🧸

By physics, you catch yourself grinning at a question that would have made your brain short-circuit, and you couldn’t help but imagine Jake leaning over your shoulder like last night, guiding you in that patient way. 

Oh my god, that’s fucking insane.

Afterwards, you and your friends head to the lockers, all of them immediately launching into the usual post-exam debrief that includes ranting, comparing answers, arguing about whether Question 14 was a trick or if they’re just stupid, and someone swearing they misread an entire page. It’s chaos that makes you laugh, but you can only just nod along, adding small comments here and there, because your brain’s still floating somewhere above your head.

You punch in the code for your locker, the metal door clicking open –

And then a hand hooks gently into the waistband of your skirt.

You gasp as you’re tugged backward a step, straight into someone’s chest. Warm hands steady you at your waist, and a soft laugh brushes your ear just as he pulls away to put a safe distance between you two.

Jake is grinning down at you when you look up. His hair’s a little fluffy from the wind, headphones still hanging around his neck, backpack lazily slung over one shoulder.

“How did my favorite junior do?” he asks, eyes warm enough to melt every coherent thought you had left.

You blink up at him, heart doing its own thing again, and your friends’ chatter fades into background noise behind you.

You try to play it cool, you really did. But it doesn’t work.

“It was… easy,” you admit, and you hate how breathy you sound.

Jake’s smile grows before ruffling your hair. “Yeah?” he murmurs. “Told you you’d kill it.”

You’re laughing now, soft and helpless, absolutely forgetting where you are, who’s watching, or the fact that your friends just witnessed you getting snatched by your – well, boyfriend.

“Wanna walk with me?” he asks, voice low, hopeful.

And you don’t even pretend to hesitate.

“Yeah,” you say and he’s already reaching for your bag. You shoot your friends a helpless little shrug but they don’t look at you with disappointment.

Jake’s hand finds the small of your back and the two of you slip into the hallway, easier this time, like last night had offered more than just assistance with the crazy wonders of physics but still heavily involves gravitation and falling. The noise fades behind you, and you feel lighter than buoyancy itself with each step and every time his arm brushes yours.

“So,” he says as you walk, swinging his keys around one finger. “You did well on your finals, you are definitely going to that trip –”

“Subject to verification.” you cut him off.

“And now you’re officially done…” he ignores while glancing down at you, eyes crinkling, smile widening. “Can I have you for the rest of the afternoon?”

You feel the flush crawl up your neck. “Have me,” you repeat, teasing. “Crazy wording.”

Jake bumps your shoulder with his. “Fine. Borrow you temporarily.”

You roll your eyes, but your grin betrays you. “For what, exactly?”

“Celebration,” he answers instantly. “You survived finals week like a champ.” he offers a hand for a high five and you give him one.

You laugh giddily and he laughs too in response, before letting his fingers brush yours, testing the waters but pulls away after. You feel like you might die.

“And,” he adds, as if there’s more ways to ruin you completely, “You owe me something.”

Your eyebrow lifts. “Owe you what?”

He tugs you gently toward the exit doors. “A real goodbye. Not the one you kicked me out of last night.”

Your breath catches and you’re smiling again. “Jaeyun.”

“What?” he says, feigning innocence. “Seems fair.”

You try to glare at him but it lasts about two seconds before your smile breaks through again. The winter air hits when he pushes the doors open for you, and the only thing you can think is that finals week might’ve just been the best week of your life – as abnormal as it sounds, but you’ve never been for normalcy, anyway.

“Come on,” he says, guiding you toward the parking lot with that boyish grin you can’t ever resist. “Let me take you somewhere.”

“And if I say no?” you challenge weakly.

He pulls the passenger door open for you, eyes bright and sure when it meets yours. He even scoffs, because you sound stupid. “You won’t.”

You won’t. And you don’t.

A part of you does not subject this to verification whether it is of pretense or not. It doesn’t feel that anyway.

It’s night by the time you both finish celebrating each other’s success after finals week. You ended up in a restaurant that didn’t include prices (which says a lot), and you both didn’t exactly look like you belonged. Mostly because you’re teenagers with school backpacks in a place that held ambience for a 10th anniversary celebration.

You realize, only as he drives that you didn’t even see the check. The city whizzes past, blurred lights and the faint smell of winter in the air, and you realize that nothing else matters right now.

You head inside, careful not to slip on your way. Upon entering the house, it’s warmer than normal; the christmas lights are on, dad cooked dinner, the television’s playing the show for the hour.

Just before you announce you’re home, someone does it first. Walking down the stairs with the smug smile he wears like he’s the star of the Christmas, bright as he always had been.

“Surprise, dumbass.” 

You gasp seeing Evan there, and the shock turns straight into instinct.

“Are you –” You smack his arm hard. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Ow – hey!” he laughs, already pulling you in, arms wrapping tight around you while you bury your face in his hoodie, angry and relieved all at once because he smells like home and nostalgia. You hug him just as tight, squeezing him like he might transfigure to winter mist if you let go. “Missed you too.”

You shove him back just enough to glare. “What the hell, Evan? Why didn’t you tell anyone you were coming home?”

He grins, utterly unapologetic, and knocks his knuckles lightly against the top of your head. “Mom and Dad knows.” He studies you for a second, squinting, obviously suspicious and very much nosy. “So. Why are you getting home this late, huh?”

Your mouth opens. Closes. “Uh –”

The front door opens and cold air rushes in with it, along with a familiar voice that screams exactly like bad timing and trouble. “You forgot your – oh.”

Jaeyun stands there, keys still in his hand, words dying on his tongue as his eyes land on Evan. For half a second, everything freezes, like a scene that’s waiting for daunting music or a black fadeout because something really bad just happened. You can practically see the thought hit him about how screwed he is.

Evan, however, just blinks, and he looks unreadable. Then his face lights up – because his dumbass didn’t connect the dots even when your scarf is in Jaeyun’s hand.

“No way,” he says, breaking into a wide grin. Jaeyun exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years and breaks into a smile of his own, because he never found gratitude in his peers’ being strategically unburdened by critical thought, however, he does pray with a thousand thanks now. “Evan. Man, when did you get back?”

They step toward each other at the same time, clasp hands, pull into a hug between two pals who missed each other. You, on the other hand, are now frozen – like you’re missing something (other than your pink scarf still in Jake’s hand) that should somewhat make sense from this supposed twist of plotline in your life.

“The hell are you doing here?” Evan asks, still grinning, giving him a once-over. 

Jaeyun freezes for half a beat.

“Oh,” he says quickly, scratching the back of his neck like he’s already embarrassed but the way he’s blinking clocks just how guilty he looks (he’s not a good liar). “I, uh, your sister locked herself out of her brain after finals.”

You blink. Of course the excuse is that you’re cognitively challenged, Evan wouldn’t even bat an eye.

“She texted me,” he continues, talking fast now, eyes darting anywhere but you or Evan, voice low with lies. “Said she needed a ride because she was too tired to walk and – yeah. That’s it.” He lifts the scarf again. “Left this in my car. Came back to return it.”

Evan stares at him before he looks at you, and he’s so unreadable it genuinely terrifies you. Because you’re not ready for a confrontation of this unbearable tension, of Jake’s bad attempt at lying, about the truth. 

“That’s it?” Evan asks slowly.

You nod way too quickly. “Yeah. I was exhausted. Like, genuinely. Brain dead.”

Thankfully, to all the saints and the birthday celebrant for the upcoming Christmas holiday, Evan simply scoffs and judges you of your stupidity. “Figures,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. “Thanks for babysitting my sister.”

“Hey,” you protest weakly, but honestly you don’t even try to argue.

And just when you think this is over – when the air might finally unclench –

“Oh!” your mom’s voice cuts in from the kitchen, bright and unsuspecting. “Jake, is that you?”

She appears at the doorway, apron still on, eyes immediately lighting up when she sees him. “You’re back so late,” she’s looking at you now. “Did you eat? I made pavlova.” now she’s looking at the both of you, and you feel your stomach churn with terror.

Jaeyun blinks, caught off guard. “I – uh –”

“Stay,” she says immediately, already turning back toward the kitchen.

Evan snorts. “Dude, you can’t say no to that.”

Jaeyun laughs, helpless, sighing because this feels more like turbulent waters he definitely forgot his floaties for. “I guess… I can stay for a bit.”

The house fills with easy, familiar sounds, maybe way too chummy for something you’d like after the changes. Evan’s talking and laughing about something dumb that happened overseas. You help your mom with the fruits and plates, keeping your head down from anything.

You don’t even try to get near him anywhere, when he also decides to help with the napkins, and make conversation with your mom. You busy yourself with pouring milk or absolutely anything that doesn’t involve acknowledging the weight of his presence.

Sometimes when you turn around too quickly, you catch his eyes on you. And he catches yours.

It’s never long, just a second or two if you’re reckless. Those fleeting moments tug at your heartstrings with a quiet intensity, shared with the lingering glances, giddy butterflies, and the thrill of secrecy.

Evan doesn’t notice, still too busy being your brother in a room that feels normal and safe and completely unaware of the lie breathing between you. Sometimes when he grows quiet, you find anxiety boiling that he’d notice the air shifting when your gaze stays to Jake for a second too long.

Jaeyun sits across from you at the table, shoulders relaxed now, laughing easily – and it’s a scene exactly where the actors have grown but still holds memories like they never passed. “So,” Jaeyun says casually, “The group’s planning on going to the lakehouse again this winter break.”

Your fingers still around your spoon, still full of a pavlova you’re slowly losing your appetite for.

Evan perks up immediately. “No way. Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Jake nods, taking a scoop of the dessert topped with strawberry before taking a bite. “Same deal as always. A week. Nothing crazy.”

“That’s sick,” Evan says without hesitation. “I’m in. I haven’t been back there in a while.” It’s only been a few months, but okay.

Jake glances at you then briefly, and before you can open your mouth – “She’s coming too.” Jake says, clearly without the hesitance of someone who needed to think this conversation flow through.

Evan looks between the two of you, eyebrows lifting. “You are?”

“Uh, yeah.” you say slowly, heat crawling up your neck.

“Oh,” Evan says slowly, smirk creeping in. “Didn’t know you two were making plans together now.”

“We’re not,” you say immediately, too fast, and that’s when Jake realizes the misstep. “Not really.”

Before Jake can say something to salvage this, “What do you mean, not really?” your mom cuts in, frowning lightly as she gathers plates. “Jake practically picks you up every day. You two go everywhere together.”

Evan’s smile doesn’t fade but sharpens, like now he’s connecting the shimmering dots and right now, it’s an integral line connecting you and the boy across you. His eyes flick to Jake, then to you, then back again.

“…Do you?” he asks, voice light, but there’s something probing underneath.

Jake opens his mouth, closes it with the kind of character that doesn’t know how to lie for shit. “I mean –”

“We study,” you rush in. “Sometimes. And finals week was… intense.”

“Mhm,” Evan hums, unconvinced, toying with his own pavlova like he’s trying to decipher its innermost secrets. Or moreover, the innermost secrets of the people in front of him. “Funny. Didn’t think finals turned into chauffeuring.”

Jake laughs – a little too loud, you try not to kick his shin. “I just live nearby.”

“Right,” Evan says, nodding slowly. He looks at you now, eyes narrowing just enough to make your chest tighten. Evan never really knew any of your crushes, but he teased often, maybe because it was always obvious with how you looked at Jake like he’s the very spectacle of romcom boy-next-door unpreventable crush.

“So. You going to the lakehouse or not?” He asks, eyes knowing with something you can’t read but you know is pointed, and it’s making your stomach sink. 

“Yeah,” you say finally, with the hesitancy of a little sister knowing how fucked this would be with your grown older brother and the grown boy you like(d). Plus, the friends that have no idea that this whole thing was a fake dating thing – so, on the serious note, how do you manage to carry on with the deal but not in front of Evan?

Tip #16: Don’t let hypothermia ruin your heart.

In contrast to what you believed you’d endure through the 5 hour roadtrip to Jake’s lakehouse, it was considerably… fun. In the Bronco, Jake drove, Evan sat immediately in the shotgun like he owned it (you don’t argue despite your “just-in-case” lipgloss hidden in the front compartment). You, Jungwon, and Sunoo sat in the middle seats, rightfully so, of course. It’s just what made sense in the car seating dynamic. Sunghoon and Riki had no choice but to stay at the third-row. 

Sunoo’s laughter comes first, loud and unrestrained. You don’t even remember what started it, only that Riki said something that made absolutely no sense, Sunghoon immediately escalated it, and suddenly Sunoo’s clutching his stomach like he’s dying.

“Why are you like this,” Jungwon groans, already tired even though you’ve barely left the city, hands up like a mediator in a very unserious war.

You’re laughing again, shoulders shaking, leaning slightly into Sunoo because there’s nowhere else to go. Jungwon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I volunteered to sit here to keep order.”

From the front seat, Evan’s been quiet, sunglasses and neck pillow on, but every now and then he lets out a laugh, short and sharp, like he’s trying not to encourage them but failing miserably. He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about idiots.

You’re still smiling, hair slightly messy from laughing too hard, eyes bright in the way Jake always likes. His grip on the steering wheel loosens just a little before handing his phone to you without getting attention, just a conversation between you and him.

“Hey,” he says casually. “You wanna play something on the speaker?”

Your heart does a small, stupid flip.

“Uh –” you reach for his phone, already feeling giddy at the thought.

“Nah,” Evan cuts in, already leaning forward to find his phone. “I got it.” You watch in mild horror and disappointment as he connects his phone instead.

Sunghoon starts singing off-key immediately and Riki laughs at him. Sunoo claps along like he has to – well, he does, when he’s stuck in the middle like this.

Jake glances at you again, eyes warm, apologetic, like he’s saying I tried but your overly comfortable brother whom I can’t say no to got in the way. You catch it, the look, and smile back despite yourself.

It’s small. Just for the two of you for you to notice.

Somewhere between the cramped seats and the sound of everyone you grew up with filling the car again, your chest feels light. Sure, you’ve grown and things really did change inevitably, but it’s not so bad to give in and miss this.

At the end of the godforsaken trip, the road finally narrows and the trees close in like they’re letting you through on a secret. Jake slows the Bronco instinctively, tires crunching over gravel you recognize before you even see the house. Then everyone’s talking at once once they see it.

The lakehouse comes into view, porch light glowing soft against the winter fog, dock stretching out into darkening water like it’s been waiting. The canoe’s still leaned against the side, waiting for your disaster. The wind chimes hang crooked by the door, but none of them suggest old or even haunted, just lived in and waiting to be cozied in once again.

“They didn’t change a thing,” Evan says, sitting up straighter now, sunglasses finally pushed up onto his head. There’s something quieter in his voice, like the place got him too, you can’t help but smile at the idea to tease him later.

Jake parks and kills the engine. The moment the doors open, snow air bites, sharp and clean, smelling like pine and lake water and memory and horrible ideas to be here during winter.

Everyone piles out – bags, jackets, shoving, Riki immediately complaining about leg cramps, Sunoo threatening to push him into the lake through his feisty questions.

You step out to the trunk to get your bag, pushing the others to find yours. Jake’s beside you before you even register it. “I can get that,” he says softly, reaching for your bag.

Just him, just you, with no audience as to what this agreement established and needed (rules said so). His hand hovers close but not touching, and when your eyes meet his, your own body heats for winter. He’s trying to get closer, you know that much, you just don’t know if letting him is a good idea. 

“Ohhh?” Evan’s voice cuts in, sing-song and amused and your worst nightmare. “Already playing house?”

You groan. “Evan.”

He grins, eyes flicking between the two of you a little too knowingly. “Relax. It’s a joke.”

Heat crawls up your neck. Before he can say anything else, you sling the bag higher on your shoulder, disappointed.

“I’ve got it,” you say quickly. “It’s fine.”

“…Okay,” Jake says, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You head toward the house, boots crunching over gravel, pretending the bag doesn’t weigh more than you can carry (not your fault, all you brought are necessary). Behind you, Evan lets out a soft laugh, satisfied with his teasing, while the others argue about who gets which room on the way inside too.

Jake sighs, grabbing his own bag and slamming the door down with more aggression than essential. Evan notices, obviously, and nudges him.

“What?” he asks, raising a brow. “You look like someone stole your lunch money.”

Jake shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

Inside, while the guys settle in the living room and comment how nice it still is – Jungwon’s contacting Vivienne’s group if they’re lost or whatever, Jake leads you to the hallway, hand briefly brushing the small of your back as he guides you away from the noise.

“Okay,” he murmurs, pitching his voice low like this is just logistics and not something he’s been thinking about since the drive started. “You’re sleeping here.”

He pushes open a door at the end of the hall. The room is small but warm, one bed, a window facing the lake, curtains drawn halfway. It smells like clean linen and old wood, familiar because it’s the room you always claimed. Sometimes you made Evan sleep on the floor when you get scared alone.

You blink. “Here… as in  alone?”

Jake nods, already shrugging out of his jacket like this is obvious. “Yeah. There are five rooms total. I figured –” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, you shouldn’t have to share. Not with the guys. And Vivienne’s group is… well.”

You glance at him, awfully too good at pretending the name doesn’t matter. “They’re what?”

“ …You don’t like them,” he finishes carefully.

That earns a soft laugh from you. “So what, everyone else is just cramming together?”

“Pretty much,” he says. “Vivienne’s group is six, they can split the other two rooms. And us –” He gestures vaguely back toward the living room, where Sunghoon’s supposedly quiet voice is now already echoing too loud. “We’ll figure it out. Two rooms, double beds. It’s fine.”

You sit on the bed, looking at him with a smile that teases. “So you’re all sharing.”

“Yeah.”

“And I get my own room.”

He hesitates just a fraction too long. “I mean – yeah. It just makes sense.”

“Mhm,” you hum, unconvinced, playing with your sleeves while your lips turn thin from trying not to smile. “No special treatment?”

Jake scoffs softly, defensive in a way that’s almost cute. “What? No. Don’t make it weird.”

You raise a brow. “Jaeyun.”

He exhales through his nose, a smile tugging at his mouth despite himself. “Okay, fine. Maybe a little. But it’s practical. You’re a girl. And – ” His eyes flick to the bed, then back to you. “I want you to be comfortable.”

There it is.

Something warm settles low in your chest, quiet and dangerous. “Thank you.”

Jake smiles, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek before nodding, and closing your door. You fall back on your bed when he’s gone and you hide your shriek against the pillow.

Jake Sim was doing a terrible job at pretending he was fine.

This was unfortunate, because he had made it his personal mission to appear normal this weekend, and the universe was doing everything in its power to test him. Evan’s here, Jake can’t exactly kiss your forehead and grab your hand and tell himself it’s for the act.

The moment Vivienne’s group arrived, you started tucking yourself in because unfamiliarity started mingling with your comfort. There’s laughter that hasn’t bounced off these walls before, boots stomping snowless winter cold into the entryway, someone loudly announcing they almost missed the turn because Google Maps is a liar.

Vivienne comes in right after, hair pulled back, cheeks pink from the cold, looking exactly like someone who has never once struggled to belong anywhere. She grins when she spots Evan first.

“No way,” she laughs. “Our “too-good-for-home” star.”

“Hi, drama queen,” Evan says, pulling her into a quick hug like this is the most natural thing in the world. Obviously, because the (former) basketball captain knows the cheer captain. Even your own blood fawns over Ms. Perfect while you remain bitter in your lonely bubble with personal miseries and suppressed jealousy you refuse to ever call, but it’s the best fitting in narration. 

You’re not excluded but your footing is off and you can’t exactly coin in your talks without feeling eggshells stab your sole.

Eventually, someone suggests swimming. Obviously, it’s a yes. That’s how you end up standing on the dock fifteen minutes later, breath fogging in the air, surrounded by people in swim trunks and bikinis like hypothermia is a social experiment you will not be fooled by.

Jake told himself this discomfort was purely logistical. Anyone would be thrown off by the reintroduction of childhood memories, unresolved feelings, best friend’s sister and best friend is here, and the sudden urge to protect you from hypothermia and/or Vivienne who he knew always made you tense and so he curses himself mentally from how idiotic he is to give into courtesy of inviting her just because Sunoo mentioned going to the lakehouse to her.

Screams echo over the water as bodies hit the lake, the cold so sharp it steals sound for a second before everyone resurfaces, shrieking, cursing, laughing like maniacs. The cold is violent. It knocks the air out of you, steals your breath, makes your limbs feel like they don’t belong to you anymore. When you surface, you’re laughing so hard it hurts, Evan’s quick to help you up when you look like a drowning puppy.

Then it’s a game of races and splashing, as well as some swearing that they’re amazing at dives and backflips into the water, only to look like flopping fishes deprived of water. Someone starts a game of chicken – Sunoo on Jungwon’s shoulders, immediately unstable, Vivienne climbing onto one of her friends with confidence. Riki also gets on Jake’s shoulders but they end up falling so many times. You get on Evan’s while he reprimands how heavy you are (you aren’t, he’s just your brother).

You end up paired with Vivienne without really planning to. It’s easy, actually. She laughs when you almost lose balance and for a second, the weird edge you’ve been carrying dulls. 

“Okay,” she says, bracing herself. “Don’t take this personally.”

“I’ll try not to,” you reply.

She pushes, you shove back, and you both end up in the water anyway, tangled and shrieking, coming up laughing so hard you forget that it was supposed to be strange. 

You end up sitting on the edge of the dock eventually, legs dangling over the water. Your bikini clings cold to your skin but you’re laughing too hard to care. Jungwon’s in the water still, dramatically accusing Evan of cheating during their very unserious race.

“I swear you pushed me,” Jungwon says, pointing an accusing finger.

“I literally did not,” Evan replies, grinning. “You just can’t swim straight.”

Vivienne’s friends laugh, one of them nearly slipping back into the lake as they try to climb out. Sunoo’s doubled over again, laughing at absolutely everything, and Riki’s loudly declaring he could’ve won if he “actually tried,” which earns him a synchronized chorus of boos, yours was first of course.

You hug your arms around yourself, shoulders shaking from laughter, teeth chattering just a little now. The cold’s finally catching up to you, threading through your limbs like it’s claiming its victory.

You look up just to check if he’s laughing too. Though Jake’s already looking at you.

He’s standing a few feet away, dripping wet, hair a mess, towel slung over one shoulder. His cheeks are pink from the cold, eyes bright in a way in your way even though you haven’t jested.

He smiles for you, and then you smile back. Warmth blooms somewhere ridiculous given you’re literally freezing, but it’s nice and giddy, right before you tear it away to look back at what they're doing now.

“I’m –” you laugh, pushing yourself up from the dock, grabbing your towel finally while you announce. “I’m going inside. It’s really fucking cold.”

Jake doesn’t hesitate, wiping his body with his towel too. “Yeah,” he says immediately, like the words were waiting. “Same. I’m done.”

The others boo you two, while Evan, who has been mid-laugh with Jungwon, goes quiet. His eyes flick to you – wrapped in your towel, cheeks flushed, still smiling at what Jake said beside you – then to him, who is suddenly also done despite being the one who suggested chicken not ten minutes ago.

Evan narrows his eyes, smiling at the two of you. “Oh?” he says lightly. “Already?”

Jake freezes for half a second. “…Yeah,” he says, shrugging to try for casual. “I mean. It’s cold.”

You nod quickly, stepping back toward the house. “Yeah. Hypothermia’s not really my thing.”

Jake doesn’t look back and you don’t either, talking and smiling on your way in.

Inside, the door closes behind you with a soft click.

And Jake thinks, not for the first time, that pretending is really going to be a bitch, whether it was to act like you’re still dating in front of Vivienne or to act like he’s totally not hopeless about you. He tries not to swear in God’s name in vain, but for fuck’s sake, he cannot be normal.

No snitching. No one should know. That’s part of the agreement even if it’s not verbally communicated, as far as Fight Club really starts with.

Steam curls up around them, soft and hazy under the dim lights of a night that calls for rest after a long day. The water’s warm, bubbling lazily against Jake’s shoulders as he leans back against the edge of the jacuzzi, head tipped back, eyes half-closed. The cabin’s quiet now, sleeping along with the others while he really tries not thinking about you. 

Fuck, he admits how easier it would be if it’s lust soiling his brain after seeing you in a two piece, but it’s not, surprisingly for a boy his age and a girl your age. It’s just you, and it’s really hard to make sense out of that. Well, it’s not difficult math, it’s really easy to sum and conclude, especially with your given circumstances and weird plotline. Just not easy to him while on the other side of his brain that’s mostly taken up by you, is the image of Evan drowning him in the ice cold water once he finds out how fucked Jake is over you.

If he knows just how… whatever Jake is with you, then he’ll kill him. Like, for breaking the unspoken oath of proscribed territories that makes up your initials in pink glitter pen. It’s pathetic. 

It’s been weird lately, like you two have obviously put distance between one another – one would say it’s at arms length but even then, such interspace still let him reach for you, and you smoothly drag like gravity. He helped you study physics: not part of the contract. You kissed him goodbye: not part of the contract. He flirted with you in the hallway: part of the contract. He took you to dinner and posted a story: part of the contract.

It’s strange in a way that you both play parts you agreed on, as well as those that aren’t – like a sick balance that keeps the sense of something completely perplex. Then your brother came home and you just got further away, a part of him wishes he stayed away just for a bit longer. So, what he thought was going well made a 180 turn, and now, he can’t reach you anymore.

It’s peaceful – or it was, until Sunghoon speaks. Or him acknowledging that Jake has broken a rule you both agreed upon.

“So let me get this straight,” Sunghoon says slowly, brows furrowing like he’s trying to solve a crime. “You’re telling me you and her are fake dating?”

Jake cracks an eye open. “Yeah.”

“Like. Not real.”

“Mhm.”

Sunghoon’s expression is… well, very surprised. Then he shakes his head before he leans back. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know?”

Jake, obviously taken aback, sits up straight, shooting his gaze immediately at Sunghoon. Before he can ask, Sunghoon’s talking. “What kind of man does that to a lady?”

Jake blinks, immediately shaking his head to somehow defend himself. “No, I mean – I pitched the idea but it’s not to play her or something. We both agreed. No strings or whatever.”

Sunghoon scoffs, playing with the rippling water, but he does not look an ounce of amused. “I did think it was kind of weird when it happened.” he says and Jake’s brows furrow in confusion. “As in, your best friend’s younger sister? Mad weirdo vibes, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Just didn’t take you to be that kind of guy.”

Jake runs a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. “Look, I get it. I’m not exactly the textbook good guy type. But it’s not meant to be anything weird, I promise.”

Sunghoon snorts, shaking his head. “Bro, you’re barely passing the good-human vibe test just from the fact you suggested fake dating. High standards don’t just vanish because you’re nice to someone.”

Jake sighs, tilting his head. “I care about her.”

Sunghoon crosses his arms, leaning back against the jacuzzi wall, eyes narrowing. “You’d better. ‘Cause if you’re messing with her… I swear, I’ll make sure you regret it. I’ve known her since forever, she’s practically my sister.”

Jake chuckles, half-amused, half-exasperated. “Yeah, yeah. I got it, Mr. High Standards.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, but there’s a begrudging trust buried in there somewhere, even if he’d never admit it out loud. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt anyway. I guess. Because unless you two are auditioning for a movie, you’re way too good at acting.”

Jake chuckles, sinking deeper into the water. “It’s convincing, then. That’s the point.”

“Convincing?” Sunghoon scoffs. “Dude, half the time I see you two, she’s either laughing at your dumb jokes or looking at you like you hung the moon.”

Jake’s smile falters, just a little, but he’s slipping when he tries sitting up. “She – what?”

“Yeah, dude,” Sunghoon says, crossing his arms. “And don’t even get me started on you. You act all chill, but you hover around her like she’s made of glass. You carry her stuff, buy her snacks and drinks, make sure she’s warm –”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Jake interrupts, trying to sound casual. “We’re just – comfortable. We’re friends.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “Friends don’t look at each other like that. So if you’re actually not messing around with her, I’m letting you know now that I think she likes you. If you are, with your dumbass fake dating idea, leave her alone, bro.”

Jake blinks, like he’s hearing things he wants to hear (except the second half), and now he feels nothing but urgency – confirmation, that he’s not as crazy as he’s been feeling all these months. That you do look, and you linger, even when you force yourself not to – when he convinces himself you don’t. One plus one really is two, yet only now does he find the wizardry of math absolutely beautiful.

He hopes he’s not just insane. For seeing you different, for his vision tunneling at the very sight of you. 

Jake can’t help but wonder why it had to be so complicated.

The sound of bubbling water fills the silence again. Jake looks down, watching the ripples spread from where his fingers tap against the surface. He hates that his heart is suddenly racing like younger Jake experienced.

He thinks about you – your laugh, that half-smile you give when you’re trying not to. The way your voice always softens when you say his name, even when you’re annoyed. The way you looked earlier, on the dock, or while he joked with you on the way back inside – away from the others, just you two.

Every other time before that, all the fucking candid shots he has of you: in his car, in a party, by the hallways, at the bleachers, at the diners – all when you’re not looking and he swears he’ll post in his story for show, “later”, but they rot in an album that’s full of you. Those times he’s staring when you’re not looking, when he’d purposely mess shit up just to get a reaction out of you – because anything from you, he wanted.

God, maybe Sunghoon has a point.

Jake leans back, water lapping lazily against his shoulders, and exhales. The bubbles hiss and pop like punctuation around his thoughts, and now he just feels worse that Sunghoon has a point.

“Okay,” he starts, voice quieter now, dragging it out like he’s arguing with himself. “Even if I like her…”

Sunghoon perks up, tilts his head, eyes widening. “Oh?”

Jake groans, one hand running over his face, absolutely defeated over the girl that’s comfortably sleeping in the bedroom she has all to herself specifically because Jake said so. “It’s not like I can –” he pauses, swallowed by the cold water and the guilt curling in his stomach like it has teeth eating him away. “because of Evan.”

Sunghoon blinks, mouth parting like he was handed something he can’t process yet. “Wait, he doesn’t know?”

Jake shakes his head, exhaling through his nose. “No. And he can’t. I – I can’t risk it.”

The words hang in the misty air, tangled with the warm steam, the soft sounds of the house behind them. It’s cold out here, which adds to the self-inflicted pain of admitting something he never thought he’d say out loud, for a girl he always knew was out of touch. Except he did. He felt your touch, and it was always the softest even if it came as smacks. Still, he wants it now that he’s experienced it.

It shouldn’t be you, but why was it always you?

It’s weird and way out of line, that God really put the odds against him when deciding his lovelife. 

“Shit,” Sunghoon sighs. 

“Shit.” Jake finalizes.

Jake’s fucked, always has been, now he doesn’t know what to do about it. He hopes Evan’s punch isn’t that bad.

Sunghoon laughs, low and knowing, leaning back. “Well, if you don’t do anything about it soon, someone else might.”

Jake’s jaw tightens. “Yeah, well, good luck finding someone else who can handle her. She’d eat them alive.”

No one knows how to survive you the way Jaeyun can.

Tip #17: Never watch him make pancakes for another girl. It will hurt.

Late morning creeps into the cabin harshly like a storm decided to brood inside the very house.

The cold hasn’t let up, just sharp air that bites at your skin when you pad across the wooden floor in socks. The place smells like coffee and butter and something faintly sweet, probably pancakes. You squint, blinking away sleep, hair a mess, hoodie swallowed up to your chin.

Jake’s at the stove, sleeves pushed up, spatula in hand while Vivienne stands beside him, leaning against the counter. She laughs at something he says and she reaches out, taps his arm, fingers lingering just a second too long to prove just how funny Jake Sim is.

He grins too.

You look away first when something in your chest spoils.

“Gross,” you mutter under your breath, rolling your eyes as you pivot toward the living room instead, mood officially ruined before 11 a.m and good breakfast in a supposedly good morning. None of it is good and you yearn for the weekend when you didn’t come to the lakehouse and decided to stay home. 

Evan’s already on the couch, sprawled out with a blanket half-draped over his legs, phone in hand. He looks up when you plop down beside him, a little too stiff, arms crossed like you’re bracing against something invisible and him talking about mom nagging for updates with cute pictures of the two of you comes to a halt.

“…Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something?” he asks, squinting. 

You scoff, tucking your legs under yourself. “I’m fine.”

Evan hums, unconvinced. “Right, you’re not convincing anyone.”

More than Evan would know, he’s helped you remember something crucial. Right. Pretending. The whole act that started feeling cluttered because some things have backfired down the stupid plan such as you becoming another one of the girls who fell for Jake Sim. It’s despicable, really, and now you haven’t convinced Vivienne that Jake is very much taken when he’s all up her too, feeding into her delusions that very chance you tried shoving up her face all these months.

It’s ABORT MISSION in red, and only you seem to care. It was always a losing game for you so now you question just how much did you really think it through when you said yes.

When Vivienne exits the kitchen, she does it so triumphantly, balancing a plate stacked with pancakes like she earned them through valor. Jake hands it to her, she thanks him, bumps her hip against the counter, and – because God clearly has favorites and you are at the very bottom of that list – leans in to say something that makes him laugh.

Your eyes flick up for exactly half a second before you immediately regret it and look away like you’ve been personally wronged by the concept of breakfast. It’s stupid to feel annoyed. You know that. You don’t own Jake. At the same time, you do know you get to be mad, because after 3 months of pretending and acting, it is all futile to the hands of a boy who actually really likes the attention of someone as perfect as her.

And clearly, your attention too. Which he has won so easily while he single-handedly proven to you just how uncomplicated it is to grab your heart, with easy efforts that required nothing: such as falling for another girl in front of you.

Vivienne passes by the couch, cheerful, unbothered, pancake-rich, made by Jake. Evan glances up and goes, “Damn, save some for the rest of us,” and she laughs, settling at the dining table with her friends.

Ms. Perfect and Ms. Pathetic.

Tip #18: It’s important to do what’s right.

You try to settle for neutrality amidst mayhem because it is the only thing ever peaceful.

In a perfect world, the jacuzzi would stay empty for exactly thirty uninterrupted minutes so you could boil your feelings down to something manageable and then emerge reborn, or at the very least less annoyed. In the real world, however, you are with people who lacked both social awareness and a basic respect for personal brooding time – especially the boy who is famously known for being everywhere.

You hear the door slide open behind you, footsteps follow. You don’t turn around because acknowledging Jake’s presence feels like admitting defeat, not when personal brooding time was specifically decided because of him.

The night air bites just enough to remind you that yes, you did, in fact, choose to be outside in winter with your emotional instability.

“Hey,” Jake says.

You tilt your head back against the edge of the tub, eyes fixed on absolutely nothing. “Hi.”

You hear him set things down and then the water shifts as he steps in. The jacuzzi reacts dramatically, sloshing like it’s offended by the intrusion. You resist the urge to sigh because that would imply this bothers you (it does).

He settles across you, close enough to be noticeable but not close enough to be intentional, truly just two good buddies enjoying the hot tub together. Jake Sim has always been very good at that specific distance. The one that keeps things ambiguous because then you’re left with imposition of what things mean, or if you’re the one reading into them too much.

You wish you didn’t kiss him. Even if it was just on the cheek. Maybe this would’ve hurt less if you hadn’t.

For a moment, the bubbles do most of the work for talking. Somewhere inside the cabin, someone laughs too loud but it feels distant, like it belongs to a different group of people who are not currently pretending their chest doesn’t feel tight.

“This taken?” he asks, nodding toward the edge near you.

You glance along the seat. “Yes.”

“Damn,” he says solemnly while he glides beside you.

You snort despite yourself, then immediately regret it. You were doing so well with the cold, unapproachable thing, just to show that you’ve been indulging in introspection. Jake leans back, arms resting along the edge. Which feels unfair, considering your internal organs have been at war since breakfast.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

You shrug. “Was thinking.”

“About?”

You glance at him. He’s looking at the water, not you. Coward.

You let the silence stretch, and because Jake isn’t the type to interrogate but was always patient with what you want to say, the night air fills the spaces that should’ve been your words instead. You consider lying or deflecting or dunking your head underwater.

Instead, you settle and say, “You seem to be having a good time.”

He frowns. “What?”

“Today,” you clarify, playing with the water ripples. “You were laughing a lot.”

“Oh.” He exhales. “That.”

You glance at him now, unimpressed. Jake shifts, turning more toward you. “If this is about Vivienne –”

“It’s not,” you say quickly, looking back at the water because you’re the coward now.

“…Hey,” he starts, voice quieter now, lips tight with thought. “I’m sorry I invited her. It wasn’t supposed to be weird. We’re just friends and it kind of just came up when Sunoo mentioned the lakehouse and she was there and I didn’t really think – ”

“Jaeyun,” you interrupt gently. “It’s fine.”

He stops talking immediately.

You finally glance up, shrugging like this isn’t sitting heavy in your chest. “It’s not my business who you invite. Or who you hang out with. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

But you know that’s a lie, because deep inside you truly want the reassurance none from your agreed constitution grants. It’s not a right, and it certainly isn’t supposed to be demanded. Not by you with your fake label, not by you who went into war and handed Jaeyun the gun specifically. 

Jake sits there, staring at you and attempting to make sense out of what’s happening. Because he believed what you had lately was good, and he was really finally starting to come to the stage of actually doing shit not for the act. 

He knows, that he fucked up because the golden boy and poster-child he is which always has been friendly and good regardless to whom, did not fend the right intentions to your point of view. Truthfully, he knows he’s a dickhead for that.

“I think we should call it off.” you say suddenly.

Instantly, Jaeyun’s mind has transitioned to murdering himself with a rubber spatula he used to make pancakes earlier. That is both what he wants and the last thing he wants, which doesn’t make sense and makes perfect clear sense. 

“I don’t think so. I really like fake dating you.” Jake says because he’s a dumbass.

You stare at him where you look at someone like they’ve just stood up in the middle of a quiet room and announced a revolutionary theory that makes absolutely no sense, yet they seem deeply convinced it does. You blink once, twice, just to see if he’ll change his mind. When you see he doesn’t and he seems very assured that he is correct, you heave a sigh, heart abandoned like you’ve lost interest in neutrality altogether. “Look, Jaeyun. This is exactly what I mean.”

He watches you carefully now.

“It’s backfiring,” you say, calm, respectful, rational. “The fake dating thing – it was supposed to make things less messy. It was supposed to convince people. And instead, it’s just…” You make a small twisting motion with your hand and despite the words leaving your mouth, he finds it adorable. “Making everything worse.”

You remember how you avoided Jay because Jake thinks it’s weird, and you did it anyway for the safety of your plan and Jaeyun’s sentiments about it. Yet he gets to make excuses about Vivienne’s predestined invitation even though she clearly does not seem to care that you’re both in a relationship. It’s shitty, because Jay backed off, Vivienne didn’t. Still, you put your distance, Jake didn’t.

It’s messed up as much as it is immoral. It’s painful as much as it is disorganized.

“And Evan’s here,” you add, softer now. “It was a bad plan with good intentions and now it’s just… impractical. So for practical and rational reasons,” you finish gently, “we should end it.”

There’s a beat. He’s looking at you like you decided doom for the earth as the destroyer of worlds – of the goddamn organ beating in his ribcage. Jake reaches out and grabs your wrist.

“Wait,” he says, pulling you a half-step closer before you can react. His hand is warm through – annoyingly still making your chest pound when you know it shouldn’t. The bubbles and water sloshing is loud, making things more dramatic than they are, more definition than how you think this is – extensive to what you give Jake credit for.

Your heart does that stupid thing again, the one where it reacts before your brain can file a complaint because he sounds like he can’t handle ending something fake as it will truly detonate the bomb he calls his heart. You look down at his hand, and then back up at him.

“I –” Jake parts his mouth, looking into your eyes like the words would be there. And really, they are, your pupils twinkle with the things you want him to say, things you want him to tell you. 

Your heart leans forward, stupid and hopeful, ready to accept whatever half-truth he offers just to keep this moment alive. Just to keep holding on that you aren’t the only one falling, just not to be left back in the dark. Except they’re stuck somewhere in the air of unspoken explanations, and his heart refuses to drum louder than it already is.

He exhales sharply through his nose, frustrated with himself. “I just don’t like ending things weird.”

You almost laugh. “Ending?” you repeat lightly. 

That earns you a weak smile, what happens when you undo him without realizing. “You know what I mean.”

The water laps against your sides and the night feels too close, too quiet, like it’s listening and anticipating for the moment either of you break. His thumb shifts, brushing the inside of your wrist absentmindedly, and you hate how familiar it feels – how close he is to your pulse and affect it wholly.

You pull your hand back before you can change your mind. His fingers fall away reluctantly, like they weren’t ready to let go either.

“You don’t get to do that,” you say, softer now. “You don’t get to trail off.”

Jake winces. “I know.”

“Do you?” you ask. “Because it kind of feels like you don’t.”

He looks at you for a long moment, expression stripped bare by the steam and the honesty he didn’t ask for tonight. He thought it would proceed with something good and sweet, like a setting for this dumb romcom you two have. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

A bitter laugh escapes you before you can stop it, shaking your head from the reason to be sour. Things have already been screwed up, the moment the letters were sent, the moment he finds your heart in his mailbox and decided to play with it through fake dating. You should’ve known better for someone who’s as smart as you.

His brows knit together. “You’re mad at me.”

You consider denying it. But you can't bring yourself to. “I’m just confused.”

It wouldn’t work out, he thinks, because you’re his best friends sister. It would be weird, and guilt will embed like fingerprints that won’t wash away, blood on a crime scene he’s been part of since the age 10. It's going to be ridiculous and disrespectful, like ruining something that was clearly prohibited. Yet when you turn away to leave the tub, he holds you like it was what he was meant to do.

Pulling away is the rational conclusion your brain arrives at in approximately half a second before Jake’s hands settle on your waist like they’ve always known where to go. 

Fingerprints that stain your waist, blood that rush to his ears, he pulls you towards him. Because he cannot bear seeing you pull away any more. Yeah, fake dating someone is wrong, but nothing feels better than having the excuse to hold you like he's allowed to.

The water sloshes again, offended for the second time tonight.

“Jaeyun,” you breathe, but it comes out softer than it should, more warning than protest.

His grip is firm, grounding, like he’s anchoring himself more than he’s restraining you. Like if he lets go now, something inside him will free-fall and never quite land right again.

“Okay,” he nods. “We’ll call it off.”

He nods like he means it.

“We’ll end it,” Jake says, steadier this time. “Now.”

Your chest aches at the word – so final, so clean for something that has been anything but. You don’t trust him. You don’t trust yourself standing this close, wrapped in steam and bad decisions.

You inhale, slow, grounding yourself the way you always do when you’re about to do something that feels like self-preservation but will still hurt anyway, carving on your lungs with his handwriting. Your fingers finally move, not to push him away, not to cling – just to rest lightly against his wrists as a silent please.

Jake looks at you then, like he’s memorizing the way your face falls when you’re trying to be brave. 

He leans in before you can stop him. It’s not rushed nor reckless with greed.

His lips brush your forehead, a kiss that feels soft and devastating and entirely his – not for the world, not for Vivienne, not for Jay. 

For half a second, the world narrows to warmth and steam and the unbearable tenderness of it. The way his breath stutters like he shouldn’t have done that but couldn’t not do it either.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, so quietly it barely exists.

You pull away immediately, decisively, like ripping off a bandage you’ve been peeling at all night. You stand up before your heart can argue, water cascading off you in sharp, unforgiving reality. 

You grab your towel, wrapping it around yourself with shaking fingers. Then when you walk away from the tub, footsteps careful on wet wood, towel clutched tight, your heart’s pounding like it’s trying to escape your ribcage entirely and back to where Jake stays.

Ending the lie is the first honest thing he’s done with you, and the only way this ever gets to be real.

Really, Jake should’ve gotten to bed to avoid the way too hot chocolate and confrontations during 1:53 a.m. He lifts the mug, takes a sip –

“I saw you.” Evan says and Jake immediately starts choking.

He bends forward, coughing violently, one hand braced on the counter, the other clutching the mug like it’s the only thing tethering him to this plane of existence.

“Wow,” Evan says from behind him. “That bad, huh?”

Jake nearly dies, spinning around to meet eyes with the older, still coughing. “Jesus – Evan – what the fuck – ”

Evan’s leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, face blank in that terrifying older-brother way that suggests violence has been thoughtfully considered and postponed only for answers. Jake suddenly feels like a kid who got caught sneaking in past curfew, except worse, because this time the crime involves feelings and his best friend’s sister.

Evan pushes off the doorway and walks in slowly. “So.”

Jake freezes, full system shutdown for what’s about to come because karma decided to blast on full tonight.

“In the hot tub,” Evan says calmly. “With my sister.”

Jake’s soul leaves his body, files for early retirement, he knows he should’ve slept early.

“You kissed her,” Evan adds, tone surprisingly level for someone Jake had been convinced would kick his ass and then punch his face just for seasoning for the soil he’ll bury him in. “Real gentle and intentional.”

Jake opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “I can explain.” he says weakly.

Evan raises a brow, and it does wonders to the brain about how he knows one wrong word would –

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Evan says. “The question is whether it’ll make me less inclined to throw you into the lake.”

Yeah, one wrong word and that.

Jake winces. “Okay. That feels extreme.”

“She’s my sister.”

“That feels relevant,” Jake mutters.

Evan stops in front of him. “So I’m gonna ask you one time, and I’d suggest you answer like you value our friendship. What the hell do you want with my sister? She seemed very sad after having that moment with you.”

The question lands heavy as if he had committed international human rights crime, and maybe, in both retrospect and respect for your very lovely feelings and genuine heart, he did.

Jake exhales, staring at the counter like it might save him. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“That wasn’t the question.” Evan waits.

Jake looks. “You know she’s not property, right?”

Evan nods. “Absolutely. She’s a person. Who I’ve known since birth. Which is why I’m asking.”

Jake stares at him for a long moment, rethinking the decisions that had been mustered in his mind whether how to direct this through the best route possible. Something about insecure man feelings gets in the way for a bit, and then just how much Jake is really willing to accept reality in front of your brother, his best friend, finally. 

Truly, he has no obstacle as much as you do. Just – whether the line he promised himself to keep out of respect for your family – which has basically adopted him – should be kept. It’s weird, 12 year old him thought, dating someone like you. You’re not weird, but who you are to his life is.

Except, maybe, his overthinking and the pessmisstic trait in his brain overcomplicates the simple things.

Jake exhales through his nose, defeated, deciding to take the thinking cap off, and finally breathe with the unsophistication of feelings the way he needs to. He’s really fucking good with numbers but if two plus two really is four, then realizing the answer to Evan’s question should arrive as easy as dumbass little four.

“I like her.”

Evan doesn’t react, just watches him – a little scary, to Jake’s braced anticipation, because Evan doesn’t react the way Jake thought he would. What he believed in for a decade now demobilized with proof of real life happening right in front of him. Still, he is unharmed, and as far as nerves can serve him right, his bony ass is still safe from a kick.

“And I know that sounds –” Jake gestures vaguely, “ – like every guy ever, but I mean it. I don’t want to mess with her, really.”

Evan tilts his head. “Funny way of showing it.”

Jake winces. “Yeah. I deserve that.”

Silence stretches again, heavier now, less funny. Not when Evan himself saw the paradox of Jake’s actions with Vivienne and then with you, and of course, not just as your brother but as a man with decency, he knows it’s wrong.

Evan finally speaks. “Then be serious.”

Jake looks up.

“If you’re gonna be in her space,” Evan continues, voice firm but not unkind, “be serious. Don’t confuse her. Don’t do half-things. Don’t kiss her like that if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Jake nods slowly. “I know.”

Evan studies him for a moment, then sighs, now tinted with the knowing of someone who’s seen you grow up. The kind of wisdom only a sibling would have after seeing everything the outside walls of the  house wouldn’t show. “She’s not as okay as she pretends to be.”

Jake’s chest tightens, because he knows too, not just as the guy who’s there now, but as the boy who was always there in the beginning. “I figured.”

“That’s not enough,” Evan says. “You don’t get points for noticing. You get points for not being an idiot.”

Jake huffs out that quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over his mouth like he can physically stop himself from saying the wrong thing.

“Look,” he says, finally, voice lower now. “Vivienne doesn’t… mean anything like that.”

Evan’s brow twitches. “Careful.”

“I know how it looks,” Jake says quickly. “I really do. If I were you, I’d think I was being an asshole too. She’s just… part of things. That’s it. Same way some people always are, how my friends are. She’s there and… I can’t take her out of it because I’m uncomfortable.”

Evan waits. Jake keeps going, because he knows better than to stop halfway now – he learned that much, and he now knows that you hate it when he trails off.

“I’ve always been… that guy,” Jake says, shrugging. “The nice one. The reliable one. The one who doesn’t make things awkward. So when Sunoo mentioned the lakehouse and she was there, I didn’t think – I just invited her. Because that’s what I do.”

Evan watches him closely. “You don’t ever stop to ask if you want to?”

Jake laughs once, humorless. “That would require a personality crisis.”

The hot chocolate’s abandoned on the counter, because nothing’s sweeter and warmer than the admission of something that weighs, especially to the person he thought would hate him for liking you. He thinks he can breathe, but knowing that he upset you still strains his airways that right.

“And the pancakes,” Jake adds suddenly, grimacing, like the picture’s clear in his head from the 3rd person pov. “I made Vivienne’s last,” Jake says defensively. “For the record.”

“That’s not helping.”

“I made your sisters’ first,” Jake says, more firmly now. “I always do. I wasn’t thinking about it until I realized how obvious it was. How it probably looked… to you, to her.” he shakes his head, disbelieved with himself for wanting to hide his vulnerability with you. He knows now that he shouldn’t have.

Evan’s expression flickers.

“So I panicked,” Jake admits, laughing a little. “And I made pancakes for everyone. Because that’s easier than explaining why I do things the way I do.”

“Which is?”

Jake exhales slowly. “Because she matters more.”

The words sit there, melting with the cocoa in his drink, letting it sink in with reality.

“I’ve spent my whole life being told I’m good because I’m kind. Because I don’t make people uncomfortable. Because I don’t reject anyone outright. That’s why I couldn’t really push her away, now I know how bad it must’ve looked because she’s overly pushy.”

He laughs softly. “Poster child behavior. Ten out of ten. Gold star.” 

Jake taps on the counter, too cowardly to look at Evan in the eye. “But the only person I was thinking about,” he says, voice steady now, “was your sister. She’s the only one who makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong just by being… normal,” he adds. 

Evan exhales through his nose, long and measured, taking it in. “You’re still an idiot.”

Jake nods. “Yeah.”

“But,” Evan continues, “you’re not lying.”

Jake looks up, surprised. Evan sighs, rubbing his temples. “You need to understand something. Being kind isn’t the same as being harmless.”

“I know,” Jake says quietly. “I don’t get to be selfish here. She deserves better than me figuring my shit out at her expense.”

The quiet stretches out, both of them reeling in the conversation for tonight. Jake thinks about how to proceed with caution and making sure it ends right, the way it would make this a lot less painful for you. It’s a lot, and so there’s a lot to process. Until of course, Evan steps out the wise advise giver and back to being your brother and Jake’s best friend. Which is, not good.

“So,” Evan says slowly, tilting his head. “You’re telling me you wake up one day and decide you’re into my sister.”

Jake groans immediately. “Oh my God.”

“No, no,” Evan continues, warming up now. “I just want to be clear. Of all the women on this planet. Literally anyone who is not related to me by blood or proximity, you pick her,” Evan finishes pointedly.

Jake rubs his face. “I didn’t pick her. It just – happened.” he tries not to flush remembering your witty banters and your laugh when he does something stupid and when you smile because he remembers something about you. He likes when you pretend you’re not affected but you are, and you try to hide behind your hair but it only makes him want to tuck it behind for you.

He’s a goner.

Evan scoffs. “That’s worse.”

“How is that worse?” Jake’s brows knit.

“That means I can’t even blame bad judgment,” Evan says. “I have to blame fate. Or whatever bullshit word people use now.”

Jake lets out a laugh, shaking his head, honestly a little astonished that he’s talking about fate with Evan. “I’m not trying to make this weird.”

“You are actively making this weird,” Evan replies, a faux disgust as his expression. “I have known you since you were 10. And now you’re here,” Evan gestures vaguely up and down Jake’s body, which he contemplates whether is insulting or neutral, “telling me you have feelings for my sister.”

Jake slumps against the counter. “When you put it like that, I feel sick.”

“I just –” Evan exhales, shaking his head but he’s smiling wide for someone who finds this extremely disgusting. Maybe, one you and Jake doesn’t know, he’s secretly very supportive and even perhaps enthusiastic about the idea. “It’s weird, man.”

“I know,” Jake says quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Trust me, I’ve had the internal debate. Several times. Full pros and cons list. Charts.”

“And?”

“And I still lost,” Jake admits, smiling like he didn’t lose, that falling for you feels like a win. “Very inconvenient.”

Evan snorts. “You’re such a loser.”

Jake nods, looking along the hallway and to your door. “Yeah.”

Another beat, just enough to let them both dial in that it’s that stage in life where romances is punctuated. Maybe a less predictable (or it is, Evan always saw the way you looked at one another when the other wasn’t looking, starting at the ripe ages of 9 and 10) with the blood related love interest.

Evan leans back against the counter beside him, arms crossed but looser now. “I’d rather it be you than some random idiot.”

Jake blinks, processes it for a few seconds before he’s smiling like he’s won a nobel prize that greatly contributed to curing world cancer. “That’s… not what I expected.” 

“Don’t get cocky,” Evan says, pointing a finger at him. “This is not approval. This is tolerance.”

Jake laughs, genuine this time, because he’s won anyway. “I’ll take it.”

“You screw this up, I revoke it.”

“Understood.”

“And one more thing,” Evan adds, eyes narrowing slightly. “I will make it weird on purpose,” he finishes. “Family dinners. Holidays. Barbecue.” Evan’s already shaking his head at the thought – the very image, of you kissing and cuddling in front of him, the two people he knew before puberty was even considerably possible in their age. 

Jake laughs again, thinking a little too far ahead for his heart to fully even pulse. Holidays and family dinners with you, even if it’s weird because of Evan, Jake likes it. He wants it. 

“You’re evil.”

“I’m an older brother.”

Evan sighs, cracking his knuckles like he finished business that very much needed tending (it did, of course) and now, he pushes off the counter like a great deal done. “Get some sleep, Romeo.”

Jake, with a sheepish grin, about to tell him to knock that off, is interrupted. 

“By the way, that was a soft-ass forehead kiss,” Evan adds. Jake cringes, visibly, because the talk of kissing feels unbearable despite being a guy. “So if you’re gonna be a problem, at least be honest about it.”

Jaeyun blinks, then wonders how he’ll tell you all of this.

The next morning arrives without ceremony, which feels rude considering how much emotional damage was inflicted the night before. You think it might be awkward and obvious where people shift uncontrollably and move away for supposed space. Except it doesn’t, they act the way they do, and you do start thinking that maybe things aren’t as a big deal as you think they are.

That’s meant in the self-depricating way, by the way. For thinking your feelings are shallow because people maneuver around with ease.

Sunlight bleeds through the cabin windows in that way that makes everything look calmer than it actually is, but you don’t ask for drama, so you’re rather thankful with how ordinary things are. The kitchen smells like toast and coffee and the quiet, but there’s collective agreement to not talk about anything important before noon. 

You and Jake don’t even meet eyes once. But unfortunately, the less talking doesn’t change the fact you notice it immediately.

Jake isn’t talking to Vivienne. Or rather – he’s doing that thing where he’s technically present but really elsewhere. Polite nods, one-word responses, standing on the opposite side of the counter like getting closer is something daddy banned.

You see it when Vivienne leans in to say something to him while he’s pouring coffee, not in the try hard way, just her perfect, natural way that doesn’t seem protruding. Jake responds with a tight smile, says something brief, then promptly pivots away. Two minutes later, Sunghoon suggests a board game, and Jake latches onto it like a lifeline.

Vivienne joins the others at the table when it happens. She doesn’t look upset, just… recalibrating.

You look away because that is not your business anymore.

You remind yourself of that while stirring sugar into your coffee, mandatory if you’ll continue acting that everything’s normal. You sit on the arm of the couch while laughing at something Evan says, forcing your gaze on this beeline out of Jake’s direction.

You don’t look at him. Not when he argues with Sunghoon over rules, or when he laughs like nothing happened last night, or when he deliberately positions himself with his back half-turned from the couch – from you.

You settle for neutrality amidst mayhem because it is the only thing to be peaceful. You try not to think about the subtle pang at the thought that he doesn’t think twice about you, the way even the very thought of not thinking about him is still about him. The thought of thought is wholly him and you feel like a pathetic loser carrying the burden of your own sentiments.

You take another sip of coffee.

Tip #19: Learn what is and isn’t yours.

Nights like this was that they were supposed to belong to you. Your room is softly lit, curtains pulled wide to frame the snowfall like it’s a painting meant just for your window. Snow doesn’t drifts quietly, and you imagine the lake outside has finally given up and frozen solid. 

Your things are scattered everywhere, because you find little care to pretend you’re clean and organized tonight. Clothes draped over the chair, a book face-down on the bed, with a lip balm, phone, and tangled charger. 

Your playlist hums through the speaker. You’re in pretty tulle sleepwear you absolutely did not put on for anyone else (Sabrina Carpenter did numbers on your night wardrobe), face mask cooling against your skin, hair twisted up and clipped away because tonight is about self-care and not spiraling.

That is the plan. Mama said big girls don’t cry, it will only hurt if you let it. 

Until someone knocks and the beeline trance is ruined. You’re already groaning at what bullshit Evan has to serve on silver platter tonight, maybe jest about how dumb your face mask looks.

“Evan, if you’re here to – ” you start, already moving, already halfway to the door, tripping over the your boots you definitely should’ve put away earlier – you swing the door open.

Jake’s there.

Not Evan. 

Jaeyun Sim, standing in the hallway like he second-guessed himself at least six times before knocking. Hoodie comfy with his hands shoved into his pockets as if they don’t know what to do. 

He freezes too.

You. Pretty. Soft. Tulle. Lace peeking where it shouldn’t be. Hair up, face mask still on like you paused mid–romantic comedy montage. And he’s too poorly manufactured to handle you.

“Oh,” he says, eloquent as ever. “I –”

You stare at him like he’s an optical illusion. Like if you blink, he’ll resolve into someone less dangerous.

“Hi.” you manage. It’s hard to believe you’re both intelligent people with good grades.

He swallows. “Sorry. I – uh. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can come back.”

You blink. “No,” you say quickly, too quickly. “It’s fine.”

You stare at each other like you’re trying to remember the script you’d completely forgotten – or at least he is, and you’re just waiting. The music hums on, snow keeps falling, rude in its timing. Jake’s eyes flick once to literally anywhere but you, then back again like his brain is buffering, it almost makes you smile.

He clears his throat. “So,” he says, helpful. “Uh.”

“Yeah,” you reply, equally helpful.

There’s a very real possibility this moment will fossilize if neither of you intervenes.

You sigh, soft, more to yourself than him. “You can… come in. If you want.”

The relief on his face is immediate and poorly concealed, like he was bracing for rejection and got mercy instead. You’re impossible sometimes, but more than that, you’ve always been kind – still, he could fall on his knees and thank you for making this easier.

He could kiss you, he thinks. Because you’re so beautiful and also so nice and it feels like a jackpot that dings loudly for grand prize. Well, he could always kiss you at any given time, truthfully.

Jake takes a few steps in, stops, then awkwardly turns back to you, hands still shoved in his hoodie pockets like they’ve sworn an oath of silence and to behave – unlike last time, which had been driven by impulse. He’s careful not to step on any of your things, and you deliberately apologize while kicking them into a side.

The face mask suddenly feels very present on your skin.

“Oh – sorry,” you mumble again, pulling the sheet off your face. “I forgot I had this on.”

Jake’s lips twitch. “No, it’s –” he pauses, choosing his words carefully. “It’s cute.” And when you freeze and he freezes, he winces like he overshared or at least, crossed a line you both agreed on backing. “Sorry.”

He rubs the back of his neck, you ignore what just happened the past 5 seconds. “Evan’s asleep,” he says, unnecessarily, reminder of what must be remembered like a damn barrier. “I checked.”

“Of course you did,” you mumble, moving back toward your bed, sitting down and letting the mattress sink beneath your weight. Still, he’s looking at you.

There’s a beat.

“I just,” Jake starts, then stops, tries again like he promised Evan he would do. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” you say softly with a smile, shaking your head. “But thank you, still.”

He nods, looking at you in the eye with a half-smile. “Yeah. Of course.”

Another pause, longer this time, while his eyes flick around your room and your things – just the little items that make this space yours and how you willingly let him in it. It should mean something, even though you both kind of did end a relationship – it’s proof you don’t hate him and that’s all he needs.

And while your speaker plays Taylor Swift’s Daylight, he decides he wants to be part of it for real. 

Jake shifts his weight, hands finally leaving his pockets only to hover uselessly at his sides like they’re not sure what job they’ve been assigned now that they’re free.

He watches you for a second, sitting there cross-legged on the bed, glow soft on your skin, hair now falling back down your shoulders in that way he likes but never told you. Then he nods toward the discarded face mask in your hand. “Let me try that.”

He doesn’t look embarrassed. Or like he’s performing masculinity avoidance on purpose. He just looks like he wants in on this little pocket of your night instead of orbiting it from a safe distance – even if it means indulging in your shenanigans. Actually, he seems more than eager to do anything that involves you.

He shrugs, small smile. “Seems relaxing.”

Something in your chest softens so fast it’s almost rude, because as far as memory goes, you both were avoiding each other a few hours ago, and then a few hours before that, you both ended the formal agreement that bound the two of you.

Years before that deal though, you were friends. Nothing’s wrong with that, so maybe nothing’s wrong with this either. Casual never works for you, but you seem just as keen to have a little of him back too.

“You want a face mask,” you repeat.

He nods once. “Yeah.”

You laugh, quiet and surprised, and shake your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

His smile widens, unabashed, getting closer to you. “I’ve been told.”

You pat the bed in front of you. “Come here, then.”

He hesitates only long enough before sitting cross-legged in front of you, knees nearly touching in this single bed. He tilts his face up obediently, trusting in a way that makes your stomach do a small, traitorous flip while you get on your knees, just to get the omniscient view.

“This is very vulnerable of you,” you say, peeling a new mask open.

“I trust you,” he replies simply.

That does something permanent to your brain. Or maybe it just opens an old wound.

You smooth the cool fabric over his skin, careful, fingers light as you press it into place. He closes his eyes instinctively, sighing when it settles. “Oh,” he murmurs. “Okay. I get it now.”

You grin, a giggle slipping out your lips. “Right?”

“This is… nice,” he says, voice tight from keeping his face still. “Why don’t guys do this more?”

“Toxic masculinity,” you reply without missing a beat, smoothing the sheet further.

“Yeah,” he agrees immediately. “We should dismantle that.”

You laugh again, fuller this time, and for a moment it feels easy. Just you and Jake without history weighing things down and making them worse than they have to be.

He opens one eye. “Do I look insane?”

“Yes,” you say fondly. “Very.”

“Worth it,” he decides, closing it again.

The plan works, the night belongs to you, with a little bit of Jaeyun on the side. You’re not complaining, of course, while you brush his hairline to properly put the mask on. Once it’s fit, he opens his eyes and he looks at you.

Not even in the way he looked at you earlier, careful and restrained. This is warmer like s'mores and hot chocolate, most of all it is the very epitome of forgetting he was supposed to look away.

You’re close enough now that you notice the way his lashes stick slightly to the damp edge of the mask. Your hands are still hovering near his face, fingers unsure where to go now that their job is done. 

You stand to reach for the jar on your nightstand, twisting the lid just to have something to do with your hands. “You’re supposed to let it sit for ten minutes.”

“Ten?” His eyes widen. “What happens if I move?”

“Your face falls off.”

He blinks. “Tragic.”

You grin despite yourself, and it feels nice – how easy it still is to laugh with him, because obviously nothing changed. Okay, maybe something did, but the fabric of the universe wasn’t altered and body and mass hasn’t completely been obliterated. 

You think you should’ve played hard to get more, like starting with not being very welcoming in letting him into your room with so little cogent from him. You feel dumb now – and easy, and  nothing’s worse than being dumb and easy.

Now you decide to declutter, because Jake’s here and you know better than to look at him in the eye. So you pivot and clean like the organized person you aren’t, picking up your clothes and chargers that you thank yourself you hadn’t picked up earlier.

Jake shifts slightly, watching you move around your room before callig your name. When you turn, he pats the space beside him on the bed. “Sit with me,” he says, like it’s an afterthought. 

You hesitate for half a second – just enough to acknowledge the brother’s best friend line, also him smashing your fucking heart into pieces memory – and then you move, sitting across him with your legs tucked under you. Your dress flows over your thighs, and you feel a bit conscious of them now, but still you decide not to let it matter.

Your knees angle toward his, your body does too, but your eyes stubbornly fix themselves somewhere between his collarbone and the little crease in his hoodie. Anywhere but his face, anywhere but his eyes.

Cowardice, obviously, but he think it looks sweeter on you than it would be anywhere else. 

Jake’s hands, traitors that they are, don’t know where to go. You watch them fidget, fingers flexing on the sheets of your bed. Then, slowly, carefully – as if entering this sacred space of yours has always been a time of testing whether the universe will strike him down personally – his fingertips settles on your knee.

He just rests his fingers there, skin-to skin, like he’s anchoring himself. Then his thumb traces nothing in particular, just half-circles, little shapes that don’t mean anything and somehow mean everything.

You laugh softly, breathless despite yourself. “What are you doing?”

He freezes for half a second – shit, too far – but when you don’t pull away, don’t flinch, his shoulders ease.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, then adds, honest and almost shy, “I never know what to do with my hands.”

You glance down at them, “They seem busy,” you say lightly.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. They do that sometimes.”

You stay perfectly still, pretending this isn’t making your heart do dangerous, hopeful things. And you letting him continue makes him wish for dangerous, hopeful things.

“You can tell me to stop,” he says, softer.

You don’t look at him, you think you don’t have to. “I know.”

His thumb brushes once over your skin like a question mark. You finally glance up then, just briefly, just enough to catch him already looking at you.

Not the careful look, like he’s still testing the waters and the bounds that restrain what he secretly aches for. This is open, warm, a little nervous. He’s standing too close to something precious and knows it.

You look away immediately, heart traitorously loud.

Jake smiles, barely there, like he won something he wasn’t trying to win.

“Okay,” he says quietly, more to himself than you. “I’m not messing this up.”

Your lips curve despite yourself, Daniel Ceasar coos in the background now. It feels a bit like invasion of privacy, or maybe a sort of iridescent bubble that glosses over your scene with a sheet of sparkle and romance. 

Dumb and easy. It rings in your brain like a reminder, but you feel torn with the need to pretend further that you don’t want this and the need to just indulge. You think you need a break, from acting and faking, even for the cost of your dignity.

There’s a quiet inhale from him, the kind that sounds like he’s choosing his words instead of letting them trip over each other the way they usually do. You wait this time. You try the patience he’s always, always preserved for you and let him think for the space he’ll fill.

There’s a quiet inhale from him, bracing himself instead of breathing.

“Okay,” Jake says softly. “I’m just – I’m gonna say this badly, so…”

You glance at him, then away again but you’re smiling this time. “You usually do.”

He lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “Fair.”

Then, he gets more serious, the way you need him to be.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear her name right now. And I won’t say it. But I need you to know it was never about her.” His thumb presses lightly into your knee, grounding, not asking. Still you don’t feel brave enough to look up at him yet.

“It’s just me. I don’t know how to say no. I don’t know how to stop things before they go too far.”

You hum. “You’re a pushover.”

“I am,” he agrees immediately, nodding while he watches your straying eyes. “Painfully.” He shakes his head. “I act like I’ve got it together, like I know what I’m doing, but I don’t. I really don’t.” His voice drops. 

“I mess things up all the time.”

You feel your chest tighten.

“And messing things up with you?” he continues. “That one – I hate that one.”

The room feels very still. And now, you find that little hope in you to flicker because you finally look up, and his gaze twitches when it meets yours. Like he’s relieved that you see him now.

“I’m not here expecting anything,” Jake says quickly, like he’s afraid the words might be mistaken. “I don’t think I get to expect anything from you, actually.” He swallows. “I don’t get to be the guy who fucks up and still gets the girl in the end.”

Gets the girl?

Your heart stumbles, confused, loud. He keeps talking, eyes still fixed somewhere between your knees, unaware of the way you’ve gone completely still while you backtrack what he means yourself. 

Maybe he’s talking through science methods and hypotheticals. Well, you know better than to come up with your own answer – let him explain.

“You’re not easy,” he goes on, almost fond, almost soft and weak, melting even. “You never have been. You’re not someone you mess up with and then just… get back.” He exhales. “So yeah. I just – I wanted to be honest with you.”

You sit with his words as necessary as it gets to be, letting your feelings simmer in the frosty air without thinking it’s turmoil. Mostly because your brain is busy doing that annoying thing where it narrates your own emotional downfall in real time – but you know better than to think it’s gratuitous. So you deal with it as the reemerged person you are and decide not to be self-deprecating for once.

Great. Fantastic. Love that for me.

You press your lips together, a smile threatening despite yourself, because of course this is how it happens. Not with fireworks or a grand confession or even good timing – maybe flowers and something sweet to make it a bit more remarkable like your romance novels. No, it’s a face mask, Daniel Caesar, and Jake Sim accidentally saying gets the girl without backtracking and trailing off. 

It’s your own version of the novels, and you really, really like it.

You glance down at his hand on your knee. Still careful; but knows what he wants and doesn’t pull away.

Okay, so. Let’s recap.

He messed up. You got hurt. You spent practically months doing this quiet, humiliating dance where neither of you said the thing you were obviously orbiting, pretending avoidance was maturity and distance was dignity. You mistook indifference for respect even though it pained you, and instead you just told yourself you were being strong.

Which is funny, considering nothing about whatever this was – whatever this has always been – was normal, or decent, or even remotely moral to begin with.

Brother’s best friend. Bad timing. Worse judgment. Fake dating to lose a girl. Fake dating to convince a guy. It really is the hell of romantic comedies, and God wouldn’t be so rewarding after that.

So who are you, really, to suddenly appoint yourself the arbiter of what Jake Sim deserves? Who decided you get to measure out punishment like it’s character development? Okay, you know better, but you also know what you want, even if it is to decide against virtue.

You exhale softly through your nose, almost a laugh at this whole… thinking process and decision-making. Cognitive system failure, maybe, but it’s normal at the presence of Jaeyun.

Easy and dumb, your brain supplies helpfully. 

Yeah. Maybe.

But you also know this: you are so tired of pretending you don’t like him. Tired of delaying the inevitable in the name of self-respect when self-respect has never once stopped your heart from doing exactly what it wants. It hasn’t even been present the moment you’ve written his address on the letter, so it was sure as hell wasn’t there when you indulged into the pretense of being with him.

You really, really like him.

And honestly? That feels like it should be enough. Even over virtue.

That deserves a handful of focused prayers after, because blasphemy isn’t something you condone. Still, maybe a few things can be shoved for later, especially when Jake’s in front of you and touching you like this.

You shift slightly. He’s still wearing the face mask – edges slightly lifting now, eyes wide and earnest and very, very Jake. He looks ridiculous and vulnerable, like someone who already knows he’s lost. 

“You know you look insane, right?” you say quietly.

He blinks. “I – what?”

“With a hydrating sheet mask on.”

There it is – that soft, relieved huff of laughter. The one you know too well because even after everything he said, you don’t hate him.

“Sorry,” he says. “Bad timing.”

“Objectively terrible,” you agree. You reach out to pull the sheet off his face finally. He’s glowy and pretty, like he always is. 

You draw in a breath, steadying yourself while you shoot the mask somewhere you don’t care about. “You hurt me.”

He nods immediately, looking at you earnestly. “I know.”

“And I don’t want to pretend that didn’t matter.”

“It mattered,” he says, voice firm. “It still does.”

You believe him – which is also inconvenient.

“But,” you continue, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress, “maybe you can still get the girl in the end.” you play with a lock of hair just to do something other than, well, die.

Jake’s blinking, eyes wide, staring at you like he’s mentally finding every word you’ve said in a dictionary just to ensure he’s hearing and understanding it correctly – and even though it wasn’t hypotheticals, you definitely solidified it with reality and thus, is not subjected to experimentation. 

Or, whatever.

He’s still staring at you though.

Not frozen this time, just caught somewhere between disbelief and something else. His eyes flick down without permission, to the way your fingers twist absently into the tulle at your waist, gathering the fabric and letting it slip through again. To your thighs tucked beneath you. To the way you’re very deliberately not looking at him and even if you’re hiding it, he can see you’re flustered.

You’re suddenly very aware of everything, of how the material you're wearing is light and sheer and doing you no favors in the self-preservation department. But you keep doing it anyway, because stopping would mean acknowledging the weight of what you just said.

Jake swallows. Acknowledging the weight of what you just said if he doesn’t mess up this time.

“I like your dress,” he says suddenly.

First you blink, unsure what just happened and how it transitioned to your indecent attire. Second, you let out a small laugh, allowing this instinctive deflection after something so heavy. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods, eyes dipping – respectfully to where tulle does its great job in displaying the start of your hips – then back to that safe middle ground he gets to look at appropriately. 

He tilts his head, studying you like he’s committing this version of you to memory. “You look really nice tonight.”

You risk another glance at him, just for a second.

Bad idea.

He’s looking at you the way saints look at their visions – terrified, devoted, and already forgiven. He’s been good most of his life, but he’d never call himself a devotee, much less a saint. Though he understands, at least, what it must feel like to be one – now, when your smile feels as repenting as righteousness.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, then add, softer, “You’re… not so bad yourself.”

His laugh is breathy, surprised, his own face warming up. “High praise.”

You smile, small and shy, and his thumb pauses again, as if he’s memorizing the curve of your knee, the way your dress folds when you shift. He likes the way you feel, not just the soft skin underneath his fingers, but the way you feel as warm as grace.

Now that you’re looking away, he looks over your thighs, your waist, your dress, your collarbones, you throat, then your face, your hair. He looks away, over the small clutter at the corner of your bed with the comfort plushie you always bring.

“I like your stuffed toy.” he says, tone as if he’s testing something.

You snicker, looking up at him through your lashes. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t look like golden boy, soccer captain, famous-with-girls Jaeyun – not right now. Right now, he’s looking at you like the boy who used to come to every recital and watch you like you’ve fallen from heaven with his promised peace.

“I like your playlist.” he continues, deliberately ignoring your question. At the sight of your growing smile at his folly, his grin widens too.

“Thank you.” you reply simply.

His eyes flicks down to your mouth and back to your eyes. You look at him properly, because you’ve decided to stop pretending this isn’t happening.

Then, completely matter-of-factly,

“I like you.”

It hits you like a bucket of cold water. Winter-clear, shocking, steals the breath just to leave you panting for it.

Like it’s nothing, just… a fact. As it is true and genuine, doesn’t need anything special to say something as ordinary as admitting something he feels in the everyday. You stare at him, completely flustered. You blink and blink and blink and – you don’t understand what’s happening, and you think you might be getting a heart attack. 

You inhale, shaky, then exhale like you’re bracing yourself for a wave. “You can’t just say things like that,” you mumble, voice barely above the hum of the room.

He blinks. Then his mouth quirks, soft and a little helpless. “Why?”

“Because,” you gesture vaguely at yourself, the bed, the moment, the everything. He's patient, waiting for the moment you continue but when you don't, he continues to watch you anyway.

You look back down your bed, just to avoid his eyes, just to calm the pressure in your ribcage.

He tilts his head slightly, still trying to look into your eyes.

You press your knees to your chest, trying to focus on something else, anything but him and his handsome face who looks nothing like you – not disoriented, just irritatingly still.

He watches you for another second, smile still soft, still patient, still for you. Even when you’re flushed and ignoring him deliberately now, he still thinks it’s exactly how he wants it. He finds that he likes being honest with you.

“Hey.”

You don’t respond. You’re staring at your knees because nothing else matters, it’s not like there’s much to work with, when his words still ring in your ears and his warm touch remains printed on your skin.

“Can you look at me?”

Your shoulders tense.

“No,” you mutter, stubborn.

He chuckles under his breath, not mocking, but very fond. “Just for a second.”

You shake your head, hair falling forward like a shield. 

Silence stretches again. You can feel his gaze on you: steady, warm, unhurried because the last thing he wants is to make you do something you don’t want. He doesn’t rush nor tease you. He just waits for you, because he thinks it’s worth it anyway.

Eventually, you sigh, defeated. “You’re actually evil.”

“Probably,” he admits. 

Slowly, reluctantly, like you’re bracing for impact, you lift your eyes.

And there he is.

Just Jaeyun – sitting cross-legged in front of you, hands resting loosely on his knees, eyes soft and open and very, very focused on you. His smile is small, almost shy, like he’s trying not to scare you away.

Your breath stutters.

“Hi,” he says.

You swallow. “…Hi.”

His smile gets bigger, more teeth, more giddy like he feels just as sheepish as you are. He chews on the inside of his cheek like’s pressing back how giddy he really feels, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.

“Jaeyun,” you say softly, and he immediately looks back at you, humming, eyes focused with the way you look so pretty bare-faced, “...you know there’s a line.”

“Mm.” He hums like he knows exactly which one you’re talking about. Except he’s just looking at the way your mouth moves.

“And I’m,” you remind him. “Your best friend’s sister.”

“Mm.”

“I’m not kind.” you exhale, heart hammering. “Or perfect.”

Jake eyes are still on you, gaze steady, unwavering. “Mm.”

You scowl, but you’re really just flushed, “Stop ‘mm’-ing.”

He grins – lazy, warm, like your fluster is the highlight of his evening. He looks down at the his hands shyly, fidgeting with his fingers. “Sorry.”

You press your knees up your chest tighter, hiding your face against it. You poke his knee this time, still trying to find composure in your rumpled bed while he ruins your life with so little effort. 

“You’re not listening,” you whisper, muffled by your knees.

And Jake – calm, unbothered, matter-of-fact as always – leans closer.

“Yeah,” he says. “And I still like you.”

You continue poking his knee with the tip of your finger, and he notices how your hand’s shaking just slightly – which is fantastic and exactly what you hoped for, because if there’s anything you want right now, it’s to look composed and normal and not like Jake Sim just drop‑kicked your central nervous system. Which is exactly what happened, anyway.

It’s cold outside, for sure, but it doesn’t feel like it in the warmth of your room, in his lakehouse where you learned parts of him no one was able to, and beneath Jake Sim’s gaze that’s carefully so embedded on you – just you. 

You peek at him from under your lashes, and catch the barest twitch of a smile – small, unguarded. 

Jake notices it, so he tilts his head just slightly, just enough that his hair falls into his eyes. “You know,” he continues, quieter now, almost a whisper, “I don’t need anything from you. Not… anything.”

His smile softens and Jake looks at you like he’s memorizing you again, just to make sure he isn’t imagining any of this.

“But I talked to Evan,” he says.

Your spine stiffens automatically, shoulders pulling in just a fraction about what could possibly have went down in a scenario like that. 

“There’s no threatening older-brother speeches with a shotgun involved. Surpisingly.”

That earns a tiny huff of a laugh from you despite yourself, which makes him grin too.

“He asked what I wanted,” Jake continues, voice steady but quieter now. “And that if I’m gonna be a problem, I should at least be honest about it.”

Your heart skips.

“No half-assing,” Jake says, meeting your eyes now, earnest. “He told me if I’m I’m gonna be in your space, I should be serious.”

You swallow. “And?”

“And I agreed,” he says simply. “Because you’re not something I’d ever want to do halfway.”

The room feels smaller suddenly. Not suffocating – just focused to the space between the two of you, narrowed to the moment.

“You’re being very serious,” you murmur.

He smiles, soft and a little crooked. “Yeah. That usually means I’m terrified.”

You go quiet. Then your eyes drop to his hands, the way they fidget together now, thumb rubbing over knuckle, knuckle over thumb. He’s nervous – endearingly so, now that he said everything brave and his body’s finally catching up.

You swallow. Then you move.

You shift onto your knees, legs underneath you now, the mattress dipping beneath you, fabric whispering as you close the distance. Your lean closer and he inhales sharply like he wasn’t prepared for you to choose him back so plainly.

You lift your eyes to his then. Not the golden boy, not Evan’s best friend, not the person you’re supposed to be careful with.

Just Jaeyun.

You’re close enough now that you can his eyes darken, pupils dilating, the way his lashes cast soft shadows under his eyes. He swallows, tensing completely when you lean closer, inevitably pulling back to save any left of his composure.

“Hey,” he murmurs, barely a sound.

You inch nearer, until your knees press against the space in between his legs. “Hi,” you whisper back, smiling. His gaze switches over your features, grounding with something as to try not to rush this.

“I meant what I said,” he adds quietly. “About not needing anything.”

You nod, throat tight. “I know.”

His hands finally move, settling gently at your waist. He isn’t pulling you, just staying there, asking for permission.

You don’t stop him.

The room feels impossibly small now, like it’s holding its breath with you. Snow still falls outside. Somewhere down the hall, the world continues being normal and unbothered about what’s happening in here, where it’s just you and him.

Jake leans in first, but only halfway. He pauses, forehead brushing yours, noses touching.

“Is this okay?” he whispers.

Your answer isn’t verbal.

You close the distance.

The kiss is soft – barely there at first, like you’re both learning the shape of it together. It’s devastatingly slow, as one would be if it was kept in his lungs for months and finally is exhaled after.

You pull away to meet his eyes, just enough to catch the tension in his jaw. For a heartbeat, the room is quiet except for the faint tick of the clock and the snow tapping against the window. A small, soft giggle escapes you, and it feels like the sound itself breaks the spell between you before you kiss him again.

His hands tighten slightly at your waist, grounding himself as he pulls. Then your hands fist into his hoodie and your body leans into his like you’re trying to erase any sane space left. 

He lets out a low, breathless sound into your mouth, and then his tongue meets yours, warm and tentative, hungry and unrestrained.

Your knee slides over his thigh and Jake freezes mid-kiss – breath caught, lips parted – like his soul just left his body for a full second.

Then you swing your other leg over and settle onto his lap. Your body flush against his now, chest pressed to his hoodie, your hands sliding up the sides of his neck. His head tips back just the slightest bit, lips opening for you like reflex, his hands guiding you closer without dragging, just urging, begging, fucking pleading.

His lips trail down for half a second to your lower lip, catching it gently between his teeth before he drags in a shaky breath against your mouth. You just tilt into him more and Jake Sim absolutely stops breathing, because you have the intent to kill him, and he’s letting you. 

You pull away first and Jake follows the movement like he doesn’t mean to, chasing your mouth for a half-second before he stops himself, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling under your hands. 

Your lips brushes his one last time before you lift your head fully, breath trembling out of you in a shaky laugh. You’re just there – flushed, breathless, practically glowing under the warm light of the cabin room. And then you giggle, a soft, stunned, disbelieving little sound that slips out before you can stop it.

Jake’s own laughter bubbles out of him – low, breathless, the kind that comes from being overwhelmed and happy and wrecked all at the same time. You loop your arms around his neck, pulling yourself just a little closer, chest pressing against his, still giggling as your forehead rests on his. “I honestly thought… you didn’t know how to kiss.”

Jake blinks and then he huffs out a laugh – bright, embarrassed, boyish – his hands still warm and careful on you. 

“I don’t,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to your lips with that ridiculously soft smile. “How’d I do?”

And something in your chest just melts.

Because the question isn’t cocky. He’s not teasing, he’s just genuinely asking, in a tone so sweet and shy and hopeful – because you’re the first girl he’s ever kissed (you try not to revel with that fact, but you fail).

Your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, your smile growing without your permission. “You…” Your voice dips, soft and breathy. “Were really, really good.”

Jake laughs again – quiet, almost relieved – his cheeks flushed, eyes shining like he can’t believe you’re saying that while sitting on him like this.

“Yeah?” he whispers, leaning in just enough that your noses brush. “Good enough to try again?”

Your heart flutters so hard you swear it lifts you. Your smile stretches wider – shy, dizzy, a little breathless – and you try to look away, but Jake’s hands on your waist and his stupid grin make it impossible not to melt right back into him.

You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, trying to cool your face even though nothing about him lets you breathe properly.

You press soft kisses against his lips and there’s little sounds when you pull away, that faint, awkward lip noise that makes the moment feel embarrassingly real and here. You barely have a second to process it before you’re both laughing, quiet giggles spilling out as you hide your face again, half-mortified, half-giddy.

Jake wants to savor the moment in little increments, so his hands stay at your waist, thumbs brushing over the small curve of your hips, and his eyes – oh, his eyes – are wide, soft, and practically luminous in the warm cabin light.

“This… this is really nice,” he murmurs, voice low, trembling just a little, and it makes you chuckle a little. His gaze drops to your face, lingering, unflinching, reverent. He finds that he wants nothing else except this, exactly this and you.

You stay like that for a while.

Not doing much. Just kissing – softly at first, then with fervor, like you’re both learning how to exist in the same space without imploding. Sometimes it’s just foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, breath syncing. Sometimes it’s his tongue on yours again, careful but hungry at the same time like he doesn’t really know how to hold you like you’re fragile while consuming you.

Sometimes, it’s breathing him in – clean hoodie, faint soap, the familiar comfort of someone who’s been around your life for so long he forgot when you became this close. Jake’s eyes flutter shut for half a second, like he’s committing the feeling to memory and this is exactly something he needs.

In the middle, lips latched and breath mingled and all, your stomach growls first.

You freeze, Jake freezes. Then you both dissolve into muffled laughter, you clapping a hand over your mouth while he bites his lip to keep quiet.

So you untangle yourselves reluctantly, still smiling like idiots, and slip off the bed. You grab his hand before he can step on anything, tugging him close as you crack the door open.

The hallway is dark and quiet, cabin as dead in the night as it is brimming in the light. The house breathes in that deep, sleeping way, all wood and winter and silence.

You both tiptoe. Jake’s terrible at it, though, because he’s too tall, limbs too long, nearly knocks into a coat rack and you have to grab his hoodie again, stifling laughter into his arm.

“I’m doing my best,” he whispers, offended and giggly.

The kitchen light turns on, and the faint crinkle of wrappers sound scandalously loud in the quiet despite your best efforts. Pulling out the graham crackers, marshmallows, and chocolate, you hum while you make your treat. Jake leans against the counter, watching you like this is the most intimate thing he’s ever seen – barefoot, hair loose, stealing sweets at midnight.

You shove one s’mores into your mouth before he can comment. “Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not,” he says softly. “I’m impressed.”

You snort, handing him one too. It’s warm in the kitchen and the cold outside presses at the windows, frost biting at the edges, but here there’s sugar and wood and him.

Jake exhales, slow, licking the chocolate from his thumb. “Hey.”

You look up and his expression is different now – still soft, still gentle, but steadier. Like he’s anchored himself to ensure what he says is clear and sober.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he says. “About being serious.”

He rubs his thumb over the graham cracker. “I don’t wanna rush you. Or scare you. Or make this… weird.” He smiles a little. “But I want you to know I’m not playing around. With you.”

You feel warm all the way to your fingertips. Because to be honest, underneath the facade of someone delicately modest about the pacing, you want nothing more than to pounce him and rightfully favorite him. You favorited him first, before anyone else, starting at the age of 9 and truthfully you think that your slowburn has burned long enough.

“Oh,” you say, brilliantly. “Okay.” You duck your head, pretending to be focused on making more treats.

“That good, huh?” he laughs quietly.

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

He steps closer, slow enough that you could stop him. Except you don’t. His cheeks are still pink, lips a little swollen, hair mussed from your fingers. 

Jake leans down to your height and kisses you again – sweet, lingering, a little playful this time, stealing you while you loot sweets. You taste chocolate and marshmallow and winter and him, and it’s ridiculous how fast your brain stops.

You giggle against his mouth, pulling back just enough to breathe. “You taste like s’mores.”

He smiles, eyes soft. “You taste like my favorite thing now.”

Your stomach flips.

You’re just about to kiss him again, hand on his jaw to pull him closer when –

“Oh my fucking God.”

You both jolt apart like you’ve been electrocuted.

Evan stands in the doorway, hair a mess, blanket half-draped over his shoulder, drowsy eyes squinting like he regrets every life choice that led him here. He also looks like a dehydrated fool that needs his eyes personally cleaned.

“You guys are gross,” he groans. “At this hour?”

You laugh and Jake straightens immediately like he’s been summoned to court, fingers rubbing his bottom lips awkwardly.

“Evan,” you say weakly.

Jake clears his throat. “Hey, man.”

Evan looks between the two of you. Your sly expression, Jake’s guilty smile, then the s’mores. Then he rolls his eyes, shakes his head, completely in need of detachment from this moment.

Evan sighs, turning around to the counters. “I don’t want eye contact. I just wanted water.” Then he mutters something about knowing each other since you were nine and now you’re making out in the kitchen.

You snort quietly, trying not to laugh too loud, and before you can stop yourself you tug Jake’s hoodie collar down just enough to pull him closer – teasing, way too intimate for a shared kitchen at midnight.

“I think it’s cute,” you murmur, voice light and conspiratorial. “You know. Childhood friends. Full-circle moment.”

Your nose bumps his, your lips hovering right there.

Jake lets out a soft, nervous laugh, eyes flicking instinctively to Evan’s back like he’s about to be graded on his moral character. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t lean in either – caught in that limbo of wanting you and wanting to be respectful in front of your family.

“Okay, okay,” he whispers, smiling despite himself. “Let’s – maybe not traumatize your brother any further.”

Evan groans from the sink without turning around, forcefully trying to pretend you’re both not there. “I can still hear you. Unfortunately.”

You giggle again, dropping your forehead to Jake’s chest instead. His hands come up automatically, hovering at your sides before settling, hands rubbing against your dress.

“I’m being good,” Jake says, half to Evan, half to you.

Evan scoffs. “You’re kissing my sister.”

“That’s not a crime,” you protest.

“It’s about to be,” Evan mutters, finally grabbing his water and turning just enough to point at you both. When he sees just how nice and good you two look like that, despite his purge bubbling in his stomach, he can’t help but think that it isn’t so bad. Cute, even.

Evan shakes his head, already walking away with his precious glass of water. “I’m so telling dad, by the way.” 

His door closes again. 

You look up at Jake, eyes bright, cheeks aching from smiling. “You’re so decent.” you tease.

He exhales, laughing softly, thumb brushing your waist through the tulle of your nightdress. He glances once more down the hall, then back at you, voice dropping. “I really want to do this right.”

You tiptoe and lean in anyway, pressing a quick, soft kiss to the corner of his mouth – just enough to make your point. “You are.”

Jake’s smile turns helpless, fond, completely undone.

“Yeah?” he whispers.

“Yeah.” you smile.

Outside, the snow keeps falling. Inside, the kitchen still smells like sugar and warmth and something new – something steady and sure and certain and real.

The plan works; the night still belongs to you – and now, a little bit to him too.

Tip #20: Fall in love.

Christmas Eve is loud.

Your house is glowing – literally, with overconsumption of electricity. Warm yellow lights wound around banisters and window frames, the tree in the corner sparkling like it knows it’s the main character tonight (of course it is). The kitchen is chaos: your mom orchestrating dishes like a conductor, aunties arguing over ovens, cousins darting around with plates of cookies they’re absolutely not supposed to touch yet. There’s cinnamon in the air, then some savory and buttery, and every surface is occupied by food or laughter or both.

You’re dressed nicely – tartan, hair curled and pinned because you love looking presentable. Someone compliments when you walk past, someone else tells you to spin, and you do, smiling, because tonight is nice.

Your phone buzzes in your hand when you’re supposedly with Evan entertaining your cousins, catching up what has happened the past year.

jake 🐶: can u come outside for a sec?

Your heart does a very stupid thing.

You glance toward the living room where everyone’s distracted – wrapping paper, gifts being hidden, cousins yelling about Mario Kart. No one notices as you grab your coat and slip your boots on, even the ever observant Evan who’s busy ruining the kids night in ps4.

The cold hits you immediately when you step outside, sharp and clean, snow drifting down in soft, lazy flakes. The yard is quiet, blanketed white, the house behind you humming with life. Jake’s nowhere in sight even when you call for him.

But then you see it, right there in the snow, just past the porch.

A heart.

It’s very badly drawn, crooked on one side, uneven like whoever made it kept stepping back to fix it and only made it worse. Your lips part in a breathless laugh while you hurry towards it. In the center of it sits a teddy bear; soft, brown, slightly oversized, and clearly perfect for your room. Nestled on its arm is an orange popsicle, already frosted over from the cold, and a folded letter, edges dusted with snow.

Snow crunches under your boots, the flakes cling to your hair and lashes when you crouch, picking everything up at once – teddy tucked under your arm, popsicle cold against your palm. Your fingers hesitate on the letter for half a second before you unfold it right there, breath puffing out in little clouds as the paper trembles slightly in your hands.

Jake’s handwriting greets you. A little messy, although very him.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Hi,

I’m not sure how to write love letters the way you do it, so I’ll just try.

I like simple and straightforward most of the time like sports, games, sleep. Not complicated, easy to handle and deal with. So, when someone’s used to these simple things, usually, something like you is a whole cannonball.

I liked being in your house more than my own, because you’d make fun of the me sometimes, and you’d think I’m really good at soccer. Something like that to happen to a boy, it was confusing. But I don’t think I cared, at least not really? I just knew I liked being around you, and maybe it wasn’t another simple interest, but it was the first thing that I really, really liked.

Until the whole thing happened, and it felt like I blacked out because suddenly, one day, the girl I liked all these years is known as my girlfriend. Even though it was fake to us, I realized that even now, I don’t know how to treat you like anything less.

You were, are, the most complicated thing that happened to me.

Pretending made me notice everything I’d been avoiding. How natural it felt to stand beside you, to reach for your hand and forget it was supposed to mean nothing. But I’ve never been good at lying to myself for that long. Because I was simple, as far as I can remember, and I knew I wanted you more than anything that has ever happened to me.

I don’t want simple anymore if it means leaving you out of it. I don’t want to keep pretending when the truth has been sitting between us all this time. I like you. The girl who makes things complicated in the best way, who turned my quiet, straightforward world into something I actually want to struggle for.

If you want to talk, I’m here. If you want to laugh at me, that’s fair too.

Either way, I’m serious about you. And I really want to be this complicated girls’ boyfriend.

– J

━━━━━

“Hey.”

You turn.

Jake stands a few steps away, hands shoved into his coat pockets, beanie pulled down too low, snow clinging to his shoulders like he’s been standing there for a while. His cheeks are red from the cold – or nerves. Probably both.

He smiles when he sees the bear in your arms, and the popsicle, and the letter clutched like it’s fragile.

“I – uh,” he clears his throat. “I figured you’ve sent enough love letters… and you should be receiving them, too.”

You walk to him, boots crunching through the snow, letter clutched in one hand, teddy in the other. When you stop in front of him, you look up – eyes bright and watery with tears, smile so wide it feels like it might split your face.

“You’re so,” you start, then laugh, voice shaking. “So stupid.”

Jake looks down at you, head ducked slightly while he nods. “Yeah.”

You lift the letter between you. “And so unfair.”

He swallows but nods. “Mhm.”

You shake your head quickly, laughing again, snowflakes catching in your lashes. You press the teddy between you like proof, and you’re cold and a little soaked, but you think it’s perfect anyway. Because the way Jake looks at you? Helpless, and no matter how many times you call him stupid, he’d agree – he feels that way with you.

Jake shifts his weight, boots scuffing the snow like he’s suddenly aware of every limb he owns. He looks at you – your nose, the shine in your eyes, the way you’re clutching his letter and popsicle like it might float away if you loosen your grip.

“So,” he says softly, voice almost swallowed by the snowfall. “Did I… manage to bribe you?”

You laugh again, breath hitching as you step closer, close enough that you can see the anticipation glow in his eyes. You shake your head, once, then again, more emphatic.

“No,” you say. “You ruined me, actually.”

His lips part in surprise. “Ruined?”

You nod, sniffing lightly, pressing the teddy tighter under your arm like it’s part of the evidence. Then you step into him before you can overthink it. The cold disappears instantly, swallowed by the warmth of his coat, the solid familiarity of him when you press against him. Jake relaxes immediately, arms coming around you with muscle memory.

You bury your face into his chest, laughing quietly, voice muffled. “You know what part got me?”

He rests his chin lightly on your head, careful not to mess your hair which is dusted with snow. “Which part?”

“The cannonball,” you mumble. “That was rude.”

Jake chuckles, low and fond, the sound vibrating through you. “I searched Google to make sure I spelled it right.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him. “You did great.”

“Yeah?” he asks, hopeful in a way that makes your chest ache with stolen sweets and bribed popsicle, cavity that crumble with his initials.

You nod, eyes soft. “You always do.”

For a second, he just stares at you, like an angel that came to life from soft, winter snow. Snowflakes land on his lashes and melt, and even then, he doesn’t seem to care just how cold it really is when you’re looking up at him with a simple smile. Jake’s hands tighten slightly at your sides, like he’s grounding himself before swallowing.

“So,” he says quietly, “can I…?” He trails off, glancing at your lips and then back to your eyes, giving you the choice without ever saying it out loud. Always patient, always asking, for you and your mercy to let him have you.

You just nod.

Jake exhales like he’s been holding his breath all winter, Christmas eve proof in the mist that blows from his breath. He leans down, not rushed or clumsy or playful this time, forehead brushing yours first, noses bumping softly in a way that makes you both laugh under your breath.

Then he kisses you. It’s gentle, unhurried, memorizing it rather than stealing it. Cold lips warming instantly, tasting faintly of mint and winter air. You melt into it, fingers curling into the front of his coat, teddy pressed awkwardly between you and making it all the more real.

When he pulls back, it’s only an inch. His smile is dazed, boyish, completely gone.

He laughs, shaking his head like he can’t believe his life. “So… complicated girl’s boyfriend?”

Your heart flips.

You pretend to think about it for half a second, just to be mean, and he pouts dramatically at your pondering. Then you lean in and kiss him again, quicker this time, brighter.

“I think,” you say against his mouth, smiling, “you’d be really good at that.”

Jake laughs and pulls you back into his arms, practically into the air while he spins and you shriek, holding you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Behind you, the house glows. Christmas lights flicker through the falling snow. And for the first time, complicated not-normal doesn’t feel scary at all – not when it’s Jake as your counterpart, right?

Really though, the most important and useless in how to survive boys 101 is just boyfriend-ing the one that put you in the guide. 

Jaeyun was 9 when he first moved to the new neighborhood.

The houses lined up neatly, the sidewalks stretch perfectly for a walk with Layla, and there’s a quiet hum of a place that he’ll start calling his home. His parents were busy unpacking boxes and agreeing over where the couch should go, while his older brother was way too occupied with testing his drone, so he did what he always did because he didn’t know how to sit still: he grabbed his bike and rode.

It was dangerous because snow had started forming and raining, still, he rode, pretending he knew where he was going. Pretending the streets belonged to him, pretending he wasn’t lonely. He went farther than he should have, practically in the neighborhoods next to his but he was quite adamant to explore.

That was when he heard crying.

Not the quiet kind with sniffing and almost-over-it kind. This was loud, childish sobbing that sounded like it had fallen straight out of a kid’s chest.

He slowed, shoes scraping the pavement as he stopped pedaling to look over.

You were sitting on the sidewalk of Cornelia Lane.

Your backpack was too big for you, straps slipping off your shoulders, ballet shoes peeking out of the zipper. Your knees were pulled up, sleeves damp where you kept wiping your face, eyes red and puffy and utterly unconcerned with dignity, just that you obviously really want to go home already. You were eight, small in a way that made the world feel tall around you, even the nine-year-old Jaeyun.

He stood there for a second, gripping his handlebars, unsure if he was allowed to approach a stranger who was clearly falling apart. His older brother told him to be wary, especially of girls. They’re scary, he says.

“Are you okay?” he asked anyway, chewing on his bottom lip.

You looked up at him like he’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“No,” you said, and cried harder, like you just realized how much danger you’re in.

He panicked immediately. “Uh – okay,” he said, nodding like that helped. “Do you… know where your house is?”

You shook your head, snot dripping off your nose, hiccups falling from your lips.

That didn’t help either, you just looked very sad.

Before he could figure out what to do next, a door down the street creaked open. An older woman stepped out, squinting at the two of you obviously deciding whether this was a problem she needed to solve as the wiser.

“Are you kids alright?” she called. “Are you friends?”

Jaeyun’s brain short-circuited – because no, you’ve never met, he doesn’t even know your name. 

“Yes,” he said too fast. “We’re friends.”

The woman smiled and went back inside, just after telling Jaeyun what to do – which, to be honest, had completely trailed in one ear and out the other because what?

When she heads in, Jaeyun exhaled like he’d just survived something dangerous. You, however, turned to him immediately with brows furrowed and all.

“You lied,” you said through your tears, sniffling still.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I just – I didn’t know what else to say.”

You eyed him suspiciously, shoulders tense, required for a child to do.

“I won’t kidnap you,” he added quickly, because apparently that felt like something that needed to be clarified. Of course, he doesn’t question your skepticism, but he does wish now you cooperate because he assumes nothing about him looks… kidnapper. “I promise.”

You frowned. “Strangers kidnap people.”

“I know,” he said, nodding. “But you can hold onto my jacket. And if you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then at the empty street (which you’ve never been in your entire life), then back at his bike. It’s blue and it looks like it can fit two people. 

Finally, reluctantly, you nodded.

You climbed on behind him, small hands gripping the back of his jacket so tightly it pulled at his shoulders. He felt it – how hard you held on, but he doesn’t tell you to do otherwise.

He pedaled slowly, carefully, riding through one street, then the next. You sniffled less as time passed, tears drying in the cold air, some part of him thought you were starting to enjoy yourself with him. Every now and then, he’d lift one hand to point at a house, only to shake your head.

“Not that one,” you’d mumble.

You two rode through what it seemed like endless streets, slipping from one neighborhood to another. In his own block, you suddenly straightened.

“That one,” you said, voice small but certain.

He stopped in front of a familiar-looking house with a wreath on the door. He’s seen it, probably biked past it earlier when he was alone and journeyed along this new home.

You slid off the bike and stood there for a second, looking at him like you were deciding something important. You even scowl, pouting and eyebrows knitted together.

“You shouldn’t lie,” you told him seriously. “And we’re not friends.”

He nodded solemnly. “Okay.”

Then you waved once, awkward and quick, and ran inside without another word.

Jaeyun stood there for a while after that, bike still between his legs, snow starting to fall lightly around him. It’s cold, and he didn’t know why his chest felt warm, or why he kept looking at the door like it might open again.

A few months pass, he met a boy named Evan.

By then, Jaeyun knows the neighborhood by heart. He knows which streets slope just enough to make biking faster, which houses smell like food when the windows are open, and houses that have dogs he can walk and earn some change for his piggy bank. 

Jake and Evan bike together most days, racing nowhere in particular, arguing about nothing important. 

That afternoon, they’re coasting side by side when Evan suddenly brakes.

“Oh,” he says. “My mom texted. She said I gotta pick my sister up from the dance studio.”

Jaeyun slows too. “Your sister?”

“Yeah.” Evan shrugs, already turning his bike around. “So. You’re tagging along.”

Jaeyun doesn’t argue, just nods and pedals after him.

The dance studio is warm and bright, windows fogged from the inside. He only sees it when his family goes out, and now he stares at the tall building in front of him. Evan skids to a stop and hops off his bike.

“I’m gonna grab food,” he announces, already backing away toward the convenience store across the street. “You go get her.”

Jaeyun blinks, pointing at himself with the shock of a little boy who just got told to do something he shoudn’t do. “Me?”

Evan grins, waving him off already. “Yeah. Just grab my sister. She’s tiny. You can’t miss her.”

Then he’s gone, already across the damn street.

Jaeyun stands there for a second, bike leaned awkwardly against the railing, before pushing the studio door open.

The smell – wood polish. He steps quietly, shoes squeaking just a little on the floor, unsure where he’s supposed to go because, again, he’s never been. Down the hall, there’s a room with mirrors lining the walls.

And there you are. He recognizes you immediately as the snotty girl.

You’re in the center of the room, hair pulled back, pink tights and a leotard, spinning. Arms lifting, feet gliding, and really cool for someone his age.

Jaeyun stops moving.

He watches you finish the turn, slow yourself down, breathing a little hard, a little flushed. Something in his chest tightens in a way he doesn’t have words for yet, of course. When you finally notice him, you freeze.

He blinks before breaking into a smile, tilting his head to the side. “That was cool.”

You blink at him.

“Bet no other kid can do that,” he adds, because his brain insists on making it worse by being honest.

Your eyes widen just a bit before you duck your head, a shy smile tugging at your mouth despite yourself.

Then recognition hits. Your smile drops along with your brows knitting together. You start to glare, one he knows very well.

“You,” you say accusingly. “Kidnapper.”

“What – no,” Jaeyun blurts, waving his hands. “I’m not – I’m Evan’s friend. My name’s Jaeyun. He told me to get you.”

You don’t listen, because strangers are danger, even the boy who let you on his bike to get you home safely.

You march past him, jabbing him sharply in the side with your elbow as you go. “Liar,” you mutter, already running.

By the time he bursts back outside, you’re already there – standing beside Evan, arms crossed, scowl firmly in place. Evan’s laughing, shoulders shaking, clearly enjoying this far too much. He knew you’re feisty, plan coming to place with messing with Jaeyun, who’s starting to learn how to handle you too.

“She thought you were a kidnapper,” Evan says between laughs.

You glare at Jaeyun like you’re daring him to deny it.

Evan introduces him to you, but as Jake and not Jaeyun. He doesn’t know that you’ve met already, and you didn’t make effort to tell him that you hopped on someone’s bike to get you home.

When you ask Jaeyun later on, he says it’s just what spilled out when he introduced himself to you, but it’s what his parents call him and no one else does. Jake, a nickname he had since forever because it was cooler and shorter apparently. You can call me whatever, he says, and when you taunt the petname kidnapper – he begs that you choose between the two instead.

So, while he was Jake to everyone else, he was Jaeyun to you.

Little him liked it that way, older him liked it more.

Years later, he gets a text from Evan to fetch you. He recognizes the name ‘Cornelia Lane’ and he didn’t hesitate, telling Evan he’s near the area even though he’s actually snuggled up in bed.

You, crying on the sidewalk, not really snotty anymore, but you still looked unconcerned with dignity and like you really just want to go home already. 

He takes one look at the car, then at you – teary, puffy, wrapped in your own arms – and exhales, stepping closer. “You okay?”

Instead of sobbing a no, you nod. 

He already knew how to rescue you.