°˖➴ .ᐟ wow ok this is my BABY. what started out as me being an emotional angsty girl in her time of month, tmi sorry, turned into the longest thing i've written and i genuinely loved writing it but also nervvyyy lol bc i feel this one is heavier than my usual kind of style? & i got so much excitement for this one so i really hope it meets everyone's expectations :3 but ty for being patient and excited and sticking around with me when i disappeared a lil bit and haven't really done a long fic in a while <3 i appreciate each & every one of you guys and everything gets noticed so thank u very very very much mwah (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) hope you guys enjoy <3

jake had spent the last eight months telling himself he was fine. which, if we're being honest, is already not a particularly encouraging sentence.

people who are fine don't usually spend eight consecutive months reminding themselves that they're fine. people who are actually fine just go about their day. people who are not fine, however, tend to wake up on a random tuesday, stare at the ceiling fan for forty-five minutes, and have to convince themselves they're fine. 

jake knew this. and unfortunately for him, knowing something and doing something about it was two completely different skills that he had no idea how to differentiate.

the thing is, there were days when he was genuinely fine. really. there were entire afternoons where he didn't think about you once. moments where he would be halfway through a conversation with heeseung or laughing at something stupid jay said and realize, with a small burst of relief, that an entire hour passed without your name crossing his mind. which, yes, he's aware it sounds pathetic, but heartbreak has a funny way of lowering the bar like that. eight months later, jake was still collecting small victories wherever he could find them.

still, there was another reason why he kept insisting he was fine, and this one is probably the realest one of them all—because that's just what everybody says after a breakup.

especially when the breakup involves what jake would describe, with absolutely no exaggeration whatsoever, as the best thing that has ever happened to him in his twenty three years of being alive. and that might sound dramatic, but to jake, it was just true. it wasn't anything like a rom-com, nothing cinematic or perfectly timed. nobody ran through an airport, nobody stood outside anybody's window holding a boombox.

it was worse than that, actually. it was ordinary. it was the quiet, ordinary kind of best thing that sneaks up on you and becomes the shape of your days before you even know it. the kind where you wake up next to someone and the first thing you do is reach for them without thinking, because their body becomes as familiar as your own. the kind where inside jokes turn into entire languages only the two of you speak. the kind where you start keeping their favorite snacks in your cabinet and they leave an extra toothbrush at your sink, because of course.

you and jake had been together for three and a half years, and somewhere in the middle of that stretch of time he had stopped thinking of himself as a singular person and starting thinking in plurals. we should try that new ramen place. we need to remember to water the plant before we leave for the weekend. we'll figure it out. he had liked the way it sounded. the way it felt. like the two of you were building something forever-shaped.

it started slow, the way only real things tend to. a shared friend group that slowly narrowed until it was just the two of you staying up too late on the couch, talking about nothing and everything until the sun came up. then it was late night texts that turned into late night calls that turned into late night car rides where the rest of the group was conveniently not invited. then it was the first time he kissed you—properly, too, not in the heat of the moment but rather after waiting for a long time—and the way you had smiled against his mouth like you'd been waiting for it too. by the time anyone in the group noticed, you were already something solid. something that made sense. the guys teased you both about it constantly, but jake didn't mind. he liked the way it felt to be known like that. to have someone who saw every version of him, the charming one he showed the world, the quiet one who got overwhelmed around too many people, the one who still sometimes doubted he deserved good things—and stayed anyways.

you built a life in the small spaces of jake's life that he hadn't realized was missing you. weekends at his place or yours, trading hoodies and playlists and the kind of easy domesticity that felt revolutionary at twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. you knew how he took his coffee (two sugars, splash of oat milk) and he knew the exact pressure to use when rubbing your ankles after a long day. you had matching scars from the time you both tried to cook something ambitious and set off the smoke alarm three separate times. you had a list of 'stupid things we've done together' that lived in the notes app on your phone. he introduced you to his family over video calls and during the holidays, you fit there too—laughing in the kitchen with his mom, letting his little cousins climb all over you like you'd always been part of the chaos.

but yeah, jake was fine. jake was fine because he had gotten very good at only remembering the good moments. which was pretty easy, if he was being honest, because that was pretty much most of all three and a half years of it, which only made the end hurt only worse. there was that one rainy sunday in your apartment, the one with the leaky faucet in the kitchen he kept meaning to fix and never did. you had woken up before him, which was rare, and instead of getting up you stayed curled against his side, tracing lazy patterns on his bare stomach with your fingertips while the rain tapped against the window. jake had pretended to still be asleep just to feel it a little longer. he remembered the exact weight of your leg thrown over his, the way you kept humming some half remembered song under your breath. eventually you got up to make coffee—badly, because you always forgot how many grounds to use—and brought it back to bed anyways. you climbed on top of him, straddling his lap, and handed him the mug with that little smirk that said you knew it was terrible but were proud of it anyway.

"drink it and tell me it's good," you said, your voice still heavy, hair still messy, eyes still sleepy.

jake had taken a sip, made a face, and said, "it's the best coffee i've ever had in my entire life."

"liar."

"would i lie to you?"

you then leaned down and kissed him, slow and unhurried, tasting like bad coffee and late mornings and the kind of quiet happiness that just tends to show up on its own. your hands had slid into his hair and he pulled you closer until there was no space left between you, and for a while the leaky faucet and the rain and everything else outside that bed stopped existing.

and yeah, it wasn't all perfect, no relationship that real ever is. there were the harder nights, the ones that proved you were both still human, that you could hurt each other even when you didn't mean to. there was the one night in the middle of fall, maybe three months before the end. you were stretched thin by exam season and jake with his own mounting pressure of what came after graduation and the quiet fear that he wasn't moving fast enough, wasn't good enough, wasn't enough period. it started off small, something about him canceling your plans last minute. you had been tired and a little too sharp, he had been defensive and a little too quiet. it escalated in his kitchen, voices rising, the kind of argument where old insecurities got dragged into the light because you knew each other too well to keep anything hidden.

"you always do this," you had said, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in frustration. "you pull away when things get hard and then act like i'm the one being difficult for noticing."

"i'm not pulling away," jake had shot back, even though part of him knew he was. "i'm trying to figure my shit out so i don't drag you down with me."

"that's not how this works, jaeyun!" you had paused then to take a breath, as if to steady yourself. then, smaller, softer, "you don't get to decide what i can handle, i'm not some fragile thing you have to protect from your bad days."

jake had faltered midstep at the sound of his name, the sound having landed somewhere deep, cutting straight through the defensive haze he wrapped himself in. he hated fighting with you, hated the way your voice got tight because he knows you cry whenever you get overwhelmed, hated the way his own chest felt like it was caving in because he loved you so much it made every sharp word feel like it was cutting him too.

it ended the way most of them did, with one of you cracking first. this time it had been him. he crossed the kitchen in two steps, pulled you into his arms even though you were still stiff and angry, and buried his face in your neck.

"i'm sorry," he had mumbled against your skin. "i'm an idiot. i know i'm an idiot."

you stayed rigid for a few seconds longer, then your arms had come up around him and your voice had gone soft in that way it only did for him. "yeah, you are."

later that night you ended up on the couch, your head in his lap while some mindless show played in the background. his fingers were in your hair, gentle and light, and you had looked up at him with that small tired smile and asked, "we're gonna be okay, right?"

jake had nodded like he believed it. like he could will it into existence just by wanting it hard enough. those nights had always felt survivable back then. like proof that you could get through anything as long as you kept choosing each other at the end of it.

and then there was the last and final night.

it happened on a normal tuesday night that had felt completely unsuspecting when you both woke up that morning. except jake had already been in his own head silently, falling back into that old, familiar pattern of doubting himself, the future, and every uncertain thing that stood in between the two of you.

it happened in his room this time, the plant you both had jokingly named after jay still half-dead and the string lights you forced him to hang blinking above you. you had been sitting on the floor with your back against his bed, knees pulled to your chest, wearing one of his old hoodies because you always did. jake sat across from you, legs stretched out, trying to find the right words and failing.

"i just think…" he had started, then stopped. then started again. "we've been doing this for a long time now. and i love you. i really fucking love you." his voice almost cracked, so he looked down at his hands. "but sometimes it feels like we're holding each other back from figuring out who we are without the other person in the middle of everything."

you had looked at him for a long time without saying anything. your eyes were shiny in that way that meant you were holding back tears, and jake felt something in his chest twist so violently.

"and that's not your fault. it's not. it's just—" he exhaled shakily. "you're in everything. every plan i make, every place i go, every version of my future i imagine. and i know that sounds like a good thing."

"it's not?" you asked quietly, like you were scared for the answer.

"i don't know," he whispered. "i don't know if it is when i can't tell if i'm choosing things because i want them or because they keep me close to you."

he remembers the way your eyes filled when you looked at him then. "are you…unhappy with me?"

jake looked up fast. "no."

he had reached for your hand then, selfishly, stupidly threading his fingers through yours like he could still be the person who comforted you while simultaneously becoming the person to ever hurt you the most.

"no," he repeats immediately, shaking his head. "i just—i don't want to lose you. that's the last thing i want. but i also don't want to wake up in five years and realize i never figured out who i was because loving you was the easiest thing to do instead."

you had then nodded slowly. a tear slipped down your cheek and you wiped it away. then another and another, until wiping them away became useless.

"okay," you finally whispered, nodding again because you had loved him enough to let him go if that's what he thought he needed.

it wasn't what jake needed, he would realize many months down the road. not at all. but at the time, terrified and twenty-something and stupid enough to mistake pain and insecurities for maturity, it was what he had convinced himself was best for both of you. the right choice, the one that would hurt less in the long run.

it was selfish, is what he would also realize. because he didn't save either of you from pain at all, it would turn out. he only made sure he was the one holding the knife, so that maybe breaking your heart first felt safer than waiting around for you to break his.

you had stayed on the floor for a long time after that, neither of you quite ready to stand up and make it real. eventually jake shifted to sit next to you, your head instinctively falling to rest against his shoulder, eyes closed, breathing the same shared air one last time.

"i love you," you had said, so, so quietly in between your tears that he almost missed it.

he closed his eyes too. "i know. i love you too."

when you finally left, the door had clicked shut with a sound that felt a little too gentle for how much everything had just changed. jake sat on the floor for maybe another hour, staring at the half-dead plant and the single burnt out bulb on the string lights and the empty space where you had been, and told himself over and over again that this was the right thing. that love sometimes meant letting go. that he would be fine.

he was still telling himself that.

jake was still telling himself that he was fine because he had to be fine. the group made it pretty much impossible to disappear cleanly from your life. that was the thing about sharing the same three people who had been in the same orbit for years. every late night takeout run, every casual 'you coming?' text in the group chat kept pulling you both back into the same room. he convinced himself that two people who had once been everything to each other could still be friends, real friends too, not just the polite kind of acquaintances who avoided eye contact. that it was possible to love someone and let them go and still sit across from them in the living room during game night without the world ending.

jake had gotten good at it, mostly. at first it was awkward because, well, of course it would be. it was the kind of stiff, overly polite dance where you both speak a little too carefully and laughed a little too loudly and made sure to never sit a little too closely. the first group hangout after the break up felt like walking through a minefield, honestly. every shared glance, every accidental brush of hands when passing snacks, every time someone said something that used to be an inside joke between just the two of you. he remembered how you smiled at him that night like it hurt to do it, and how he had smiled back the same way.

but time did its thing, the way it always does. slowly, painfully, things started to settle into something that almost felt normal. he could sit across from you at jay's place now and steal fries off heeseung's plate and not stare too long when you tuck your hair behind your ear the way you always do when you were overthinking. he could text updates in the groupchat without his thumb hovering over your name first, without typing and deleting three different versions of a message that used to be just for you.

there were even the small moments where it started to feel almost normal again. like the one particular night sunghoon had made a dry comment about 'exes who still share the same three friends and see each other every day are the strongest soldiers.' the whole table burst into laughter, even jake. you had laughed too, bright and genuine, and for a second your eyes had met across the table and something soft and knowing had passed between you. and jake didn't really know if it was pain or longing or both. maybe it was recognition, like both of you understood exactly how ridiculous and impossible this arrangement was, and yet here you both were.

because this version, this careful friendship, the polite distance, the shared laughs that didn't really quite reach as deep as they used to—was better than nothing. better than losing you completely. better than waking up one day and realizing the friendship that was the foundation of everything you two had ever built had been completely destroyed all because jake woke up one morning and made a rash, terrified decision he still wasn't sure he believed in.

so he showed up. he smiled at the right times. he stole fries and sent his updates and laughed at sunghoon's jokes and pretended the ache in his chest was just old habit. and most days it was fine.

but fine was a fragile thing. a fragile, sheer layer that cracked in the quiet moments. in the way he caught the faint trace of your perfume on a hoodie he swore he'd wash after the breakup, or when his phone lit up with a notification with your name and his heart did that hopeful little stutter thing before he realized it was you texting the groupchat, not just him. fine was what he wore like armor, but underneath it the truth sat heavy and patient, the kind that lived in the small details of the past. like how he still knew exactly how you liked your eggs cooked, the way his hands remember the shape of your waist even when they had no right to anymore, the way he still hears the way 'jaeyun' would slip from your mouth, the only person in the world allowed to use that version of his name like it was something precious.

jake told himself he was fine. he still believes it. well, most nights he believes it.

tonight was not most nights.

the party is loud in the way parties stop being fun after twenty two and start being endurance tests—bass vibrating too hard through the floorboards, red cups everywhere, that specific smell of cheap vodka and someone's cologne that was trying too hard. jake doesn't even fully remember how you all ended up here, it was something along the lines of all five of you lazily sprawled across jay's living room with a movie no one was watching playing in the background until jay mentioned something about knowing a guy who knows a guy who was throwing a house warming party even though he moved in over six months ago and now here we are.

jake had been doing alright the first hour, he'd taken two shots with sunghoon and heeseung just to feel something, let jay rope him into some dumb drinking game that mostly involved shouting and losing, and nodded easily when you told the group you were going to go say hi to some people you recognized. he didn't think about it too much, which was a good habit he found himself trying to get better at more recently—not overthinking every little thing you did, not letting his eyes follow you across rooms like they still had the right to.

but then everything and anything he learned about good habits was thrown right out the window the second he looks over and searches for you, solely only because he's being a good friend, he tells himself. just making sure you were okay, just checking, nothing more. the lie sits easy on his tongue even as his eyes scan across the crowded room, past the clusters of people and the haze of spilled drinks and cigarette smoke drifting in from the balcony. he finds you near the kitchen island, leaning against the counter in that comfortable, familiar way, talking to yang jungwon.

now, yang jungwon was the kind of guy who just kind of existed to jake, a friend, but the kind that never really orbited in his life. he was younger, a little removed from the group, the kind of person whose life didn't collide with jake's enough for a solid, everyday friendship to form. to jake, he was always kind of like background noise, someone he used to nod at across campus, someone he sees at parties and gives a quick 'hey' to before moving on and that's it. never someone significant enough to warrant a second thought in jake's head.

until jake looks over and finds you looking at jungwon. and then what occurs in jake's head isn't only a second thought, but a third, a fourth and maybe the beginning of a fifth. all of which are circling the same stupid, irrational thing: jake hates yang jungwon.

because now here he is, watching the way jungwon leans in a little closer when he speaks, the way your hand brushes against his arm when you make a point. the way you look relaxed in a way jake hasn't seen in a while, shoulders soft, smile easy, the kind of open that used to be reserved for early nights and late mornings when it was just the two of you and the rest of the world felt far away.

and the worst part is that jake couldn't even be mad at jungwon. jungwon, who was all bright smiles and sweet and a little shy and looked at you like he was trying not to look too hard. jungwon, the kind of person who probably remembered birthdays without being reminded and asked follow up questions about people's days. jungwon, the kind of person who probably returned rogue shopping carts in the grocery store's parking lot. jungwon, who didn't know that the last time you laughed like that was because jake said something stupid on purpose just to watch your eyes crinkle at the corners in that way that always made his chest feel too full.

that's the funny thing about perspective. because here's the thing. jake had been looking at the breakup entirely from one side of it, his side. the side where he lost you. which, objectively speaking, was terrible enough on its own. but still, loss is a strangely selfish thing. because when someone loses something, they almost center themselves around the surrounding artifacts of what is no longer theirs. for jake, it was the calls he didn't get anymore, or the newly cold and empty space beside him in bed. or like how he still pauses in grocery aisles in front of snacks he didn't even like because buying them for you became so automatic that not buying them felt stranger. he spent so long mourning the absence of you that he never really stopped to consider what came after.

because yes, you're now his ex-girlfriend. yes, the relationship was over. yes, he had been the one to end it. all of those were true. but there was another truth too, the one that he unfortunately believes in more than the former—that the two of you had loved each other for three and a half years. and that doesn't just disappear. there were entire pieces of one another that would always belong to that relationship, memories nobody else would understand, inside jokes nobody else would find funny. versions of yourselves that only existed because the other person had been there to witness them. it was something sacred, in a way. sacred and special and it belonged to you and him and him and you and some small, selfish part of jake maybe took comfort in that. because even after everything, it still felt like yours and his. like nobody else could ever touch it, understand it, or even come near to it.

but then jake looks across the room and sees you laughing and suddenly, a realization hits him hard enough to make his stomach drop. that you weren't just something he lost. you were someone who would keep going, someone who would keep living. someone who would keep collecting new memories and new experiences and new people. and someone who would eventually fall in love again and be loved.

the thought sat heavy in his chest like a bruise that he couldn't stop pressing. jake was all at once suddenly and painfully aware that not only did he take you out of his future, but he had given you back to the rest of the world. that the version of you he still carried in his head wouldn't just be his anymore. that one day it would belong to someone else, someone who would look at you for five minutes and immediately understand why jake had loved you for three and a half years. someone like jungwon, who was sweet and safe and looking at you like he already knew exactly how lucky that would make him.

jake takes a long sip from his drink. then another. then another. as if enough of whatever concoction this is in his cup might somehow make him stop thinking. and obviously, because we all know how this goes, it doesn't. if anything, it makes the spiral worse, because now he's really watching. and once jake starts watching you, he's kind of screwed.

he watches the way you're smiling, real and unguarded, the way you lightly shove jungwon's shoulder after something he says, the way he grins, the way you grin back. and suddenly jake is very aware that he hates this. which is ridiculous because, really, nothing is happening. because jungwon is jungwon. because you're allowed to talk to whoever you want. because jake is twenty-three years old, not twelve. because he broke up with you. because he broke up with you. because he—

the thought doesn't get to finish itself. jake is already moving. already halfway across the room before his brain catches up. because apparently all that maturity he spent the last eight months building could be taken out behind a shed and shot the second he saw you smiling at somebody else.

and before he knows it, before he could let himself think about what he's doing for even a second, he's right there against you, his arm sliding around your waist before either of you could react, fingers spreading possessive and familiar over the curve of your hip like they had every right to be there. the warmth of your body against his side hits him like a memory he didn't realize he wasn't ready for. and for the first time in eight months, for one stupid, selfish second, jake felt like he was home again.

"there you are," he says, low enough that only you could hear the small crack in his voice. he then presses a quick, deliberate kiss to your temple, the kind of small, possessive thing that used to make you roll your eyes and smile at the same time. the kind of thing that he's done a thousand times before that used to mean absolutely nothing but now means entirely too much.

everything in your body immediately goes still and jake feels it. he feels the way you freeze beneath his arm, the sharp inhale you try to hide. he feels jungwon's eyes snap to him. then yours. but jake's committed now. or perhaps more accurately, he's already ruined his own life.

"been looking everywhere for you."

there's a horrifying two seconds of silence where nobody says anything.

jungwon then blinks, his eyes flicking between the two of you with that polite confusion that says he's realizing in real time that he's stepping into something he didn't really have the full context for.

"oh—shit, sorry, i didn't know you guys got back—"

"yeah, yeah we did," jake cut in smoothly, smiling like he had everything totally under control and didn't just lie right through his teeth with ease. your head whips towards him. jake pointedly does not look at you. instead, his thumb strokes once, slow and instinctive against your hip under the hem of your top before he could stop it. "right, baby?"

you don't answer right away. the music pulses around you, the lights catch your eyes, and for a second jake recognizes that look and that's when he realizes he's absolutely done for, that he pretty much dug his own grave and is actively getting in it.

jungwon then backs up slightly, mumbling something polite about catching up later before he finally turns and disappears into the crowd. the second he's out of sight, you spin in jake's hold, shoving his chest with both hands, and the look on your face is the one he had been waiting for and dreading in equal measure.

"what the fuck, jake?"

jake blinks at you slowly, like his brain was still catching up to what his body had done. like he's only just realizing that he crossed an invisible line that he laid down himself and then proceeded to sprint fifty feet past it.

"i thought we were good," you say, your voice tight as you look up at him, eyes wide and filled with the familiar mix of frustration and hurt that he knows all too well.

jake's jaw flexes, like he was trying hard to hold back every single, selfish, ugly emotion he'd been suffering with ever since you walked out of those apartment doors eight months ago and took half of him with you. his hold tightens too, his fingers pressing into your side before he answers, exhaling through his nose.

"we are good." the words come out too fast, too defensive. he heard it and hated it.

you let out a short, disbelieving laugh, "right. yeah. because that was totally normal."

he hesitates for a moment, the small distance forcing his eyes to flick down to your mouth for half a second before he forced them back up.

"c'mon, i mean…you—" the words stopped. for a second he just stands there, just looking at you, accepting that this is the closest he's been to you ever since eight months ago and this could very well be the last time he ever will be. just looking at you and the way your lips press together like you were holding back something much bigger than anger. and then at the very, very obvious fact that even now, even when upset at him, you still haven't stepped back. neither of you have. eight months of carefully curated distance and here you were again, letting him hold you like this in the middle of a crowded room.

"jungwon," he says finally, quieter. "really?"

"and what's wrong with jungwon," you ask, voice deceptively calm, your mouth quirked in that way where jake can't tell if you're annoyed or amused, or both.

his thumb moves without permission, a quick stroke against your hip, restless and desperate. "he's a kid."

"he's like a year younger than me," you shoot back, tilting your head, the movement bringing your faces a fraction even closer.

jake's jaw tightens. "he's still in school."

you stare at him for a long second, something dangerous and challenging sparkling behind your eyes. then the corner of your mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close enough to make his stomach flip.

"i'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that," you say, voice laced with that teasing edge that always used to get under his skin in the best way. "since when did you become such a possessive old man, jaeyun?"

jake closes his eyes at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue, trying his hardest to pretend it didn't hit him the way it always did whenever you called him that. he sighs, the sound quiet and exhausted, in that defeated kind of way that tells you this isn't coming from completely out of no where.

"c'mon, y/n," his voice is softer now, almost pleading. "i know you."

"right," you scoff, but your stance falters slightly. "so you know what's best for me, right? for the both of us?"

and that lands somewhere. somewhere deep and hard and admittedly more vulnerably raw than he wishes it had. his fingers tighten slightly around you, his breath hitching for a moment before he catches himself.

"c'mon..don't be like that," he murmurs, eyes searching yours like he was looking for an exit he already knew didn't exist. his hand slides a little higher against you, his palm now flat against the warm skin of your lower back. "you know i'm not trying to—"

"i'm not being anything," you cut in, voice quieter now but still edged with that defensive frustration, "you're the one who decided to make it weird. you're the one who came over here and—" your voice breaks off with a shaky laugh. you shake your head then, eyes now shining. "you know what, this is stupid. whatever."

a beat of silence stretches again between you, jake still unmoving, holding you right there against him. your bodies were nearly flush now in the cramped room, your knee slotted between his thighs, every point of contact painfully impossible to ignore.

then, soft and almost reluctant, you whisper, "let go of me, yun."

he swallows hard, voice low and defeated when he finally answers, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

"i kinda really don't want to."

the confession hangs there in the small space between your bodies, the truth heavy and honest in a way that solved absolutely nothing and made everything worse. you let out another small scoff, but despite yourself you still don't pull away. you don't push him. you just stay right there, letting him hold you, neither of you making any real effort to create distance. then, your eyes meet his in the dim party light, dark and shining and full of the same messy, desperate thing he was feeling. you break the silence first.

"how drunk are you?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

"not at all."

you pause, studying him. your gaze traces his face like you were memorizing it, like you were actively aware you were making a mistake but couldn't bring yourself to stop. then, slowly, hesitantly, one of your hands slid up from his shirt, fingers trailing along his collarbone before curving around the back of his neck, finding the ends of his hair automatically, mindlessly playing with the strands in that familiar way that always used to make his breath catch.

your eyes then meet his again and something flashed between you, something tired and hurt and full of everything you weren't supposed to feel anymore.

"sober enough to drive me home?" you ask after a moment.

"yes ma'am."

and for another agonizingly long second you just watch him again, eyes searching like you were waiting for one of you to be smart enough to stop this. to choose self-preservation over whatever this still was between you.

"liar."

jake's breath hitches. a small, low chuckle escapes him.

"would i lie to you?"

and what happens next is, what jake would later say, probably not his brightest idea.

the backseat of jake's car is cramped and all too familiar.

the second the door shut behind you both, it was as if the last thread of restraint never even existed. jake barely has any time to lock the doors before you're on him, or maybe it was him on you. it's messy from the start, your hands fisting in his shirt, yanking him closer as his mouth crashes into yours like he'd been starving for it, which, yes. eight months is a long time, so he won't deny that part. the kiss is all teeth and heat and months of pent up frustration. he tastes like a mix of beer and something that was just him, something that makes you make a small, broken sound against his mouth that goes straight to his head.

jake's hands go everywhere at once, one sliding up the back of your shirt to press flat against the warm skin of your back, the other gripping your thigh as he pulls you into his lap. the movement is clumsy in the tight space, your knee knocks against the seat, his elbow hits the window, the car rocks slightly with the shift of weight, but neither of you care. you pull back just enough to breathe, lips swollen, eyes wide.

"we're not getting back together," you mutter, voice already rough and gasping.

jake's mouth stays on your jaw, going lower and lower, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck. "i didn't say we were," he mumbles against your skin, teeth grazing slightly before soothing it with his tongue. his hands slip higher under your shirt, palms dragging up and down your sides like he needed to relearn every inch.

you tilt your head back, giving him better access even as your fingers tighten in his hair. "you're such an asshole," you breathe, the scoff cracking in your throat as a moan slips out anyways. "getting all jealous over jungwon like you have any right to—"

that's when jake makes a low, rough sound in the back of his throat and tugs you harder against him, rolling his hips up so you can feel exactly how much he didn't care about being called an asshole right now. "don't say his name while i'm trying to kiss you," he mutters, voice muffled against your collarbone.

you let out a short, breathless laugh and tug his head back by the hair so you can look at him, your eyes dark, lips parted. "you're the one who started it," the words low, your mouth barely touching his. "coming over there like some possessive ex."

"i am a possessive ex," he cuts in, voice wrecked before leaning in and kissing you again, deeper this time, tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to shut you up and pull you closer at the same time. one of his hands slips between your bodies, fingers toying with the button of your jeans without actually undoing it quite yet. "and you're still letting me touch you like this, so what does that make you?"

you bite his bottom lip in retaliation, hard enough to make him groan, head falling back against the seat as you drag your mouth down his neck. "someone who's definitely not getting back together with you," you whisper back against his mouth, even as your hips roll down against the hard line of him through his pants. his breath hitches sharply at the sensation, his hand sliding fully into your back pocket now, gripping you harder against him, guiding you into a rhythm that was hungry and messy and perfect.

"good," he pants between kisses, voice lower and desperate. "because i'm not asking you to."

but even as the words left his mouth, you could feel the lie in them just from the way he kisses you after that. like he's trying to pour everything he can't bring himself to say into the press of his mouth. like he was contradicting every careful denial he just made. his hands held you like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go for even a second, his hips rolling up to meet yours in that slow, needy rhythm that said everything he refused to.

you both knew it.

you pull back again, breathing heavier, lips shiny, "this is so stupid."

jake doesn't respond yet, instead he tilts his head and mouths at your neck, slow and deliberate, lips dragging along your skin until he finds that spot he remembers just below your ear. he starts gently at first, then sucks even harder, pulling a soft sound from your throat as he leaves a mark you're definitely going to hate him for tomorrow—amongst many, many other things. when he finally pulls back, he tilts his head back up to look at you, his eyes half-lidded, dazed and dark, pupils grown wide with something that looked a lot like surrender. no more careful distance, no more bite. just the pure, raw, unguarded want.

"yeah," he agrees, voice hoarse. "so stop me."

and well, you don't. because again, loss is a funny, selfish little thing. it makes you greedy, it makes you reach for what you know will hurt you later, just because the ache of not having it right now felt worse.

so you lean back in and kiss him again, slower this time, deeper like you were both finally admitting that the last eight months had been one long, exhausting lie you were both too tired to keep telling. you just pull him in even closer, and jake responds instantly, arms wrapping around you tighter, like he could somehow press the two of you back together if he held on hard enough, until there's no more fight between you. no more denial, no more pretending you could keep ignoring what still lived in the space between your bodies. just two people giving in.

you don't stop him when his hand drifts from your neck down to the front of your jeans, fingers toying with the button again until it finally pops open. you don't stop him when he tugs the fabric down your hips, lifting your leg to help him slide it off completely. and he definitely doesn't stop you when your own hands start working on his belt, the metal clinking harshly with the rush.

it's all too messy, too clumsy. it's eight months of missing each other crashing into the present all at once. and when it finally tips over, when you fully give in and give him all of you, it's fast and intense and full of everything that was left unshared between you two. his hands go everywhere, gripping, guiding, almost too rough in the way as if he was terrified this would be the last time. yours were in his hair, tugging, anchoring, like you needed the reminder that he was real. eventually, the car grows hotter, the windows fogging over completely, the only sounds your shaky breaths, the creak of leather, the soft involuntary noises that jake doesn't even try to hold back anymore.

and when it's over, when the tension finally breaks and leaves you both trembling and shaking hard, jake doesn't find it in him to pull away. he just stays there, holding your body on his, arms wrapped around you like he can't bear the thought of putting space between you yet. his thumb strokes slow, soothing circles against your skin, like his body is still trying to comfort you even now.

he closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath against your neck, his hands now tremble slightly where they rest on you. and jake knows he should let go, knows that this is the part where he's supposed to pull away, fix his clothes, and pretend this didn't just happen. but his body is much slower than his brain, and for a few seconds he let himself stay there—let himself feel the weight of you against him, the way your forehead presses against his shoulder like it used to on sunday mornings when neither of you had anywhere to be. the way you'd wake up tangled in his sheets, steal his hoodie before he could even open his eyes, kiss his face stupid until he finally woke up. the way you used to fix his hair with your fingers after sex, the same way you did just now without thinking. some habits never learn how to die.

eventually, you shift with a quiet wince, and jake's hands move on instinct, steadying you at the waist as you lift yourself off him, the loss of contact hitting him harder than expected. once you move to the seat next to his, he reaches over the front seat with one arm, fumbling blindly until the glove compartment clicks open, pulling out the small pack of wipes he'd kept in there for so long now and that you two were all too familiar with. he doesn't even remember when he'd last replaced them. maybe he never took them out in the first place.

he tears one open without looking at you and hands it over. you take it without a word. he then grabs another for himself, wiping himself in quick, efficient movements before tossing it into the small trash bag he keeps hooked on the back of the passenger seat.

then, without thinking too hard about it, he reaches for the hem of your shirt that had ridden up and tugs it back down gently, smoothing it over your hips like it was the most natural thing in the world. you don't say anything about it. instead, your hands move on autopilot too—fixing the collar of his shirt where you pulled at it just a few minutes ago, brushing a piece of his hair back into place like muscle memory. it was too comfortable, familiar. the kind of quiet and ordinary tenderness that only existed between two people who had known each other too long and too deeply to pretend things were simple.

"you still keep the wipes in your car," you finally say quietly, breaking the silence.

jake lets out a small, breathy laugh through his nose, the kind that sounds more tired than amused. "yeah. guess i never got around to taking them out."

you didn't say anything to that, but your eyes soften for a moment, just long enough for him to catch it before you look away. he wonders if you're remembering the same things he is. like how he used to keep your favorite snacks in the same glove compartment. or how you used to leave hair ties and lip balm in here like this car was yours. the way he still hasn't cleaned it out completely even after the breakup, like some pathetic part deep within him had been waiting for nights like this.

you then reach over and gently fix another piece of his hair sticking up in the back, your touch soft, thoughtless. it makes something in the chest pull tight.

"still a mess," you murmur.

jake's mouth twitches. "you caused it."

you don't deny it. instead, you give him a small look before letting out a quiet sigh as you lean back against the seat, pulling your jeans back up in the cramped space. jake starts to help without saying anything, tugging the waistband up over your hips when your hands fumble, his fingers brushing against your stomach in the process. he tries not to think about how many times he's done this before. how many nights that ended with him helping you get dressed in this very same backseat, both of you laughing quietly in bliss like the rest of the world didn't exist.

this time, there was no laughing, just the quiet sound of zippers and fabric rustling and the heavier thing sitting between you that neither of you seemed ready to address. you were the first to speak again, voice even softer this time.

"this was a really bad idea."

jake leans his head back against the seat, staring up at the ceiling. his hand finds yours in the space between you without thinking, thumb brushing over your knuckles once before he catches himself.

"yeah," he lets out quietly. "i know."

and for a moment longer, neither of you move. jake lets himself sit in it, the weight of everything you both used to be and everything you weren't anymore. he thinks about the night he broke up with you, sitting on the floor with the plant on the window and the lights above. he thinks about how he'd been the one to say you both needed the space, and how you looked at him like you already knew this was going to hurt worse than either of you could admit.

he thinks about all the nights since then that he spent telling himself he was fine. he thinks about how he spent the last eight months convincing himself that breaking up with you was the mature choice. now jake is starting to think that was the worst part. because at the time, it did sound mature. it sounded selfless. it sounded like the kind of thing a person says when they are trying very hard to be very good.

i don't want to hold you back. i don't want us to lose ourselves in each other. i don't want to wake up one day and realize we stayed because leaving was too hard.

all very reasonable, mature sentences. all very responsible. but all absolutely devastating when translated into what jake really meant, which was:

i'm scared. i don't know who i am without you, and somehow i convinced myself that means loving you is the problem. and frankly, that sim jaeyun, intelligent in several areas but yet deeply stupid in one very specific department, had mistaken fear for wisdom.

and now here you are again, in his car, letting him fix your clothes like nothing changed, when, in fact, everything has.

"you're still gonna drive me home?" your voice cuts through the silence, the heaviness of what you both refuse to acknowledge sitting between you.

jake turns his head to look at you. your eyes meet in the dim light, and for a second he let himself really look at you—the tiredness in your face, the slight redness around your eyes, the way your lips were still a little swollen. he wonders if you could see the same things in him.

"yeah," he says, simple and honest. "of course i am."

you nod once, like that was enough for now.

jake then reaches over across your body and unlocks your side of the door, pushing it open for you, and he follows on his side, patting his palms against his pants like he's trying to steady himself before getting back in. the two of you move in silence, you sliding into the passenger seat and instinctively adjusting it to the exact position you always used to, him sitting up straighter as he turns the key in the ignition. he swipes his hand across the inside of the windshield, clearing just enough of the fog so he can see the road.

he doesn't ask if you want to go back inside first. he doesn't ask if you want to talk about what just happened. he just puts the car in drive and pulls away from the curb, one hand loosely holding the steering wheel, the other resting on the center console between you two.

it's quiet for most of the ride. no sound other then the soft blast of air conditioning and jake's indicator blinking every now and then. but somewhere along the ride, somewhere between the third red light and the turn onto your street, your hand found its way back to his on the center console, neither of you saying anything about it. jake just turned his palm up and let your fingers slide between his, squeezing once, like his muscle memory refused to erase itself no matter how hard he tried.

he let out a small breath when he felt your touch, keeping his eyes on the road but his mind staying stuck on the same loop it always did when it came to you.

he didn't know if letting you go had been the right thing.

he didn't know if he'd ever stop missing this.

you stay silent sitting beside him with your head leaning against the seat, eyes half-lidded, thumb brushing slowly against his hand, watching the road like you were somewhere else entirely.

jake looks over at you briefly, and he remembers all the times he's driven you home like this. how many nights ended up with you in his passenger seat, your hand resting on his thigh while you hummed along to whatever song was playing. how you used to fall asleep sometimes on longer drives, and he would turn the music down and drive slower just so he wouldn't have to wake you up. how he used to hate dropping you off at your place because it meant the night was over. but at least back then, there was always a tomorrow, always a next time. always a version of his life where tomorrow always existed with you in it. until one day, it just simply didn't.

jake swallows hard, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

when he finally pulls up in front of your building, he puts the car in park but doesn't turn the engine off right away. the low hum fills the space in the air, neither of you moving quite yet. you stare out the window for a second, then finally turn your head to look at him. your eyes were soft in a way that made jake's chest ache, that made him want to take back every word he ever said eight months ago and pretend that night never happened at all.

you look at him for a moment longer before your voice comes out low, almost careful.

"…do you want some water or something?"

and it's such a simple question. so casual, so normal, like you were asking him to come inside after a usual night out, not after he'd just hooked up with you in the backseat of his car while you both ignored the fact you've been broken up for nearly a year now.

jake knew what you were really asking. he also knew that he should say no. that he should say goodnight, drive away, and go home. he should be the one to put the distance between you, because the both of you were clearly too weak to do it when you were this close, and because he had been the one to draw the line eight months ago in the first place.

but he doesn't. he turns the car off.

by the time you unlock the front door to your apartment, jake moves on instinct, his body remembering the motions like instinct. you mumble something about using the bathroom, disappearing down the hall while jake kicks off his shoes and wanders into the kitchen before he even consciously decides to. he reaches into the cabinet to the left of the sink and pulls out two glasses all without thinking. he almost doesn't even notice how your kitchen sink faucet is still leaking—the exact same leak you used to complain about every week. the exact same leak he kept promising to fix, and the exact same leak he never actually fixed.

he turns the handle and waits exactly seven seconds to let the water run cold first, because he remembers your sink is slow like that and because he, unfortunately, also remembers you hate drinking room temperature water. the sound of the leaking faucet and the running water and the distant shuffle of you moving somewhere in the apartment feels too familiar and selfishly comforting in a way that makes his stomach twist. like maybe if he looked down at his phone, the date would say it was last year. that you were still together and he still belonged here.

by the time you return, jake's noticed too much around him. the same chipped mug you always used to make your objectively terrible morning coffee sitting by the sink. the same magnet on the fridge from that trip you took together last year. the same candle scent sitting on the counter. everything looked the same and yet somehow nothing was the same at all.

jake watches the way you lean against the counter next to him, the way you keep your eyes on the glass in your hands like it was safer than looking at him. he thinks about how many times he's stood in this exact spot while you made tea in the morning, or while you ranted about your day after work, or while you kissed him against the same counter because you couldn't wait until you made it to the bedroom.

you don't look at him when you finally break the silence. instead, your eyes stay fixed on the half-empty glass in your hands.

"it's late," you say quietly. a beat passes. "you probably shouldn't drive home right now."

and there it is, his out, his second chance. his opportunity to be the responsible one for once. because despite everything that's happened tonight, despite the alcohol and the tension and the backseat, there was still a chance to stop this before it became something neither of you could pretend wasn't happening. but of course, since we all know by now that jake doesn't know the difference between knowing something and then doing something about it, we all know what happens next.

"yeah," he says, his eyes trained on the leaking faucet for a second, watching the slow, steady familiar drip before they finally land back on you. "i probably shouldn't."

and then the rest of night kind of falls into place in the exact way that it really, really shouldn't, given your circumstances. jake just kind of finds his body moving on its own, the same way it always used to when the two of you headed to bed after a long night. he knew the path by heart by now—the way that one specific floorboard near your bedroom door creaks, the way the hallway feels narrower in the dark.

in your room, the small lamp on the nightstand is already on. jake remembers all too well the nights he would accidentally turn on the overhead light and how you'd immediately scold him because you had a thing against using the 'big light'. now, the warm glow just reminds him of the version of his life out there where he still belonged here, where walking into this room doesn't hurt as much as it does now. jake stands in the doorway for second, watching as you move toward your dresser and open the bottom drawer to pull out one of your sleep shirts. his eyes drift to the drawer beside it without meaning to, the one that used to be his.

he walks over quietly and opens it. a few of his old hoodies and shirt were still folded inside, exactly where he left them months ago and never bothered to ask for them back. one of them, the black one that you used to steal constantly, sits right on top, smelling more like your detergent than his own. he pulls it out without thinking too hard about what that meant.

you don't say anything when he changes into it, just turning your back slightly while you slip into your own shirt, like you were giving him space even though there was nothing left to hide between you.

when he turns around, you're already climbing into your side of the bed, not that it used to really matter anyways. by morning, you'd usually end up sprawled halfway across his side already. jakes stands there for second, heart pounding.

he knows this is stupid. he knows you both know it. but he walks around to his side of the bed anyways and slides under the covers like he's done a hundred times before. he settles onto his back for a moment, staring up at the ceiling before finally turning on his side to face you.

you're already facing him. and it just takes that one small look from you for him to move automatically. he reaches for you without thinking, and you meet him halfway—your leg sliding between his, your body pressing close like it needed this as much as he did. his arm wraps around your shoulder and his hand finds its way into your hair, the other one going around your waist and slipping just under the hem of your shirt. your face finds its way into the crook of his neck, and his chin rests on top of your head. everything about it feels so painfully normal that it hurt.

jake could feel your heartbeat against his chest, the way your breath is warm against the skin of his neck and the way it eventually evens out. but most of all, he could feel how perfectly you still fit against him, like the two of you had been put into this world as missing halves meant to find one another.

jake never really believed in soulmates before he met you. the entire concept always felt too neat, too convenient, like something people told themselves to make sense of why certain connections felt different. but one night, a night so similar to this one, where you were tucked into him and his hand was mindlessly going up and down your spine because it helped you sleep, a night that felt so far from now, he remembers something you had mumbled to him in the haze of being half asleep and in bliss.

"you know i'd choose you in every lifetime, right?"

and jake had gone still for a second, his fingers pausing between your shoulder blades. then he chuckled quietly, the sound low and fond and full of warmth.

"yeah?"

you then nodded lazily against his neck, a small, content sound slipping out of you. "mmhm."

and jake remembers exactly what he said next. every single time. he could still hear the way the words had left his mouth, so steady and so sure, like they were the easiest truth he'd ever spoken.

"good," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "because i'm never letting you go."

the memory sits too heavy in his chest, even now. but the worst part wasn't that he had lied. it wasn't even that he had let you go. the worst part was that it took losing you for jake to finally understand that maybe he did believe in soulmates after all.

not because the idea of soulmates was romantic or comforting, but because losing you felt like losing something fundamental. something that felt like losing a piece of himself he didn't know how to function without until after the fact. it took letting you go to realize that so much of who he had become wasn't separate from you at all. a large part of the person he grown into had been quietly shaped by loving you—by the way you softened him, challenged him, and made space for parts of himself he didn't know how to hold on his own. he didn't just lose you. he lost a part of him that only existed because of you in the first place.

jake barely slept. which, to be fair, would be asking a lot from him when your literal body stayed curled against his all night in a way he hasn't let himself remember in eight long months.

he wakes up before you, still tangled in your sheets, your leg thrown over his like it had been eight months ago, and ten months ago, and a year ago, and every ordinary morning before everything became something different. your face still stays buried in his chest like you barely moved an inch in your sleep, and for a few minutes jake just lies there, staring at your ceiling, and let himself have it. let himself press his nose into your hair and breathe you in. let himself trace the slow, barely there patterns on your back with his fingers. let himself remember how some time ago in the past he got used to this, to waking up with your hair in his mouth and leg thrown over his hip and the way you somehow took up too much of the bed despite being smaller than him and feel like the luckiest guy alive.

then jake reluctantly yet carefully untangles himself from you, kisses the top of your head while you're still half-asleep, and slips out before either of you have to say anything real.

walking out of your apartment and driving to his own felt like he was doing something wrong, so when he steps through his front door, and three pairs of eyes immediately land on him, he feels even worse.

heeseung is sprawled across the couch with a bowl of cereal balanced on his stomach. sunghoon sits at the kitchen island scrolling through his phone, and jay, who very much does not live here yet acts like he does, stands at the stove flipping something in a pan.

the apartment goes quiet for half a second. then, heeseung grins, slow and knowing.

"ah," the word drags out. "there he is."

jake freezes in the doorway, one hand still on the doorknob. he's still wearing the same clothes he slept in, his hair's a mess, and he knew he probably smelled like your laundry detergent and something else he really didn't want to think about right now.

sunghoon doesn't even look up from his phone. "you were supposed to drive us home last night, asshole."

jay turns around with the spatula in hand, eyebrows raised. "yeah, what the hell, man? we had to uber. heeseung almost threw up in some guy's backseat."

jake rubs the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. "sorry," he mutters, kicking his shoes off by the door. "change of plans."

he then tries to walk past them to his room, but then heeseung suddenly sits up straighter, eyes narrowing at jake's figure.

"wait," he tilts his head, studying him. "you didn't come home last night."

jake keeps walking, eyes focused on his door and very much not on the other three pairs of eyes following him. "i stayed at the party longer."

"no you didn't," sunghoon says pointedly. "one, you hate parties, and two, we would've seen you."

jay's eyes dart slowly from jake to the guys then to the guys back to jake, still holding the spatula but not flipping anything anymore. then, as if everyone in the room put the pieces together with absolutely no other context needed, heeseung's face split into a wide, open gasp.

"oh my god," he says. "you slept with y/n, didn't you?"

jake freezes mid-step.

the apartment goes dead silent for two solid business seconds. then all three of them explode at once.

"i knew it!" heeseung shouts, pointing at him with his cereal spoon. "i fucking knew it the second you disappeared at the party last night."

sunghoon lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, "no way. you actually went home with her?"

and jay, still holding the spatula, just shakes his head slowly, but there's a small, knowing smile tugging at his mouth that somehow felt worse than heeseung's yelling. "dude."

jake turns around suddenly, face hot and burning and not at all helping his case. "okay, first of all, it could've literally been anyone else—"

"—okay well that's bullshit because you're, like, deeply so downbadly in love with y/n—" heeseung interrupts before jake shoots a pointed look at him.

"—and second of all," jake adds quickly, holding his hands up in defense, "it's not a big deal, okay? i literally just slept over. that's it."

the three of them stare back at him. the clear, very obvious kind of stare that says they don't believe a single word coming out of his mouth. then, with one eyebrow raised and his voice dry, sunghoon asks, "so you didn't hook up with her?"

jake opens his mouth. then closes it. and the three seconds of silence that follows pretty much tells them all they need to know.

heeseung's grin grows. "oh my god—"

"okay, fine," jake snaps, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "yes. we hooked up in the car. happy now?"

the apartment erupts again all at once. jay actually drops the spatula this time, heeseung lets outs a loud, delighted whoop and falls back against the couch, completely disregarding his cereal nearly spilling, and sunghoon just stares at jake with that specific look on his face that says he's watching a disaster happen in real time.

jake groans and drags a hand down his face. "you guys aren't supposed to know. and you definitely can't make it weird. please."

"make it weird?" heeseung repeats, sitting back up. "bro, you slept with your ex, who is, mind you, our friend, in your car after you broke up with her and then went home with her. it's already weird."

jay picks the spatula back up, but still watches jake carefully, "so…are you guys getting back together or what?"

jake's stomach twists. it twists violently and harshly and most of all, confusingly because he didn't know. he didn't have an answer. he didn't even know what he wanted the answer to be. the best way he could describe it is like standing in the middle of a road with no idea which direction he was supposed to go, or even worse, which direction he even wanted in the first place.

"i don't know," he admits quietly, dropping his hands helplessly. "neither of us tried to talk about it, i don't…i just don't know."

there's a brief moment of silence shared for another moment. heeseung exchanges a look with sunghoon. jay turns the stove off completely and leans back against the counter, arms crossed.

"you know this is gonna blow up in your face, right?" sunghoon says, not unkindly. just in that honest way friends do when they're genuinely concerned and know both of the parties involved too well to ignore the inevitable outcome. "you can't just do that and expect it to not hurt both of you."

and jake knew that. he knew it last night when he came over to you talking to jungwon. he knew it when he followed you out of the party and into the backseat of his car. he knew it when he woke up in your bed this morning and he knew it now.

but unfortunately for him, the truth is a little harder to face when all jake can remember is how you looked last night when you were asleep in his arms and your hand stayed holding the front of his hoodie like you didn't want him to leave, or how you had given him that quiet, knowing look in the kitchen when you asked if he wanted to stay over, like you already knew he would say yes.

he kept replaying those moments. the softness in your voice, the way you didn't pull away when he reached for you. the way it felt so easy to fall back into something that you both knew was supposed to be over.

and the cruel thing about the universe, jake was actively learning, was that it rarely cared about what he needed. and he wasn't asking for much, really. just some time or space to sit with what happened last night and figure out why he was still carrying pieces of you with him when he had been the one to walk away. he just needed a moment to sort through the mess in his chest—the guilt, the want, the quiet confusion of still reaching for someone he's supposed to have let go of, especially before having to see you again.

so yeah. he would've liked maybe at least a full business day, if anything. just one.

the universe did not give him a day.

and jake learns that the hard way later that night. because, instead, the universe gives him game night.

now, game night is one of those things that has always existed in the friend group, one of those little traditions that started so casually no one actually remembers who started it. it predates you and jake. predates the relationship. predates the breakup.

back then, game night looked a little different.

sometimes it was mario kart in heeseung's, sunghoon's, and jake's shared apartment with three controllers that worked and one that drifted aggressively to the left. sometimes it was monopoly, which eventually got permanently banned after jay accused sunghoon of cheating and refused to speak to him for forty seven minutes. sometimes it was card games, board games, drinking games, stupid phone games, or even just watching a movie because everyone was too tired to commit to anything that involved actual thinking.

but the point was never really the game. the point was the showing up, the collapsing onto the couch, the passing around the take-out boxes, the arguing over rules no body fully understood. the same five people ending up in the same room again and again because somewhere along the way, routine had started to feel like family. and for a while, game night had been one of jake's favorite things for reasons he never admitted, mostly because admitting them would mean admitting how much of it had always been about you.

game night was one of the first nights jake saw you differently. it was one of those nights that came and went and really meant absolutely nothing in the moment until suddenly jake was sitting there thinking about the way you laughed and then he realized that nothing was actually the beginning of everything.

it was before your first kiss, before the late-night calls, before the car rides. before your toothbrush lived by his sink and his hoodies found their way into that one specific drawer in your room on their own.

back then, you were just you. someone in the friend group, someone jay met in lecture one day and started bringing around to the lunch table. someone who started showing up to game night with snacks nobody asked for but everyone ate anyway. someone who got weirdly competitive over games you swore you didn't care about, which was funny because you absolutely did care and jake absolutely knew it.

and one night, somehow and somewhere in that stretch of time, it ended up being just you and jake on the couch. you were sitting on the opposite end with your knees pulled up under a blanket, picking through a bag of jolly ranchers and making a face every time you found a blue raspberry one, which apparently you had very strong feelings against.

"blue raspberry is too blue," you had said, looking at jake with a completely serious expression on your face.

jake remembered laughing because, at the time, he thought that was just a ridiculous thing to say. then he remembered watching you hand him every blue raspberry jolly rancher after that without even thinking about it.

and jake thinks he's pretty good at noticing people. he notices when jay gets quiet before admitting he was stressed. notices when heeseung pretended not to care about something he very obviously cared about. notices when sunghoon was hungry because he got meaner in a very specific, low effort way.

but you noticed things too. the smaller and hidden things, the things most people missed because they were too busy waiting for their turn to talk. you noticed that he always picked the blue controller if nobody else took it first. noticed that he drank the last sip of soda even when it went flat because he hated wasting things. noticed he laughed louder when he was tired, like he had to try a little harder to make up for his social battery giving up.

and then, you noticed that jake almost always only ate the blue raspberry jolly ranchers.

that night, sometime around two in the morning, when jay had already left and heeseung and sunghoon went into their rooms, you had looked over at him and said, "you're quieter than people think."

and jake had just blinked, because that was not the kind of sentence people usually say to him. people usually told him he was funny, charming, easy to talk to. occasionally annoying, depending on whether if jay just lost a game of mario kart to him.

"am i?" he asked, trying to sound casual about it.

you then shrugged, picking another blue raspberry jolly rancher out of the bag and sliding it across the couch to him. "yeah. not in a bad way. i feel like you just observe more than you talk sometimes."

"that's creepy."

"it's only creepy if you're bad at it."

"am i bad at it?"

you looked at him then, going quiet for a moment, with this small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"no," you said. "i think you're actually kind of good."

and jake, who had done a pretty decent job of being a pretty normal human being around you up until that point, suddenly forgot how. because at some point in the middle of that night, between the abandoned games, the jolly ranchers, and a conversation that somehow became about everything and nothing all at once, jake had the same, one persistent thought sitting in the back of his mind: he wanted to know you better.

and not just the version of you everyone knew. he wanted the small things you noticed that he didn't. the things you didn't think were interesting enough to tell people. your worst habit. your favorite childhood movie. the song you played whenever you were sad but didn't want to admit that you were sad. what you looked like first thing in the morning, which, at the time, was a wildly inappropriate and unearned thought considering he had strictly just been your friend for about a year by then.

tonight, however, game night looks like heeseung and sunghoon yelling at a basketball video game, jay sitting on the couch with half a takeout container balancing on his knee while offering extremely aggressive coaching no one asked for, and jake holding a controller he stopped meaningfully using about fifteen minutes ago.

"pass, pass, pass—are you actually blind?" jay snaps, leaning forward on the couch.

"i know how to play," heeseung says, immediately running his player directly into sunghoon's.

sunghoon doesn't even blink, "do you?"

and jake, meanwhile, is kind of just…there. physically present, yes, but mentally and most definitely emotionally, somewhere stuck between the events that took place in between his backseat and then waking up in your bed this morning. his thumbs move over the controller on autopilot, his character doing something clearly unhelpful and sunghoon swears under his breath.

"jake," sunghoon deadpans without looking away from the screen, "are you even playing or having some religious experience right now?"

jake gives him a look. "i'm playing."

"you're standing out of bounds."

jake looks at the screen. and he is, indeed, standing out of bounds.

"whatever," he mutters.

jay then gives him a sideways look, the kind of look that says i know exactly what your problem is and i am choosing not to say it out loud yet, which is somehow worse than if he had just said it. and then heeseung, because he's heeseung and therefore constitutionally incapable of letting anything breathe, glances over with a knowing look.

"you're doing it again," he drags the words out before looking back at the screen. "you're thinking about it."

jake's grip tightens around the controller. "i'm not."

"mm."

"don't do that."

"do what?"

"that."

heeseung's brow lifts. "i literally just said mm."

"you said it weird," jake says pointedly.

"well maybe you're hearing it weird because you're feeling guilty."

jake opens his mouth, already prepared to say something defensive, when the front door swings open.

"i swear to god," you announce, stepping inside with a plastic container of cookies tucked under your arm, "if someone ate the leftovers i left here last time, i'm fighting someone—"

you stop mid-sentence. because once you kick the door shut behind you, the whole room does that horrible, subtle thing rooms do when everyone knows something they're not supposed to and try very hard to act like they don't.

you stare back at the four pairs of eyes on you all at once, and not one of them is doing a particularly convincing job of looking normal. your gaze flicks across the room before finally landing on jake. you stare at him for another long second and then all at once, jake sees your expression shift in real time—from confusion, to understanding, to something much, much sharper.

"are you serious right now?" you let out a disbelieving laugh but terrifying enough, with no humor in it. heeseung and sunghoon suddenly become very interested in the paused game on the tv and jay, meanwhile, looks down at his phone like the conversation about to take place is absolutely none of his business.

"you told them?" you ask, eyes still fixed on jake, brows furrowed. "i thought we weren't going to make this a thing."

jake winces. "i know, i know. i'm sorry. they were just—they asked and it just…slipped out."

"slipped out," you repeated flatly, clearly unimpressed.

heeseung is the first to crack, letting out a small snort before immediately, and unsuccessfully, failing to cover it with a cough, "in his defense, he did try to lie at first. it was actually kind of impressive how bad he was at it."

"shut up," jake mutters, face burning now.

you drag a hand down your face, then fully step into the living room, looking between all of them. "okay, fine," you say finally, letting out a long sigh. "yes. jake and i hooked up last night."

the room goes painfully, awkwardly silent.

"that's it. end of story." you point towards the tv, then cross the room and drop into the empty spot beside jake like it was nothing. "and we're not going to be weird about it so unpause the game before i regret coming over."

and just like that, game night continues.

well, continues is a generous way to put it. it moreso limps forward with the very, very fragile determination of a group of people pretending to ignore what just happened. heeseung misses two open shots because he keeps glancing at you and jake sitting next to each other like he's afraid something might happen if he looks away for too long. sunghoon tells jake to lock in, even though he himself has clearly given up on focusing on the game. and jay keeps pretending he isn't very obviously tracking the situation out of the corner of his eye, because jay has always had the subtlety of a man pretending not to eavesdrop while standing directly outside a closed glass door.

meanwhile, jake…jake is doing his best. which historically has not always meant good things. but it's not particularly easy when the one person you're actively trying to move on from is still right next to you and the gap between your thigh and theirs is getting increasingly smaller and smaller with each sudden and small movement.

at some point much later in the night, sometime between jay suggesting they switch games and sunghoon nearly falling asleep on the floor against the couch, you stand, heading for the kitchen, "gonna get some water."

jake lasts maybe twelve seconds. because then he sets his controller down and stands too.

"i'm gonna—" he starts before realizing there is not a single convincing end to that sentence.

all three of them look up at him.

jake points vaguely to the kitchen. "…water."

 "right," jay says, already shaking his head as he goes back to flip through the game options.

"very important," heeseung adds with amusement in his tone and jake takes that as a sign to leave before anyone can make it worse.

you're standing near the fridge when he enters, holding your glass under the dispenser. you don't look at him right away.

"very subtle," you say.

jake stops a few feet behind you. "what?"

"that," you nod towards the living room. "that was literally, like, twelve seconds after i got up."

jake opens his mouth then closes it. then tries again. "i wanted water."

you finally turn around then, leaning back against the counter, glass in hand.

"you have never once voluntarily wanted water in your life, jake. you're chronically dehydrated."

and that is fair. annoying, but fair, given he can't exactly argue against the only person in the world, other than his mom, who has ever taken it upon themselves to remind him that he needed to drink more water on a daily basis.

"i'm not—," jake starts, then stops. he takes a small breath before he continues.

"i just…" he rubs a hand over the back of his neck and hesitates, glancing back toward the living room to make sure no one was paying attention. "i'm sorry. for leaving this morning without saying anything."

and you just go still. for a second, you just look at him, like you're actively trying to figure out what he wanted from this conversation. the fridge hums quietly beside you and from the living room, heeseung yells something at the tv, but it all sounds far away now. then you set your glass down and cross your arms over your chest.

"there's nothing to be sorry about, jake," you say, quietly but steady. "you don't owe me anything. it was a one time thing and we both knew that."

and there it is. clean, controlled, and merciful, maybe, given jake thinks he has plenty to be sorry about.

"right," jake says, and it comes out wrong, the kind of right where actually nothing feels right at all and too much is on his mind.

you sense it immediately. "jake."

"no, yeah. i know." he nods, looking down at the floor because looking at you right now felt too much like that night eight months ago. "one time thing."

you push off the counter and take a small step towards him, and jake tries his best to breathe normally with how much the distance closed in just that one step.

you stop in front of him. "i mean it," your voice is softer now. "i'm not mad."

"you looked mad."

"because you told them."

"technically, they guessed."

"yun."

"right. sorry."

the corner of your mouth twitches like you don't want to smile and hate that he almost made you. then your hand lifts, and it's slow enough that jake has the time to move away if he wants to, but of course because he's jake, he doesn't.

your fingers then wrap gently around his wrist, thumb brushing once over the inside of it in a small, absent motion that feels so painfully familiar he almost has to close his eyes.

"we're okay," you say, and your voice is now so gentle that it's almost too soft for the way you're trying to make this casual. "okay?"

jake looks down at your hand around his wrist. the way it's too casual, too warm, and how his pulse is probably hammering beneath your thumb, and he knows you can feel it because your gaze drops too. for another long second, neither of you say anything else. then, your thumb moves again, in that small, comforting stroke that breaks him just a little more. because you say things like we're okay and one time thing and then touch him like you never forgot how to comfort him when he needed it the most.

jake swallows. "yeah," he nods, even though he knows it's a lie. "okay."

you hold his gaze for another moment, then give his wrist one last gentle squeeze before letting go.

"good," you murmur, then jake watches you walk back into the living room and join the game like nothing had just happened.

by the time the night finally starts to wind down, jay is the first to leave, muttering something about having an early morning and heeseung disappears into his room shortly after, clearly already half asleep. sunghoon lingers just long enough to give jake one long, dry, and pointed look before saying goodnight to you and disappearing down the hall too.

"okay," you say mostly to yourself. "i'm gonna head out."

jake looks up too fast, which is embarrassing and he knows it so he tries to play it off by standing, but even that feels suspiciously urgent, so now he's just a guy standing in the middle of his living room for no reason.

"it's late," he suddenly blurts out with no logic or plan behind it. you pause with your keys already in your hand. then slowly, you look up at him and jake can tell immediately from your face you know exactly where this is going.

you lift a brow. "if you're about to tell me to stay over, i'm going to laugh in your face," you say with a small smile tugging at your lips. "we both know how that ended last time."

he doesn't argue right away. because, yes, last time was literally only twenty four hours ago and it ended up with him falling asleep holding you in your own bed, his entire dignity in shambles, and then waking up with the horrible realization that sometimes, some mistakes do not feel like mistakes while they're happening.

this is one of those times.

he just shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and walks over slowly, stopping just a few feet away from you.

"i know," he says quietly. and your expression shifts just a little at the sound of it. "but just stay," he adds, and the please is already there in his expression before he says it. "please."

you give him a certain look after, and jake hates that he knows that look. hates that he can read it before you can even say anything. because it's the same look you always get when you know he's asking for something he shouldn't, and you know you probably shouldn't give it to him, and somehow both of you already know how this is going to end.

he exhales, dragging a hand through his hair like that might somehow make this sound less like begging. "you can take the couch," he says quickly. "nothing weird. i promise."

your mouth twitches. "you promising nothing weird is not as reassuring as you think it is."

"yeah, that's fair."

"you are, honestly, historically awful at nothing weird."

jake just blinks.

"like impressively bad."

"okay, are we done?"

"i don't know, i'm kind of enjoying myself," and now you're actually smiling and jake huffs out a small laugh, the sound slipping out tired and fond.

"i just don't want you driving this late," he says, voice dropping down lower as he looks at you. "that's all."

and technically, he isn't lying. he doesn't want you driving this late. he also doesn't want you walking out the door yet. both things can be true.

you look down at your keys, thumb brushing over the small metal keychain hanging from the ring. it's the one he bought you forever ago from some random gas station during a road trip because you said it was ugly in a way that made you want it. he hates that he remembers that and he hates that it's still there and he hates that he's wondering what that meant.

then you let out a quiet sigh, and drop your keys back into your bag and set your bag down on the table next to the door.

"fine."

the relief hits him embarrassingly fast. "yeah?"

"yeah," you say, walking back into the living room and giving the couch a small pat as you sit back down. "couch it is."

jake presses his lips together, trying and failing to force his face into something neutral as he stops near the hall, "i'll grab you something to change into."

and jake didn't really fully have a solid plan when he says it, he just says it because that's what you do when your ex is about to sleep on your couch and you don't want her falling asleep uncomfortably in jeans. because technically, yes, there's probably other clothes in the apartment. heeseung's and sunghoon's maybe, if jake suddenly developed a sense of humor strong enough for that. he has not. the thought alone of giving you someone else's shirt makes something ugly and childish twist in his stomach, which is exactly the kind of thing he will be taking to the grave.

so he settles on grabbing one of his own hoodies from the back of his closet, an oversized one that already hangs too big on him, which, by your logic, makes it perfect for you. he remembers you telling him that once, standing in front of his mirror with the sleeves covering half your hands like your word was his new law.

if it's too big on you, it's mine. if it fits you, it's also mine.

and jake didn't argue against that because it was you, so naturally, he automatically doesn't need any other excuse.

when he returns to the living room, hoodie in hand, you take it without a word, but your eyes linger on it half a second longer than necessary, and jakes knows you're thinking the same thing he is. because most of the time, in normal situations, clothes are just clothes. this one isn't.

you disappear down the hall and jake stands there for a second after the bathroom door clicks shut, staring at the empty space you just left behind like a person who has learned absolutely nothing from the last twenty-four hours. then he exhales, and turns toward his room.

jake does not sleep well. actually, he doesn't sleep at all, for that matter. he spends the first twenty minutes lying on his back, scrolling through his phone, then putting his phone down, staring at the ceiling, then going back on this phone. he's trying very, very hard to be normal about this. he turns onto his side. then his other side. then his back again. at some point, he flips his pillow over like the cooler side of it might do the trick. it does not.

he can hear the faint hum of the air conditioner, the occasional honk of a car outside, the neighbor's footsteps from upstairs. and he can especially hear the sounds coming from the living room. there's the soft rustle of the blanket, the tiny creak of the couch when you shift, the barely there noises of you trying to get comfortable somewhere you clearly do not belong.

and jake knows. he knows the couch is fine. objectively, it's a perfectly acceptable couch. people have slept on it before. sunghoon once took a four hour nap on it after claiming he was only resting his eyes, which was a lie because no one rests their eyes with a blanket pulled over their head and ends up snoring twenty minutes in.

so jake knows the couch is not the problem, but you. the problem is that jake knows exactly how you sleep. he knows you hate being cold but will kick the blanket off an hour into sleeping anyways. knows you always sleep better on your side. knows that if you're not comfortable, you'll pretend you are anyways because you hate making things inconvenient.

and suddenly, the thought of you lying out there on his couch, in his hoodie, trying to sleep like anything from this arrangement makes sense, feels so stupid he physically can't stand it.

the hallway is dark when he steps out of his room, the living room only lit by the small light glowing from your phone, held loosely in your hand as you're curled on your side, one arm tucked under your head.

your eyes lift when you see him.

"can't sleep?" you ask quietly.

jake leans one shoulder against the wall, hands already in the pockets of his sweat pants. "no."

you exhale through your nose, "me neither."

jake looks at you for a second, at the way his hoodie slips off one shoulder, at the bare skin of your legs folded beneath you, and something in his chest pulls a little tighter.

"this is dumb," he eventually says. "you're not sleeping out here."

"jake—"

"come here," he exhales, cutting you off. it wasn't demanding, it wasn't loud, just something sure and a little tired, like he's already given in to whatever this is. he rubs a hand over his face before looking back at you. "just…come sleep in my room. the bed's bigger anyways."

your expression softens, and for a moment, jake sees the same quiet resignation in your eyes that he feels settling in his own chest. then you sigh, set your phone on the coffee table, and push yourself up from the couch. "okay."

jake doesn't say anything else, just turns and walks back down the hall into his room. you follow him a few seconds later, stopping in the doorway for a moment, one hand still on the handle like you were deciding whether to step inside.

it felt strange—walking into a room that used to feel like yours. the same plant sat on his windowsill, somehow still miraculously alive. the same string lights hang across the wall, though more bulbs have gone out since the last time you'd been here. his bed was unmade, sheets crinkled from where he'd been tossing and turning.

and then there was jake. sitting on the edge of his bed, looking warm and comfortable and hair messy and eyes sleepy and like everything you missed.

this time, when you look at him, there's something different. like seeing you walk in here and close the door behind you and stand there with his hoodie swallowing your figure shifted something in the air. jake's gaze stayed on you, heavier now, thicker and in a way that made it very, very clear that you both knew exactly why you were in here.

you walk over slowly until you're standing right in front of him, close enough that if you took one small step forward, you'd be in between his knees, close enough that if either of you leaned in even slightly, it would turn into something else entirely.

jake looks up at you. your hands move first, resting lightly on his shoulders, like you're still testing whether you're allowed to touch him. his hands answer before his brain does, moving up to settle on the back of your thighs beneath the hem of the hoodie, his palms large and warm against your skin.

your gaze drops to his hands before going back up to his face. "so much for not making it weird," you whisper quietly.

jake lets out a small breath that almost becomes a laugh. his thumbs start moving up and down on their own, and your breath hitches immediately. "you were out there sleeping in my clothes," he murmurs. "it was already weird."

your mouth twitches into a small smile, your fingers shifting against his shoulders, sliding slightly towards the back of his neck, and jake has to look down for a second and take a breath because there's only so many things a person can survive at once.

"plus," he adds, "you let me sleep in your bed last night. i'd be kind of a jerk to make you sleep on the couch."

he then spreads his knees slightly and tugs you just an inch closer, and you let him, stepping into the already small space between the two of you in between his legs. you look down at him, eyes soft but guarded.

"we said it was a one time thing," you murmur softly.

jake's thumbs kept moving in that slow, comforting motion, and you feel his grip tighten just slightly, like he was afraid you would step back.

"well," he says, voice low and a little rough, "technically we didn't break that yet."

jake knew what he was doing. he knew that you knew it too. that he was toeing the line, that he was giving in, and the dangerous part was that you weren't stopping him. you weren't stepping back. you were still standing there, letting him touch you, letting the space between you disappear like some unspoken part of you has been waiting for this as much as he has.

his eyes drag over you slowly, the way you look small in his hoodie, the way it fell just past the middle of your thighs. something flickered across his face, something raw and dark and a lot like he was trying very hard not to feel what he was feeling.

"this is still a bad idea," and you try to sound steady, but your voice cracks at the end.

"i know," jake answers, hands sliding a little higher up the back of your thighs. "i know it is."

he gently tugs you forward, slow, careful like he was giving you every chance to stop him, eyes watching your expression the entire time. your knees bump against the edge of the bed as he guides you closer, until you're standing right against him. then his hands move up higher and settle on your waist, and with one gentle pull, he brings you down into his lap.

you go willingly, a small sound escaping you as your knees settle on either side of his hips, your hands find his shoulders and grip them tighter, like you were trying to ground yourself. neither of you speak for a moment, the silence stretching and growing heavier with every slow second that passes between you.

jake's eyes drop to your mouth, then flick back up to meet yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

"tell me to stop."

you don't. instead, you lean in first.

the second your lips touch his, jake feels something inside him give way, like a silent, inevitable unraveling.

he knew he shouldn't be doing this, knew this was exactly what you both said you wouldn't do. but the moment your hand slides into his hair, he stops thinking altogether. he kisses you back like he was trying to be careful, trying to keep it soft, but the second you sigh against his mouth, the cautious thing inside him cracks open, and his hands are already sliding higher, pulling you closer like his body had been waiting for permission.

he missed the way you used to kiss him like this, like you still knew exactly how he liked it. he missed the way your body fit against his, the quiet and familiar weight of you in his lap, the way your fingers always found their way into his hair. and the longer it goes on, the less jake can pretend he's trying to be careful.

he suddenly deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding slowly against yours that makes you tug slightly at his hair. his hands slide down to grip the back of your thighs as he lifts you with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively before he turns and lowers you onto the bed without breaking the kiss. you let out a small giggle against his lips at the sudden movement, and he smiles into the kiss before settling between your legs, the mattress dipping beneath your weight as he follows you down. his hips roll down against yours on instinct, and the friction pulls a small gasp from your breath.

jake pulls back just enough to look at you, both of you catching your breath. your eyes were dark, lips swollen, the hoodie bunched up around your waist. his hand moves again, sliding higher until his palm covered your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in light, teasing strokes, making you arch into his touch with a soft, desperate sound that goes straight to his core. he breaks the kiss to press his forehead against yours. 

"missed you," he admits, the words slipping out before he can stop them. "missed the way you sound when i—" his thumb circles again, slower this time, and the way you shiver under his hand makes something hot and helpless twist in his stomach. "fuck. so sensitive still."

your hands slide down from his hair to his shoulders, gripping him like you needed something to hold on to. "more," you whisper against his lips, your hips rolling up to meet him in that needy way he always loved. his hand leaves your breast and slides down your stomach, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of your underwear, pausing there, breathing hard, giving you one last chance to stop him.

you look down at where his hand sits, then back up at him, and your hand then comes up to cover his, gently pushing it lower. jake lets out a shaky exhale against your neck as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finding you already warm and wet. he groans quietly, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"fuck, baby…" the pet name slips out before he can catch it. his fingers move instantly but carefully, like he's savoring every reaction coming out of you. two fingers slide through your folds, gathering the wetness there before he slowly pushes them inside you, curling them upward in a slow, firm stroke that made your walls flutter around him. the wet sound of it is obscene in the quiet room, and jake groans at how easily you take him. "you're already—shit. you feel so good."

you let out a small moan, hips shifting against his hand. one of your hands fisted in his shirt while the other stayed in his hair, tugging slightly every time his fingers found the right spot inside you again.

jake lifts his head to look at you again, eyes dark, pupils blown wide as he watches you, his fingers still moving inside you, curling on every pull back, thumb pressing circles on your clit at the same time.

"you're so fucking pretty like this," his voice comes out hoarse, his breathing getting heavier. he kisses you harder this time, swallowing the moan that escapes you as he worked his fingers faster, his own hips rocking against your thigh now, seeking friction. when he pulls back, his eyes stay on yours.

"wanna taste you," he says quietly. it wasn't a question, but there was something almost hesitant in his voice, like he was asking for permission to cross another line. you then nod, eyes half-lidded and dark and trusting, and that was all jake needed.

he moves down your body slowly, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your jaw then your throat then your stomach as he pushes the hoodie up higher. his hands slide under your thighs, gently spreading you open as he settles between your legs. then he looks up at you for a moment, his voice low and sincere, "tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

you just nod, already breathless as you tug his head closer. 

the first drag of his tongue over you is agonizingly slow, your back arching hard off the bed as a broken whimper tears from your throat before you can catch it. jake groans against you, the vibration shooting straight through your core like he’d been waiting for that sound.

"fuck," he breathed, voice muffled. "always taste so good."

your eyes roll back as he starts taking his time. long, unhurried licks that make your thighs start to tremble, gentle sucks that pull desperate little sounds from your throat. every so often he glances up, watching your face like he wanted to memorize every reaction. one of his hands stayed firm on your thigh, holding you open while the other slid up to rest over your stomach, grounding you there.

"you're being so quiet," he murmurs between his strokes that were getting quicker and quicker. "you used to be louder for me."

you gasp right as you feel his tongue dip right into you, "jaeyun—"

"there we go," he whispers, almost to himself. he slides two fingers back inside you, curling in that same way that made your vision blur while his tongue circles your clit again. "say it again."

your voice cracks on his name, hips jerking, "jaeyun—fuck—"

jake groans again, the sound going through you as he works you harder, fingers moving in tandem with his mouth. he pulls back just enough to look at you again, lips shiny.

"god, love it when you say it like that," he admits, eyes glassy. "like i'm still yours."

you look down at him, chest heaving, "you're not supposed to—fuck—not supposed to say shit like that."

"yeah," he breathes, eyes flicking up to meet yours. "i know."

jake doesn't stop though, still keeping his mouth on you, still sliding his fingers deep inside you until your legs were shaking and until you were getting louder. not that jake minded, if anything, it made him more determined, like every sound you made was something he wanted to earn.

when he finally pulls away, his mouth is wet and eyes wild as he goes back up and kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. one of his hands stays between your legs, still moving slowly inside you.

"need to feel you, yun," your voice strained now against his mouth. "please."

you're already reaching for the waistband of his sweats when he answers, "yeah. yeah, okay."

jake helps you shove his pants down just enough, then pauses, breathing uneven as he looks down at you. one hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip. "look at me."

your eyes lift up to meet his and for a moment, jake forgets everything else. forgets the circumstances, forgets the careful distance he's supposed to be keeping. in that exact second, jake forgets that this isn't supposed to mean anything, that you weren't his anymore. none of it existed in the space between your bodies, all he can feel is the way you're looking at him, open, vulnerable, and so painfully familiar.

his eyes stay locked on yours as he lines himself up and pushes in slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully buried inside you. the stretch makes your mouth drop open slightly, and jake has to stop and stay there for a second, like he needed a moment to feel it. 

"fuck," he groans, forehead dropping to yours, eyes squeezing shut like he was trying to keep it together. "you feel so good. so fucking good, baby."

jake starts thrusting deeper, slower at first—long, deliberate strokes that make you feel every inch of him, his hips rolling forward until the slick sound kept growing louder with every movement. one hand stays wrapped around your jaw while the other grips your thigh around his waist, pushing it higher and wider as he fucks into you with steady, heavy rolls of his hips.

"missed this," he murmurs between thrusts, the words low and honest. "missed the way you look at me when i’m inside you like this."

your hands then slide under his shirt, nails dragging lightly down his back as you meet his every thrust.

"yun—" your voice cracks again, more breathless now. "harder. please."

he lets out another low groan like he’d been waiting for permission this entire time. he shifts his weight and snaps his hips harder on the next thrust, going a little faster, a little rougher. the new force pulls a sharp sound from you. 

“yeah?” he pants, eyes locked on you. "like that?"

you nod quickly, eyes squeezing shut as your fingers dig harder into his back. “more, yun, please—” 

that was all it took. he gives it to you, gripping your waist hard enough to leave marks, fucking into you properly now, hips driving into you with deep, forceful thrusts that make the bed creak loudly beneath you. the wet, filthy sound of skin meeting skin fills the room with every thrust, each snap of his hips sharper, rougher, like he was finally letting himself take what he’d been aching for all night. every thrust, every time he bottoms out, knocks another helpless whimper out of you, and jake drinks it in like it's his air. his hands tighten where they hold you, fingers pressing into your skin as he kept you exactly where he wanted you, fucking into you harder, faster, the rhythm turning relentless, like he was trying to fuck the memory of the last eight months out of both of you.

"you're so beautiful," he breathes out, the words coming out like muscle memory, his mouth curving into a small smile against yours. "especially when you're trying to stay quiet."

you let out a shaky laugh that turns into a moan right when he hits that spot inside you just right. you can feel the shift in him, the way his control starts to slip as his thrusts grow faster, rougher, the bed frame now hitting the wall in a steady rhythm. he shifts slightly, changing the angle, and you can’t stop the sounds suddenly slipping out of your mouth. 

"there it is," he pants against your month. "right there, baby. let me hear you." 

you moan again, louder this time, and jake's rhythm stutters for a second. 

"fuck—yeah, keep making those sounds," he murmurs. "not gonna last if you keep doing that."

you arch up into him even more, your back curving off the bed as you chase the new angle, the shift making him sink even deeper, the stretch and pressure pulling a choked moan from your throat. your hands slide up the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair as you pull him down into a desperate kiss, all tongue and heavy breaths, the low sound he makes against your mouth vibrating straight through you. 

"hate how good you feel," you breathe against his mouth, the words coming out strained. 

jake lets out a breathless laugh, retaliating by thrusting into you with more purpose. "yeah?" he mumbles, voice rough. "then why are you squeezing me so tight?"

one of his hands move to pin yours down next to your head, fingers threading with yours. "come on," he whispers, eyes never leaving yours. "wanna feel you come. let me feel it."

you were so close, jake could feel it in the way you clenched around him, in the sharp, stuttering rhythm of your breath against his neck, in how your thighs start to shake where they stayed locked around his waist. he feels your walls flutter again and his hand immediately slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing faster, tighter circles as he kept the same deep, relentless angle. 

"yun—" your eyes squeeze shut and your free hand grabs onto his shoulder, your jaw falling open, the words stumbling out on their own. "i'm—keep going, i'm gonna—"

"that's it," his voice muffled against the side of your neck. "let go, baby. i've got you."

your back arches hard as it hits you, a moan tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clamping down around him in tight, pulsing waves. 

"fuck—fuck—yun," the words spill out of you in a rush, half a moan and a sob all a once as your free hand flies to his shoulder, nails digging in until jake could feel every tremor running through you. jake groans loudly at the feeling of you clenching around him, his rhythm now faltering in a way he can't recover from.

"shit—fuck, that's it," his voice wrecked as his hips keep thrusting you through your orgasm, chasing his own release now, hips stuttering as he loses the last of his control. "just like that." his forehead then drops back against yours, his eyes shut, short gasps spilling from his mouth. "fuck—fuck, baby—gonna come—tell me it's okay, please—"

“do it,” you manage to gasp, body still shaking underneath him as your legs pull him in even more. “please—i want it—”

jake buries his face in your neck with a low, wrecked sound as he finally comes, hips jerking as you feel the hot spill of him deep inside you. his whole body tenses above you, the noises leaving him raw and desperate and just purely him.

"fuck—baby—" his voice is muffled against your neck. "oh my god—" he keeps moving through it, his thrusts getting shallower and shallower through out both your highs, until he finally stilled, breathing hard against your skin.

for a long moment, neither of you move. jake stays buried inside you, chest heaving, one hand gently stroking slow and soothing lines down your thigh now while the other stays tangled with yours beside your head. his lips press soft, shaky kisses against your neck as he tries to catch his breath, and yours stay in his hair, lightly scratching his scalp the way you knew he liked. 

eventually, jake lifts his head just enough to look at you, his eyes glassy, a little overwhelmed and a little dazed, like he still hasn't fully come back to himself yet. the sharp loss of contact draws involuntary sounds from the both of you as he shifts carefully onto his side, automatically reaching for you as he went. his arm slides under your neck as he gently pulls you into his chest, drawing you in until your body presses flush against his.

the room falls quiet except for the sound of your breathing slowly settling and the faint rustle of sheets as he adjusts his hold on you, tucking you closer into him. his fingers trace slow, absent patterns along your spine, his touch careful and tender. it all felt too easy, too natural, like slipping back into something that was never supposed to become a habit again.

"yun…" you break the quiet first, your voice low against his chest. he hums softly in response, hand still moving along your back. you swallow, fingers curling slightly into the front of his hoodie. "i'm serious. this was the last time."

jake's hand pauses for a second against you, his movements faltering. then, he just nods, his arm tightening around your waist as he presses one more kiss to the top of you head, your breathing already evening out and your eyes fluttering closed.

"yeah," he whispers against your hair as his hand starts moving again, slower this time. "last time."

and so, obviously, it was not the last time.

the next time is only two days later. your car decided to break down in the parking lot of your work office, and you sent a panicked SOS text to the group chat. and it’s almost impressive how thoroughly the universe particularly set you up that night, because heeseung’s phone is on do not disturb, jay stuck in a late meeting, and sunghoon, based on absolutely no evidence whatsoever but strong historical precedent, is probably ‘resting his eyes’ on the couch. 

which, by process of elimination, leaves jake.

so the next thing jake knows, he’s pulling into a mostly empty parking lot and you’re getting into his car and he’s looking at you with a small smile and you’re looking back at him like you were hoping it’d be him. 

you complained about your car, jake complained about how you ignored the check engine light for three weeks. you tell him not to victim blame you in your time of need. he says your car literally gave you a warning in bright orange. you say cars are depreciating assets and capitalist by design. he says that doesn’t mean they’re wrong. 

you laugh and then he laughs and just like that, the two of you fall back into that gray area where the line blurs a little more every time you cross it until jake isn’t sure which side he’s supposed to be standing on. what he is sure about is that when he gets to your building, he parks and then looks at you and you look at him and then he finds himself turning his car off and waking up in your bed the next morning. 

the time after that happens after dinner with everyone. it’s you sitting across from him at the restaurant, laughing at something jay says, your chin resting in your hand, the sleeve of your sweater slipping over your fingers. it’s jake trying very hard not to look at you too much and failing horribly. it’s your foot bumping his once beneath the table and both of you pretending it was accidental. then twice. then not accidental at all. and then it’s jake later finding himself underneath you in the backseat of his car with his mouth on your neck and your hands under his shirt. 

then it’s a week before it happens again, which is pretty impressive given you two see each other twice in between and manage not to cave. one of those times is coffee with heeseung and sunghoon where jake mentally curses heeseung for taking the seat next to you before jake gets there. the second time is game night again but this time with too much beer involved, and you all pass out in the living room before midnight.

the next evening, however, you show up at their door with a large tote bag in your arms and two containers of hangover soup balancing on top. jake answers the door, and you're just standing there, hair a little messy, face bare, and looking at him in that very specific way that doesn't even make jake think twice before he mentions that neither heeseung or sunghoon were home at the moment. and so by now, we all probably know how this ends, and it looks a lot like you on the kitchen counter, tote bag abandoned on the floor, soup containers left unopened near the sink, and jake standing between your legs, mouth hot against your neck like he was making up for every second of the past week he spent pretending he didn't want this.

sometimes the excuse was simple. sometimes it was you needing a ride and turns into you under him in his passenger seat with the windows fogging up and his hand braced against the center console. sometimes it was because you had a bad day, and jake would show up with takeout in his hands, and then somewhere between opening the orange chicken and act two of the movie you put on, he ended up in your bed.

sometimes, there was no real reason at all, and it just simply happened, whether in his car or yours, in your bed or his, and that one time in your shower when he was supposed to be getting ready to leave and very much did not leave for another forty minutes. sometimes it was you pressed up against your front door before it even fully clicked shut and most of the time, it was on your couch because neither of you could wait to go down the hall.

jake can't really tell you exactly how long this goes on for, and that's the thing he's starting to learn about bad habits. one day something happens once, and it's a mistake. then it happens again, and it's a coincidence. then a third time, then a fourth, and suddenly there's a rhythm to it neither of you say anything about because labeling it would mean admitting you both know it exists. so jake doesn't say anything and neither do you, and if any of the guys noticed it, they don't say anything either.

it goes on long enough for the green leaves on the trees to start fading at the edges into an early stage of orange, long enough for the nights to get cooler, long enough for you to start taking his hoodies back home again without asking, and if jake notices, he pretends he doesn't. because noticing means he would having to confront this entire situation, and he knows better than to ask what this is, because is answer is probably nothing good, but also because some selfish part of him is terrified that asking will make you stop.

so he takes what he can get; he takes the late nights, the borrowed clothes, the half-finished takeout and abandoned movies, the mornings where you wake up and kiss a smile into his lips but then can't quite look at him in the eyes when he leaves. the brief, stupid moments where it almost feels like having you again.

one particular night, it had been less than twelve hours since jake last saw you. the last time being earlier that morning, when he was leaving your apartment with his hair still damp from your shower and his shirt wrinkled in a way that made him feel very obvious walking late into work. he was running on maybe three hours of sleep, which was pretty generous, honestly, because not much sleeping had actually happened with you. 

so by the time midnight rolls around, jake is exhausted. he’s already in bed when his phone buzzes next to him on the nightstand. 

y/n: hi

jake stares at his screen for half a second, his heartbeat doing that annoying thing it still, and always has, does whenever he thinks of you. then he types back.

jake: hey jake: everything okay?

he watches as the typing bubble appears, disappears, appear again, then disappears one more time. then, finally—

y/n: remember how we used to go on late night drives whenever i couldn’t fall asleep?

jake’s thumb stills over the screen. he blinks hard, because of course he remembers. you in the passenger seat with your knees tucked up, shoes kicked off, his phone in your hand because you had the important responsibility of choosing the music. the two of you driving nowhere with the windows cracked open, city lights dragging soft lines across your face, you feeding him snacks as he drove. he remembers the nights you talked about everything. the nights you said nothing at all. the nights he drove until your voice got quieter and your head finally tipped against the window.

jake swallows.

jake: of course jake: pretty sure you’re personally responsible for half the miles on my car

a few seconds pass. then your reply comes through.

y/n: what are you up to rn?

and jake knows what the correct answer is.

he could say he’s tired, which is true. he could say it’s late, which is also true. he could say he has work in the morning, which would be most definitely true and responsible and deeply unlike anything he has done lately when it comes to you.

and so, about eleven minutes later, jake finds himself parked outside your building with you climbing into his passenger seat in your pajamas. 

“hi,” you say softly.

jake looks over at you, one hand still resting on the gear shift.

“hi.”

for a second, neither of you move. then you glance down at his phone connected to the charger and raise an eyebrow.

“you still have my night drive playlist saved?"

jake’s fingers tighten slightly against the wheel, “you mean the one you named ‘insomnia is a bitch.'”

“yeah,” you say. “and?”

“kind of hard to delete something with that much artistic integrity.”

then you let out a laugh and jake decides that alone makes the whole stupid night worth it before it has even started.

jake puts the car in drive.

“where to?”

you lean your head back against the seat, eyes drifting back to meet his.

“nowhere.”

jake nods, because he knows that place. he’s taken you there before.

so he drives, with no destination, no real route. just the familiar pattern of roads the two of you used to take when sleep felt far away and the apartment felt too small and you needed to breathe for a moment.

the streets are almost empty at this hour, which helps in jake's case, because it means he can look over at you more than he probably should. you're turned toward the window, cheek resting against the seat, one sleeve covering your hand tucked under your chin. the surrounding city passes you in pieces—gold from a streetlamp, blue from a store sign, red from a traffic light that catches in your eyes when you blink.

jake keeps one hand on the wheel and the other low on the console, fingers drumming like he needs something to do with them when reaching for you isn't an option. and for the first part of it, neither of you say much, it's just the sound of your playlist in the background and the engine running and your low humming to a song you added because you knew jake liked it.

late night drives with you were never really about conversation, at least not always. sometimes they were about the silence. about knowing someone well enough that you didn't have to fill every second just to prove you still belong there. about the soft kind of company that didn't ask anything from you except presence. jake used to love that. and frankly, he still does.

eventually at some point, you shift in the passenger seat, pulling one knee up slightly as you turn towards him. jake feels the sudden attention, the way you're just quietly and carefully studying the side of his face as he tries his best to stay focused on the road ahead of him.

"did you figure it out?"

the question comes out softly. so softly in fact, that jake almost convinces himself he heard you wrong. his eyes flick to you, then back to the road.

"…figure it out?"

you don't answer right away. the car moves through a green light, an empty crosswalk. a closed bakery. a laundromat still glowing at the corner.

then you say, "you."

jake's hold tightens around the steering wheel, not looking away from the street quite yet. you keep looking at him.

"when we broke up," you say, voice almost too calm, too accepting, "you said you needed to figure out who you were outside of us. outside of me."

jake feels his stomach drop, and he can't will himself to look at you yet. because your voice isn't even sharp, isn't accusing, but moreso gentle, like you're not trying to cause a scene or hurt him with it, which somehow makes it hurt worse.

he doesn't say anything. for one ridiculous second, all he can remember is the way he said it back then, how reasonable he tried to make it sound. how carefully he chose his words, like if he stacked them neatly enough, you wouldn't see that he built something to hide behind because he was scared and tired and overwhelmed by the size of a future that started to feel more like something he could ruin if he held it wrong.

"jaeyun."

your voice pulls him back, and jake realizes he's been quiet for too long, the car slowing down like his body is trying to buy more time.

"i don't know," he says finally.

your expression doesn't change much, but your fingers curl slightly into the sleeve of your sweatshirt. "you don't know?"

he breathes out a humorless laugh. "i thought i would."

and then jake can feel it on the side of his face—the way you're looking at him, caught somewhere between hurt and frustration and like part of you understands what he means and another part of you hates that you do.

"i thought—" he starts, then stops, because the sentence already sounds stupid in his head. "i thought if i had enough space, it would make sense eventually."

"did it?"

jake swallows. because the honest answer is no. but the more honest answer is that nothing made sense, at least not in the way he wanted it to.

because, yes, he learned things. he learned how to sleep alone again, technically. granted, much, much worse, but technically. he learned which takeout places delivered late enough so he didn't have to stand in the kitchen and remember all the meals you used to make together. he learned that grocery shopping for one person is depressing in a way nobody warns you about. he learned that some silences are peaceful and some silences are just rooms missing the person who used to laugh in them.

he learned that he could live without you.

he could wake up, make his coffee, go to work, show up to game nights, make small talk, fold laundry. he continued, in the most basic and humiliating sense of the world. he learned that life did not stop without you. it just got worse.

"not really," he exhales and he feels his chest tighten when your gaze drops to your lap. "i mean, i figured out some stuff," he adds, his voice smaller now. "just not…not what i thought i would."

you're quiet for a moment. then, "like what?"

jake should keep driving. he should keep his eyes on the road and his hands where they are and answer carefully, if he answers at all. but suddenly what was supposed to be a simple night turned into this, and the thought feels instantly dumb because nothing about nights with you has ever been simple. so instead, he pulls into an empty parking lot close to the river and parks under a flickering lamp. he lets his hand fall from the wheel, rubbing once over his mouth before he finally looks over at you.

"i figured out that being without you didn't make me feel more like myself," he says. your eyes lift to his and his stomach twists. "it just made me realize how much of myself i built around loving you."

the words land and they stay there. they're out there, in that undefined space between you and him and that's when jake almost wishes he could take them back. and not because they aren't true, but because they're too true and he knows it and he can tell by the way you go still that you know it too. and now he's looking at you and how your lips part slightly but don't say anything. so he keeps going, because he thinks stopping now would somehow make everything worse.

"and i know that's not fair," he says quickly, looking down at his hands for a second before forcing himself to look back at you. "i know that sounds like i'm making it your responsibility, and i'm not trying to. i'm not. i just—" he lets out an frustrated exhale. "i thought space would teach me who i was without you. but it just taught me what everything felt like without you in it."

and then your face changes. and it's barely there, barely noticeable to the average human being. but this is jake we're talking about and jake knows you, so he knows the tiny things. he sees the way your throat moves when you swallow. he watches the way your eyes go shiny before you decide whether or not you're going to let yourself cry. he recognizes the way you look away when something hits too close because you hate giving people the satisfaction of knowing they reached you.

"hey—"

"it's fine," your words come out too quickly, too automatic, and jake hates it.

"y/n."

"it's fine," you say again, but this time when you lift your eyes to his, the expression on your face doesn't match the sentence at all. "i asked, you answered."

and jake hates that word by now. he hates it because he's spent the last eight months trying to convince himself he's fine and so by that logic, he knows you're objectively not fine.

"don't do that, y/n," he lets out quietly, eyes steady on you.

your brows then pull together and you let out a small breath through your nose, something almost like a laugh with no humor in it. "what do you want me to say, yun?"

jake feels his throat tighten, he feels his answer die on this tongue because it's selfish, and he knows it. that he wants you to say that you missed him too. that this meant something to you and that you still want him even though he doesn't deserve it or even knows what he wants himself.

you shake your head faintly, eyes dropping back to your hands. "you can't just say something like that and then look at me like i'm supposed to know what to do with it."

jake's chest caves in a little. "you don't have to do anything with it."

you turn your head slightly then, and jake sees the sad smile on your face and the way yours eyes are shining and he immediately has to look away because he doesn't think he can survive that right now.

"that's not how this works."

jake pauses for moment, his heart hammering and brain screaming yet failing to find the right thing to say when the moment actually matters.

"i'm sorry," he eventually says, because he doesn't know what else to do with the ache in his chest. and he even doesn't know which part he's apologizing for—for everything he said? or everything he didn't? or maybe the breakup, then the late nights, and the last times that kept turning into next times.

your eyes close at his words, your head leaning back against the seat as a small, unsteady breath slips out of you.

"i know."

not forgiveness, not closure, but just two soft words sitting quietly between you, like you don't have the energy to be angry at him right now. like anger would require too much from you, and this conversation has already taken enough.

jake stays still. he watches you carefully, fighting back every instinct in his body telling him to reach for you when he notices the way your lashes are damp and the way your mouth presses into a thin line like you're holding so much back.

then, quietly, you whisper, "drive?"

jake nods, even though your eyes are still closed.

"yeah," he says softly, and then he puts the car into drive and backs out of the parking lot and that was it.

the next few days after that go terribly slow, because they feel terribly normal, which doesn't help jake's case at all because he just feels plain terrible. your name still shows up in his texts, because you're still laughing at sunghoon's jokes and liking messages and sending random tiktok posts. but you stop texting him separately, you stop showing up randomly at the apartment with takeout because you were bored. you don't complain about your car or tell him your day in that casual, thoughtless way you had started doing again. and jake spends three long, terrible days pretending he is normal about it.

by the third night, he gives in.

jake: hey jake: are we okay

he stares at the message after he hits send and mentally smacks himself in the head. what a stupid question. what does okay even mean between two people who broke up almost ten months ago, hooked up more times than considered healthy, had a deeply unsettling conversation in an empty parking lot, and then ended the night with you asking him to drive you home because sitting still in silence with him became unbearable?

still, he waits. one minute. three. seven. then your reply comes through.

y/n: yeah y/n: why wouldn't we be

jake exhales. then that exhale turns into a groan which then turns into him pressing his face into his pillow and screaming into it for a full three seconds, because that is both an answer and not helpful whatsoever.

why wouldn't we be?

jake could think of at least twelve reasons off the top of his head right now, and that was him being generous, because the two of you have been operating under a very loose definition of okay for months now.

okay meant broken up but still friends. okay meant friends but sleeping together. okay meant sleeping together but not talking about it. okay meant not talking about it then everything exploding in jake's face all at once.

so, really, the range of what okay meant here was alarmingly broad.

jake: idk jake: just checking

your typing bubble appears, disappears. appears again.

y/n: we're fine yun

jake lies back against his pillow and stares at the ceiling and pretends he didn't just see that word. fine. his least favorite word in the entire english language, currently beating last time, mature, and okay, which says something because he feels very strongly about those words in this phase of his life right now.

still, he takes it and runs with it.

jake: okay jake: can i see you?

and then he shuts his phone off. because he doesn't really know how else to word can we fix whatever happened in the car and, the more private one in his head, can you please stop sounding like you're already halfway gone?

you take longer to answer this time. long enough that jake picks his phone back up, locks it, unlocks it, puts it back down, then considers throwing himself directly into traffic.

y/n: early morning tmrw, sorry y/n: another time?

it's not a no. but it's not a yes either. and that's pretty much how the next two weeks pass.

you don't show up to game night that week, telling the group you're feeling under the weather. heeseung sends three sad face emojis. jay tells you to drink water. sunghoon says, okay yea sureee, and then follows up with a but get better <3. jake waits exactly nine minutes before texting you privately.

jake: are you feeling okay? y/n: yeah just tired jake: need anything? i'll can get the soup you like y/n: no im ok y/n: thank you though

jake stares at it until the screen dims.

by the end of the third week, jake found himself getting better at finding distractions to keep his mind elsewhere. errands help a little, long showers help sometimes. work helps because he's busy enough to forget he has a phone. and soccer, as it turns out, is one of them.

the day is going objectively well, which really means something because it has been some time since jake has had a day he could honestly call good. the sun is out, the sky is clear. he remembered to eat breakfast before noon and his coffee tasted just right. his favorite hoodie came out of the wash without shrinking, and for a few hours, his chest doesn't feel like it has something heavy sitting inside it.

so when sunghoon suggests they play at the park nearby, jake actually says yes before anyone can guilt him into it. and it feels good. he scores once against jay, then again, then a third time which jay insists doesn't count because he was not ready but jake counts it anyways. by the end of it, jake is sweaty and out of breath and lying dramatically on the grass with one arm thrown over his eyes while heeseung complains about his lungs from next to him.

"i think i'm dying," heeseung says.

sunghoon, sitting besides him with his knees pulled up, barely looks over. "i think you're being dramatic."

heeseung then shoots him a pointed look and jay snorts and takes the water bottle from jake's hand.

the four of them end up in a scattered circle at the edge of the field, passing around the same water bottle because everyone except jake forgot to pack theirs, naturally. they talk about nothing for a while. about how lucky they got that the highschoolers in the area didn't claim the field before they did. about the new burger king opening down the block even though jake is pretty sure no one has willingly gone to a burger king since 2014. about how jay thinks he can beat them all in a footrace if properly motivated, which immediately turns into a ten minute argument because sunghoon says jay runs like the character that dies first in a horror movie.

jake lets himself enjoy it for a little while, which was a mistake from the start and he should've known it. because eventually a short silence settles over the group, the kind that only happens after everyone runs out of nonsense to contribute and is too tired to invent more.

sunghoon is the first one to break it. he clears his throat, twisting a blade of grass between his fingers before looking over at jake.

"you look like you're doing okay," he says, carefully enough that the carefulness becomes suspicious. "considering everything."

jake stills. the water bottle pauses halfway to his mouth. then he lowers it slowly.

"considering everything?"

he looks at sunghoon, but sunghoon is looking at jay, who's already staring at him with a death stare, and then heeseung, still lying flat on his back, suddenly starts coughing on absolutely nothing.

jake looks between the three of them, eyes narrowing. "why wouldn't i be?"

and then no one says anything, which is impressive, honestly, because between the three of them, silence has never been a skill they possess collectively. jake turns his head to jay, who is now looking at a patch of grass in front of him.

"jay," jake says slowly. "why wouldn't i be okay?"

jay looks up. his mouth opens, then closes. then opens again, but with much, much less confidence than before.

"i—we—okay, look," he drags a hand over his face, eyes darting from jake to sunghoon to heeseung, then back to the grass. "she didn't want to make it a big deal."

jake's stomach drops. he thinks he stops breathing but he can't stop the next word when it slips out of him anyways. "who?"

which is stupid, because he knows who, we all know who. 

sunghoon groans quietly, heeseung sits up slowly, and jay genuinely looks pained.

"y/n," jay says finally. and just like that, jake's objectively good day has taken a turn because just hearing your name gives his nervous system the absurd power to malfunction. he has to force himself to breathe.

"what about her?"

jay hesitates. then, "it was just something she told me in passing the other day," he adds quickly. "and i didn't really think much about it at first."

"think much about what?"

sunghoon closes his eyes like bracing himself, and from next to him, heeseung mutters, "oh god."

jay exhales. "she went on a date."

for a second, jake doesn't move, doesn't breathe, and he's pretty sure his heart stops for a moment there.

and the world keeps existing around him. somewhere across the grass, a kid laughs loudly and someone's dog barks at absolutely nothing and a car honks in the distance. but inside him, everything goes very, very still. his face feels strange, too blank, too calm for having just heard five words that could have very well just changed the trajectory of his life.

"who?" is the first word that comes out of him and he regrets it immediately. because he doesn't want to know. because he does. no, he doesn't and he really, really shouldn't.

jay's expression shifts to something more gentle. "i don't know."

jake gives him a look. "you don't know?"

"she didn't say."

"you didn't ask?"

"no, jake," jay sighs in between. " and even if i did, you probably shouldn't know that information anyways."

"right," jake lets out, the expression on his face blank then shakes his head to himself. "right, yeah. of course."

and then all at once, it all made sense. the quiet, the distance. the way you've been slowly pulling back these past few weeks ever since the night in the car. the way that another time texted turned into nothing. the way jake stopped texting first because he told himself he was giving you space, because he didn't want to look too desperate, which was stupid, because he is, but also because some stupid, fragile part of him wanted you to be the one to reach for him this time. but you never did. and maybe that night had been it.

maybe that night had been the thing that made you decide you couldn’t keep waiting for him to become brave enough to want you properly. that you needed to try something else, someone else. the thought of that twists something in jake so hard it almost feels physical.

sunghoon lean back on his hands, "you knew this could happen one day."

jake laughs once, short and humorless. he knew you could date. he knew you should date, probably. he knew you were allowed to move on because he was the one who let you go. actually no, that sounds too generous. he was the one who pushed you there, handed you back to the world, and is now sitting here, shocked as if he wasn't the one who did it himself.

"i mean," heeseung then clears his throat, and pauses for a moment to rethink his next words. "you could also…go on one. a date."

jake turns his head slowly, and heeseung lifts both hands a little, already defensive. "i'm just saying."

"don't," sunghoon mutters.

"look," heeseung ignores him and then looks back at jake. "i know some people, and i think it'd be good for you."

and somehow, out of everything said so far, that is the sentence that makes jake's brain stop fully working. because the idea is so foreign to him that, for one second, he genuinely doesn't understand it. it's like a formula jake has never once ever thought he would need to solve: a date + him + someone else that isn't you.

some girl sitting across from him at a table, asking what he does for work, laughing politely at something he says, maybe touching his arm if the conversation goes well. some girl he would have to learn from the beginning. favorite drink. favorite movie. whether she likes cilantro. if she runs cold or warm. what makes her laugh too hard, what she looks like when she's tired.

the thought feels less like moving on and more like being asked to speak a language he never learned. or worse, one he only used to know because of you.

"he has a point. it's not the craziest idea," jay says. "not right away, maybe. but eventually."

eventually.

eventually almost beats fine on jake's list of hated words. because eventually implies a future where this is normal. where you date someone else and he dates someone else and the two of you become a story told in past tense. three and a half years turned into a story time. something that happened before whatever comes next. and maybe that's healthy, maybe that's the entire point of this entire thing.

but eventually is not now, and right now, the sheer thought of moving on feels impossible in a way he doesn't know how to explain without sounding pathetic.

"i'm not really interested," he then says.

heeseung nods quickly. "yeah. no. totally fair."

"like, at all." "yep. got it." "not even a little." "heard you the first time."

jake rubs a hand through his hair as he exhales. "sorry. thank you, though."

heeseung softens a little. "don't be."

"look," jay speaks up again, with something that sounds genuine laced in his tone, which just makes it worse. "you don't have to be ready to fall in love with someone else, nobody's saying that. but maybe you should at least find out whether the idea of moving on is impossible because you're actually not ready, or because you've never let yourself try."

jake's mouth closes. because that, unfortunately for him, is a very valid sentence. a sentence with full structure and complete sense and a point that lands somewhere jake doesn't particularly want to confront right now. because he can't even imagine it without feeling like he's doing something wrong. which is stupid, because he has been single for almost ten months now. you went on a date. and you are allowed to go on dates. he is allowed to go on dates. everyone involved is technically allowed to do everything they are doing and that just makes it ten times more complicated because nothing ruins a good spiral more than the fact that no one is actually breaking any rules.

"i don't know," he mutters eventually, and jay just nods back, like he was expecting that.

"you don't have to know. just think about it." "i don't really want to think about it." "then think about why you don't want to think about it." jake lets out a small laugh, but it comes out wrong. "jay." "yeah?" "you're being deeply irritating." "i know," jay shrugs. "but i'm right."

jake hates that no one immediately disagrees.

heeseung just nods, not really saying anything else and sunghoon is just staring at the blade of grass in between his fingers.

after another minute, jake stands too quickly, brushing dirt off his shorts. "i'm gonna head home."

sunghoon looks up. "jake."

"i'm good," he says, already reaching for his bag. "seriously. i just need to shower."

the three of them give him a long look.

"don't disappear. you'll be okay."

jake pauses. then shrugs. "i'm not disappearing. i live with you."

then he swings his bag over one shoulder and starts walking before anyone can say anything else helpful, which is really just another word for unbearable at this point. and on his walk back home, jake thinks about it. not willingly, of course, but because now the idea is in his head and it refuses to leave.

he tries to picture it practically first, as if maybe it will make it less awful. heeseung gives him a number. he texts some girl. they agree on dinner. he picks a place that isn't too romantic but not too casual either. he shows up, she shows up. they sit down. they talk. all simple, normal things that normal people do every day. so maybe the idea isn't all too impossible.

maybe he could do it. and maybe that was the terrifying part. maybe he goes and maybe he survives it, or maybe he genuinely enjoys it.

or maybe, and this is the uglier truth he doesn't want to examine too closely, something deep inside him is scared and bitter and hurt that you are clearly trying to be okay without him. that you sat across from someone else and gave the world proof that your life could move on, even after him.

and so maybe jake is not mature enough to sit with that. maybe he needs to prove to you, to himself, to whatever higher power there is out there that he too can move on, even if he has to force it.

so by the time he enters the apartment, drops his bag by the door, and stares at his phone in his hand, the decision is already there. he unlocks it before he can talk himself out of it and texts heeseung.

jake: what's your friend's name?

her name is mina.

and she is nice. that's the first thing jake learns about her. she's nice in that easy, uncomplicated way that makes people comfortable. nice in the way she laughs at his jokes even when they're only kind of funny, which jake appreciates but also immediately distrusts because he knows, objectively, that he is not that funny.

the first date is at a cafe heeseung recommends. mina asks about his job, his roommates, soccer, what kind of movies he likes. she tells him about her own work, about her older sister, about how she hates olives but keeps trying them every year just to confirm she still hates them. she’s easy to talk to, the conversation doesn’t drag.

jake walks away thinking it could have been worse.

the second date is dinner. nothing too fancy, just some small place downtown with warm lights and a menu that takes jake too long to read because he keeps thinking about what you would’ve ordered.

which is unfair, he knows. unfair to mina, mostly, and also to him, maybe. but the thought appears anyways and sticks until the appetizers come out. 

mina then tells a story about getting locked out of her apartment once while holding a bag of frozen dumplings, and jake genuinely laughs that time, and it surprises him enough that he feels guilty for it immediately after.

and then he feels guilty for feeling guilty for having a moderately pleasant time with a nice girl who has done absolutely nothing wrong except not be you.

the third time, mina asks him if he's ever been to the park near the river at the edge of town. jake says yes before he thinks too hard about it, but unfortunately, he is already thinking hard about it.

she doesn't know it's where jake kissed you for the first time ever. where the two of you stood underneath a streetlamp in the middle of october, both pretending you weren't cold because neither of you wanted to be the first one to suggest going home. where you laughed against his mouth afterwards because he was so nervous.

she doesn't know any of that. she just says, "it's pretty this time of year," and jake just agrees like his entire chest didn't just cave in and goes anyways.

it's cooler out by now, the trees either fully orange or already shedding around them. jake buys them hot chocolate from a cart nearby because he doesn't know what else to do with his hands. she laughs when he burns his tongue, and he laughs too. and again, it's simple at first.

but every few steps, the park starts to become something else. a bench becomes you sitting cross-legged next to him with fries balanced in your lap. the river railing becomes where jake first grabbed your hand and held it inside his jacket pocket because you forgot gloves one winter.

that one streetlamp they pass becomes three and a half years ago, with you looking up at him, cheeks pink from the cold, your hair slightly messy from the wind, looking up at him with your eyes bright and teasing, saying, "are you going to kiss me or are you just going to keep staring?"

jake laughed nervously, caught off guard, looking down,"i'm not staring."

"you are. it's okay though."

"i'm…trying to be respectful."

"you've been staring at my mouth for ten minutes."

"that's not—"

"jaeyun."

and that had done it. you said it quietly and carefully, like you knew exactly where to touch the sentence to make him stop running from it. his smile softened.

"i just really want to do this right," he admitted, voice lower now.

then you stepped closer, tilting your head as you looked up at him.

"you've been doing everything right," you said with the softest smile on your face. then your hand came up just enough to catch the front of his jacket and he leaned it first.

and the first kiss was not perfect, by all means. he bumped your nose and then you laughed against his mouth. he whispered "sorry" even though he was smiling so hard the word barely came out and you whispered, "don't ruin it."

so he kissed you again, this time with your hand curled into his jacket and his fingers brushing your cheek like he can't believe he was allowed to finally have you like that. and when you pulled away, you had that kind of smile on your face made him feel, stupidly and immediately, like the whole world had narrowed down to one streetlamp, one cold night, one girl looking at him like she chose him on purpose.

"okay," you exhaled afterwards.

jake just blinked back. "okay?"

"yeah." you smiled wider. "you should do that again."

"you okay?"

mina's voice cuts through so suddenly, making jake blink hard.

"yeah," he says, looking away from the streetlamp before forcing a small smile. "just cold."

and still, after that night, jake keeps going. that's kind of how his life moves on for the next month. he wakes up, goes to work. comes home from work, plays video games with the guys until someone falls asleep. plays soccer on the weekends when the weather is decent. sees mina every now and then when their schedules line up and tries very, very hard not to spend the entire time wondering what you're doing on your end.

because mina is nice. and mina is funny. and jake likes her, in the general sense. in the she is a good person and this is objectively pleasant sense. in the sense that makes jake feel like if he was a decent guy, he would know what to do with that. instead, he finds himself sitting there, waiting for that ache. that shift, that terrifying, inevitable feeling of wanting so badly to know someone better and realizing it might ruin him.

but jake keeps trying anyways, because he convinces himself that maybe this is what moving on looks like—it's messy, it's nonlinear, it's effort.

by the seventh or eighth time they see each other (jake stopped counting because counting makes it feel like something), sunghoon casually brings up one night, "so are we ever meeting her or are you embarrassed by your friends?"

jake looks up from his phone. "i'm always embarrassed by my friends."

and that is how he ends up at the bar that weekend with mina tucked into the corner booth beside him. heeseung sits across from her, smiling too polite, sunghoon beside him, looking calm but observant in a mildly intimidating way, and jay at the end of the booth, already looking like he's pretending not to judge.

and jake sits there, hand wrapped around his glass, watching mina laugh at something heeseung says, trying to feel normal about the fact that maybe this is what his life looks like now—and then trying even harder not to think about the one person missing from the table.

it's around an hour into the night when jake wishes he didn't think about it too hard though, because he's pretty sure he manifested you. because then the bar door opens, letting in a breeze of cold air rush in, followed by a burst of laughter from a small group near the entrance that makes everyone at the table look over, and suddenly, there you are.

jake doesn't know how to really describe the emotions that rush through him all at once in that moment. fear first, maybe. then guilt. then shock, even though he really shouldn't be surprised, because this is your usual bar too, your usual people, your usual seat tucked under jake's arm before everything got complicated and then more complicated and then quietly disappeared.

he sees the exact moment you spot them, sees the way your expression pause, but not drop exactly, because you're too good for that. he just sees something in your face still, just for half a second, your eyes moving from heeseung to jay to sunghoon before landing on mina beside him. and then finally, him. and that's when jake adds a new emotion onto the list—nauseous.

but because you've already seen them and they've already seen you, you come over anyways and jake can see the equally subtle and deeply terrified looks the guys are giving him from the corner of his eyes as he chooses to stare directly at his empty glass instead.

by the time you reach the table, mina, bless her heart, is the first to speak, bright and excited and entirely unaware of the scene she just wandered into. "oh my gosh, you must be y/n!"

and jake feels everything in him still. of course she knows your name, of course. not in the way you probably know hers, by force and bad luck and most likely from the guys mentioning her to you before anyone thought to warn him this night might someday exist, but in a normal way. in that casual way someone learns the names of their boyfriend's friends.

boyfriend.

jake doesn't know if that word belongs there. he doesn't know if mina thinks it does. he doesn't know if you do. he hopes you don't and he hates that he hopes that.

you smile back immediately and it's polite and smooth and sweet and jake wants to crawl out of his own skin.

"hi," you say. "mina right?"

"yeah," mina says warmly. "it's nice to finally meet you. i heard you're, like, the glue of this group."

jake looks down at the table. you glance at him for one second before looking away and back at her with a small smile, "i try my best."

sunghoon then immediately shifts over, pressing closer against heeseung to make a small space at the end of the booth. "sit," he says, too loudly and too stiff. "unless you're meeting someone. are you meeting someone? you can still sit. or not. no pressure."

jay closes his eyes immediately.

heeseung mutters under his breath, "wow."

you let out a small laugh, and jake hates how fast his body reacts to it.

"i came with some people," you say, glancing vaguely over your shoulder at a small group standing near the bar, "but i can stay for a little."

so that's how you end up here, squeezed next to sunghoon and heeseung, and across from jake in that complicated way where it makes it impossible for him to not look at you.

the next thirty minutes go painfully slow for jake. mina talks about work, heeseung asks too many questions because silence makes him nervous, sunghoon makes one of his dry jokes and everyone laughs.

and you are perfect.

you smile when you talk, you ask mina about herself, you nod when she talks and you act like this is normal. like sitting across from the girl jake has been seeing doesn't make your throat tight.

jake, meanwhile, barely says anything all night. which you, of course, notice immediately. but mina also notices. mina notices and then everything proceeds to blow up in flames right afterwards. because after a while, she turns towards him, nudging his arm gently with hers.

"you're quiet tonight," she says, smiling softly, voice low but still clear enough for everyone at the table to hear. "tired, jaeyunie?"

and the best way to describe the mutual, shared reaction the table has at the sound of her saying those words, that name—that name no one else calls him because they've tried and he would shoot them down with something like "only y/n calls me that"—is like watching a house catch fire, explode, and then burn down into ashes in real time.

jake freezes. jay stops mid-sip. heeseung's eyes flick to jake so, so fast. sunghoon's face goes completely blank like he knew shit was about to go down and you—you don't move. you just look down at the drink in front of you and blink a few times and suddenly jake can't breathe.

mina doesn't pick up on it fully, of course, because she doesn't know. she doesn't know, which is the problem. it's soft, affectionate, and harmless to her. to her, it's probably just a cute nickname, something she tried once and he didn't correct because he had been too startled, too tired, too cowardly to explain that the name already belonged somewhere, to someone else.

your eyes stay down, and your hand around the glass is shaking now, and of course jake notices. he notices everything when it comes to you, apparently, except how not to hurt you. jake stays quiet, his heart pounding too quickly now, swallowing hard because there's now a lump sitting in his throat and he might actually be sick.

mina's smile falters a little. "what?"

"nothing," jake says too quickly. too quickly, because jay looks at him. too quickly, because you finally lift your eyes and you finally look right at him. and you're not angry, not even hurt in a way jake could apologize for. but it was like something small and private had been taken right out of your hands in front of everyone, and you're trying very hard not to make anyone feel bad for noticing you lost it.

you suddenly sit up a little straighter. "i'm gonna get some fresh air," you say, your voice too light.

sunghoon shifts immediately, "do you want me to—"

"no," you say quickly, already sliding out of the booth. then, softer, with a smile that doesn't fully reach, "i'm fine."

and there it is again. that word again. fine. the most useless lie any of you have ever told.

you grab your bag and step away from the table before anyone can stop you. everyone watches you go in a terribly awkward silence, and mina's brows pull together, turning back to jake.

"did i say something?"

jake's throat tightens.

"no," he says too quickly and too automatic before he feels an instant wave of guilt and pain and regret because now mina is there, kind and oblivious and confused, while jake feels like the cruelest person in the room for letting her borrow a name he never should have let anyone else touch.

"i'll be right back," he then says, already moving.

jay's head snaps up. "jake."

sunghoon says his name too, quieter. like a warning, or a plea, or both.

mina looks up at him, confusion still written all over her, "is everything okay?"

jake looks at her, then toward the bar's doors where you left, then back at her and realized, with something incredibly heavy in his chest, that there is no good answer.

"yeah," he says, because apparently lying badly is the only thing he knows how to do anymore. "i just need a second."

mina nods slowly as jake steps out of the booth. and as he walks towards the exit and through the doors, he can feel all three of the guys watching him like they already know this is either the first right thing he's done in weeks or another terrible mistake he's going to regret.

the cold air hits jake the second he steps outside and for one disoriented second, he just stands there under the weak glow of the bar sign, the sound of music and laughter muffled behind the door as it swings shut behind him. he looks both directions down the sidewalk before he finally sees you near the end of the block, head down, walking fast with your arms wrapped around yourself like you're trying to keep yourself together.

"wait—y/n—" his voice cuts through the quiet, rougher than he means it to be. you don't turn around, still walking away.

"i'm good, jake. seriously," you sound small as you call out behind you.

he jogs a little to catch up. "no, please," he says, voice heavy. "can we just talk?"

you turn in your steps so sharply that jake has to stop short, his shoes skidding slightly against the pavement. jake halts in his step, brows furrowed, chest rising up and down.

"why?"

jake blinks back at you, shaking his head slightly in confusion. "w-what?"

"why," you repeat, and your voice is already trembling, already angry, your eyes already shining with the kind of tears you've been holding back for too long. "that night in your car, when you told me you didn’t know if you’d figured—" you gesture vaguely between the two of you, around the street, at the space where your lives used to fit together cleanly. "if you’d figured all this shit out. our breakup, who you are, what you wanted, all of it. you said you didn’t know."

jake doesn’t say anything. he just stands there, breathing too hard, watching the tears gather along your lashes.

"so why did you do it?" you ask.

his throat tightens.

"why did you—" your voice cracks, and you press your lips together like you hate yourself for it. "why did you break us?"

and that was the real question from that night in the car. the one you were too scared to ask because the answer terrified you. not did you figure it out? but was it worth it? did losing you give him whatever he thought he needed? did ruining the best thing in his life at least mean something?

jake looks away first. he looks away and he knows he's a coward and that he always has been a coward in the moments that matter most.

"y/n—" he says, barely above a whisper.

"no." you shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks now. "no, don’t do that. don’t say my name like that, like you’re hurt because i’m finally asking.

he goes quiet, his arms hanging uselessly by his side. because maybe that’s what he should have done the first time. maybe he should've listened, and stayed, and let you be angry without trying to turn it into something easier for him to handle.

"you made that decision alone," you say, voice cracking hard now as you spoke louder, faster, "you stood there and told me it was for the best, and i believed you because i loved you, and because you looked so sad saying it that i thought…" you swallow, wiping angrily under one eye. "i don’t know. i thought maybe loving you meant trusting that you knew what you needed."

jake can’t breathe right. he blinks hard, one of his own tears now running down his face.

“i trusted you more than i trusted myself,” you whisper. “like loving you made me stupid.”

his head snaps up. “i never thought that.”

“but you acted like it.”

jake shakes his head, looking down at the ground, silently begging the universe that this is all some sick, cruel dream. he has no defense, nothing he can say that can reverse this entire night, this entire past year that's been haunting his every waking moment of every day. so he just stands there and takes it.

"you acted like you could decide what hurt less for both of us," you continue. "like you could walk away and call it mercy. like—" you stop, letting out a broken exhale to ground yourself for a moment.

jake’s eyes burn.

"it wasn’t like that."

"then help me understand," you say, words coming out more like a plea, "because i have been trying to understand you for eleven months, jake. eleven months. i have replayed every conversation, every look, every stupid quiet moment before you left, trying to figure out what i missed."

his jaw trembles and he hates that it does. he hates that he has no right to look hurt and ruined when you're the one he left, you're the one who he broke.

"and then you pull me back into this fucked up mess," you say, voice rising. "you act jealous, you tell people we're together, you text me. you ask me to come over. you look at me like that. you touch me like you—"

you stop. then he watches as your face crumples for half a second before you force it back.

"like you just want the easy parts of me without actually choosing me."

and that one goes straight through him. that one makes jake feel like he just got punched right in the gut and he wants to vomit everything inside him right then and there because no other words said could be untrue.

"you know that's not what i was doing," he says, stepping forward, and it's the first thing he's said steady enough. "you know that's not true, y/n."

your eyes flash. "then what were you doing?"

jake doesn't answer fast enough, not because he doesn't know, but because he's terrified that he does. because you’re standing there with tears streaming down your face, close enough for him to reach for and too far for him to deserve, and every possible version of the truth makes him sound exactly like the person he never wanted to be to you.

you just nod, crying harder now, almost laughing like you can't believe you expected anything else from him. "exactly."

there's a beat of silence.

"i'm sorry," the words fall out of him uselessly. too small, too minor for what they're standing in. his voice breaks again. "i'm so sorry."

"i know," you whisper, and that somehow makes it hurt worse. "i know you are. i know you're sorry. i know you didn't mean to hurt me. i know you're confused and scared and whatever else you are, and i keep letting that matter more than the fact that you hurt me anyways."

jake forces himself to look at you, and you look so small in front of him, so broken, because of him.

"and i know i’m part of it," you say, voice softer now. "i know i keep letting it happen. the first night in your car, in your apartment, every time after that. i keep answering and showing up and asking you to, and i know that’s on me too. i’m not pretending i’m innocent here."

"don’t," jake lets out quietly. "don’t blame yourself for me being selfish."

for a second, you just stare at him. then your face twists into something sad, angry, tired, all of the above. 

“then stop being selfish.”

he flinches and you see it, but you keep going anyway.

"because i don’t know what you want from me anymore." your voice breaks completely into a sob there, and you press a hand to your chest like the words physically hurt coming out. “i don’t know if you want me to wait. i don’t know if you want me to move on, and trust me, i tried so, so hard to. and i don’t know if you want to be my friend or my ex or whatever the fuck this is supposed to be when you look at me like you still want me and then bring your new girlfriend to places we share with our friends.”

"she's not—"

you shake your head, forcing out a bitter laugh. "don't correct me on the technicality, yun. please. not right now."

his mouth closes.

"maybe she's not your girlfriend," you say, tears still falling. "maybe you don't know what she is either. apparently that's kind of your thing now." you gesture back to the bar behind him. "but she's in there right now, thinking she's something in your life enough to call you that name, and i was supposed to just sit there and smile like you weren't texting me to come over a month ago like it would actually mean something."

jake's eyes squeeze shut for a second. his face immediately feels hot.

"it did," he forces out through a choked breath. "every single time, it meant something."

you go still. then, quieter, "did it?"

and that one hurt, because he wants to say yes immediately. he wants to say of course it did, are you insane, it meant everything, it has meant everything since the second you walked out of his apartment eleven months ago and took every version of his future with you.

"to me," he says, voice shaking. "yes."

"then say it," your expression shifts. "say what this is."

jake's mouth opens but nothing comes out. because the truth is too ugly and too honest for him to just hand to you. that he regretted leaving almost immediately, but his pride was too fragile to admit it and his fear too loud to undo it. that he broke your heart trying to save himself, then came crawling back to you in pieces because he still missed you, wanted you, loved you but couldn't bring himself to say it.

that he has spent the last year making decisions too big for him and then acting surprised when he finds out he can't carry them.

you nod once, like his silence confirms something you were already afraid of.

"yeah," you whisper.

"y/n—"

"i love you, jaeyun."

everything in him stops. everything physically hurts immediately.

it’s been nearly a year since he last heard you say those words, and after all that time, this is what they sound like now. not warm, not sleepy, not mumbled against his shoulder in the morning. they sound ruined. they sound like something you wish you could take back from your own heart, like you wish it wasn't true. like the words have been sitting in your throat for months, cutting you open every time you swallow them back.

"i love you," you say again, crying openly now. "and that is the worst part, because i don’t know what to do with it anymore. i don’t know where to put it."

jake's vision blurs.

"i love you too," he says, and it comes out broken. "i never stopped."

your face crumples and for one awfully slow second, he thinks you might step towards him. but instead, you step back, shaking your head.

"then you need to figure your shit out," you say, voice shaking. "because i can’t keep doing it for you."

he takes a step forward, and you immediately shake your head even harder. "no."

he freezes, his hands trembling like they're instinctively trying to reach you and comfort you and tell you that the two you are going to be okay. "please," he whispers.

"i can’t keep doing this." you wipe at your cheeks with both hands now, angry at the tears, angry at him, angry at yourself. "as friends. as exes. as whatever the fuck this is. i can’t keep being around you and pretending like we’re okay when we haven’t been okay for a long time."

jake has never hated himself more. not when he broke up with you. not when he woke up next to you in your bed a few months ago and left without saying anything. not even inside the bar, when you watched mina fit into his life and he did nothing fast enough to stop it. this is worse. this is you finally telling him what his pride, his fear, his confusion—what it all cost, and he has to stand here and hear every word.

"i need to go," you say. "i really hope you find what you need, yun. genuinely."

and that is the final blow to what's left of jake's heart. because after all of it, after ten minutes of standing in the cold and crying through every way he hurt you, after finally letting out what you've been carrying with you for nearly the past year, the last thing you give him isn't anger. it's still kindness, the tired, broken, honest fragments of it you have left. the kindness that still wants the best for him even if you can no longer be the person who helps him find it.

jake doesn’t follow when you finally turn and walk away. he stands there on the sidewalk, under the distant bar light, with the door somewhere behind him full of warmth and music and people who have no idea his whole life just split open in the middle of the street.

and for a long time, he doesn’t move. because jake had spent the last eleven months convincing himself he was fine.

he wasn’t fine. he hasn't been fine in a long, long time.

jake has felt heartbreak before. heartbreak was the first morning after the breakup, waking up on his side of the bed and reaching for a body that wasn't there anymore. he's felt sadness too. sadness was seeing you laughing in the same room as his friends and realizing he was missing his best friend, even though she was only five feet away. anger, definitely. anger was seeing red at that party all those months ago when jungwon stood too close to you, when jake realized the world didn't stopped wanting you just because he had been stupid enough to let you go.

but this? this is new. this is numbness. jake feels numb and hollow and empty because he thinks he really, truly lost you this time. which is exactly what he had been so afraid of in the first place, and somehow, impossibly, the place every one of his decisions had been leading him towards.

because at least during those first eight months after the breakup, he still had you in some way. you, as his friend. you, as the girl who still texted the groupchat and showed up to game night and smiled at him sometimes, even if the smile was forced or polite.

then you, as the girl he kept finding his way back to in the worst possible way. one night that became another. one mistake both of you swore wouldn't happen again until it did. one almost, then another, then another, all of them close enough to feel like love and far enough that neither of you had to say what it really was.

but now, you are just y/n. someone who used to everywhere, but now nowhere. someone who is suddenly trying very, very hard to make it seem like you were never in his life at all.

the texts stop completely. the guys stop mentioning you whenever jake is in the room, which just makes everything obviously ten times worse. conversations bend around your name, jokes cut off too early. heeseung starts saying "someone" when he means you, and jay starts glaring at him every time he does.

you unfollow jake on everything too. which is a stupid and small thing for jake to overthink, except he sits there anyways staring at his phone for ten full minutes when he notices, feeling like someone reached into his life and took one more ordinary thing he didn't know he was still counting on.

game nights still happen, just not the same, for obvious reasons. your usual spot on the couch stays empty the first time, and everyone pretends not to notice. the second time, sunghoon sits there by accident and then looks so uncomfortable about it that he gets up halfway through the night and says the angle is bad for his neck. jake doesn't say anything.

figuring his shit out, jake learns very quickly, is not nearly as poetic as it sounded when you said it. it's mostly quiet. ugly, sometimes, and then boring, often. it's waking up and trying not to check his phone. then it's opening your contact anyways, staring at your name until his chest hurts, then locking his phone and putting it facedown because missing you is not the same thing as respecting you.

figuring it out is telling mina the truth.

not all of it, because some of it is not hers to carry anyways, but enough. that she's nice, that she did nothing wrong, that he's sorry for trying to turn her into proof that he was ready when he wasn't.

mina listens quietly, then she nods and says, "i hope you figure it out."

and jake almost laughs, because of how ironic that is.

but he tries and frankly, badly, at first. but then a little less badly.

he plays soccer even when he doesn't feel like moving, he lets sunghoon drag him to the grocery store and he tries to cook a new recipe which he inevitably butchers, but at least he tried.

one night, they're all sitting around in the living room when heeseung starts telling a story. and being heeseung is heeseung, he gets too invested and realizes halfway through that the story involves you. your name catches before it leaves his mouth and he tries to clear his throat just as quickly but there's an awkward pause anyways.

that's when jake says, "you guys can say her name."

the room goes quiet. he keeps his eyes on the tv in front of him.

"i mean it," he says. "you don't have to keep acting like she died."

sunghoon is the first to answer. "good," he says, too quickly. "i was running out of fake names to use in my stories."

heeseung lets out a laugh that sounds mostly relieved. jay doesn't say anything, but later, when they're cleaning up, he squeezes jake's shoulder and leaves it there for half a second and jake understands.

winter starts to slowly settle in, enough for the windows to fog in the morning, that the bar puts festive lights up. enough that jake starts seeing his breath in the air and starts wearing jackets over his hoodies. enough that the park near the river turns gray and bare, all the leaves gone now.

jake goes there alone one night. he tells himself he's just on a walk, because he read somewhere that they're good for you and he's trying to be better at whatever “good for him” looks like, so he puts on a jacket over his hoodie, shoves his hands into its pockets, and walks.

he walks until he gets to the spot. until he gets to the streetlamp where he kissed you for the first time and he stands there and waits for the memory to swallow him whole.

he stands there and closes his eyes and it hurts. it really, really hurts. but then he opens his eyes and realizes it doesn't destroy him, that he's still standing and that he's, relatively, more or less, okay. so he stays there for a minute, then for two more. then he breathes in, breathes out, and for the first time, he lets himself remember you without turning the memory into a reason or an excuse to want something from you.

he just lets himself miss you.

because maybe healing is not forgetting. maybe healing is learning how to hold the memories even if it cuts him, even if it hurts. maybe healing is letting himself fully feel every emotion, everything he ignored, pretended didn't exist, everything he thought would disappear if he kept moving.

so jake keeps trying.

he fixes the plant on his window sill, he takes down the broken string light instead of leaving it slowly dying, blinking above his bed. he washes the hoodie you used to steal the most and folds it into the back of his drawer.

he starts making decisions. small ones, but his own ones. what to eat, where to go. what to do with a free afternoon when there is no you to ask, no you to orbit, no you to think about. and then slowly, so, so slowly, jake starts to understand.

maybe he had been right about one thing.

he did need to know who he was without you.

not because loving you made him less himself, but because he had loved you so much, so completely, that somewhere along the way he had started using love as a place to hide. a safe place to hide from fear, from change, from the possibility of becoming someone you might not need.

so he lets you stay gone. and everyday, it feels impossible. but every day, he does it anyway. and somewhere in the middle of the cold, ordinary winter, jake feels the difference.

he can live without you, he is living without you. bad on some days, better on others, but he can, regardless. and that is what makes the truth clearer to him, because wanting you is not the same as needing you to hold him together, loving you is not the same as being unable to stand alone.

because you are a part of him in a way that he can still learn to survive without, but like a language he learned so deeply he still thinks in it sometimes, or like a song he knows by heart even without hearing it for years. like a home, not because he has nowhere else to go, but because even after he finally learns how to leave, some part of him still chooses to return one day.

and jake knows, if he ever gets the chance to tell you this, he knows he can't come back with just regret, because regret is not enough. missing you is not enough. even love, by itself, it not enough if all it does is ask you to carry the weight again.

so that's why jake keeps trying. not so you'll come back, even though a large part of him wakes up every day still wishing you could, but because if you ever do, he wants to be your someone who knows how to love you without making you responsible for holding him up. and even if you don't—

jake closes his eyes again. breathes through the ache.

even if you don't, then he still has to become that person anyways.

the holidays come eventually, which makes everything sting in a little more specific way, because this is the time of year jake usually takes you home. for three years in a row, you had been there. in his parents' kitchen, stealing pieces of food before dinner and pretending you weren't. on the couch with his cousins, arguing over a kid's movie, beside him at the dinner table, your knee pressed against his under the tablecloth, laughing at something his aunt said while jake sat there feeling stupidly proud that you fit into his life so easily.

this year, he goes home alone. his mom opens the door first, pulls him into a hug, and looks over his shoulder, still expecting you to be standing behind him with a bag in one hand and that polite, nervous smile you always had for the first five minutes before remembering everyone already loved you, already made space for you like you were always going to be there.

"just you?" she asks him gently.

jake holds the strap of his bag a little tighter, and for a second, he almost lies, because it would be too easy. too easy to say something like, oh she's busy this year, or visiting her family, or work stuff. something simple and normal. something that lets the idea of the two of you keep existing together in someone else's version of reality out there for just a little longer. but even he knows that wouldn't be fair and it definitely wouldn't be the healing he has been trying, miserably and imperfectly, to do. so instead, he swallows hard and looks at his mom with a sad smile.

"we're not together anymore," he says.

his mom's face changes and he doesn't try to ignore it this time. "oh, sweetheart," she says softly.

one by one, the rest of his family finds out too.

his aunt asks where you are while setting plates down. his cousins says your name too casually from the living room. his dad pauses for half a second before patting a hand gently on jake's shoulder and saying he's sorry in that quiet, steady way that makes jake want to be eight years old and cry to him again.

but regardless, each time, jake tells the truth. he doesn't tell the whole story, not every ugly detail, but just enough. yes, you guys broke up. yes, it's hard. yes, he misses her. he lets everyone look at him sadly, he lets everyone see his sadness, too. he lets the loss be real instead of hiding it behind some convenient lie, and he has to live in rooms where people know it now.

everything else happens anyways, like christmas dinner where he argues with his brother over who gets the corner piece of dessert. he opens gifts the next morning and laughs when his uncle gives him socks with his own face printed on it. he watches movies on the couch while the house gets warm and loud around him.

he doesn't pretend it doesn't hurt. he doesn't pretend he isn't aware of the empty space next to him where you used to sit with a blanket pulled up to your chin, whispering commentary into his ear until he almost choked trying not to laugh. he doesn’t pretend he doesn’t look in the mug cabinet and remember the ugly holiday mug you loved for no reason.

but he also doesn't shut down, because life is still happening. because his family is still there and his cousins are still annoying and his mom is still asking him if he wants more hot chocolate. because love, jake is starting to learn, does not become less real just because one version of it is gone.

jake goes back to the city in time for new year's, mostly because jay rents out the same rooftop every year for the countdown party, and jake has gone every year. before he met you, after he met you, while he dated you. and now, it'll be after he lost you. he goes anyways, because he knows that avoiding every place that might still have your finger print on it won't do anything good for him.

the city is freezing by the time he gets there, all sharp wind and wet pavement and people spilling out of restaurants in glittery dresses and jackets that are too thin, but laughing anyways because that's just how these things go.

jay meets him by the elevator with a drink in one hand and a look on his face that is trying very hard to not look surprised.

"you came," jay says, smiling.

jake gives him a look. "you invited me."

then jay's expression softens just a little, enough that jake knows what he's really asking. if he's okay, if he's ready, if this isn't going to be too much for much.

jake looks past him, toward the rooftop door where music and laughter is already spilling out into the hallway.

"i'm good," he says, nodding like it'll make his statement more convincing.

jay's brow lifts. jake exhales, then corrects himself.

"i'm not good," he says quietly. "but i'm okay enough."

jay then studies him for a second before nodding. "okay enough is solid."

"thanks."

"low bar," jay gives him a smile, "but we celebrate growth. i'm proud of you."

and jake gives him a genuine smile back.

the rooftop is exactly the same as it always is—string lights wrapped along the railing, heaters glowing red in the corners, a dj booth in the center and an open bar with far too many people tucked into the side. heeseung is already arguing with sunghoon near the speakers, and sunghoon is already wearing a party hat against his will.

jake takes a drink jay hands him, talks when people talk to him, laughs when sunghoon says something funny, lets heeseung drag him into a conversation with someone from work whose name jake immediately forgets and feels only mildly guilty about.

he doesn't scan the party for you right away. he notices the lights first, the skyline, the little plastic champagne glasses stacked too close to the edge of one of the tables. he notices the cold air biting at his knuckles and the loud music and the way midnight feels close.

but, eventually, he notices you.

he wasn't looking, but it's that part of him that still knows when you enter a room. you're standing near the far side of the rooftop, close to the railing, talking to jay's cousin with a drink held loosely in one hand. your coat is buttoned up against the cold, your hair moving slightly in the wind, your face turned toward the city lights.

jake goes still, because even after everything, even after all his trying, his body can't help but react that way. but this time isn't like before. this time isn't like the bar, when seeing you walk in felt like a punishment he earned. not like the party months ago, when jealously made him stupid. this was different.

it still hurt, of course. the sight of you still finds the softest place in him and presses down hard, but alongside that feeling is something else too, something close to relief. the kind of relief that isn't selfish, not the kind that thinks you being here means anything profound for him. just relief that you are here, that you are laughing at something and look less tense and that the world has held you and taken care of you even when he wasn't allowed to.

jake breathes in slowly. he just looks at you for one honest second from the distance and lets himself have it.

he misses you. he loves you. and for once, neither of those things has to become a demand. then, like you feel it too because of course you would, your eyes shift across the rooftop and land on him.

the noise around him dulls just slightly, and your expression changes, just barely. a flicker of surprise, then softening into something he can't name quite yet. but he just stays where he is anyways, and after a second, he gives you the smallest nod.

you look at him for a long moment. then, you give him the smallest smile back.

somewhere close to midnight, the rooftop starts to shift in that slow and natural way new year's eve parties tend to do. people shift toward the railing with their champagne in hand, someone turns the music down just enough for the dj's voice to cut through the cold air, announcing the ten-minute warning with too much enthusiasm and then people start pairing off without meaning to.

jay gets pulled into a conversation near the bar, heeseung disappears with two champagne glasses and jake just gives him a thumbs up of good luck, and sunghoon is arguing with someone about fireworks, someone who is most likely going to be the unfortunate individual who is going to kiss him in ten minutes.

and somehow, in the middle of all of it, jake's eyes find yours across the rooftop. but this time, he doesn't look away. you're standing near the far side of the crowd, one hand tucked into your coat sleeve, your face lit softly by the lights overhead. you look beautiful.

he loves how simple and true the thought is. how it doesn't arrive with panic this time, but just tenderness. just the ache of knowing, even after all this time, even after everything he ruined and everything he learned, his heart still knows exactly where to look.

so jake crosses the rooftop slowly.

he just walks towards you with his pulse beating hard and loud in this throat, weaving past laughing friends and drunk strangers and half-empty glasses and people holding up their phones towards the skyline.

you see him coming, and your shoulders tense slightly, but you don't leave, which he takes as a good sign. when he stops in front of you, the music is loud enough that he has to lean in just a little, close enough for you to see the exhaustion in his eyes, the faint redness there, the months he spent missing you without asking you to do anything about it.

"hey," he says quietly.

your throat moves. "hey."

for a second, neither of you says anything. then, because jake is still jake, and because his heart is currently trying to crawl out of his chest, he says the first honest thing he can manage.

“you look good.”

you pause for a moment, then give him a soft smile.  “you do too.”

he lets out a breath that nearly becomes a laugh. “i really don’t.”

and then the tension almost breaks right there, with that small flicker of something comforting and familiar falling in between the two of you.  your mouth trembles like you’re trying not to smile too much but also trying not to cry at the same time.

the music goes quiet again for a moment while the dj announces five minutes until midnight and the rooftop cheers.

jake glances toward the crowd, then back at you.

“can we go somewhere quieter?” he asks. then, quickly, softer, “only if you want to.”

you look at him for a moment and your eyes flicker to the skyline before back to him, and then you finally nod. 

jake leads you inside to the lounge just past the rooftop's glass doors, where it's empty now and the lights are dim and warm. through the large windows, the party continues outside in a blur of coats and gold lights and people waiting for the year to end. he closes the door behind you and all the noise goes muffled immediately. 

you stand a few feet apart in silence, arms wrapped around yourselves against the chill still clinging to your clothes, both of you reflected faintly in the glass.

then jake looks at you, and he really, really looks. and then for the first time in a long, long time, he lets himself be brave.

"i figured it out, by the way."

your eyes flick up to his as if in a quick second of shock before looking away just as quickly.

he swallows hard. "not everything. i don’t think anyone ever figures out everything. but what you asked me that night. what i wanted, why i left, why i kept coming back. all of it."

you don't say anything, your eyes now trained on something past him just so you don't have to look at him quite yet. he keeps going.

"i left you because i was scared," he says, voice low. "not because i stopped loving you or because you were holding me back, or because we were wrong. but because i loved you so much that i couldn't admit it and i turned it into something i thought i had to save both of us from." his voice cracks. "but i didn't."

you look up at him now, and your eyes shine immediately.

jake’s hands curl at his sides, like his body still wants to reach for you before he has earned the right.

"i was trying to control the ending," he stops, letting the words sit for a moment. "because some awful part of me was terrified that one day you would wake up and realize you didn't need me when i still needed you. that maybe you had become my whole life, but i was only part of yours and if you left first, i wouldn't know how to survive it. so i left first, i hurt you first, and then i convinced myself it was love because the truth sounded uglier."

a tear slips down your cheek, and jake sees it immediately and he almost stops. he almost stops, but he doesn't. he can't, not now, not after he spent a year missing you, hurting you, hurting himself, and hiding.

not when stopping would be easier for him, and the whole point is that he is done choosing what is easy for him.

"and then i kept doing it," he whispers. "i kept coming back to you in pieces i could get because being near you was the only time i didn't feel like i had ruined my own life completely. but it wasn't fair, i know it wasn't. i wanted the comfort of you without giving you the certainty you deserved."

somewhere beyond the glass, the dj's voice cuts through the music, muffled but clear enough, one minute left.

your lips part slightly, like you might say something, but jake shakes his head, eyes burning now.

"i’m not saying this because i expect you to forgive me tonight. i’m not saying it because it’s new year’s and everyone outside is about to kiss someone and i’m lonely. i’m not asking you to fix me. i’m not asking you to come back because i finally got hurt enough to say the right thing."

he takes a breath. then another. then he holds your gaze carefully.

"i'm saying it because you deserve to hear the truth from me. because i figured it out, and i couldn't let you go thinking my confusion meant you were ever easy to lose."

thirty seconds and people outside start gathering loudly, but neither of you move.

"i know how to be without you now," jake says, voice breaking around it, eyes glassy. "and i hate it. i really, really hate it, but i know how. i can wake up and live my life and stand in rooms where you’re missing and not make that your responsibility."

fifteen seconds.

his eyes search yours.

"but i look at you," he whispers, taking one small step closer, "and i still see my future."

your face crumples and jake wants to reach for you so badly his fingers twitch at his sides.

ten.

"not because i don’t have one without you," his voice breaks again, and he has to swallow hard, "but because every version of me that is honest, every version that isn’t scared and running and pretending, still chooses you. and not as a place to hide, not as someone to hold me together. just you."

five.

jake finally lifts his hand, slowly, carefully, letting it hover just beside yours, giving you every chance to step away.

four.

"i love you," he says, the words spilling out now in that quick way they do when it’s just the truth and he can’t stop it anymore. "i love you in a way i should’ve been brave enough to choose the first time. and if you can’t choose me back anymore, i’ll understand. i’ll hate it, but i’ll understand."

three.

your eyes drop to his hand, then back up to his face. and then finally, you reach for him, your fingers slipping into his, cold and trembling, and jake lets out a breath that sounds broken.

two.

“i love you,” you breathe, voice shaking, face wet. “and i never stopped choosing you. i just needed you to choose me back.”

one.

the rooftop erupts outside in loud cheers, fireworks bursting over the city, gold and red and blue spilling across the glass, lighting your face in flashes.

jake hesitates for one heartbreaking second, his forehead nearly touching yours now, his breath trembling against your mouth, like even now he's asking. even now, he's waiting. because after everything, after all the hurt and healing and polite smiles and quiet looks, after all the late night drives and one more times he had no right to ask for, he needs this part to be yours.

not taken, not assumed by him, but yours to choose.

and so you do.

you tilt your face up, and you kiss him. and it's barely anything at first, it's soft and a trembling press of your mouth to his, so light it almost feels like both of you are afraid to ask for more. but then jake kisses you back, just as gentle, and just as disbelieving. but then your fingers tighten in his and your other hand finds the front of his jacket and you lean closer, pressing yourself into his hold and then it's desperate in the quietest way. the kind that comes from two people choosing, after the long, long road behind them, to find their way back to one another.

he kisses you like this is something he should have been more careful with from the start, one hand holding you at the waist, the other rising to your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear he caused and is finally trying to deserve the chance to heal.

you kiss him back like you’ve been holding your breath for months. like anger and love and grief and relief all have nowhere else to go except the small, fragile space between you.

outside, people are screaming happy new year. people are kissing and hugging and spilling champagne onto the rooftop floor and laughing into the cold. 

inside, jake pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing unevenly, eyes wet. neither of your move, his thumb staying against your cheek, your fingers staying twisted in his jacket. 

and the year begins quietly between you. it’s not perfect, it’s not untouched, but it’s yours. 

"happy new year," he whispers.

you let out a tiny broken laugh, your fingers tightening like you’re still making sure he’s there. then you look up at him. 

"happy new year, jaeyun."

and this time, when you say his name, it sounds like coming back home. not because the long and complicated road behind you disappeared. it hasn’t, it will always be there.

but because, finally, he knows the way back.

꩜｡⊹ ࣪ ˖ as always,,,,ty for reading if you made it all the way here <3 MWAH

⤷ full m.list ⭑ perms ⭑ mail ˎˊ˗

warnings 𖢥⊹ ࣪ ˖ mentions of violence, blood, wounds // mild cursing // multiple kiss scenes bc jake is just so kissable whoops // slowslowburn // jakehoon bromance keeps me alive // jake pines & yearns & longs & yearns.. // concept of 'casual' dating // superhero & mcu elements & easter eggs :3 // jake is a loser but spider-man is a smooth-talker heh

°˖➴ .ᐟ 𖢥 addie ── FINALLY !!! i have finally, finally finished a full fic for the first time in literal forever and i'm actually so excited for this one bc i freaking love mcu & spiderman & jake so freaking much you guys dont understand...spidey was my first ever childhood crush i think i literally made a post abt it somewhere here on my blog ages ago...so my reaction when i got this anon request for this fic?? i cheered. ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵) ty for being patient with me and for all the words of support & encouragement & love throughout the process <333 if you've been here some time and read my other works you know i literally get myself way too indulged into the whole process,,,but i really did have so much freaking fun writing this so i really hope you guys like all 25k words of spidey!jake :3

sim jaeyun has a lot of secrets.

like the fact that he’s secretly (but not so secretly) a giant nerd and, frankly, a genius with the probable IQ of someone who can calculate pi to the 500th decimal in his head just for fun. or maybe the fact that he’s definitely smart enough to hack into the school’s database and find copies of the finals’ answer keys under ten minutes flat.

but he doesn’t. because again. sim jaeyun is a genius (and because he’s scared of getting caught. but mostly the genius thing).

sim jaeyun pours his milk before cereal. he sleeps on his stomach. he doesn’t separate his white socks from his colored ones. he’s terrified of cats. he loves rom-coms. he’s spider-man. he can’t fall asleep without his favorite build-a-bear. and he doesn’t know how to ride a bike.

but his most important secret? he has the biggest crush on you.

so big that he’d say it’s more top-secret than the fact that he uses 5-in-1 men’s soap and being the city’s web-slinging, crime-fighting, red-and-blue spandex-wearing superhero.

and in all honestly— it’s not like the latter is even that secret anymore.

because another thing about jake? he sucks at keeping secrets.

he figured this out about two weeks into accepting his new life post-radioactive-spider-bite—right around the same time he decided yeah, sure, i can totally handle having powers and a double life. and not freaking out every time he accidentally shot a web out in his sleep.

he figured this out when park sunghoon, his longtime best friend, accidentally found jake’s suit in his room. and by accidentally, we mean jake just…left it lying out. on his bed. in plain sight. because he forgot to put it away the day sunghoon came over to share his history notes.

that was the day sunghoon declared himself jake’s “guy in the chair.”

so yeah. jake sucks at keeping his spidey secret…a secret.

but his crush on you? oh yeah.

that one’s highly classified (except from sunghoon. because again—guy in the chair).

“you should probably stop staring before it gets creepy.”

jake blinks.

he stops staring at you—across the cafeteria, laughing with your friends, completely unaware of how he’s most definitely about five seconds away from writing your name in bubble letters with a pink glitter pen on his notebook cover.

he turns his head toward the voice. sunghoon, of course.

“actually, too late. it’s creepy,” sunghoon adds before casually chewing on the cafeteria pizza that’s always a little too suspiciously rubbery but no one ever questions it for their own sake.

jake sighs, his eyes going back to your figure across the busy room. “you think she’ll talk to me in chemistry today?”

sunghoon doesn’t even blink. “she has to talk to you. you guys are literally lab partners.”

“that’s different,” jake mutters, chin in his hand, eyes never leaving you once. “i mean, i could ask what her favorite color is or something…”

sunghoon stares. jaw slack. full deadpan.

“that’s a joke, right? please tell me that’s a joke. because i don’t know what funnier—the fact that you have the pick up lines of a first grader, or the fact that even i know that you know you don’t have the guts to say anything to her that’s not directly related to ionic bonding.”

jake whips his head to his best friend, the look in his eyes being nothing less than betrayed, “i so totally can!”

“jake,” sunghoon says slowly, voice lowering, “you broke the test tube in your hand last week when she asked what your weekend plans were.” a pause. “then you ran out of the room. without saying anything.”

jake groans. drops his head into his arms on the table. “okay, i specifically remember saying we would never bring that up ever again.”

sunghoon chuckles, hands raised, “just saying.”

a brief silence falls over the table as jake lifts his head up in despair. he goes back to probably-definitely-not-so-subtly watching you from across the cafeteria.

“you should just…y’know—” sunghoon nudges jake’s side. “—get your lil buddy to help you out.”

jake freezes. turns to his best friend in horror, “my…lil what now?”

sunghoon’s palm smacks the side of jake’s head before his voice drops to a whisper, “your alter ego, idiot.”

jake rubs the side of his head, staring at the way sunghoon is casually sitting there like this is a perfectly reasonable suggestion.

“you heard me,” sunghoon continues when jake makes no sign of responding, the look on his face enough to tell sunghoon he thinks he’s probably borderline psychotic. “go up to her as spider-man. be mysterious. say something cool. i bet she’ll be super impressed and instantly fall in love with you.”

“that is literally the worst idea you probably could’ve ever thought of.”

“is it?” sunghoon shrugs, smug as he leans back in his chair. “because seeing as your track record so far is either a) breaking glass around her, or b)…actually, no. yeah, that’s it. that’s all i got. your track record sucks, bro.”

jake groans for the nth time and lets his head thunk onto the table this time with a soft clunk. “i hate it here.”

“you’re not even going to consider it?”

jake lifts his head just enough to glare his eyes at sunghoon, “do you hear yourself? you want me to flirt with her…while wearing spandex. in full mask. while i talk like this—” his voice drops to the deeper, definitely-not-as-disguising-as-he-thinks-it-is tone he uses while saving the city at night. “‘hey. i know i’m wanted by, like, a hundred bad people out there, but also, what’s your favorite color?’”

sunghoon grins. “add a little web trick and shoulder touch and boom—she’s yours.”

jake deadpans at him, his voice returning to normal, “do you even like me? are we even friends?”

sunghoon shrugs. pops a fry in his mouth. thinks for a second. “you’re entertaining.”

jake groans again. slumps dramatically into his seat, staring at the too-bright fluorescent lights in the ceiling above him. “i can’t flirt as spider-man me,” he mutters. “that sounds like a nightmare. i can’t even talk to her as me me.”

“duh. that’s kinda the entire point.”

“and then what, huh?” jake dramatically throws his hands up. “i take her on a date while web-swinging through the city? and if i drop her?”

“i dunno,” sunghoon takes another unbothered bite of his rubber pizza. “use two webs? you’re the one with the sticky powers, i don’t know it works!”

jake lets out an exasperated sound.

sunghoon pats his back, attempting to be the supportive friend he is. “face it. it’s the only way she’s ever gonna know you’re slightly even remotely cool and do anything more than read books on like…i don’t know—how physics makes the earth spin or something.”

jake pouts. “i am cool!” “you own a build-a-bear named woofy.” “he’s a comfort object!” “exactly. that’s why spider-man has to take the wheel from now on.”

jake stares at sunghoon, shakes his head, and starts packing up his completely untouched lunch.

“whatever. i’m going to chemistry,” he mutters, swinging his backpack around his shoulder with a huff, despite the fact that class doesn’t start for another twenty minutes.

and it’s not like he needs to get to class early to ask the teacher questions or get extra help on the homework or anything normal and productive like that—don’t be ridiculous.

because here’s the thing. jake getting to class early means one very important thing: he gets to his seat—the one next to yours—before you do.

which means you have to acknowledge him first. which is crucial.

because if the roles were reversed—jake does not trust himself to be able to acknowledge you first and say hi without choking on his own air or probably knocking over a glass beaker that wasn’t there before but would somehow magically appear because that’s just jake’s luck in the process.

regardless, it works. the system works. he’s perfected it by now. because it’s about half way through the school year and without fail, every time you walk into class and jake’s already sitting there—busy pretending like he’s reading some article on his laptop when in reality his senses are going haywire over being overwhelmed by your entire presence that he already felt from down the hallway—you always greet him first with the same airy, cheery tone in your voice, bright smile, hair flowing, perfume floating in the air—

"hi jake!"

jake's soul ascends.

he looks up (too fast), catches himself (too obvious), and tries to play it cool with a little nod and smile that definitely looks a little more like a grimace (too tragic).

"hey." nailed it.

you smile casually as you plop your backpack down on the lab table you share with him and start pulling out your notebooks for the day. and jake just stares ahead like a soldier at war. his hands are sweating. his feet are bouncing. his entire nervous system is screaming at him to say something, anything.

and as if the universe decided to play a casually cruel trick on him—

"...so what's your favorite color?" "so, any fun weekend plans?"

both your voices overlap. you both freeze. turn to each other at the same time. blink.

"oh—" "—sorry, you go—" "no, you first—" "okay—wait—i, i forgot—"

silence. you hold back a smile. jake wishes to melt into the earth and hopes he never reincarnates.

"i was just gonna ask," you say, a small smile still playing on your lips that it makes jake's brain actively start doing 360s, "if you're doing anything this weekend."

jake short-circuits.

say something. be mysterious. be cool. be normal. channel spider-man. but maybe...not spider-man when you talk to him. spider-man when he talks to everyone else. "i'm...uh." he clears his throat. tries again. "probably just, y'know. working."

you tilt your head, eyes sparkling with curiosity, "working?"

"yeah," jake nods, too quickly for his own liking, then stops himself. "like—side gig."

if a side gig came with at least two new bruised ribs some nights and meant saving a city from criminals, but yeah, okay. sure. side gig.

your brows raise. "that's cool! what do you do?"

jake freezes. panics. what does he do.

he can't say spider-man.

he also can't say he has the molecular build of an eight-limbed arthropod and can stick onto walls with only his bare fingers.

and he definitely can't say i spend 70% of my free time thinking about you and the other 30% swinging off buildings.

"...delivery." he says it like he's mysterious. cool. totally normal.

you blink. as if waiting, as if expecting him to elaborate.

he blinks back at you.

"delivering...what?"

"...pizza."

(and he did once deliver a stolen pizza order back to its rightful owner after webbing the thief to a lamppost. that totally counts.)

"oh," you nod slowly, giving him a genuine smile. "that sounds fun!"

jake gives a thumbs up. mentally smacks himself in the face repeatedly. but then, his brain suddenly catches up to the situation at hand and before he can stop himself, he blurts—

"wait—uh, why do you ask?"

and then you break eye contact, glancing down at your notebook, and jake pretends not to notice your fingers suddenly fidgeting with one of your many too-colorful pens.

"well," you start, and jake is trying his very, very best to ignore the fact that his senses can pick up on your heart beat. "we've got the final coming up next week, and i don't know—you always seem like you know what you're doing in class, so—"

she thinks im smart? oh my god. she notices me? even when i’m not breaking glass? oh my god oh my god oh my—

"—i was hoping maybe we could study together?" you look up at him again, your eyes wide. "or go over the study guide one last time or something. but it's totally fine if you're busy working! and that makes sense, you probably don't even need to study, you're, like, uber smart and stuff, so—"

"no."

your words come to a halt and your mouth is left slack.

jake smacks himself. mentally. again. and again.

"...oh, um—"

jake coughs suddenly, a little too loud, a little too forced. "sorry! i mean—no...no, i'm not busy. yes, i'm down. down. to study. together. yeah."

he takes note in the way your shoulders slightly relax and the way you release a breath of what sounds like relief and amusement at the same time.

then, a soft smile makes its way to your face again, "okay! okay, cool!"

jake doesn't know if he should scream, sob, or launch himself into the sun.

he smiles back. "cool."

there's a pause.

"wait—but what about work?" your head tilts slightly, a soft crease forming between your brows.

shit.

"oh. right," jake mutters, clearing his throat as his hand casually brushes through his hair as if he thought this one through (he, in fact, did not).

quick, lie—wait, no. casual lie. lying is not cool. don't lie to the girl you like. you're simply protecting her. be mysterious. be cool. be normal.

"i'm...sure the pizzas will be okay for a night! yeah. they have flexibility. my job, i mean. not the pizzas. my manager's chill."

your smile brightens at his answer and jake decides launching himself into the sun is dramatic. in fact, he thinks the sun came out today just for him.

"okay, yay!" you're beaming. "sounds like a plan."

jake also thinks his heart just tripped over itself.

"here, let me—" you rip off a corner of your notebook and start scribbling something down with one of your pens before sliding the slip of paper over to his side of the table, "—give you my number and you let me know when and where works best, yeah?"

and jake is simply a guy. a guy entirely entranced.

it's the way you lean a little closer to the desk, tongue peeking out at the corner of your mouth in concentration. the way your hair shifts when you tilt your head, the gentle swish of it brushing over your shoulder. the way your bracelets softly clink together when your hands move. the way you smoothly push the small slip of paper with your number and name signed with a small smiley face towards him like it's no big deal.

jake stares at the paper like all those nights of manifesting finally paid off and this small slip of notebook paper is first proof that a manifestation journal really does work.

your name. your number. a tiny smile doodled next to it.

it's the cutest thing he's ever seen.

he looks at the note. then at you. then back at the note.

how did this happen. what did he say? was it the pizza lie? no, it couldn't have been the pizza lie.

"cool," jake eventually says, but he realizes he's said cool one too many times and it comes out so high-pitched, he's genuinely unsure if he said it out loud or just squeaked like a mouse.

and you just simply smile back at him, soft and sweet and light, and jake decides to revisit the potential idea of self launching into orbit.

and when the teacher enters the classroom, immediately starting the lecture, jake turns back to the front of the class, trying his very best to focus—

"pink."

it comes out as a low and soft whisper. jake's head jerks slightly towards you, and you're leaning in, just slightly enough for your shoulder to brush against his.

"...i—what?"

you smile, your eyes crinkled at their corners as you look at him, "my favorite color. it's pink."

then, you turn back to the whiteboard, already scribbling down your notes like you didn't just change the entire trajectory of jake's future.

jake doesn't move. jake, in fact, doesn't hear a single word of whatever the teacher is saying about the synthesis and characterization of something-something-carbene-molecular-something.

all he knows is:

he's seeing you this weekend.

your favorite color is pink.

and tucked into the back of his phone is now a piece of corner notebook paper with your number on it.

and, of course, it's written in pink.

jake doesn’t know what he’s going to tell sunghoon about first—the fact that the favorite color pick-up line potentially worked, or that he has an actual study date with y–

wait.

“do you think it’s a study date?” jake’s voice is muffled by a peanut butter protein bar, his legs dangling off the edge of some random apartment building he deemed clean from bird poop to sit on.

there’s a long beat of silence from the other end of his phone that’s perched beside him on speaker, before sunghoon finally answers.

“i think it’s your chemistry lab partner…who needs to study for an exam…with her super genius bench partner,” sunghoon pauses. “but yeah. it’s definitely also a study date.

jake fist-pumps the air. “right?! that’s what i’m saying!” he leans back on one of his palms, staring down at the blur of streetlights and car headlights below, watching the tiny dots of normal people go about their normal people lives after their normal people days.

“god, i’m gonna say something dumb. i always say something dumb. i’m gonna probably tell her my favorite element is, like, carbon, or something. that’s not even a fun one,” jake sighs as he watches the sun slowly set along the skyline in front of him.

there’s a long, suffering sigh from the phone. “please, for the love of God and everything He created, do not tell her what your favorite element is.”

jake frowns, even though he knows sunghoon can’t see it. “you don’t think it’s charming?”

“remember what happened in the sixth grade when that girl asked for a pencil and you gave her an entire lecture on valence electrons and then she never spoke to you ever again?”

jake makes a face. “okay, but she didn’t specify what kind of lead she needed—”

“just…be normal,” sunghoon cuts in. “be jake.”

jake goes quiet. because that’s just the problem, isn’t it? because jake isn’t normal.

“normal” and “jake” haven’t belonged in the same sentence since he woke up one random morning with super strength, freakish reflexes, and abs (not that he’s complaining about the abs. but still. he knows his two-day-a-week gym habit and occasional protein bar didn’t cause them).

normal isn’t waking up in the middle of the night because your fingers literally fused to your bed frame. normal isn’t learning how to navigate puberty while also learning how different wrist angles shoot out different types of webs. normal isn’t lying to your mom about why your laundry always smells like burnt rubber and concrete dust and weirdly enough, hot dogs.

and normal definitely isn’t sitting a hundred feet above the city at 10PM on a friday night with your best friend on speaker and your spandex suit hidden under a hoodie, trying to decide if your biggest life crisis is:

a — the rise of petty city crime or b — the way your ridiculously pretty chemistry partner smiled at you and made you question your entire being in 0.2 seconds

but when he thinks about you?

when jake’s with you—he’s just jake. no suit, no webs, no…fear of potential death. 

he feels like a regular teenage boy. the kind who worries about history finals and likes stupid memes and builds lego sets with his best friend on saturdays and has a crush on the cute girl in his chemistry class.

with you, he doesn’t feel like a science experiment. or a secret. or an accident waiting to happen.

he just feels like…jake.

“i just—dude. i didn’t even have to pull the spider-man card!” jake sits up a little, legs now swinging. “like. at all. she said i was smart! jake-smart. i didn’t need to save a cat or catch a bus or—”

“—instead,” sunghoon’s monotone voice cuts in, “you told her you deliver pizzas for fun and somehow it worked.”

“you’re the worst guy in the chair.”

“and yet, here we are. you’re still call—”

“wait” jake freezes. sits upright. his head tilts slightly. “hold on.”

something in the air hits him. his senses prick. muscles tense. tingling. sounds slow, scents sharpen. the world zooms in all at once.

“i gotta go,” jake stands up, his voice muffled by shoving the rest of his protein bar into his mouth, already slipping his mask over his head.

“duty calls,” sunghoon replies casually, like this is the third time this week (it is). “be safe!”

“love you, bye!” jake says before the hanging up and shoving his phone into his backpack and thwipping it to the rooftop wall in one motion. it’ll probably still be there later. hopefully.

on most nights, it is still right where he left it, waiting patiently after the hours of his city-saving. but right now, jake couldn’t care any less about his belongings. he’s already airborne, swinging building to building with smooth, practiced ease. he follows the tug in his chest, the sense of something being slightly off. a scuffle. somewhere just a block or two away.

and on most nights, you’re careful. you’re observant, aware. you know how to check left, right, then left again before crossing the street. you stick to the well-lit sidewalks, don’t take shortcuts, avoid the sketchy alleyways your parents used to warn you about growing up.

and you also know, deep down, that you probably shouldn’t have stayed at this library this late. but here we are.

you’re barely a block from the bus stop you just got off at when it happens. a shadow moves—quick, low, but intentional. he’s stumbling. smirking. slurring.

your stomach drops immediately.

“hey, pretty thing,” he calls out, “where you off to this late?”

“not interested,” you mumble, clutching your bag closer to your body, steps picking up faster.

“oh, come onnn,” he draws. you hear his footsteps behind you. too close now. “just a little chat—”

you turn over your shoulder just in time to see his hand land slightly on your shoulder, just where your bag strap sits.

but before you can even react—

THWIP.

it happens before you can even blink.

the guy disappears. yanked off his feet. with a yelp, he’s slammed against the nearest parked car on the street with a heavy thud, followed by a line of white, sticky substance trapping his sides.

and suddenly, another one hits his hands. then his ankles. then his chest.

until it’s all around him and he’s stuck to the car like a decal himself.

you freeze, not knowing what just happened or what the hell you’re supposed to do now. your heart is racing, your brain playing catch-up, your breathing paused.

and as you’re staring at the man-shaped cocoon, wondering if this is what finally wills you into full-blown psychosis—

a figure drops from above. with absolutely zero subtlety. and lands directly in between you and said webbed-up guy in a crouch.

dressed in red and blue. head to toe. and so much spandex.

spider-man.

“wow,” he says deadpan, turning to point at the man-turned-car-decal. “okay. that was, like, a solid ten out of ten on the creep scale. would’ve been a nine, but then you touched her. so. automatic point deduction.”

the guy groans beneath the webbing. “what the—who the hell are you?”

spider-man throws his arms up in exasperation, gesturing to himself like it’s obvious.  “spider-man, dude. the webs? the spider logo on my chest? keep up.”

he then turns to you, brushing off the imaginary dust from his hands. “you know, if i had a nickel for every time some scuffy guy tried the whole grabby in an alley thing this week, i’d have like…four nickels.”

a beat. you’re still frozen. eyes wide. jaw slack.

“which isn’t a lot. but it’s weird that it happened that many times. should probably do something about that. or i guess that’s my job.”

the man groans from behind him, squirming, “get this shit off me man—”

“shhh,” spider-man shushes him, raising a hand. “don’t speak. we’re in a delicate moment of justice here.”

then, he turns back to you, head tilting. the eyes of his mask dilate as they squint at you.

his voice softens. “hey. everything okay?”

and you’re still frozen.

because there are many things you don’t believe in. you don’t believe in narwhals. you don’t believe that tarot cards can predict your love life. you don’t believe in flushing ice down the toilet to make it snow the next day, and you probably, maybe, sometimes don’t believe in birds being government spies.

but spider-man? you didn’t know if you believed in him or not. sure, you’ve seen the headlines. heard the rumors, watched the blurry phone footage. but never with your own eyes. until now.

“uh…” you nod quickly, eyes still wide, mouth still slightly ajar. “i...yeah. thank you. for that.”

and jake tries his best to keep his cool. exhales behind the mask, trying to not completely lose it.

to not completely combust when the literal crush of his life is standing in front of him, somehow glowing even under a dim, flickering street light. to not think about the very real fact that he just saved you from whatever-he-refuses-to-think-about that he just saved you from.

so he gives a casual shrug.

“that’s what they pay me for.”

you blink. “you get paid?”

jake stills. “uh, well. no. not technically. emotionally, yes. and sometimes sweet old ladies buy me churros.”

you blink again, but this time, your lips twitch slightly. “…okay. right.”

jake clears his throat, straightening up, placing his hands on his hips all awkward again and then putting them down when he realizes he probably looks like a cheap superhero mascot like that.

this part—this part—he’s usually good at. web the creep. leave a note for the cops. call them in. that’s how it usually goes. what doesn’t usually happen is…this. saving the girl he likes. the girl who doesn’t know she’s the girl he likes. the girl who definitely doesn’t know he sits next to her in chemistry and pretends to read when she walks in.

the creep behind him groans again. jake spins around on his heels and double thwips a neat string of webs over the guy’s mouth.

“aaaaand silence,” jake mutters, nodding to himself. “look at that. instant peace. should’ve probably done that twenty seconds ago.”

he turns back around. and you’re smiling now. it’s small and slightly shaky, but it’s there. jake notices. of course jake notices.

“are you sure you’re okay?” his voice dips again, gentler now.

you nod. “yeah, i think so. seriously…thank you so much.”

and jake hesitates—heart thumping, nerves sweating, because you are literally standing in front of him and he has the mask of spider-man on right now but the confidence of jake from chemistry. but still, he manages, "get home safe, yeah? you shouldn’t be walking alone this late. city’s full of creeps and…men in spandex.”

you let out a quiet laugh. “noted.”

“cool,” jake lets out, throwing up an awkward thumbs up and he makes a mental note to stop using the word ‘cool’ and to stop using thumbs ups as a defense mechanism.

he clears his throat and takes a casual step back as you watch him, still unmoving, as if you’re still trying to convince yourself he’s real.

“alright,” jake says, pointing his hand up to the building behind you before saluting you goodbye with the other. “spider-man…away?”

he fires. latches perfectly. but the fact that he actually, out-loud, said ‘spider-man away’ gets to his head and so he doesn’t time the swing quite right and his foot hits the top of a recycling bin on the way up. and he really hopes you didn’t see it happen (you did).

he lands on the rooftop above you, immediately crouching down out of view, chest heaving as his brain catches up to his body, still processing what just happened. heart still hammering, fingers still tingling.

then, after waiting a few seconds, he peers his head carefully over the line of buildings down the street and watches your figure walk away. head down, bag hugged close, pace quicker now.

and of course, because he’s jake—and spider-man (but mostly because he’s jake)—he follows you from above. quiet, careful, out of sight. just to make sure you make it back okay.

and when you finally reach your apartment building and unlock the front door, he still waits.

waits until he sees a light flicker on in your bedroom window. waits until he sees your figure draw your curtains closed. waits until he knows you’re safe. only then does he finally exhale.

he drops onto the roof of a nearby pizza place—the one that claims they sell dollar pizza but it’s really $1.49—pulls off his mask with one hand and runs the other through his completely wrecked hair.

“jesus christ, jake,” he mutters to himself, a hand dragging down his face. “spider-man away? really?”

he shakes his head at himself, partly in shame, partly in disbelief, but mostly in shame, then stretches out his legs, groans at the ache in his biceps, and swings back towards the first rooftop where he left his backpack.

and thank god it’s still there. because once he unwebs his bag and fishes through his textbooks, unknown food wrappers, and decathlon club fliers to take out his phone with just merely 12% battery left, he clicks on your contact. stares at the blank message field. then he types.

JAKE (10:42PM) : hey! it’s jake (from chem lol) hope your night’s going okay :) also still good to meet at the cafe near school tomorrow? maybe around noon?

he stares at it. rereads it six times. changes lol to haha. then back to lol. deletes the smiley face. then the whole message. then retypes it word for word.

eventually, he hits send.

and jake, bless his heart, keeps staring at the screen. forgets it’s nearly 11PM. forgets that his mom, who thinks he’s in bed, is probably gonna check in on him any second now (and yes, jake is nearly a legal adult. but he also grew up with chronic nightmares, so. check ins are necessary at times).

but then his screen lights up. your name. a single message.

Y/N (10:43PM) : yes :)

he feels his entire body exhale. or light up on fire. he’s not sure of the difference, honestly. and jake’s also not sure how long he sits there smiling at his phone like an idiot.

he doesn’t remember swinging back home. he doesn’t remember sneaking back into his room through his fire escape. he doesn’t even remember showering and wincing at the sting of soap against his fresh cuts and scratches.

because all he’s thinking about is your text. which is probably why he also forgets to set an alarm.

so when he wakes up the next day at 11:45AM, twenty minutes away from the café he promised to meet you at in fifteen minutes, and absolutely zero minutes ready to leave his place—he’s in full blown panic.

“oh crap, crap—ow, damn it—crap,” he’s mutters, runs into a chair, accidentally smears toothpaste on his hoodie sleeve, and grabs the first protein bar he sees—cookies & creme this time—before sprinting out the door. but not before kissing his mom on the cheek goodbye.

his hair is still damp. his backpack is half-zipped. he’s 85% sure he applied deodorant twice and toothpaste once. or maybe the other way around.

and by the time he barges into the corner café that sells overpriced matcha lattes with the grainy oat milk but has good lighting and free wifi and outlets to use so it’s deemed a good study spot anyways, he immediately zeroes in on you at the small corner table—pen in hand, sipping from a cup casually and not at all aware that your mere existence and the way the little beam of sunlight shining through the café windows reflecting on you is already sending his sleep deprived state into overdrive.

he makes—or more like stumbles—his way over, just in time for you to glance up and catch his eye.

“hey!” you smile, so warm and relaxed that it almost makes jake forget he sprinted over in mismatched socks. “you made it.”

“yeah—sorry,” jake exhales, pulling out the seat across from you and placing his stuff down. “i stayed up late, forgot to set an alarm, then couldn’t find matching socks, i had this blue one on and then a red—“

jake stops himself. looks at you. gives you a sheepish smile. “sorry. you don’t need to hear about the whole sock saga.”

you giggle as you look up at him, “what a shame, i was kinda invested to see where that was going.”

jake tries not to float.

“and it’s fine, jake. really. if it makes you feel any better, you’re only like twelve minutes late.”

jake lets out a nervous chuckle as he slides into the seat across from you, “thanks. i’m usually only, like, ten minutes late, so this is all new to me. including the study date part.”

jake freezes. your eyebrow quirks. why did he say that. why. did. he. say. that.

a small smile tugs at your lips, “study date?”

jake’s eyes are frozen and blown wide as he stares at you in horror from across the table, stumbling over his own words, “i mean. i—no, not a date! unless…unless you wanted it to be a date, which is fine! not just fine! i mean, it’s fine if you wanted—i just assumed that—well sorry, i shouldn’t have assumed—that would be non-consensual and i’m really big on, like, mutual respect and consent and—”

he stops.

jake needs to stop. he should stop talking about consent before he even got to ask you how your morning’s been like a regular human being does.

your stare lingers for a beat longer before you break into laughter, hand flying to your mouth, the other holding onto the table in front of you to support yourself as you snort. “jake.”

jake sinks slightly in his seat. wishes he was sinking into the earth. “yeah?”

your laughter softens into something gentler, and you look up at him, sure and simple and steady. “it’s okay. let’s call it that. a study date.”

you know how your laptop sometimes freezes because it’s firing a million tasks at once and then the fan starts whirring violently before the entire thing decides to just shut off and it has to take a few minutes to recover before rebooting itself back up to be able to fully function again?

yeah. that’s what’s happening to jake. right now.

“oh. okay. cool. cool, cool, cool,” he tugs at the collar of his hoodie. stop it with the cool, jake, we talked about this. and whatever you do, do not throw up a— he throws a thumbs up at you. puts it away. tries to recover. “i’m very…pro…studying.”

you grin at him. “clearly.” the dating part? not so much.

and after that, thing settles. in that warm, weirdly comforting way things do when you’ve either known someone your entire life or just long enough to know you want to.

textbooks open, laptops propped, flashcards highlighted, questions exchanged, your iced matcha is slowly disappearing while jake’s iced americano just sits there untouched—slowly watering down because jake forgets coffee makes him jittery but he was in a state of panic when he got to the counter so…here we are.

“wait, can i ask you something kinda random?"

you glance up from your notes, giving jake a small nod. “yeah?”

jake’s eyes land on the back of your laptop and he gestures vaguely to it. “why is your laptop covered in like…fourteen different beluga stickers?”

your head tilts as you follow his gaze and—yup. it’s true. it’s covered with not only fourteen little cartoon belugas, but also otters, starfish, and a little whale in the corner that isn’t so little and cost you a whole whopping five dollars at the book fair.

you blink at it. “oh, right.” a small smile then tugs at your lips. “i’m kinda obsessed with ocean life. it’s, like…one of my things.”

and jake is silent. not because he’s judging. no, he recites the periodic table in alphabetical order to help him fall asleep at night, so he can’t judge. but because—god. you say that like it’s the most casual thing in the world and not the most adorable sentence he’s ever heard.

“like, belugas are my favorite sea animals,” you continue, your own voice picking up from your own excitement now. “they’re just so cute and squishy looking. and they always look like they’re smiling? and granted i’ve never met one, but if i did meet one, i just know it’d be kind.”

jake is still not saying anything. he’s watching the way your hands move animatedly, the way your eyes light up, the way your voice lifts when you say the words “if i did meet one” like it’s the most natural thing in the world to meet a literal beluga.

“they do look pretty nice,” jake adds eventually, absolutely trying his best to fight the grin off his face. “for a whale, i mean.”

your eyes widen as you suddenly gasp and lean in over the table towards jake, catching him off guard. “okay, i’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

jake freezes. and he doesn’t know how and he doesn’t know when, but he’s pretty sure he messed up somehow just by trying to impress his crush by complimenting a beluga.

“belugas aren’t whales,” you say, matter of fact, “they’re actually a type of dolphin, despite the name. common mistake.”

“oh,” jake just blinks and nods like this is a totally normal conversation. like he isn’t currently being lectured by the cute girl from his chemistry class about beluga whales. beluga…dolphins? not whales.

his eyes flick briefly to your hands, still hovering mid-air, animated from your explanation. then to your face, your eyes sparkling just a little bit too much for him to blame it on the café lighting. and everything—every little detail jake seems to notice and learn about you—makes jake feel like his heart is about to beat out of his chest.

“sorry,” you pause, noticing his stare. “i just…i really love this kind of stuff. it’s all just so fascinating to me. it’s kinda like whenever you start freaking out over, i don’t know…cis-trans isomerism in alkenes?”

jake chokes on his spit. smooth.

“wait,” he’s coughing, sitting up straighter, “how do you know that i—wait, how do you even know about cis-trans isomerism?”

“what can i say? i’m observant,” you look at him over the rim of your cup as you take a sip, casually shrugging, a small smirk on your lips.

and jake just casually tries not to freak out.

because, sure, jake has had his fair share of realizations through out his lifetime. like the day he woke up and found out he could suddenly stop a bus with his bare hands. or the time he discovered he’s mildly allergic to cauliflower. but this? this might top the list.

because you notice things. about him. him. and it short-circuits his brain. just a little. maybe a lot.

jake tries not to smile too hard. tries not to read too much into it. tries not to wonder if you notice the way he leans closer during chemistry labs or the way his voice raises half a pitch when you talk to him or the way he purposely gets to class early just so he could talk to you before.

they’re the kind of thoughts that keep him up that night. the kind that plague his entire mind until the only thing he’s thinking about when he falls asleep that night and the only thing he’s thinking about when he wakes up the next morning is…you.

and for the next few days, that’s just about the most exciting thing that happens to jake. the next few days for him go pretty normal.

and by normal, jake means boring. and by boring, i mean on monday, spider-man stops a bodega robbery and gets a pat on the back from the police officer and a sprained ankle. on tuesday, he wakes up late and almost misses his history final (which honestly would’ve been preferable). and on wednesday, you text jake for help on a chemistry review question. which is actually very exciting and not at all boring nor normal, despite how hard jake tries his best to act normal.

on thursday, however, jake stays late in the school computer lab to tinker with his web shooter tech. and that’s when sunghoon pulls up in front of him, dropping two small pieces of paper on jake’s mess of wires and tools and notebook doodles.

“bada-bing, bada-boom,” sunghoon announces as he plops into the chair next to jake.

jake looks up. sunghoon’s spinning awkwardly slowly in the swivel chair, arms out like a king clearly waiting for applause.

jake squints at the slips of paper. then back up.

“sunghoon.” “yes?” “why are we binging and booming and why are there clown fish on my web shooters?”

sunghoon beams. the kind of beam that makes jake’s spider tingle feel immediately and instinctively nervous. "because, my friend,” he begins proudly, “i am your guy-in-the-chair and thanks to me, you are now officially going on an aquarium date this weekend.”

jake blinks down at the two tickets. then looks up at sunghoon. blinks again. “wait. i’m going on a what with who now?”

sunghoon’s face falls flat. “with y/n, you idiot. who else would i be sending you to the aquarium with? me?”

jake’s jaw slackens. eyes widen. heartbeat pounding, “what—why, why, why, would you do that?”

sunghoon’s brows furrow as if the answer is the most obvious one in the world (and it is), “because you like her? and now you can take her to see those things she has fourteen of on her laptop that she likes so much. beluga whales or whatever they were.”

jake opens his mouth to argue—then shuts it. looks at sunghoon very, very, seriously. “beluga dolphins. they’re beluga dolphins. common mistake.”

and sunghoon could give two flying farts about beluga whales versus beluga dolphins versus beluga birds for all he knows, but because jake’s his best friend, he tries not to judge.

“…okayyyy, beluga dolphins.” he claps jake on the back and jake flinches. “anyways! you. y/n. aquarium date. this weekend. bada-bing. bada-boom.”

friday is the most un-normal and the most un-boring day of them all.

because on friday, right when jake slams his locker shut at the end of the day—ready to go home and debating if he should build his brand new imperial star destroyer lego set or practice different swinging techniques off the library roof—

“JAKE!”

and jake’s spidey sense could not have predicted what happens next. because before he can even register his own name, jake’s slammed into. stumbling. arms flailing. back hitting the lockers behind him.

and it’s you. you, clinging to him in a hug. smiling. glowing. and jake is dying. screaming. ascending.

“I GOT A 99,” you smile as you look up at him, eyes sparkling and wide.

jake swallows hard. his hards are still awkwardly hanging at his side, unsure whether to hug you back or just spontaneously combust into dust right then and there.

“wait. the chemistry exam?” he manages, voice higher than usual.

you nod so fast it’s a blur. “yes!—i think it’s a little stupid she docked me a single point just because i rounded wrong on that molarity question—which, yeah, i know you warned me about. but it’s fine. i’m literally a chemistry genius.”

jake lets out a breathy laugh, looking down at you—still warm, still wrapped around him, still lighting up like the literal sun in the middle of the school’s halls.

“you are,” he says, and it comes out softer than he expected.

and then you’re looking up at him again—close, glowing, happy—and jake swears the whole world pauses. like the only thing that has ever mattered to him is this exact moment. like someone hit pause on everything except you. the shouts, the lockers slamming, the overhead announcements—he doesn’t hear any of it.

all he knows is you. the way your smile curves just slightly more on one side. the scent of your shampoo. the feel of your arms around him and the way his pulse has never been louder in his entire life.

jake doesn’t think he’s ever felt this way about someone before.

and like you suddenly realize how long you’ve been holding onto him, or maybe just how close the two of you are—you slowly pull back. not all the way, just a half-step, your arms slipping from around his middle. you clear your throat, eyes flickering to a locker, then to a ceiling.

“um—thanks to you, though. seriously,” you say, voice softer now, “for all your help. and studying with me.”

and jake is still staring. still dazed. “oh! no, yeah. yeah yeah. totally. i had fun. it was fun.” he swallows again. please stop saying fun. “so fun.” yeah. he’s absolutely a lost cause.

but you laugh. and god, jake loves your laugh. he wants to bottle it up, carry it around in his pocket, and use it like a power-up when he’s out fighting criminals at night.

and it’s in that moment, somewhere between your grin and the sound of your giggle still ringing in his ears, that it hits him.

this is it. this is the moment.

jake clears his throat. wipes his palms on the sides of his jeans like it’ll help. glances off to the side before looking back at you.

“listen, so um—” he’s already fumbling. “i was wondering—like if you’re free this weekend, and only if you really, really want to, seriously no pressure at all because i know you’re probably busy, but—”

he pauses. breathes. tries again. “—but if you’d be down, i, uh—i have two tickets to the aquarium. and since you’re really into the ocean and stuff i thought—”

“oh my god,” you interrupt, eyes lit up. “you got tickets to the aquarium?”

jake nods so fast he swears he looks like a bobblehead.

“yeah! well—no. technically sunghoon got the tickets but—”

“ohhh, like you and sunghoon were going to go together?” you tease, grinning now. “that actually sounds kind of fun—”

“wait. wait—no.” and jake nearly panics, his hands waving. “no, no, no, i mean—i’m trying to—”

jake inhales sharply. gets a grip. “do you want to go with me? this weekend? to the aquarium?”

“oh!” you blink up at him, clearly surprised—but not in a bad way. your voice goes a little softer. “like…just us?”

“yeah,” jake nods, trying to sound chill and not at all like he’s internally combusting. which is definitely, 100%, happening right now. “i mean—if you want. if you don’t, it’s totally cool. i’ll just…give the ticket to my mom or something. she likes fish. i think. probably. i’ve never actually asked—”

“jake.”

jake stops. looks at you again. “yeah?”

you smile. all fond and amused and sweet. “i’d love to go to the aquarium with you.”

and jake completely loses the grip he thought he had a strong hold of.

“wait, really?” “really.” “oh,” jake breathes. “cool. cool, cool, cool.” you tilt your head, “you’re doing the repeating thing again.”

“i know,” jake groans, dragging a hand down his face. “i literally had a whole mental intervention about this, it’s not working—

you laugh. again. and jake ascends. again.

“okay,” you say, stepping back just enough. “aquarium this weekend. it’s a date.”

jake ascends a third time.

“right,” he says, barely recovering. “totally. i’ll—uh, i’ll text you the details?”

you nod, already backing away towards the main doors, “can’t wait!”

and forget the imperial star destroyer set or brand new swinging techniques. jake 100% knows what he’s doing tonight—and it’s sounding a lot like googling beluga dolphin facts. 

later that night, jake’s perched on the edge of a random rooftop—one leg dangling off the ledge, a protein bar in one hand, his phone in the other, glowing with an article titled: top twelve facts about belugas that will shock you.

but then—his spidey senses prick.

because at exactly 10:32PM, like clockwork, your usual bus pulls up to the stop below the building he’s seated at.

okay. so maybe it’s not exactly a coincidence he’s here. and maybe this roof isn’t that random after all.

and maybe, just maybe, he’s made it a habit to make sure you get home safe every night. it started with just one night—making sure you got home safe after last week’s incident. then it turned into two. then three. then…every night. at exactly 10:32PM. now it’s a full-blown instinct he hasn’t admitted to anyone (especially not sunghoon) because, well…he likes making sure you get home safe. sue him.

when he sees your figure step off the bus, jake immediately straightens. the hairs on his arms prick up. his pulse quickens. his palm slightly sticks against the protein bar wrapper. and this is just a regular friday.

except—it really isn’t. because today, you—you, the very smart and very funny and very pretty ocean-loving girl who sits next to him in chemistry—hugged him today and agreed to go on a date with him and oh god.

so actually, nothing about today was regular. not even close. and nothing about what jake is about to do is regular.

instead of just watching from above like he has the past week… he swings.

with a few quick, practiced motions, he webs himself building to building, bouncing off a wall to land neatly right in front of you on the sidewalk.

and you scream. “what the—oh my god—” you jolt back mid-step, instinctively clutching your bag closer to you.

“ah—sorry! sorry!” jake holds his hands up, immediately regretting his dramatic entrance. he straightens up from his crouch, brushing dust off his suit. “that probably looked a lot cooler in my head.”

you narrow your eyes, still trying to catch your breath, looking not totally convinced, “right.”

jake rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

then, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to be nearly ambushed by a red-and-blue-suited vigilante, you simply adjust the bag on your shoulder, sidestep him, and continue walking down the sidewalk.

jake blinks behind the mask, stunned for a second, before quickly scrambling to catch up.

“you know,” he says, effortlessly falling into step beside you, “if i didn’t know any better, i thought we agreed you wouldn’t be walking home alone this late.”

you glance over, the corners of your mouth slightly tugging upwards, “and if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you’re starting to follow me, spidey.”

“woah,” jake fake-gasps. fake-clutches his chest as if offended. “spidey? oh wow. we’re already on nickname basis and i don’t even know yours.”

you snort. “y/n,” you say, finally looking at him fully. “it’s y/n.”

jake’s heart does a triple flip. he thinks he’s heard your name a thousand times already—slipped through conversations with sunghoon, when your teacher calls out your name during attendance, in his dreams—but somehow, this feels new.

he flashes a smile you can’t see behind his mask, “y/n.” he repeats it like it’s the most important thing he’s ever learned. he then points to himself. “spidey.”

you laugh again, this time loud and real and soft and sweet. and suddenly, jake’s night feels warmer.

“yeah, i got that,” you say, shaking your head. “thanks for the clarification, spidey.”

there’s a short silence after that—comfortably quiet, but not empty. both your footsteps crunch against a thin blanket of scattered leaves, the echoes of your steps bouncing off the dimly lit sidewalk. somewhere in the distance a dog barks faintly. a bus drives by.

“shouldn’t you be out—” you finally speak again, glancing up at him, “—stopping carjackings or getting churros from old ladies?”

jake hums, the sound low in his throat. be mysterious. be cool. be normal. "well yes,” he clears his throat and adjusts his web shooter just to do something with his hands, “but it’s also part of my duty as your friendly neighborhood spider-man to make sure the citizens of this city get home safe.”

you raise a brow, smirking, “is it also part of your duty to walk every single citizen home after saving them?”

“…well. not exactly,” he tries not to sound nervous. tries. “just the ones i think are…pretty.”

you freeze mid-step. your breath catches, feet stopping entirely.

jake does the same. his heart might actually fall out of his chest. “that’s—” he coughs, scratching the back of his neck. “that’s just you, by the way. if that wasn’t…super clear.”

your mouth parts. but no words come out. only your eyes react—wide, soft, blinking.

“oh—" you eventually say, softly and unsure, as if you’re trying to figure out if the literal spider-man is trying to flirt with you. “thanks? i think.”

and jake is 98% pretty sure he’s redder than his own suit right now. “yeah, yup. of course,” he says, voice cracking ever so slightly as his mind searches for anything, something else to talk about. “uh…so any fun plans this weekend?”

smooth. so smooth.

you blink, still looking at him a little weird, but your smile comes back almost instantly as you two start walking again, “actually yeah! i’m going to the aquarium tomorrow.”

jake’s heart does another little flip. yes. yes, yes. she still wants to go. she’s still going with me—

“with this guy,” you add casually, kicking a pebble in your way.

jake feels his heart do a little pause. “a guy?” he says, wincing when it comes out just a little too quickly, a little too high-pitched. “oh. a guy guy. wow. a guy.”

you nod along, completely oblivious, mind clearly elsewhere, “yeah, he’s pretty great. got us the tickets and everything.”

jake nods stiffly, staring straight ahead like the lamp post across the street is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen in his entire life, “nice. that’s…really nice. sounds like a pretty solid dude.”

“totally,” you grin up at him, and it’s the kind of grin that makes jake’s lungs forget why they exist in the first place. the crinkle of your eyes, the curve of your mouth, the gentle ease in your voice—it all hits him at once. the most perfect storm.

“a little awkward,” you continue. “says ‘cool’ way too much. but he’s really sweet. and funny. and a genius.”

and jake combusts on the spot. jake thought he knew what happiness was. he thought getting accepted into the school’s robotics team felt good. he thought shaking hands with the mayor after saving him from a limo crash was peak fulfillment. he even thought finishing the millennium falcon lego set with sunghoon in a single night was the height of his serotonin levels. but this? hearing you talk about him—about jake—with that softness in your voice, that tilt in your smile, that warmth in your eyes?

oh yeah. this is what true happiness is.

and by the time jake returns back to earth, the two of you are approaching your apartment now—he recognizes the street by heart at this point.

you come to a stop in front of your building, turning to face him beneath the glow of the overhead lighting, “thanks for walking me, by the way.”

jake shrugs, hands shoved into the sides of his suit awkwardly, “it’s part of the job description. gotta make sure my favorite citizen gets home safe.”

you give him a look. one of those lingering ones that makes jake wonder. the kind that lasts a beat too long.

“…favorite, huh?” you raise a brow, lips quirking into a soft smile. jake’s heart stutters. “top three, at least.” you giggle again, shaking your head slightly, “night, spidey.”

“night, y/n,” he murmurs quietly before you go in, watching as you head inside. the door clicks shut behind you, and jake’s world immediately feels a little dimmer.

jake stands there in the quiet for a second. and then— he fist pumps the air in celebration, kicking his leg up like an animated character, “yes, yes, yes!”

with the goofiest grin under his mask, jake flings a web up toward the apartment building across the street and launches himself in one fluid motion. he lands with practiced ease, sitting in his usual spot just as the light flickers on in your bedroom window.

he’s still grinning. still breathless. still absolutely unable to believe what just happened.

with a newfound confidence, jake pulls out his phone from one of his suit pockets and unlocks it.

JAKE (10:54PM) : hey! just wanted to say im excited for tomorrow :) hope you have a good night y/n

he doesn’t hesitate before hitting send this time.

and when he wakes up the next morning, jake is still smiling.

no nightmares. no forgotten alarms. no dreading history finals. just the lingering memory of yesterday—from the hug to the walk last night, from the way you smiled at him to the way you said ‘night, spidey’, from the way he swears your laugh is not permanently stored in his brain’s top five sounds of all time.

now, he’s staring up at the massive curved glass in front of him, a large ‘beluga whales here!’ sign above him. you’re already right up against the glass, peering inside like you’re looking at the most fascinating thing in the world.

and to you—it is. to jake? his answer would be very different. his answer would look a lot like you.

because you’re right there, next to him. shoulder brushing him. looking effortlessly beautiful in the soft dim blue light of the tank.

and jake is trying very, very hard to look calm, cool, and collected. despite the fact that he’s sweating through his button-up because he’s nervous, giddy, and definitely sprayed way too much cologne (two spritzes max, sunghoon said. jake did six. he panicked).

but you—you look completely at peace. you’re smiling, your eyes lighting up with wonder, one palm pressed gently against the glass as you watch one of the belugas swim past.

“they’re literally smiling,” you whisper, completely in awe. “look at them. they’re so pretty.”

jake glances at you. then the belugas. then back at you.

he’s not entirely sure who you’re talking about anymore.

“yeah,” he says, a little breathlessly. “they’re…really pretty.”

at that, you turn to look at him and jake has to force himself to not look away. he smiles at you when your eyes meet his. and your smile is soft. soft and amused. like you knew what he was saying. like you’re choosing not to call him out on it.

“so,” you eventually say, tilting your head to look up at him. “on a scale of one to ten, how ridiculous does this shirt make me look?”

jake glances down at your outfit—you’re wearing an oversized t-shirt now layered over the outfit you picked out for today. it’s bright blue, has a cartoon fish giving a thumbs up, and across the front in bubbly letters sits, ‘fish makes life betta’.

your eyes landed on it the second you two walked past the gift shop. and you had to have it. immediately, of course.

jake had laughed at first when you turned to him, holding up the shirt against you, eyes wide. “should i buy this?” you asked, not a hint of sarcasm in your tone.

and that’s when jake realized, you meant it.

and that was also the exact moment jake realized he’s absolutely, undeniably, hopelessly gone for you.

“negative twelve,” jake says now, very seriously, despite the smirk on his face. “you look unironically very cool.” you scoff, “you’re such a liar.” jake shrugs, still grinning. “did that get me a couple more points at least?”

one of your eyebrows quirk, like you’re surprised by the sudden confidence. and honestly? so is jake.

there’s a beat—one of those soft, lingering ones carrying a silence that feels full with something unspoken. the kind that hums quietly below the surface. the kind jake could live inside forever.

then, your lips twitch into a smile. “mmm…maybe half a point. you’re up to, like, an 89.5%.”

jake lets out a soft, breathless laugh, eyes still on you, “i’ll take it. that’s like…a B plus.”

“better than what you got on the history final,” you say, already smirking.

jake’s eyes widen as he gasps, “hey—what!? that was so uncalled for.” you laugh again, clearly enjoying this. “you got a 73, jake.”

“a 74!” he corrects you, his voice now a pitch higher. “it was curved! and i woke up late! blame it on sleep deprivation.”

“that…still sounds like barely passing to me.”

jake narrows his eyes at you playfully, “okay, you know what? i’m deducting your points for emotional damage. 99.5%.”

you gasp dramatically. “you can’t deduct points!”

“better than what you got on the chemistry final,” jake says, eyebrows quirked, feeling ridiculously proud of himself for that one.

your eyes widen—equal parts shocked and impressed, “touché, jake. touché.”

and jake just grins, heart pounding so fast he swears it’s about to break out of his ribcage and up and run.

your smile lingers for a little longer before you glance away for a moment, returning your gaze back to the tank in front of you, watching as the belugas swim past lazily, weightless and floating like clouds. and you think there’s something oddly calming about them. it makes the whole world slow down.

jake watches you instead.

the lights from the tank dance against your skin, your features glowing blue and soft and perfect. your hands are simply at your side, head tilted slightly as you follow their movements with your wide eyes. you’re not even saying anything—but you don’t need to.

jake swallows hard. takes half a step closer to you.

“hey,” he says quietly. you look over. “yeah?” “i’m really glad you came today.”

your expression shifts—just a little. surprised, maybe. but then, it softens. into something gentle and honest. “i’m glad you asked,” you say, just as quiet.

and jake is so close. so close, that he can feel the slight brush of your pinky against his own. and suddenly, the air feels heavier. tighter. packed with nerves and possibilities and hope and everything that makes jake’s senses want to scream into a pillow.

and jake, because he’s still jake, blurts out the first thing his brain lands on— “let’s take a picture with a beluga!”

you blink. but then, your laugh bubbles up again as you nod, stepping close behind him as he’s already fumbling to pull out his phone.

the photo is slightly blurry. your shirt is bright and front and center. jake’s smile is too wide, and yours is somewhere between a laugh and a look—

one that’s angled towards him instead of the camera.

the walk back later that night is quiet. not the awkward quiet. not the quiet filled with weird tension. but soft quiet. warm quiet. the kind of quiet that settles over jake like his favorite blanket—thick and safe and familiar, the kind that jake feels whenever he’s tucked into bed after a night out around the city.

and when you two walk side by side, you’re close enough that jake can feel your sleeve brush against his every few steps. and the sidewalk is wide. but neither of you move away. not even once.

street lamps shine above you, the city hums quietly around, and jake—who literally has the ability to swing between skyscrapers and soar through the air—feels like he’s floating for the first time in his life.

because he’s definitely not thinking about how he can catch the small traces of your perfume or how your hand keeps brushing his. and he’s definitely not spiraling over whether or not you’re thinking about how his hands keep brushing yours back.

and right when he’s mentally trying to calculate just how fast his heart is currently beating (and if his calculations were correct, he thinks he’s at 142 beats per minute)—

you stop walking.

jake halts a half step ahead, blinking in surprise as he turns back to face you, “everything okay?”

you bite your bottom lip. squeeze your eyes shut for a second. “yeah. yeah—i just…” a breath. “i have to tell you something.”

and that knocks the air straight out of jake’s lungs. he steps towards you instinctively, his steps quiet against the pavement until he’s standing right in front of you—frozen under the soft glow of the streetlight overhead.

“okay,” he says, trying to sound normal. which is hard. because jake is currently experiencing what can only be described as sensory overload. 

he tries to not notice the way you’re fiddling with the hem of your incredibly bright blue shirt. or the way you’re blinking too many times. or the way he can literally hear your heartbeat from where he’s standing. and he calculates 143 beats per minute. maybe 144.

“i—um…i actually didn’t really need help with chemistry,” you blurt, eyes still focused somewhere near his shoelaces in front of you. “i know exactly what cis-trans isomerism in alkenes is. not only because i thought it was really cute when you explained it in class that one time, but because i genuinely think it’s super cool so i did my research project on it last—”

you pause. “…which is super irrelevant. oh my god—wait, let me backtrack.”

then your words start tumbling. “i just—i thought you were really cute. and smart. and witty. and honestly, probably a little awkward too but, like, in a cute way. and i didn’t know how else to talk to you outside of class. i figured you were too busy or not really into random girls asking to hang out. so i panicked. even though i have a 98 in chem right now.”

you stop. take a breath—finally.

jake, however, does not. jake’s entire being has stopped functioning. his brain is blank—no thoughts, just the steady, continuous static of oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. every nerve in his body is on high alert. his spidey senses are firing—heart pounding, breath caught, fingertips tingling. it’s like his body’s trying to prepare him for a fight, when really? he’s just trying his hardest not to melt into the ground.

and jake can feel everything. the warmth of the streetlight on his back. the shift in the breeze between you and him. the exact distance between your body and his. it’s all too much and not enough and jake is losing his mind.

and when you notice his frozen stare, you wince—your eyes squeezing shut again as you start mumbling, “oh my god. i’m so sorry. okay, let’s just forget i said—”

and jake, because he’s still jake, doesn’t think.

jake kisses you.

it happens before he can overthink it. which is entirely a lie, because jake always overthinks.

but this time, it happens before he could spiral through every worst case scenario. before he could remind himself of all the ways he could possibly screw this up.

all he knows is that you were standing there—rambling, flushed, perfect—and he just had to.

his hand finds your cheek instinctively, warm and unsure and trembling ever so slightly. and when his lips meet yours—it’s gentle. so gentle, like a question asked without words. like an answer given all at once.

and jake is still spiraling. his senses are everywhere—you smell like faint citrus and something a little like vanilla, your grip on his shirt is tight, and your lips are soft, so soft, moving with his like you two have known this rhythm forever.

everything is heightened for him. blurred and focused at the same time. and the kiss isn’t perfect—his nose bumps yours and you step too close and accidentally hit his shoe—but none of that matters.

because this is real. because it’s you.

and when jake finally, slowly, pulls back—just barely—both of you are breathless.

both heartbeats loud enough for jake to hear. quite literally.

“you think i’m smart?” you let out a small scoff as your eyes meet his, his shirt still under your grip, “out of everything that just happened, that’s what you’re focusing on?” “i mean,” jake shrugs, helplessly smiling, “i’m just making sure i heard that part correctly.”

you laugh louder now—relieved and warm and everything jake wants to hold onto forever.

the rest of the night moves slower for jake. literally slower. like neither of you want the moment to end—your steps gradually slowing the closer you get to your apartment building. jake keeps his hands in his pockets, fingers still tingling, goosebumps still on his skin. every now and then, he steals a glance your way, just to make sure this is real. that you’re real.

and when you reach the front of your apartment building, jake’s chest tightens the tiniest bit. you stop at the base of the stairs. so does he.

“well,” your voice is quiet as your eyes flick up to his. “i’ll see you at school on monday?”

jake nods, trying to look cool, calm, and collected even though he’s pretty sure he’s still at 142 beats. “yeah. for sure. monday.”

you smile, soft and a little shy. “night, jake.” “night, y/n,” he echoes, offering a tiny, awkward wave that makes you smile as you slip through the door.

jake lingers for a second longer, watching until the door clicks shut. then he spins on his heel, a giddy smile on his face, stumbles three steps down the sidewalk and—

“holy shi—” he physically clamps a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming.

jake fist-pumps the air. once. twice. spins in a circle. nearly trips and eats it on the curb. but he doesn’t care.

he kissed you. he kissed you. and you kissed him back.

and jake is back to nearly launching into orbit.

his fingers are still trembling as he pulls his phone out from his pocket, text message already full of typos from typing too fast when the screen lights up—

incoming call : GUY IN CHAIR 🧠

“DUDE,” jake answers instantly, breathless and borderline yelling. “i was just about to text you—I KISSED HER!”

a beat.

“WHAT?!” sunghoon’s voice explodes over the phone. “you KISSED her? you KISSED HER? oh my god.”

jake is pacing now, still walking down the street but barely aware of it. “i know. it just happened. i don’t even know—like, we were walking, then she stopped and told me she didn’t even need chemistry help and that she just needed an excuse to talk to me and i literally blacked out so i don’t remember the rest—”

“oh my god. oh my god.” “i KNOW.” “like, wait—you kissed her-kissed her?” “i KISSED her-kissed her, dude.” “bro.” “i know.”

they’re both beaming. celebrating. somewhere above him, a very confused old lady stares at jake from her window as he dances in the middle of the sidewalk like he just won the lottery.

“wait. wait, crap—” sunghoon cuts in, tone suddenly serious. “hang on, i called you for a reason.” jake freezes mid-spin, “huh?”

“guy in chair duties,” sunghoon’s voice shifts. “there’s a call coming through the police scanner. armed robbery. bank on 23rd and main. it just came in, like, thirty seconds ago.”

jake stops. groans. “you’re kidding me,” he mutters under his breath.

“sorry, man.”

without missing a beat, jake glances around for any people—then ducks into the nearest alleyway.

“can’t a guy catch a break?” he mumbles, already yanking off his button up, his suit already underneath (because—obviously, you can never be too prepared), then bunches up the shirt and webs it to the brick wall in one fluid motion.

sunghoon’s voice buzzes through his phone, “good luck, spidey.” jake pulls the mask over his face. “i’ll just tell you the rest on monday.”

“copy that.”

“thanks, hoon. spidey’s on it.”

turns out—spidey, in fact, was not on it.

he doesn’t know if he should blame it on the fact that he was mildly (extremely) mentally distracted by the memory of kissing you under the warm streetlight, or the fact that those robbers had insanely good aim, but either way:

jake comes home with a black eye, a rapidly darkening bruise on his cheekbone, a bullet graze burning across his left side, and what he’s 97% sure is a dislocated ankle.

“crap, crap, crap,” he mutters under his breath, wincing as he carefully locks the window behind him. he drops down from the ceiling with a thud, trying not to yelp out in pain when he lands on the ankle that he’s now 99% sure is dislocated. the apartment is quiet. his mom’s probably asleep. hopefully.

jake rips off his mask and immediately grimaces at his reflection in the mirror, “jesus.”

his right eye is already swelling. there’s dried blood going down the side of his face. his suit is slightly torn and singed and still sticky over the wound at his ribs. he presses a palm there, breathing through his teeth.

it’s fine. he’s fine. totally fine.

the shower was probably the most painful part of the night. every drop stings, and there’s something really, really humbling about trying to wash off dirt and dried blood while also replaying the moment you kissed him in perfect clarity over and over again in his head.

and jake’s been at this for a while now. out patrolling, out fighting crime, out throwing dad jokes to creeps at night. but he’s never had a night like this. not with this much chaos, not with this much feeling.

an unexpected bullet. a slam against concrete. some dumb goon with a perfect punch. but right before it? you. you in an obnoxiously bright blue t-shirt saying ‘fish make life betta’. looking at him like that. kissing him like that.

by the time jake stumbles out of the bathroom, patched up with some teenage mutant ninja turtles bandages and wrapped in an oversized hoodie, he’s exhausted.

every limb aches. every muscle screams. every brain cell thinking of you.

and by the time monday rolls around and he wakes up to his alarm at 6:32AM—because he snoozed it for 32 extra minutes—jake frowns at what he sees.

his black eye looks worse, his face is, at least, five different shades of blue, purple, pink, and his ankle is still swollen. every step sends a jolt of pain up his body that even breathing feels like a core workout.

so jake does what any emotionally and physically fatigued teenage superhero would do.

he fakes food poisoning.

when his mom knocks on his door to get him up for school, jake meekly groans out a quick, “mooom. i’ve been projectile vomiting since, like, 3AM. i think it was the fish tacos.”

jake did not eat fish tacos.

but she buys it anyways, says something about him getting rest, and how she’s going to the store for medicine.

and jake sighs. mentally blesses his mom’s heart. attempts to fist pump weakly. fails. winces in pain. then, he turns his phone completely off, buries himself under his blanket, and with nothing but the hazy image of beluga whales, a reminder that he needs to wash his bloodied suit, and you—jake finally falls asleep.

the next thing jake can comprehend is more than twelve hours later. a lot more than twelve hours later. when he blinks awake—it’s pitch black, his body is still aching, his phone is dead, and—

there’s knocking. soft, but persistent.

he stumbles out of bed with a groan and a wince, croaking out a low, “coming..” while he limps over with one arm holding his side before he whips his door open and—

it’s you. jake blinks. you blink. your jaw drops.

“y/n,” jake blurts out, eyes wide. he rubs them once. twice. hopes, prays, this is just one of those weird fever dreams that feel way too real that he gets whenever he sleeps for too long.

but then you rush forward, brows furrowed and eyes flicking from his black eye, to the bruise on his cheek, to the way he’s leaning heavily on one leg with the other slightly elevated—

yeah. this is not a fever dream.

“what are you—what—how—what are you doing here?” jake stammers, instantly turning around, nerves spiking as he quickly scans his room for any incriminating spidey-like props.

suit? mask? web shooters? where did he put that damn mask—

“i texted you, like, fourteen times,” you say following him in, concerned painted all over your face. “you didn’t show up to school. you weren’t answering. i panicked and your mom let me in—jake.”

you stop. jake stops. your voice drops.

“what in the world happened to you?”

jake did not plan for this part. well, he didn’t plan for any of this. “i—uh,” he turns to you, eyes wide. “i…fell.”

your eyes flick down to his knuckles—bruised, battered, and definitely the aftermath of punching something hard. you raise a brow.

jake follows your gaze. panics.

“jake—did you…get in a fight?” “what?!” his voice goes an octave too high. he clears his throat. tries again. “no. no, no. i don’t—fights? me? no. i don’t—i don’t get into fights. that would be very…un-cool.”

you give him a look that says you clearly don’t buy it, but to his relief, you don’t push.

but because jake is still jake, he continues anyways. “i…i was biking—” jake doesn’t know how to ride a bike. “—without a helmet. bad idea, don’t do that. and then i hit this…massive pothole. huge. basically fell off and hit the curb and…and yeah.”

you blink at him. and jake’s panicking, so he’s still going.

“—and then a pigeon flew into me…?” you blink again. “a pigeon.”

jake nods quickly, as if that could convince you anymore (it doesn’t). “a pigeon! you know how they are. dumb pigeons.”

there’s a pause. you stare at him from halfway across the room. jake stands there awkwardly with his hands by his side.

you sigh. cross your arms. “you’re a really bad liar.”

jake looks at the ground. his ears turn red. then he looks back at you with a small, sheepish smile on his face. “yeah,” he admits softly. “kinda am.”

jake moves to sit on the edge of the bed, and you take that as an invitation to sit next to him. there’s a silence between you two again as jake fiddles with the ends of his hoodie, his face warm from either the bruising, the fact that you just called him out, or the fact that somehow, someway, you’re here. in his room. on his bed.

you glance sideways to look at him. then at the floor. then back at him again. you nudge his knee with yours. “…well,” your voice comes out quiet. “are you okay? at least?”

jake looks up. meets your eyes.

and they're wide and worried and so completely focused on him. and for the second time in twenty-four hours, jake thinks his heart might literally give out.

he nods once. swallows. “yeah. yeah, i am. thanks, y/n.”

the moment lingers as the same warm hush settles again between you, like some kind of quiet, mutual agreement—like hey, i’m here, and yeah. i care. and no, i’m not going anywhere. and jake doesn’t know what to spiral about first.

the fact that:

you haven’t left.

you haven’t pried about why he looks like a literal punching bag.

you care.

you shift a little, reaching into the backpack that jake hadn’t even noticed you brought, and pull out a packet of neatly clipped papers.

“i brought the chem notes from today,” you say, holding them out in between you. “there was a pop quiz, and i figured you might want the stuff we reviewed after.”

jake blinks down at the packet, then up at you. then back at the packet. he tries to act normal when he brushes against your fingers when it takes he from your hand. fails spectacularly.

“and,” you continue, eyes flicking to his for a second before focusing somewhere behind him. notably, the crooked bill nye ‘science rules!’ poster taped to the wall. “i just…wanted to see you.”

and jake, quite literally, forgets how to form words for half a second, but you don’t notice. your knee is still against his and he thinks he’s memorized the smell of your shampoo at this point.

“anyways—” you clear your throat and the shyness in your tone makes jake forget how to breathe. “—there’s this documentary they’re playing at the theater tomorrow.” you pause, as if gauging his reaction but jake’s pretty sure he’s blacked out right now. “it’s about—um—deep sea ecosystems? something about bioluminescence and predator-prey adaptations and this super weird jellyfish migration they just discovered.”

jake blinks hard. shakes himself back to reality. realizes this definitely, 100%, isn’t a fever dream. but surely, he’s dreamt of something like this before.

“that…sounds amazingly weird,” is all he can manage to say, nodding slowly.

“i figured,” you give a little half-shrug, “maybe you’d wanna go with me?” then you nudge his shoulder this time. “if you’re not still crippled by then, that is.”

there is a full three seconds of stunned, stunned silence. then, jake scrambles to sit up straighter, eyes wide, “yes. yeah—yes, i’d love to. with you. to see the jellyfish. yeah.”

you smile at him, “cool.” and jake can’t stop smiling back. he’s 98% pretty sure he looks like an idiot, but 100% knows he doesn’t care in the slightest.

you push up from the bed before grabbing your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder. “alright then,” you say, clapping your hands together. “i should go. rest up, okay?”

“i will. i will,” jake nods quickly, still a little dazed. “can’t be too crippled for tomorrow.”

you let out a soft laugh as he follows you to the front door. and when you step outside, you pause in the doorway—hovering like there’s still something on the tip of your tongue.

jake’s hand lingers on the doorknob. you glance up at him. open your mouth, then close it again.

then finally, quietly—you try again. “i, um…” you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “about the other night…”

jake’s heart rate spikes. your eyes flicker up to meet his, and they’re a little unsure. as if searching.

“i wasn’t sure,” you admit. “when you didn’t show up to school and didn’t answer my texts…i didn’t know if maybe—”

you trail off for a second, then finish in one quick breath: “if maybe you regretted it.”

and jake—bruised and aching and completely out of his mind for you—feels the air knocked out of him all over again.

his entire body goes still before he reboots all within 0.5 seconds. “no,” he says. fast. too fast, jake. “god, no.”

your eyes lift again.

“i didn’t regret it. not even a little bit,” his voice stumbles, his nerves are on fire, and his chest tightens with something dangerously close to hope. “i think…i think i relived it a million times in my head, honestly.

jake lets out a small chuckle—partly pathetic, but entirely sincere. “i meant it,” he murmurs. “every second of it.”

you shift your weight from foot to foot, “okay.” a reassured smile rests on your face. “just checking.”

jake exhales, rubs the back of his neck, and looks at you with something boyish and sorry. “i don’t regret it, but i do regret not checking my phone. that was stupid.”

you smirk at him, “a little bit.” jake grins, releasing a short breath of relief as he leans a little against the doorframe, “i’ll do better.”

you hum, giving him a certain, knowing look. “i’ll hold you to it,” your voice drops a little, and before jake can fully process the shift, you lean in—just barely, but yet just enough—and place the lightest kiss to his cheek.

and jake goes completely still. because it’s not dramatic, and it’s definitely not cinematic by any means.

not when you’re both standing in the middle of his apartment hallway, under a flickering light his super refuses to fix no matter how many maintenance requests his mom files. not when there’s a suspicious cloud of weed-scented air coming from the new college neighbors, who obviously do not care about the no smoking indoors sign. and especially not when jake’s ankle is still swollen, his ribs still sore, and he’s wearing star wars pajama pants with a hole in them that he’s praying you didn’t notice.

but it’s warm. and real. and so vulnerable it makes jake’s heart yearn in the most inconvenient way. like breathless honesty wrapped in nothing but silence and the glow of someone who cares.

you pull back slowly, your cheeks a shade pinker than before, your eyes still on his. and jake—well, he’s pretty sure his entire body is red head to toe. his cheek tingles from where your lips just were and his senses are so hyper-focused on you, he doesn’t even notice the pain of his wounds anymore.

“goodnight, jake,” you say finally before turning and going down the hall. and jake stands there, watching you—entirely, irrevocably, shamelessly, gone.

when you’re finally out of sight, jake finally stands up straight, snapping himself out of it and shuts the door behind him, limping his way back to his room when—

his eye catches the clock. 10:43PM. crap. you really need to stop walking home this late.

and suddenly, jake’s adrenaline kicks back in. not from the kiss. okay, maybe a little from the kiss. but mostly because it’s you, and you’re walking home alone, and, yeah, you live a five minute walk away from his but what if something happened, and then— yeah.

with no hesitation, jake locks his room door, goes into his closet, and grabs his suit—still battered and bloodied and roughened up, but it’ll do. two minutes and one-struggle-to-put-on-a-suit-when-half-crippled-later, jake is quietly hobbling out of his window, praying his mom is asleep.

he swings himself easily onto the rooftop of his own building, easily spotting you already a block down. he keeps to the rooftops, stealthily going from building to building until—

his damn ankle. his ankle—which he clearly forgot about for a hot business second—catches on a loose gutter and the next thing jake knows is pain, the taste of concrete in his face, and a loud-and-not-so-subtle crash, bang, clang.

“crap, crap, shit—” jake stands up, dusting his suit off, one leg propped up as he balances on his good one. “ouch, god—” “spidey?” oh god. jake freezes. peeks over the edge.

and there you are—fifty-something feet below, staring up at him, brows furrowed, arms crossed. “oh—” jake gives an awkward wave from where he is. “—y/n! hey! hi. what’s—uh—what’s up?”

jake steps back to duck out of sight, muttering a stream of whispered curses to himself before inhaling sharply and flinging himself down from the rooftop, landing right in front of you with the composure of someone with a screaming ankle and bullet-shaped wound in their abdomen.

you arch a brow. “…is this the part where you admit you are following me, after all?” jake straightens up slowly. and painfully. “i—what? no. i was, uh…” he gestures vaguely down the block. he has no idea what he’s pointing to. “getting pizza. dollar slice. late night craving.”

“uh huh,” you squint, clearly not believing him. “if i promise to stop walking home this late, will you stop stalking me from rooftops?” jake pauses. tilts his head. “define stalking.” you let out a small laugh, half-exasperated, half-fond.

“fine then,” you say, shrugging, “c’mon then. you’re already out. i’m coming with you.” jake blinks. “…coming with me to…where?”  “to get pizza,” you’re walking now, already turning without second thought. “duh.”

ten minutes and two lukewarm pizza slices later, you’re sitting shoulder to shoulder on your fire escape. the air is thick with humidity and smells faintly of marinara, melting cheese, and rusted metal. there’s a low buzz of cars below in the distance, and the stars up above are mostly hidden.

you’re chewing in silence. jake, on the other hand, is holding his slice in his hand in fear—too nervous to even lift his mask up to eat it. thankfully, you don’t notice. or if you do, you don’t mention it. either way, he’s relieved.

you knee bumps his. “so why do you do it?” jake startles slightly, his eyes dragging over to you beneath his mask, “why do i…do what?” you take another bite, still staring out across the street. “spider-man. why do you do what you do?”

he follows your gaze to the building you’re looking at. gives a weak shrug.

“i…didn’t really have a choice, i guess,” he offers quietly. that makes you turn. “you’re being forced to do this?” “no—no, not like that,” he’s quick to shake his head. then he pauses. thinks for a second. “it’s more like…one day, i woke up with these powers. and i realized i could do something with it, you know? like something good. and if i have the chance to…shouldn’t i?”

you’re silent for a second. then you glance over, studying the smooth fabric of his mask like you’re trying to see the face beneath it.

“so you fight crime and get beat up on the daily…willingly?” you shake your head, a small scoff escaping your nose. “you’re better than me, spidey.”

jake lets out a short breath—half of a laugh, half of a sigh. “someone has to. i mean, if i just sit back and watch bad things happen…then it’s like the bad things happen because of me.”

you nod slowly, your lips pressing together in thought. “yeah. that makes sense.”

there’s another pause. quiet, mutual. a pocket of space in the noise of the city where nothing exists but your knees pressed side by side and the pizza box going cold between you. you shift beside him, letting your legs dangle freely off the fire escape. “you’re a good guy,” you say eventually, turning to shoot him a soft smile.

jake swallows hard. his heart’s somewhere in his throat, and he doesn’t quite trust his own voice not to crack, so he simply nods—just once—and turns his gaze back out to the horizon.

“welp,” jake finally says, voice low, a little reserved, “i should probably get back to…you know. my thing.” you tilt your head, eyes narrowing playfully. “like walking your favorite citizens back home?”

“that part—” jake scoffs under his breath, then smirks behind the mask, “—is already done.” then, because spider-man is still jake, he throws up a finger-gun for good measure. he hates himself.

you roll your eyes, but the same smile stays on your face, “you’re unbelievable, spider-man.”

“i try.”

jake slowly rises to stand on the narrow ledge, glancing down at you one more time. the moonlight hits your cheek just right. you’re still holding the crust of your pizza slice, legs swinging, your eyes slightly narrowed like you’re trying to figure something out. and for the third time in twenty-four hours, jake still feels like his heart might give out.

he gives you a little salute, meant to be casual, but he feels anything but. and then, without thinking—he says it.

“see you tomorrow.” a beat of silence. jake’s face blanks. his body completely stills. you blink up at him. “…tomorrow?”

crap. crap, crap, CRAP.

jake’s silence goes for a second too long. then he scrambles for cover. “i mean—uh—hypothetically,” jake stammers, waving a gloved hand vaguely. “like, if you’re…out again. tomorrow. late at night. which you shouldn’t be. because, you know. laws.”

you give him a look. “laws?” “yup,” he taps his chest with two fingers. “spidey laws.” you let out a small giggle and lean back against the railing, arms loosely wrapped over your knees. “right. goodnight, spidey.”

jake clears his throat and bids a small, “night, y/n,” before shooting his web to the corner of the next building and swinging himself out of sight.

and jake doesn’t stop smiling the whole way home. not even when he peels the suit off with a small wince. not even when he collapses into bed, muscles aching and bruises throbbing and heart racing.

but the panic eventually sets in. and it’s early evening the next day by the time it does for jake.

jake stands in front of his closet, yanking hangers out as he quickly skims and tosses another outfit into the rejected pile.

sunghoon lies on the bed behind him, sprawled out horizontally, lazily twisting a rubik’s cube with one hand and scrolling on his phone with the other.

“you know,” sunghoon says without looking up, “it’s literally just a movie. actually, it’s barely even that. it’s a documentary.”

jake whips around, ignoring sunghoon’s comments, holding up a navy button-up in one hand and a graphic tee in the other. “which one says i-tried-but-didn’t-try-too-hard-because-i’m-not-100%-sure-what-we-are-quite-yet-but-just-enough-try?”

“…okay,” sunghoon says, twisting the cube into a perfect, one-colored side. “i’m just…gonna ignore everything you said. but go with the navy.”

“perfect,” jake grins at first, before his eyebrows furrow slightly. “wait, wait, wait. do you think she suspects anything?”

sunghoon lowers the cube. looks at jake. “about you liking her? bro, you kissed her—dude, it’s so obvi—she knows, trust me.”

“no,” jake hisses, yanking off his shirt and then buttoning the navy one on. “about me. like me me. like, spider-man me.”

sunghoon pauses. eyes jake. “what? why? what did you do?”

jake tries to fight back the dumb grin growing on his face as he runs his hand through his hair. “i walked her home.”

“okay…” sunghoon gives him a look that says he’s not impressed. “and i walked my grandma home last week, what’s your point—”

jake rolls his eyes and glances at him through the mirror. “as spider-man.”

“wait—” sunghoon gasps. “so you did end up using your lil guy!”

jake turns to sunghoon, face horrified, “can we please stop calling it my lil guy—”

but before sunghoon can respond, a sudden crackle of static cuts through the air from where jake’s police scanner sits on his cluttered desk.

“—reports of an assault in progress near 37th and bay. suspect is armed. five victims. officers en route. any nearby units respond.”

the air stills. sunghoon immediately sits up. jake’s head jerks towards the tracker. sunghoon’s already reading the look in his best friend’s eyes, “don’t.” jake doesn’t answer.

his eyes are locked on the scanner. his jaw tightens. his mind already racing.

assault in progress. you. suspect is armed. documentary. weird jelly fish. 37th and bay. you. five victims. y/n. y/n. y/n. y/n.

sunghoon watches him carefully, like someone trying to talk a bomb out of detonating. “jake. don’t even think about it.” “i’m not!” jake blurts, too fast, too high, and the crack at the end gives him away.

sunghoon groans. “dude. you have another date. with y/n. you’ve been waiting for this for so long.” “i—i know,” jake’s voice rises in panic. and he’s trying so hard not to panic. “but what if no one gets there in time? w—what if…it’s close. i can handle it. i’ll be quick.”

“jake.” sunghoon gapes at him. “quick? you literally limped up the stairs today. you barely beat that guy from the other day!”

jake doesn’t hear him. in fact— jake’s navy button-up is already off.

“i’ll be fine!” “you still have a bullet scar in your stomach!” “exactly, sunghoon. scar. practically healed. no biggie!” sunghoon throws his hands up. “you can’t be serious—”

“i’ll be done and early to the theater. i swear, hoon.” jake is already tugging the suit halfway over his upper half, wincing at the movement but powering through. “i’ll swing in, swing out. three minutes, tops.”

sunghoon groans louder. and jake is already yanking the window open. “jake.” his friend’s voice softens slightly. “don’t blow this. you like her. she likes you.”

jake pauses, foot on the ledge, mask in hand. he turns back towards sunghoon, lips tight, shoulders tense. “i do like her,” he murmurs.

he pulls the mask down over his head anyways.

“but you know me, sunghoon. you know i can’t be the guy who looks the other way.” and sunghoon does know. of course he knows. this was always a losing battle from the start. because he knows his best friend, he knows jake. knows his heart wasn’t just made of gold, but forged in it. soft and stubborn, foolish yet fearless. the kind of heart that doesn’t back down, even when it knows it should. the kind that tries anyways.

so sunghoon doesn’t push any further. he presses a hand to jake’s shoulder and gives it a firm pat.

“you better not be late.”

jake offers a crooked salute with two fingers—part promise, part apology— and falls backwards out the window.

a flick of his wrist, a few shots of web, a sharp whoosh of air as jake swings into the wind—and the night cleans the rest of his loud thoughts out of his head.

because as much as he wants to see you—as much as he’s worrying about being late—he can’t think about that right now.

and so one fight, a couple hard punches to the gut, a potentially dislocated shoulder, and a webbed-up criminal later—

jake is limping his way back across a rooftop ledge, blood in his mouth and the taste of guilt already rising up like bile behind it.

he lands with a grunt just outside his window on the fire escape, cracking it open and tip-toeing in. he stumbles into his room—still half-messy from earlier—navy button-up on the floor, rubik’s cube on the bed.

jake groans softly, one hand pressed into his side, the other slowly dragging his mask off. his jaw aches. his ribs throb. his other ankle is definitely going to bruise. but his heart? sinks when he finally turns on his phone.

6 missed messages. 3 missed calls. all from you.

Y/N (7:41PM) : hey! just got here early :)) but no rush!!

Y/N (7:57PM) : are u on ur way?

Y/N (8:03PM) : jake? is everything okay?

Y/N (8:16PM) : im going in now…meet me inside when u get here?

Y/N (9:45PM) : jake if u forgot u can just tell me

Y/N (10:12PM) : i hope ur okay

jake stares at the screen. sits on the edge of his bed, defeated. like he might fall apart.

because jake has seen a lot in his short lifetime. he’s seen back alleyways soaked in red. he’s seen broken glass way too many times a teenager ever should. he’s seen someone take a swing at him with a crowbar. he’s seen bruises bloom on his ribs and vanish before anyone could ask questions. he’s seen criminals twice his size fall, and he’s seen friends—good people—get hurt anyways.

but this? this wrecks him. this has jake in shambles.

because he missed it. he missed you. and before he could talk himself out of it—before he even knows what he’s going to say—he’s tapping on your name and pressing the call button.

it rings once. twice. three times.

“jake?” your voice is soft. cautious. like you didn’t know if you should answer, but did anyways.

jake swallows hard, voice caught in his throat.

“i’m sorry.” a pause. it hangs in the air and jake already wants to scream. “i’m so sorry,” he says again, voice low, words falling out fast, as if trying to outrun his own guilt gnawing at him. “i—i didn’t mean to—i was gonna be there, i swear i was gonna be there, but then something happened and—”

“hey,” your voice cuts through. not loud, not pressing, not angry. “it’s okay.” but it’s far from it. not in jake’s head. not when the image of you sitting alone in the dark theater has already carved itself into his brain. not when he can hear the disappointment in your voice.

jake licks his lips. he can hear the shift of your weight rustling against your bed. maybe you’re curled up somewhere in the dark. maybe you’re still in the outfit you wore to the movies. maybe you cried, and maybe you didn’t. and maybe jake will never know.

“no, no it’s not,” jake manages. he winces—at the pain growing at his ribs, at the mess he’s made, at himself. “i—i didn’t even text, i—god, i’m such an idiot—”

“you’re not an idiot, jake,” you say. and your voice is tired, but never cold. “i was just…worried.”

“i’m okay. i promise. and i promise i didn’t forget,” he whispers. “not even a little.” and there’s so much more jake wants to say.

“…did something happen?” you ask gently. jake’s fingers tighten around the phone. “yeah,” jake says, the sound barely coming out. “kind of.”

another beat passes. a small exhale from you. “do you want to talk about it?” and jake’s throat closes up.

because he wants to. god, he wants to. he wants to tell you everything—about the fight, the chase, the guy with the knife, the way his side still burns, the way he pictured you waiting outside the theater for him with every swing and every hit he took and every punch. he wants to tell you he didn’t forget. that you were the only thing on his mind the whole time.

but he can’t. he knows he can’t.

“…i—i can’t.”

you’re quiet again. but this time, jake can feel the shift even over the phone. and it’s not annoyance, it’s not cold. jake doesn’t think a single bone in your body could ever hold an ounce of bitterness. just disappointment. sadness.

“…okay.” your voice barely goes through. jake squeezes his eyes shut. his fist balls up the sheet under him. “i’m sorry,” he whispers again.

you inhale through your nose, “it’s okay. i just—i didn’t know if something happened. i didn’t know if you were hurt...or if i said something wrong.”

jake’s stomach twists—sharp and awfully close to throwing up. and this time, it’s not from the amount of times he took it to the gut today.

“no,” he blurts, too quickly but he doesn’t care. “no, it wasn’t you. you didn’t do anything wrong.”

another long, still silence.

“alright…well,” you murmur eventually, voice light in that way people use when they’re trying not to sound disappointed. “i’ll see you at school then, i guess?” 

“yeah,” jake nods, even though you can’t see him. “yes. yeah, tomorrow.”

you don’t say anything else. and neither does he. you end the call first.

and jake stays frozen, still on the edge of his bed, phone still pressed to his ear even after the line goes dead with a soft click.

he shuts his eyes, letting the dark swallow him whole. and as he groans, rubbing a tired hand over his face—wincing at the physical pain, but mentally cursing at the emotional one—jake can’t stop hearing your voice in his head.

everything is too much.

halls buzzing, lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking. the overhead lights are way too bright, and the air smells like gym socks and cafeteria mystery meat.

and it’s all overwhelming. well, it should be, at least. especially for someone who has heightened senses that feels everything a hundred times more than the regular human being. sharper, louder, closer.

but jake barely notices any of it. he’s already halfway down the corridor, eyes immediately locking in on you the second he walked through those doors. and as far as he’s concerned, nothing else matters. 

you’re at your locker, spinning the combination without looking, when jake finds himself next to you before he knows it.

he clears his throat, “hey.” you glance over. “oh,” you say, blinking. “hi.”

jake steps a little closer, a little hesitant, nerves jumbled in his gut. “look, y/n. i’m really sorry. i still am.”

you shake your head almost immediately, pulling out a book and shutting your locker gently. there’s a polite smile on your face as you look over at him, “jake. it’s okay. really.”

"it’s not—” he says, frowning, his voice coming out rougher than he intends. his ribs still hurt. his ankle’s still swollen. his face still bruised. but none of that stings half as much as the way you’re not meeting his eyes right now. “you had every right to be pissed—”

“i wasn’t pissed, jake,” you cut in gently. “i told you. you just worried me…that’s all.”

that makes jake shut up. his throat closes up. because worried might be worse. worried means you care. and he let you down anyway.

and that’s it for a moment. the silence that follows stretches a little too long—lockers clang in the background, someone yells about running late to class. the world keeps moving—but jake doesn’t.

“i’m glad you’re okay,” you finally say, voice quiet as your gaze skims across his face, lingering just a moment too long on the faint bruise along his jaw.

jake exhales slowly. tries not to flinch under the weight of your concern. because how? how can you still look at him like that—with care, with softness—when he doesn’t know what he even did to deserve it?

and the worst part is, he’s terrified he already lost you before he ever even earned you.

“…so,” he says, the word catching in his throat awkwardly yet hopeful all at once, “how about we try again?” your head tilts, an unreadable curiosity replacing the worry in your eyes.

jake lets out an uneven breath of nervous laughter as he searches your eyes. “tomorrow night? you, me. that corner diner with the insane milkshakes and greasy burgers. then we can regret it together afterwards.”

you only look at him for a beat. then, just slightly, your shoulders relax. and jake watches it happen in real time—the way the tension lifts just slightly, the curve of a small smile tugging at your lips.

like sunlight cutting through a cloud. like a sign from the universe that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t completely ruin everything.

“okay,” you breathe, a small laugh escaping with it. “that…actually does sound kinda fun. maybe not the grease part, but…yeah. at least we can suffer together.”

you then step closer, nudging him lightly with your shoulder, a playful glint in your eye, “you’re paying, by the way.”

jake grips the straps of his backpack with both his hands, smiling at you like a child offered candy. “done and done.”

“alright, well,” you step back with a glance down the hall, “i should probably head to class.”

jake nods back, eyes still watching you, “yeah, yeah, right. me too.” but he doesn’t move. just keeps watching you, unsure if he should try pinching himself.

you look back at him one last time, “jake?”

jake’s half-way on his heels when he stops at the sound of your voice again. “yeah?”

“it really is okay,” you reassure. and it’s real. honest. grounded. and everything jake needs to hear.

he smiles, a little too lopsided and voice a little too fragile when he speaks again, “i’ll see you?”

“counting on it,” you grin before turning back and making your way to class.

the rest of the day blurs for jake. he aces the pop vocabulary quiz in english, he steals some of sunghoon’s fries from his tray, he accidentally dents his locker door when closing it because he forgets he has literal super strength.

but it all passes in a haze. muted and unimportant. because the only thing that cuts through the noise is the thought of you.

every hour stalls. every minute another reminder that the best way to distract himself from the chaos of his head is the same thing that causes it in the first place—

seeing you. obviously.

“you know,” his voice comes from above, playful and easy, “i probably sacrifice at least two churros a night just making sure you get home safe instead of saving the world out there.”

“jesus christ—” you jolt back, nearly tripping over your own feet as jake—spider-man—drops down beside you later that night on your walk back home. you instinctively swat at the air as if that threatens him. at all.

“wrong guy,” he quips, sticking the landing in a crouch and straightening up. “but i do appreciate the enthusiasm.”

your face drops and give him a deadpan stare. “you really gotta stop doing that.”

“me?” jake clutches his chest dramatically through the suit before jutting a thumb behind him towards absolutely nothing. “i could totally leave right now and earn myself some churros.”

you huff out a breath, rolling your eyes even as your lips twitch towards a smile, “then why are you still here, spidey?”

“because,” jake answers simply, falling into step beside you, “it’s part of my friendly-neighborhood-spider-man-civic-duties to make sure my favorite citizen gets home safe.”

you snort, shaking your head lightly as you tilt your head at him, “fine. let’s get going then.”

jake smiles beneath the mask—too wide, too hopeful, too much. and you don’t see it, but he feels it—feels you—in every corner of himself. and jake hates how badly he wishes this could just be him. no mask, no lies, no secret. just jake. just you.

once you two make it a block or two (jake lost count), jake coughs a little too awkwardly, breaking through the quiet, “sooo…what ended up happening with that aquarium guy?”

you falter for half a second. it’s quick, but jake notices. not because his jake-tingle makes him notice everything, but because he’s watching. especially you.

you start walking again just as fast, trying to pretend the question didn’t rattle you at all before you clear your throat, “what guy?”

“y’know,” jake gestures vaguely, hands flailing, “the guy-guy. the one who took you to see the belugas—”

oh no. jake stops. shuts his mouth. he did it again. you stop too. turn to look at him slowly.

“…how do you know about the belugas?” jake looks at you. the lenses of his mask widen. then narrow. blink. squint.

“i—uh—” jake rubs the back of his neck, the suit suddenly feeling a little too tight, a little too warm. “i saw a billboard. yeah. i was swinging around the other day and—and there was this massive ad. big and blue and very…beluga-like.”

there’s a beat. reason #1115 why jake’s going to launch himself into orbit. but you buy it anyways, settling with a small side-eye before walking again, “okay…right.”

“yeah,” jake exhales under his mask, recovering with a casual shrug, “anyways. belugas…the aquarium guy?”

you hum, the sound barely audible as if you’re thinking, “he’s…cool. he’s alright.”

and jake’s heart caves in a little. okay, maybe a lot. he pretends to nod, to be chill, to not feel like maybe he’s witnessing his entire world fall apart in front of him right now and he can’t do anything about it.

“damn,” he manages to squeak out, voice lighter than how he feels. “just alright?”

you glance at him briefly before looking back at the sidewalk, “no, no—he’s…he’s really nice,” you say and jake swears he can feel the syllables in your voice individually bruise his ribs. “he’s just…confusing. i don’t know.”

and jake, because he’s jake, watches you. watches the way your voice dips quieter. watches the way your shoulders curl in just a little, watches the way your mind trails off.

“confusing…” he says slowly, carefully, testing the ice. “like you…don’t like him?” and jake doesn’t know why he asked that. he doesn’t know if he wants to hear the answer.

“yes. no. i—i don’t know. i think i do.” a small pause. you kick a pebble. “but sometimes it’s hard to tell if he…if he actually cares? or if i made the whole thing up in my head.”

jake blinks hard. looks away. swallows. bites the inside of his cheek to keep everything in. because you didn’t make it up. not even a little. and god, if only you knew how desperately he cares—how much of his life he’s unintentionally rewritten around you.

his heart screams to tell you everything. that this is his chance, that he can fix everything right here, right now. but his brain knows better.

“i think…you should give him a chance.”

you look up, surprised. and jake doesn’t know why—but that hurts too.

“seriously,” his eyes flick forward again. “he’d be lucky. you’re smart. and thoughtful. and…even though you have the survival instincts and awareness of a sea turtle, you’re…fun. and honestly kind of unbelievable.”

and for a spilt second, jake forgets. forgets that he’s not just jake. forgets he’s not just a teenage boy talking to his crush. forgets that to you, right now, he’s not the awkward guy that stammers next to you in chemistry and accidentally breaks glass beakers in his hand. forgets that he’s spider-man—the one you seem to trust a little more freely than the boy who let you down.

and that’s what hurts the most. because when you glance up at him now—there’s that feeling again. the pocket of air that only ever exists between you and him. a space that feels warmer than the rest of the world, like the universe took a breath and exhaled only around the two of you.

and it’s always there, somehow—whether he’s wearing the mask or not. whether it’s spider-man and you eating cold pizza on your fire escape. whether it’s you and jake laughing over a lame pun your teacher used in class. and jake knows that air. craves it. has memorized the shape of silence it holds.

but right now, it feels more like spider-man gets to live in it. not jake. and that realization twists something sharp and quiet inside his chest.

because jake’s the one who likes you. jake’s the one who knows you like your matcha lattes even with the grainy oat milk that makes the texture weird. the one who knows you only ever take chemistry quizzes with your favorite pink pen because you think it gives you good luck. the one who gets to share sour patch kids with you under the lab table when you both think no one is looking. but jake’s the one who messed up.

and spider-man’s the one who gets to be here now.

he looks at you—you standing there, eyes soft, smile just a little sad—and he’s willing himself not to say anything stupid. not to ruin the moment. not to cross that line he drew. not to let it get to his head every time he realizes the only way he can be close to you right now…is by being someone else.

and so jake locks in.

the next morning, he wakes up early—which, in jake terms, really means waking up at his regular time and only hitting snooze twice instead of his usual six. he throws on a hoodie that he sniffed to make sure it smells like detergent and not like it’s overdue for a wash, looks in the mirror, and brushes his hair. like actually brushes it, and not just run his hands through it and hopes for the best. he walks the full twenty minutes to the café where he studied with you, orders your usual—the matcha latte with the grainy oat milk—adds a smiley face and heart on the side of the cup next to your name, and books it to school. he arrives early to school, for once, and goes straight to your locker—not before dodging a frisbee mid-air, a frantic girl running with an art project in hand, and a couple making out aggressively by the vending machine.

when you close your locker door shut, you look up surprised—jake in your view, holding the matcha out like an olive branch. if olive branches wore oversized hoodies and had a mild existential crisis fifteen minutes ago.

you blink. then you smile and take the cup. jake gives himself a mental high five. nailed it. and when you softly ask him to walk to you to your first class? jake nearly does a backflip. (he doesn’t. he plays it cool. barely.)

when chemistry rolls around later in the day, jake’s the first one to say hi this time. when the teacher is busy not looking, jake leans in and says a really, really stupid joke about ionic bonds and valence electrons and regrets it immediately but you laugh. you laugh and jake’s day is immediately better than any other day he’s had this week. at some point, you nudge his knee and when jake looks down—your hand is there, holding out a pack of sour patch kids. jake takes it as a good sign. or maybe a sign of impending life-long romance. either way, he takes one and tries not to make it weird. (and he still does. he accidentally eats two at once and chokes a little. but it’s fine.)

when the bell rings and class is over, you’re both packing up when you glance over and smile at him, “I’m excited to see you later tonight.” and jake thinks he misheard. thinks he’s hearing things because just three weeks ago, the most he’s ever said to you was either something about the periodic table or…running out of the classroom after breaking a glass beaker with his bare hands. but then your hand lands on the sleeve of his hoodie and gives him the slightest squeeze, and jake malfunctions.

jake gives you a thumbs up. because he panicked. he panicked and thumbs-upped (he will never learn). but you smile anyways and say your cute little goodbye before leaving class.

and the rest of the school day is irrelevant to jake because the rest of the school day doesn’t involve you. well, except in his head. sure, jake goes to lunch. sunghoon won’t stop talking about the new valorant expansion pack and how his computer lags everytime he tries to peek a corner—but jake’s just thinking about how your hair looked in the sunlight this morning when you asked him to walk you to class. sure, jake gets his pop quiz back in history with a big, fat, b minus written on top in red marker. normally, he’d spiral, because he really should be getting his history grade up. and normally, he’d wince at the mental image of his mom scolding him later over it—but he’s too busy replaying your laugh in his head. sure, jake goes to robotics club after school. he’s supposed to help calibrate the parts for their new battle bot but he accidentally installs a cord backwards, and now the bot is stuck running in circles—because jake sim is currently preoccupied.

preoccupied mentally drafting a speech that goes something like, “hey, i like you. a lot. possibly way more than i should but i don’t really care because you always smell good and your smile makes me want to rip my hair out and the memory of kissing you is in my dreams everynight. can i be your boyfriend? please? maybe? i’ll buy you weird oat milk drinks forever and buy you more beluga stickers even though, respectfully, you probably shouldn’t own any more.”

it’s still a work in progress.

and later that evening, jake is pacing back and forth in his bedroom, mentally preparing himself for tonight. his spider-man suit lies crumpled somewhere in the back of his closet half-covered by a flannel, a calculus textbook, and one sock he still can’t find the missing half to. he makes a mental note to wash the suit. eventually. later. not tonight. tomorrow. whatever. not important.

because tonight, he’s just jake. just jake, a regular teenage boy. just jake, a regular teenage boy with no responsibilities except to make his crush and hopefully soon-to-be-girlfriend happy.

just jake, nervously fixing the collar of his nicest hoodie, debating whether or not to wear the cologne his mom got him two birthdays ago. just jake, combing his fingers through his hair and wondering if you like it better pushed back, down, up, messy, styled, or, hell, shaved off entirely because he will do it if it gets him one (1) smile from you. just jake, practically grinning to himself because he’s going to see you.

jake checks the time again. 7:24PM. he’s early, which is good. which is the plan. because early gives him time to get to the diner first. early gives him time to find the best booth, which is the one near the corner window so you two can watch the sunset together and sit far from the kitchen door to avoid the smell of peanut oil. early gives him time to breathe and mentally run through everything he wants to say.

hi y/n. you look really pretty. i missed you—wait no, you saw her literally three hours ago, don’t say that—i was thinking we could split the strawberry milkshake together—wait is she lactose intolerant?

jake grabs his phone, wallet, the flowers he picked up at the corner deli on the way home. it’s wrapped in too much plastic, a little crooked, one of the carnations is sticking out, but it’s pink and soft and entirely you coded.

and jake makes his way to the diner, sneakers scuffing against the sidewalk, heart doing backflips in his ribcage as he turns the corner and sees the neon lights of the diner come into view just a few more blocks down. one of the lights of the sign is flickering in and out, going back and forth from diner to din_r. it’s perfect. you’re perfect. he just needs to get there.

buzz. buzz. jake looks down at his phone in hand.

incoming call : GUY IN CHAIR 🧠

“yo, i’m gonna call you in, like, a few hours,” jake answers without thinking, barely breaking his pace, “i’m on my way to the—” “jake.” and sunghoon’s voice is tense. urgent. the kind of urgent that tightens something in jake’s chest. jake stops.

“it’s bad. really, really bad,” sunghoon’s voice is strained and jake doesn’t like it. doesn’t like that feeling in his gut. the pull, the weight, the way his skin pricks, the way every muscle in his body tenses.

jake shuts his eyes closed. exhales sharply. runs a hand through his hair. “how bad?”

“like…warehouse near the port is up in flames and there’s a hostage situation and no one’s close enough to get there in time.”

and just like that, jake feels it. the way the air changes, that familiar shift in gravity. that tug in his chest like a string being pulled into two opposite directions.

jake doesn’t say anything. he looks back down the street, stares at the diner. he’s so close. so close to getting there. so close to getting to you. “i can’t, sunghoon. not tonight,” he swallows hard, his voice cracking on the words. “i—i don’t even have my suit.”

there’s a beat. “jake,” sunghoon says, softer yet not any less urgent. “they’ve got kids.”

jake’s eyes flutter closed again. presses the heel of his hand to his forehead like he can press the guilt away. he doesn’t move. and for a second—just one—he thinks maybe, maybe, he could keep walking. just this once. just tonight.

but he knows better.

the responsibility. the pull. the price of the mask. it’s never not there.

his grip tightens around the bouquet. the plastic crinkles. he sighs, slips out a curse word or two under his breath, and—

“jesus christ,” jake mumbles, already turning on his heel. “tell the fire department i’m on my way. and tell them to hurry.”

and jake’s already running—sprinting back in the opposite direction back to his apartment. sunghoon hangs up and jake?

jake doesn’t stop. he doesn’t even look back.

jake doesn’t know what time it is. doesn’t care. smoke still clings to his skin, the faint sting of ash burned into the fabric of his suit. his lungs ache, and his hands are scraped raw from tearing open too many metal doors and carrying too many people to safety.

but he’s alive. they’re alive. 

and yet. all jake can think about—is you.

you, maybe waiting in that booth. you, maybe sipping a milkshake through a striped straw, twirling it slowly and glancing at the door every couple minutes. you, maybe checking your phone. frowning. getting up. leaving.

god.

he doesn’t even stop to change. just swings home, crawls through his fire escape, throws a hoodie over his soot-covered suit, runs a wet hand through his hair, and jumps back out the fire escape again. he swings and swings until he lands in an alleyway near the diner, tripping over a trash can and throwing a curse word at it as he stumbles into the street and—

runs into you.

your arms are crossed tight against your chest, your head’s down. you’re walking the other way, unaware of the chaos behind you.

jake’s voice cracks before it can even form your name. “—y/n. y/n, i—”

you stop mid-step, your head turning at the sound. and when you turn and see him, you pause—the expression on your face unreadable.

“jake?” your brows furrow. “what the hell—where did you even come from? and why do you smell like—” you stop yourself. exhale shortly. shake your head. “you know what? never mind. i—i’m going home.”

you turn again. and jake panics. he starts after you, picking up his pace to match yours “wait—look, y/n, i’m so, so, so sorry. i swear i can explain—”

that’s when you stop in your tracks. you turn, finally facing him. and the emotions written on your face are everywhere—confused, hurt, tired, and somewhere beneath all of that—still soft.

“okay,” you say, looking him in the eye. “then explain.”

jake opens his mouth. closes it. he swallows. his lips open again.

"i—" his throat burns. and it’s not from inhaling a building’s worth of smoke from earlier. "i can’t. it's...complicated."

silence.

you stare at him. eyes wide. quiet. sad. disappointed. the kind that hurts jake more than if you were angry.

when you speak up again, your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, “look, jake. i don’t know what’s going on with you. and i’m not mad. but…you’re just really confusing. and clearly, you’ve got something going on.”

you take a breath and fold your arms tighter around yourself, “—and while this was fun and all…i just—i don’t know if this is going to work out anyways.”

jake blinks. his stomach drops. he takes a step closer. “wait—no, y/n, i—”

and you keep going. “plus,” you let out a small laugh but it’s the worst kind of laugh—the kind that’s awkward and forced, like it’s there only to preemptively make up for the words coming after. “i’m just gonna be honest with you.”

jake doesn’t breathe. you look him in the eyes.

“i think i like someone else anyways.”

and that does it. jake’s world tilts sideways. the words hit him like a punch—no, worse, because he’s felt bad punches before. this feels like that moment in freefall right before the web catches you, except this time there’s no web. just the fall.

“you…like someone else?” is all jake manages to let out before the words get caught in his throat. he thinks he might throw up.

you nod. slowly. hesitantly. and jake feels like he’s unraveling.

he doesn’t know what to say. he wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants to tear his stupid hoodie off and tell you everything. that he missed the date because he was saving lives. that he wanted to tell you he’s falling for you. that he bought the damn bouquet and practiced a stupid speech and picked the booth with the best view and no peanut oil smell. that he only missed it because he was trying to be good. good enough. worthy.

but all that comes out is air. because he can’t tell you. because he shouldn’t tell you. because spider-man doesn’t get to be selfish. because jake doesn’t get to be just jake.

your fingers fidget as you glance back down at the ground. you rock slightly on your heels before your voice breaks the silence again, “but hey. no hard feelings, yeah? friends?”

and that might be the final blow. and jake doesn’t even know how to respond. his brain stutters. because what is he supposed to say—”friends? no? actually, i wanted to ask you to be mine tonight, and now i can’t even tell you why i missed it?”

so instead, jake does what jake always does. he pretends. he nods, forces a smile—too quick, too wide, the kind that pulls at his cheeks but doesn’t reach his eyes.

“yeah,” he says. his voice cracks, but he clears his throat like that’ll fix anything. “yeah. of course. friends.”

you nod back and offer a tight smile, “i’ll see you at school, then. goodnight.”

then you turn. and you walk away. jake doesn’t move. the weight of your footsteps fade, but the words still echo in his ears.

friends. someone else. no hard feelings.

his chest feels hollow. like someone scraped everything out and forgot to fill it back in. like he just lost something he never even got the chance to have in the first place.

and spider-man’s the one who saved the day. and it should feel like a win, but it doesn’t. because although spider-man saved the day, jake’s the one who let you down. 

jake was too late. too late, too secretive. too much of everything and still not enough of what you needed.

“maybe it’s not as bad as we think.” sunghoon’s voice is cautious, but not exactly convincing from his slouched position in jake’s desk chair, spinning slowly like he’s debating whether now’s a good time to leave (it’s not. he’s been trying for the past hour. jake made him stay.)

jake lets out a guttural groan in response, already face down on his bed, limbs sprawled out in distress. a pillow is smushed over his head, in attempt to block out the agonizing, soul-crushing reality that is his life.

“it’s over, sunghoon,” jake muffles into his mattress. “over with a capital O. capital V. all the damn letters—over before it even started.”

jake flips over, sending the pillow to the other side of the room, “she likes someone else,” he says hollowly, staring blankly at the ceiling. “i was so preoccupied with everything else that i didn’t even notice she—who else could she even—”

jake cuts himself off mid-rant. because it doesn’t matter. doesn’t matter who you like. doesn’t matter how it happened.

it just matters that it’s not him. that you like someone. and it’s not jake.

jake presses a hand to his head, “god. i’m such an idiot.”

sunghoon lets out a low whistle and starts fiddling with one of jake’s pens, “okay. you’re not an idiot. you did what you had to do, and you did the right thing.”

jake lets out a small sigh, quiet and defeated, finally looking at his friend, “but when do i get to stop sacrificing to do the right thing?”

silence stretches out between them. the ceiling fan above them whirs. the clang of metal pots and pans echo from down the hall—which means jake’s mom is attempting to make meatloaf again. which means the fire alarm will probably go off in ten minutes, maybe eight. the room smells faintly of jake’s two-birthdays-ago cologne, and the burnt tinge of unwashed spandex crumpled somewhere in the room.

sunghoon taps the pen against the desk, eventually breaking the silence, “so talk to her. as spidey.”

jake sits up in his bed and gives sunghoon a look.

“talk to her as spider-man, tell her to give ‘jake’ another chance,” sunghoon repeats, throwing air quotes around his friend’s name.

jake gestures to the ceiling. the wall. the existential void of absolute nothingness around him. “sunghoon. that’s…messed up. morally. ethically. logistically. probably emotionally.”

“i mean,” sunghoon shrugs casually as if this is the answer to all of jake’s problems, “spidey’s already friends with her, anyways. and you told me yourself—it feels like she’s closer to him than she is to you.”

jake throws both hands in the air. “WE’RE THE SAME PERSON.”

he then lets out an inhuman noise and flops backwards onto his bed again, “whatever, man. this is probably for the best anyway,” he mutters. “spider-man should’ve never gotten involved in the first place. it’s safer this way. especially for her.”

a beat passes. jake stares up at the glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to his ceiling from the sixth grade. he blinks once.

“plus, let’s be honest. i’d probably screw it up more somehow. say something dumb and let it slip that it’s been me all along.” jake pauses. “—or honestly, she probably already knows i’m spider-man. which is even worse, because now she probably hates both versions of me.”

sunghoon’s quiet for a moment. just keeps spinning slowly in jake’s chair, the wheels creaking faintly. “…so what? you’re just gonna stop walking her back home now?” he finally says, lifting a brow. “isn’t that for her safety too?”

and yeah. yeah, he has a point. so jake doesn’t stop.

he just stops being seen. and that’s what jake does for the next few days.

so jake falls into this routine without really meaning to. he goes home from school, puts on his suit (it’s clean now, don’t worry), and spends the next few hours either returning stolen bikes or webbing carjackers to brick walls or showing tourists the right direction.

and somehow, someway, jake still finds himself in the same spot at the end of the day—sitting crouched on the ledge of the rooftop across from your bus stop, a hoodie pulled over his mask, hands stuffed in his sleeves.

at 10:32PM, your bus rolls up right on the dot.

at 10:33PM, you step off. same oversized totebag on your shoulder. same way you pull your phone out and unlock it in the same three motions. same streetlight that flickers just before you pass it.

and jake watches you go home. makes sure you’re okay. makes sure you’re safe. all without making himself seen.

and only when your apartment window lights up does he finally feel okay, finally swings away, the wind cold and sharp in his lungs—but not as cold as the air around him whenever you’re not there.

he does this again the next night. and the next. and the next.

and at school, jake falls into rhythm here, too—if you can call it that.

you still sit next to him in chemistry. still copy formulas off the board. still hand in the same worksheets, laugh politely when the teacher makes a pun about avogadro’s number.

but you don’t share your sour patch kids anymore. and jake doesn’t make any stupid chemistry jokes to make you laugh either, because…he can’t think of any. because all the funny ones were ones he saved for you, and they don’t feel worth saying out loud anymore.

you talk to him, sure. when you need the answer to question six, or to ask if he got the quiz grade back. but there’s space between you now. quiet, aching space. and jake doesn’t know how to fill it.

but by the end of the week— all routines fly out the window.

because it’s friday night. and jake swings to the usual rooftop across from your bus stop, a half-eaten churro in one hand—courtesy of the sweet old lady who bought it for him after he showed her where her train station is. because it’s 10:30PM when jake lands on the roof, tossing his backpack to the side when he looks up and—

he freezes.

because sitting there, cross-legged on the ledge—on his ledge—backlit by the moonlight and the yellow glow of the streetlamps below—is you.

jake chokes. he stumbles back, the eyes of his mask blown wide immediately, “what the—y/n?! what are you—how did you—wh—”

and you’re sitting there, blinking and staring at him, unfazed. like you’ve been waiting. you don’t move. you just raise a brow.

“okay, so first you start walking me home every night, then you stop showing up, but still choose to stalk me from a distance? i don’t get you, spider-man.”

and jake is so confused right now. “i—what’s going on?” jake sputters, arms half-raised in shock and disbelief. “how are you even here right now, how did you even get up here?”

“you’re not exactly subtle, y’know,” you deadpan, ignoring his question as you tilt your head up at him. “every night you walk me home? i know this is where you drop your bag off and wait for me to get off that bus. i know you sit on that rooftop across from my place to make sure i’m okay every night. your silhouette is literally not that subtle.” then you gesture vaguely around the rooftop. “also, the webs everywhere? kinda a dead giveaway, don’t you think?”

jake’s mouth opens. nothing comes out. and if it weren’t for the mask, he’d be catching flies.

you stand now, arms crossed tight as you take a step closer to him. you take a deep breath before you ramble, “i don’t know. i’m just—i’m so confused, spider-man. i told the guy i like that i liked someone else. and i don’t even know if that was true or if i just panicked. but the truth is, i don’t even know if the guy i actually like likes me back, or even knows how to talk to me, or if i’m just completely losing it—”

“—wait.” jake tilts his head, still frozen in his spot. “wait, which guy? like the guy-guy? aquarium guy?”

you groan and start pacing, squeezing your eyes shut like you’re trying to make sense of the situation as well.

“yes. yes, of course the guy-guy, aquarium guy—who else would i be talking about? there’s no other guy—”

“you just said you told the guy-guy you liked someone else.”

“i did! i think! i—look, i don’t know! maybe i said it just to protect myself from the fact that the guy-guy doesn’t like me back. but now i might actually like this other guy—”

“okay, okay—hold on, back up,” jake steps back to process. holds up both his hands. “so there’s guy-guy you maybe like…and now a new guy…?”

jake’s mind is reeling. his insides might come out. who is the new guy? is jake even guy-guy? no. yes. maybe? jake has to be guy-guy. or else he’s gonna scold sunghoon for being very unoriginal for the aquarium date idea.

you stop pacing. you turn to him with wide eyes, like you’re mentally begging yourself to shut up, don’t do it, but your mouth moves anyways.

“…you,” your voice is quiet. barely audible. but yet, so loud and clear and more than anything else jake has ever sensed before. “i like you.”

and for a second there, jake thinks maybe he misheard, because it sounded a lot like you just said you liked him. spider-man. and there’s absolutely no way. there’s no way you said that. there’s no way you meant that.

there’s no way this is happening.

there’s no way the girl he’s been hopelessly staring at from across the cafeteria for god knows how long now, the girl he’s been walking home at night to make sure she’s safe even she didn’t know, the girl that witnessed him choke on two sour patch kids at once in the middle of chemistry—is standing here. on this rooftop. telling him that this entire time he’s been tangled up in a love triangle…with himself?

and jake? jake is actively malfunctioning. he says nothing. he does nothing. he thinks nothing.

and you seem to take jake’s stunned silence as pure horror— because you panic.

“oh my god. oh my god—i’m insane,” you whisper, moreso to yourself than him. “i knew it. i knew that guy-guy shattered my brain and messed me up so bad i’m actually losing it.”

you start pacing again. and jake’s legs don’t work, so he just watches.

“like—i don’t even know what you look like under that mask. what if you’re, like…thirty? what if you don’t even have a nose?” your voice rises in disbelief at your own choices. “what if i’m just projecting everything onto this idea of you, because you’re sweet and funny and walk me home and call me your favorite citizen and—god, i’m actually going delusional—”

jake takes a few more steps back, shaking his head once, then twice, like he’s trying to physically undo the entire past five minutes of his life. or reset his entire nervous system.

his hands fly to his hair as he turns away from you, staring up at the sky, muttering incoherent words to himself before he lets out a groan, “i—what the hell—i can’t believe i’m doing this, i’m gonna hurl. oh god—”

then, he turns around. takes one unsteady step towards you. his heart is racing. but without another word—

he yanks the mask off. and his hair is a mess (from the mask). his cheeks flushed like he’s been sweating (he has). his eyes wide like he’s terrified (he is).

“y/n.” your jaw drops. you blink once. twice. you stare at his face. at his hair. at jake.

“…JAKE?!”

your voice echos—loud. probably throughout the entire city, if jake’s being honest. your arms flail so wildly it looks like your brain is about to evacuate your body. you blink hard, like if you do it enough times, this fever dream might just break.

“are you kidding me right now?!”

jake flinches. his eye twitches.

you immediately start pacing again—back and forth, borderline hyperventilating, “YOU? you’re spider-man?! YOU??” you shout again, turning to point at him like he committed fraud. “how—hell—you literally broke a glass beaker last month—this can’t be real—”

jake raises his hands defensively, “okay, to be fair, you caught me off guard by asking me—”

“OH MY GOD,” you groan, throwing a hand into your hair, fisting a small bunch. “i told you i liked you while you were you pretending not to be you. that’s…that’s messed up, jake!”

“okay—yes, i see how that was a little—”

“you…you called me pretty but ignored my texts but still walked me home that night and…i’m so confused right now.”

jake scratches the back of his neck with one hand, the other dropping uselessly to his side, mask still in hand, “well…yeah. but also, like, i thought you picked up on it.”

“WHY WOULD I THINK YOU’RE SPIDER-MAN?” you practically screech, your steps halting as you spin to face him, full disbelief painted all over your face.

jake blinks. “i don’t know! i figured the voice, the walk…literally anything—”

“i don’t listen to people’s walks, jake!” you pace faster now. like if you don’t move, you might actually implode.

jake makes a desperate, helpless noise before he tries again, “look, y/n—can..can you just stop for a second and—”

“no, jake! i’m spiraling!” your voice hits a new level of pitch that makes jake wince. again. “i told two different guys i liked them this week and it turns out they’re the same guy and somehow that makes it worse?! do you know how emotionally unstable this makes me? i ranted to you about YOU—and you let me! oh, you’re so done for jake si—”

and that’s when he does it.

jake shoots a web. it catches your waist. and your rant cuts off mid-sentence as you’re suddenly pulled into him.

with a small yelp, you crash into his chest, hands reflexively splayed across his alarmingly solid chest. your nose is inches from his collarbone, and jake’s hands settle on your waist, immediately grounding you in place.

and you don’t have time to orient yourself—and jake doesn’t give himself time to pause or doubt it before he does it.

jake kisses you.

no hesitation, no overthinking, just all of jake—crashing his lips onto yours, immediately silencing you.

and you don’t stop him. you can’t stop him.

because your lips are already moving against his, messy and fast and a little too much. your fingers fist into the fabric of his suit like you’re trying to anchor yourself and you swear—you swear—you can feel his heartbeat under your fingertips. and all of the sudden, you’re hyperaware of everything. how his mouth is warm and desperate and tastes a little like cinnamon churros and familiarity. how the air between you is sharp, your noses brushing, breath mingling in short gasps—all too much and not enough all at once.

and when you pull away briefly to take a breath—realization hits you. your palm smacks against his chest once. then again. then rapid fire.

“wait, wait. wait. did you just web me?” the words tumble out of you in a half-laugh, half-accusation. and to be frank, you don’t know if you should be angry or attracted right now.

and jake’s still breathless, forehead practically resting against yours, as you feel his chest rise and fall with each shaky exhale. his voice is low, steady. a little hoarse.

“y/n—” jake whispers, so close you can feel the shape of the words against your mouth, “—shut up.”

and then he kisses you again. slower, this time. deeper. like an apology, like a confession, like something that feels way too big to name.

jake’s hand curls tighter around your waist, the other sliding up gently, carefully, until his fingers find the back of your neck, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear in his hold.

and all you can do is lean in. closer and closer, like if you press hard enough, you’ll disappear into him. disappear into that small pocket of space that only exists between you and him and never come back out.

it’s uncoordinated, a little too frantic. but it’s everything. the shock, the nerves, the confusion all blur into static. and this time, when jake pulls back, just barely, you cant help the tiny, unintentional whine that escapes your lips as you chase his without thinking.

jake exhales a breathless, shaky chuckle against you before he kisses you again. a quicker one this time. and then another. then one to the corner of your mouth. and then your jaw. and then he’s pulling back again, this time slower, eyes fluttering open just as yours do too, his hands still around you, the web still holding you against him.

“hi,” jake whispers. it’s soft and raw and boyish. and so, so real. “it’s me.”

his thumb brushes along your jaw as he swallows hard. your heart stumbles, your eyes searching his face—his stupidly soft brown eyes, the little scar on his chin, the mole near his cheek you’ve always noticed. it’s all him.

the boy who walked you home. the boy who doesn’t know how to talk to you in class. the boy you fell for. all this time.

you’re still pressed to his chest, body still tangled up in his arms, lips still tingling, mind still fuzzy. your voice comes out in a whisper, “i can’t believe it’s been you this entire time.”

he nods, a shy, crooked smile on his face, “it’s always been me.” and then his expression falters, just slightly. “i didn’t mean to lie to you. or miss our dates. i just…i didn’t know how to be this,” he gestures to his suit, “and how to be just jake, either.”

and you just blink, unmoving in his arms, still a little breathless. because there’s something in his voice. something fragile.

“so…so that day you missed school? and you were all beat up?”

jake presses his lips together, guilt painted all over his face, “yeah, i actually did get into a fight. i lied about that part.”

your eyes narrow, “with who, jake?”

jake shrugs like it’s no big deal. “some guy with six arms. real tentacle problem. you should’ve seen the damage i did on him though.”

your mouth gapes.

“i’m kidding—” jake laughs, eyes sparkling now as his nose slightly bumps against yours. “it was a bank robber. kind of. honestly, it’s all a blur now. all i remember was thinking about kissing you that same night after the aquarium.”

you let out a scoff, part processing, part amused. “and the diner night? when you suddenly showed up out of no where?”

jake nods, pulling you in just a little tighter. “suit was under my hoodie the entire time. not fun, by the way. spandex gets sweaty…fast.”

“gross,” you mutter, scrunching your nose as you instinctively tug your hands away from his chest—only to stop halfway, leaving them right where they are anyways. then, after a beat, you slap his chest again. “i can’t believe you told me to give yourself another chance. i don’t know if i should be mad at you or kiss you again.”

jake makes a face and gives a tiny shrug, “well, if you’re asking for my opinion…” he tilts his head. “i definitely have an answer. but i might be biased.”

you roll your eyes, letting out a small laugh as your hands find the back of his neck now. “this is insane, jake. you’re genuinely insane,” you whisper quietly, eyes flickering from the spider emblem on his chest then back to his face.

jake grins down at you, eyes bright, one hand brushing a stray strand of hair away from your cheek.

“yeah? well you like both jake and spider-man,” he tilts his head. “so i think that makes you just as insane.”

you gasp dramatically, smacking his arm like you’re offended. jake laughs, that easy, familiar sound filling the room between you—and the air goes warm again.

there it is. that space. the one he’s always had with you—except now, it’s his. fully his. not just spider-man’s, not a half-version hidden behind a mask.

just jake, who also happens to wear spandex and save the city. just jake, who sucks at high school history and has feelings for the pretty girl in his chemistry class. and just jake—who finally doesn’t have to choose between you and the suit.

you breathe in, watching him carefully. “so…” you begin. “now what?”

jake pauses. and then he smirks. that boyish, reckless, completely jake smirk.

”how about i take you on a proper date?”

your brows lift, your head tilts. “yeah.” you beam up at him. “i’d like that. tomorrow?”

jake shakes his head slowly, leaning in briefly with a mischievous smile on his face.

“now.” you blink. “…now?”

“JAKE—” your scream cuts through the sky as you’re being flung between skyscrapers, clinging yourself around jake’s neck, legs around his torso like your life depends on it.

which, to be fair, is quite literally the case right now.

“—WE’RE NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN—”

jake just laughs, a breathless, exhilarating sound—his mask back on, one arm tight around you as the other shoots another web out, latching onto the building you two swing past.

“are you sure?” he yells over the fast wind. “because you look like you’re having so much fun—“

“JAKE—“

another swing. another scream. another terrified, stupid, perfect laugh.

the city blurs below. the stars blur above. and somewhere in between it all, you feel his heartbeat against yours.

jake’s grip tightens—instinctively, protectively—as you fly past neon signs and glowing windows and the tiny people beneath and the hum of a city that never sleeps.

and in that moment, your panic settles into something else. something warmer.

so don’t try to stop him.

you just hold on tighter.

𖢥⁺₊°˖ tenk u again for all the love & support, always <3 (& special ty for my love ronnie @heejamas for the beluga dolphins fun fact & being my support throughout this entire proces <333 hehehe)

m.list here!

°˖➴ .ᐟ wow ok this is my BABY. what started out as me being an emotional angsty girl in her time of month, tmi sorry, turned into the longest thing i've written and i genuinely loved writing it but also nervvyyy lol bc i feel this one is heavier than my usual kind of style? & i got so much excitement for this one so i really hope it meets everyone's expectations :3 but ty for being patient and excited and sticking around with me when i disappeared a lil bit and haven't really done a long fic in a while <3 i appreciate each & every one of you guys and everything gets noticed so thank u very very very much mwah (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) hope you guys enjoy <3

jake had spent the last eight months telling himself he was fine. which, if we're being honest, is already not a particularly encouraging sentence.

people who are fine don't usually spend eight consecutive months reminding themselves that they're fine. people who are actually fine just go about their day. people who are not fine, however, tend to wake up on a random tuesday, stare at the ceiling fan for forty-five minutes, and have to convince themselves they're fine. 

jake knew this. and unfortunately for him, knowing something and doing something about it was two completely different skills that he had no idea how to differentiate.

the thing is, there were days when he was genuinely fine. really. there were entire afternoons where he didn't think about you once. moments where he would be halfway through a conversation with heeseung or laughing at something stupid jay said and realize, with a small burst of relief, that an entire hour passed without your name crossing his mind. which, yes, he's aware it sounds pathetic, but heartbreak has a funny way of lowering the bar like that. eight months later, jake was still collecting small victories wherever he could find them.

still, there was another reason why he kept insisting he was fine, and this one is probably the realest one of them all—because that's just what everybody says after a breakup.

especially when the breakup involves what jake would describe, with absolutely no exaggeration whatsoever, as the best thing that has ever happened to him in his twenty three years of being alive. and that might sound dramatic, but to jake, it was just true. it wasn't anything like a rom-com, nothing cinematic or perfectly timed. nobody ran through an airport, nobody stood outside anybody's window holding a boombox.

it was worse than that, actually. it was ordinary. it was the quiet, ordinary kind of best thing that sneaks up on you and becomes the shape of your days before you even know it. the kind where you wake up next to someone and the first thing you do is reach for them without thinking, because their body becomes as familiar as your own. the kind where inside jokes turn into entire languages only the two of you speak. the kind where you start keeping their favorite snacks in your cabinet and they leave an extra toothbrush at your sink, because of course.

you and jake had been together for three and a half years, and somewhere in the middle of that stretch of time he had stopped thinking of himself as a singular person and starting thinking in plurals. we should try that new ramen place. we need to remember to water the plant before we leave for the weekend. we'll figure it out. he had liked the way it sounded. the way it felt. like the two of you were building something forever-shaped.

it started slow, the way only real things tend to. a shared friend group that slowly narrowed until it was just the two of you staying up too late on the couch, talking about nothing and everything until the sun came up. then it was late night texts that turned into late night calls that turned into late night car rides where the rest of the group was conveniently not invited. then it was the first time he kissed you—properly, too, not in the heat of the moment but rather after waiting for a long time—and the way you had smiled against his mouth like you'd been waiting for it too. by the time anyone in the group noticed, you were already something solid. something that made sense. the guys teased you both about it constantly, but jake didn't mind. he liked the way it felt to be known like that. to have someone who saw every version of him, the charming one he showed the world, the quiet one who got overwhelmed around too many people, the one who still sometimes doubted he deserved good things—and stayed anyways.

you built a life in the small spaces of jake's life that he hadn't realized was missing you. weekends at his place or yours, trading hoodies and playlists and the kind of easy domesticity that felt revolutionary at twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. you knew how he took his coffee (two sugars, splash of oat milk) and he knew the exact pressure to use when rubbing your ankles after a long day. you had matching scars from the time you both tried to cook something ambitious and set off the smoke alarm three separate times. you had a list of 'stupid things we've done together' that lived in the notes app on your phone. he introduced you to his family over video calls and during the holidays, you fit there too—laughing in the kitchen with his mom, letting his little cousins climb all over you like you'd always been part of the chaos.

but yeah, jake was fine. jake was fine because he had gotten very good at only remembering the good moments. which was pretty easy, if he was being honest, because that was pretty much most of all three and a half years of it, which only made the end hurt only worse. there was that one rainy sunday in your apartment, the one with the leaky faucet in the kitchen he kept meaning to fix and never did. you had woken up before him, which was rare, and instead of getting up you stayed curled against his side, tracing lazy patterns on his bare stomach with your fingertips while the rain tapped against the window. jake had pretended to still be asleep just to feel it a little longer. he remembered the exact weight of your leg thrown over his, the way you kept humming some half remembered song under your breath. eventually you got up to make coffee—badly, because you always forgot how many grounds to use—and brought it back to bed anyways. you climbed on top of him, straddling his lap, and handed him the mug with that little smirk that said you knew it was terrible but were proud of it anyway.

"drink it and tell me it's good," you said, your voice still heavy, hair still messy, eyes still sleepy.

jake had taken a sip, made a face, and said, "it's the best coffee i've ever had in my entire life."

"liar."

"would i lie to you?"

you then leaned down and kissed him, slow and unhurried, tasting like bad coffee and late mornings and the kind of quiet happiness that just tends to show up on its own. your hands had slid into his hair and he pulled you closer until there was no space left between you, and for a while the leaky faucet and the rain and everything else outside that bed stopped existing.

and yeah, it wasn't all perfect, no relationship that real ever is. there were the harder nights, the ones that proved you were both still human, that you could hurt each other even when you didn't mean to. there was the one night in the middle of fall, maybe three months before the end. you were stretched thin by exam season and jake with his own mounting pressure of what came after graduation and the quiet fear that he wasn't moving fast enough, wasn't good enough, wasn't enough period. it started off small, something about him canceling your plans last minute. you had been tired and a little too sharp, he had been defensive and a little too quiet. it escalated in his kitchen, voices rising, the kind of argument where old insecurities got dragged into the light because you knew each other too well to keep anything hidden.

"you always do this," you had said, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in frustration. "you pull away when things get hard and then act like i'm the one being difficult for noticing."

"i'm not pulling away," jake had shot back, even though part of him knew he was. "i'm trying to figure my shit out so i don't drag you down with me."

"that's not how this works, jaeyun!" you had paused then to take a breath, as if to steady yourself. then, smaller, softer, "you don't get to decide what i can handle, i'm not some fragile thing you have to protect from your bad days."

jake had faltered midstep at the sound of his name, the sound having landed somewhere deep, cutting straight through the defensive haze he wrapped himself in. he hated fighting with you, hated the way your voice got tight because he knows you cry whenever you get overwhelmed, hated the way his own chest felt like it was caving in because he loved you so much it made every sharp word feel like it was cutting him too.

it ended the way most of them did, with one of you cracking first. this time it had been him. he crossed the kitchen in two steps, pulled you into his arms even though you were still stiff and angry, and buried his face in your neck.

"i'm sorry," he had mumbled against your skin. "i'm an idiot. i know i'm an idiot."

you stayed rigid for a few seconds longer, then your arms had come up around him and your voice had gone soft in that way it only did for him. "yeah, you are."

later that night you ended up on the couch, your head in his lap while some mindless show played in the background. his fingers were in your hair, gentle and light, and you had looked up at him with that small tired smile and asked, "we're gonna be okay, right?"

jake had nodded like he believed it. like he could will it into existence just by wanting it hard enough. those nights had always felt survivable back then. like proof that you could get through anything as long as you kept choosing each other at the end of it.

and then there was the last and final night.

it happened on a normal tuesday night that had felt completely unsuspecting when you both woke up that morning. except jake had already been in his own head silently, falling back into that old, familiar pattern of doubting himself, the future, and every uncertain thing that stood in between the two of you.

it happened in his room this time, the plant you both had jokingly named after jay still half-dead and the string lights you forced him to hang blinking above you. you had been sitting on the floor with your back against his bed, knees pulled to your chest, wearing one of his old hoodies because you always did. jake sat across from you, legs stretched out, trying to find the right words and failing.

"i just think…" he had started, then stopped. then started again. "we've been doing this for a long time now. and i love you. i really fucking love you." his voice almost cracked, so he looked down at his hands. "but sometimes it feels like we're holding each other back from figuring out who we are without the other person in the middle of everything."

you had looked at him for a long time without saying anything. your eyes were shiny in that way that meant you were holding back tears, and jake felt something in his chest twist so violently.

"and that's not your fault. it's not. it's just—" he exhaled shakily. "you're in everything. every plan i make, every place i go, every version of my future i imagine. and i know that sounds like a good thing."

"it's not?" you asked quietly, like you were scared for the answer.

"i don't know," he whispered. "i don't know if it is when i can't tell if i'm choosing things because i want them or because they keep me close to you."

he remembers the way your eyes filled when you looked at him then. "are you…unhappy with me?"

jake looked up fast. "no."

he had reached for your hand then, selfishly, stupidly threading his fingers through yours like he could still be the person who comforted you while simultaneously becoming the person to ever hurt you the most.

"no," he repeats immediately, shaking his head. "i just—i don't want to lose you. that's the last thing i want. but i also don't want to wake up in five years and realize i never figured out who i was because loving you was the easiest thing to do instead."

you had then nodded slowly. a tear slipped down your cheek and you wiped it away. then another and another, until wiping them away became useless.

"okay," you finally whispered, nodding again because you had loved him enough to let him go if that's what he thought he needed.

it wasn't what jake needed, he would realize many months down the road. not at all. but at the time, terrified and twenty-something and stupid enough to mistake pain and insecurities for maturity, it was what he had convinced himself was best for both of you. the right choice, the one that would hurt less in the long run.

it was selfish, is what he would also realize. because he didn't save either of you from pain at all, it would turn out. he only made sure he was the one holding the knife, so that maybe breaking your heart first felt safer than waiting around for you to break his.

you had stayed on the floor for a long time after that, neither of you quite ready to stand up and make it real. eventually jake shifted to sit next to you, your head instinctively falling to rest against his shoulder, eyes closed, breathing the same shared air one last time.

"i love you," you had said, so, so quietly in between your tears that he almost missed it.

he closed his eyes too. "i know. i love you too."

when you finally left, the door had clicked shut with a sound that felt a little too gentle for how much everything had just changed. jake sat on the floor for maybe another hour, staring at the half-dead plant and the single burnt out bulb on the string lights and the empty space where you had been, and told himself over and over again that this was the right thing. that love sometimes meant letting go. that he would be fine.

he was still telling himself that.

jake was still telling himself that he was fine because he had to be fine. the group made it pretty much impossible to disappear cleanly from your life. that was the thing about sharing the same three people who had been in the same orbit for years. every late night takeout run, every casual 'you coming?' text in the group chat kept pulling you both back into the same room. he convinced himself that two people who had once been everything to each other could still be friends, real friends too, not just the polite kind of acquaintances who avoided eye contact. that it was possible to love someone and let them go and still sit across from them in the living room during game night without the world ending.

jake had gotten good at it, mostly. at first it was awkward because, well, of course it would be. it was the kind of stiff, overly polite dance where you both speak a little too carefully and laughed a little too loudly and made sure to never sit a little too closely. the first group hangout after the break up felt like walking through a minefield, honestly. every shared glance, every accidental brush of hands when passing snacks, every time someone said something that used to be an inside joke between just the two of you. he remembered how you smiled at him that night like it hurt to do it, and how he had smiled back the same way.

but time did its thing, the way it always does. slowly, painfully, things started to settle into something that almost felt normal. he could sit across from you at jay's place now and steal fries off heeseung's plate and not stare too long when you tuck your hair behind your ear the way you always do when you were overthinking. he could text updates in the groupchat without his thumb hovering over your name first, without typing and deleting three different versions of a message that used to be just for you.

there were even the small moments where it started to feel almost normal again. like the one particular night sunghoon had made a dry comment about 'exes who still share the same three friends and see each other every day are the strongest soldiers.' the whole table burst into laughter, even jake. you had laughed too, bright and genuine, and for a second your eyes had met across the table and something soft and knowing had passed between you. and jake didn't really know if it was pain or longing or both. maybe it was recognition, like both of you understood exactly how ridiculous and impossible this arrangement was, and yet here you both were.

because this version, this careful friendship, the polite distance, the shared laughs that didn't really quite reach as deep as they used to—was better than nothing. better than losing you completely. better than waking up one day and realizing the friendship that was the foundation of everything you two had ever built had been completely destroyed all because jake woke up one morning and made a rash, terrified decision he still wasn't sure he believed in.

so he showed up. he smiled at the right times. he stole fries and sent his updates and laughed at sunghoon's jokes and pretended the ache in his chest was just old habit. and most days it was fine.

but fine was a fragile thing. a fragile, sheer layer that cracked in the quiet moments. in the way he caught the faint trace of your perfume on a hoodie he swore he'd wash after the breakup, or when his phone lit up with a notification with your name and his heart did that hopeful little stutter thing before he realized it was you texting the groupchat, not just him. fine was what he wore like armor, but underneath it the truth sat heavy and patient, the kind that lived in the small details of the past. like how he still knew exactly how you liked your eggs cooked, the way his hands remember the shape of your waist even when they had no right to anymore, the way he still hears the way 'jaeyun' would slip from your mouth, the only person in the world allowed to use that version of his name like it was something precious.

jake told himself he was fine. he still believes it. well, most nights he believes it.

tonight was not most nights.

the party is loud in the way parties stop being fun after twenty two and start being endurance tests—bass vibrating too hard through the floorboards, red cups everywhere, that specific smell of cheap vodka and someone's cologne that was trying too hard. jake doesn't even fully remember how you all ended up here, it was something along the lines of all five of you lazily sprawled across jay's living room with a movie no one was watching playing in the background until jay mentioned something about knowing a guy who knows a guy who was throwing a house warming party even though he moved in over six months ago and now here we are.

jake had been doing alright the first hour, he'd taken two shots with sunghoon and heeseung just to feel something, let jay rope him into some dumb drinking game that mostly involved shouting and losing, and nodded easily when you told the group you were going to go say hi to some people you recognized. he didn't think about it too much, which was a good habit he found himself trying to get better at more recently—not overthinking every little thing you did, not letting his eyes follow you across rooms like they still had the right to.

but then everything and anything he learned about good habits was thrown right out the window the second he looks over and searches for you, solely only because he's being a good friend, he tells himself. just making sure you were okay, just checking, nothing more. the lie sits easy on his tongue even as his eyes scan across the crowded room, past the clusters of people and the haze of spilled drinks and cigarette smoke drifting in from the balcony. he finds you near the kitchen island, leaning against the counter in that comfortable, familiar way, talking to yang jungwon.

now, yang jungwon was the kind of guy who just kind of existed to jake, a friend, but the kind that never really orbited in his life. he was younger, a little removed from the group, the kind of person whose life didn't collide with jake's enough for a solid, everyday friendship to form. to jake, he was always kind of like background noise, someone he used to nod at across campus, someone he sees at parties and gives a quick 'hey' to before moving on and that's it. never someone significant enough to warrant a second thought in jake's head.

until jake looks over and finds you looking at jungwon. and then what occurs in jake's head isn't only a second thought, but a third, a fourth and maybe the beginning of a fifth. all of which are circling the same stupid, irrational thing: jake hates yang jungwon.

because now here he is, watching the way jungwon leans in a little closer when he speaks, the way your hand brushes against his arm when you make a point. the way you look relaxed in a way jake hasn't seen in a while, shoulders soft, smile easy, the kind of open that used to be reserved for early nights and late mornings when it was just the two of you and the rest of the world felt far away.

and the worst part is that jake couldn't even be mad at jungwon. jungwon, who was all bright smiles and sweet and a little shy and looked at you like he was trying not to look too hard. jungwon, the kind of person who probably remembered birthdays without being reminded and asked follow up questions about people's days. jungwon, the kind of person who probably returned rogue shopping carts in the grocery store's parking lot. jungwon, who didn't know that the last time you laughed like that was because jake said something stupid on purpose just to watch your eyes crinkle at the corners in that way that always made his chest feel too full.

that's the funny thing about perspective. because here's the thing. jake had been looking at the breakup entirely from one side of it, his side. the side where he lost you. which, objectively speaking, was terrible enough on its own. but still, loss is a strangely selfish thing. because when someone loses something, they almost center themselves around the surrounding artifacts of what is no longer theirs. for jake, it was the calls he didn't get anymore, or the newly cold and empty space beside him in bed. or like how he still pauses in grocery aisles in front of snacks he didn't even like because buying them for you became so automatic that not buying them felt stranger. he spent so long mourning the absence of you that he never really stopped to consider what came after.

because yes, you're now his ex-girlfriend. yes, the relationship was over. yes, he had been the one to end it. all of those were true. but there was another truth too, the one that he unfortunately believes in more than the former—that the two of you had loved each other for three and a half years. and that doesn't just disappear. there were entire pieces of one another that would always belong to that relationship, memories nobody else would understand, inside jokes nobody else would find funny. versions of yourselves that only existed because the other person had been there to witness them. it was something sacred, in a way. sacred and special and it belonged to you and him and him and you and some small, selfish part of jake maybe took comfort in that. because even after everything, it still felt like yours and his. like nobody else could ever touch it, understand it, or even come near to it.

but then jake looks across the room and sees you laughing and suddenly, a realization hits him hard enough to make his stomach drop. that you weren't just something he lost. you were someone who would keep going, someone who would keep living. someone who would keep collecting new memories and new experiences and new people. and someone who would eventually fall in love again and be loved.

the thought sat heavy in his chest like a bruise that he couldn't stop pressing. jake was all at once suddenly and painfully aware that not only did he take you out of his future, but he had given you back to the rest of the world. that the version of you he still carried in his head wouldn't just be his anymore. that one day it would belong to someone else, someone who would look at you for five minutes and immediately understand why jake had loved you for three and a half years. someone like jungwon, who was sweet and safe and looking at you like he already knew exactly how lucky that would make him.

jake takes a long sip from his drink. then another. then another. as if enough of whatever concoction this is in his cup might somehow make him stop thinking. and obviously, because we all know how this goes, it doesn't. if anything, it makes the spiral worse, because now he's really watching. and once jake starts watching you, he's kind of screwed.

he watches the way you're smiling, real and unguarded, the way you lightly shove jungwon's shoulder after something he says, the way he grins, the way you grin back. and suddenly jake is very aware that he hates this. which is ridiculous because, really, nothing is happening. because jungwon is jungwon. because you're allowed to talk to whoever you want. because jake is twenty-three years old, not twelve. because he broke up with you. because he broke up with you. because he—

the thought doesn't get to finish itself. jake is already moving. already halfway across the room before his brain catches up. because apparently all that maturity he spent the last eight months building could be taken out behind a shed and shot the second he saw you smiling at somebody else.

and before he knows it, before he could let himself think about what he's doing for even a second, he's right there against you, his arm sliding around your waist before either of you could react, fingers spreading possessive and familiar over the curve of your hip like they had every right to be there. the warmth of your body against his side hits him like a memory he didn't realize he wasn't ready for. and for the first time in eight months, for one stupid, selfish second, jake felt like he was home again.

"there you are," he says, low enough that only you could hear the small crack in his voice. he then presses a quick, deliberate kiss to your temple, the kind of small, possessive thing that used to make you roll your eyes and smile at the same time. the kind of thing that he's done a thousand times before that used to mean absolutely nothing but now means entirely too much.

everything in your body immediately goes still and jake feels it. he feels the way you freeze beneath his arm, the sharp inhale you try to hide. he feels jungwon's eyes snap to him. then yours. but jake's committed now. or perhaps more accurately, he's already ruined his own life.

"been looking everywhere for you."

there's a horrifying two seconds of silence where nobody says anything.

jungwon then blinks, his eyes flicking between the two of you with that polite confusion that says he's realizing in real time that he's stepping into something he didn't really have the full context for.

"oh—shit, sorry, i didn't know you guys got back—"

"yeah, yeah we did," jake cut in smoothly, smiling like he had everything totally under control and didn't just lie right through his teeth with ease. your head whips towards him. jake pointedly does not look at you. instead, his thumb strokes once, slow and instinctive against your hip under the hem of your top before he could stop it. "right, baby?"

you don't answer right away. the music pulses around you, the lights catch your eyes, and for a second jake recognizes that look and that's when he realizes he's absolutely done for, that he pretty much dug his own grave and is actively getting in it.

jungwon then backs up slightly, mumbling something polite about catching up later before he finally turns and disappears into the crowd. the second he's out of sight, you spin in jake's hold, shoving his chest with both hands, and the look on your face is the one he had been waiting for and dreading in equal measure.

"what the fuck, jake?"

jake blinks at you slowly, like his brain was still catching up to what his body had done. like he's only just realizing that he crossed an invisible line that he laid down himself and then proceeded to sprint fifty feet past it.

"i thought we were good," you say, your voice tight as you look up at him, eyes wide and filled with the familiar mix of frustration and hurt that he knows all too well.

jake's jaw flexes, like he was trying hard to hold back every single, selfish, ugly emotion he'd been suffering with ever since you walked out of those apartment doors eight months ago and took half of him with you. his hold tightens too, his fingers pressing into your side before he answers, exhaling through his nose.

"we are good." the words come out too fast, too defensive. he heard it and hated it.

you let out a short, disbelieving laugh, "right. yeah. because that was totally normal."

he hesitates for a moment, the small distance forcing his eyes to flick down to your mouth for half a second before he forced them back up.

"c'mon, i mean…you—" the words stopped. for a second he just stands there, just looking at you, accepting that this is the closest he's been to you ever since eight months ago and this could very well be the last time he ever will be. just looking at you and the way your lips press together like you were holding back something much bigger than anger. and then at the very, very obvious fact that even now, even when upset at him, you still haven't stepped back. neither of you have. eight months of carefully curated distance and here you were again, letting him hold you like this in the middle of a crowded room.

"jungwon," he says finally, quieter. "really?"

"and what's wrong with jungwon," you ask, voice deceptively calm, your mouth quirked in that way where jake can't tell if you're annoyed or amused, or both.

his thumb moves without permission, a quick stroke against your hip, restless and desperate. "he's a kid."

"he's like a year younger than me," you shoot back, tilting your head, the movement bringing your faces a fraction even closer.

jake's jaw tightens. "he's still in school."

you stare at him for a long second, something dangerous and challenging sparkling behind your eyes. then the corner of your mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close enough to make his stomach flip.

"i'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that," you say, voice laced with that teasing edge that always used to get under his skin in the best way. "since when did you become such a possessive old man, jaeyun?"

jake closes his eyes at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue, trying his hardest to pretend it didn't hit him the way it always did whenever you called him that. he sighs, the sound quiet and exhausted, in that defeated kind of way that tells you this isn't coming from completely out of no where.

"c'mon, y/n," his voice is softer now, almost pleading. "i know you."

"right," you scoff, but your stance falters slightly. "so you know what's best for me, right? for the both of us?"

and that lands somewhere. somewhere deep and hard and admittedly more vulnerably raw than he wishes it had. his fingers tighten slightly around you, his breath hitching for a moment before he catches himself.

"c'mon..don't be like that," he murmurs, eyes searching yours like he was looking for an exit he already knew didn't exist. his hand slides a little higher against you, his palm now flat against the warm skin of your lower back. "you know i'm not trying to—"

"i'm not being anything," you cut in, voice quieter now but still edged with that defensive frustration, "you're the one who decided to make it weird. you're the one who came over here and—" your voice breaks off with a shaky laugh. you shake your head then, eyes now shining. "you know what, this is stupid. whatever."

a beat of silence stretches again between you, jake still unmoving, holding you right there against him. your bodies were nearly flush now in the cramped room, your knee slotted between his thighs, every point of contact painfully impossible to ignore.

then, soft and almost reluctant, you whisper, "let go of me, yun."

he swallows hard, voice low and defeated when he finally answers, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

"i kinda really don't want to."

the confession hangs there in the small space between your bodies, the truth heavy and honest in a way that solved absolutely nothing and made everything worse. you let out another small scoff, but despite yourself you still don't pull away. you don't push him. you just stay right there, letting him hold you, neither of you making any real effort to create distance. then, your eyes meet his in the dim party light, dark and shining and full of the same messy, desperate thing he was feeling. you break the silence first.

"how drunk are you?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

"not at all."

you pause, studying him. your gaze traces his face like you were memorizing it, like you were actively aware you were making a mistake but couldn't bring yourself to stop. then, slowly, hesitantly, one of your hands slid up from his shirt, fingers trailing along his collarbone before curving around the back of his neck, finding the ends of his hair automatically, mindlessly playing with the strands in that familiar way that always used to make his breath catch.

your eyes then meet his again and something flashed between you, something tired and hurt and full of everything you weren't supposed to feel anymore.

"sober enough to drive me home?" you ask after a moment.

"yes ma'am."

and for another agonizingly long second you just watch him again, eyes searching like you were waiting for one of you to be smart enough to stop this. to choose self-preservation over whatever this still was between you.

"liar."

jake's breath hitches. a small, low chuckle escapes him.

"would i lie to you?"

and what happens next is, what jake would later say, probably not his brightest idea.

the backseat of jake's car is cramped and all too familiar.

the second the door shut behind you both, it was as if the last thread of restraint never even existed. jake barely has any time to lock the doors before you're on him, or maybe it was him on you. it's messy from the start, your hands fisting in his shirt, yanking him closer as his mouth crashes into yours like he'd been starving for it, which, yes. eight months is a long time, so he won't deny that part. the kiss is all teeth and heat and months of pent up frustration. he tastes like a mix of beer and something that was just him, something that makes you make a small, broken sound against his mouth that goes straight to his head.

jake's hands go everywhere at once, one sliding up the back of your shirt to press flat against the warm skin of your back, the other gripping your thigh as he pulls you into his lap. the movement is clumsy in the tight space, your knee knocks against the seat, his elbow hits the window, the car rocks slightly with the shift of weight, but neither of you care. you pull back just enough to breathe, lips swollen, eyes wide.

"we're not getting back together," you mutter, voice already rough and gasping.

jake's mouth stays on your jaw, going lower and lower, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck. "i didn't say we were," he mumbles against your skin, teeth grazing slightly before soothing it with his tongue. his hands slip higher under your shirt, palms dragging up and down your sides like he needed to relearn every inch.

you tilt your head back, giving him better access even as your fingers tighten in his hair. "you're such an asshole," you breathe, the scoff cracking in your throat as a moan slips out anyways. "getting all jealous over jungwon like you have any right to—"

that's when jake makes a low, rough sound in the back of his throat and tugs you harder against him, rolling his hips up so you can feel exactly how much he didn't care about being called an asshole right now. "don't say his name while i'm trying to kiss you," he mutters, voice muffled against your collarbone.

you let out a short, breathless laugh and tug his head back by the hair so you can look at him, your eyes dark, lips parted. "you're the one who started it," the words low, your mouth barely touching his. "coming over there like some possessive ex."

"i am a possessive ex," he cuts in, voice wrecked before leaning in and kissing you again, deeper this time, tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to shut you up and pull you closer at the same time. one of his hands slips between your bodies, fingers toying with the button of your jeans without actually undoing it quite yet. "and you're still letting me touch you like this, so what does that make you?"

you bite his bottom lip in retaliation, hard enough to make him groan, head falling back against the seat as you drag your mouth down his neck. "someone who's definitely not getting back together with you," you whisper back against his mouth, even as your hips roll down against the hard line of him through his pants. his breath hitches sharply at the sensation, his hand sliding fully into your back pocket now, gripping you harder against him, guiding you into a rhythm that was hungry and messy and perfect.

"good," he pants between kisses, voice lower and desperate. "because i'm not asking you to."

but even as the words left his mouth, you could feel the lie in them just from the way he kisses you after that. like he's trying to pour everything he can't bring himself to say into the press of his mouth. like he was contradicting every careful denial he just made. his hands held you like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go for even a second, his hips rolling up to meet yours in that slow, needy rhythm that said everything he refused to.

you both knew it.

you pull back again, breathing heavier, lips shiny, "this is so stupid."

jake doesn't respond yet, instead he tilts his head and mouths at your neck, slow and deliberate, lips dragging along your skin until he finds that spot he remembers just below your ear. he starts gently at first, then sucks even harder, pulling a soft sound from your throat as he leaves a mark you're definitely going to hate him for tomorrow—amongst many, many other things. when he finally pulls back, he tilts his head back up to look at you, his eyes half-lidded, dazed and dark, pupils grown wide with something that looked a lot like surrender. no more careful distance, no more bite. just the pure, raw, unguarded want.

"yeah," he agrees, voice hoarse. "so stop me."

and well, you don't. because again, loss is a funny, selfish little thing. it makes you greedy, it makes you reach for what you know will hurt you later, just because the ache of not having it right now felt worse.

so you lean back in and kiss him again, slower this time, deeper like you were both finally admitting that the last eight months had been one long, exhausting lie you were both too tired to keep telling. you just pull him in even closer, and jake responds instantly, arms wrapping around you tighter, like he could somehow press the two of you back together if he held on hard enough, until there's no more fight between you. no more denial, no more pretending you could keep ignoring what still lived in the space between your bodies. just two people giving in.

you don't stop him when his hand drifts from your neck down to the front of your jeans, fingers toying with the button again until it finally pops open. you don't stop him when he tugs the fabric down your hips, lifting your leg to help him slide it off completely. and he definitely doesn't stop you when your own hands start working on his belt, the metal clinking harshly with the rush.

it's all too messy, too clumsy. it's eight months of missing each other crashing into the present all at once. and when it finally tips over, when you fully give in and give him all of you, it's fast and intense and full of everything that was left unshared between you two. his hands go everywhere, gripping, guiding, almost too rough in the way as if he was terrified this would be the last time. yours were in his hair, tugging, anchoring, like you needed the reminder that he was real. eventually, the car grows hotter, the windows fogging over completely, the only sounds your shaky breaths, the creak of leather, the soft involuntary noises that jake doesn't even try to hold back anymore.

and when it's over, when the tension finally breaks and leaves you both trembling and shaking hard, jake doesn't find it in him to pull away. he just stays there, holding your body on his, arms wrapped around you like he can't bear the thought of putting space between you yet. his thumb strokes slow, soothing circles against your skin, like his body is still trying to comfort you even now.

he closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath against your neck, his hands now tremble slightly where they rest on you. and jake knows he should let go, knows that this is the part where he's supposed to pull away, fix his clothes, and pretend this didn't just happen. but his body is much slower than his brain, and for a few seconds he let himself stay there—let himself feel the weight of you against him, the way your forehead presses against his shoulder like it used to on sunday mornings when neither of you had anywhere to be. the way you'd wake up tangled in his sheets, steal his hoodie before he could even open his eyes, kiss his face stupid until he finally woke up. the way you used to fix his hair with your fingers after sex, the same way you did just now without thinking. some habits never learn how to die.

eventually, you shift with a quiet wince, and jake's hands move on instinct, steadying you at the waist as you lift yourself off him, the loss of contact hitting him harder than expected. once you move to the seat next to his, he reaches over the front seat with one arm, fumbling blindly until the glove compartment clicks open, pulling out the small pack of wipes he'd kept in there for so long now and that you two were all too familiar with. he doesn't even remember when he'd last replaced them. maybe he never took them out in the first place.

he tears one open without looking at you and hands it over. you take it without a word. he then grabs another for himself, wiping himself in quick, efficient movements before tossing it into the small trash bag he keeps hooked on the back of the passenger seat.

then, without thinking too hard about it, he reaches for the hem of your shirt that had ridden up and tugs it back down gently, smoothing it over your hips like it was the most natural thing in the world. you don't say anything about it. instead, your hands move on autopilot too—fixing the collar of his shirt where you pulled at it just a few minutes ago, brushing a piece of his hair back into place like muscle memory. it was too comfortable, familiar. the kind of quiet and ordinary tenderness that only existed between two people who had known each other too long and too deeply to pretend things were simple.

"you still keep the wipes in your car," you finally say quietly, breaking the silence.

jake lets out a small, breathy laugh through his nose, the kind that sounds more tired than amused. "yeah. guess i never got around to taking them out."

you didn't say anything to that, but your eyes soften for a moment, just long enough for him to catch it before you look away. he wonders if you're remembering the same things he is. like how he used to keep your favorite snacks in the same glove compartment. or how you used to leave hair ties and lip balm in here like this car was yours. the way he still hasn't cleaned it out completely even after the breakup, like some pathetic part deep within him had been waiting for nights like this.

you then reach over and gently fix another piece of his hair sticking up in the back, your touch soft, thoughtless. it makes something in the chest pull tight.

"still a mess," you murmur.

jake's mouth twitches. "you caused it."

you don't deny it. instead, you give him a small look before letting out a quiet sigh as you lean back against the seat, pulling your jeans back up in the cramped space. jake starts to help without saying anything, tugging the waistband up over your hips when your hands fumble, his fingers brushing against your stomach in the process. he tries not to think about how many times he's done this before. how many nights that ended with him helping you get dressed in this very same backseat, both of you laughing quietly in bliss like the rest of the world didn't exist.

this time, there was no laughing, just the quiet sound of zippers and fabric rustling and the heavier thing sitting between you that neither of you seemed ready to address. you were the first to speak again, voice even softer this time.

"this was a really bad idea."

jake leans his head back against the seat, staring up at the ceiling. his hand finds yours in the space between you without thinking, thumb brushing over your knuckles once before he catches himself.

"yeah," he lets out quietly. "i know."

and for a moment longer, neither of you move. jake lets himself sit in it, the weight of everything you both used to be and everything you weren't anymore. he thinks about the night he broke up with you, sitting on the floor with the plant on the window and the lights above. he thinks about how he'd been the one to say you both needed the space, and how you looked at him like you already knew this was going to hurt worse than either of you could admit.

he thinks about all the nights since then that he spent telling himself he was fine. he thinks about how he spent the last eight months convincing himself that breaking up with you was the mature choice. now jake is starting to think that was the worst part. because at the time, it did sound mature. it sounded selfless. it sounded like the kind of thing a person says when they are trying very hard to be very good.

i don't want to hold you back. i don't want us to lose ourselves in each other. i don't want to wake up one day and realize we stayed because leaving was too hard.

all very reasonable, mature sentences. all very responsible. but all absolutely devastating when translated into what jake really meant, which was:

i'm scared. i don't know who i am without you, and somehow i convinced myself that means loving you is the problem. and frankly, that sim jaeyun, intelligent in several areas but yet deeply stupid in one very specific department, had mistaken fear for wisdom.

and now here you are again, in his car, letting him fix your clothes like nothing changed, when, in fact, everything has.

"you're still gonna drive me home?" your voice cuts through the silence, the heaviness of what you both refuse to acknowledge sitting between you.

jake turns his head to look at you. your eyes meet in the dim light, and for a second he let himself really look at you—the tiredness in your face, the slight redness around your eyes, the way your lips were still a little swollen. he wonders if you could see the same things in him.

"yeah," he says, simple and honest. "of course i am."

you nod once, like that was enough for now.

jake then reaches over across your body and unlocks your side of the door, pushing it open for you, and he follows on his side, patting his palms against his pants like he's trying to steady himself before getting back in. the two of you move in silence, you sliding into the passenger seat and instinctively adjusting it to the exact position you always used to, him sitting up straighter as he turns the key in the ignition. he swipes his hand across the inside of the windshield, clearing just enough of the fog so he can see the road.

he doesn't ask if you want to go back inside first. he doesn't ask if you want to talk about what just happened. he just puts the car in drive and pulls away from the curb, one hand loosely holding the steering wheel, the other resting on the center console between you two.

it's quiet for most of the ride. no sound other then the soft blast of air conditioning and jake's indicator blinking every now and then. but somewhere along the ride, somewhere between the third red light and the turn onto your street, your hand found its way back to his on the center console, neither of you saying anything about it. jake just turned his palm up and let your fingers slide between his, squeezing once, like his muscle memory refused to erase itself no matter how hard he tried.

he let out a small breath when he felt your touch, keeping his eyes on the road but his mind staying stuck on the same loop it always did when it came to you.

he didn't know if letting you go had been the right thing.

he didn't know if he'd ever stop missing this.

you stay silent sitting beside him with your head leaning against the seat, eyes half-lidded, thumb brushing slowly against his hand, watching the road like you were somewhere else entirely.

jake looks over at you briefly, and he remembers all the times he's driven you home like this. how many nights ended up with you in his passenger seat, your hand resting on his thigh while you hummed along to whatever song was playing. how you used to fall asleep sometimes on longer drives, and he would turn the music down and drive slower just so he wouldn't have to wake you up. how he used to hate dropping you off at your place because it meant the night was over. but at least back then, there was always a tomorrow, always a next time. always a version of his life where tomorrow always existed with you in it. until one day, it just simply didn't.

jake swallows hard, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

when he finally pulls up in front of your building, he puts the car in park but doesn't turn the engine off right away. the low hum fills the space in the air, neither of you moving quite yet. you stare out the window for a second, then finally turn your head to look at him. your eyes were soft in a way that made jake's chest ache, that made him want to take back every word he ever said eight months ago and pretend that night never happened at all.

you look at him for a moment longer before your voice comes out low, almost careful.

"…do you want some water or something?"

and it's such a simple question. so casual, so normal, like you were asking him to come inside after a usual night out, not after he'd just hooked up with you in the backseat of his car while you both ignored the fact you've been broken up for nearly a year now.

jake knew what you were really asking. he also knew that he should say no. that he should say goodnight, drive away, and go home. he should be the one to put the distance between you, because the both of you were clearly too weak to do it when you were this close, and because he had been the one to draw the line eight months ago in the first place.

but he doesn't. he turns the car off.

by the time you unlock the front door to your apartment, jake moves on instinct, his body remembering the motions like instinct. you mumble something about using the bathroom, disappearing down the hall while jake kicks off his shoes and wanders into the kitchen before he even consciously decides to. he reaches into the cabinet to the left of the sink and pulls out two glasses all without thinking. he almost doesn't even notice how your kitchen sink faucet is still leaking—the exact same leak you used to complain about every week. the exact same leak he kept promising to fix, and the exact same leak he never actually fixed.

he turns the handle and waits exactly seven seconds to let the water run cold first, because he remembers your sink is slow like that and because he, unfortunately, also remembers you hate drinking room temperature water. the sound of the leaking faucet and the running water and the distant shuffle of you moving somewhere in the apartment feels too familiar and selfishly comforting in a way that makes his stomach twist. like maybe if he looked down at his phone, the date would say it was last year. that you were still together and he still belonged here.

by the time you return, jake's noticed too much around him. the same chipped mug you always used to make your objectively terrible morning coffee sitting by the sink. the same magnet on the fridge from that trip you took together last year. the same candle scent sitting on the counter. everything looked the same and yet somehow nothing was the same at all.

jake watches the way you lean against the counter next to him, the way you keep your eyes on the glass in your hands like it was safer than looking at him. he thinks about how many times he's stood in this exact spot while you made tea in the morning, or while you ranted about your day after work, or while you kissed him against the same counter because you couldn't wait until you made it to the bedroom.

you don't look at him when you finally break the silence. instead, your eyes stay fixed on the half-empty glass in your hands.

"it's late," you say quietly. a beat passes. "you probably shouldn't drive home right now."

and there it is, his out, his second chance. his opportunity to be the responsible one for once. because despite everything that's happened tonight, despite the alcohol and the tension and the backseat, there was still a chance to stop this before it became something neither of you could pretend wasn't happening. but of course, since we all know by now that jake doesn't know the difference between knowing something and then doing something about it, we all know what happens next.

"yeah," he says, his eyes trained on the leaking faucet for a second, watching the slow, steady familiar drip before they finally land back on you. "i probably shouldn't."

and then the rest of night kind of falls into place in the exact way that it really, really shouldn't, given your circumstances. jake just kind of finds his body moving on its own, the same way it always used to when the two of you headed to bed after a long night. he knew the path by heart by now—the way that one specific floorboard near your bedroom door creaks, the way the hallway feels narrower in the dark.

in your room, the small lamp on the nightstand is already on. jake remembers all too well the nights he would accidentally turn on the overhead light and how you'd immediately scold him because you had a thing against using the 'big light'. now, the warm glow just reminds him of the version of his life out there where he still belonged here, where walking into this room doesn't hurt as much as it does now. jake stands in the doorway for second, watching as you move toward your dresser and open the bottom drawer to pull out one of your sleep shirts. his eyes drift to the drawer beside it without meaning to, the one that used to be his.

he walks over quietly and opens it. a few of his old hoodies and shirt were still folded inside, exactly where he left them months ago and never bothered to ask for them back. one of them, the black one that you used to steal constantly, sits right on top, smelling more like your detergent than his own. he pulls it out without thinking too hard about what that meant.

you don't say anything when he changes into it, just turning your back slightly while you slip into your own shirt, like you were giving him space even though there was nothing left to hide between you.

when he turns around, you're already climbing into your side of the bed, not that it used to really matter anyways. by morning, you'd usually end up sprawled halfway across his side already. jakes stands there for second, heart pounding.

he knows this is stupid. he knows you both know it. but he walks around to his side of the bed anyways and slides under the covers like he's done a hundred times before. he settles onto his back for a moment, staring up at the ceiling before finally turning on his side to face you.

you're already facing him. and it just takes that one small look from you for him to move automatically. he reaches for you without thinking, and you meet him halfway—your leg sliding between his, your body pressing close like it needed this as much as he did. his arm wraps around your shoulder and his hand finds its way into your hair, the other one going around your waist and slipping just under the hem of your shirt. your face finds its way into the crook of his neck, and his chin rests on top of your head. everything about it feels so painfully normal that it hurt.

jake could feel your heartbeat against his chest, the way your breath is warm against the skin of his neck and the way it eventually evens out. but most of all, he could feel how perfectly you still fit against him, like the two of you had been put into this world as missing halves meant to find one another.

jake never really believed in soulmates before he met you. the entire concept always felt too neat, too convenient, like something people told themselves to make sense of why certain connections felt different. but one night, a night so similar to this one, where you were tucked into him and his hand was mindlessly going up and down your spine because it helped you sleep, a night that felt so far from now, he remembers something you had mumbled to him in the haze of being half asleep and in bliss.

"you know i'd choose you in every lifetime, right?"

and jake had gone still for a second, his fingers pausing between your shoulder blades. then he chuckled quietly, the sound low and fond and full of warmth.

"yeah?"

you then nodded lazily against his neck, a small, content sound slipping out of you. "mmhm."

and jake remembers exactly what he said next. every single time. he could still hear the way the words had left his mouth, so steady and so sure, like they were the easiest truth he'd ever spoken.

"good," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "because i'm never letting you go."

the memory sits too heavy in his chest, even now. but the worst part wasn't that he had lied. it wasn't even that he had let you go. the worst part was that it took losing you for jake to finally understand that maybe he did believe in soulmates after all.

not because the idea of soulmates was romantic or comforting, but because losing you felt like losing something fundamental. something that felt like losing a piece of himself he didn't know how to function without until after the fact. it took letting you go to realize that so much of who he had become wasn't separate from you at all. a large part of the person he grown into had been quietly shaped by loving you—by the way you softened him, challenged him, and made space for parts of himself he didn't know how to hold on his own. he didn't just lose you. he lost a part of him that only existed because of you in the first place.

jake barely slept. which, to be fair, would be asking a lot from him when your literal body stayed curled against his all night in a way he hasn't let himself remember in eight long months.

he wakes up before you, still tangled in your sheets, your leg thrown over his like it had been eight months ago, and ten months ago, and a year ago, and every ordinary morning before everything became something different. your face still stays buried in his chest like you barely moved an inch in your sleep, and for a few minutes jake just lies there, staring at your ceiling, and let himself have it. let himself press his nose into your hair and breathe you in. let himself trace the slow, barely there patterns on your back with his fingers. let himself remember how some time ago in the past he got used to this, to waking up with your hair in his mouth and leg thrown over his hip and the way you somehow took up too much of the bed despite being smaller than him and feel like the luckiest guy alive.

then jake reluctantly yet carefully untangles himself from you, kisses the top of your head while you're still half-asleep, and slips out before either of you have to say anything real.

walking out of your apartment and driving to his own felt like he was doing something wrong, so when he steps through his front door, and three pairs of eyes immediately land on him, he feels even worse.

heeseung is sprawled across the couch with a bowl of cereal balanced on his stomach. sunghoon sits at the kitchen island scrolling through his phone, and jay, who very much does not live here yet acts like he does, stands at the stove flipping something in a pan.

the apartment goes quiet for half a second. then, heeseung grins, slow and knowing.

"ah," the word drags out. "there he is."

jake freezes in the doorway, one hand still on the doorknob. he's still wearing the same clothes he slept in, his hair's a mess, and he knew he probably smelled like your laundry detergent and something else he really didn't want to think about right now.

sunghoon doesn't even look up from his phone. "you were supposed to drive us home last night, asshole."

jay turns around with the spatula in hand, eyebrows raised. "yeah, what the hell, man? we had to uber. heeseung almost threw up in some guy's backseat."

jake rubs the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. "sorry," he mutters, kicking his shoes off by the door. "change of plans."

he then tries to walk past them to his room, but then heeseung suddenly sits up straighter, eyes narrowing at jake's figure.

"wait," he tilts his head, studying him. "you didn't come home last night."

jake keeps walking, eyes focused on his door and very much not on the other three pairs of eyes following him. "i stayed at the party longer."

"no you didn't," sunghoon says pointedly. "one, you hate parties, and two, we would've seen you."

jay's eyes dart slowly from jake to the guys then to the guys back to jake, still holding the spatula but not flipping anything anymore. then, as if everyone in the room put the pieces together with absolutely no other context needed, heeseung's face split into a wide, open gasp.

"oh my god," he says. "you slept with y/n, didn't you?"

jake freezes mid-step.

the apartment goes dead silent for two solid business seconds. then all three of them explode at once.

"i knew it!" heeseung shouts, pointing at him with his cereal spoon. "i fucking knew it the second you disappeared at the party last night."

sunghoon lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, "no way. you actually went home with her?"

and jay, still holding the spatula, just shakes his head slowly, but there's a small, knowing smile tugging at his mouth that somehow felt worse than heeseung's yelling. "dude."

jake turns around suddenly, face hot and burning and not at all helping his case. "okay, first of all, it could've literally been anyone else—"

"—okay well that's bullshit because you're, like, deeply so downbadly in love with y/n—" heeseung interrupts before jake shoots a pointed look at him.

"—and second of all," jake adds quickly, holding his hands up in defense, "it's not a big deal, okay? i literally just slept over. that's it."

the three of them stare back at him. the clear, very obvious kind of stare that says they don't believe a single word coming out of his mouth. then, with one eyebrow raised and his voice dry, sunghoon asks, "so you didn't hook up with her?"

jake opens his mouth. then closes it. and the three seconds of silence that follows pretty much tells them all they need to know.

heeseung's grin grows. "oh my god—"

"okay, fine," jake snaps, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "yes. we hooked up in the car. happy now?"

the apartment erupts again all at once. jay actually drops the spatula this time, heeseung lets outs a loud, delighted whoop and falls back against the couch, completely disregarding his cereal nearly spilling, and sunghoon just stares at jake with that specific look on his face that says he's watching a disaster happen in real time.

jake groans and drags a hand down his face. "you guys aren't supposed to know. and you definitely can't make it weird. please."

"make it weird?" heeseung repeats, sitting back up. "bro, you slept with your ex, who is, mind you, our friend, in your car after you broke up with her and then went home with her. it's already weird."

jay picks the spatula back up, but still watches jake carefully, "so…are you guys getting back together or what?"

jake's stomach twists. it twists violently and harshly and most of all, confusingly because he didn't know. he didn't have an answer. he didn't even know what he wanted the answer to be. the best way he could describe it is like standing in the middle of a road with no idea which direction he was supposed to go, or even worse, which direction he even wanted in the first place.

"i don't know," he admits quietly, dropping his hands helplessly. "neither of us tried to talk about it, i don't…i just don't know."

there's a brief moment of silence shared for another moment. heeseung exchanges a look with sunghoon. jay turns the stove off completely and leans back against the counter, arms crossed.

"you know this is gonna blow up in your face, right?" sunghoon says, not unkindly. just in that honest way friends do when they're genuinely concerned and know both of the parties involved too well to ignore the inevitable outcome. "you can't just do that and expect it to not hurt both of you."

and jake knew that. he knew it last night when he came over to you talking to jungwon. he knew it when he followed you out of the party and into the backseat of his car. he knew it when he woke up in your bed this morning and he knew it now.

but unfortunately for him, the truth is a little harder to face when all jake can remember is how you looked last night when you were asleep in his arms and your hand stayed holding the front of his hoodie like you didn't want him to leave, or how you had given him that quiet, knowing look in the kitchen when you asked if he wanted to stay over, like you already knew he would say yes.

he kept replaying those moments. the softness in your voice, the way you didn't pull away when he reached for you. the way it felt so easy to fall back into something that you both knew was supposed to be over.

and the cruel thing about the universe, jake was actively learning, was that it rarely cared about what he needed. and he wasn't asking for much, really. just some time or space to sit with what happened last night and figure out why he was still carrying pieces of you with him when he had been the one to walk away. he just needed a moment to sort through the mess in his chest—the guilt, the want, the quiet confusion of still reaching for someone he's supposed to have let go of, especially before having to see you again.

so yeah. he would've liked maybe at least a full business day, if anything. just one.

the universe did not give him a day.

and jake learns that the hard way later that night. because, instead, the universe gives him game night.

now, game night is one of those things that has always existed in the friend group, one of those little traditions that started so casually no one actually remembers who started it. it predates you and jake. predates the relationship. predates the breakup.

back then, game night looked a little different.

sometimes it was mario kart in heeseung's, sunghoon's, and jake's shared apartment with three controllers that worked and one that drifted aggressively to the left. sometimes it was monopoly, which eventually got permanently banned after jay accused sunghoon of cheating and refused to speak to him for forty seven minutes. sometimes it was card games, board games, drinking games, stupid phone games, or even just watching a movie because everyone was too tired to commit to anything that involved actual thinking.

but the point was never really the game. the point was the showing up, the collapsing onto the couch, the passing around the take-out boxes, the arguing over rules no body fully understood. the same five people ending up in the same room again and again because somewhere along the way, routine had started to feel like family. and for a while, game night had been one of jake's favorite things for reasons he never admitted, mostly because admitting them would mean admitting how much of it had always been about you.

game night was one of the first nights jake saw you differently. it was one of those nights that came and went and really meant absolutely nothing in the moment until suddenly jake was sitting there thinking about the way you laughed and then he realized that nothing was actually the beginning of everything.

it was before your first kiss, before the late-night calls, before the car rides. before your toothbrush lived by his sink and his hoodies found their way into that one specific drawer in your room on their own.

back then, you were just you. someone in the friend group, someone jay met in lecture one day and started bringing around to the lunch table. someone who started showing up to game night with snacks nobody asked for but everyone ate anyway. someone who got weirdly competitive over games you swore you didn't care about, which was funny because you absolutely did care and jake absolutely knew it.

and one night, somehow and somewhere in that stretch of time, it ended up being just you and jake on the couch. you were sitting on the opposite end with your knees pulled up under a blanket, picking through a bag of jolly ranchers and making a face every time you found a blue raspberry one, which apparently you had very strong feelings against.

"blue raspberry is too blue," you had said, looking at jake with a completely serious expression on your face.

jake remembered laughing because, at the time, he thought that was just a ridiculous thing to say. then he remembered watching you hand him every blue raspberry jolly rancher after that without even thinking about it.

and jake thinks he's pretty good at noticing people. he notices when jay gets quiet before admitting he was stressed. notices when heeseung pretended not to care about something he very obviously cared about. notices when sunghoon was hungry because he got meaner in a very specific, low effort way.

but you noticed things too. the smaller and hidden things, the things most people missed because they were too busy waiting for their turn to talk. you noticed that he always picked the blue controller if nobody else took it first. noticed that he drank the last sip of soda even when it went flat because he hated wasting things. noticed he laughed louder when he was tired, like he had to try a little harder to make up for his social battery giving up.

and then, you noticed that jake almost always only ate the blue raspberry jolly ranchers.

that night, sometime around two in the morning, when jay had already left and heeseung and sunghoon went into their rooms, you had looked over at him and said, "you're quieter than people think."

and jake had just blinked, because that was not the kind of sentence people usually say to him. people usually told him he was funny, charming, easy to talk to. occasionally annoying, depending on whether if jay just lost a game of mario kart to him.

"am i?" he asked, trying to sound casual about it.

you then shrugged, picking another blue raspberry jolly rancher out of the bag and sliding it across the couch to him. "yeah. not in a bad way. i feel like you just observe more than you talk sometimes."

"that's creepy."

"it's only creepy if you're bad at it."

"am i bad at it?"

you looked at him then, going quiet for a moment, with this small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"no," you said. "i think you're actually kind of good."

and jake, who had done a pretty decent job of being a pretty normal human being around you up until that point, suddenly forgot how. because at some point in the middle of that night, between the abandoned games, the jolly ranchers, and a conversation that somehow became about everything and nothing all at once, jake had the same, one persistent thought sitting in the back of his mind: he wanted to know you better.

and not just the version of you everyone knew. he wanted the small things you noticed that he didn't. the things you didn't think were interesting enough to tell people. your worst habit. your favorite childhood movie. the song you played whenever you were sad but didn't want to admit that you were sad. what you looked like first thing in the morning, which, at the time, was a wildly inappropriate and unearned thought considering he had strictly just been your friend for about a year by then.

tonight, however, game night looks like heeseung and sunghoon yelling at a basketball video game, jay sitting on the couch with half a takeout container balancing on his knee while offering extremely aggressive coaching no one asked for, and jake holding a controller he stopped meaningfully using about fifteen minutes ago.

"pass, pass, pass—are you actually blind?" jay snaps, leaning forward on the couch.

"i know how to play," heeseung says, immediately running his player directly into sunghoon's.

sunghoon doesn't even blink, "do you?"

and jake, meanwhile, is kind of just…there. physically present, yes, but mentally and most definitely emotionally, somewhere stuck between the events that took place in between his backseat and then waking up in your bed this morning. his thumbs move over the controller on autopilot, his character doing something clearly unhelpful and sunghoon swears under his breath.

"jake," sunghoon deadpans without looking away from the screen, "are you even playing or having some religious experience right now?"

jake gives him a look. "i'm playing."

"you're standing out of bounds."

jake looks at the screen. and he is, indeed, standing out of bounds.

"whatever," he mutters.

jay then gives him a sideways look, the kind of look that says i know exactly what your problem is and i am choosing not to say it out loud yet, which is somehow worse than if he had just said it. and then heeseung, because he's heeseung and therefore constitutionally incapable of letting anything breathe, glances over with a knowing look.

"you're doing it again," he drags the words out before looking back at the screen. "you're thinking about it."

jake's grip tightens around the controller. "i'm not."

"mm."

"don't do that."

"do what?"

"that."

heeseung's brow lifts. "i literally just said mm."

"you said it weird," jake says pointedly.

"well maybe you're hearing it weird because you're feeling guilty."

jake opens his mouth, already prepared to say something defensive, when the front door swings open.

"i swear to god," you announce, stepping inside with a plastic container of cookies tucked under your arm, "if someone ate the leftovers i left here last time, i'm fighting someone—"

you stop mid-sentence. because once you kick the door shut behind you, the whole room does that horrible, subtle thing rooms do when everyone knows something they're not supposed to and try very hard to act like they don't.

you stare back at the four pairs of eyes on you all at once, and not one of them is doing a particularly convincing job of looking normal. your gaze flicks across the room before finally landing on jake. you stare at him for another long second and then all at once, jake sees your expression shift in real time—from confusion, to understanding, to something much, much sharper.

"are you serious right now?" you let out a disbelieving laugh but terrifying enough, with no humor in it. heeseung and sunghoon suddenly become very interested in the paused game on the tv and jay, meanwhile, looks down at his phone like the conversation about to take place is absolutely none of his business.

"you told them?" you ask, eyes still fixed on jake, brows furrowed. "i thought we weren't going to make this a thing."

jake winces. "i know, i know. i'm sorry. they were just—they asked and it just…slipped out."

"slipped out," you repeated flatly, clearly unimpressed.

heeseung is the first to crack, letting out a small snort before immediately, and unsuccessfully, failing to cover it with a cough, "in his defense, he did try to lie at first. it was actually kind of impressive how bad he was at it."

"shut up," jake mutters, face burning now.

you drag a hand down your face, then fully step into the living room, looking between all of them. "okay, fine," you say finally, letting out a long sigh. "yes. jake and i hooked up last night."

the room goes painfully, awkwardly silent.

"that's it. end of story." you point towards the tv, then cross the room and drop into the empty spot beside jake like it was nothing. "and we're not going to be weird about it so unpause the game before i regret coming over."

and just like that, game night continues.

well, continues is a generous way to put it. it moreso limps forward with the very, very fragile determination of a group of people pretending to ignore what just happened. heeseung misses two open shots because he keeps glancing at you and jake sitting next to each other like he's afraid something might happen if he looks away for too long. sunghoon tells jake to lock in, even though he himself has clearly given up on focusing on the game. and jay keeps pretending he isn't very obviously tracking the situation out of the corner of his eye, because jay has always had the subtlety of a man pretending not to eavesdrop while standing directly outside a closed glass door.

meanwhile, jake…jake is doing his best. which historically has not always meant good things. but it's not particularly easy when the one person you're actively trying to move on from is still right next to you and the gap between your thigh and theirs is getting increasingly smaller and smaller with each sudden and small movement.

at some point much later in the night, sometime between jay suggesting they switch games and sunghoon nearly falling asleep on the floor against the couch, you stand, heading for the kitchen, "gonna get some water."

jake lasts maybe twelve seconds. because then he sets his controller down and stands too.

"i'm gonna—" he starts before realizing there is not a single convincing end to that sentence.

all three of them look up at him.

jake points vaguely to the kitchen. "…water."

 "right," jay says, already shaking his head as he goes back to flip through the game options.

"very important," heeseung adds with amusement in his tone and jake takes that as a sign to leave before anyone can make it worse.

you're standing near the fridge when he enters, holding your glass under the dispenser. you don't look at him right away.

"very subtle," you say.

jake stops a few feet behind you. "what?"

"that," you nod towards the living room. "that was literally, like, twelve seconds after i got up."

jake opens his mouth then closes it. then tries again. "i wanted water."

you finally turn around then, leaning back against the counter, glass in hand.

"you have never once voluntarily wanted water in your life, jake. you're chronically dehydrated."

and that is fair. annoying, but fair, given he can't exactly argue against the only person in the world, other than his mom, who has ever taken it upon themselves to remind him that he needed to drink more water on a daily basis.

"i'm not—," jake starts, then stops. he takes a small breath before he continues.

"i just…" he rubs a hand over the back of his neck and hesitates, glancing back toward the living room to make sure no one was paying attention. "i'm sorry. for leaving this morning without saying anything."

and you just go still. for a second, you just look at him, like you're actively trying to figure out what he wanted from this conversation. the fridge hums quietly beside you and from the living room, heeseung yells something at the tv, but it all sounds far away now. then you set your glass down and cross your arms over your chest.

"there's nothing to be sorry about, jake," you say, quietly but steady. "you don't owe me anything. it was a one time thing and we both knew that."

and there it is. clean, controlled, and merciful, maybe, given jake thinks he has plenty to be sorry about.

"right," jake says, and it comes out wrong, the kind of right where actually nothing feels right at all and too much is on his mind.

you sense it immediately. "jake."

"no, yeah. i know." he nods, looking down at the floor because looking at you right now felt too much like that night eight months ago. "one time thing."

you push off the counter and take a small step towards him, and jake tries his best to breathe normally with how much the distance closed in just that one step.

you stop in front of him. "i mean it," your voice is softer now. "i'm not mad."

"you looked mad."

"because you told them."

"technically, they guessed."

"yun."

"right. sorry."

the corner of your mouth twitches like you don't want to smile and hate that he almost made you. then your hand lifts, and it's slow enough that jake has the time to move away if he wants to, but of course because he's jake, he doesn't.

your fingers then wrap gently around his wrist, thumb brushing once over the inside of it in a small, absent motion that feels so painfully familiar he almost has to close his eyes.

"we're okay," you say, and your voice is now so gentle that it's almost too soft for the way you're trying to make this casual. "okay?"

jake looks down at your hand around his wrist. the way it's too casual, too warm, and how his pulse is probably hammering beneath your thumb, and he knows you can feel it because your gaze drops too. for another long second, neither of you say anything else. then, your thumb moves again, in that small, comforting stroke that breaks him just a little more. because you say things like we're okay and one time thing and then touch him like you never forgot how to comfort him when he needed it the most.

jake swallows. "yeah," he nods, even though he knows it's a lie. "okay."

you hold his gaze for another moment, then give his wrist one last gentle squeeze before letting go.

"good," you murmur, then jake watches you walk back into the living room and join the game like nothing had just happened.

by the time the night finally starts to wind down, jay is the first to leave, muttering something about having an early morning and heeseung disappears into his room shortly after, clearly already half asleep. sunghoon lingers just long enough to give jake one long, dry, and pointed look before saying goodnight to you and disappearing down the hall too.

"okay," you say mostly to yourself. "i'm gonna head out."

jake looks up too fast, which is embarrassing and he knows it so he tries to play it off by standing, but even that feels suspiciously urgent, so now he's just a guy standing in the middle of his living room for no reason.

"it's late," he suddenly blurts out with no logic or plan behind it. you pause with your keys already in your hand. then slowly, you look up at him and jake can tell immediately from your face you know exactly where this is going.

you lift a brow. "if you're about to tell me to stay over, i'm going to laugh in your face," you say with a small smile tugging at your lips. "we both know how that ended last time."

he doesn't argue right away. because, yes, last time was literally only twenty four hours ago and it ended up with him falling asleep holding you in your own bed, his entire dignity in shambles, and then waking up with the horrible realization that sometimes, some mistakes do not feel like mistakes while they're happening.

this is one of those times.

he just shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and walks over slowly, stopping just a few feet away from you.

"i know," he says quietly. and your expression shifts just a little at the sound of it. "but just stay," he adds, and the please is already there in his expression before he says it. "please."

you give him a certain look after, and jake hates that he knows that look. hates that he can read it before you can even say anything. because it's the same look you always get when you know he's asking for something he shouldn't, and you know you probably shouldn't give it to him, and somehow both of you already know how this is going to end.

he exhales, dragging a hand through his hair like that might somehow make this sound less like begging. "you can take the couch," he says quickly. "nothing weird. i promise."

your mouth twitches. "you promising nothing weird is not as reassuring as you think it is."

"yeah, that's fair."

"you are, honestly, historically awful at nothing weird."

jake just blinks.

"like impressively bad."

"okay, are we done?"

"i don't know, i'm kind of enjoying myself," and now you're actually smiling and jake huffs out a small laugh, the sound slipping out tired and fond.

"i just don't want you driving this late," he says, voice dropping down lower as he looks at you. "that's all."

and technically, he isn't lying. he doesn't want you driving this late. he also doesn't want you walking out the door yet. both things can be true.

you look down at your keys, thumb brushing over the small metal keychain hanging from the ring. it's the one he bought you forever ago from some random gas station during a road trip because you said it was ugly in a way that made you want it. he hates that he remembers that and he hates that it's still there and he hates that he's wondering what that meant.

then you let out a quiet sigh, and drop your keys back into your bag and set your bag down on the table next to the door.

"fine."

the relief hits him embarrassingly fast. "yeah?"

"yeah," you say, walking back into the living room and giving the couch a small pat as you sit back down. "couch it is."

jake presses his lips together, trying and failing to force his face into something neutral as he stops near the hall, "i'll grab you something to change into."

and jake didn't really fully have a solid plan when he says it, he just says it because that's what you do when your ex is about to sleep on your couch and you don't want her falling asleep uncomfortably in jeans. because technically, yes, there's probably other clothes in the apartment. heeseung's and sunghoon's maybe, if jake suddenly developed a sense of humor strong enough for that. he has not. the thought alone of giving you someone else's shirt makes something ugly and childish twist in his stomach, which is exactly the kind of thing he will be taking to the grave.

so he settles on grabbing one of his own hoodies from the back of his closet, an oversized one that already hangs too big on him, which, by your logic, makes it perfect for you. he remembers you telling him that once, standing in front of his mirror with the sleeves covering half your hands like your word was his new law.

if it's too big on you, it's mine. if it fits you, it's also mine.

and jake didn't argue against that because it was you, so naturally, he automatically doesn't need any other excuse.

when he returns to the living room, hoodie in hand, you take it without a word, but your eyes linger on it half a second longer than necessary, and jakes knows you're thinking the same thing he is. because most of the time, in normal situations, clothes are just clothes. this one isn't.

you disappear down the hall and jake stands there for a second after the bathroom door clicks shut, staring at the empty space you just left behind like a person who has learned absolutely nothing from the last twenty-four hours. then he exhales, and turns toward his room.

jake does not sleep well. actually, he doesn't sleep at all, for that matter. he spends the first twenty minutes lying on his back, scrolling through his phone, then putting his phone down, staring at the ceiling, then going back on this phone. he's trying very, very hard to be normal about this. he turns onto his side. then his other side. then his back again. at some point, he flips his pillow over like the cooler side of it might do the trick. it does not.

he can hear the faint hum of the air conditioner, the occasional honk of a car outside, the neighbor's footsteps from upstairs. and he can especially hear the sounds coming from the living room. there's the soft rustle of the blanket, the tiny creak of the couch when you shift, the barely there noises of you trying to get comfortable somewhere you clearly do not belong.

and jake knows. he knows the couch is fine. objectively, it's a perfectly acceptable couch. people have slept on it before. sunghoon once took a four hour nap on it after claiming he was only resting his eyes, which was a lie because no one rests their eyes with a blanket pulled over their head and ends up snoring twenty minutes in.

so jake knows the couch is not the problem, but you. the problem is that jake knows exactly how you sleep. he knows you hate being cold but will kick the blanket off an hour into sleeping anyways. knows you always sleep better on your side. knows that if you're not comfortable, you'll pretend you are anyways because you hate making things inconvenient.

and suddenly, the thought of you lying out there on his couch, in his hoodie, trying to sleep like anything from this arrangement makes sense, feels so stupid he physically can't stand it.

the hallway is dark when he steps out of his room, the living room only lit by the small light glowing from your phone, held loosely in your hand as you're curled on your side, one arm tucked under your head.

your eyes lift when you see him.

"can't sleep?" you ask quietly.

jake leans one shoulder against the wall, hands already in the pockets of his sweat pants. "no."

you exhale through your nose, "me neither."

jake looks at you for a second, at the way his hoodie slips off one shoulder, at the bare skin of your legs folded beneath you, and something in his chest pulls a little tighter.

"this is dumb," he eventually says. "you're not sleeping out here."

"jake—"

"come here," he exhales, cutting you off. it wasn't demanding, it wasn't loud, just something sure and a little tired, like he's already given in to whatever this is. he rubs a hand over his face before looking back at you. "just…come sleep in my room. the bed's bigger anyways."

your expression softens, and for a moment, jake sees the same quiet resignation in your eyes that he feels settling in his own chest. then you sigh, set your phone on the coffee table, and push yourself up from the couch. "okay."

jake doesn't say anything else, just turns and walks back down the hall into his room. you follow him a few seconds later, stopping in the doorway for a moment, one hand still on the handle like you were deciding whether to step inside.

it felt strange—walking into a room that used to feel like yours. the same plant sat on his windowsill, somehow still miraculously alive. the same string lights hang across the wall, though more bulbs have gone out since the last time you'd been here. his bed was unmade, sheets crinkled from where he'd been tossing and turning.

and then there was jake. sitting on the edge of his bed, looking warm and comfortable and hair messy and eyes sleepy and like everything you missed.

this time, when you look at him, there's something different. like seeing you walk in here and close the door behind you and stand there with his hoodie swallowing your figure shifted something in the air. jake's gaze stayed on you, heavier now, thicker and in a way that made it very, very clear that you both knew exactly why you were in here.

you walk over slowly until you're standing right in front of him, close enough that if you took one small step forward, you'd be in between his knees, close enough that if either of you leaned in even slightly, it would turn into something else entirely.

jake looks up at you. your hands move first, resting lightly on his shoulders, like you're still testing whether you're allowed to touch him. his hands answer before his brain does, moving up to settle on the back of your thighs beneath the hem of the hoodie, his palms large and warm against your skin.

your gaze drops to his hands before going back up to his face. "so much for not making it weird," you whisper quietly.

jake lets out a small breath that almost becomes a laugh. his thumbs start moving up and down on their own, and your breath hitches immediately. "you were out there sleeping in my clothes," he murmurs. "it was already weird."

your mouth twitches into a small smile, your fingers shifting against his shoulders, sliding slightly towards the back of his neck, and jake has to look down for a second and take a breath because there's only so many things a person can survive at once.

"plus," he adds, "you let me sleep in your bed last night. i'd be kind of a jerk to make you sleep on the couch."

he then spreads his knees slightly and tugs you just an inch closer, and you let him, stepping into the already small space between the two of you in between his legs. you look down at him, eyes soft but guarded.

"we said it was a one time thing," you murmur softly.

jake's thumbs kept moving in that slow, comforting motion, and you feel his grip tighten just slightly, like he was afraid you would step back.

"well," he says, voice low and a little rough, "technically we didn't break that yet."

jake knew what he was doing. he knew that you knew it too. that he was toeing the line, that he was giving in, and the dangerous part was that you weren't stopping him. you weren't stepping back. you were still standing there, letting him touch you, letting the space between you disappear like some unspoken part of you has been waiting for this as much as he has.

his eyes drag over you slowly, the way you look small in his hoodie, the way it fell just past the middle of your thighs. something flickered across his face, something raw and dark and a lot like he was trying very hard not to feel what he was feeling.

"this is still a bad idea," and you try to sound steady, but your voice cracks at the end.

"i know," jake answers, hands sliding a little higher up the back of your thighs. "i know it is."

he gently tugs you forward, slow, careful like he was giving you every chance to stop him, eyes watching your expression the entire time. your knees bump against the edge of the bed as he guides you closer, until you're standing right against him. then his hands move up higher and settle on your waist, and with one gentle pull, he brings you down into his lap.

you go willingly, a small sound escaping you as your knees settle on either side of his hips, your hands find his shoulders and grip them tighter, like you were trying to ground yourself. neither of you speak for a moment, the silence stretching and growing heavier with every slow second that passes between you.

jake's eyes drop to your mouth, then flick back up to meet yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

"tell me to stop."

you don't. instead, you lean in first.

the second your lips touch his, jake feels something inside him give way, like a silent, inevitable unraveling.

he knew he shouldn't be doing this, knew this was exactly what you both said you wouldn't do. but the moment your hand slides into his hair, he stops thinking altogether. he kisses you back like he was trying to be careful, trying to keep it soft, but the second you sigh against his mouth, the cautious thing inside him cracks open, and his hands are already sliding higher, pulling you closer like his body had been waiting for permission.

he missed the way you used to kiss him like this, like you still knew exactly how he liked it. he missed the way your body fit against his, the quiet and familiar weight of you in his lap, the way your fingers always found their way into his hair. and the longer it goes on, the less jake can pretend he's trying to be careful.

he suddenly deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding slowly against yours that makes you tug slightly at his hair. his hands slide down to grip the back of your thighs as he lifts you with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively before he turns and lowers you onto the bed without breaking the kiss. you let out a small giggle against his lips at the sudden movement, and he smiles into the kiss before settling between your legs, the mattress dipping beneath your weight as he follows you down. his hips roll down against yours on instinct, and the friction pulls a small gasp from your breath.

jake pulls back just enough to look at you, both of you catching your breath. your eyes were dark, lips swollen, the hoodie bunched up around your waist. his hand moves again, sliding higher until his palm covered your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in light, teasing strokes, making you arch into his touch with a soft, desperate sound that goes straight to his core. he breaks the kiss to press his forehead against yours. 

"missed you," he admits, the words slipping out before he can stop them. "missed the way you sound when i—" his thumb circles again, slower this time, and the way you shiver under his hand makes something hot and helpless twist in his stomach. "fuck. so sensitive still."

your hands slide down from his hair to his shoulders, gripping him like you needed something to hold on to. "more," you whisper against his lips, your hips rolling up to meet him in that needy way he always loved. his hand leaves your breast and slides down your stomach, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of your underwear, pausing there, breathing hard, giving you one last chance to stop him.

you look down at where his hand sits, then back up at him, and your hand then comes up to cover his, gently pushing it lower. jake lets out a shaky exhale against your neck as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finding you already warm and wet. he groans quietly, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"fuck, baby…" the pet name slips out before he can catch it. his fingers move instantly but carefully, like he's savoring every reaction coming out of you. two fingers slide through your folds, gathering the wetness there before he slowly pushes them inside you, curling them upward in a slow, firm stroke that made your walls flutter around him. the wet sound of it is obscene in the quiet room, and jake groans at how easily you take him. "you're already—shit. you feel so good."

you let out a small moan, hips shifting against his hand. one of your hands fisted in his shirt while the other stayed in his hair, tugging slightly every time his fingers found the right spot inside you again.

jake lifts his head to look at you again, eyes dark, pupils blown wide as he watches you, his fingers still moving inside you, curling on every pull back, thumb pressing circles on your clit at the same time.

"you're so fucking pretty like this," his voice comes out hoarse, his breathing getting heavier. he kisses you harder this time, swallowing the moan that escapes you as he worked his fingers faster, his own hips rocking against your thigh now, seeking friction. when he pulls back, his eyes stay on yours.

"wanna taste you," he says quietly. it wasn't a question, but there was something almost hesitant in his voice, like he was asking for permission to cross another line. you then nod, eyes half-lidded and dark and trusting, and that was all jake needed.

he moves down your body slowly, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your jaw then your throat then your stomach as he pushes the hoodie up higher. his hands slide under your thighs, gently spreading you open as he settles between your legs. then he looks up at you for a moment, his voice low and sincere, "tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

you just nod, already breathless as you tug his head closer. 

the first drag of his tongue over you is agonizingly slow, your back arching hard off the bed as a broken whimper tears from your throat before you can catch it. jake groans against you, the vibration shooting straight through your core like he’d been waiting for that sound.

"fuck," he breathed, voice muffled. "always taste so good."

your eyes roll back as he starts taking his time. long, unhurried licks that make your thighs start to tremble, gentle sucks that pull desperate little sounds from your throat. every so often he glances up, watching your face like he wanted to memorize every reaction. one of his hands stayed firm on your thigh, holding you open while the other slid up to rest over your stomach, grounding you there.

"you're being so quiet," he murmurs between his strokes that were getting quicker and quicker. "you used to be louder for me."

you gasp right as you feel his tongue dip right into you, "jaeyun—"

"there we go," he whispers, almost to himself. he slides two fingers back inside you, curling in that same way that made your vision blur while his tongue circles your clit again. "say it again."

your voice cracks on his name, hips jerking, "jaeyun—fuck—"

jake groans again, the sound going through you as he works you harder, fingers moving in tandem with his mouth. he pulls back just enough to look at you again, lips shiny.

"god, love it when you say it like that," he admits, eyes glassy. "like i'm still yours."

you look down at him, chest heaving, "you're not supposed to—fuck—not supposed to say shit like that."

"yeah," he breathes, eyes flicking up to meet yours. "i know."

jake doesn't stop though, still keeping his mouth on you, still sliding his fingers deep inside you until your legs were shaking and until you were getting louder. not that jake minded, if anything, it made him more determined, like every sound you made was something he wanted to earn.

when he finally pulls away, his mouth is wet and eyes wild as he goes back up and kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. one of his hands stays between your legs, still moving slowly inside you.

"need to feel you, yun," your voice strained now against his mouth. "please."

you're already reaching for the waistband of his sweats when he answers, "yeah. yeah, okay."

jake helps you shove his pants down just enough, then pauses, breathing uneven as he looks down at you. one hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip. "look at me."

your eyes lift up to meet his and for a moment, jake forgets everything else. forgets the circumstances, forgets the careful distance he's supposed to be keeping. in that exact second, jake forgets that this isn't supposed to mean anything, that you weren't his anymore. none of it existed in the space between your bodies, all he can feel is the way you're looking at him, open, vulnerable, and so painfully familiar.

his eyes stay locked on yours as he lines himself up and pushes in slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully buried inside you. the stretch makes your mouth drop open slightly, and jake has to stop and stay there for a second, like he needed a moment to feel it. 

"fuck," he groans, forehead dropping to yours, eyes squeezing shut like he was trying to keep it together. "you feel so good. so fucking good, baby."

jake starts thrusting deeper, slower at first—long, deliberate strokes that make you feel every inch of him, his hips rolling forward until the slick sound kept growing louder with every movement. one hand stays wrapped around your jaw while the other grips your thigh around his waist, pushing it higher and wider as he fucks into you with steady, heavy rolls of his hips.

"missed this," he murmurs between thrusts, the words low and honest. "missed the way you look at me when i’m inside you like this."

your hands then slide under his shirt, nails dragging lightly down his back as you meet his every thrust.

"yun—" your voice cracks again, more breathless now. "harder. please."

he lets out another low groan like he’d been waiting for permission this entire time. he shifts his weight and snaps his hips harder on the next thrust, going a little faster, a little rougher. the new force pulls a sharp sound from you. 

“yeah?” he pants, eyes locked on you. "like that?"

you nod quickly, eyes squeezing shut as your fingers dig harder into his back. “more, yun, please—” 

that was all it took. he gives it to you, gripping your waist hard enough to leave marks, fucking into you properly now, hips driving into you with deep, forceful thrusts that make the bed creak loudly beneath you. the wet, filthy sound of skin meeting skin fills the room with every thrust, each snap of his hips sharper, rougher, like he was finally letting himself take what he’d been aching for all night. every thrust, every time he bottoms out, knocks another helpless whimper out of you, and jake drinks it in like it's his air. his hands tighten where they hold you, fingers pressing into your skin as he kept you exactly where he wanted you, fucking into you harder, faster, the rhythm turning relentless, like he was trying to fuck the memory of the last eight months out of both of you.

"you're so beautiful," he breathes out, the words coming out like muscle memory, his mouth curving into a small smile against yours. "especially when you're trying to stay quiet."

you let out a shaky laugh that turns into a moan right when he hits that spot inside you just right. you can feel the shift in him, the way his control starts to slip as his thrusts grow faster, rougher, the bed frame now hitting the wall in a steady rhythm. he shifts slightly, changing the angle, and you can’t stop the sounds suddenly slipping out of your mouth. 

"there it is," he pants against your month. "right there, baby. let me hear you." 

you moan again, louder this time, and jake's rhythm stutters for a second. 

"fuck—yeah, keep making those sounds," he murmurs. "not gonna last if you keep doing that."

you arch up into him even more, your back curving off the bed as you chase the new angle, the shift making him sink even deeper, the stretch and pressure pulling a choked moan from your throat. your hands slide up the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair as you pull him down into a desperate kiss, all tongue and heavy breaths, the low sound he makes against your mouth vibrating straight through you. 

"hate how good you feel," you breathe against his mouth, the words coming out strained. 

jake lets out a breathless laugh, retaliating by thrusting into you with more purpose. "yeah?" he mumbles, voice rough. "then why are you squeezing me so tight?"

one of his hands move to pin yours down next to your head, fingers threading with yours. "come on," he whispers, eyes never leaving yours. "wanna feel you come. let me feel it."

you were so close, jake could feel it in the way you clenched around him, in the sharp, stuttering rhythm of your breath against his neck, in how your thighs start to shake where they stayed locked around his waist. he feels your walls flutter again and his hand immediately slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing faster, tighter circles as he kept the same deep, relentless angle. 

"yun—" your eyes squeeze shut and your free hand grabs onto his shoulder, your jaw falling open, the words stumbling out on their own. "i'm—keep going, i'm gonna—"

"that's it," his voice muffled against the side of your neck. "let go, baby. i've got you."

your back arches hard as it hits you, a moan tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clamping down around him in tight, pulsing waves. 

"fuck—fuck—yun," the words spill out of you in a rush, half a moan and a sob all a once as your free hand flies to his shoulder, nails digging in until jake could feel every tremor running through you. jake groans loudly at the feeling of you clenching around him, his rhythm now faltering in a way he can't recover from.

"shit—fuck, that's it," his voice wrecked as his hips keep thrusting you through your orgasm, chasing his own release now, hips stuttering as he loses the last of his control. "just like that." his forehead then drops back against yours, his eyes shut, short gasps spilling from his mouth. "fuck—fuck, baby—gonna come—tell me it's okay, please—"

“do it,” you manage to gasp, body still shaking underneath him as your legs pull him in even more. “please—i want it—”

jake buries his face in your neck with a low, wrecked sound as he finally comes, hips jerking as you feel the hot spill of him deep inside you. his whole body tenses above you, the noises leaving him raw and desperate and just purely him.

"fuck—baby—" his voice is muffled against your neck. "oh my god—" he keeps moving through it, his thrusts getting shallower and shallower through out both your highs, until he finally stilled, breathing hard against your skin.

for a long moment, neither of you move. jake stays buried inside you, chest heaving, one hand gently stroking slow and soothing lines down your thigh now while the other stays tangled with yours beside your head. his lips press soft, shaky kisses against your neck as he tries to catch his breath, and yours stay in his hair, lightly scratching his scalp the way you knew he liked. 

eventually, jake lifts his head just enough to look at you, his eyes glassy, a little overwhelmed and a little dazed, like he still hasn't fully come back to himself yet. the sharp loss of contact draws involuntary sounds from the both of you as he shifts carefully onto his side, automatically reaching for you as he went. his arm slides under your neck as he gently pulls you into his chest, drawing you in until your body presses flush against his.

the room falls quiet except for the sound of your breathing slowly settling and the faint rustle of sheets as he adjusts his hold on you, tucking you closer into him. his fingers trace slow, absent patterns along your spine, his touch careful and tender. it all felt too easy, too natural, like slipping back into something that was never supposed to become a habit again.

"yun…" you break the quiet first, your voice low against his chest. he hums softly in response, hand still moving along your back. you swallow, fingers curling slightly into the front of his hoodie. "i'm serious. this was the last time."

jake's hand pauses for a second against you, his movements faltering. then, he just nods, his arm tightening around your waist as he presses one more kiss to the top of you head, your breathing already evening out and your eyes fluttering closed.

"yeah," he whispers against your hair as his hand starts moving again, slower this time. "last time."

and so, obviously, it was not the last time.

the next time is only two days later. your car decided to break down in the parking lot of your work office, and you sent a panicked SOS text to the group chat. and it’s almost impressive how thoroughly the universe particularly set you up that night, because heeseung’s phone is on do not disturb, jay stuck in a late meeting, and sunghoon, based on absolutely no evidence whatsoever but strong historical precedent, is probably ‘resting his eyes’ on the couch. 

which, by process of elimination, leaves jake.

so the next thing jake knows, he’s pulling into a mostly empty parking lot and you’re getting into his car and he’s looking at you with a small smile and you’re looking back at him like you were hoping it’d be him. 

you complained about your car, jake complained about how you ignored the check engine light for three weeks. you tell him not to victim blame you in your time of need. he says your car literally gave you a warning in bright orange. you say cars are depreciating assets and capitalist by design. he says that doesn’t mean they’re wrong. 

you laugh and then he laughs and just like that, the two of you fall back into that gray area where the line blurs a little more every time you cross it until jake isn’t sure which side he’s supposed to be standing on. what he is sure about is that when he gets to your building, he parks and then looks at you and you look at him and then he finds himself turning his car off and waking up in your bed the next morning. 

the time after that happens after dinner with everyone. it’s you sitting across from him at the restaurant, laughing at something jay says, your chin resting in your hand, the sleeve of your sweater slipping over your fingers. it’s jake trying very hard not to look at you too much and failing horribly. it’s your foot bumping his once beneath the table and both of you pretending it was accidental. then twice. then not accidental at all. and then it’s jake later finding himself underneath you in the backseat of his car with his mouth on your neck and your hands under his shirt. 

then it’s a week before it happens again, which is pretty impressive given you two see each other twice in between and manage not to cave. one of those times is coffee with heeseung and sunghoon where jake mentally curses heeseung for taking the seat next to you before jake gets there. the second time is game night again but this time with too much beer involved, and you all pass out in the living room before midnight.

the next evening, however, you show up at their door with a large tote bag in your arms and two containers of hangover soup balancing on top. jake answers the door, and you're just standing there, hair a little messy, face bare, and looking at him in that very specific way that doesn't even make jake think twice before he mentions that neither heeseung or sunghoon were home at the moment. and so by now, we all probably know how this ends, and it looks a lot like you on the kitchen counter, tote bag abandoned on the floor, soup containers left unopened near the sink, and jake standing between your legs, mouth hot against your neck like he was making up for every second of the past week he spent pretending he didn't want this.

sometimes the excuse was simple. sometimes it was you needing a ride and turns into you under him in his passenger seat with the windows fogging up and his hand braced against the center console. sometimes it was because you had a bad day, and jake would show up with takeout in his hands, and then somewhere between opening the orange chicken and act two of the movie you put on, he ended up in your bed.

sometimes, there was no real reason at all, and it just simply happened, whether in his car or yours, in your bed or his, and that one time in your shower when he was supposed to be getting ready to leave and very much did not leave for another forty minutes. sometimes it was you pressed up against your front door before it even fully clicked shut and most of the time, it was on your couch because neither of you could wait to go down the hall.

jake can't really tell you exactly how long this goes on for, and that's the thing he's starting to learn about bad habits. one day something happens once, and it's a mistake. then it happens again, and it's a coincidence. then a third time, then a fourth, and suddenly there's a rhythm to it neither of you say anything about because labeling it would mean admitting you both know it exists. so jake doesn't say anything and neither do you, and if any of the guys noticed it, they don't say anything either.

it goes on long enough for the green leaves on the trees to start fading at the edges into an early stage of orange, long enough for the nights to get cooler, long enough for you to start taking his hoodies back home again without asking, and if jake notices, he pretends he doesn't. because noticing means he would having to confront this entire situation, and he knows better than to ask what this is, because is answer is probably nothing good, but also because some selfish part of him is terrified that asking will make you stop.

so he takes what he can get; he takes the late nights, the borrowed clothes, the half-finished takeout and abandoned movies, the mornings where you wake up and kiss a smile into his lips but then can't quite look at him in the eyes when he leaves. the brief, stupid moments where it almost feels like having you again.

one particular night, it had been less than twelve hours since jake last saw you. the last time being earlier that morning, when he was leaving your apartment with his hair still damp from your shower and his shirt wrinkled in a way that made him feel very obvious walking late into work. he was running on maybe three hours of sleep, which was pretty generous, honestly, because not much sleeping had actually happened with you. 

so by the time midnight rolls around, jake is exhausted. he’s already in bed when his phone buzzes next to him on the nightstand. 

y/n: hi

jake stares at his screen for half a second, his heartbeat doing that annoying thing it still, and always has, does whenever he thinks of you. then he types back.

jake: hey jake: everything okay?

he watches as the typing bubble appears, disappears, appear again, then disappears one more time. then, finally—

y/n: remember how we used to go on late night drives whenever i couldn’t fall asleep?

jake’s thumb stills over the screen. he blinks hard, because of course he remembers. you in the passenger seat with your knees tucked up, shoes kicked off, his phone in your hand because you had the important responsibility of choosing the music. the two of you driving nowhere with the windows cracked open, city lights dragging soft lines across your face, you feeding him snacks as he drove. he remembers the nights you talked about everything. the nights you said nothing at all. the nights he drove until your voice got quieter and your head finally tipped against the window.

jake swallows.

jake: of course jake: pretty sure you’re personally responsible for half the miles on my car

a few seconds pass. then your reply comes through.

y/n: what are you up to rn?

and jake knows what the correct answer is.

he could say he’s tired, which is true. he could say it’s late, which is also true. he could say he has work in the morning, which would be most definitely true and responsible and deeply unlike anything he has done lately when it comes to you.

and so, about eleven minutes later, jake finds himself parked outside your building with you climbing into his passenger seat in your pajamas. 

“hi,” you say softly.

jake looks over at you, one hand still resting on the gear shift.

“hi.”

for a second, neither of you move. then you glance down at his phone connected to the charger and raise an eyebrow.

“you still have my night drive playlist saved?"

jake’s fingers tighten slightly against the wheel, “you mean the one you named ‘insomnia is a bitch.'”

“yeah,” you say. “and?”

“kind of hard to delete something with that much artistic integrity.”

then you let out a laugh and jake decides that alone makes the whole stupid night worth it before it has even started.

jake puts the car in drive.

“where to?”

you lean your head back against the seat, eyes drifting back to meet his.

“nowhere.”

jake nods, because he knows that place. he’s taken you there before.

so he drives, with no destination, no real route. just the familiar pattern of roads the two of you used to take when sleep felt far away and the apartment felt too small and you needed to breathe for a moment.

the streets are almost empty at this hour, which helps in jake's case, because it means he can look over at you more than he probably should. you're turned toward the window, cheek resting against the seat, one sleeve covering your hand tucked under your chin. the surrounding city passes you in pieces—gold from a streetlamp, blue from a store sign, red from a traffic light that catches in your eyes when you blink.

jake keeps one hand on the wheel and the other low on the console, fingers drumming like he needs something to do with them when reaching for you isn't an option. and for the first part of it, neither of you say much, it's just the sound of your playlist in the background and the engine running and your low humming to a song you added because you knew jake liked it.

late night drives with you were never really about conversation, at least not always. sometimes they were about the silence. about knowing someone well enough that you didn't have to fill every second just to prove you still belong there. about the soft kind of company that didn't ask anything from you except presence. jake used to love that. and frankly, he still does.

eventually at some point, you shift in the passenger seat, pulling one knee up slightly as you turn towards him. jake feels the sudden attention, the way you're just quietly and carefully studying the side of his face as he tries his best to stay focused on the road ahead of him.

"did you figure it out?"

the question comes out softly. so softly in fact, that jake almost convinces himself he heard you wrong. his eyes flick to you, then back to the road.

"…figure it out?"

you don't answer right away. the car moves through a green light, an empty crosswalk. a closed bakery. a laundromat still glowing at the corner.

then you say, "you."

jake's hold tightens around the steering wheel, not looking away from the street quite yet. you keep looking at him.

"when we broke up," you say, voice almost too calm, too accepting, "you said you needed to figure out who you were outside of us. outside of me."

jake feels his stomach drop, and he can't will himself to look at you yet. because your voice isn't even sharp, isn't accusing, but moreso gentle, like you're not trying to cause a scene or hurt him with it, which somehow makes it hurt worse.

he doesn't say anything. for one ridiculous second, all he can remember is the way he said it back then, how reasonable he tried to make it sound. how carefully he chose his words, like if he stacked them neatly enough, you wouldn't see that he built something to hide behind because he was scared and tired and overwhelmed by the size of a future that started to feel more like something he could ruin if he held it wrong.

"jaeyun."

your voice pulls him back, and jake realizes he's been quiet for too long, the car slowing down like his body is trying to buy more time.

"i don't know," he says finally.

your expression doesn't change much, but your fingers curl slightly into the sleeve of your sweatshirt. "you don't know?"

he breathes out a humorless laugh. "i thought i would."

and then jake can feel it on the side of his face—the way you're looking at him, caught somewhere between hurt and frustration and like part of you understands what he means and another part of you hates that you do.

"i thought—" he starts, then stops, because the sentence already sounds stupid in his head. "i thought if i had enough space, it would make sense eventually."

"did it?"

jake swallows. because the honest answer is no. but the more honest answer is that nothing made sense, at least not in the way he wanted it to.

because, yes, he learned things. he learned how to sleep alone again, technically. granted, much, much worse, but technically. he learned which takeout places delivered late enough so he didn't have to stand in the kitchen and remember all the meals you used to make together. he learned that grocery shopping for one person is depressing in a way nobody warns you about. he learned that some silences are peaceful and some silences are just rooms missing the person who used to laugh in them.

he learned that he could live without you.

he could wake up, make his coffee, go to work, show up to game nights, make small talk, fold laundry. he continued, in the most basic and humiliating sense of the world. he learned that life did not stop without you. it just got worse.

"not really," he exhales and he feels his chest tighten when your gaze drops to your lap. "i mean, i figured out some stuff," he adds, his voice smaller now. "just not…not what i thought i would."

you're quiet for a moment. then, "like what?"

jake should keep driving. he should keep his eyes on the road and his hands where they are and answer carefully, if he answers at all. but suddenly what was supposed to be a simple night turned into this, and the thought feels instantly dumb because nothing about nights with you has ever been simple. so instead, he pulls into an empty parking lot close to the river and parks under a flickering lamp. he lets his hand fall from the wheel, rubbing once over his mouth before he finally looks over at you.

"i figured out that being without you didn't make me feel more like myself," he says. your eyes lift to his and his stomach twists. "it just made me realize how much of myself i built around loving you."

the words land and they stay there. they're out there, in that undefined space between you and him and that's when jake almost wishes he could take them back. and not because they aren't true, but because they're too true and he knows it and he can tell by the way you go still that you know it too. and now he's looking at you and how your lips part slightly but don't say anything. so he keeps going, because he thinks stopping now would somehow make everything worse.

"and i know that's not fair," he says quickly, looking down at his hands for a second before forcing himself to look back at you. "i know that sounds like i'm making it your responsibility, and i'm not trying to. i'm not. i just—" he lets out an frustrated exhale. "i thought space would teach me who i was without you. but it just taught me what everything felt like without you in it."

and then your face changes. and it's barely there, barely noticeable to the average human being. but this is jake we're talking about and jake knows you, so he knows the tiny things. he sees the way your throat moves when you swallow. he watches the way your eyes go shiny before you decide whether or not you're going to let yourself cry. he recognizes the way you look away when something hits too close because you hate giving people the satisfaction of knowing they reached you.

"hey—"

"it's fine," your words come out too quickly, too automatic, and jake hates it.

"y/n."

"it's fine," you say again, but this time when you lift your eyes to his, the expression on your face doesn't match the sentence at all. "i asked, you answered."

and jake hates that word by now. he hates it because he's spent the last eight months trying to convince himself he's fine and so by that logic, he knows you're objectively not fine.

"don't do that, y/n," he lets out quietly, eyes steady on you.

your brows then pull together and you let out a small breath through your nose, something almost like a laugh with no humor in it. "what do you want me to say, yun?"

jake feels his throat tighten, he feels his answer die on this tongue because it's selfish, and he knows it. that he wants you to say that you missed him too. that this meant something to you and that you still want him even though he doesn't deserve it or even knows what he wants himself.

you shake your head faintly, eyes dropping back to your hands. "you can't just say something like that and then look at me like i'm supposed to know what to do with it."

jake's chest caves in a little. "you don't have to do anything with it."

you turn your head slightly then, and jake sees the sad smile on your face and the way yours eyes are shining and he immediately has to look away because he doesn't think he can survive that right now.

"that's not how this works."

jake pauses for moment, his heart hammering and brain screaming yet failing to find the right thing to say when the moment actually matters.

"i'm sorry," he eventually says, because he doesn't know what else to do with the ache in his chest. and he even doesn't know which part he's apologizing for—for everything he said? or everything he didn't? or maybe the breakup, then the late nights, and the last times that kept turning into next times.

your eyes close at his words, your head leaning back against the seat as a small, unsteady breath slips out of you.

"i know."

not forgiveness, not closure, but just two soft words sitting quietly between you, like you don't have the energy to be angry at him right now. like anger would require too much from you, and this conversation has already taken enough.

jake stays still. he watches you carefully, fighting back every instinct in his body telling him to reach for you when he notices the way your lashes are damp and the way your mouth presses into a thin line like you're holding so much back.

then, quietly, you whisper, "drive?"

jake nods, even though your eyes are still closed.

"yeah," he says softly, and then he puts the car into drive and backs out of the parking lot and that was it.

the next few days after that go terribly slow, because they feel terribly normal, which doesn't help jake's case at all because he just feels plain terrible. your name still shows up in his texts, because you're still laughing at sunghoon's jokes and liking messages and sending random tiktok posts. but you stop texting him separately, you stop showing up randomly at the apartment with takeout because you were bored. you don't complain about your car or tell him your day in that casual, thoughtless way you had started doing again. and jake spends three long, terrible days pretending he is normal about it.

by the third night, he gives in.

jake: hey jake: are we okay

he stares at the message after he hits send and mentally smacks himself in the head. what a stupid question. what does okay even mean between two people who broke up almost ten months ago, hooked up more times than considered healthy, had a deeply unsettling conversation in an empty parking lot, and then ended the night with you asking him to drive you home because sitting still in silence with him became unbearable?

still, he waits. one minute. three. seven. then your reply comes through.

y/n: yeah y/n: why wouldn't we be

jake exhales. then that exhale turns into a groan which then turns into him pressing his face into his pillow and screaming into it for a full three seconds, because that is both an answer and not helpful whatsoever.

why wouldn't we be?

jake could think of at least twelve reasons off the top of his head right now, and that was him being generous, because the two of you have been operating under a very loose definition of okay for months now.

okay meant broken up but still friends. okay meant friends but sleeping together. okay meant sleeping together but not talking about it. okay meant not talking about it then everything exploding in jake's face all at once.

so, really, the range of what okay meant here was alarmingly broad.

jake: idk jake: just checking

your typing bubble appears, disappears. appears again.

y/n: we're fine yun

jake lies back against his pillow and stares at the ceiling and pretends he didn't just see that word. fine. his least favorite word in the entire english language, currently beating last time, mature, and okay, which says something because he feels very strongly about those words in this phase of his life right now.

still, he takes it and runs with it.

jake: okay jake: can i see you?

and then he shuts his phone off. because he doesn't really know how else to word can we fix whatever happened in the car and, the more private one in his head, can you please stop sounding like you're already halfway gone?

you take longer to answer this time. long enough that jake picks his phone back up, locks it, unlocks it, puts it back down, then considers throwing himself directly into traffic.

y/n: early morning tmrw, sorry y/n: another time?

it's not a no. but it's not a yes either. and that's pretty much how the next two weeks pass.

you don't show up to game night that week, telling the group you're feeling under the weather. heeseung sends three sad face emojis. jay tells you to drink water. sunghoon says, okay yea sureee, and then follows up with a but get better <3. jake waits exactly nine minutes before texting you privately.

jake: are you feeling okay? y/n: yeah just tired jake: need anything? i'll can get the soup you like y/n: no im ok y/n: thank you though

jake stares at it until the screen dims.

by the end of the third week, jake found himself getting better at finding distractions to keep his mind elsewhere. errands help a little, long showers help sometimes. work helps because he's busy enough to forget he has a phone. and soccer, as it turns out, is one of them.

the day is going objectively well, which really means something because it has been some time since jake has had a day he could honestly call good. the sun is out, the sky is clear. he remembered to eat breakfast before noon and his coffee tasted just right. his favorite hoodie came out of the wash without shrinking, and for a few hours, his chest doesn't feel like it has something heavy sitting inside it.

so when sunghoon suggests they play at the park nearby, jake actually says yes before anyone can guilt him into it. and it feels good. he scores once against jay, then again, then a third time which jay insists doesn't count because he was not ready but jake counts it anyways. by the end of it, jake is sweaty and out of breath and lying dramatically on the grass with one arm thrown over his eyes while heeseung complains about his lungs from next to him.

"i think i'm dying," heeseung says.

sunghoon, sitting besides him with his knees pulled up, barely looks over. "i think you're being dramatic."

heeseung then shoots him a pointed look and jay snorts and takes the water bottle from jake's hand.

the four of them end up in a scattered circle at the edge of the field, passing around the same water bottle because everyone except jake forgot to pack theirs, naturally. they talk about nothing for a while. about how lucky they got that the highschoolers in the area didn't claim the field before they did. about the new burger king opening down the block even though jake is pretty sure no one has willingly gone to a burger king since 2014. about how jay thinks he can beat them all in a footrace if properly motivated, which immediately turns into a ten minute argument because sunghoon says jay runs like the character that dies first in a horror movie.

jake lets himself enjoy it for a little while, which was a mistake from the start and he should've known it. because eventually a short silence settles over the group, the kind that only happens after everyone runs out of nonsense to contribute and is too tired to invent more.

sunghoon is the first one to break it. he clears his throat, twisting a blade of grass between his fingers before looking over at jake.

"you look like you're doing okay," he says, carefully enough that the carefulness becomes suspicious. "considering everything."

jake stills. the water bottle pauses halfway to his mouth. then he lowers it slowly.

"considering everything?"

he looks at sunghoon, but sunghoon is looking at jay, who's already staring at him with a death stare, and then heeseung, still lying flat on his back, suddenly starts coughing on absolutely nothing.

jake looks between the three of them, eyes narrowing. "why wouldn't i be?"

and then no one says anything, which is impressive, honestly, because between the three of them, silence has never been a skill they possess collectively. jake turns his head to jay, who is now looking at a patch of grass in front of him.

"jay," jake says slowly. "why wouldn't i be okay?"

jay looks up. his mouth opens, then closes. then opens again, but with much, much less confidence than before.

"i—we—okay, look," he drags a hand over his face, eyes darting from jake to sunghoon to heeseung, then back to the grass. "she didn't want to make it a big deal."

jake's stomach drops. he thinks he stops breathing but he can't stop the next word when it slips out of him anyways. "who?"

which is stupid, because he knows who, we all know who. 

sunghoon groans quietly, heeseung sits up slowly, and jay genuinely looks pained.

"y/n," jay says finally. and just like that, jake's objectively good day has taken a turn because just hearing your name gives his nervous system the absurd power to malfunction. he has to force himself to breathe.

"what about her?"

jay hesitates. then, "it was just something she told me in passing the other day," he adds quickly. "and i didn't really think much about it at first."

"think much about what?"

sunghoon closes his eyes like bracing himself, and from next to him, heeseung mutters, "oh god."

jay exhales. "she went on a date."

for a second, jake doesn't move, doesn't breathe, and he's pretty sure his heart stops for a moment there.

and the world keeps existing around him. somewhere across the grass, a kid laughs loudly and someone's dog barks at absolutely nothing and a car honks in the distance. but inside him, everything goes very, very still. his face feels strange, too blank, too calm for having just heard five words that could have very well just changed the trajectory of his life.

"who?" is the first word that comes out of him and he regrets it immediately. because he doesn't want to know. because he does. no, he doesn't and he really, really shouldn't.

jay's expression shifts to something more gentle. "i don't know."

jake gives him a look. "you don't know?"

"she didn't say."

"you didn't ask?"

"no, jake," jay sighs in between. " and even if i did, you probably shouldn't know that information anyways."

"right," jake lets out, the expression on his face blank then shakes his head to himself. "right, yeah. of course."

and then all at once, it all made sense. the quiet, the distance. the way you've been slowly pulling back these past few weeks ever since the night in the car. the way that another time texted turned into nothing. the way jake stopped texting first because he told himself he was giving you space, because he didn't want to look too desperate, which was stupid, because he is, but also because some stupid, fragile part of him wanted you to be the one to reach for him this time. but you never did. and maybe that night had been it.

maybe that night had been the thing that made you decide you couldn’t keep waiting for him to become brave enough to want you properly. that you needed to try something else, someone else. the thought of that twists something in jake so hard it almost feels physical.

sunghoon lean back on his hands, "you knew this could happen one day."

jake laughs once, short and humorless. he knew you could date. he knew you should date, probably. he knew you were allowed to move on because he was the one who let you go. actually no, that sounds too generous. he was the one who pushed you there, handed you back to the world, and is now sitting here, shocked as if he wasn't the one who did it himself.

"i mean," heeseung then clears his throat, and pauses for a moment to rethink his next words. "you could also…go on one. a date."

jake turns his head slowly, and heeseung lifts both hands a little, already defensive. "i'm just saying."

"don't," sunghoon mutters.

"look," heeseung ignores him and then looks back at jake. "i know some people, and i think it'd be good for you."

and somehow, out of everything said so far, that is the sentence that makes jake's brain stop fully working. because the idea is so foreign to him that, for one second, he genuinely doesn't understand it. it's like a formula jake has never once ever thought he would need to solve: a date + him + someone else that isn't you.

some girl sitting across from him at a table, asking what he does for work, laughing politely at something he says, maybe touching his arm if the conversation goes well. some girl he would have to learn from the beginning. favorite drink. favorite movie. whether she likes cilantro. if she runs cold or warm. what makes her laugh too hard, what she looks like when she's tired.

the thought feels less like moving on and more like being asked to speak a language he never learned. or worse, one he only used to know because of you.

"he has a point. it's not the craziest idea," jay says. "not right away, maybe. but eventually."

eventually.

eventually almost beats fine on jake's list of hated words. because eventually implies a future where this is normal. where you date someone else and he dates someone else and the two of you become a story told in past tense. three and a half years turned into a story time. something that happened before whatever comes next. and maybe that's healthy, maybe that's the entire point of this entire thing.

but eventually is not now, and right now, the sheer thought of moving on feels impossible in a way he doesn't know how to explain without sounding pathetic.

"i'm not really interested," he then says.

heeseung nods quickly. "yeah. no. totally fair."

"like, at all." "yep. got it." "not even a little." "heard you the first time."

jake rubs a hand through his hair as he exhales. "sorry. thank you, though."

heeseung softens a little. "don't be."

"look," jay speaks up again, with something that sounds genuine laced in his tone, which just makes it worse. "you don't have to be ready to fall in love with someone else, nobody's saying that. but maybe you should at least find out whether the idea of moving on is impossible because you're actually not ready, or because you've never let yourself try."

jake's mouth closes. because that, unfortunately for him, is a very valid sentence. a sentence with full structure and complete sense and a point that lands somewhere jake doesn't particularly want to confront right now. because he can't even imagine it without feeling like he's doing something wrong. which is stupid, because he has been single for almost ten months now. you went on a date. and you are allowed to go on dates. he is allowed to go on dates. everyone involved is technically allowed to do everything they are doing and that just makes it ten times more complicated because nothing ruins a good spiral more than the fact that no one is actually breaking any rules.

"i don't know," he mutters eventually, and jay just nods back, like he was expecting that.

"you don't have to know. just think about it." "i don't really want to think about it." "then think about why you don't want to think about it." jake lets out a small laugh, but it comes out wrong. "jay." "yeah?" "you're being deeply irritating." "i know," jay shrugs. "but i'm right."

jake hates that no one immediately disagrees.

heeseung just nods, not really saying anything else and sunghoon is just staring at the blade of grass in between his fingers.

after another minute, jake stands too quickly, brushing dirt off his shorts. "i'm gonna head home."

sunghoon looks up. "jake."

"i'm good," he says, already reaching for his bag. "seriously. i just need to shower."

the three of them give him a long look.

"don't disappear. you'll be okay."

jake pauses. then shrugs. "i'm not disappearing. i live with you."

then he swings his bag over one shoulder and starts walking before anyone can say anything else helpful, which is really just another word for unbearable at this point. and on his walk back home, jake thinks about it. not willingly, of course, but because now the idea is in his head and it refuses to leave.

he tries to picture it practically first, as if maybe it will make it less awful. heeseung gives him a number. he texts some girl. they agree on dinner. he picks a place that isn't too romantic but not too casual either. he shows up, she shows up. they sit down. they talk. all simple, normal things that normal people do every day. so maybe the idea isn't all too impossible.

maybe he could do it. and maybe that was the terrifying part. maybe he goes and maybe he survives it, or maybe he genuinely enjoys it.

or maybe, and this is the uglier truth he doesn't want to examine too closely, something deep inside him is scared and bitter and hurt that you are clearly trying to be okay without him. that you sat across from someone else and gave the world proof that your life could move on, even after him.

and so maybe jake is not mature enough to sit with that. maybe he needs to prove to you, to himself, to whatever higher power there is out there that he too can move on, even if he has to force it.

so by the time he enters the apartment, drops his bag by the door, and stares at his phone in his hand, the decision is already there. he unlocks it before he can talk himself out of it and texts heeseung.

jake: what's your friend's name?

her name is mina.

and she is nice. that's the first thing jake learns about her. she's nice in that easy, uncomplicated way that makes people comfortable. nice in the way she laughs at his jokes even when they're only kind of funny, which jake appreciates but also immediately distrusts because he knows, objectively, that he is not that funny.

the first date is at a cafe heeseung recommends. mina asks about his job, his roommates, soccer, what kind of movies he likes. she tells him about her own work, about her older sister, about how she hates olives but keeps trying them every year just to confirm she still hates them. she’s easy to talk to, the conversation doesn’t drag.

jake walks away thinking it could have been worse.

the second date is dinner. nothing too fancy, just some small place downtown with warm lights and a menu that takes jake too long to read because he keeps thinking about what you would’ve ordered.

which is unfair, he knows. unfair to mina, mostly, and also to him, maybe. but the thought appears anyways and sticks until the appetizers come out. 

mina then tells a story about getting locked out of her apartment once while holding a bag of frozen dumplings, and jake genuinely laughs that time, and it surprises him enough that he feels guilty for it immediately after.

and then he feels guilty for feeling guilty for having a moderately pleasant time with a nice girl who has done absolutely nothing wrong except not be you.

the third time, mina asks him if he's ever been to the park near the river at the edge of town. jake says yes before he thinks too hard about it, but unfortunately, he is already thinking hard about it.

she doesn't know it's where jake kissed you for the first time ever. where the two of you stood underneath a streetlamp in the middle of october, both pretending you weren't cold because neither of you wanted to be the first one to suggest going home. where you laughed against his mouth afterwards because he was so nervous.

she doesn't know any of that. she just says, "it's pretty this time of year," and jake just agrees like his entire chest didn't just cave in and goes anyways.

it's cooler out by now, the trees either fully orange or already shedding around them. jake buys them hot chocolate from a cart nearby because he doesn't know what else to do with his hands. she laughs when he burns his tongue, and he laughs too. and again, it's simple at first.

but every few steps, the park starts to become something else. a bench becomes you sitting cross-legged next to him with fries balanced in your lap. the river railing becomes where jake first grabbed your hand and held it inside his jacket pocket because you forgot gloves one winter.

that one streetlamp they pass becomes three and a half years ago, with you looking up at him, cheeks pink from the cold, your hair slightly messy from the wind, looking up at him with your eyes bright and teasing, saying, "are you going to kiss me or are you just going to keep staring?"

jake laughed nervously, caught off guard, looking down,"i'm not staring."

"you are. it's okay though."

"i'm…trying to be respectful."

"you've been staring at my mouth for ten minutes."

"that's not—"

"jaeyun."

and that had done it. you said it quietly and carefully, like you knew exactly where to touch the sentence to make him stop running from it. his smile softened.

"i just really want to do this right," he admitted, voice lower now.

then you stepped closer, tilting your head as you looked up at him.

"you've been doing everything right," you said with the softest smile on your face. then your hand came up just enough to catch the front of his jacket and he leaned it first.

and the first kiss was not perfect, by all means. he bumped your nose and then you laughed against his mouth. he whispered "sorry" even though he was smiling so hard the word barely came out and you whispered, "don't ruin it."

so he kissed you again, this time with your hand curled into his jacket and his fingers brushing your cheek like he can't believe he was allowed to finally have you like that. and when you pulled away, you had that kind of smile on your face made him feel, stupidly and immediately, like the whole world had narrowed down to one streetlamp, one cold night, one girl looking at him like she chose him on purpose.

"okay," you exhaled afterwards.

jake just blinked back. "okay?"

"yeah." you smiled wider. "you should do that again."

"you okay?"

mina's voice cuts through so suddenly, making jake blink hard.

"yeah," he says, looking away from the streetlamp before forcing a small smile. "just cold."

and still, after that night, jake keeps going. that's kind of how his life moves on for the next month. he wakes up, goes to work. comes home from work, plays video games with the guys until someone falls asleep. plays soccer on the weekends when the weather is decent. sees mina every now and then when their schedules line up and tries very, very hard not to spend the entire time wondering what you're doing on your end.

because mina is nice. and mina is funny. and jake likes her, in the general sense. in the she is a good person and this is objectively pleasant sense. in the sense that makes jake feel like if he was a decent guy, he would know what to do with that. instead, he finds himself sitting there, waiting for that ache. that shift, that terrifying, inevitable feeling of wanting so badly to know someone better and realizing it might ruin him.

but jake keeps trying anyways, because he convinces himself that maybe this is what moving on looks like—it's messy, it's nonlinear, it's effort.

by the seventh or eighth time they see each other (jake stopped counting because counting makes it feel like something), sunghoon casually brings up one night, "so are we ever meeting her or are you embarrassed by your friends?"

jake looks up from his phone. "i'm always embarrassed by my friends."

and that is how he ends up at the bar that weekend with mina tucked into the corner booth beside him. heeseung sits across from her, smiling too polite, sunghoon beside him, looking calm but observant in a mildly intimidating way, and jay at the end of the booth, already looking like he's pretending not to judge.

and jake sits there, hand wrapped around his glass, watching mina laugh at something heeseung says, trying to feel normal about the fact that maybe this is what his life looks like now—and then trying even harder not to think about the one person missing from the table.

it's around an hour into the night when jake wishes he didn't think about it too hard though, because he's pretty sure he manifested you. because then the bar door opens, letting in a breeze of cold air rush in, followed by a burst of laughter from a small group near the entrance that makes everyone at the table look over, and suddenly, there you are.

jake doesn't know how to really describe the emotions that rush through him all at once in that moment. fear first, maybe. then guilt. then shock, even though he really shouldn't be surprised, because this is your usual bar too, your usual people, your usual seat tucked under jake's arm before everything got complicated and then more complicated and then quietly disappeared.

he sees the exact moment you spot them, sees the way your expression pause, but not drop exactly, because you're too good for that. he just sees something in your face still, just for half a second, your eyes moving from heeseung to jay to sunghoon before landing on mina beside him. and then finally, him. and that's when jake adds a new emotion onto the list—nauseous.

but because you've already seen them and they've already seen you, you come over anyways and jake can see the equally subtle and deeply terrified looks the guys are giving him from the corner of his eyes as he chooses to stare directly at his empty glass instead.

by the time you reach the table, mina, bless her heart, is the first to speak, bright and excited and entirely unaware of the scene she just wandered into. "oh my gosh, you must be y/n!"

and jake feels everything in him still. of course she knows your name, of course. not in the way you probably know hers, by force and bad luck and most likely from the guys mentioning her to you before anyone thought to warn him this night might someday exist, but in a normal way. in that casual way someone learns the names of their boyfriend's friends.

boyfriend.

jake doesn't know if that word belongs there. he doesn't know if mina thinks it does. he doesn't know if you do. he hopes you don't and he hates that he hopes that.

you smile back immediately and it's polite and smooth and sweet and jake wants to crawl out of his own skin.

"hi," you say. "mina right?"

"yeah," mina says warmly. "it's nice to finally meet you. i heard you're, like, the glue of this group."

jake looks down at the table. you glance at him for one second before looking away and back at her with a small smile, "i try my best."

sunghoon then immediately shifts over, pressing closer against heeseung to make a small space at the end of the booth. "sit," he says, too loudly and too stiff. "unless you're meeting someone. are you meeting someone? you can still sit. or not. no pressure."

jay closes his eyes immediately.

heeseung mutters under his breath, "wow."

you let out a small laugh, and jake hates how fast his body reacts to it.

"i came with some people," you say, glancing vaguely over your shoulder at a small group standing near the bar, "but i can stay for a little."

so that's how you end up here, squeezed next to sunghoon and heeseung, and across from jake in that complicated way where it makes it impossible for him to not look at you.

the next thirty minutes go painfully slow for jake. mina talks about work, heeseung asks too many questions because silence makes him nervous, sunghoon makes one of his dry jokes and everyone laughs.

and you are perfect.

you smile when you talk, you ask mina about herself, you nod when she talks and you act like this is normal. like sitting across from the girl jake has been seeing doesn't make your throat tight.

jake, meanwhile, barely says anything all night. which you, of course, notice immediately. but mina also notices. mina notices and then everything proceeds to blow up in flames right afterwards. because after a while, she turns towards him, nudging his arm gently with hers.

"you're quiet tonight," she says, smiling softly, voice low but still clear enough for everyone at the table to hear. "tired, jaeyunie?"

and the best way to describe the mutual, shared reaction the table has at the sound of her saying those words, that name—that name no one else calls him because they've tried and he would shoot them down with something like "only y/n calls me that"—is like watching a house catch fire, explode, and then burn down into ashes in real time.

jake freezes. jay stops mid-sip. heeseung's eyes flick to jake so, so fast. sunghoon's face goes completely blank like he knew shit was about to go down and you—you don't move. you just look down at the drink in front of you and blink a few times and suddenly jake can't breathe.

mina doesn't pick up on it fully, of course, because she doesn't know. she doesn't know, which is the problem. it's soft, affectionate, and harmless to her. to her, it's probably just a cute nickname, something she tried once and he didn't correct because he had been too startled, too tired, too cowardly to explain that the name already belonged somewhere, to someone else.

your eyes stay down, and your hand around the glass is shaking now, and of course jake notices. he notices everything when it comes to you, apparently, except how not to hurt you. jake stays quiet, his heart pounding too quickly now, swallowing hard because there's now a lump sitting in his throat and he might actually be sick.

mina's smile falters a little. "what?"

"nothing," jake says too quickly. too quickly, because jay looks at him. too quickly, because you finally lift your eyes and you finally look right at him. and you're not angry, not even hurt in a way jake could apologize for. but it was like something small and private had been taken right out of your hands in front of everyone, and you're trying very hard not to make anyone feel bad for noticing you lost it.

you suddenly sit up a little straighter. "i'm gonna get some fresh air," you say, your voice too light.

sunghoon shifts immediately, "do you want me to—"

"no," you say quickly, already sliding out of the booth. then, softer, with a smile that doesn't fully reach, "i'm fine."

and there it is again. that word again. fine. the most useless lie any of you have ever told.

you grab your bag and step away from the table before anyone can stop you. everyone watches you go in a terribly awkward silence, and mina's brows pull together, turning back to jake.

"did i say something?"

jake's throat tightens.

"no," he says too quickly and too automatic before he feels an instant wave of guilt and pain and regret because now mina is there, kind and oblivious and confused, while jake feels like the cruelest person in the room for letting her borrow a name he never should have let anyone else touch.

"i'll be right back," he then says, already moving.

jay's head snaps up. "jake."

sunghoon says his name too, quieter. like a warning, or a plea, or both.

mina looks up at him, confusion still written all over her, "is everything okay?"

jake looks at her, then toward the bar's doors where you left, then back at her and realized, with something incredibly heavy in his chest, that there is no good answer.

"yeah," he says, because apparently lying badly is the only thing he knows how to do anymore. "i just need a second."

mina nods slowly as jake steps out of the booth. and as he walks towards the exit and through the doors, he can feel all three of the guys watching him like they already know this is either the first right thing he's done in weeks or another terrible mistake he's going to regret.

the cold air hits jake the second he steps outside and for one disoriented second, he just stands there under the weak glow of the bar sign, the sound of music and laughter muffled behind the door as it swings shut behind him. he looks both directions down the sidewalk before he finally sees you near the end of the block, head down, walking fast with your arms wrapped around yourself like you're trying to keep yourself together.

"wait—y/n—" his voice cuts through the quiet, rougher than he means it to be. you don't turn around, still walking away.

"i'm good, jake. seriously," you sound small as you call out behind you.

he jogs a little to catch up. "no, please," he says, voice heavy. "can we just talk?"

you turn in your steps so sharply that jake has to stop short, his shoes skidding slightly against the pavement. jake halts in his step, brows furrowed, chest rising up and down.

"why?"

jake blinks back at you, shaking his head slightly in confusion. "w-what?"

"why," you repeat, and your voice is already trembling, already angry, your eyes already shining with the kind of tears you've been holding back for too long. "that night in your car, when you told me you didn’t know if you’d figured—" you gesture vaguely between the two of you, around the street, at the space where your lives used to fit together cleanly. "if you’d figured all this shit out. our breakup, who you are, what you wanted, all of it. you said you didn’t know."

jake doesn’t say anything. he just stands there, breathing too hard, watching the tears gather along your lashes.

"so why did you do it?" you ask.

his throat tightens.

"why did you—" your voice cracks, and you press your lips together like you hate yourself for it. "why did you break us?"

and that was the real question from that night in the car. the one you were too scared to ask because the answer terrified you. not did you figure it out? but was it worth it? did losing you give him whatever he thought he needed? did ruining the best thing in his life at least mean something?

jake looks away first. he looks away and he knows he's a coward and that he always has been a coward in the moments that matter most.

"y/n—" he says, barely above a whisper.

"no." you shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks now. "no, don’t do that. don’t say my name like that, like you’re hurt because i’m finally asking.

he goes quiet, his arms hanging uselessly by his side. because maybe that’s what he should have done the first time. maybe he should've listened, and stayed, and let you be angry without trying to turn it into something easier for him to handle.

"you made that decision alone," you say, voice cracking hard now as you spoke louder, faster, "you stood there and told me it was for the best, and i believed you because i loved you, and because you looked so sad saying it that i thought…" you swallow, wiping angrily under one eye. "i don’t know. i thought maybe loving you meant trusting that you knew what you needed."

jake can’t breathe right. he blinks hard, one of his own tears now running down his face.

“i trusted you more than i trusted myself,” you whisper. “like loving you made me stupid.”

his head snaps up. “i never thought that.”

“but you acted like it.”

jake shakes his head, looking down at the ground, silently begging the universe that this is all some sick, cruel dream. he has no defense, nothing he can say that can reverse this entire night, this entire past year that's been haunting his every waking moment of every day. so he just stands there and takes it.

"you acted like you could decide what hurt less for both of us," you continue. "like you could walk away and call it mercy. like—" you stop, letting out a broken exhale to ground yourself for a moment.

jake’s eyes burn.

"it wasn’t like that."

"then help me understand," you say, words coming out more like a plea, "because i have been trying to understand you for eleven months, jake. eleven months. i have replayed every conversation, every look, every stupid quiet moment before you left, trying to figure out what i missed."

his jaw trembles and he hates that it does. he hates that he has no right to look hurt and ruined when you're the one he left, you're the one who he broke.

"and then you pull me back into this fucked up mess," you say, voice rising. "you act jealous, you tell people we're together, you text me. you ask me to come over. you look at me like that. you touch me like you—"

you stop. then he watches as your face crumples for half a second before you force it back.

"like you just want the easy parts of me without actually choosing me."

and that one goes straight through him. that one makes jake feel like he just got punched right in the gut and he wants to vomit everything inside him right then and there because no other words said could be untrue.

"you know that's not what i was doing," he says, stepping forward, and it's the first thing he's said steady enough. "you know that's not true, y/n."

your eyes flash. "then what were you doing?"

jake doesn't answer fast enough, not because he doesn't know, but because he's terrified that he does. because you’re standing there with tears streaming down your face, close enough for him to reach for and too far for him to deserve, and every possible version of the truth makes him sound exactly like the person he never wanted to be to you.

you just nod, crying harder now, almost laughing like you can't believe you expected anything else from him. "exactly."

there's a beat of silence.

"i'm sorry," the words fall out of him uselessly. too small, too minor for what they're standing in. his voice breaks again. "i'm so sorry."

"i know," you whisper, and that somehow makes it hurt worse. "i know you are. i know you're sorry. i know you didn't mean to hurt me. i know you're confused and scared and whatever else you are, and i keep letting that matter more than the fact that you hurt me anyways."

jake forces himself to look at you, and you look so small in front of him, so broken, because of him.

"and i know i’m part of it," you say, voice softer now. "i know i keep letting it happen. the first night in your car, in your apartment, every time after that. i keep answering and showing up and asking you to, and i know that’s on me too. i’m not pretending i’m innocent here."

"don’t," jake lets out quietly. "don’t blame yourself for me being selfish."

for a second, you just stare at him. then your face twists into something sad, angry, tired, all of the above. 

“then stop being selfish.”

he flinches and you see it, but you keep going anyway.

"because i don’t know what you want from me anymore." your voice breaks completely into a sob there, and you press a hand to your chest like the words physically hurt coming out. “i don’t know if you want me to wait. i don’t know if you want me to move on, and trust me, i tried so, so hard to. and i don’t know if you want to be my friend or my ex or whatever the fuck this is supposed to be when you look at me like you still want me and then bring your new girlfriend to places we share with our friends.”

"she's not—"

you shake your head, forcing out a bitter laugh. "don't correct me on the technicality, yun. please. not right now."

his mouth closes.

"maybe she's not your girlfriend," you say, tears still falling. "maybe you don't know what she is either. apparently that's kind of your thing now." you gesture back to the bar behind him. "but she's in there right now, thinking she's something in your life enough to call you that name, and i was supposed to just sit there and smile like you weren't texting me to come over a month ago like it would actually mean something."

jake's eyes squeeze shut for a second. his face immediately feels hot.

"it did," he forces out through a choked breath. "every single time, it meant something."

you go still. then, quieter, "did it?"

and that one hurt, because he wants to say yes immediately. he wants to say of course it did, are you insane, it meant everything, it has meant everything since the second you walked out of his apartment eleven months ago and took every version of his future with you.

"to me," he says, voice shaking. "yes."

"then say it," your expression shifts. "say what this is."

jake's mouth opens but nothing comes out. because the truth is too ugly and too honest for him to just hand to you. that he regretted leaving almost immediately, but his pride was too fragile to admit it and his fear too loud to undo it. that he broke your heart trying to save himself, then came crawling back to you in pieces because he still missed you, wanted you, loved you but couldn't bring himself to say it.

that he has spent the last year making decisions too big for him and then acting surprised when he finds out he can't carry them.

you nod once, like his silence confirms something you were already afraid of.

"yeah," you whisper.

"y/n—"

"i love you, jaeyun."

everything in him stops. everything physically hurts immediately.

it’s been nearly a year since he last heard you say those words, and after all that time, this is what they sound like now. not warm, not sleepy, not mumbled against his shoulder in the morning. they sound ruined. they sound like something you wish you could take back from your own heart, like you wish it wasn't true. like the words have been sitting in your throat for months, cutting you open every time you swallow them back.

"i love you," you say again, crying openly now. "and that is the worst part, because i don’t know what to do with it anymore. i don’t know where to put it."

jake's vision blurs.

"i love you too," he says, and it comes out broken. "i never stopped."

your face crumples and for one awfully slow second, he thinks you might step towards him. but instead, you step back, shaking your head.

"then you need to figure your shit out," you say, voice shaking. "because i can’t keep doing it for you."

he takes a step forward, and you immediately shake your head even harder. "no."

he freezes, his hands trembling like they're instinctively trying to reach you and comfort you and tell you that the two you are going to be okay. "please," he whispers.

"i can’t keep doing this." you wipe at your cheeks with both hands now, angry at the tears, angry at him, angry at yourself. "as friends. as exes. as whatever the fuck this is. i can’t keep being around you and pretending like we’re okay when we haven’t been okay for a long time."

jake has never hated himself more. not when he broke up with you. not when he woke up next to you in your bed a few months ago and left without saying anything. not even inside the bar, when you watched mina fit into his life and he did nothing fast enough to stop it. this is worse. this is you finally telling him what his pride, his fear, his confusion—what it all cost, and he has to stand here and hear every word.

"i need to go," you say. "i really hope you find what you need, yun. genuinely."

and that is the final blow to what's left of jake's heart. because after all of it, after ten minutes of standing in the cold and crying through every way he hurt you, after finally letting out what you've been carrying with you for nearly the past year, the last thing you give him isn't anger. it's still kindness, the tired, broken, honest fragments of it you have left. the kindness that still wants the best for him even if you can no longer be the person who helps him find it.

jake doesn’t follow when you finally turn and walk away. he stands there on the sidewalk, under the distant bar light, with the door somewhere behind him full of warmth and music and people who have no idea his whole life just split open in the middle of the street.

and for a long time, he doesn’t move. because jake had spent the last eleven months convincing himself he was fine.

he wasn’t fine. he hasn't been fine in a long, long time.

jake has felt heartbreak before. heartbreak was the first morning after the breakup, waking up on his side of the bed and reaching for a body that wasn't there anymore. he's felt sadness too. sadness was seeing you laughing in the same room as his friends and realizing he was missing his best friend, even though she was only five feet away. anger, definitely. anger was seeing red at that party all those months ago when jungwon stood too close to you, when jake realized the world didn't stopped wanting you just because he had been stupid enough to let you go.

but this? this is new. this is numbness. jake feels numb and hollow and empty because he thinks he really, truly lost you this time. which is exactly what he had been so afraid of in the first place, and somehow, impossibly, the place every one of his decisions had been leading him towards.

because at least during those first eight months after the breakup, he still had you in some way. you, as his friend. you, as the girl who still texted the groupchat and showed up to game night and smiled at him sometimes, even if the smile was forced or polite.

then you, as the girl he kept finding his way back to in the worst possible way. one night that became another. one mistake both of you swore wouldn't happen again until it did. one almost, then another, then another, all of them close enough to feel like love and far enough that neither of you had to say what it really was.

but now, you are just y/n. someone who used to everywhere, but now nowhere. someone who is suddenly trying very, very hard to make it seem like you were never in his life at all.

the texts stop completely. the guys stop mentioning you whenever jake is in the room, which just makes everything obviously ten times worse. conversations bend around your name, jokes cut off too early. heeseung starts saying "someone" when he means you, and jay starts glaring at him every time he does.

you unfollow jake on everything too. which is a stupid and small thing for jake to overthink, except he sits there anyways staring at his phone for ten full minutes when he notices, feeling like someone reached into his life and took one more ordinary thing he didn't know he was still counting on.

game nights still happen, just not the same, for obvious reasons. your usual spot on the couch stays empty the first time, and everyone pretends not to notice. the second time, sunghoon sits there by accident and then looks so uncomfortable about it that he gets up halfway through the night and says the angle is bad for his neck. jake doesn't say anything.

figuring his shit out, jake learns very quickly, is not nearly as poetic as it sounded when you said it. it's mostly quiet. ugly, sometimes, and then boring, often. it's waking up and trying not to check his phone. then it's opening your contact anyways, staring at your name until his chest hurts, then locking his phone and putting it facedown because missing you is not the same thing as respecting you.

figuring it out is telling mina the truth.

not all of it, because some of it is not hers to carry anyways, but enough. that she's nice, that she did nothing wrong, that he's sorry for trying to turn her into proof that he was ready when he wasn't.

mina listens quietly, then she nods and says, "i hope you figure it out."

and jake almost laughs, because of how ironic that is.

but he tries and frankly, badly, at first. but then a little less badly.

he plays soccer even when he doesn't feel like moving, he lets sunghoon drag him to the grocery store and he tries to cook a new recipe which he inevitably butchers, but at least he tried.

one night, they're all sitting around in the living room when heeseung starts telling a story. and being heeseung is heeseung, he gets too invested and realizes halfway through that the story involves you. your name catches before it leaves his mouth and he tries to clear his throat just as quickly but there's an awkward pause anyways.

that's when jake says, "you guys can say her name."

the room goes quiet. he keeps his eyes on the tv in front of him.

"i mean it," he says. "you don't have to keep acting like she died."

sunghoon is the first to answer. "good," he says, too quickly. "i was running out of fake names to use in my stories."

heeseung lets out a laugh that sounds mostly relieved. jay doesn't say anything, but later, when they're cleaning up, he squeezes jake's shoulder and leaves it there for half a second and jake understands.

winter starts to slowly settle in, enough for the windows to fog in the morning, that the bar puts festive lights up. enough that jake starts seeing his breath in the air and starts wearing jackets over his hoodies. enough that the park near the river turns gray and bare, all the leaves gone now.

jake goes there alone one night. he tells himself he's just on a walk, because he read somewhere that they're good for you and he's trying to be better at whatever “good for him” looks like, so he puts on a jacket over his hoodie, shoves his hands into its pockets, and walks.

he walks until he gets to the spot. until he gets to the streetlamp where he kissed you for the first time and he stands there and waits for the memory to swallow him whole.

he stands there and closes his eyes and it hurts. it really, really hurts. but then he opens his eyes and realizes it doesn't destroy him, that he's still standing and that he's, relatively, more or less, okay. so he stays there for a minute, then for two more. then he breathes in, breathes out, and for the first time, he lets himself remember you without turning the memory into a reason or an excuse to want something from you.

he just lets himself miss you.

because maybe healing is not forgetting. maybe healing is learning how to hold the memories even if it cuts him, even if it hurts. maybe healing is letting himself fully feel every emotion, everything he ignored, pretended didn't exist, everything he thought would disappear if he kept moving.

so jake keeps trying.

he fixes the plant on his window sill, he takes down the broken string light instead of leaving it slowly dying, blinking above his bed. he washes the hoodie you used to steal the most and folds it into the back of his drawer.

he starts making decisions. small ones, but his own ones. what to eat, where to go. what to do with a free afternoon when there is no you to ask, no you to orbit, no you to think about. and then slowly, so, so slowly, jake starts to understand.

maybe he had been right about one thing.

he did need to know who he was without you.

not because loving you made him less himself, but because he had loved you so much, so completely, that somewhere along the way he had started using love as a place to hide. a safe place to hide from fear, from change, from the possibility of becoming someone you might not need.

so he lets you stay gone. and everyday, it feels impossible. but every day, he does it anyway. and somewhere in the middle of the cold, ordinary winter, jake feels the difference.

he can live without you, he is living without you. bad on some days, better on others, but he can, regardless. and that is what makes the truth clearer to him, because wanting you is not the same as needing you to hold him together, loving you is not the same as being unable to stand alone.

because you are a part of him in a way that he can still learn to survive without, but like a language he learned so deeply he still thinks in it sometimes, or like a song he knows by heart even without hearing it for years. like a home, not because he has nowhere else to go, but because even after he finally learns how to leave, some part of him still chooses to return one day.

and jake knows, if he ever gets the chance to tell you this, he knows he can't come back with just regret, because regret is not enough. missing you is not enough. even love, by itself, it not enough if all it does is ask you to carry the weight again.

so that's why jake keeps trying. not so you'll come back, even though a large part of him wakes up every day still wishing you could, but because if you ever do, he wants to be your someone who knows how to love you without making you responsible for holding him up. and even if you don't—

jake closes his eyes again. breathes through the ache.

even if you don't, then he still has to become that person anyways.

the holidays come eventually, which makes everything sting in a little more specific way, because this is the time of year jake usually takes you home. for three years in a row, you had been there. in his parents' kitchen, stealing pieces of food before dinner and pretending you weren't. on the couch with his cousins, arguing over a kid's movie, beside him at the dinner table, your knee pressed against his under the tablecloth, laughing at something his aunt said while jake sat there feeling stupidly proud that you fit into his life so easily.

this year, he goes home alone. his mom opens the door first, pulls him into a hug, and looks over his shoulder, still expecting you to be standing behind him with a bag in one hand and that polite, nervous smile you always had for the first five minutes before remembering everyone already loved you, already made space for you like you were always going to be there.

"just you?" she asks him gently.

jake holds the strap of his bag a little tighter, and for a second, he almost lies, because it would be too easy. too easy to say something like, oh she's busy this year, or visiting her family, or work stuff. something simple and normal. something that lets the idea of the two of you keep existing together in someone else's version of reality out there for just a little longer. but even he knows that wouldn't be fair and it definitely wouldn't be the healing he has been trying, miserably and imperfectly, to do. so instead, he swallows hard and looks at his mom with a sad smile.

"we're not together anymore," he says.

his mom's face changes and he doesn't try to ignore it this time. "oh, sweetheart," she says softly.

one by one, the rest of his family finds out too.

his aunt asks where you are while setting plates down. his cousins says your name too casually from the living room. his dad pauses for half a second before patting a hand gently on jake's shoulder and saying he's sorry in that quiet, steady way that makes jake want to be eight years old and cry to him again.

but regardless, each time, jake tells the truth. he doesn't tell the whole story, not every ugly detail, but just enough. yes, you guys broke up. yes, it's hard. yes, he misses her. he lets everyone look at him sadly, he lets everyone see his sadness, too. he lets the loss be real instead of hiding it behind some convenient lie, and he has to live in rooms where people know it now.

everything else happens anyways, like christmas dinner where he argues with his brother over who gets the corner piece of dessert. he opens gifts the next morning and laughs when his uncle gives him socks with his own face printed on it. he watches movies on the couch while the house gets warm and loud around him.

he doesn't pretend it doesn't hurt. he doesn't pretend he isn't aware of the empty space next to him where you used to sit with a blanket pulled up to your chin, whispering commentary into his ear until he almost choked trying not to laugh. he doesn’t pretend he doesn’t look in the mug cabinet and remember the ugly holiday mug you loved for no reason.

but he also doesn't shut down, because life is still happening. because his family is still there and his cousins are still annoying and his mom is still asking him if he wants more hot chocolate. because love, jake is starting to learn, does not become less real just because one version of it is gone.

jake goes back to the city in time for new year's, mostly because jay rents out the same rooftop every year for the countdown party, and jake has gone every year. before he met you, after he met you, while he dated you. and now, it'll be after he lost you. he goes anyways, because he knows that avoiding every place that might still have your finger print on it won't do anything good for him.

the city is freezing by the time he gets there, all sharp wind and wet pavement and people spilling out of restaurants in glittery dresses and jackets that are too thin, but laughing anyways because that's just how these things go.

jay meets him by the elevator with a drink in one hand and a look on his face that is trying very hard to not look surprised.

"you came," jay says, smiling.

jake gives him a look. "you invited me."

then jay's expression softens just a little, enough that jake knows what he's really asking. if he's okay, if he's ready, if this isn't going to be too much for much.

jake looks past him, toward the rooftop door where music and laughter is already spilling out into the hallway.

"i'm good," he says, nodding like it'll make his statement more convincing.

jay's brow lifts. jake exhales, then corrects himself.

"i'm not good," he says quietly. "but i'm okay enough."

jay then studies him for a second before nodding. "okay enough is solid."

"thanks."

"low bar," jay gives him a smile, "but we celebrate growth. i'm proud of you."

and jake gives him a genuine smile back.

the rooftop is exactly the same as it always is—string lights wrapped along the railing, heaters glowing red in the corners, a dj booth in the center and an open bar with far too many people tucked into the side. heeseung is already arguing with sunghoon near the speakers, and sunghoon is already wearing a party hat against his will.

jake takes a drink jay hands him, talks when people talk to him, laughs when sunghoon says something funny, lets heeseung drag him into a conversation with someone from work whose name jake immediately forgets and feels only mildly guilty about.

he doesn't scan the party for you right away. he notices the lights first, the skyline, the little plastic champagne glasses stacked too close to the edge of one of the tables. he notices the cold air biting at his knuckles and the loud music and the way midnight feels close.

but, eventually, he notices you.

he wasn't looking, but it's that part of him that still knows when you enter a room. you're standing near the far side of the rooftop, close to the railing, talking to jay's cousin with a drink held loosely in one hand. your coat is buttoned up against the cold, your hair moving slightly in the wind, your face turned toward the city lights.

jake goes still, because even after everything, even after all his trying, his body can't help but react that way. but this time isn't like before. this time isn't like the bar, when seeing you walk in felt like a punishment he earned. not like the party months ago, when jealously made him stupid. this was different.

it still hurt, of course. the sight of you still finds the softest place in him and presses down hard, but alongside that feeling is something else too, something close to relief. the kind of relief that isn't selfish, not the kind that thinks you being here means anything profound for him. just relief that you are here, that you are laughing at something and look less tense and that the world has held you and taken care of you even when he wasn't allowed to.

jake breathes in slowly. he just looks at you for one honest second from the distance and lets himself have it.

he misses you. he loves you. and for once, neither of those things has to become a demand. then, like you feel it too because of course you would, your eyes shift across the rooftop and land on him.

the noise around him dulls just slightly, and your expression changes, just barely. a flicker of surprise, then softening into something he can't name quite yet. but he just stays where he is anyways, and after a second, he gives you the smallest nod.

you look at him for a long moment. then, you give him the smallest smile back.

somewhere close to midnight, the rooftop starts to shift in that slow and natural way new year's eve parties tend to do. people shift toward the railing with their champagne in hand, someone turns the music down just enough for the dj's voice to cut through the cold air, announcing the ten-minute warning with too much enthusiasm and then people start pairing off without meaning to.

jay gets pulled into a conversation near the bar, heeseung disappears with two champagne glasses and jake just gives him a thumbs up of good luck, and sunghoon is arguing with someone about fireworks, someone who is most likely going to be the unfortunate individual who is going to kiss him in ten minutes.

and somehow, in the middle of all of it, jake's eyes find yours across the rooftop. but this time, he doesn't look away. you're standing near the far side of the crowd, one hand tucked into your coat sleeve, your face lit softly by the lights overhead. you look beautiful.

he loves how simple and true the thought is. how it doesn't arrive with panic this time, but just tenderness. just the ache of knowing, even after all this time, even after everything he ruined and everything he learned, his heart still knows exactly where to look.

so jake crosses the rooftop slowly.

he just walks towards you with his pulse beating hard and loud in this throat, weaving past laughing friends and drunk strangers and half-empty glasses and people holding up their phones towards the skyline.

you see him coming, and your shoulders tense slightly, but you don't leave, which he takes as a good sign. when he stops in front of you, the music is loud enough that he has to lean in just a little, close enough for you to see the exhaustion in his eyes, the faint redness there, the months he spent missing you without asking you to do anything about it.

"hey," he says quietly.

your throat moves. "hey."

for a second, neither of you says anything. then, because jake is still jake, and because his heart is currently trying to crawl out of his chest, he says the first honest thing he can manage.

“you look good.”

you pause for a moment, then give him a soft smile.  “you do too.”

he lets out a breath that nearly becomes a laugh. “i really don’t.”

and then the tension almost breaks right there, with that small flicker of something comforting and familiar falling in between the two of you.  your mouth trembles like you’re trying not to smile too much but also trying not to cry at the same time.

the music goes quiet again for a moment while the dj announces five minutes until midnight and the rooftop cheers.

jake glances toward the crowd, then back at you.

“can we go somewhere quieter?” he asks. then, quickly, softer, “only if you want to.”

you look at him for a moment and your eyes flicker to the skyline before back to him, and then you finally nod. 

jake leads you inside to the lounge just past the rooftop's glass doors, where it's empty now and the lights are dim and warm. through the large windows, the party continues outside in a blur of coats and gold lights and people waiting for the year to end. he closes the door behind you and all the noise goes muffled immediately. 

you stand a few feet apart in silence, arms wrapped around yourselves against the chill still clinging to your clothes, both of you reflected faintly in the glass.

then jake looks at you, and he really, really looks. and then for the first time in a long, long time, he lets himself be brave.

"i figured it out, by the way."

your eyes flick up to his as if in a quick second of shock before looking away just as quickly.

he swallows hard. "not everything. i don’t think anyone ever figures out everything. but what you asked me that night. what i wanted, why i left, why i kept coming back. all of it."

you don't say anything, your eyes now trained on something past him just so you don't have to look at him quite yet. he keeps going.

"i left you because i was scared," he says, voice low. "not because i stopped loving you or because you were holding me back, or because we were wrong. but because i loved you so much that i couldn't admit it and i turned it into something i thought i had to save both of us from." his voice cracks. "but i didn't."

you look up at him now, and your eyes shine immediately.

jake’s hands curl at his sides, like his body still wants to reach for you before he has earned the right.

"i was trying to control the ending," he stops, letting the words sit for a moment. "because some awful part of me was terrified that one day you would wake up and realize you didn't need me when i still needed you. that maybe you had become my whole life, but i was only part of yours and if you left first, i wouldn't know how to survive it. so i left first, i hurt you first, and then i convinced myself it was love because the truth sounded uglier."

a tear slips down your cheek, and jake sees it immediately and he almost stops. he almost stops, but he doesn't. he can't, not now, not after he spent a year missing you, hurting you, hurting himself, and hiding.

not when stopping would be easier for him, and the whole point is that he is done choosing what is easy for him.

"and then i kept doing it," he whispers. "i kept coming back to you in pieces i could get because being near you was the only time i didn't feel like i had ruined my own life completely. but it wasn't fair, i know it wasn't. i wanted the comfort of you without giving you the certainty you deserved."

somewhere beyond the glass, the dj's voice cuts through the music, muffled but clear enough, one minute left.

your lips part slightly, like you might say something, but jake shakes his head, eyes burning now.

"i’m not saying this because i expect you to forgive me tonight. i’m not saying it because it’s new year’s and everyone outside is about to kiss someone and i’m lonely. i’m not asking you to fix me. i’m not asking you to come back because i finally got hurt enough to say the right thing."

he takes a breath. then another. then he holds your gaze carefully.

"i'm saying it because you deserve to hear the truth from me. because i figured it out, and i couldn't let you go thinking my confusion meant you were ever easy to lose."

thirty seconds and people outside start gathering loudly, but neither of you move.

"i know how to be without you now," jake says, voice breaking around it, eyes glassy. "and i hate it. i really, really hate it, but i know how. i can wake up and live my life and stand in rooms where you’re missing and not make that your responsibility."

fifteen seconds.

his eyes search yours.

"but i look at you," he whispers, taking one small step closer, "and i still see my future."

your face crumples and jake wants to reach for you so badly his fingers twitch at his sides.

ten.

"not because i don’t have one without you," his voice breaks again, and he has to swallow hard, "but because every version of me that is honest, every version that isn’t scared and running and pretending, still chooses you. and not as a place to hide, not as someone to hold me together. just you."

five.

jake finally lifts his hand, slowly, carefully, letting it hover just beside yours, giving you every chance to step away.

four.

"i love you," he says, the words spilling out now in that quick way they do when it’s just the truth and he can’t stop it anymore. "i love you in a way i should’ve been brave enough to choose the first time. and if you can’t choose me back anymore, i’ll understand. i’ll hate it, but i’ll understand."

three.

your eyes drop to his hand, then back up to his face. and then finally, you reach for him, your fingers slipping into his, cold and trembling, and jake lets out a breath that sounds broken.

two.

“i love you,” you breathe, voice shaking, face wet. “and i never stopped choosing you. i just needed you to choose me back.”

one.

the rooftop erupts outside in loud cheers, fireworks bursting over the city, gold and red and blue spilling across the glass, lighting your face in flashes.

jake hesitates for one heartbreaking second, his forehead nearly touching yours now, his breath trembling against your mouth, like even now he's asking. even now, he's waiting. because after everything, after all the hurt and healing and polite smiles and quiet looks, after all the late night drives and one more times he had no right to ask for, he needs this part to be yours.

not taken, not assumed by him, but yours to choose.

and so you do.

you tilt your face up, and you kiss him. and it's barely anything at first, it's soft and a trembling press of your mouth to his, so light it almost feels like both of you are afraid to ask for more. but then jake kisses you back, just as gentle, and just as disbelieving. but then your fingers tighten in his and your other hand finds the front of his jacket and you lean closer, pressing yourself into his hold and then it's desperate in the quietest way. the kind that comes from two people choosing, after the long, long road behind them, to find their way back to one another.

he kisses you like this is something he should have been more careful with from the start, one hand holding you at the waist, the other rising to your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear he caused and is finally trying to deserve the chance to heal.

you kiss him back like you’ve been holding your breath for months. like anger and love and grief and relief all have nowhere else to go except the small, fragile space between you.

outside, people are screaming happy new year. people are kissing and hugging and spilling champagne onto the rooftop floor and laughing into the cold. 

inside, jake pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing unevenly, eyes wet. neither of your move, his thumb staying against your cheek, your fingers staying twisted in his jacket. 

and the year begins quietly between you. it’s not perfect, it’s not untouched, but it’s yours. 

"happy new year," he whispers.

you let out a tiny broken laugh, your fingers tightening like you’re still making sure he’s there. then you look up at him. 

"happy new year, jaeyun."

and this time, when you say his name, it sounds like coming back home. not because the long and complicated road behind you disappeared. it hasn’t, it will always be there.

but because, finally, he knows the way back.

꩜｡⊹ ࣪ ˖ as always,,,,ty for reading if you made it all the way here <3 MWAH

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