ve been looking for you for an hour or two, to the point it’s starting to spin into a commotion on the festival streets.”

This prompts Mydei to sigh. “Those fellows…”

A flute and strings draws their attention. Suddenly the crowd erupts into cheers, some step forth, dancing on the streets. You can feel Mydei’s eyes on you, then flickering to Phainon.

Maybe it was the expression on the prince’s face that Phainon let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll deal with your servants. You have an hour.”

“That’s all that I need.” Mydei smiles when Phainon turns on his heel to leave. “I owe you, my friend.”

“It’s nothing.” Phainon’s eyes flutter over to you, and his gentle smile returns, mouthing a take care of him before tugging on his hood and disappearing. At that time, you didn’t really know what the young lord meant with that.

And you didn’t have time to ponder, Mydei’s large hand is inching over yours, his fingertips brushing your skin. You look over to him and he asks, “do you know how to dance?”

You barely remembered what you responded back. The prince’s hands have captured your own, more of a soft caress than a hold before slowly pulling you onto the streets and the flurry of dancing citizens. The outside lights careens into the expression on his face when he tells you to dance with him.

You both circle each other and you watch his footwork—sidestepping, bouncing back then spinning—Mydei’s hand is not far from yours, and he pulls you into his dance, a palm seeking refuge on your torso and the other securing your hand, he spins you around and you cannot help the bubble of a laugh from slipping from your lips.

Between the flurries and the crowds there was nothing but you and the prince, everyone else was barely a splotch of watercolor on canvas.

An hour burns through quickly when you’re having fun. The sky began to dim and the festival had hushed, when his servants finally found him and he got in the carriage, he pops his head out the window, calling your name before you can leave.

You seek the honey in his eyes once again, and he leans into his open palm, “visit Castrum Kremnos sometimes.” Mydei grins. “It's a bore to always spend time sparring with Phainon and he’s not a great dancer like you are.

You mirror his grin with your own. “If this is what my prince wants, then I’ll obey.”

The brightened smile that Mydei gave you felt like he had shaved a piece of the sun and reflected it on his own expression. “See you.”

“Goodbye, Kremnos’ prince.”

That expression of his had engraved into your membrane as years shuffle and roll, it’s the exact same face he shows you when you finally visit him—not as a clergy guest of the city but Prince Mydeimos’ guest.

So it's very hard for you to believe in those rumours, rumours that stated that Castrum Kremnos’ hero had gone manic—the same as when the heretical black tide came and made the titans mad. It’s just difficult.

You’re aware that war and battles change a person. It came to make their blooming heart wither into a wasteland, but you know Mydeimos for so long.

You knew him as his childhood friend, as someone who had admired him and his heart for years on end—you never believed rumours about him and if it were true, you wanted to make your own judgement and witness it for yourself.

So when talks of Mydei’s arrival from the battlefield reached your ears, you did not hesitate to start packing for the trip.

Your journey to Kremnos was hasty. You had ignored the rebuttals your father threw at you and got on the carriage. As years passed, so did Castrum Kremnos. It did not beguile a glow like it used to, but your mind’s a raging storm. Your pace is impatient as you run down the corridors of the familiar city.

The sound of the steel sword would indicate where he was since you are aware of his duties to fight—and it is said that crown prince Mydeimos is usually seen spending his leisure on swordsmanship, alone.

Your hand is pressed against the olive tree bark, heaving heavy breaths as your eyes land on Mydeimos’ back, his muscles and sinews are hardened under the reddish hue of sunset, flexing as he moves his sword to cut the air. You barely notice the look on his eyes as well, gone were his large honey pupils and chub on his cheeks, now his gaze has sharpened into resin, narrowed with furrowed brows. He’s no longer as talkative or carefree as back then.

You take a step closer and flinch when Mydeimos turns to your direction, the sword lands heavy above your shoulders, almost grazing your cheek and ears.

The air hangs heavy with tension.

“It’s me, Mydei.”

At the sound of your voice, the prince wavers. The sword is immediately retracted and his heavy heaves are all that fills the air between you two.

“You…” Mydei runs his fingers through his wet hair. “You really do have the habit of just wandering into the practice grounds like this.”

You look away. “I’ll try not to next time.” You were just a little worried about him today.

When you feel a fingertip running down your jaw, you turn back to him.

Mydeimos’ eyes land on something on your face, his frown deepening. “There’s a cut.” He tells you. is there?

You cannot help the slight sting or wince when he presses the wound. At your reaction, he tries to pull away but your hands are quick to capture it, placing his calloused palms back on your cheeks.

“It’s okay.” You tell him but he’s noiseless.

Instead he tilts your head sideways, then leans down. His rough lips on your cheek is all you feel and you’re engulfed in Mydei’s scent of bonfire and wood and smoke.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, pressing another kiss to your other cheek and you told him it was fine. His head lands heavy on your shoulder so you don’t dare ask him how he’s been or how the battlefield was—you doubt he’d want to answer it right now.

“Will you stay for a bit?” He’d ask you and in response you’d embrace him.

“For as long as you wish.”

He pushes a bit. “Will you be by my side then?”

“If you command it, I will.”

Silence.

“Stay with me today?” Mydei adds. “Please?”

For a moment, Phainon’s words are on your ears: take care of him.

You tug him back and hold his cheeks on your palms, your eyes dissect his every fold and dip in expression, the downcasted frown and tired eyes. You give him a bright smile—a smile that flickers a glow on his honey pupils—then rest your forehead against his own.

“I’m here for as long as I live.” You murmur sweetly. “Even if it’s just us left, I’ll be with you.” because I love you, Mydei. For everything that I have.

You don’t announce it, but Mydei’s expression seems to shift when he gazes into your eyes, like he’d read the words written in them.

And holding him like this, you prayed to yourself—to wish nothing but endless glory and victory to Mydeimos for all the tragedies he’d witnessed.

You are not skilled in combat, but you’d hope your support and embraces can heal his wounds just as much. But when Mydei leans forward and presses another kiss on your forehead and two cheeks, your skin is matted and sun-kissed at the trail of his lips. It’s as if he’s telling you that yes, you’re healing him, you’re making him happy.

And you smile at the manner.

Unsurprisingly, he didn't seem to have heard you, nor noticed that your movements had halted. A perfect mirror of your own poise, Sunday's back was straight and his shoulders relaxed- a far cry from the tension that had permeated his being when you first met.

Oh well, there was no point in interrupting him just yet.

Instead, you took the time to adjust both your chiffon skirt and the elastics holding your pointe shoes in place. The ribbons would have to be sewn on before tonight, but that was a minor problem compared to the one baring his soul in the corner.

No matter how many times you saw it, the occasional flutter of his wings when he lost himself to the music never failed to make your heart leap.

His name left your lips once more, tentative and soft, still unwilling to pry him from whatever tranquility he had attained.

The choreography had been burned into your mind years ago, having spent hours watching the older girls rehearse, trained as part of the corps de ballet, watched as a common member of the audience. So much time in preparation of portraying Odette's terrible betrayal and death.

You refused to count the amount of times Sunday had been put through evaluating if "my expression looks pained enough".

Your shins were tired from the constant pointework, only making your guilt at having coerced Sunday into rehearsing with you, knowing there was realistically nothing left to do but hope the stage lights and self imposed pressure wouldn't stun you.

This time, it was Sunday's voice that had been tinged with amusement, "Getting nervous again?"

He even had the audacity to smile, making you huff a little as you rolled your sore ankles, "No.. But you're playing too fast."

The way he straightened a little further, eyes widening almost imperceptibly should be criminal for how your throat tightened.

"Ah, apologies," he cleared his throat, looking off to the side as you approached, "I must've gotten carried away."

His hands flexed, a small sigh escaping him as you took them into your own, running a thumb across the back of his hand while sitting down beside him.

"It's fine, I suppose your inability to keep your eyes open while playing is the reason you became a conductor instead," you couldn't help but chuckle, hearing the rustle of feathers as he no doubt tried to hide his face.

"You know that's not the case..."

"Am I really such a horrid Odette that you'd rather not look?" You'd barely gotten out the quip before Sunday's head had turned, nearly giving you a mouth full of feathers in the process.

"Don't," his whisper sounded almost pained, retracting a hand to cup your cheek instead, "I hate to hear you speak that way. We can cover the mirrors if they bother you-"

"I was joking, Sunday," nimble fingers twitched against your cheek, embarrassment and relief equally clear in the sigh that left him. "It's not the mirrors bothering me."

It stung to admit even though he already knew, your soul always bared to that golden gaze.

"If the maître de ballet believes you're ready to portray Odile, then you must trust in that judgement and in yourself," you leaned into his touch, relishing the brief pause as he kissed your eyelids, "remember how you declared at our first lesson that you would be the swan princess when you grew up? There's no way around doing both roles."

You couldn't help but snort in amusement at the memory, both your own childish bravado and- "Don't forget that I wanted you there with me as my prince.."

Both of you fell silent, the wound still too fresh. It might never heal entirely.

Sunday slipped an arm around your waist, the usual disdain for dirtying himself tossed aside (almost, you did catch a small hiss when he made contact with your sweaty back). Despite everything, you couldn't help but smile a little, carefully dodging his wing to rest upon his shoulder.

"With how easy you made the pas the quatre look last year, Odile should be no challenge. Especially with how much you've improved."

Knowing it was a childish protest, you couldn't help the little grumble that escaped. "Four little swans don't have to do thirty-two fouettés..."

Sunday turned to brush his lips against the shell of your ear, "they don't get any princes either."

A small laugh escaped you as you stood, rolling your shoulders in tandem with his, so used to being in tune.

"From the top then."

The hard leather soles of your pointe shoes clacked against the vinyl floors as you quickly got into position, flicking your wrists with a grin, "Keep your eyes on me this time."

A smile twitched at the corners of his lips, "I wouldn't dream of looking away."

How were you supposed to get home? Hell, it didn't even feel like you'd be able to get changed. Getting your hands up to remove the headpiece had been enough of a challenge that you'd slumped back into your chair immediately after. That was ten minutes ago.

It had never really occurred to you just how much more movement soloists had in the choreography. You supposed it this was why having two casts to rotate between was essential. Aeons above, there was no way you were getting out of bed tomorrow.

Provided you actually made it home to your bed.

Despite it all, you couldn't help but close your eyes and smile, the heavy exhaustion mixed with warmth and satisfaction left in the wake of adrenaline. The faint scent of the bouquet of roses you'd received on stage still clung to the costume. A shame you had to return the flowers so they could be reused.

It wasn't until the door opened that you opened your eyes, immediately regretting not turning off the sharp lights lining the mirror.

"You'll get cold," as expected, Sunday sounded weary as well, his hands trembling slightly as he draped his suit jacket around your shoulders.

"Sorry, didn't mean to keep you waiting, I just gotta-" you gestured vaguely at yourself, "find the energy to change. Think I'll go straight home and sleep, so no need to wait."

What you hadn't expected was the way Sunday kneeled before you, worry etched onto those delicate features your mind always tried to overlay onto your dance partners. How cruel it was that his face was always so clearly visible from the stage. His eyes always on you with the same look as now.

"It was a stunning performance, I do hope you are proud of yourself." You could almost hear the unspoken 'I am' in his soothing tone.

"Yeah yeah... Nothing compared to your conducting, surely people couldn't tear their eyes from those big arm movements," the small flush that crept along his cheekbones.

Any further clever remarks died in a groan as the tight satin ribbons came undone, the shoes pulled off shortly after. Your eyes closed in bliss when Sunday's fingers rubbed at the ball our your foot, tension slowly bleeding from the muscles.

"You should've been on stage with me.."

VAMP!JAY makes you settle on his laps. his hands hold your hips firmly as you wrap your arms around his neck. he kisses your jaw tenderly, peppering kisses all over your skin. he likes to hear you sigh when his lips touch your neck— the way you lean your head backwards makes him dizzy with need. his strong hand connects with your nape. he slides a little praise, “you’re so beautiful,” you feel the ghost of his fangs as he does so. his hands slides down, making your breath catch, in the crook of your upper back, pulling your chest closer before biting you.

VAMP!JAKE it is very dramatic— but in the best way possible. it happens when you accidentally cut yourself. for the first time, he is hungry for something else than love and affection. he wraps his fingers around your hand, bringing it closer to his mouth. your fingertips touch his tongue, his lips wraps around your bloody finger and he sucks. it leaves him red in the face and panting for more. his agape mouth reveals his fangs, his eyes lingering on your neck, he brings you closer in a gentle movement. he holds the back of your neck as he makes his way to the spot he has been craving for, “i need more of you.”

VAMP!SUNGHOON lays you down on the mattress ever so gently. your heart pounding while he gets on top of you, between your thighs with his hands planted next to each side of your face. “you are so beautiful,” he tells you— leaning in. he intertwines your fingers together, giving your hand a soft pressure to contrast with the addicting pain of his fangs making their way inside of you. a pleased hum vibrates in his throat when your chest heaves. his grip on your hands gets tighter as the time goes on, his tongue on your neck as hot as your entire body.

VAMP!SUNOO you discover a look in his eyes that you have never seen before. his gaze burns with need— dizzying hunger, mouth almost watering the longer he looks at you. he doesn't say much, his palms are hot against your skin whereupon he lifts you up to make you sit on the kitchen counter. he starts by holding your hand, bringing it up to his lips to leave a frail kiss on your knuckles, then inside your palm, on your wrist, all over your arm until he reaches your neck. his hand rests on your thigh while he devours you, drawing random patterns on it— soothing you when your grip on his shoulder becomes tighter.

VAMP!JUNGWON he takes your hands, pressing your palm against his cheeks to make you cup his face. the heat in your face gets warmer, he keeps getting closer to your face, his big eyes looking up at yours. he lays between your legs, he looks angelic, “can i taste you?” you are too hypnotized to do anything else but nod, ‘thank you, my love.” he holds your hip with one hand, the other holding onto the sofa’s armchair. it feels like reaching heaven, you fingertips hiding in his hair. behind your eyes, as the feeling of his tongue on your neck takes over the pain, you see stars.

VAMP!RIKI “are you sure?” he hushes, tone soft and hesitant. he is panting for something forbidden, thirsty and lovesick. his cheeks are pink, reminding you of the day you exchanged your first kiss. his long fingers are wrapped around the wrist you offered to him, his mouth is close to it, breathing on it. he didn’t do anything yet and you already feel faint. you give him a barely understandable agreeing noise in lieu of a proper answer. immediately, he pulls you closer, his big hand finds your lower back. he holds your wrist over his shoulder as he bites your neck without any warnings.

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