krypton

Seonghyeon’s words ring heavy in Martin’s ears – look, although Martin hadn’t dated before, he does think he can flirt. He’s seen the discourse online.

Sure, was it a little corny sometimes? Yeah… a little. But most of the fans were eating it up, and Martin was more than happy to oblige if it meant that he would be making a little bit more money. Money didn’t fall from trees, and those clothes that Martin’s been eyeing for ages weren’t going to pay for themselves. 

“What?” Seonghyeon asks, laughing as he hugs his pillow a little tighter. “Come on, the fanservice barely counts. I know everyone’s been saying that you’re a fanservice king, but they're all basically in love with you anyways!” 

“Us,” Keonho pipes up. “They’re not only in love with Martin hyung. Also, you’re right – Martin, do you really know how to flirt?” 

Martin narrows his eyes at Keonho. “I think I know what you’re insinuating, and I don’t like it.” 

Seonghyeon and Keonho’s loud laughter somehow summon both James and Juhoon in the room, and Martin’s already preparing himself to become the laughing stock for the next 30 minutes. The life of a leader, he thinks. It's truly so difficult. 

It also wasn’t like Martin didn’t want love. He wanted it more than anything – he just didn’t exactly have the time for it right now, like most idols. He had so much to do every single day, from dance practices, to music shows, to producing music. Martin Edwards, despite having so much love to give, simply didn’t have time to do so. 

“James hyung, Juhoon hyung – do you think Martin can flirt?” 

James snorts. Juhoon makes a noise that’s a mix of a strangled laugh and a cough. At their reactions, Keonho laughs so hard his pillow falls right off his bed. 

Martin groans, turning his phone off and shoving it back into the pocket of his sweatpants. 

“I rest my case,” Seonghyeon says, grinning triumphantly. 

“I can flirt!” Martin says, defensively. He doesn’t know why he’s arguing so passionately for this – it wasn’t even that big of a deal. "Trust me, my flirting works on anyone."

He crosses his arms, letting out a deep breath as Seonghyeon lets out another laugh. He knows that the younger boy isn’t being malicious – they were just teasing each other like usual. 

"Anyone is a bit brave, Martin." Juhoon jokes. Martin rolls his eyes.

“Okay, Mr. Confident. Let’s see if you can make someone – a non-fan, by the way – fall for you before promotions end here in Korea,” James says, jokingly. But Martin can see the gears turning in Keonho’s head before that shit-eating smirk spreads across his lips. 

“James hyung, you’re a genius!” Keonho says, jumping up from his bed. “That’s 10 shows. Martin, if you get a girl to fall in love with you in 10 shows, we’ll officially say that you can flirt.” 

Martin furrows his brows. “That’s all I get out of it?” he frowns. “Seems like a pretty bad trade-off for something so risky, considering that we’re… idols?” 

“Fine. We’ll say that you can flirt, and Seonghyeon will pay for all your clothes the next time you buy something.” Keonho says, and Seonghyeon suddenly gets up from his bed. He looks at Keonho, shaking his head. 

“Me? You’re the one doing the bargaining, you pay!” Seonghyeon protests, and Keonho rolls his eyes. 

“Okay, new proposal. We all pay for your next shopping haul and we say that you can flirt. We’ll all chip in an equal amount so it’s fair, and so Hyeon can stop complaining,” Keonho grumbles. Seonghyeon sighs, nodding as he gives in to Keonho’s bargain. 

“Works for me,” James replies, putting his hands up. “I for one, don’t think I’m gonna lose any money.” 

“Oh, don’t be so confident,” Martin scoffs. Wow, his friends really had zero belief in him. It really made him all the more determined to prove them wrong. “You guys are so losing your money.” 

Keonho looks at Juhoon, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Juhoon hyung… you’re the only one left,” he says in a sing-song voice. “Come on, it’s not even going to be that hard. It's easy money, let's go.” 

“10 shows is still technically a lot, you know. It’s three weeks,” Juhoon hums, thinking it through. “Three weeks… well, Martin needs all the help he can get. Yeah, whatever – I’m in.”

“Juhoon!” Martin exclaims. 

The boy looks at him, shrugging. “I’m sorry! I’m just too curious to see how this will pan out – we need a little bit of excitement in our lives! Performing is exciting enough, but this is like a whole new level. I’m going to be entertained for weeks.” 

Juhoon drags the last word out, and Martin sighs. The air is thick with anticipation as the four of them look at Martin expectantly. 

Honestly, getting all his clothes paid for by his friends wasn’t exactly a bad trade-off. He’s just going to make sure to throw in a couple more expensive things in there for some payback before he officially starts the bet. And the girl would surely understand that dating an idol was difficult, and if it ended a little earlier… that was sort of to be expected, right? In three weeks he would be going to New York City anyways. No harm, no foul? 

“Fine,” Martin groans in exasperation, giving in. “Let’s see where this goes.” 

Keonho pumps a fist in the air triumphantly, and Martin rolls his eyes. “Okay, and if you don’t get a girl to fall in love with you in 10 shows… you pay for our clothes. And publicly say that you’re shit at flirting and have zero game.” 

“One piece of expensive clothing each. You’re four people, I’m one. If I paid for all of your clothes, I think I’d probably go broke.” Martin shoots back. Keonho shrugs, seemingly deeming it reasonable enough. 

“It’s a deal,” Keonho says, holding his hand out for Martin to shake. Martin does, albeit a little reluctantly. What the hell did he just get himself into? 

The room erupts into cheers so loud Martin thinks he’s suddenly transported back to MAMA. 

Seonghyeon’s already immediately searching for a new pair of shoes that he wants to buy. James has rushed back into his room to grab his phone to go on Gentle Monster to see which pair of glasses will suit him. Juhoon’s already pulling up photos of this jacket that he’s been talking about for ages. Keonho makes it a big show out of telling Martin the price of this bracelet that he wants. 

At their antics, there’s a fire lit up in the pit of Martin’s stomach. 

He was going to win this bet. Even if it was stupid. 

Your internship at Stereo is about to come to an end. 

You’re distraught. Most people would love for their internships to end – no more shitty coffee from the 10-year old dispenser that someone brought in as an ‘office gift’, no more tapping away at a dim-lit cubicle, and no more measly half-assed articles to write that are assigned haphazardly. But you’re not most people. 

Being a journalist at Stereo is your dream job. You get to write about the music that you love, review new albums, and you get exclusive perks and invites to music award shows every single week. You’ve been interning at Stereo for one and a half months now, and in just two weeks, you’re just going to be a high schooler in your final year. 

You’ve heard stories of Jisoo, your boss, giving an offer for a full-time job to interns before. You desperately want to be one of those people. 

You’ve heard her complaints behind closed doors about how Stereo’s latest content was becoming a little drab and boring, and that Stereo wasn't getting enough clicks online anymore. The most reads the publication had gotten recently was a review on Taylor Swift’s new album, but come on – it was Taylor Swift. 

You needed to find a way to write the most eye-catching, niche and exclusive article that the music world had ever seen. That way, Jisoo had to give you the job. 

Yoonchae, another intern who you’ve befriended, rolls her chair over so she’s sitting next to you. She taps her nails on your desk to get your attention. “So… last two weeks. How are you feeling?” 

Yoonchae started around the same time as you, but unlike you, Yoonchae wanted to get the hell out. She was tired of writing the weekly ‘Songs You Need To Know’ article. “I’m a gatekeeper,” she had said. “I don’t want people discovering the artists I like!” 

“Stressed,” you sigh, taking a sip out of your mug. “I’m trying to rack my brain to figure out how to write something so… fresh, I guess. Something that no other publication will be able to write.” 

Yoonchae raises a brow. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with keeping this job, (Name). What we’ve been writing really isn’t that interesting, is it? I just had to review some album from a rookie group that I don’t think anyone’s heard of yet,” Her voice drops low into a whisper. “It was like nails on a chalkboard. I threw away that pair of company-provided earphones because the memories of listening to it were so traumatic.”

You look at Yoonchae like she’s insane before diverting your eyes back to your laptop screen. You’ve just finished a review on ILLIT’s new album – you skim through your article, making sure that there’s no spelling mistakes or other errors before sending it to Lily, the in-house copy editor. 

“I love it though,” you say honestly. “I love music, I love writing about it – plus, Stereo’s the best place to get off the ground running if you want to work in this industry. I was at ILLIT’s comeback showcase literally last week – do you know how many people would die to have this opportunity?”

“I have to get that job offer from Jisoo.” Your voice is laced with determination, and despite Yoonchae not understanding why in the world you’d want to stay, she gives you a nod in support. 

In the cubicle across, you hear a loud noise from another intern – you can’t tell if it’s a screech or a wail, or something in between. You and Yoonchae’s eyes snap towards the direction of the noise. It’s Yuna, and she looks towards you two with absolutely zero shame on her face, even if the entire office was startled by the sound. 

“It’s my favourite idol! He’s dating someone! How could he?” She’s saying it like it’s the end of the world.

You’re looking at Yuna like she’s insane. You can’t tell if she’s being serious or not, and you blink at her. “Um… are you okay?” 

Suddenly, her demeanour changes, and she smiles brightly at you. “Yeah! I was literally just being dramatic, I couldn’t care less,” she says, and you let out a sigh of relief. You didn’t really want to be working with someone who was so incredibly parasocial over some guy who barely knew her. “It’s just crazy how he even has the time with how busy his schedules are.” 

You hear the sound of heels clacking on the marble floor, and your eyes widen. It must be Jisoo. 

“Was that you?” Jisoo asks, pointing at you. “The one who screeched?” 

“Oh,” you stammer. “No, Jisoo – it was Yuna.” You felt bad for throwing her under the bus, but you weren’t going to lie to Jisoo and take the fall. Jisoo's eyes divert towards Yuna, who gulps. 

“What happened?” she asks. Jisoo doesn’t sound like she really cares. She does have better things to be doing than partaking in conversations with interns who she probably won’t remember the names of in two weeks. 

“Oh, just some… idol… dating,” Yuna says, acting like she doesn’t care at all. It’s hard for her to pretend that she doesn’t when a photo of said idol in question is in a picture frame sitting on her desk. “Maybe we should report on it briefly, or something…” 

Jisoo takes in a sharp breath, sucking her teeth. You can hear the disapproval just from the noise, as if she’s already prepared to get rid of you three. “Alright. Get back to work.” 

You turn your head quickly back to your laptop, not wanting to be berated by Jisoo. The disapproving tone was already enough, and you feel embarrassed under her gaze. You click onto your calendar to see what you’ve got going on next week. You’ve got two comeback showcases to attend with Yoonchae – IVE and CORTIS, along with a couple of music shows. You pencil them in your notebook, along with the words ‘remind Yoonchae to bring the camera!’ 

“You know,” Yoonchae hums. “Speaking of dating idols, I do wanna know what it must be like to date one. It’s like Yuna said – they’ve always got so much going on, how would they have the time? Hey, maybe you should write an article on this.” Her words aren’t meant to be serious, but you take it as such. 

You can hear your pulse in your ears as your brain processes what Yoonchae has said. She’s tapping away at her laptop like she hadn’t just pitched the most amazing idea in the world. 

“Wait,” you pipe up, dropping your pencil on the desk. It clanks to the ground, and you don’t even bother picking it up. Your eyes snapping up from your notebook to look at her. “You’re onto something.” 

Yoonchae’s idea, if put into action, would give you an inside scoop that no journalist had ever had access to before – even if you were cordially invited to the shows and showcases of every group on the planet. Everybody wanted to know what it was like to date an idol, there was no doubt about that. 

If you turned this into a piece, you knew it would tick all the boxes. Exclusive? Check. Daring? Check. Eye-catching? Check. Three big fat checks. It was perfect.  

This… this was exactly the pitch that would land you a full-time job at Stereo. For someone who said they hated working in the news publishing industry, Yoonchae had just given you a golden ticket to a full-time job at Stereo. You’re just upset that you hadn’t come up with it first.

“What it’s like to date an idol,” you hum under your breath as you brainstorm, drumming your fingers on your desk. “Sure, it may be gossipy and scandalous, but Jisoo was saying that we’re not getting enough clicks, right? And after… I don’t know. 10 shows, maybe? I could just… dump him. Or find a way for him to dump me.” 

You say that so casually, and you wince when you’ve realised what you’ve said. You’ve never been one to be a heartbreaker, or one to get into casual relationships with an ulterior motive, but you really wanted this job. 

Finding someone to even be able to “date” for this article would probably be difficult. And once you got them to fall in love with you, getting them to dump you would likely be easy. Idols barely had time for relationships anyways, right? You wouldn’t necessarily be heartbroken at the prospect of losing him, because you had a job to do, and he wouldn’t really care that much. No harm, no foul. 

“That’s brilliant,” Jisoo breathes out. “That’s absolutely brilliant.” 

You thought she had gone back to her office by now. Your head snaps to look at her, fear evident in your eyes until her words register in your brain. Jisoo had just said the idea was brilliant. Your heart is beating so incredibly fast you think it might jump out of your chest. 

“Write it,” Jisoo says, and her lips quirk up into a smile. It’s like she can see the thousands, if not millions of views that your piece will bring in to Stereo already. 

“If you can, of course. You’ve got two weeks left here, but I’m more than happy to extend your internship if you need more time to work on the article. And if it goes well…” she trails off, and you swear that if you could read her mind right now, you’re sure she’s about to say something along the lines of: you have a place here permanently. 

You look at her, bright-eyed and with determination. “Of course, Jisoo. I’ll get right to it,” you stammer. Jisoo nods at you approvingly before she walks back to her office, heels clicking on the floor with a certain enthusiasm that wasn’t there before. She’s excited about your article. Your boss – the one who was notoriously difficult to appease, was happy with an article pitch of yours. Well, Yoonchae gave you the idea, but technically, you’d be the one to flesh it out. 

Yoonchae looks at you, eyes wide with a look of bewilderment. “What… what have you gotten yourself into?” she asks, her tone laced with disbelief. She wheels her chair over to you, grabbing onto your shoulders and shaking you. 

“How… How the hell are you going to go bag an idol in the two weeks that we have here? Are you crazy?” she hisses, and the realisation of how difficult your task was actually sinks in. Thinking about it was fine and seemed easy enough, but now… now you actually had to do something. 

“I… I’m going to figure something out, Yoonchae,” you say. “I have to.” 

You wanted this job. You were going to make it work. 

Jisoo would get that article, and it's going to be the best article that she’s ever read in her life. 

The CORTIS comeback showcase is buzzing with people. 

You scan your media pass at the entrance and wait at the side before Yoonchae comes through. You’ve got your notebook, pens and laptops in your bag, and the two of you head towards your designated seats at the front. 

The plastic chairs are arranged in an orderly fashion, with yours and Yoonchae’s names printed out on paper and stuck to the chair to tell you where you both will be sitting. Much to your delight, you two are seated in the front row. 

When the two of you sit down, you pull out your laptop, setting it on top of your lap. It’s been three days since you told Jisoo that you’d be writing that article, and as the days have gone by, you think you might’ve been a little too confident.

Music Bank was at the end of the week, and you think that you probably have your best shot there, but waiting was making you incredibly nervous. You didn’t want Jisoo to scrap the idea before you even started. 

“So… found an idol to date yet?” Yoonchae almost reads your mind, and you groan as you open up your notes app. You click to the note titled ‘CORTIS comeback’, and all the questions that you have prepared pop up right in front of you. 

“No, I haven’t,” you sigh, tapping your foot on the ground. “Thank you for reminding me, Yoonchae.” 

Yoonchae smiles with amusement, as if she’s somewhat entertained by the predicament that you’ve put yourself into. You groan as you think about the article once again, and you scan through your options. You really could only take your pick from some 4th gen groups and the 5th gen groups. 

This assignment was way easier in your head. The dating and dumping part was easy. The part where you had to get an idol to want to get to know you enough to move on to the dating stage was the hard bit. 

Backstage, Martin peeks behind the curtains to get a good glimpse of the crowd. Although their new album just released today, Keonho just had to remind him of the bet as they were getting dressed. 

Now, Martin has to actually find someone to make them fall hopelessly in love with him. Keonho had been ever so gracious to say that the comeback showcase didn’t technically count as a show, so in reality, Martin kind of had 11 shows. One more show couldn’t possibly make much of a difference, but 11 was a little less daunting than 10. 

So now, he's searching amongst the crowd to see if he can find someone who he thinks would help him win the bet.

Keonho joins him, and it's like he can read Martin's mind, because he instinctively does the same. “Okay, let’s see. Which girl…” he hums. His eyes are scanning the crowd with hawk-like concentration. 

“Okay, what about her?” Keonho says, motioning towards a brunette girl sitting in the second row. 

“No,” Martin replies quickly, shaking his head. “Looks like she’d ghost me, but tell all her friends that we dated for a month.” 

“Hard to argue with that,” Keonho replies. Seonghyeon catches wind of what’s going on and decides to join the two of them. Seonghyeon’s eyes land on a girl sitting not far away from the brunette, and she’s got dyed pink hair. He tilts his chin towards her. 

“Her?” Seonghyeon proposes.

“Nope,” Martin says. “Feel like she’d ask me if I can give her BTS’ phone number. Which I also wish I had.”

“Fine,” Keonho says, and his eyes land on Yoonchae. “What about her?” He gestures towards her, but Martin’s eyes land on you. 

You’re typing away at your laptop with determined focus, and Martin doesn’t know why he finds it so intriguing. You’ve got one earphone in your ear, the other dangling as you talk to Yoonchae. You’re wearing a striped zip-up jacket and jeans – you’re not trying to be noticed at all, but it makes you stand out even more to Martin. You’re sitting in the front row with a media pass around your neck, so Martin knows that you’re definitely not a fan. 

That checks the box. 

For him to actually win the bet, he should’ve made it easy for himself. But there’s something about you that makes Martin want to actually get to know you better. And truthfully, he did like a challenge.

Keonho notices how Martin’s gone silent. He’s looking in the direction that Keonho had originally pointed towards, but he sees that Martin’s looking at you, rather than Yoonchae. “Ah,” Keonho hums. “The one sitting next to her’s caught your eye.” 

“Sure,” Martin replies casually. “You could say that. You said any non-fan, right? She fits the bill.” 

“Alright, Martin hyung,” Keonho grins in amusement. “10 shows. It’s all you’ve got to make her fall in love with you.” 

“That's all I need,” Martin replies. 

Martin prays he’s right.

The comeback showcase goes well. 

You enjoy the music a lot – you liked CORTIS’ debut album anyways, so you weren’t really surprised that they had released something good again. Their stage presence was always insane from the videos you’ve watched online, and witnessing it in person was no different. 

However, you did seem to notice one of the members’ – Martin’s – eyes on you a little too often. You also had a hunch that perhaps they had talked about you, because whenever there was someone asking a question from your direction, Keonho would elbow Martin with a knowing smirk on his lips. 

“So, what was that?” Eight out of ten?” Yoonchae asks you as she begins to pack up her things. The fans have been told to leave by now, and the only people really left are media and industry professionals. You look at what you’ve written down, and you’ve practically given five stars to all of the songs. The lowest is a 4.5, and you’d like to think that you have a pretty high bar for greatness. 

“I mean… nine?” you hum. “There’s always room for improvement, right?” 

“High praises,” you hear a voice that’s not Yoonchae interrupting your conversation. It’s also a voice that you’ve heard far too many times tonight. You turn to look at the stranger, and you meet eyes with none other than the Martin Edwards. “It means a lot. Thank you.” 

Yoonchae opens and closes her mouth like a fish, stunned at Martin’s sudden presence. But then she remembers something the same time you do – the article. She purposely moves to stand behind him, mouthing at you: ‘he’s the one!’

You know Martin Edwards is exactly who he thinks he is. 6 '3, gorgeous dyed blonde hair, impeccable music-making skills and the coolest fashion sense in the industry right now. If you hadn’t seen more of him on your social media, you’d be genuinely a little intimidated by him.

But you know that he’s a sweet guy. He’s also a little bit of a goofball too – loud, likes making his friends laugh, and often gives in to a little too much of his fans’ requests. The fan call videos were certainly something, and you’re really wondering how much he gets paid to tell someone else ‘I love you, you’re my girlfriend.’ 

He’s still in his clothes from the showcase – silver jewellery hangs around his neck, with three rings on each finger. You observe his features for perhaps maybe a little too long, and his lips curl up in the slightest hint of a smirk.  

Yoonchae clears her throat, giving you a wink. “So, I’m gonna go grab something for us at the convenience store nearby. (Name), I’ll be back in about 15 minutes.” 

Before you can protest, she’s already darted off. You curse under your breath before looking back at Martin, who’s eyeing you with a mischievous glint in his eye. You can’t quite place your finger on why that is, but maybe he caught you staring. 

“So… (Name),” he says. His voice is smooth, and your name rolls off his tongue like he’s testing the waters. There’s a certain cadence in his tone that sends butterflies straight to your stomach. “I’m glad you liked the album. We worked hard on it.” 

“I’m sure you did,” you beam. “Do you go thanking every member of the media after the showcase?” 

Martin’s airy laughter rings through the air, and his smile grows even wider. “Oh, no,” he says breezily, waving you off. “Just the pretty ones.” 

You’re knocked off your feet for just a split second. Was Martin Edwards flirting with you? And was it… dare you say… working? 

And suddenly, the article doesn’t feel so difficult anymore. With Martin Edwards standing right in front of you, you realise that you have the perfect candidate. 

His group was still new on the scene, but everybody wanted to get to know CORTIS just a little bit better. Your article would do that. Even if fans said that Martin was practically an open book, the boy standing in front of you now wasn’t necessarily the one you saw on stage mere minutes ago. 

Sure, he was still confident and assured. But there was the slightest difference in the way he carried himself – a little less guarded, a little less… idol-like. Perhaps it was the flirting, honestly. 

You come to your senses, quirking a brow at him. “Oh, so you think I’m pretty?” 

The air is electric, and usually you’d be nervous, but just this once, you think that it’s perfect. Martin’s grin somehow grows wider before he nods. 

“I do,” he hums. “Thought I said that before. And if my eyes didn’t deceive me just before your friend scurried off… you might’ve been staring at my face for just a smidge too long.” 

Your cheeks heat up. “I… I was not!” 

Martin lets out another laugh, clearly amused at how flustered you were. “I’m just teasing,” he replies. “Regardless, it’s not often I see someone working in the media that’s around the same age as us. And as I’m saying this, I’m hoping that you’re in your last year of high school.”

You nod at his words. “I am,” you reply. “Same age as you.” 

“Perfect,” he grins. “I’m glad I was right, or I would’ve embarrassed myself coming up to you.” 

“Right,” you chuckle. “So… any other pretty members of the media you want to thank?” you look around, and the exhibition hall is just about empty. Martin shakes his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ sound. “Just you.” 

“Way to make a girl feel special, Edwards,” you quip. Martin ignores how his heart flutters when you simply just call him by his last name. “What's the phone for? A selfie? Just a reminder that you're the idol there."

"You're funny," Martin replies. There's sincerity in his tone. "But, I was hoping that perhaps I could get your number.” 

You look at him, your lips curling up into a smile. “Ah, you’ve beat me to it,” you pout, jutting out your bottom lip. “I was hoping that I’d be the one to make that move.” 

Your words are awfully confident, making you sound completely unfazed at Martin’s flirtatious words. But inside, you’re internally screaming. You’re trying to hide your nerves, and Martin’s gaze on you is not helping as your thumb carefully presses the keys on the screen.

“There we go,” you say, pressing the ‘save’ button. “You should text me. I’d love to hear from you.” 

“You would?” Martin asks, almost in disbelief. He can’t believe how well the flirting is going. Keonho, Juhoon, James and Seonghyeon would so be losing their money. 

“Of course,” you beam. Your eyes tilt towards the exit, and you see Yoonchae standing there. She’s not hurrying you, but you know that it’s time to go. “Listen, I’ve got to head back home, but… yeah. Text me, and let’s hang out.” 

“Are you asking me out?” Martin says, a coy smile on his lips. 

“Maybe I am,” you reply. Your eyes dart back to Yoonchae again, and a sudden wave of boldness makes you inch closer to him, pressing a chaste kiss to Martin’s cheek. You watch as his cheeks flush bright pink, and you can’t help but feel satisfied with yourself. Got him, you think. “I’ll see you around, Edwards.” 

Before Martin can say anything, you’ve already rushed off. He instinctively brings a hand to his cheek, and he smiles triumphantly. 

“Oh, you’re already falling in love with me,” he says to himself, a wide grin on his lips. 

Meanwhile, as you’re darting off to the car, a similar expression graces your lips. “I’m gonna make you wish you were dead,” you whisper.

Conversation with Martin is surprisingly easy. 

He texts you as soon as he gets back to the dorm, and you reply just as quickly. You shoot off flirtatious messages every other second like a seasoned professional, and Martin replies with just as much enthusiasm. You just know he’s probably cheesing behind the screen. You don’t notice how you’re grinning at your phone like an idiot, though.

Martin is incredibly flirtatious, like you’ve seen online. You really thought it was all just fan service, but it turns out, Martin did really act that way. You’ve earned a new nickname now, thanks to him – pretty. 

Minutes turn into hours, and sure enough, the two of you found yourself talking to each other until four in the morning. It’s not until you remind him that he’s got a schedule tomorrow and that you’ve got work, and then you two say goodnight. 

Martin gives you recommendations of his favourite songs, and you rate them just like you usually do for Stereo. You find that your music taste is surprisingly similar, and Martin just tells you that ‘perhaps it’s a sign that we’re meant to be.’ You smile a little too wide at that response, and your heart flutters in the slightest way. You reply with a ‘I think so’, and Martin beams seeing those words on his screen. 

You didn’t think that it was that easy to get Martin Edwards to fall in love with you, but honestly at this point, you think that you’ve got him absolutely whipped. 

For three days, you and Martin talk non-stop. Whenever you’ve got a break, and he’s got a break, the two of you are talking about anything remotely that interests you. Bailey, another colleague of yours, tells you that you seem awfully invested in this considering that it’s just an article assignment. 

On the fourth day, you head into work and find that there’s a tray of iced coffees on your desk. Yoonchae looks at you with a knowing grin as you pick up the sticky note, and sure enough, it’s Martin’s handwriting. 

Hi, pretty. For you and the team. – Edwards.

You fail to hide the smile that’s unconsciously crept up on your lips. When Yoonchae points it out, you just tell her to shut up. This was all for the article, you remind yourself. You weren’t really in love with Martin Edwards. You hand out the coffees, and when you give one to Jisoo, she raises an eyebrow. 

“Did you bring this in?” she asks, and you shake your head. 

“Martin from CORTIS did,” you say. There’s a coy lilt in your tone, and Jisoo seems to remember the article. She smiles at you proudly, and gives you a pat on the shoulder before taking a sip of the coffee. 

“Good work,” she beams. “Can’t wait to see the article.” 

She then walks off, heels clicking on the floor. Yoonchae clears her throat to catch your attention, and you look at her, taking a sip of the coffee that Martin had bought you. 

“So… what’s the plan to get him to dump you? Because… getting him whipped seemed pretty fucking easy. Like, this is three-month relationship stuff.” she says, gesturing to the coffee on her own table. Bailey, who's curiosity is piqued at the sound of Yoonchae's words, rolls her chair over to you to join in the conversation.

“I’m going to be entirely too much, too overbearing and too clingy to the point where he has to break up with me,” you say. Your plan is absolutely fool-proof. “They’re heading to New York in three weeks. Let’s get this done in the 10 shows they have in Korea.” 

Bailey hums, nodding at your words. “Okay, but like… do you have any specifics?” 

“Calm down,” you reply. “I don’t have to move that fast. We’ve known each other only for four days. No sane person is going to ask someone to be their girlfriend in four days.” 

“You have three weeks, (Name) – you better hurry up…” Yoonchae replies, her voice trailing off. “Maybe just a date? Tonight? You know how they’ve got to basically be in the middle of the night though, right – because cameras are everywhere. Your sleep schedule is going to be fucked when you’re dating Martin.” 

“Well, you didn’t have to put so much emphasis on the ‘fucked’,” you raise an eyebrow. “But yeah, a date sounds good. I’ll text him now.” 

you | 7:32am thanks for the coffee, edwards it was really sweet of you can i thank you with a date? 

martin edwards | 7:33am  ah, i was waiting for that text from you of course!  tomorrow? after you’re done with work?

you | 7:34am  sounds like a plan wear something nice

martin edwards | 7:34am i always do gonna step it up to impress you though can’t wait to see you, pretty

Yoonchae peers over your shoulder. “Don’t they have to go to Inkigayo tomorrow? How will you two have time to actually… go on a date?”

“Shoot, you’re right,” you reply. You quickly type out a message to Martin, your fingers flying over the screen. 

you | 7:35am you have inkigayo

martin edwards | 7:35am  ah. right date at inkigayo? you could be my plus one you’ll be there anyways right? as media?

you | 7:36am  first date at inkigayo is highly unorthodox  i’m in, though only because it’s you 

martin edwards | 7:37am i feel so special  sneaking around is gonna be awfully romantic i’ve got dance practice now and i’m sure you’ve got work talk soon pretty 

“Well… first date at Inkigayo,” you say, almost in disbelief. So this was what it was like to date an idol – music show dates, late-night dates, probably getting blown off because dance practice takes precedence. You note that down in your notebook, because you’re sure that it’ll be of use to you later. “That’s settled.” 

“I suppose it is,” Yoonchae says. She’s still in disbelief at the entire interaction – she was peering over your shoulder the entire time. “Also, you should probably change his contact name to something other than his full name. It’s not that romantic.” 

“I… ‘Chae, he’s not my real boyfriend,” you say, pointedly. “Heck, he hasn’t even asked me to be his girlfriend. Which actually reminds me, I have to get on that.” You do take her advice though, and change his name simply to ‘Edwards’ with an orange heart emoji. It’s plausible enough, considering that you do call him exclusively by his last name. 

“I must say… this is going surprisingly well,” Bailey hums. “Even though I know it’s really new. Just… don’t go falling in love with him, or something. That would ruin the entire thing.” 

You laugh, dismissing Bailey's words as if they were ludicrous. “Don’t worry,” you hum, your tone laced with a little too much confidence.

“I’m not going to actually fall in love with Martin Edwards.” 

For someone who’s allegedly not invested in this ‘relationship’ at all, you do spend an awfully long time picking out your outfit for Inkigayo tonight. 

CORTIS had a reputation for being incredibly fashionable – if you were going to be introduced as ‘Martin Edwards’ talking stage and to-be girlfriend’ tonight, you had to at least look the part. 

You opt for something so outrageously Martin-esque to the point where you look like you could genuinely be the sixth member of CORTIS. So much so, that any random staff member would probably think that you pulled it out of his closet. 

Members of the media were supposed to be unassuming, trying to avoid the public eye at all costs – but just for today, you were going to break that rule. Just based off of your outfit alone, you wanted it to be glaringly obvious that you were talking to Martin. 

You pull on these black, chunky boots that you haven’t worn in forever (you even have to blow the dust off of them) lacing them up with a smile on your lips. Martin Edwards was so going to freak out when he saw you. You could just envision it. 

Yoonchae looks at you oddly when you jump into the car – this was certainly not your style at all. “Okay, Martin’s girl. You might as well just dye your hair blonde too,” she quips. Usually you’d tell her to shut up, but that was exactly the reaction you were looking for.

edwards 🧡 | 6:23pm let me know when you’re here we’re in dressing room 103

you | 6:24pm im on my way see you 🧡🧡🧡

“You go find Martin,” Yoonchae tells you, a playful smile on her lips. “I’ll tell you where we’re seated for tonight’s performances… if you’ll even be joining me here.”

You laugh, waving goodbye to her before you go off and find dressing room 103. You see a bunch of staff members at Inkigayo give you odd looks. They saw you here last week too, and you most certainly were not dressed like this. A girl you’ve made conversation with a couple of times – her name was Yoojung – mouths ‘Martin fan?’ at you, and you simply give her a wide grin before disappearing down the corridor. 

You knock on dressing room 103, tapping your foot on the floor. Your mind runs through the plan – too overbearing, too clingy, too boisterous. You’re going to make Martin go insane. 

Martin opens the door, since he was expecting you anyways. But what he did not expect was for you to be dressed in clothes that seemed like they were pulled from his closet. He looks you up and down, mouth opening and closing as if he’s about to speak – but all the words he has to say become strangled in his throat. 

“Hey,” you say, trying to sound casual. You want him to think that no, this outfit did not take me forever. 

“You look…” Martin stutters. 

Time to pack on the dramatics, you think. “Gorgeous? Stunning? Beautiful?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him. “Tell me something I don’t know, Edwards.” 

Martin’s brain almost short-circuits. He’s still at a complete loss of words, and for a split second he thinks that Seonghyeon may be right – does he even know how to flirt? He’s trying to rack his brain for a compliment, or anything that makes it known that he thinks you look good. 

Keonho clears his throat, and it brings Martin back to his senses – the bet. Time for him to make you fall hopelessly in love and make you weak in the knees, he thinks. He instantly puts a smile on his lips. “Yeah,” he replies. “All of those things.” 

“Next time though, if you wanted to dress like me, you should’ve just said so,” he adds. He hopes Seonghyeon’s listening – he was about to deliver a masterclass in flirting. “Just wear my actual clothes instead.” 

Your heart flutters a little too much at those words, and for a brief second, Martin thinks that he can see your confidence falter ever so slightly. Bingo, he thinks. Another win. 

“Oh, so that’s an invitation for me to just wear all your clothes, isn’t it?” you ask. “Moving fast, Edwards.” You peek behind him to see the other four boys watching the two of you talk with curiosity. Keonho’s eyes are practically sparkling. 

You raise your voice a little before you say your next sentence. “Mind you, you still haven’t asked me to be your girlfriend.”

You don’t know which member it is that hollers loudly hearing your words. Martin turns around so fast you think he’s going to snap his neck. He glares at the four of them, before diverting his attention back to you. 

This was going exceptionally well. Four days in, and you already wanted to be his girlfriend. Anyone who said that he didn’t have game was going to regret it. 

“Right,” he says, dragging out the word as a smile plays on his lips. “Let me introduce you to the members first, and then we’ll talk about that, pretty.” 

He opens the door a little wider to actually let you into the dressing room, and the four of them blink at you, stunned when they see your outfit. Your outfit was almost a carbon-copy of something that they think they’ve seen Martin wear before. Was it a little tacky to dress almost identical to your talking stage? Probably. But their reactions were golden, and you hope to God that Martin’s cheeks are heating up in embarrassment. 

“Guys, this is (Name),” Martin says, introducing you. You beam at the four of them just before lacing your fingers with Martin. The action comes out of nowhere, and Martin freezes for a split second before he closes his hand around yours. Your hand is warm, and Martin doesn't know why having your hand in his just feels oddly... right.

You swear Juhoon’s eyes pop out of his skull. Seonghyeon’s jaw practically drops. James puts his glasses back on to make sure that his eyes aren’t deceiving him. Keonho shrieks before falling to the floor dramatically. 

“I’m his…” your voice trails off. Suddenly, an idea pops into your brain. What did anyone in a talking stage hate the most? 

The dreaded ‘what are we?’ question. 

Martin would hate it even more if you asked that question right in front of his friends. It was perfect.

A devious grin threatens to creep up onto your lips before you turn to Martin. “What are we, exactly?” 

Seonghyeon chokes on his water while Juhoon has to suppress a laugh. Martin can’t believe you asked that question in front of everyone – you were impatient, alright. He was actually going to ask you to be his girlfriend, but in private. But considering your outfit choice today, perhaps you were someone who wanted to make your affection for him known. He knows that he should feel embarrassed, but surprisingly, he doesn’t. 

Four days is awfully fast to ask someone to be their girlfriend, but Martin wanted to win this bet. Badly. 

And the first step to actually make it known to his friends that he was going to win, was to loudly announce that you were his girlfriend. Martin can’t wait for Keonho to pay for those Rick Owens shoes that he’s been eyeing for ages. 

“She’s my girlfriend.” he says, a coy smile tugging at his lips.

The room practically explodes with questions, shouts and what you think are cheers. You weren’t exactly expecting this reaction from Martin, but it’s more than welcomed, considering the predicament that you’ve gotten yourself into. The first half of your job was done – you’ve gotten the idol. Now you just needed him to dump you. 

But for some odd reason, him telling everyone in the room that you were his girlfriend makes your chest tighten ever so slightly. You ignore the feeling, telling yourself that it’s just nerves. You’ll ease more into the role of annoying girlfriend as the days go on. 

You look at him, tilting your head with a small smile on your lips. “Didn’t even ask me,” you whisper in his ear. You hear Martin let out a light laugh amidst the chaos that those three words had created. 

“Isn’t that what you were hinting at me to do when you arrived at the door?” he replies, voice matching yours. Touché, you think. 

“Well,” you say, turning to face him. “That’s true. And I’m happy you did.” Your eyes quickly divert towards the four boys sitting on the couch – they’re still going on and on about how Martin actually has a girlfriend. They’re saying it as if they’re in disbelief that he’s actually with you. 

Believe it, you think. To really sell it, you dramatically plant a kiss on Martin’s cheek. You’re thanking yourself that you decided to wear lipstick that wasn’t transfer-proof today, and you can practically hear Keonho’s gasp. When you pull away, there it is – a glaringly obvious stain of your lips on the side of his cheek. 

“Oops,” you say, but Martin can tell you’re not really sorry about it at all. You bring a hand up to wipe the stain off, and Martin just shakes his head, gently clutching your wrist as if to tell you to leave it. 

“I’ll just use some makeup remover,” he replies, calmly. You’re surprised that Martin’s face isn’t heating up with embarrassment – maybe you just had to be even more dramatic than you already were. In fact, he was smiling like an idiot in love. Was he crazy? “Thanks for the good luck kiss, girlfriend.” 

It’s official. All Martin has to do is get you to stay with him until the end of the tenth show. All you have to do is get him to dump you before the tenth show. 

And as you squeeze Martin’s hand a little tighter before planting another overly obnoxious kiss on his cheek, you’re almost certain that you’re going to get that full-time job. 

Over the next week, Martin realises that first impressions are deceiving. 

You’re not who he thought you’d be when he first saw you at the comeback showcase – rather, you’re the complete opposite. Loud, boisterous, unrestrained. You’re overly sweet and romantic in a way that Martin thought only existed in rom-coms. It’s nice to be showered in love and affection, and Martin – despite his better judgment – allows his heart to flutter whenever you lean a little closer, or when his name rolls off your tongue like honey over the phone. 

You send him texts almost every single second now that you two are officially a couple (can he even call you his actual girlfriend when this was all a bet?). You also show up at almost every performance of theirs throughout the week. 

The members and the staff all get used to your presence rather quickly – it’s not surprising, considering that whenever you’re there, your presence somehow commands the entire room. Everyone’s eyes are on you, and he doesn’t know if he loves or hates the extra attention that you bring with you. In addition, Martin doesn’t even know how you have the time to basically cling to him like glue when you’ve got a full-time job. 

His phone pings again, and he already knows who it’s from. It’s you, sending him twenty messages in a row – each text is one word, and Martin would usually get a little frustrated, but it was you. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to actually get mad at you, which is the crazy part considering that this was all a bet. 

You send him four selfies of yourself sitting in the front row of the same exhibition centre where you guys had met. He’s admiring how pretty you look until he realises the article of clothing that you’re wearing is awfully familiar. It’s then when it hits him – you’re wearing his striped red and black zip-up hoodie. 

The one that he precisely wanted to wear today. 

Martin knows that the zip-up basically swallows you, because he’s seen you in his other clothes before. His heart does a flip at the thought. It’s just a bet, he reminds himself. 

You look pretty, he tells you. You respond almost immediately.

I know, is your response. Martin doesn’t realise how hard he’s grinning at his screen right now. 

Is that my jacket? he asks you. 

Your response? It’s mine now. 

His nostrils flare slightly at the fact that you’ve just claimed his favourite zip-up hoodie, but he relents and lets you have it anyway. You did look good in it, he had to admit. 

You practically demand his attention at all times, which is a little impossible considering his job. More often than not, whenever he’s practicing with the rest of the members, his phone would be buzzing so much to the point where it fell off the bench. Keonho only looks at him teasingly before Martin quickly shoots back a response to you, telling you that he’s got dance practice. 

You don’t seem to care, and you continue spamming him anyways. Despite this, Martin can’t seem to push you away. Or mute your contact. 

You’re sitting in the exhibition centre, confused as to why Martin hasn’t gone batshit crazy over the fact that you’ve taken his favourite zip-up without any warning. Keonho had warned you about how Martin didn’t like sharing his clothes. Perhaps you just had to take it a little further, then. 

So, a day later, Martin opens the door to his dorm to find you standing there. You hadn’t announced that you were coming, and Martin assumed that you had work anyways. What he didn’t know was that you’d asked Jisoo for some time off today to work on the article – it was going well, you had told her. At those words, Jisoo nodded, giving you time off without a single thought. 

“Hi?” Martin asks, stunned at the sight of you at his doorstep. 

“I thought you’d be a little happier to see me,” you pout, and Martin shakes his head. 

“No, no!” he says hastily. “I was just surprised to see you. Come on in,” he opens the door a little wider for you. You kick your shoes off at the door, and Martin winces a little when you just leave them there instead of putting it on the shoe rack. He decides to do it for you, like any good boyfriend would – placing your shoes next to a pair of his own sneakers. 

“Thank you, ‘Tinnie.” you beam, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Even though there’s nobody else there right now, you make it a big show and exaggerate every motion. You deliberately say ‘mwah’ when you pull away, admiring the lipstick print on Martin’s cheek. 

Oddly, Martin doesn’t wipe it off. Maybe he’s insane. Or maybe he’s just insanely whipped like Yoonchae said. 

“Tinnie is a new one,” he hums. “Finally moved on from calling me Edwards?”

You shake your head, bounding down the corridor like it’s your place rather than his. Martin follows you like a lost puppy. “Nope,” you reply, popping the ‘p’. “Just trying out something new. But, I wanted to grab some clothes.” 

Martin furrows his brows. “You want to go shopping?” he asks. “Sure, I’ll just go grab my coat.” 

You hold a hand out to stop him. “No, I want to wear some of your clothes,” you say like it’s the most casual thing in the world. It’s totally not like you two have only been dating for a week. “If that’s alright with you, of course?” 

Martin can’t say no to you. Not when he remembers how nice you looked in his striped zip-up. He nods reluctantly, and you squeal, dragging him towards his closet. 

You’re raiding Martin’s closet like it’s a department store sale. You’re grabbing hanger after hanger and asking him to hold onto them for you, and Martin can barely keep up. In five minutes, he’s somehow holding five of his own hoodies and three of his t-shirts, while you’re trying on another one of his zip-ups. 

You’re twirling around in it, looking at your own reflection in the mirror. You look at Martin for his approval, and he nods, giving you a thumbs up. “Looks great on you, pretty.” 

You really should be used to the compliments that Martin dishes out, but your cheeks heat up ever so slightly. Bailey’s voice rings in your head – don’t fall in love with him. You can’t believe you have to remind yourself. 

Seonghyeon walks in to grab a jacket, and he’s stunned at the scene. Martin’s got hoodies and shirts and jumpers draped over him as you pull out something else from his side of the closet. 

“What the…” he says, and Martin turns to look at him. 

“Hi,” Martin says. He can barely see. There’s a hoodie over his head, and he can’t bring his arm up to pull it off. “(Name) wanted some of my clothes.” Seonghyeon, who’s ever so kind, pulls the hoodie off Martin’s head. 

“Okay,” Seonghyeon giggles. “Have fun, you lovebirds.” Before he leaves, he mouths at Martin, 10 shows. Though your presence is awfully over-the-top, Seonghyeon doesn’t quite mind having you around. It was rather funny to witness yours and Martin’s dynamic. 

You take four more pieces of his clothing, and Martin helps you fold them all up neatly before placing them into a bag. “There you go,” he says, snaking an arm around your waist to pull you closer. “Happy?” 

“Very,” you giggle. You do feel a little guilty for stealing half his closet. “Thank you, ‘Tin. Do you want to watch a movie? I’ll let you pick, since I’ve taken so many of your clothes.” Though it was for an article, you weren’t a monster. You don’t realise how instinctively, you’ve leaned into his touch. 

Martin nods, grinning as he kisses your temple like he’s done this a million times before. It’s getting awfully easy for him to slip into the role of your boyfriend. “Sure,” he hums. “We can watch something on my laptop.” 

You curl up next to him on his bed, your head resting on his chest and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind playing on his laptop. Martin presses a kiss to the top of your head, his arms wrapped around you. 

This domesticity feels a little too natural. A little too real – like you two are actually two teenagers in love.

The slightest twinge of guilt pangs at your heart. You don't know it, but when the thought of the bet flashes through Martin's head, that same feeling strikes him in the chest too.

Martin’s eyes leave the screen for a split second to look at you, and he pushes the thought of the bet to the back of his head. 

His closet may be a little bit more empty now, but his heart feels the slightest bit more full.

“I think Martin is a lunatic.” you confess to Yoonchae at work one day. 

CORTIS had five more shows left in Korea before they were due to leave for New York City, and any logical person would have already broken up with you at this point.

But for some strange reason, Martin stayed. Not even just stayed – pulled you closer, even. He flirted with you more. Peppered your face with kisses. Proudly showed you off to his friends. 

He’s either insane, or he loves crazy girls. You don’t know which is worse. 

What you didn't know, of course, was that Martin was practically clinging on to this relationship for dear life. 10 shows, he reminds himself. He needed a girl to stay with him for three full weeks and to somehow put up with his insanely hectic schedule. Martin half-expected to barely see you, but you somehow managed to find a way to sneak into his life more often than not. It was welcomed, of course – he could show his friends that yes, he could flirt, and yes, an idol was able to date.

You were acting batshit crazy, and he still wanted you to be his girlfriend. Martin still hasn't dumped your ass, and that was absolutely shocking.

Idols were always busy, so you decided to do the very thing that all busy people hated: you spammed Martin all day. 

You sent him stupid TikToks, telling him to reply to each and every single one. You called him at random hours, sent him voice messages, and practically demanded his attention every single second. 

The crazy thing was, Martin would reply to every TikTok. He’d always pick up. He’d reply to every single voice message with his own, and you hated how you always smiled hearing his voice and his loud laugh through your headphones. 

You showed up unannounced to so many performances to the point where his manager would only sigh, and reluctantly let you in. You’ve embarrassed him by showering him with affection in front of quite literally everyone. You heard how Keonho tried – and failed – to hide a shriek when you made a big show of calling Martin ‘baby’ five minutes before they were due to head on stage. 

One night at his dorm, you’d even spent one whole hour asking the most basic questions about music production, forcing him to overexplain like he was teaching a toddler. You knew all the answers to the questions, but you’d asked them anyway just to rile him up. 

Martin thinks that for someone who’s working at Stereo, you should know. But regardless, he explains it all to you patiently, smiling like he’s glad that his girlfriend is actually interested in what he does – much to your dismay. 

Martin didn’t even bat an eye when you purposely stole all of his favourite clothes from his closet a few days ago. You’re sitting at your desk in the Stereo office, wearing Martin’s hoodie that is outrageously large on you. You’re shocked that he didn’t protest more, especially when you grabbed one of the expensive ones. Instead, he smiled, told you that you looked gorgeous, folded it up neatly and then gave it to you. 

You also realise that you don’t hate the affection that he showers you with. It feels quite nice, actually – to be cared for by Martin Edwards. 

But, this was truly not going well for your article. 

“Why is that?” Yoonchae asks. “Because he hasn’t dumped you?” 

“Yes!” you exclaim, as if it was the obvious answer. “He’s staying! Which is the crazy part! Idols don’t have time for this clingy, over-the-top nonsense, do they? So it’s either he’s insane, or he loves crazy girls.” 

“There’s another obvious answer,” Bailey chimes in, a smile playing on her lips. “He just likes you.” 

Bailey’s words hit you like a truck, and you ignore how your heart jumps at the thought. Martin Edwards likes you? You hate to say it, but that was truly… not implausible. But if Martin actually liked you – with all your craziness – surely, he had to be just the slightest bit insane. 

“I…” your cheeks heat up. “Okay.” you grumble, eyes diverting back to your laptop screen. You need to figure out a way to drive Martin absolutely up the wall – he had a strong resolve, there was no doubt about it. Something about music seemed right. 

Your eyes sparkle with delight when you remember that Martin said that he was going to be working on some music tonight in his studio. Something about recording some adlibs and some lines for their next album. Even while promoting music that was released recently, Martin was always working on something new. It was honestly incredibly admirable. 

So, you find yourself slumped on a chair next to Martin at 9:30 at night, watching as he works on a new song. There’s a microphone in front of his lips as he clips sections together with silent precision. His brows are furrowed in concentration, and you deem it the perfect time to enact your plan. 

“Tinnie,” you say, dragging out his name. He hums, acknowledging you, but his eyes don’t leave the screen. You nudge him gently, and he glances towards you. There’s a soft look in his eye, and a small smile graces his lips. “What do you think about this dog?” 

You show him a picture of this random white poodle that came up on your For You page. He squints at it, nodding. “It’s cute, baby. Why?” he asks, before his eyes divert back to his screen again. 

“I want a dog,” you say. “Let’s get a dog.” 

That catches Martin’s attention. “You want… us to get a dog?” he asks, in complete disbelief. You nod, and Martin’s eyes bug out of his skull. He can’t believe what you’ve just said. A dog was a big relationship commitment, right? 

Martin could barely take care of himself sometimes – how was he going to take care of a dog? And who was going to pay for the dog? He’d made enough money from the song royalties, but still. The proposal was a little insane. 

“That’s really sweet, baby – but we’ve only been dating for like a week,” he hums, hand gently caressing your shoulder. “And I don’t know how we’d even take care of it – would it live at your house? It can’t live in our dorm, you know.” 

You pout at his words. 

“I’m sorry. We can… go to a dog cafe, or something. I’ll take you sometime next week,” Martin looks at you sympathetically. Just give me a few minutes to work on this song, is that alright? I have to record some bits tonight, and then we can watch a movie.” 

You nod, letting out a small sigh. Martin thinks it’s because he lightly rejected your proposal for you two to get a dog. In reality, it was really because you can’t seem to figure out a way to get Martin to actually dump you. What normal person asks their boyfriend of one week to get a dog with them? 

Martin glances at you before he pulls up the lyrics of the song on his phone. He taps the record button, and just as he’s about to sing into the microphone, your voice cuts through the air. 

“Tinnie,” you pipe up, and Martin pauses the recording. He really wanted to get this song finished by tonight. You see the slightest hint of frustration on his face, and you do feel bad – but despite all your past attempts to get him to drive you away, nothing else seemed to work. 

“Hmm?” he asks. 

“Do you have any drinks?” you ask, and Martin nods, rolling his chair back so he can open the mini-fridge under the desk. He pulls out a can of Coke – he knows your favourite – cracking it open for you before sliding it over to you. 

“Thank you, Tinnie,” you beam. Martin thinks that seeing your smile is worth it, even if he did have to pause recording for a bit. Even if you sometimes did have awfully bad timing, he’s realising that he’s grown accustomed to your antics. “I’ll be quiet now.” 

“Okay,” he replies. “Thank you. I’ll be quick.”

You take a loud, dramatic sip of your drink just as Martin presses record. He pauses it again before turning to you, and this time, frustration is evident on his features. 

Guilt washes over you, and you realise that honestly, you didn’t really want Martin to get so mad at you to the point where he ended things. He looks tired, and you know it’s probably from a mix of hectic promotions, working on music and dealing with your incredibly annoying ass. 

Martin was too sweet for his own good, and you’re suddenly re-evaluating every little thing. You didn’t like seeing him upset, and you certainly didn’t want him to be upset at you.

You look at him sheepishly. “Sorry.” you wince, and Martin shakes his head, waving it off. 

“It’s okay.” he sighs, but exasperation is evident in his tone. He huffs, pressing the record button again.

This time, you don’t interrupt – and now you know why everyone in the industry calls him a musical genius. Martin’s working like a seasoned professional, putting in clips of his voice here and there. He presses play on the section that he was just working on, nodding in silent approval when he’s satisfied. 

You realise that you don’t want to drive him incredibly insane to the point where he can’t bear to see your face anymore. The article wasn’t going to write itself, but writing it meant that you had to hurt Martin. And looking at him now, and thinking about all of the times he had put up with you, you really didn’t want to hurt him. But you needed a way out.

The guilt is eating you alive as you sit there, making sure to quietly sip your drink. You think about every single moment you’ve shared with him for the last week, the flirting, the affection, the laughter – you don’t really want to let that go either. What were you going to do? This wasn’t supposed to be that complicated. You didn’t intend to actually catch feelings— 

Oh. 

Shit.

You might have feelings for him. 

Everything clicks into place right then and there. You like Martin Edwards. You make sure to say those words in your head so you don’t interrupt him, but those words settle in your chest like they actually belong there. 

Fuck. You did the one thing Bailey told you not to do. 

“Hey,” he says softly, snapping you out of your thoughts. You look up at him, and Martin doesn’t know why you’re looking at him a little differently. Your gaze is soft, warm, and filled with what Martin thinks – and he doesn’t realise, but hopes – might be love. He doesn’t think he’s seen this look in your eye before. “I’m done.” 

“Okay,” you say. Your voice is quieter than it’s ever been before. Martin’s slightly startled at the change. “Tin, I’m sorry.” 

Martin furrows his brows. “What for?” 

Everything, you want to say. “Interrupting you when you were working,” is what you say instead. Martin shakes his head, pulling you close in a hug. 

“It’s okay,” he replies. He presses a kiss to your cheek to comfort you, and you hate how much it works. “Don’t worry about it, baby.” 

You smile, albeit a little stiffly. “Movie?” you ask, pretending that everything is fine. Martin nods, gesturing to the couch situated at the back of the studio. 

You sit down on the couch, and Martin plops right down next to you, giving you a bright smile as he places his laptop on his lap. “What’d you wanna watch?” he asks, and you shrug, resting your cheek on his shoulder. 

“You pick,” you reply, and Martin nods. You lace your fingers with his, and he randomly clicks on a movie that he thinks Keonho had offhandedly mentioned was good before. He presses play before glancing at you to make sure you’re okay. 

Martin squeezes your hand a little tighter, just to let you know that he’s here. You hate that he’s far too good to you. 

You gulp, trying to ignore how the guilt is eating you alive. 

Then, you take a deep breath before pressing a chaste kiss to his shoulder, slipping into the role that you think you’ve gotten too good at playing. 

You have to end it with Martin. 

It’s what you realise is best for the both of you. You get your article, and he gets to rid himself of an annoying, overbearing girlfriend. You head into work with a little less enthusiasm, and Yoonchae can immediately tell. 

“What’s wrong?” Yoonchae asks, as you let out another loud sigh. Martin’s face is everywhere on your Instagram, and you hate that your lips instinctively tug into a smile at the sight of him. You were in love, damn it. 

“Nothing,” you reply. “The article’s just… a little harder than I thought.” You weren’t necessarily lying. Every word you typed out felt wrong. The bitter taste of guilt in the back of your mouth reminds you that you were technically a horrible person for inflicting psychological warfare on Martin Edwards, who couldn’t possibly hurt a fly. 

“Oh?” Yoonchae asks, surprised. “I thought it was going well with Martin.” 

“It is,” you mutter under your breath. “A little too well. He won’t end it with me. So I think I’m going to have to do it.” 

Bailey quirks a brow. “Oh, really? How are you going to do it?” 

“I don’t know,” you reply. “Maybe come up with some lame excuse saying that he doesn’t have time for us anymore, and it’s breaking my heart.” Bailey nods, giving you a look that indicates that it’s not that bad of an idea. 

You knew that Martin’s schedule was packed today – he had two variety shows to film and then Music Bank later. If anything, today was the perfect day to spam him and then complain about how you got no response. Then, you could use that as an excuse to break up. 

It was better to get it done early on before you both got too invested. Your heart does, however, twist at the thought of letting go. But it was for the better, you remind yourself. And you had an article to write. 

So, after one whole day of no responses from Martin like you’d planned, you find yourself standing outside the CORTIS dorm, rehearsing your words. You take a deep breath, telling yourself that you could do this. You could play the clingy, overbearing girlfriend role to perfection – this was the last time that you had to, hopefully. 

You knock, and you hear Martin’s voice. You fail to stop the smile spreading across your lips. 

When he opens the door, he instantly beams when he sees you. “Hi, baby!” He moves to wrap his arms around you in a hug, and for a split second, you nearly let him – until you remember that you’re going to break up with him. 

“I can’t believe you,” You slip into your role, sniffling to show how heartbroken you were. “I sent you messages all day and you didn’t reply to me! It’s like I don’t matter to you anymore.” 

Martin steps back in horror. Shit. Did he mess up? Well, not really, he thinks. He was far too busy – he barely had time to even check his phone all day, but seeing you heartbroken in front of his doorstep makes his stomach twist.

“No, no,” he says, reaching out to pull you into a hug in an attempt to comfort you, and you push him away. “Baby, I’m so sorry – I was really busy all day, and I didn’t have time to check my phone. The guys and I just got home, and I was going to text you, believe me!” 

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” you say. Your words are absolutely ridiculous, and you know it. “I think we need to break up.” 

Saying those words makes your heart sink. You hated it. You didn’t want to let Martin Edwards go.

Martin’s heart drops. The rest of the members can hear everything, and all of their eyes widen. Martin had not a single clue of what to do. He didn’t reply for one day and you wanted to break up? This was ridiculous – he turns to Juhoon, who’s shaking his head as if to say: don’t ask me! 

He then looks at Keonho, who’s reminding him: 10 shows.

10 shows. He’s got a week left until he hits 10 shows. Shit. If you ended it with him right now, he would lose the bet. 

Asides from that, Martin found that he genuinely did care for you. He didn’t want you to hate him over his schedule being far too packed. He had to find a way to reason with you so you’d stay – not just for the bet, he tells himself. 

“No, (Name) – baby, please,” Martin’s begging. “I’m sorry, please stay.” 

Seonghyeon’s watching this as if it’s the best episode of television he’s seen in his life. Martin Edwards, begging for his overdramatic, overly clingy girlfriend to stay with him. This was gold. 

What did couples do when their relationship was in trouble? Martin racks his brain for ideas. 

He’d apologised already. What about gifts? He could get you those. Couples counselling? 

“What?” you pipe up. It’s only then when Martin realises that he’s said ‘couples counselling’ out loud. His eyes widen with panic, before he pretends like that’s what he intended all along. 

“Yes!” he says. “Let’s do couples counselling. Please, let’s fix this, baby.” Desperation is evident in his tone, and you’re so shocked at his proposal to the point where you don’t quite know what to say. 

“I…” you stammer out. You look at Martin, and you realise that you really can’t say no to him. Fuck, you think.

You’d have to find a fucking couples counsellor. Or someone who could pretend to be one. Maybe you could just get Yoonchae or Bailey to say that the two of you weren’t meant to be, and then that could be your excuse to end it. 

Yes, that would work, you think. 

“Okay,” you sigh, reluctantly. You suppose that you were in this predicament for a little longer. "I'm picking the therapist."

Martin lets out a loud exhale in relief. He's unbelievably happy that you've decided to give your relationship another chance, despite all this being a bet. A little voice in the back of his mind tells him that he seems to care more about you than the bet now. Even if you did, at times, drive him a little crazy.

He pulls you closer to him in a hug, and this time, you let him. 

The smell of blackberries and cedar envelopes you in a comforting embrace, and you allow yourself to melt in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against your hair. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek and it’s all just too genuine – you feel awful. 

Your heart twists with guilt at how genuine he sounds in his apology. 

He holds you a little closer, and all you know is that you don’t deserve Martin Edwards at all. 

One day later, you find yourself in Bailey’s apartment – or rather, Dr. Sok’s apartment. You didn’t even have to beg or bribe Bailey to pretend to be a fake therapist for you and Martin – she had said yes immediately, and with a little too much enthusiasm. Bailey wanted to witness whatever the hell you two had going on firsthand. 

“It’s going to be good,” she says, tapping her fingers together mischievously. She’s talking about it as if your couples’ counselling appointment is going to be the best movie she’s seen in years. 

Martin’s sitting beside you as he taps his foot nervously on the floor. This was insane. He feels a little too out of place here. Why did he agree to couple’s counselling for a relationship that had only just reached the two week mark? 

Despite Bailey’s living room looking very much not like a therapists’ office, she comes up with some lame excuse saying that her actual office (which doesn’t exist) is going under some construction. She peers at the two of you through her blue light glasses, leaning forward as she holds a clipboard in your hands. 

“So, (Name), Martin. Tell me what’s going wrong in your relationship,” Bailey says. You take a deep breath before slipping back into the role of annoying, overbearing girlfriend. 

“He doesn’t have time for us and this relationship!” you huff, crossing your arms. Martin gives you a pained look, sighing. “He’s not taking us seriously anymore.” You sniffle a little for good measure to really sell the fact that you’re heartbroken. 

“I… I have a lot to do, baby – you know this,” he pleads “I’m trying my best to make as much time for you as I can, I’m sorry.” You watch as Bailey writes something down on her clipboard. She’s never met Martin before, but she could immediately tell that he harboured a lot of affection for you. 

She’s starting to realise that maybe you were right in thinking that Martin was a lunatic – she’d heard about all the antics you’ve pulled, and yet, Martin was still grovelling and wanted you to stay? 

“It’s like you care more about being an idol than me,” you say – as the words leave your mouth, you realise how unreasonable it was. Perfect. You needed Martin to dump your ass. The longer you stayed in this ‘relationship’, the harder you knew you were going to fall. You were already in deep, and you needed to get out before this article left you completely heartbroken.

“I…” Martin’s at a complete loss for words. “I can balance my work and our relationship, baby. Please.” 

Bailey hums, tapping her pencil on the side of her clipboard as an idea pops up in her brain. You watch as her eyes light up in that way you’ve seen before – you just know this is going to be bad. You’re praying to God that you’re wrong. 

“I know,” she says, leaning forward with a glint in your eye. “I think you two need an opportunity to spend a little bit more time together, away from all the idol life. Maybe then, you’ll see your relationship with clearer eyes.” 

Your eyes widen in horror. Oh no. 

Martin leans forward, suddenly curious. Double oh no.  

“What may that be?” he asks – he’s genuinely invested in keeping this relationship, Bailey thinks. It was more clear than ever to her that Martin genuinely liked you, despite how you acted insane.

“When’s the next time you have a day off?” Bailey asks. 

“Tuesday. I’m heading back to my parents’ house to spend some time with them before we head off to New York,” Martin says. “Oh!” he looks at you, eyes gleaming with delight. Your heart sinks. Whatever idea Martin had, you knew it was going to be bad for you. 

“You can come with me,” he beams. “Right? Is that a good idea, Dr. Sok?” 

Bailey is surprisingly shocked at Martin’s willingness to introduce you to his family only two weeks into your relationship. But she had to admit, it was a brilliant idea. She plasters a smile on her face to hide her shock, and nods in satisfaction. 

“It’s brilliant, Martin,” Bailey grins. She turns towards you, who’s got a look of horror on your face. “(Name), you should go meet Martin’s parents. After all, you said he wasn’t taking this relationship seriously. What couldn’t be more serious than meeting the parents?” 

You fail to come up with a coherent response. Fuck, you think. You should’ve asked Yoonchae to be the fake therapist. 

Martin’s looking at you expectantly, and you can tell just based on his gaze alone that he wants you to come. Your gaze softens, and you realise that you’re in way too deep. You’re in love. Shit. 

“Fine,” you huff. “Let’s do it.” 

Martin beams, so bright that it could rival the sun. The corner of your lips pull upward into a smile at the sight, and he laces his hands with yours. You hate how it feels right. 

“Perfect.” he says. 

To you, this was anything but. 

Tuesday rolls around much faster than you thought. 

You put much more effort into your outfit to meet Martin's parents. You’ve practically been living in Martin’s clothes for the past few weeks, and as much as you knew that he liked it, you still had to make a good impression on his parents. Showing up in Martin’s oversized hoodie and a pair of sweats wasn’t going to cut it. 

You opt for something simple, a little more similar to what you wore at the comeback showcase. You arrive at the CORTIS dorm wearing a striped shirt and a pair of jeans. Seonghyeon greets you at the door, and the boy points at what you’re wearing, and then what he’s wearing. 

“Oh,” he says. “Why are we matching?” 

You let out a little laugh. “Don’t bring it up,” you reply. “Tin wouldn’t like it.” 

If Martin notices that you’re somehow dressed like Seonghyeon, he doesn’t make any mention of it. He holds your hand as the company car drives the two of you to his parents’ place, and the two of you share earphones, listening to Martin’s music. 

You gulp. This was not what you had planned when you first decided that you were going to write the article. You didn’t think that you’d have to go this far – you had already accidentally fallen in love with the subject of your article, and now you were meeting his parents. This was… simply great. 

When the two of you arrive, it’s like Martin can sense your nerves. He looks at you, his gaze soft and gentle like usual. “Don’t worry,” he beams. “They’re going to love you.” 

You don’t know if you love or hate the idea of Martin’s family loving you. On one hand, it was nice to get his parents’ approval – on the other, this relationship was practically completely fake. Or at least it started that way, until your real feelings got involved. 

Martin’s mother answers the door, and when she spots you, she pulls you in for a hug. You’re slightly stunned at how affectionate she is, but it’s awfully kind of her, and you return the gesture nevertheless. “You must be (Name),” she beams. “Martin’s been going on and on about you.” 

“You have?” you ask, turning to Martin. His cheeks heat up and he shrugs, trying to hide his embarrassment. 

Martin’s father greets you once you’re inside, sitting down at the living room table. He’s easy to talk to, much like Martin. He jokes around with you right off the bat, and your stomach twists with guilt. Your presence feels a little too foreign, as if you don’t belong –  because truly, you don’t. 

Here you were, sitting at the Edwards’ dining room table as if you were exactly who Martin said you were. His loving girlfriend who cared about him more than anything in the world. 

The truth? All you were was a music journalist who was writing an article on how to lose an idol in 10 shows, and their son was the target. It was simply awful, and here you were, basking in the Edwards’ family’s praises like you deserved them. Like you deserved their son. 

You didn’t. Martin Edwards was far too good to you, and for you. 

You listen as his mother tells you stories about Martin’s childhood, such as how he composed a piece of music at the ripe age of 10 about the Spider-Man movie that he’d watched. His sister teases him lovingly, telling him that he shouldn’t have hid you for this long – she doesn’t seem to know that you two have only been ‘dating’ for two weeks. They treat you like family. You realise how much you adore all of them.

It makes the guilt that’s been simmering in your stomach much, much worse. 

When Martin tells the story of how you two met at the comeback showcase, his sister’s eyes widen. “Wait, I thought you guys have been dating for two months!” 

“Nope,” you chuckle nervously. His sister only hums, nodding. That reaction strikes genuine fear in your heart. Is she okay with it? Does she hate you? Martin seems to notice how anxious you are, and he gently caresses your hand with his thumb in an attempt to comfort you. 

Martin beams as his family gushes over the new album, and you sit next to him, your fingers laced with his. You look at him, pride evident on your face as he talks about the songs, and Martin’s father realises that it’s only then when you relax your shoulders. 

When Martin’s whisked away by his mother and sister, his father approaches you. 

“(Name),” he says, pouring you a glass of water. “Thank you for being so kind to Martin. And being there for him.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat. Martin’s father looks at you, handing you the glass. “It’s not an easy life for him to be an idol, especially since he’s so young,” he hums. “I’m glad he has someone like you to… you know. Keep him grounded amidst all the chaos.” 

Oh god. The guilt. You want to throw up. His dad was extending so much kindness to you because he genuinely believed that you loved his son. 

And you did, but you had started everything with ulterior motives. Did it even matter now that you truly had feelings, when you’d approached Martin with zero intention of anything genuine?

But you plaster on a smile, something that you’ve gotten a little too good at doing. “Of course,” you say. You look out the window, seeing Martin and his sister laughing about something. Martin’s father recognises this look in your eye – one of genuine affection for his son – and he too, smiles. “I’m glad that I can… be that for him.” 

“And really, he is… absolutely amazing,” you say. “I don’t think I deserve him.” It’s the most truthful thing you think you’ve said all day.

The smile on his father’s lips grows a little wider. “For what it’s worth, I think you two are perfect for each other. Even if this is all a little recent.” 

Perfect. Those words should make you feel relieved. But now that you have his father’s stamp of approval, it makes ending things much more difficult. How were you supposed to do that now? 

It’s then when it hits you. You couldn’t write the article anymore. You had to tell Jisoo that you couldn’t. Because you’ve fallen for Martin Edwards. Hard. 

Martin returns, seeing you and his father speaking to one another. He sneaks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You lean into his touch, even as the guilt from the past two weeks piles up and threatens to crush you like a boulder. 

“Pops, what’d you say to her?” he asks, hoping that his father hasn’t embarrassed him in front of you. 

“Oh, nothing bad, Martin. Don’t worry,” he laughs. “Do show her around the house, though. I’m sure she’d love to see your room.” 

His father gives you a nod before going outside to find Martin’s mother and sister. Martin looks at you, and you’re standing there silently. “You okay?” he asks, and you nod, coming to your senses. 

“Of course,” you say. He smiles at the nickname before lacing your hand with his. He does it so casually now to the point where you’re not fazed by it at all. “So… are you going to show me your room?” 

He nods, leading you down the corridor. It’s the first room on the right. 

“Tada,” he says, flicking on the light switch. Your eyes immediately dart to the plane drawn on the wall, and Martin notices. 

“My dad painted that for me when I was little,” he says, and your eyes flick back to look at him. 

“He’s really good at painting,” you say, and Martin beams. Your eyes wander across the entire room, and the next object your eyes land on is a little Spider-Man figurine sitting on top of a cupboard. “You really did like Spider-Man, didn’t you?” 

Martin chuckles, walking over to pick it up. “I did,” he hums. He hands it over to you, before grabbing something else perched on top of the same cupboard. “I was a big Marvel fan. Case in point – Thanos’ gauntlet.” 

He tries to put it on, but it’s clearly too small for him now, and you laugh. “You try it,” he says, handing it over to you.

You put it on, and it fits. “If I snap my fingers, would we all turn to dust?” 

Martin bursts into a fit of laughter – were you really that funny? But the sound of his laughter is infectious, and for a second you allow yourself to forget about that daunting thought of feeling like an intruder in your boyfriend’s own home.  

You take off the gauntlet, handing it back to him so he can place it back in its original spot. He flops down on his bed, patting the empty space next to him. “Come,” he says. “My bed here is comfy. Much better than the dorm one, to be honest.” 

You lay down beside him, and to be fair, he was right. The mattress was slightly softer. Martin tugs at the corner of your shirt to get you to move slightly closer to him. 

“Your room is cozy,” you say as he wraps his arms around you. You turn to look at him, and he’s looking at you with so much sincerity and love. That feeling of guilt creeps up once again. 

“I know,” he hums. “Listen… I’m happy that you decided to come meet my family. I’m sorry about that day, by the way. I should’ve probably told you that I was going to be busy.”

You shake your head. You knew how unreasonable you were being. “It’s okay,” you say. Looking into his eyes, everything feels far too real – and instinctively, like you’ve done a million times before, you brush his hair out of his eyes. “Sorry for causing a scene. I was being overdramatic. Like usual.” 

Martin chuckles, his laugh light and airy. “Don’t worry.” 

Over the two weeks, Martin has found that he does care for you. Perhaps a little too much for something that was just a bet. But with you here in his home, things just felt right. His father seemed to love you, and outside in the garden, his mother and sister had both said that you were amazing. 

Martin doesn’t know what to do – was he supposed to tell you about the bet? You’d surely break up with him for good once you found out. 

But he looks at you, and he just can’t help but think about how pretty you are. Truthfully, his heart did skip a beat when he first saw you at their comeback showcase, and despite your overdramatic antics, Martin did… want you to stay. That realisation settles in his chest, and he doesn’t know if he should be happy about it. 

He’s not in love with you, is he? 

You look at Martin. Silence falls between the two of you, and it’s comforting, really. You look at him like he’s the most beautiful person in the world, and your breath hitches in your throat. He’s too pretty. Too kind. Too good for you. 

You don’t know when your eyes flick to his lips, but you realise that over the last two weeks, you two haven’t actually kissed. He’s kissed your cheek far too many times, you’ve done the same, but you’ve never actually pressed your lips to his. 

And the scary thing was, that you really, really wanted to. 

You lean in a little closer, inching his face closer to his. Martin suddenly seems to notice the proximity between you two, and he too, realises that he hasn’t actually kissed you on the lips before. For someone who his sister claimed to be ‘so in love’, he hadn’t even kissed his own girlfriend. 

He wants to kiss you. Really, really badly. 

You’re the one who leans in first, pressing your lips to his. It’s hesitant and slow, and Martin’s a little shocked at your tentativeness. For someone who was so dramatic, over the top and boisterous – this was a little out of character. 

Martin can hear his own pulse thundering in his ears as he kisses you back – slow, gentle, like he means it. Yes, this was exactly what he had been missing this entire time. Everything feels right, and Martin completely forgets about the bet. At this moment, all of it was real. 

His hand moves up to gently cup your cheek as the other finds your waist, and you kiss him a little harder, a little more insistent. As Martin melts into the kiss, he’s also simultaneously praying to God that he’s closed his bedroom door. The last thing he really wanted was his parents or sister catching him making out with his girlfriend – he'd never hear the end of it. 

But when your hands find his shirt to pull him impossibly closer, that thought leaves his mind completely as he allows you to kiss him senseless. It’s fine if the door’s open, he thinks. All he cares about is you, and how your lips feel on his. He’s drunk on the feeling, almost – he doesn’t think that he can go a day without kissing you now. 

When you pull away for air, you’re beaming at him like an idiot in love. Because truthfully, that’s what you were. The guilt that’s been eating at you is completely forgotten, and all you really want to do is kiss him again. 

“You kissed me,” Martin says, a little breathless and a little astonished that this was all real. You had kissed him. And he felt something. Something real, something genuine – something that told him that it wasn’t a bet anymore, at least not to him. 

Martin Edwards might really be in love with you.

It was horrifying and exhilarating at the same time. On one hand, Martin was thinking about what would happen if – god forbid – you found out that you were a bet. On the other, Martin just wanted to kiss you over, and over, and over again. 

“Is it that hard to believe?” your voice cuts through his thoughts, your breath hot against his lips. Your eyes flick down to his lips once again, stained with your lipstick. Martin doesn’t – and won’t – wipe it off. “I think you better get used to it, Edwards.” 

And when Martin Edwards leans in again to press his lips against yours, he allows himself to be irrevocably and truly yours.

You tell Jisoo that you can’t write the article. 

She’s disappointed, but simultaneously, not surprised at all. “I thought you might’ve caught feelings for that CORTIS boy,” she hums, tapping her pencil on the desk. You don’t think you’re getting that full-time job now. “It’s okay. I knew it was too good to be true.” 

Ouch, you think. That stings. 

But you’re honestly on too much of a high after that kiss in Martin’s house. With the weight of the article off your shoulders, you can actually date Martin without feeling completely guilty now. Sure, some of it still remained knowing that you started the relationship with ulterior motives, but it was slightly more of a clean slate than before. 

Despite Jisoo's disappointment in you, she still does invite you, Yoonchae, Bailey and Yuna to this music awards show after-party. You immediately text Martin, asking him if he’s going to be there. He responds with a yes, and you beam. 

I can’t wait to see you, he tells you. You smile at your phone, giddy and far too much in love.

“I knew this was going to happen!” Bailey exclaims as you two get ready for the after-party in her apartment. “I told you, that Martin boy was so deeply in love – he was practically looking at her with stars in her eyes when we were doing ‘couples counselling.’ Honestly, I’m surprised that you didn’t see it earlier!” 

You curl your lashes, coating them with mascara carefully. “I mean, I didn’t expect to actually fall for him.” 

“We all saw it coming a mile away, (Name),” Yoonchae laughs. “Come on, at the showcase you were gawking at him like he was your personal Prince Charming. The only thing I’m surprised at was how persistent he was in staying. If I were him, I would’ve broken up with you the second you humiliated me like that in front of all my friends.” 

You gasp at Yoonchae’s words, and she simply shrugs, a smile playing on her lips. The rest of the time spent getting ready is filled with chatter about how you and Martin are going to cope with having eyes on you the entire night tonight. He couldn’t hold your hand like he usually did – you now had to hide. 

When you arrive at the after-party, you immediately send a text to Martin, asking where he is. You look around the room to search for him, and you see idols, industry professionals and journalists like you conversing with one another. 

“Hi,” a voice all too familiar to you makes you turn around, and you see Martin standing there, in all his glory. He’s wearing a crisp, sharp suit – Dior, you assume, considering the brand deal – and he looks absolutely perfect. 

Your voice catches in your throat as you’re about to tell him he looks good, but rather a strangled noise escapes past your lips. You suppose you finally know what it’s like to actually be left speechless. You cover your mouth in embarrassment, and Martin simply laughs. 

“Hi,” you breathe out, when you’re finally able to speak. “You look really nice.” 

“And you do too,” Martin replies, looking at you. You’re wearing this stunning, satin yellow dress. In all honesty, Martin had grown accustomed to seeing you wearing his clothes, and seeing you in something like this made his heart race. A dainty necklace hangs around your neck, and Martin thinks that he might’ve just fallen in love all over again. 

“Thank you,” you say. You’re unsure how to actually speak to him knowing that there were always going to be eyes watching his every move. “So… you doing anything after this?” is the only thing you’re able to come up with, and Martin chuckles. 

“No, I don’t happen to be,” he replies, fixing the collar of his suit jacket. His voice drops low into a whisper, looking around carefully to make sure that nobody is listening. “Come to the dorm later for a movie date?” 

“Of course,” you whisper back. You fail to hide the lovesick grin on your lips, and Martin’s practically fighting the urge to kiss you right now. You look irresistibly good, and Martin hates that every move of his is likely documented right now. 

His manager approaches him, and he gives you a nod in acknowledgment. “Martin, we’re going to have to meet some members of the media. Please come with me – I’m sure the two of you will find time to talk later.” 

You nod, understanding that duty calls. Martin waves goodbye to you, and you wave back. You didn’t even realise how fast your heart was racing there. You find Bailey, Yoonchae and Yuna near the drinks, and you grab a glass of fruit punch and converse with them about some new album that Yoonchae reviewed recently. 

Martin straightens up his suit jacket before he walks up to the rest of the members, who are already talking to someone. “Hi, I’m Martin, the leader of CORTIS. Apologies for being late,” he says politely. “I had to catch up with a friend.” It’s a lie, but he couldn’t call you his girlfriend to everyone here. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” the lady says, waving him off. She seems awfully drunk, and she’s already taking another sip of the champagne in her glass. “We were just talking about some of the articles that we’ve been publishing about your group. You boys are some of the most exciting faces on the music scene.” 

“Thank you.” Martin beams.

“Her name is Jisoo,” James whispers in Martin’s ear. “I think she’s super drunk. Manager says that the rest of us are going to speak to some guy named John, but Jisoo really wanted to talk to you. So… we’ll leave you guys to it?” 

Martin nods in agreement, but he doesn’t really want to speak with her. She’s incredibly drunk, and to be honest, Martin would much rather be talking to you right now.

“Oh, and we’ve got something much more than just about your albums,” Jisoo pipes up. “Well, did. One of my interns – talented girl – was writing a piece about one of you.” Jisoo's so drunk that she thinks that the five of them are still there, when it’s really only Martin who’s left. 

She searches around the room, and her eyes land on you. She points in your direction. 

“Ah, her. Over there,” Jisoo says. “(Name).” 

Martin immediately straightens up at the sound of your name. He leans in to hear Jisoo better, curiosity suddenly piqued. “What article may that be?” 

“Oh, it was a little bit more fun. How to lose an idol in 10 shows, or something. Dating an idol, and then trying to get him to dump her in 10 shows or less. I was gonna give her that full-time job, honestly.” 

Martin’s heart drops. 

An article? You... were writing an article on dating an idol?

It hits Martin right then and there. That’s why you were so adamant on breaking up over something so trivial – he knew that you weren’t that unreasonable. 

The next realisation hits Martin like a truck. That’s why you would act so ludicrous and over the top sometimes – he had a feeling that it wasn’t really who you were. The night at the studio, the moments the two of you shared at his parents’ house. That was the real you. But Martin didn’t really care, he told himself he loved you all the same. 

But knowing that all of this was just for an article? It sends a knife through his heart.  

You kissed him like you actually loved him that day at his parents’ house. He thought you did. Did you love him? Did you even like him? 

Jisoo is so drunk she doesn’t even seem to know the state of shock and distress that she’s just put Martin through. His mouth suddenly runs dry, and he doesn’t know what to do – all he knows is that he feels sick at the thought that perhaps none of it was real. His heart aches with betrayal, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this awful before. 

His eyes are hot as he tries to blink back tears. “I’m sorry,” he stutters, his voice cracking. “I have to go.” 

Jisoo's too drunk to notice as Martin pushes past her, trying desperately to find any corner away from the cameras. 

When he finds a place secluded enough, covered by the black satin curtains, Martin finally lets a tear slip past his cheek.

This must be what heartbreak feels like, he thinks.

You’re already starting to get a little bored at this after-party. 

You know that Jisoo's practically drunk off her mind, and Bailey’s gone over to make sure that she doesn’t hurl on any of the guests. Yoonchae winces seeing Jisoo stumble on air, and Bailey sighs as she knows that she’s going to be babysitting her all night. 

You look at the crowd, trying to count how many idols you can see that aren’t completely drunk off their mind. 

“(Name)!” James snaps you out of your little game – you were at roughly 12 idols – and you direct your attention to him. He beams, greeting you with a wide smile. 

He’s got a glass of champagne in his hands – after all, he is the only one legally allowed to drink. You can tell that he’s slightly tipsy. 

“Hi, James,” you say, smiling at him. “Nice to see you again… after seeing you yesterday night.” 

James laughs, a little louder than normal – yeah, the alcohol was definitely kicking in. “That’s funny. Yes, so nice to see you again. I know that our Martin was a bit late speaking to some important people because he was caught up with you,” he says, wagging his finger at you. “It’s okay. No worries.” 

“Oh,” you say sheepishly. “Sorry about that.” 

“No worries,” he says, trailing off. There’s a beat of silence that falls between the two of you before James seems to remember something. “Oh! Oh! Don’t tell Martin. Wait, you two are dating for real, for real now. So you must know!” 

You look at James, confused. You don’t have a single idea in the world of what he was insinuating at. 

“Our Martin can flirt, can’t he?” James says, dragging out the word. “We all thought he couldn’t, so he proved us wrong. Now we all have to pay for his next shopping spree. Bleh. I’m going to be broke.” 

Your brows furrow, but there’s a sinking feeling in your stomach – you think you know what James is hinting at, but he’s tipsy, so he’s somewhat circling around the topic. 

“James, whatever do you mean?” 

“We made a bet!” he says, a little too gleefully. “So like, Seonghyeon was saying that Martin couldn’t flirt, so we made a bet – 10 shows to get a girl to fall in love with him with his flirting skills. And he had to make sure you stayed with him through those 10 shows.” 

He doesn’t know that those words had basically caused your personal apocalypse. You were a bet? 

You look at James, betrayal evident on your features. Your chest pangs with pain so visceral, you think you might actually double over. You were just a bet to Martin, and the betrayal and pain from that realisation hits you like a tidal wave. Martin being awfully sweet to you, being too kind, being too understanding – that was all a lie? 

You feel like you don’t even know him. You stand there, stunned, and at your silence, James somehow seems to sober up. 

“Oh, shit – you didn’t know,” James’ face contorts into one of horror, and he brings his hands to his lips. “Oh my god, (Name) – I did not mean a single word of what I said, I am so sorry–!” 

You push past James, running for the exit. You feel so violently ill – all you want to do is go back to your house and cry until you’ve got no tears left. You’re going to block Martin, and you never ever want to listen to a CORTIS song ever again. 

You push past the gates, but then you’re stopped by a voice that is awfully familiar, but it’s the last person you want to hear from right now. 

“Skipping town?” Martin asks. His hands are shoved into his coat pockets. Of course he still looks devastatingly beautiful, and for a second you forget that this is the boy who had made a bet that you’d fall in love with him in 10 shows.

Congratulations, it worked, you think. Maybe he should win a prize for it after you get over your heartbreak. 

You turn to look at him, brows furrowed in anger. “What do you want, Martin?” 

“What do I want?” he asks, voice laced with disbelief. He steps closer towards you, and you realise that he’s angry too. You don’t know what for. “I want to know why Jisoo told me about an article that you’d pitched called: how to lose an idol in 10 shows. Yes, she was drunk. But you know that drunk words are sober thoughts. I could tell she wasn't lying.” 

You’re stunned. Martin notices your expression, and his eyes narrow. “Yeah,” he replies, gritting his teeth. “Sound familiar?” 

You gulp, and that guilt that you thought you’d rid yourself of comes back tenfold. But then you remember the bet. You, in similar fashion, grit your teeth and look at Martin with the same betrayal in your eyes. 

“Right,” you hum. “And I want to know a little bit more about this bet that James told me about… perhaps something along the lines of you getting a girl to fall in love with him in 10 shows.” 

This time, Martin’s the one with the stunned look on his face. His breath stutters, and you cross your arms. “Yeah,” you tell him, using the same words he did mere seconds ago. “Sound familiar?” 

“You used me for an article,” Martin exhales. The heartbreak in his tone is evident, and you hate knowing that you’ve hurt him. But he hurt you too. 

“I was just a bet to you,” you gulp. Saying it out loud makes it more real. “I meant nothing to you, didn’t I?” 

“You can’t be the one saying this to me,” Martin says, pointing at you. “Are you serious?” 

“Dead serious,” you retort. 

“You wanted to lose an idol in 10 shows?” Martin seethes, trying to ignore how it feels like his heart is quite literally breaking. “Congratulations. You just lost him.” 

You gulp, trying to fight the tears that are threatening to spill past your eyes. You take a deep breath, strengthening your resolve – you were a bet to him anyways. It didn’t matter. 

“No, I didn’t.” you say. Even those words feel like a lie. You did lose him, and you feel terrible. “Because you can’t lose something you never had.” 

With that, you turn on your heel and leave. You only let the tears fall when you know that you’re far away enough, and you reel with the realisation that you’ve probably just lost the first person that you’ve ever truly loved. Because of some stupid job that you weren’t quite sure you wanted anymore.  

You leave Martin hanging as he watches your figure disappear. He opens and closes his mouth as if he wants to say something, but you’re already too far gone. It’s fine, Martin tells himself. It was just a bet. You were just a bet. You didn’t mean anything to him. 

No, he can’t lie to himself. It hurts much more than the truth. 

Martin stands there as the cool evening air tousles his hair. It’s then when he finally allows himself to sob as he crumples to the floor – despite it all, he doesn’t know why he once again, can’t bring himself to hate you. 

Martin Edwards lost you, and you lost Martin Edwards. 

Maybe after all of it, this was the outcome that you both deserved.

Martin feels absolutely awful. 

The members all look at him sympathetically, and they all notice that Martin’s not really his usual self nowadays. Seonghyeon buys him that jacket that he’s wanted for ages. Juhoon breaks his bank account to get Martin three hoodies. Keonho finally buys him those Rick Owens shoes, and he doesn’t complain about it. 

James, who feels the worst out of all of them for letting the news slip to you, buys him two pairs of expensive earrings and cashes in on an extra bracelet as if it’ll cure the heartbreak. 

"Well... I guess you can flirt," Seonghyeon says. He knows that it's really not helping Martin get over the heartbreak, but he's not quite sure what to say to make him feel better.

Sure, he could flirt. Hooray, Martin thinks. But he didn't really care about that anymore. Not when he just wanted to see you.

His life falls into the routine that he was so accustomed to before you barged into his life. Wake up, practice, make music, perform, repeat. Despite how much his stomach twists in anger at the thought that he was just an article to you, he misses your presence. 

In those two short weeks, you’d changed his life in a way that he didn’t think was possible. His eyes always linger a little too long at the dressing room door, hoping you’ll show up. He stocks up on Coke for the mini fridge in the studio just in case you swing by and want a can. He can’t even tell his parents that he’s not speaking to you anymore. 

He messed up too. You weren’t the only one. The guilt eats at him every single day, and he’s immediately reminded of it when he wakes up. Martin Edwards, despite it all, still thinks that he loves you. That may be even more ludicrous than your antics. 

He hears the doorbell ring, and Martin gets up from his seat at the couch to go answer the door. He’s the designated one to do that now, because he’s always hoping that perhaps you’ll show up. 

He swings open the door, and he realises that it’s Yoonchae. He recognises her from the comeback showcase. 

“Hi,” she gulps, a little hesitant. “Martin?” 

“Yes?” he asks. “How did you find–” 

“I’m not a stalker,” she says. Martin figured, considering that she was a friend of yours. “Sorry, I had to get that out of the way. But… I think you might want to read this.” Yoonchae hands Martin a stack of papers, and he furrows his brows, confused as to why. 

Yoonchae looks at Martin, and she knows that’s a devastated man if she’s ever seen one. His hair’s messy, he’s got dark circles under his eyes, and there’s just something heavy seeming to be weighing on his conscience. 

“Please,” she says. Martin motions for her to come in, and Yoonchae sits down at the dining room table. Martin flicks open the page, and there it is – the dreaded headline. How to Lose an Idol in 10 Shows. Your name is plastered right under it. 

Martin doesn’t even want to read it. He feels sick already seeing the title. But curiosity kills the cat, and he reluctantly reads the words printed on the page, letting out a deep sigh. 

Step one: Ask the dreaded question – “What are we?” in front of all of his friends. 

He remembers that day. He also remembers the instantaneous shock that he felt hearing those words spill past your lips, and how it filled him with a sense of intrigue but also overconfidence that he was going to win this bet. 

Step two: Be overly obnoxious – yes, again, in front of all of his friends. 

The over the top cheek kisses, the way you’d cling to him like a koala and the loud displays of affection – yep, that tracks, Martin thinks. The crazy thing was that he didn’t mind at all. 

Step three: Annoy him with text messages every single minute. 

You did that. But Martin wasn’t annoyed, per se. He went through every single message, replying to them with equal enthusiasm. You always had something interesting to talk about – it wasn’t just filler, so Martin didn’t quite mind. And it did bring him some much needed entertainment after busting his ass for a performance. 

Step four: Steal all his favourite clothes. 

Martin smiles, stupidly. The memory of you wearing his clothes and looking a little too good in them cuts through the anger and bitterness he’s been feeling for the past few days. The mention of those also makes him also remember that you haven’t given any of those clothes back. 

Step five: Interrupt him at the studio…

The next few words make Martin’s breath catch in his throat. 

Despite my ridiculous antics, Martin Edwards somehow puts up with me and has the patience of a saint. I decide that he’s either a lunatic who loves crazy girls, but my colleague Bailey offers me something else: that he might genuinely like me. It’s when I’m halfway through step five I realise that I’ve fallen in way too deep. 

It’s the first time where he actually shows frustration with my insanity, and it’s the first time where I realise that I don’t want to hurt him. Because despite starting this with unfortunately ulterior motives, I think I may have fallen in love in the process. 

My goal was to lose an idol in 10 shows. But after getting to know Martin Edwards – the real Martin Edwards – I didn’t want to lose him at all, and yet I have. He’s admirable. Dependable. Too kind for his own good. I don’t even think I deserved him during those two weeks. 

These two weeks have been riddled by mistakes. Starting this article, lying about my intentions, pretending that I was someone that I truly wasn’t… but the biggest mistake of all? 

Losing the love of my life.  

His vision blurs as tears prick his eyes. He was the love of your life? The words hit him like a ton of bricks, and Martin almost forgets how to breathe. The weight of those words settles in his chest, and somehow, the anger dissipates and is replaced with disbelief. He was the love of your life. 

The crazy thing is, Martin thinks you may be the love of his life too. 

He looks at Yoonchae with a look of determination in his eyes that wasn’t quite there before. 

“I… is she at the office?” 

“No,” Yoonchae replies. “She quit. I can give you her address, if you need—” 

“Please,” he says, desperation evident in his tone. He throws on a random pair of shoes as he practically shoves his phone into Yoonchae’s hand so she can type in your address into his GPS app. 

Martin runs out the door, Yoonchae trailing behind him and nearly failing to keep up. Juhoon asks him where the hell he’s going, but Martin doesn’t answer – he has pressing matters to attend to right now. Yoonchae calls a car for the two of them to head to your place, and on the way, she tells him that she really wasn’t supposed to show him the article – but she had to. She knew you were miserable too. 

The ride to your place feels like forever, and Yoonchae tells him that she’ll just wait downstairs. He bounds up the staircase – the lift was a waste of time, you lived on the third floor. Yoonchae thinks that he doesn’t even register her words. 

Martin double checks the apartment unit that Yoonchae had given him, and he knocks, tapping his foot on the ground nervously. 

You fling open your door, and you’re stunned to see Martin there. 

He’s almost speechless at the sight of your face – he hadn’t seen you in so long, and Martin has missed you, devastatingly so. 

“Martin?” you say in disbelief. You’ve been dreaming about him so much for the past few days to the point where you really wouldn’t be surprised if he was a hallucination. “What are you doing here?”

He holds up the article that Yoonchae had handed him less than an hour ago. You recognise it, and a mixture of guilt, shame and anxiety pangs in your chest – so he’s read it. That sickly feeling that you’ve grown accustomed to for the past week returns tenfold. 

“This article,” he breathes out. “Did you mean it?” 

“What?” 

“Did you mean it?” he asks. He’s looking at you with desperation, practically pleading for you to say yes. 

You blink back the tears in your eyes. A beat of silence falls between you two before you finally speak.

“I meant every word,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Martin tries to hold back the smile that’s threatening to creep up on his lips. “Really?” he asks, and you nod. 

“Yes,” you say, a little louder this time. “ And I’m sorry about it all – you mean… so much more than an article to me.” 

Martin has another question. “And am I really the love of your life?” 

“Yes,” you exhale. “You are. I told you, I meant every word.” 

Martin finally allows himself to breathe, his shoulders relaxing as he beams, wider than ever before. “Ask me the same question.” he says, grinning. You look at his expression, a little confused but hopeful all the same. 

“Am I the love of your life?” you ask, your voice brimming with hope. 

“You are.” Martin replies. 

“Oh,” you reply softly, and you let a tear slip past your cheek. You’re crying, but they’re happy tears. 

Martin reaches out to you, pulling him close to you. His hand finds your waist like it belongs there, and like nothing has changed in the last few days the two of you have been apart. 

“I love you,” you choke out. “Unbelievably so. I’m sorry I lost you.” 

Martin leans in, inching his face closer to yours as he smiles. 

“I love you too,” he replies before he presses his lips to yours, and everything just feels right again. He pulls away for a split second to look into your eyes. “You’re never going to lose me.” he says, giggling before he pulls you in for another kiss. 

And now, Martin Edwards is truly, irrevocably yours.

© martinflms 2026. mini author's note: this was lowkey a challenge to write 20k in 2 days. i'm so glad i did and i hope you guys enjoyed <3

“That’s a cute outfit.” You playfully did a princess bow, the outfit that you pulled the night before consisted of a white collared button-up shirt under your fitted, long-sleeve blue sweater, covering perfectly your exposed abdomen that your denim mini skirt showed. It was cinched in with a chunky black belt and some white socks with black shoes with a little bit of heel. 

“Thank you, Yujin. You don’t look bad, either.” He spun dramatically in place, making his backpack bounce.

“Please. My mom picked this outfit. I had to wear it, otherwise she wouldn’t let me go to our karaoke tradition.” He opened his backpack, pulling out strawberry milk.

“You’re the absolute best,” you said, stabbing the straw through the foil and taking a sip without hesitation.

“So, how was your vacation?” 

“It was good. I went to the beach for a week before going to visit colleges with my mom.” he gave a dramatic sigh.

“She is more obsessed with your future than you.” You raised your shoulders, way too used to his words. 

“Well, sadly, I have to go along with—”

“Yah, Han Yujin!” The wall made that scream bounce, creating an echo where the two of you froze. As a matter of fact, everybody there did; you saw the unforgettable figure of your friend Leeseo running to you two, and you looked to your right to see the face of pure fear on Yujin’s face. 

“What have you done?” you whispered, before he could speak. Leeseo was already trying to hit him. His hands went to your shoulder, and he started using you as a shield.

“Leeseo, stop!” you gasped, trying to wriggle out of Yujin’s grip.

“Oh, hi there, Y/N. Can you please move? I want to kick his ass.” It was comical how everything was going down, cameras shutting off as they captured the first banter of the duo. You decided to enter the class, and a spot near the desk and next to the window was your favorite.

“Leeseo—ouch! Wait!” Both of them entered as she finally left him alone after she gave a pretty hard smack on his back. Leeseo sat next to you, and Yujin took the spot behind you two.

“You idiot, why didn't you tell me that Martin is back?!” Her whisper made your ear raise at the name.

“I didn’t spend time here; I went to the countryside to visit my grandma. How do you know?”

“Because he was getting scolded by the teacher at the entrance.”

“Nothing new, then,” you spoke before you could think. You placed your pencil case and notebook on your desk. Leeseo’s mouth fell open, her eyes wide as if what you just said was the dumbest thing ever.

“Nothing new? Y/N, he was supposed to go to Canada for his senior year; he even spoke about it.”

“Now that you said that,” Yujin put his strawberry milk on his table, leaning between you two. “Yesterday, when I was leaving out to do the groceries for mom, Martin and his dad were discussing it; it looked pretty heated.” 

“Oh great, the menace is back.” You keep your eyes focused on what you were writing in your notebook, which consisted mostly of a to-do list of the day.

“Why do you act like this news is a normal Tuesday’s cafeteria menu?”

“Because that’s exactly what it is. Martin gets in trouble like he has been doing for the past couple of years, the teacher yells, and the earth spins. What else is new?”

Yujin chuckled, “Careful tho. Keep talking like that, and he might think you missed him.”

You whipped around, smacking the back of his head with enough power to bother him. “Don’t even joke.”

People kept entering the classroom, some were going straight to their friend group, others to get ready, and a few simply lay on the desk to sleep for a few minutes before the usual first day announcement. 

You grabbed your small makeup pouch so you could go to the restroom, standing in the middle sink and smiling at your polished reflection. Pulling the gloss, you painted your lips with a thin layer of gloss, the mascara was next to give volume to your eyelashes, and finally, some blush on your cheeks. 

When you were satisfied, you left the bathroom, fixing your pouch, crashing with someone, and dropping everything inside them, you could bet your blush was broken into pieces. 

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," you said, bowing as you rushed to at least some of the remains. 

"I can't believe the school role model is wearing makeup, breaking the rules already?" you sighed, still picking up your stuff, your mood completely dropping. 

"I take that back, I'm not sorry." You finally got up and looked at what was supposed to be Martin's height last year, your neck hurting slightly as you looked a little more up. Leeseo was right, he got unbelievably tall.

He was wearing a band tee with ripped jeans that looked twice his size, hanging on his hips like they were holding on for dear life. Scuffed Vans dragged slightly as he shifted his weight, the hoodie unzipped and frayed at the sleeves. His hair looked like he’d rolled out of bed on purpose, and the faint smirk tugging at his lips only made it worse.

The outfit made you know that he would be the reason for your headaches for another year.

“Martin Edwards,” you said flatly, clutching your pouch like it was armor.

“Still bowing to people in hallways. How cute,” he drawled back, his smirk spreading slowly with his hand shoved into his hoodie pocket.

“Still getting yelled at by teachers on the first day. How predictable.” You stepped sideways, but he shifted too, blocking your path with a lazy lean against the wall, watching you close your eyes, irritated.

“You know that I can’t help it if they’ve missed me.” He tilted his head. “Don’t tell me you didn’t.”

Your laugh came out louder than intended, calming down quickly. “Please. The place was finally quiet without you.”

“Quiet’s overrated.” You could see how his eyes flicked down, lingering on the glossy shine of your lips, making you look down briefly. “Besides, you look better with noise around.”

He leaned in slightly so you were the only one hearing. “Come on, Prez. Admit it. You missed me.”

“I miss the news of you moving to Canada.” You scoffed, you looked at his eyes, and you could see how that challenging look disappeared for a second.

“Damn.” He pressed a hand over his chest like you’d shot him. “Still ruthless with the comebacks. What happened to the sweet, polite, and lovely person?”

“She’s still here, she just doesn’t like you,” you shot back, already making your way out. He appeared next to you, the height difference even more noticeable. You stopped on your tracks, him copying you after. 

It was your turn to step forward, your chin high, although it didn’t make you look intimidating. “You’re going to make this year miserable, aren’t you?”

“Depends on how much attention you give me, pretty,” he said easily, the nickname rolling off his tongue like it was nothing, turning the tip of your ears slightly warm.

Before you could say something, the bell overhead rang, echoing through the hallway. The students started invading the hallways, brushing past the two of you with curious eyes.

You exhaled, finally brushing past him to go to your class to hide the pouch, coming back to see him waiting outside the class. “I’m making one thing clear. Give me some free time for our teachers scolding me because of you, I don’t want that on my record.”

You marched your way with your class, heels softly clicking. 

“Can’t promise that, Prez!” His voice followed you down the hall.

It was official, this was going to be a long senior year.

Four months passed like a blur, and just like you predicted, everything stacked up to you. Not even a week in, and the classes and teachers nominated you to be the president of the school council. You were about to give up that opportunity for the sake of a slightly peaceful year, but when your mom heard about it, she forced you to keep it, not turning back even when your dad tried to talk her through it. 

The school was quick to give you a list of activities you and the committee had to plan, and because of your last events as class president, students were quick to say the same sentence.

“We are having a prom AND a school trip? Y/N, you’re the best!”

Normally, the country itself wasn’t exactly used to having a prom the way other countries did, renting movies to watch on a Friday night was enough to plant the idea in every senior’s head, even yours, not believing that you were the one supposed to make it happen. Thankfully, the first big event on the calendar wasn’t prom—but the spring school trip.

With the help of Yujin’s mom, we secured a short trip of two nights in Gyeongju for the last week of October. 

It was 7 pm, and you were walking back home with the rented DVD of 10 Things I Hate About You, ready to drown in ramen and your blankets. The reason? You were tired of council meetings, study schedules, and Martin already racking up three warnings from teachers.

“Why are you in pajamas?” Leeseo surprised you by being in front of your house. 

“Because I’m staying at home…?” Your sentence sounded more like a question than you wanted it to, especially because Leeseo was standing at your gate with her backpack.

“Wrong answer,” she said, shoving past you. “Your mom thinks you’re staying at my house for a study-slash-sleepover. I’m telling you, she almost hugged me when I told her we are even reviewing college math problems.”

“What? Leeseo, I’m in pajamas. I bought snacks! I’m committed to my bed tonight.”

“You can change, and the snacks can wait.” She plopped the backpack on your bedroom floor before going straight to your closet, pulling out outfits that seemed fitting to fool your mom even more. “I’m not letting you waste your Friday night watching Heath Ledger for the 100th time.”

“Shut up.”

She threw your pink cardigan in your face. “Come on, your mom needs to see you leave like we are going to church."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“Call me if anything happens, okay?” You nodded at your mom before she lightly hugged you. “Thank you for doing this, darling. I know you will match my baby’s commitment to college.”

Leeseo bowed down while you tried to hide your face, your head by lowering it. “Anything to get that 100, I will bring her tomorrow!”

You two started walking out, feeling the gaze of your mom behind you. “When we turn around here, Yujin and his brother are waiting for us.”

And just like she said, Hanbin and Yujin were there, opening the car right when they saw you two. “Were you two creating a summer season collection?”

“Quiet, Yujin. Hi Hanbin,” you said. Hanbin simply smiled at you.

“Where now, to our house?” Hanbin spoke, this time looking at Leeseo.

“Yes, we need to change her clothes,” you said, looking at her, confused.

“But why? I think it’s cute.” You looked down, a pink polo shirt layered under a pastel cable-knit sweater, khaki skirt, and pearl studs.

“Don’t get me wrong, it is cute, but it looks like you will hold a mass on the dance floor.” Now you laughed, already feeling at ease when the wind touched your face. “And then to Martin’s”

Once again, the mood turned down. “Wait—Martin? As in Martin Edwards?”

“Yes. Keonho texted me, and he said his mom’s gone, and his band has their amps set up in the garage. Apparently, half of the school’s going.” Yujin said, and that’s when you looked at Leeseo, who was actively trying to avoid your face.

“Oh my god! I love this song, turn it up, Hanbin!” she screamed.

The car ride to Hanbin’s house wasn’t long. Yujin’s house was empty when you arrived. Leeseo didn’t waste a second—the soft outfit was already in her backpack, so you can wear the black cropped baby tee with a rhinestone butterfly, a pleated low-rise denim skirt, and a chunky studded belt. Your makeup is slightly altered with the use of eyeliner, but since it was a style you have secretly wanted to try for a while, you enjoyed it. 

Leeseo opened the door of Yujin’s room. The second you stepped out, both brothers gasped. You rolled your eyes with your face burning at the attention. 

“Now that outfit is the one that will take your mom to a coma,” Yujin said. Hanbin punched him softly, and you simply laughed.  

It took a few steps to arrive there since they were neighbors, and the bass from the garage was already rattling the pavement. Cars were parked crooked along the curb, kids were sitting on the front lawn with red cups, and some of them, who you recognized as graduates, were drunk.

“This looks safe,” you muttered. Leeseo slipped her arm through yours.

“Relax, it’s just a party. Besides, Martin’s band is playing. It will be good.”

You rolled your eyes. “Martin’s band will probably sound like three lawnmowers in a blender.”

“That’s kind of the point.” 

The smell of cheap soju mixed with hairspray lingered in the air; there were some Christmas lights strung along the ceiling, casting the whole space in a warm glow. You moved between people to grab something to drink from the table. 

“Noona?” 

You turned around, half-expecting another stranger with either a can of soda or a red cup. Instead, it was Keonho—well, another version that was surely not the one you used to watch on council meetings.

It was almost comical the way your eyes widened at the same time, like you were looking at two entirely different people from the ones you’d last seen in pressed uniforms.

“...Keonho?” you blinked, scanning him from head to toe. “What are you wearing?”

Baggy jeans sagging low on his hips, showing a part of his boxers, a chain clinking against his belt loop, oversized sneaker, and a graphic tee layered under a half-zipped hoodie. His gel-free hair was messy, kinda like he came out of an MTV music video. He looked good, you had to admit.

Keonho gawked back at you with the same disbelief. “Me? Noona, look at your outfit.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, suddenly becoming hyperaware of your fit.

You crossed your arms defensively. “At least I don’t look like I lost a fight with my closet… but you look good, I guess.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fair. But still… wow. Didn’t think you could look like that. It suits you.”

Before you could thank him, the garage speakers squealed as the music turned down. Keonho’s grin widened instantly. “Anyways, you have to come listen. Cortis is next.”

You arched a brow. “Cortis?”

“The band I joined!” he said, a happy smile showing his pride. “James is on drums, Juhoon’s rhythm, Seonghyeon on keys, I’m bass.”

“Oh, all of you sing?” you asked, following his steps to the garage.

“Sometimes, but the main singer—”

“What’s up, School of Performing Arts of Seoul!” Martin's voice resonated all over the place, the crowd screaming in response. 

“Keonho.”

“I know you don’t like him at all, but listen to us for a moment, we practiced a lot.” he did a small pout, you had to nod to see him smiling, and run to his bass. 

You scanned the group, eyes stopping on Martin, his guitar strap slung low and standing front and center.

“Thanks for being here. We’re Cortis, and we will do something old since classics never die.”

They surprised you by opening with a familiar riff of one of your favorite bands, blink-182. “All the small things” made the whole garage shake with the force of it, and you had to admit it—it didn’t sound half bad. They were all completely lost in their performance and interacting with people in the crowd who were busy nodding their heads and screaming their names.

The song ended, and the five boys were sweat-slicked and breathless, quickly grabbing a can of soda to quench their thirst. Martin left for a moment, arriving soon after to connect an acoustic guitar to the amps.

You audibly gasped when the familiar melody hit your eardrums. “Wonderwall”. 

You moved through the crowd to get a clearer view, spotting Leeseo and Yujin by the first rows, both singing along dramatically the wrong lyrics—you didn’t mean to reveal your love for rock music there, but after securing your spot next to your friends, your body moved first, soon the lyrics easily feel off your lips like you’d been waiting for that exact song all night, far away from your mother.

For the first time, you let yourself loose. They weren’t perfect; the performance itself was pretty raw to the point that the energy could be felt all over the place. Martin looked up mid-chorus, eyes landing on you. You could see how his eyes opened at the view of you enjoying the chaos he was creating. It felt like the noise dimmed, even just for a second, before he went back to singing his heart out.

The night stretched on with more covers, every single one better than the one before. Eventually, the closeness got too much, making you slip through the crowd and push the back door open, stepping outside after grabbing a can of soda. The cool night air hit your face like a relief, although the sound of crickets filling the silence that the muffled music left behind wasn’t exactly your cup of tea.

You exhaled, leaning against the side of the house, closing your eyes for a moment, finally feeling a little sense of peace after what was probably the longest year so far.

“You hiding, Prez?”

You startled, spinning around to see Martin also leaning against the railing, hair damp with sweat, a crooked smile painted across his face. Even outside, he carried the same reckless kind of confidence that made people look twice. 

“Not hiding,” you said flatly. “Just avoiding the noise pollution.”

“Funny that you say that, knowing how much you enjoyed back there.” His smile grew at the sight of you trying to play it cool.

You scoffed lightly, crossing your arms. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just… surprised you didn’t completely butcher the songs.”

“Ouch.” He chuckled, pushing off the railing to stand a little closer. “You’re tough to impress.”

“That’s not new information.” 

For a brief moment, he didn’t say anything — just looked at you. “Didn’t think I’d see you at one of my shows,” he said, quieter this time.

“Me neither. I didn’t think you’d still be here,” you said, the words coming out before you could even stop yourself. “Wasn’t Canada calling your name?”

You stood there waiting for a silly comment like he always does, just to see your irritating face. But there was nothing but silence, and you were smart enough to know you messed up.

He let out a soft laugh, a bitter one. “Yeah, it was.”

Your silence was a cue for him to continue, which even made you question why you suddenly wanted to hear the rest.

“My dad wanted me there, to finish high school there, the same high school he graduated from,” he said. “Said it’s ‘set me for the future.’, but while he was setting me up, he was setting someone else up too. In another country.”

You froze, for the first time, not having an answer to talk back.

“My mom knew,” he added. “She knew the whole time and just… kept living like nothing happened. So I decided to stay with the person I’m less angry at—while making him angry enough that I like music.”

"He wanted you to be something else when you graduated?"

"Electric engineer. Just like him, so I can help with his company." 

You suddenly remember the article that the principal showed one time — Edward Industries’ CEO invests in youth innovation — and the photo of Martin’s father shaking hands with people, smiling like his world was perfect.

“That’s… a lot to live up to and process,” you said quietly.

“Well, you know I’m not great at following instructions.” His lips twitched, but his usual smirk didn’t quite form this time.

You took a sip of the last part of the soda, swallowing it. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I know you hate me enough to not care.”

Your breath caught at the way he said it, like it wasn't a joke, but that stung a part of you. You look at him and, for the first time in your eyes, he doesn’t look untouchable or smug. He looked tired.

“I’m so sorry, Martin,” you said softly.

“Don’t be. I’d rather be here playing and producing music with the boys and annoying you.”

You let out a small laugh. “You’re doing a great job at both.”

“Y/N! Are you here?!” 

You both turned toward the sound of Yujin’s scream echoing faintly from the other side of the yard. Flashlights from someone’s phone swung through the dark as your friends searched for you.

“Your friends are calling you,” Martin said, stating the obvious. You ran a hand through your hair and twisted it into a messy low bun. He watched the motion quietly, cheeks warming before he could stop himself.

You met his gaze again. “Good night, Martin.”

“Night, Prez.” He added, finally smiling a little bit. 

You started to walk away, then paused mid-step to look back over your shoulder.

“I don’t hate you,” you said. “I just hate that the only thing that damages my school profile is your warnings.”

He let out a chuckle, for real this time, his mouth now doing his familiar grin. “Then I guess I’m doing you a favor. Give your résumé some personality.” 

You blinked, completely caught off guard, before a laugh escaped you, making his grin widen.

“Hey! Don’t laugh!” he said, though the lack of bite in the tone betrayed him, too focused on the happiness that you radiated outside the school.

From a distance, Yujin called your name again, his voice half-drowned by the music. You turned to glance at the noise, still smiling as you stepped back.

Martin stayed where he was, hands shoved in his pockets, watching you go, putting his hand on his chest to calm it down a bit at the sudden racing of it.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · Sitting again at your desk felt like hell. The summer break had been a blur, and what you wished to do the most—relaxing, catching up on your TV shows, and simply not thinking too much about high school—was replaced by college prep books and an endless to-do list dictated by your mother. You manage to sneak out with Leeseo and Yujin only once.

Long story short, you were practically glued to your desk. So the return to school felt more like a choker pressing even tighter around your neck.

“You guys won’t believe what I just saw!” Yujin entered the room, slamming the door closed before running to your spot.

“Yujin, tone it down! Drink some.” You gave him your water, practically chugging it down to ease his thirst.

“Thank you, I came here running as fast as I could.” 

“Couldn’t tell." The sarcasm in Leeseo’s voice made him narrow his eyes at her. “Say what you saw.” 

Before he could, the door slid open again, and a collective gasp rippled through the classroom.

Martin.

But it was Martin wearing the school uniform properly. Key word: properly. White shirt tucked in, tie actually knotted, blazer neat. The only nods to his usual style were a thick, silver ring on his index finger and the slight, purposeful messiness of his hair that framed his face.

He dropped his backpack onto his usual seat in the back, then strolled casually toward the front to grab a new syllabus. On the way back, he caught Yujin’s eye.

“Morning, Han, Leeseo, Prez.” he nodded coolly, taking a seat on the empty spot.

“That’s what I saw,” he whispered, wide-eyed.

Far from being discreet, Leeseo was already studying Martin, who was playing dumb and doing random poses. “I hate this. Bring back your ‘I hate the system’ attitude right now. That’s my only entertainment in this school.”

Martin looked up, grinning. “Can’t. I’m going for the rebrand. Gotta keep the audience guessing.”

You kept your eyes fixed on your notebook, pretending to write down something important, and you were hyper-aware of the space he occupied beside you.

Then came the knock on the wood right next to your pencil case. “Do I look good, Prez?”

When you finally risked a glance at him, it was enough to have the class eyes on both of you, especially his bold yet teasing stare. 

“You look like a normal student. Congratulations.”

The bell rang, and everyone began shuffling to their seats. Martin kneeled in front of you and leaned near enough to whisper, “Thank you, princess.” 

Yujin choked with the water again, and Leeseo was just there, wide-eyed and jaw on the floor. You froze, brain stuttering to find something coherent to say after that. It was well known that you hated nicknames like that, but why are you feeling your cheeks warming up so fast? The class started whispering. 

Days passed, but something about him had shifted.

He still sat in the back (mostly because of his height), still wore that lazy smirk when teachers called his name, but between the sarcasm and the half-lidded stares out the window, you caught him writing. Even more, he divided the notebook into two, where he had both school material and lyrics alongside some guitar chords. Once, you even saw the corner of a paper titled “CORTIS - Set Ideas!!” when you were delivering lesson papers.

He wasn’t slacking off anymore. He was trying.

And since he was trying, the warnings of your bad leadership were almost nonexistent. And it was weird, mostly because you didn’t know how to feel about it.

By the second week, the girls' bathroom was starting to fill with rumors.

“Cortis is joining the Battle of the Bands next month! I’m going to support Juhoon.” “Keonho and Seonghyeon are the youngest people to be there.” “If they go and win, they will break Hamlin's streak of three years.”

You overheard it all, pretending not to listen, but it was inevitable, the emotions for everyone there, since it’s their big “gig”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

At home, though, things stop being simple. Your mother had entered one of her “planning phases,” consisting of color-coded schedules of times to study for the college entrance exam, college catalogs spread across your desk.

“Mother, I’m home,” you screamed. You heard the footsteps of your mother coming from the kitchen. She even has more college catalogs in her hands.

“Y/N, I made a decision. You're going to apply for early admission.” You stopped, looking at her in confusion.

“I thought we agreed that I would not do that.”

“You need to focus. You have the grades; now you need the commitment. No distractions,” she reminded you for the fourth time that week. 

"Mother, I have all my study schedules already, and I'm on track for the mock exams. I'm literally planning the school's social calendar while keeping my GPA up. What more commitment do you need that you found the need to make that decision without consulting me?” you said, trying to keep your tone even.

“Don’t raise your voice at me,” she snapped, the papers in her hands hitting the table with a dull thud. “I know what’s best for your future. You don’t. You think organizing dances and trips for your classmates is going to help you get into Seoul National?”

You clenched your fists. “It’s not about that! It’s about the fact that you don’t trust me to handle my own life!”

“You’re seventeen, Y/N. You don’t even know what you’ll want in five years!”

“Because you’ve never given me the chance to figure it out!” you shot back before you could stop yourself, your voice breaking slightly. 

“I’m going to college and not mess it up like you!” Your mother’s palm slapped sharply on your cheek. 

“What’s going on here?!” Your father’s voice came from the hallway. You hadn’t even realized he’d arrived. But you didn’t care.

You pushed past him, tears already blurring your vision as you ran out the door. You could hear him calling your name, but his voice faded behind you, swallowed by the night air.

You didn’t care about your mom.

You didn’t care about the neighbors staring as you rushed down the street, barefoot in house slippers.

You didn’t care about the way your chest tightened with every breath you took.

You just ran.

And when your legs finally gave out, you found yourself in a quiet park. The street lights flickered faintly, the world spinning around you.

Your knees hit the ground first. Then came the sobs. You pressed your palms to the dirt as your body trembled, the sound of your breathing broken and uneven. For once, you couldn’t hold it in.

The pressure, the expectations, the endless need to be perfect, it all cracked open at once. You barely noticed the screams of a familiar tune until a shadow moved a few meters away.

“Y/N! Are you here?!” Martin’s voice didn’t even make you look up at him. The footsteps grew closer until you felt his presence. “God, what’s wrong—”

Your arms wrapped around him, crying even harder. The bag he’d been holding slipped from his hand, hitting the grass with a muffled thud. A few things rolled out, forgotten. 

He froze for half a second before his arms carefully wrapped around you as well.

“Hey… hey,” he murmured, voice low. “You’re okay.”

You shook your head against his chest, your sobs muffled by his hoodie. “No. I’m not. I can’t—I can’t do this anymore.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just held you there as you cried, his hand moving slowly up and down your back. The only sounds were your uneven breaths and the faint rustle of leaves in the night breeze.

When you finally started to calm, he shifted slightly. Your eyes analyzed his face, the worry etched across his face—the kind you didn’t expect from him.

“Did someone hurt you?” he asked quietly.

You swallowed hard, voice breaking slightly, “My mother.”

His jaw tightened, eyes flicking briefly to the faint redness on your cheek. You saw the flash of anger there. “There’s a bench there, go sit there.”

You did what he said, and when he came to sit next to you after picking up the stuff. He pulled a strawberry milk and gave it to you, thanking him.

“I saw you running,” he said. “I was leaving the supermarket, and I just followed. It looked like you were about to disappear.”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t.” His voice softened immediately. “You don’t have to apologize for crashing out.”

You drank up the milk, sighing after.

“I’m just so tired, Martin.”

“I know.” He glanced up at the night sky for a moment. “You don’t have to keep proving you can handle everything. You’re allowed to fall apart sometimes.”

You gave a small laugh. “That’s not really on my schedule.”

“Then it’s time to break it,” he said simply, his tone somewhere between teasing and kind. 

That actually pulled a real laugh from you and a faint smile from Martin. His hand brushed the dirt off his uniform pants before doing the same with your knees. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’ll just sit here.”

You nodded, eyes still wet but calmer. “Thanks for following me, I guess.”

“Anytime,” he said. “Though next time, please don’t make me drop all my groceries.”

You two stayed there for a while; neither of you said anything. You just sat there sharing peace, a feeling none of you felt in a long time, and for different situations.

The night air had cooled a little by the time you both stood up from the bench.

“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the road. “I’ll walk you home before your dad sends a search party.”

You hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. The street was almost empty as you walked side by side, your steps slow and the sound of cicadas blending with the quiet, distant buzz of traffic.

“Again, I’m really sorry,” you said after a couple of steps. “I must have been a burden to you today.”

Martin glanced at you, his expression unreadable in the streetlight glow. “You needed someone to find you. That’s all.”

After a few more quiet steps, you sighed, kicking at a pebble on the pavement. “It’s just not my mother. Everything’s been… too much. The prom planning, the trip, the mock exams—it’s like I can’t breathe without having something due.”

Martin chuckled softly. “Leave it to you to get stressed about fun things.”

“They’re only fun when people actually help,” you said, exasperated. “Even if the committee is completely involved in those two things, the principal is bothering me. I’ve been running back and forth with the school board about budget approvals, and I swear, if one more teacher calls me responsible like it’s a compliment, I’m going to scream.”

“Then scream. I’ll join you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You? You’d probably turn it into a song.”

“Maybe I already did.”

You looked up at him, but he just shrugged. “We’re working on something for the Battle of the Bands,” he said. “Prize money isn't bad. Thinking of donating it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Donating? Since when are you that noble?”

“Since I found out how expensive renting a DJ, using massive decorations, and the food is,” he said, giving you a sideways glance. “Keonho is stressed with that too, and we figured if we win, we’ll put some of the money toward your prom fund.”

You blinked, taken aback. “You’d do that?”

“For the school,” he confirmed, but the grin that followed made it impossible to believe him. “Well… mostly for you.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head in disbelief. “And what exactly do you get out of that deal?”

He took a moment before answering, kicking at the pavement as if he were debating whether to say it. “A date.”

You stopped walking. “A what?”

“A date,” he repeated, meeting your eyes. “With you. Just one.”

You stared at him, heart skipping in that annoying wait it always did around him lately. “You’re joking.”

“Not this time.” His voice had softened, “I’ve kinda liked you for a while, Y/N. Like, since sophomore year, a while”

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The words and the mere sight of how he rubbed the back of his neck with the faintest flush creeping into his cheeks were enough to really blow you away.

“You probably thought I was just being annoying all the time… That was me trying to get your attention without, you know, getting expelled for it.”

You blinked at him. “Two years?”

He nodded, starting to walk again. “Two very long and humbling years.”

You looked away at the back of his figure, hiding the small smile that tugged at your lips. Once you reached him, you focused on looking straight.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied. “Just… let me win first. Then decide.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but I’m a ridiculous guy with a plan,” he said, lightly swinging his hips to move your body. 

You reached your gate a few minutes later. The house lights were still on, the silhouette of your dad faintly visible through the curtains.

When you stopped, so he did, taking a look at your place for the first time. “You gonna be okay?”

You nodded. “I think so.”

He smiled. “Good. Don’t disappear like that again, okay? I can’t keep rescuing the class president from emotional breakdowns.”

You smirked faintly. “And here I thought you liked being the hero.”

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Maybe I just like you.”

You froze at the words. You saw how he shoved his hands into his pockets. 

“See you tomorrow, Prez.”

“Goodnight, Martin.”

He started walking away. You stood there for a moment, heart beating way too fast for someone who’d just survived a meltdown. Your feet started walking fast to where he was.

“Martin!” He stopped instantly, turning on his heel. The look on his face was equal parts concern and confusion, the grocery bag still dangling from one hand. 

You walked up to him, stopping close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin. Your hand reached for his tie, pulling him down gently. 

On your tiptoes, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“I’m really thankful,” you murmured.

Neither of you moved. His eyes widened slightly before that boyish grin spread across his face, causing you to smile back. You stepped back quickly, cheeks burning, and darted toward the gate before he could say anything else.

Once inside, you shut it softly behind you, leaning against the cool metal to steady your racing heartbeat and touching your lips. Curiosity got the better of you, and you peeked through the small hole in the wall that your dad refused to fix.

Martin was still there, frozen in place, and soon enough, he pulled his fist to the sky while walking away, or more like dancing away, down the sidewalk. “Let’s go!” you heard the scream, and you bit your lip, stifling a laugh of your own.

October came fast, mostly because your parents decided on an uncontested divorce and your dad got the apartment downtown. Yujin jumped when he found out it’s five minutes away from his house. The place felt quieter; your mother had thrown herself into work, and you into whatever kept you from thinking too much: school, council duties, and, against all odds, CORTIS.

Somehow, Martin had managed to stop getting detention every other week. He still mouthed off at the teachers sometimes, wore his ring and the smirk, but he wasn’t the same boy who used to skip class just to nap on the rooftop.

It was truly impressive, you saw how he actually took notes during math, how he waited for everyone after band practice instead of just storming off, how he asked the teacher questions about topics, and even delivered small notes on your desk, ones that make you happy, as if it was a normal thing to do.

Leeseo had caught all that and more, dedicating his free time to watching you watching him, whispering, “You’re so done for,” grinning and doing a couple of mimics with Yujin.

But of course, you denied it every time. 

Because no one needs to know that you were actually falling for him.

Still, when the last high school exam ended, everyone started spilling out of the classrooms, screaming “freedom!” the second the bell rang for the end of the day. Everyone stood up joyfully, and from the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Martin coming your way, a bag lazily hanging on his shoulder.

“Everybody listen up!” Yujin shouted, standing on top of a chair and waving his arms dramatically. “Today, it’s the Band of Battles. Let’s all go and support our beautiful high school and CORTIS as a last act of love to this place!” 

The whole class erupted in cheers, the rest of the students clapping at his words like he said something revolutionary.

Yujin’s friend, Gunwook, jumped onto a chair too, holding up his hand to point at Martin. “Martin, as the leader, pick a color so we can dress up.” 

Martin posed theatrically, pretending to think it through before his eyes looked at you. His grin softened as soon as his fingers brushed the small red bow pinned in your hair.

“I like red today.” The whole class went wild, but his eyes simply scanned the redness that the tip of your ears caught. You tried to act unfazed, but the way he smirked at you made your stomach twist. 

His mouth went near your ear, “You can wear whatever you like, you look good in anything.”

By the time the noise died down, so did your heartbeat when he left the classroom, mouthing, “I’ll see you there”. Everyone had plans and was starting to spread the word before heading home to change and go to the event.

You, on the other hand, had to stay behind, for quite a while, actually. 

While your classmates flooded out of the building, already buzzing about the performance, you found yourself sitting across from the principal for more than an hour, finalizing the last details for the senior trip next week. Each little break, you looked up at the clock hanging on top of the wall, sighing in relief when he thanked you for your dedication, which was a nice way to say “you work too much” and finally let you go. You were already late, and you at least wanted to arrive one act before the boys.

The hallways were nearly empty now, sunlight slanting through the windows in soft orange streaks. You smiled faintly when you passed a whiteboard where someone had scrawled “CORTIS = Victory!” alongside other words of encouragement.

Your chest felt a little lighter reading it, even making you pull out your camera to snap a picture so you can show it to the band through Keonho later.

You were halfway down the front steps when you saw a woman standing outside the school gates, elegantly dressed in a cream coat and hair pinned neatly back. Without losing the beat of your quick steps, you continued until you felt a presence near you and soon, a hand on your shoulder that made you jump.

“Excuse me,” she called gently, laughing awkwardly at your reaction. “Are you Y/N?”

You hesitated before nodding, “Yes… Do I know you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Martin’s mom.”

You blinked before bowing down; you didn’t expect his mother to look that elegant yet have such an expression that felt oddly familiar.

“Nice to meet you.”

“I’m the one I should say that, darling. I’ve heard about you,” she said. “Martin speaks of you more than he probably realizes.”

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face. “Thank you so much.”

“He’s changed lately,” she said. “He comes home earlier, studies, and seems steadier. And I know you might have something to do with that positive change.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. “Well, he’s been working hard in high school and for the band. You probably already know how much it means to him.”

Her smile faltered, just a tiny bit, before speaking again. “Yes, well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“About the band?” you frowned, already thinking of what she was about to say.

“Music has always been a phase for him. His father has great plans, engineering, university abroad, to be specific. I was hoping you could talk to him, convince him to take his future seriously again.”

That’s the moment you went speechless. Your mind works ten times faster to choose your words carefully. “With all respect, Mrs. Park. I don't think it's a phase, and I won’t do that. At all.”

“I’m sorry?” she said, confusion flickering on her face.

“I’ve seen him when he’s performing,” you said. “When he’s practicing with the band, when he’s writing lyrics on the back of his notebook, he’s not pretending; he looks alive doing that. It's not just a distraction for him; it’s who he actually is.”

You could see how the first crack in her composure showed, lips parted. “You sound just like him.”

“Maybe that’s because you both underestimate how much he cares about what he does,” you vented. “I get that engineering might have been his father’s and your dream. But music as a whole makes him happy. Whether it’s producing or singing, that’s how he wants to live his life.”

There was a silence for a moment, so you took that moment to inhale briefly and continue.

"Martin listens to music when he’s feeling stressed. He’s not into literature, but he writes such good lyrics that you might even think he’s becoming some kind of poet. And the way he looks when he’s playing? That’s him in his element.”

The woman lowered her head, sighing. “I just don’t want him to throw his future away. Not after everything that’s happened.”

“Maybe this is his future, it just doesn’t look like the one you two pictured.”

 “You’re a very smart girl, Y/N,” she finally said.

“I’m just honest,” you replied, offering a small smile.

“That’s even rarer,” she murmured. “I can see why he—” she stopped herself, simply smiling again, “Thank you for being good to him.”

An idea came to you, the backpack that was on your shoulder ended in the middle of you two, taking away the pamphlet Seonghyeon and James had given to promote, and extended to her. “He’s a good person, Mrs. Park. And just like how you believe in him to achieve the engineering future, believe and trust him with his.”

You bowed slightly when she took the paper, walking away to catch the bus that would take you home. Thankfully, you arrived safely.

You kicked off your shoes at the entrance, calling out, “Dad, I’m home!” before leaning down to kiss his forehead as he read through a newspaper on the couch with his work clothes still on.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said with a smile. “You look busy.”

“Always!” you shouted, darting into your room.

They were still scattered with open notebooks and the faint scent of highlighter ink, stuff you’d temporarily promised yourself to forget tonight.

After the divorce, your dad had insisted on helping you “reclaim the place.” He’d driven you to buy new clothes, helped you hang posters, and even tolerated the sparkly beaded curtain you’d begged to put on your door. For the first time in months, the room looked like yours, not your mother’s version of perfection. 

You took the quickest shower and got dressed in record time, the white camisole layered under a cropped denim jacket, a mini skirt with a rhinestone belt, and your sports shoes. A knock on your door made you look away from the mirror.

“Come in!” you called, picking some blush on your brush to put it onto your cheeks.

Your dad peeked in, smiling softly as he stepped inside. “Are you still getting ready?”

“Almost done, thanks for driving me there,” you replied, setting down the brush.

He chuckled and sat on the edge of your bed, looking around and whistling. “Wow, you’re really made this place your own.”

You smiled at his reflection in the mirror proudly. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“You also seem different lately. Happier.”

“Maybe because exams are over, both of us are in a good place, and I’m finally hanging out with my friends. Which, by the way, I’m grateful for.”

“Well, you deserve them since you’ve always worked hard,” he smiled. You felt that shift when he was done, suddenly suffocating.

He watched you for a moment, a teasing glint in his eyes. “So… what do you want to ask?” you said, already suspicious.

“Now, why do you think that?” he asked, laughing when you raised an eyebrow at him, seeing him leaning forward with a grin on his face. “What’s his name?”

The mascara wand ended halfway to your lashes. “What's whose name?”

“The boy,” he said simply. “And don’t tell me there isn’t one. I’m not blind. You’ve been smiling more, playing music in your room, and I’m pretty sure he’s the same boy who brought you home that night.”

You covered your face, groaning, feeling your cheeks getting warmer with each second. “Dad, please.”

“So I’m right,” he said, amused that his dad instincts didn’t betray him. “What’s his name?”

The small silence was broken when you sighed softly. “Martin.”

Your dad nodded slowly. “Is that the boy who’s in that band you mentioned, right?”

“Yeah,” you said, trying your best to sound casual. “He’s their leader, and he has been studying with me since middle school. Kind of stubborn. Really annoying sometimes.”

“Huh—” you could tell by how he was clearly unconvinced. “And what makes him so annoying?”

You opened your mouth—ready to list something—but nothing came. Instead, what slipped out was, “He doesn’t quit. Even when everyone expects him to.”

Your dad hummed softly. 

“And when he talks about music,” you went on, your mind planting words in a second, “he gets this look… like the rest of the world just disappears, he’s in his own happy place.”

You paused, but somehow the words kept coming. “He’s also funny,” you admitted, taking your hairclips to fix your hair with a smile tugging at your lips. “Not the kind that tries hard, it’s like, half of the time he says something and you can’t even tell if it’s a joke or he’s being serious. It makes you laugh anyway.”

You stood up to pick some rings to match the outfit, continuing to speak. “He’s kind, pretends he doesn’t care, but he remembers things. He smiles with his whole face, and when there’s something  he likes, he won’t stop until he gets it.”

“I thought you were saying something about him being annoying, right?”

Heat crept up your neck immediately. “I—That’s not—I didn’t mean—”

“Darling. It’s okay, I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Oh my God, please stop talking.” You took your essentials quickly and ran to the front door, waiting in the car immediately. 

The drive was calm, the windows cracked open, making the October air carry faint echoes of music from blocks away. The sunset was painting the sky in streaks of pink and gold.

He glanced at you as they stopped at a red light. “Sounds like you really care about him. And so does he.”

“I guess I do,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.

“I would love to meet him properly sometime,” you were about to protest, but he shushed you quickly. “No ‘buts’”

“Fine.” You both arrived at the youth center quite fast. The road was already lined with parked cars, students who didn’t receive a ticket and decided to enjoy from outside, a handful of paparazzi, and a lot of security.

You heard your dad’s whistle under his breath. “Looks like the whole district showed up.”

“It really does.” You clutched your bag a little tighter.

He slowed the car near the entrance, smiling as he glanced at you. “Are you nervous?”

You shook your head quickly. “Maybe a little.”

“You’ll do fine.”

“I’m not performing,” you laughed a little, confused.

He grinned, a hand on top of your shoulder. “Didn’t say you were. But I have a feeling something might happen.”

You rolled your eyes, unbuckled your seatbelt, and checked one last time that you didn’t forget the vip ticket Martin left on your locker.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, kissing his cheek.

“Anytime, sweetheart. Tell me if you’re going somewhere else, and tell Martin I said good luck!”

“Dad!” You heard his laugh as you walked away, turning around to wave him off before stepping into the noise of the crowd after safely passing security, although you almost fell after a few of them tried to fight security.

The venue wasn’t really one, more like a repurposed parking lot with a stage at one end and strings of lights hanging overhead. Students from different schools packed the space, every single one was excited, waving balloons from side to side or a flashlight.

“Y/N!” Leeseo appeared right in front of you, hugging you, and Yujin arrived a little later. “You just missed like two acts, Hanlim was even better than last year!”

“How did your meeting go?” Yujin asked, and a smile was more than enough for them.

“The trip is completely done, there are no problems.”

“Finally!” Yujin grinned. “We deserve that trip; this year has been trash.”

“Not for Y/N, she finally has a crush,” she sang, Yujin and Leeseo start poking your sides. “You know Martin’s going to show off.”

You rolled your eyes. “He always does.”

But your pulse quickened anyway when the stage lights flickered to red and you saw the MC going to the center of the stage, gaining a scream from the crowd.

“What a performance from Hanlim!” she said. A roar of cheers from a group of students startled you. “Let’s keep this energy up for the next group, from SOPA… give it up for CORTIS!”

The boys walked to the stage, the excitement and screams from the place feeding them. James settled behind the drums, spinning a stick in one hand. Juhoon adjusted his guitar strap, Seonghyeon’s fingers danced over the keys to test it, and Keonho flashed his familiar grin from behind his bass.

Then Martin walked out.

Graphic tee with layered chains, jeans slouching low, sneakers unlaced. Stage lights caught on his chain as he leaned into the mic. “What’s up, Seoul!” 

Cheers erupted again, a few girls screaming his name and the other guys. “Tonight, it’s a special night because we’re performing our self-produced song for the world to hear!”

Leeseo elbowed when you immediately started clapping and cheering.

“Enjoy yourself, love. You deserve this!” Martin started playing some guitar chords.

“Crash, smash, rock, mash up Ooh, take what you want 돈, 멋, 명예, love, and what? Ooh, take what you want.”

You remember hearing them practice bits of it during free periods when you walked by to give them some snacks and reminding Keonho about little details to fix for the trip.

Hearing it live was very different from it; all of the instruments crashed together in perfect sync, and you finally listened to all five singing together, which was uncommon for bands. Everyone was shouting along, even if they didn’t know the words. In a moment, Martin’s eyes found you. For that split second, you could feel your heart trying to escape from your ribs. 

“Some people want this, some people want that Same here, all seventeen years of my life.”

Martin started walking around to interact with people, standing in front of you three.

“Chased after love, chased after fame. So now I want the whole world to know my name.”

He winked at you, feeling it like a spark as heat rushed to your cheeks. Yujin started laughing at your face, and Keonho smiled teasingly at you.

A couple of minutes later, the song ended with a burst of applause, Martin running a hand through his hair before grabbing the mic again.

“Alright,” he said, breathless but grinning. “We’ve got one more for you.” 

He paused the moment his gaze found you immediately. 

You smiled faintly, catching the flicker of nerves in his eyes, and mouthed, “Breathe.”

He huffed out a laugh, the corner of his mouth lifting before turning his head to the band. Juhoon leaned into his mic.

“Go for it, dude.” The five boys laughed, Martin turning back to his mic.

“This,” he started, “is one of the many songs I wrote for this girl.” His eyes never left yours. “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t think I’d have written any of them. 

You looked at Leeseo and Yujin on your side; they were smiling already. They knew this would happen.

He stepped back slightly, adjusting the guitar strap on his shoulder, and nodded toward the rest of the band. “It’s called ‘Iris.’”

"And I'd give up forever to touch you 'Cause I know that you feel me somehow You're the closest to Heaven that I'll ever be And I don't wanna go home right now."

The lyrics drifted through the air, and though he was looking out toward the audience, every few lines his gaze found its way back to you, long enough that it was impossible to look away.

He wasn’t performing anymore. He was confessing to you for a second time.

You felt your throat tighten, fingers twisting around the hem of your jacket, your heart beating full speed, and making you clear of one thing. You were completely in love with that person whom you thought you hated.

"And I don't want the world to see me 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand When everything's made to be broken I just want you to know who I am."

The crowd swayed with the melody, arms raised, voices echoing when they learn a little piece of the song. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until he smiled at you mid-line. The final chorus exploded, lights flashing, the crowd roaring. Martin’s voice cracked slightly on the last note—and somehow, it made it perfect. You screamed at the very end, chanting with your friends, “CORTIS!”.

The five joined Martin, bowing down in gratitude with big smiles on their faces. Juhoon was teary-eyed, and you could tell that it moved the rest of the members as they walked out. The MC came back, impressed.

“Wow! Cortis really wants the money. We will have a five-minute break so the judges can decide.”  

Leeseo grabbed your arm, eyes wide. “Y/N… I think you just got serenaded.”

“Go see him.” Yujin pointed at the small hallway you could go to. You looked at him, panicking.

“Like now?”

“Yes!” Both of them pushed you there, moving for a couple of minutes before you reach it. You waited for the security to get distracted to enter there, closing it as fast as you opened it.

At a distance, you saw Martin laughing while watching James and Keonho jumping in happiness, James even half-yelling something about “not missing the last chord for once.”

You slipped past the curtain, unsure whether to find him or run before someone teased you for looking like you belonged there.

“Noona!”

Too late. You turned just in time to see Seonghyeon spot you instantly. 

His shout was loud enough to catch the attention of all five.

“Prez!” Keonho was the first to move, practically launching himself into your arms before you could even react. “What do you think, Prez?”

You laughed, stumbling back half a step under his weight. “I think you’re all still dangerously hyper.”

“We totally killed it, what do you mean?” Juhoon cut in proudly, slinging an arm over Keonho’s shoulders. James raised his drumsticks triumphantly in agreement, and Seonghyeon grinned from behind the keyboard setup, already pretending to wipe sweat off his brow dramatically.

You shook your head fondly, brushing hair from your face. “You guys were amazing. Really.”

He was standing a few feet away, hair damp with sweat, guitar strap still hanging loose at his side. The grin he wore was boyish, tired, and radiant all at once.

“Occupational hazard,” he said with a shrug, stepping closer. “So? How’d we do?”

“You’re asking the school council president for a review?” you teased.

“I trust your judgment,” he said simply. 

“More like his crush judgment,” Seonghyeon spoke, hissing later after Juhoon pinched him.

“Can you leave us alone for a sec?” Martin looked at James.

“You all heard him! Step back, ladies,” you laughed at the funny view of them trying to listen.

The grin softened before becoming quiet again. “So?”

You exhaled, letting yourself smile despite yourself. “You were amazing, Martin. Really.”

He froze for a heartbeat, eyes lighting up. “You mean that?”

You nodded. “Every word.”

He ran a hand through his hair, pretending to play it cool, but the faint flush at the tips of his ears betrayed him. “Guess that means I can cash in on my deal.”

You frowned. “Deal?”

“The one where if we win, you owe me a date.”

You scoffed, trying not to grin. “You haven’t even won yet.”

He leaned in a little, lowering his voice. “We both know we’re not walking out of here without that trophy and cash.”

You were about to fire back something smart when the loudspeaker crackled to life outside.

“All bands, please gather near the stage! Results will be announced!”

He looked at you and smirked. “Come on, front row like before, Prez.”

The crowd was electric again when you came back, students pressing closer to the makeshift stage, voices rising in chaotic chants. Hanlim High’s band stood on one side, exhausted but smiling; CORTIS stood on the other. You could sense the adrenaline pulsing through their little group.

You stood with Leeseo and Yujin near the barricade, your heart weirdly hammering even though you weren’t the one competing. You three held hands.

“And the winners of this year’s Battle of the Bands…” the announcer said, drawing it out. The entire lot went silent for a breath.

“…CORTIS!”

The explosion of sound was immediate.

Students screamed, threw confetti, jumped, and cheered so loud you could barely hear the band’s name being repeated over the speakers. Keonho dropped to his knees, James banged a drum in celebration, and Juhoon lifted his guitar triumphantly in the air.

Martin just stood there for a second, blinking in disbelief as he grabbed the big cardboard check before looking toward you through the chaos.

You clapped your hands over your mouth, laughing, and he broke into the brightest smile you’d ever seen. Then, like it was instinct, he pointed right at you before turning to grab the mic.

“This one’s for SOPA High, and for the people who never stopped believing in us!” he shouted. “Especially one of them.”

Leeseo smirked beside you. “If you don’t date him soon, I will.”

You didn’t get a chance to reply because Martin had already jumped off the stage into the crowd, swallowed by a sea of cheering hands and students trying to high-five him. You decided not to bother the moment by moving near a corner to breathe properly with Leeseo next to you, who was almost suffocating.

Later, when the crowd started thinning, people made plans to celebrate at a nearby karaoke place. Banners were torn down, the lights dimmed, and laughter filled the streets as everyone drifted away in groups.

You were helping Yujin pick up some discarded signs when you noticed Martin slipping away from the commotion, walking towards you with a smile. Before he could reach you, he paused, looking right behind you.

Following his gaze, you saw her.

His mom.

Standing near both of you, clutching her bag, and if your vision wasn’t playing, you could see her eyes wet from what she’d just watched.

Martin froze when he saw her. For a second, he looked like a little boy again, before taking a slow step forward to be next to you.

“Mom,” he said quietly.

She smiled faintly, her voice soft. “You were incredible.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “You… came?”

“I had some help,” she said, glancing to your side, and your heart skipped when you realized she meant you.

Martin turned slightly. You gave a small bow before stepping back.

“I will give you two some space,” you bowed again before walking to where Leeseo and Juhoon were standing. 

When he looked back at his mom, her eyes were already glistening.

“I see what she meant,” she said.

He frowned slightly. “What did who mean?”

“Y/N,” she said. “She told me that music isn’t your rebellion, it’s more like your peace.” Her voice trembled slightly, but her smile didn’t waver. “She was right. You looked… happy. Really happy.”

Martin swallowed hard. “Mom…”

“I’ve been thinking about something for months,” she continued, clutching her purse tighter. “And after tonight, I think I've finally made up my mind.” She paused, steadying her breath. “I’m going to file for divorce.”

His eyes widened in surprise, a sudden feeling of relief occupying his whole body. “You’re serious?”

She nodded. “I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine. And I think you, your father, and I both deserve honesty, even if it hurts.”

Martin’s throat tightened. “I’m proud of you, Mom.”

Her smile wavered, tears finally spilling over. “No, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”

He didn’t hesitate, just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. This was the first time in a while he gave and felt a hug that was that tight and overdue. 

After a while, she pulled back and brushed his hair from his forehead, her voice quiet. “You’ve grown up so much. And that girl… she’s good for you.”

Martin blinked, glancing instinctively toward where you stood, half-hidden behind the fence. You were talking to Leeseo, occasionally looking at him with your smile.

“She’s a great girl,” his mom added softly. “Don’t let her slip away.”

He smiled, that same shy, crooked smile that only ever showed up when it came to you. “I won’t.”

“Cortis and friends!” she screamed, not even willing to bat their eyelids. “Grab your stuff and get in the car, food is on me.”

As his mom turned to leave for the car, he looked back toward you again. You were laughing now as you watched James running at the word food, the streetlights glinting off your red bow as you tucked your hair behind your ear.

And for the first time in a long while, Martin didn’t feel like the boy running away from everything. He felt like someone finally heading toward something worth staying for.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The school courtyard was anything but calm. Countless rolling suitcases, half-zipped duffel bags, and sleepy students chugging canned coffee like their lives depended on it to keep awake for at least of the way there.

After a weekend of endless messages about CORTIS’ victory on Cyworld and your classmates posting grainy flip-phone photos of Martin grinning with the trophy, it felt surreal that it was finally trip day. The band made sure they cashed the prize and gave you a big amount for the prom if they got to perform again, which you obviously agreed to.

You adjusted your backpack and sighed as Leeseo ran up to you, waving a folded permission slip.

“Can you believe they’re trusting us with three whole nights away from supervision?” she grinned.

“Please,” you said, smiling faintly. “You know half the teachers are going to patrol the halls like spies.”

Yujin jogged up behind her, yawning. “I’m only here for the free breakfast buffet.”

“You’re here because you begged to be in my room,” Leeseo shot back.

“Prez!”

You turned instinctively, only for Keonho to appear out of nowhere, blocking your view with a grin too wide to be innocent. Last time he gave you that type of smile, you were in the director's office.

“Morning!” he said brightly, holding a carton of banana milk. “You want one?”

You frowned, eyeing him. “You hate banana milk.”

“Do I?” He glanced down, pretending to think. “Maybe I’ve changed.”

Before you could answer, Juhoon popped up behind him. “Y/N! Quick question: if a band wins something again, should the prize money go into savings or celebration snacks?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Snacks,” James said immediately, dragging his suitcase past.

“Definitely savings,” Seonghyeon countered.

“Hold on, I didn’t even—”

“Exactly!” Keonho interrupted, looping an arm through yours. “We are the only ones who can settle it. Come on, let’s walk and talk, far away from the buses.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What are you guys up to?”

“Nothing,” they chorused, which was, of course, the most suspicious answer possible.

By the time you reached the front of the boarding area, the CORTIS boys had somehow managed to keep you talking about everything from “the ethics of snack budgeting” to “who snores the loudest during overnight trips” (it was apparently James).

Every time you tried to glance toward the loading buses, one of them moved strategically into your line of sight.

“Okay,” you said finally, crossing your arms. “What’s going on? And don’t say ‘nothing’ again.”

Before you could press further, the teachers started calling everyone to board.

“Saved by the bell,” Seonghyeon muttered, pushing his suitcase forward.

You squinted suspiciously at all four of them. “You’re all terrible liars.”

Keonho only winked. “We learned from the best.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling as you followed them onto the bus.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The trip flew by in a blur of beach air, sightseeing, and several promposals that only happened when a hundred high school seniors were given freedom for three days straight and allowed their use of free will. You even helped out with Yujin’s promposal to Leeseo, to which she accepted happily.

You found yourself laughing more than you had in months, mostly because the CORTIS boys had taken it upon themselves to make every activity as dramatic as possible.

At lunch, James accidentally tripped and dropped an entire tray of kimbap, dramatically claiming it was “artistic sacrifice.” Juhoon tried to serenade a teacher with a guitar for bonus points on attendance. And the best for last was probably Keonho and Seonghyeon attempting to sneak extra dessert for everyone, only to get caught by the cafeteria lady, who then gave them more because she found them “charming.”

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somehow, their energy became the highlight of the trip.

Every so often, though, you caught Martin watching you from across the group, who you were impressed by how distracted he looked all this trip, exchanging some words with you now and then.

On the last night, during the “recreation period,” the teachers announced everyone could stay in the courtyard area to watch the sunset and enjoy the small outdoor stage. 

You and Leeseo were sitting near the front, sharing a pack of chips on a break after a small duet given by Wonbin and Liz.

“Yujin, what are you moving your head like a meerkat? You’re stressing me out.” Leeseo’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Okay, don’t freak out, but I think something is happening.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, already getting stressed out. You might have changed a little bit, but you were still a little perfectionist.

Music started playing from the speakers, and your mind instantly recognized the familiar brass riff it had.

“You’re just too good to be true…”

Your jaw dropped at the voice of Martin. “Leeseo, is this real?.”

“Oh, yes,” Leeseo whispered, eyes sparkling. You didn’t notice how she was holding a recording camera, pointing it at you.

Martin opened the curtain that worked as a background on the stage, his gaze fully on you. Martin jumped off the stage, mic in hand, grinning as he began to sing the classic with over-the-top theatrics.

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

He pointed at you on the last word, and everyone screamed.

You covered your face, but it was useless. Martin was committed. He climbed onto one of the benches, sang to the teachers (who pretended not to laugh), and even slid down on one knee in front of a startled Yujin, who dramatically clutched his heart.

The entire class was upside down as the music built. He ran up the small aisle and stopped right in front of you.

You were laughing so hard you could barely breathe. “Martin—”

He was interrupted by singing directly to you, his grin wider than ever.

“I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright…”

You buried your face in your hands, but he gently pulled them away, still singing. The crowd clapped along to the beat, the boys behind him quickly moving. Martin spun around, giving a cue to Juhoon to give him a flower bouquet to go again in front of you, kneeling on one knee.

When the song finally ended, Martin was breathless, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead, but his eyes never left yours.

Behind him, James and Seonghyeon were holding a banner, the phrase: “I may not be Shakespeare, but I promise prom with me will be a sonnet.”

The entire courtyard went silent. 

He held the mic higher, the faint tremor in his hand betraying the adrenaline rushing through him. Despite the wide grin on his face, you could see his chest rising and falling a little too fast.

“So…” he said, catching his breath. “I think it’s pretty obvious what my feelings about you are.” 

“You drive me insane, make me want to be better, even when I swear I don’t care about anything.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “But I do. I care too much, especially when it comes to you.”

A few students in the front row let out small gasps, someone whispering, “Oh my god, he’s serious.”

Martin looked down for a second, the mic brushing against his lip as if he needed that pause to steady himself. When he lifted his head again, there was no smirk this time.e

“Maybe you don’t see it yet despite me saying I had this crush on you that night,” he said, voice softer now, “but when I look at you, it’s like the noise stops. And that’s saying something, coming from me.” The crowd laughed gently, and even you couldn’t help the small smile that broke through your shock.

Then he tilted his head, eyes glinting. “So yeah,” he said, tone dipping back into that familiar warmth, “I had to do this your way because words weren’t cutting it anymore.”

The crowd burst into cheers again, clapping and whistling, chanting your name and his. You were still processing the words, your heart thudding painfully fast, when he looked straight at you again, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

“So, Y/N,” he said, almost shyly this time, pointing at the banner behind him that was shaken by the boys, “will you go to prom with me?”

The crowd collectively held its breath.

You blinked, stunned, then let out a shaky laugh. “You could’ve just asked, you know.”

He grinned, his breath still uneven, voice hoarse from the singing and the nerves.

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

You looked at him, the boy who’d spent half a year driving you crazy and the other half trying to make you smile. Your hand brushed against his as you took the bouquet. “Martin,” you said softly, eyes meeting his, “yes. Of course I’ll go with you.”

The courtyard erupted—cheers, applause, a few whistles from the back. Juhoon and James started playing the outro riff again, and Keonho let out a triumphant, “She said yes!” into the backup mic.

Martin blinked at you like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Wait—really?”

You laughed, warmth blooming in your chest. “Really.”

For a moment, he just stared, then he exhaled, his smile breaking into something so bright it made your stomach twist. “I’m—uh—wow. Okay.”

The boys were already pushing him forward, shouting for him to say something cool, but he just chuckled helplessly, scratching the back of his head. 

“Hug each other, idiots!” Yujin screamed, and before you could react, Martin’s arms wrapped around you, lifting you clean off the ground.

Your surprised laugh got lost in the roar of the crowd. He spun you once, just enough for your shoes to leave the pavement, and when he set you down, your heart was racing far faster than it should’ve

As the music picked up again, his hand reached out instinctively, brushing a loose strand of hair from your cheek. He looked like he wanted to say more—so much more—but instead, he whispered, “See you at night, Y/N.”

Your frowned. “Wait, what?”

Before you could demand an explanation, Leeseo grabbed your wrist. “No time for questions—let’s go.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, stumbling after her.

She only grinned. “Operation ‘Date Night,’ obviously.”

“Excuse me, what?”

Yujin was waiting near the dorms, arms crossed like an overexcited manager. “Martin’s orders. You’re not allowed to show up in a school jacket in a romantic setting. Leeseo, you know what to do.”

“On it,” she said, pulling you inside.

Ten minutes later, your room looked like a battlefield of denim, perfume, and lip gloss.

Leeseo had raided your bag, holding up two outfits with the seriousness of a stylist dressing an idol.

“Okay, option one: the floral skirt and cardigan combo. It’s cute, safe, and very student council president. Option two…” She tossed a bundle at you. “Something that’ll make him forget his own lyrics.”

You gave her a look. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re welcome.”

Leeseo was taking her sweet time; everything she was doing was slow and steady, keeping you busy with prom details and suggesting matching colors and opinions for her and Yujin for the event. Which also made you think if Martin is into matching colors.

When you finally looked in the mirror, the second Leeseo screamed in joy, you barely recognized yourself. The simple denim skirt paired with a white tank layered under a cropped cardigan, your hair loose and soft around your shoulders. A thin silver necklace rested at your collarbone.

“Thank you, Leeseo.” You hugged her tightly.

“Anything to see you leaving this school with your first boyfriend and have your first kiss.” You laughed at her tease, face turning red. You left the dorm to start walking to the place, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, and you were sure that it was leaving behind streaks of rose and violet across the water.

When you reached the beach, fairy lights were strung between two wooden poles, flickering softly. A small speaker played a slow guitar riff, so it was clear he was there.

And there, sitting cross-legged on a picnic blanket with a basket on his side, was Martin.

He wasn’t dressed like the usual; he decided to wear a plain white tee layered under an open gray button-up, dark jeans cuffed at the ankles, and a simple silver chain that glinted every time he moved. His sneakers were scuffed, but clean, and his hair still messy from earlier, like he hadn’t bothered to fix it because he knew you’d recognize him anyway.

He looked up as soon as he heard your footsteps, that same lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” you said, trying not to sound as breathless as you suddenly felt. “So this was your mysterious ‘see you tonight’ plan?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. “Yeah. The guys helped. Keonho almost set the lights on fire, but we made it work.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you sat beside him. “This is… nice.”

“Yeah?” he asked, trying not to look too eager.

“Yeah,” you said softly, your gaze drifting toward the waves. “Really nice.”

He exhaled, shoulders dropping. “Good. I was worried it’d feel too much.”

“Not at all, Tin,” he laughed at the nickname.

For a while, you talked about everything and nothing while eating. The songs they were writing, the stress of exams finally being over, minus the one for college, and how Leeseo had forced you to change outfits under threat of “fashion failure.”

Martin was quieter than usual. His usual sarcasm softened into warmth, his eyes flickering between you and the sea from time to time.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” you said at one point, voice gentle.

He shook his head. “I wanted to. I just… wanted you to have a night that wasn’t about expectations or responsibilities. Just… you.”

That made you look up, startled, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

The wind tugged at your hair, and he reached forward instinctively like before, brushing it back behind your ear. His hand lingered, thumb grazing your jaw as his breath caught.

“Martin…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He didn’t move closer, but he didn’t move away either. His eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if he were fighting himself.

“I shouldn’t,” he murmured, half to himself. “Not unless you—”

Your heart stuttered. “Unless I what?”

He smiled faintly. “Unless you’d actually let me.”

You opened your mouth, but before you could speak, a loud crash echoed from behind the dunes.

“REALLY YUJIN?!”  Keonho’s voice.

You both jumped apart, laughing in disbelief.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, covering your face. “They were spying?”

Martin ran a hand through his hair, chuckling. “I told them to stay in their rooms.”

Another yell followed. “Did they kiss yet?”

You looked at each other, bursting out laughing, really laughing, until your stomach hurt and the tension melted. Martin leaned back on his hands, still smiling. “Guess they saved us from doing something we’d probably overthink later.”

You nudged his shoulder. “Probably.”

He turned to you again, that same soft look from the concert flickering across his face. “Still,” he said quietly, “you make overthinking kind of worth it.”

Your breath caught, but you just smiled. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he teased.

“Yeah,” you said, glancing at him through your lashes. “Here I am.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Martin and you got closer than ever, and even though it wasn’t official yet, not even your father could deny the chemistry between you two. You spent afternoons studying together, stealing glances over textbooks, and laughing about how far you’d come. The bond grew quietly, in the little things: late-night calls, going out with all of them, and the way he always walked you home after those little evenings, even when it meant taking the long route.

By the time November came around, the entrance exam was long over. The pressure had finally lifted, replaced by a sense of pride and relief. To your fortune, you’d gotten the scholarship for the career you’d always dreamed of, and everyone couldn’t be prouder. 

Graduation day was full of bittersweet smiles. You got your physical pictures, one of you and Martin, standing close with your caps tilted while he carried you, another with your best friends, not leaving behind Keonho and Seonghyeon, who came to see you all six of you graduate. All of you are holding onto that perfect moment before life pulls you in different directions. 

“Can you please stop looking at the picture with your boyfriend and help me with my hair like you promised?” You turned your head to see Leeseo struggling to remove the hair rollers. 

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Yet,” she moved her eyebrows up and down, happily seeing the look on your face.

Leeseo had barged into your room hours earlier, armed with curling irons, body glitter, and enough lip gloss to coat a car. Your bedroom floor was a battlefield of shoe boxes, safety pins, and half-zipped purses.

“Thank you, now turn so I can help you,” she ordered, tugging at the straps of your satin dress. It was simple but elegant. Soft champagne color, an a-line skirt, and a ribbon that tied at the back. Your silver necklace gleamed faintly at your collarbone, the same one you’d worn at the beach.

“Leeseo, I think my ribs can’t breathe,” you muttered.

“That’s how you know it fits,” she said, completely unfazed. “Now smile. You’re about to make a boy combust.”

“Stop,” you groaned, cheeks already heating.

By the time you finished curling your hair, the doorbell rang, making you both freeze in place.

“They’re here,” she whispered dramatically.

Leeseo grabbed her clutch, smoothing her pastel blue dress. “You ready?”

You exhaled slowly, heart fluttering. “As I’ll ever be.”

When you opened your bedroom door, your father was already downstairs, peeking through the hallway mirror before unlocking it.

The door swung open to reveal Yujin and Martin. Yujin wore a pale gray suit that was clearly too tight around his shoulders, and Martin… Martin was in a black suit jacket over a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled casually to his elbows, and his signature silver chain glinting faintly at his collarbone. His hair was swept back loosely, enough to look polished without losing that “Martin” edge.

You heard your dad talking. “Ah, so these are the young men I’ve been hearing about.”

“Sir,” Yujin said quickly, bowing with his usual charm. “We promise to bring your daughter back before midnight.”

Your dad raised an eyebrow. “You'd better. I know where the school is.”

Martin laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I will tell my mom that, sir.”

Then you appeared at the top of the stairs, and for a second—just a second—Martin forgot how to breathe.

He’d seen you in a thousand different ways: annoyed, serious, focused, laughing. But this was new, and it surely made his pulse stutter.

You hesitated halfway down the stairs. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said quietly, eyes following you until you reached the last step.

Leeseo descended right behind you, looking stunning in her powder-blue dress, immediately elbowing you when she caught Martin staring.

“Alright, everyone,” your dad said, breaking the silence with a teasing smile, “before you leave, I need a photo. This is a once-in-a-lifetime occasion, you don’t see this in Seoul.”

“Dad—” you began, but he was already grabbing the camera from the counter.

“Line up,” he ordered.

Yujin and Leeseo posed first, grinning widely. Then he waved at you and Martin. “Your turn.”

You exchanged a helpless look with Martin before stepping closer. His hand brushed yours until your dad adjusted the frame.

“Closer,” he said. “You two look like you’re taking an ID photo.”

Martin chuckled softly, sliding an arm around your waist. His hand rested lightly against your back, and you swore your heartbeat could be heard across the room.

Your dad smiled behind the camera. “There we go. Perfect.” Click.

The flash went off, and you both blinked, still standing close, when he lowered the camera.

“Beautiful,” your father said warmly. “Now go, before you make me cry.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “We’ll see you later, Dad.”

“Have fun, sweetheart,” he said, then glanced at Martin with mock seriousness. “Be safe.”

“Yes, sir,” Martin said, smiling.

“You clean up well,” you said, forcing a casual smile.

“You too. Didn’t know the Prez had a gown in her closet.”

“Didn’t know you owned a shirt with buttons.”

“Touché.”

Yujin cleared his throat loudly. “Okay, that’s enough flirting for the driveway. Mrs. Park’s waiting!”

You turned to see Martin’s mom, sitting in the front seat of her car, waving with a proud smile. “Come on, kids!”

She looked radiant, freer than she had the last time you’d seen her. When you climbed in beside Leeseo, she glanced back at you through the mirror. “You both look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you said, touched.

The car rolled up to the school gym, saying goodbye to his mom before going inside with your arm wrapped around Martin’s. The windows were glowing gold from the string lights inside that were giving out the theme “Golden Memories.” You could already hear the song mix the DJ was creating on the spot.

“I can believe the committee pulled this off,” You smiled proudly, thankful for the art club's offering to help out with the decorations art club did. 

“Not bad for a bunch of overworked seniors.”

“You guys are late!”

James started to have his arms, Keonho, Seonghyeon, and Juhoon at his sides, waving calmly near the entrance. You find it funny how James’s tie was crooked, Juhoon was trying to help him fix it, and the other two were holding a notebook that you recognized as Martin’s. 

“Nice of you to dress up, boys,” Martin called, grinning.

“Dress up?” Seonghyeon huffed, “It’s not even my graduation, and I look better than the three of you.”

“You girls look great.” Keonho smiled, walking up to hug you first before going to Martin’s.

“Our leader is all grown up. Wearing a tie, bringing a date… next thing you know, he’ll start paying taxes.”

“Don’t curse me like that,” Martin laughed it off.

You looked at Yujin and Leeseo. Despite laughing it off and teasing like usual, it was no news that it was their last big night as CORTIS before graduation. And although they were really committed to the band and set a goal to go a long way, it was their last performance in high school before life pulled them in different directions.

Seonghyeon must’ve felt it too, because when he clapped Martin’s shoulder, his voice wavered slightly. “Let’s have fun today.”

“Oh, we will have fun.” A song started playing, and Leeseo dropped Yujin’s arm.

“Come on, we’re not wasting a good song!” She immediately dragged you to the dance floor, feeling Martin’s gaze behind you.

Leeseo’s infectious energy made you join after a moment of hesitation; even the boys joined in after a few songs. Everyone lost count of how many songs they danced and went inside the circle, and by the time the slow songs rolled in, everyone started to pull their partners.

You were about to sit down, but you caught Martin’s eye once. He smiled at you while excusing himself to cross the floor toward you. The lights dimmed, and your teacher took the stage with a mic in hand.

“Okay, everyone. We are going to do this quickly. Let’s announce your prom king and queen. I need the president of the student council to come to hand the crowns.”

You left Martin to pick up the cushion that had both crowns and stay at the end of the stage.

“To remind all of you, the voting was done by taking paper and writing the name of the person you thought was suitable for the title. Let’s start by naming the king.” 

He flipped the card, sighing at the result. He paused for effect. “Martin Edwards.”

Your jaw dropped, watching your friends go wild, shoving him forward as he was in disbelief. He walked to the stage, standing in front of you. You took the crown to neatly put it on top of his head.

“Congratulations, Tin,” he smiled, walking away to stand behind the teacher.

“Now, to our prom queen…” he repeated the pause from before. “It’s my honor to say this. Y/N!”

You blinked, the spotlight turning toward you and your shocked face. Martin went to you quickly, taking your crown and putting it on top of your head. He threw the cushion away to take your hand, interwining your fingers.

“Was this planned?” you said, laughing, slightly red from embarrassment.

“I don’t know. But I guess that makes you my queen tonight, huh?” he teased.

“Don’t push your luck,” you smiled.

“Now, the king and the queen will slow dance. Students, the floor is yours.” The crowd began to sway, and Martin offered his hand, his usual cockiness melting.

“May I have this dance, Your Majesty?”

You tried not to laugh as you placed your hand in his. “Fine. But don’t step on my dress.”

“I’ll try my best,” he said, grinning.

As you both stood in the middle, his hands sat at your waist politely. Thanks to the heels, you could reach enough to wrap your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the back of his hair.

“Can’t believe I came with the queen of prom.”

“Say the king himself, I think we are both lucky,” he smiled. Neither of you spoke for a moment; the song made you replay some memories you had with your friends, and soon enough, with Martin.

“You know,” he murmured finally. “I never really liked dances, even more the ones where my mom used to force me to go for her work.”

You looked up, amused. “Why’s that?”

“Because I never had anyone worth dancing with.” Since you didn’t know what to say, you let yourself sway with him. Your head rested lightly against his chest.

You didn’t even realize that your friends and more couples joined in. You noticed when the music started to fade away. Martin cursed under his breath, looking at you.

“Is it time for your performance?”  

“Yeah, I’ll be back. I promise,” he took your hands from his neck, kissing the top of them before going to the stage. You looked to your left, seeing Yujin and Leeseo smiling at you.

“What are you thinking?” you sighed, lovestruck.

“On how I will confess to him after this.” Both of them stopped their moves, the tap of the mic being tested rebounding on the gymnasium. 

“We still have a little more than half an hour to end this night. And before we wrap up, let’s welcome CORTIS to the stage.”

The applause was quick to come, them moving on the stage, exchanging nods between them. Martin stepped forward while everyone got their instruments ready.

“Hey, everyone,” he said. “We didn’t plan to play tonight, but this is our last time together before we graduate. So… this is for all of you. For the friend who stuck around, the teacher who, although I knew I wasn’t particularly his favorite student,” the place laughed softly. “They still listened and advised us with warm hearts.”

He paused for a minute, looking at the boys whose eyes were probably as glossy as his. “This is not the end, but a little break before we go all in. Keonho. Seonghyeon, hope we can play at your graduation, and thank you for trusting the band.”

They started with two of their own songs, dancing along with everyone and screaming the songs at the top of their lungs. Energy was never missed when it came to them, even more since they played like it was the last thing they’d ever do, and maybe in a way, it was.

When the applause finally died down, Martin took a sip of water with his members, stepping back to the mic afterward.

“Thank—”

“Wait!” James stopped Martin, who was as confused as the rest of the place, minus the four boys. “There’s one more song.”

Martin walked to him with the rest behind them, covering his mic with his palm. Quickly returning after some clarification.

“This is a surprise,” he stated. “I wasn’t supposed to release this song this soon. I want to thank you guys for creating the instrumental and letting me perform this, and I want to thank my muse for inspiring me to write this song. This is called ‘Everlong’”

The keyboards started, his voice filled the room, and after a couple of verses, Seonghyeon joined.

"And I wonder When I sing along with you If everything could ever be this real forever If anything could ever be this good again The only thing I'll ever ask of you You've got to promise not to stop when I say when She sang."

You simply stood there, digesting the lyrics while people danced to the beat. You didn’t cry until the last note faded, applauding with a smile on your face. Yujin and Leeseo stood to your sides and then watched the boys on stage, officially tearing up.

You feel bad to realize how loved you were by your friends, and how much you had taken Martin’s silent warmth for granted.  He was loud and proud about his feelings for you, even if the tactic at first wasn’t that clear; he later never let you forget you mattered. In moments like this, you finally saw the depth beneath his jokes. 

You went to the refreshment table after the set, drinking some soda to calm yourself down.

“There you are,” you heard his voice. He was still a little breathless, and his jacket was on his arms, his shirt sleeves rolled higher. 

You smiled, suddenly a wave of nerves rushing through your body at his presence. It was now or never, “I want you to come with me.”

“Where—”

“I have to tell you something.” You grabbed his hand, he instinctively looked at it, and softly bit the smile that was threatening to show.

“Show me the way.” You led him to your table, grabbing your clutch and leaving your crown. You passed the chatter through the back doors that opened onto the empty football field. The night air was crisp, and the stars were faint, but somehow still visible and giving a nice glow to the night.

You stopped standing on one of the bleachers in the field so you could be slightly higher, letting go of his hand to turn toward him.

He smiled, a little confused. “Y/N, if this is about the song—”

“It’s not,” you said, heart hammering. “Okay, maybe it is.”

“Oh my God, do you feel embarrassed? I didn’t mean to—”

“I know what you meant,” you interrupted softly. “And you’re right.”

He frowned slightly. “Right about what?”

You exhale. “That everything feels real when it’s with you.”

You decided to step down the bleachers on time. “I didn’t even realize it at first because I truly believed you were just annoying me, to throw me off and my record. But then you started showing up—not just for me—to everyone. And every time you did, I found myself noticing more.”

“Like…?”

“The way you smile when something finally works for you, how you live your life with no regrets, and how your heart is so pure that you don’t even care if the other person hates you. You are there.”

You took a shaky breath, your hand clutching your purse more. “And somewhere between wanting to hate you and trying not to fall for you. I did.”

Martin’s lips parted slightly, “You mean—”

“Yes,” a small laugh broke through at his pure face of disbelief. “I fell for you, Martin Edwards.”

You could see his throat bob as he swallowed hard, his voice a little rough when he finally spoke. 

“Say it again,” he said softly.

“What?”

“My name. Like that.” His lips curved upward, shy and boyish at the same time. “It sounds so pretty when you say it.”

Your cheeks warmed instantly. “You’re unbelievable.”

He chuckled, getting closer to the bleachers, looking up at you. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that—well, not that exactly, but close.”

“I can imagine it after you told me that night.”

“Which, by the way, were those two years of you calling me a nuisance, giving me detention, pretending you didn't look for me at every assembly?”

You laughed, “I had to check if I was going to get called out because of you.”

“I noticed at a distance since you were the only person who actually saw me, even when you swore you couldn’t stand me.”

The wind picked up, making the bleachers creak and your hair sweep across your face. Your hands went to your arms, blaming yourself for being so forgetful and not picking up your sweater from the table. He stood on the deck of the bleacher, and his jacket was quickly placed over your shoulders.

And just what you thought, he reached out and tucked your hair behind your ear again, with he difference that his hand stayed on your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin.

“I didn’t mean to fall for you either,” he admitted, looking down.  “But I did. And I don’t regret a second of it.”

You smiled before reaching into your clutch, hand trembling, and pulled out an envelope.

“I was supposed to wait until tomorrow when we go to Yujin’s house,” you said, “but I can’t.”

He took it, puzzled, and watched what it contained. His eyes widened the second he saw the tickets, audibly gasping.

“There’s no way—”

“Two tickets to see Linkin Park in Seoul,” you smiled nervously. “Consider it a date. Come with me on Friday, and don’t say ‘maybe’.”

He reached for your hands. “You really are something else.”

“Something good?” you teased.

He looked at the sky. “You are something out of this world. God, you’re—”

Before he could finish, you leaned up on your tiptoes, your hand finding his tie to pull him down just like before, but this time, you didn’t hesitate.

Your lips brushed his, his breath caught, and then he kissed you back, gentle at first, as if afraid to break the moment. You froze for half a second, feeling your heart pounding so hard you could almost hear it over the faint music coming from the gym. 

Your nose bumped his, your fingers trembled against his chest, but Martin didn’t care. He smiled into the kiss, pulling back only enough to whisper. “Wow,”

You nodded, breathless at how his eyes were looking so fondly at you. “That was my first.”

His eyes softened. “Good. Then I’m glad it was me.”

You didn’t even realize you were smiling until he rested his forehead against yours, both of you laughing quietly for no reason other than sheer disbelief.

“OH MY GOD!”

You jumped apart. From the edge of the field, a cluster of silhouettes waved frantically like South Korea two years ago for the World Cup. You hid your face on the curve that connected his neck and shoulder, his arms engulfing you.

“Finally!” Leeseo hissed, hugging Yujin happily while he had a smile on his face.

“Pay up, Seonghyeon.” James snickered, waving a few bills. 

“It took you three years, love your perseverance!” Juhoon screamed, and you couldn’t help but laugh from your spot.

“Worth the wait!” Yujin yelled, pretending to wipe fake tears.

You covered your face, groaning. “They were watching?!”

Martin just laughed, “Of course they were. They were looking at us from the gym.”

He turned toward them, raising your joined hands like a victory gesture. The others erupted in cheers, chanting both your names like a ridiculous anthem.

“Also, did I just hear ‘Pay up’?” Martin raised his shoulder, giving away the answer. You huffed, “Can’t believe they’ve been betting on us.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “And for once, I don’t mind losing.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

He looked back at you, his eyes were full of every emotion you were both feeling. “Ridiculously in love with you.”

And before you could think twice, he leaned in again, slower this time, just enough for your lashes to brush his cheek, for you to close your eyes and let the world spin quietly around you.

You didn’t even care if your friends were still watching.

Because under the silver lights of the empty field, with his jacket around your shoulders, hands on your waist, and your heart in a state of pure bliss, everything finally made sense.

And for once—in the middle of all the noise—you didn’t feel like you had to be perfect. You just felt real.

Just like him.

Just like everlong.

:: Late Night Finds You find an old video from your teenage years with you and Katsuki in the dorms, where he’s failing to play a carol song on the drums after his injury, and the memory cracks both of you open in the softest way || fluff, hurt/comfort

:: Just Like Magic Winter time and fans with no sense of privacy make Katsuki mad. Exhaustion makes him honest. Touch makes him pliable. And you’ve learned exactly how to take care of him when he’s like this || MDNI, happy ending massage, smut, subby Katsuki

:: when you sleep Katsuki has already turned seventeen by the time you wake up from your coma. Despite the late nights he spends at the hospital by your side, when you wake up, he is inevitably, at school. You wake up to Mitsuki Bakugo holding your hand || high school sweethearts, estab! relationship, hurt/comfort

:: You've had enough of Katsuki's fangirls high school sweethearts, slight angst, fluff

:: Situationship Angry sex with Katsuki and still fighting after because that's how i looove it! || MDNI, smut, heavy angst

:: The Calvin Klein add || pt2 Katsuki does his own Calvin Klein ad and the comments you see all over TikTok make you jealous || MDNI, smut, top! reader,

:: Beach Day with Katsuki + grinding and cuddling with him underwater in a sea cave || NSFW-ish, MDNI, grinding underwater, loads of kissing, fluff

:: Cooking You ask Katsuki to make you eggs || Fluff, comfort, a little bit of insecure Katsuki.

:: My Best Friend's Wife Your stomach drops. Because he’s right. You didn’t mean for this to go this far—but you didn’t stop it either. And he knows it. He knew that one day you’d crack. || Izuku x reader, married!Bakugo x reader, MDNI, smut, plot twist

:: Massage? Yeah with a happy ending too You ask Katsuki to give you a massage and end up with him blowing your back out || MDNI, smut

:: Cowgirl riding Katsuki into oblivion || MDNI, smut

:: Best Eater Based on the ‘somebody point me to the best ass eater’ tiktok trend || MDNI, Suggestive, Crack

:: Sashimi Oopsiesss, you and Bakugo accidentally announce to the whole former 1-a that you’re expecting a child and you’re enganged when you’re all out to celebrate that Shoto is number two hero im the charts. || crack, manga spoilers

:: Friends with Benefits The two of you almost never meet like that. It’s almost pushing it to ten times a year in a never ending circle of non commitment and broken promises, words that are only exchanged during intimacy that none of you can’t help but utter and trutfully tonight shouldn’t have been different. || angst, hurt/ comfort

:: to save a dragon you’re a bounty hunter with an enormous depth, he’s the runaway prince of the dragon tribe || MDNI, suggestive, enemies to lovers (kinda),

::If you would take this chance then I’ll take it too (part 1) Bakugo didn’t think he’d ever spend the night like this, but his infatuation with you and the small crack of your door do wonders to incurable curiosity. He knows too well, that’s it’s wrong, to peer at you and Kirishima in such intimate moment, but he just can’t peel his eyes off of the sight, oh, if Kirishima was willing to share and if you would give him a chance || MDNI, smut, voyeurism

I have these thoughts I keep I wanna share with you (part 2) after weeks of Bakugo distancing himself from you and Kirishima you finally get the chance to talk out what happened the other day, one thing leads to another || MDNI, smut, threesome

:: Stargazing through the five stages of grief after Izukus sudden death you and Bakugo find comfort in each other || MDNI, smut

:: Once more to see you This is a Bakugo red hood au that is based on this ask I sent to @kingkatsuki a while ago. I also tried something completely new (plot wise) when writing this that I hope people will enjoy, while wanting to explore the psyche of a Bakugo who was never saved by the league of villains and wanting to find new ways to hurt people with my angst. And since the inspiration is Jason Todd, Bakugo dyes his hair in this || MDNI, smut, heavy angst

:: watercolor eyes fem!bakugo katsuki never wanted anything more than she wants you, fantasy au | MDNI, smut, f4f,

:: and i let go Bakugo is a very good friend. You can rant to him endlessly, go on and on about your problems with your relationship to him and when you expect him to be timid and explosive he’s comforting and sweet || MDNI, mentions of reader going through a bad relationship, comfort sex, cheating (not on reader)

:: Lessons in (not) letting go and how to handle ones frail heart  love is hard work, or alternatively, me crying while writing about Bakugo once again || angsty

:: party favors:

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Collection vol. 2

Multi-Chapter

:: To Fill The Empty Spaces Katsuki has been a single father for five years. After his wife died shorty after giving birth to their son, he's not sure he's ever going to find happiness in mundane things anymore. Cue you, the new, young teacher at his son's kindergarden, who seems to be taking the best care of his little guy.

༘⋆ Part 1 || Part 2

:: Notion (Masterlist) What do you do when your best friend needs your help with something they have no experience with? You help them, obviously, even if things are complicated and it ends up spiralling into a three— no four year old situationship || MDNI, smut, friends with benefits, 4 year long situationship, angst, eventual fluff

:: of love and vigilance (rework) Injured and traumatized by a villain attack that almost kills you, you watch as bonds in your life fall apart and get rebuilt. After breaking up with your overseas boyfriend, Katsuki and you, graduate from your childhood friends relationship and tip toe a dangerous line between lovers and friends, while you fall spiraling into a case that will certainly have an impact on your career as a pro hero and maybe, your whole life.

༘⋆ Part 1 ||

:: over and out Bakugo has no idea he’s walking into a get drunk with your ex buzzfeed interview, will this small interaction be enough to eventually get the two of you back together? Band! au || MDNI, smut, cheating (not on reader), angst

༘⋆ Part 1 ||

:: and at last i see the light today is a big day. Shoto is going to ask his brother to go out to see the floating lights on his twenty first birthday. And today is a big day because you steal the crowns of the two missing princes with the help of the Shigaraki twins and decide to finally let Bakugo go. || Shoto Todoroki/ reader / Katsuki Bakugo || TANGLED AU || MDNI, smut

༘⋆ Part 1 ||

__________________________________

Gunshots echoed, bullets ricocheting, and in the midst of this circus of a firework show, there Yuji was—dodging clattering cans, cartons, and cereal boxes he was trying to save.

“Okay, think, think—don’t die, don’t die.”

The robber, in his ridiculous ski mask, barreled through the aisles in his frantic craze with his crowbar. 

“Out of my way!” he shouted, knocking over another pyramid of canned chickpeas.

Yuji smirked.

Suddenly, a web shot out from his wrist, and the robber yelped as the strand snagged his ankle, tripping him into innocent chips. It’s almost pitiful as his arms flailed helplessly, packs crashing at the spectacle. With a grin, Yuji shot another string of white around the man’s torso.

“Relax! I’m the friendly neighbourhood jock—wait, superhero! Friendly neighbourhood superhero!”

Though the robber still spun in place, tumbling like a washing machine on spin cycle, “You little—”

Yuji fired again, webbing his arms and yanking him upright, “Ohhh, you like being dramatic? We can do dramatic.”

Another around the legs, another around the torso, and suddenly the man found himself dangling midair like a piñata—arms pinned to his sides, legs stiff as broomsticks. A jar of olives bounced off his head for emphasis.

“PUT ME DOWN! WHAT IS THIS—?!”

With a swing from the shelf, Yuji landed with flair, crouching on a layered stack of cereal boxes as he grinned in amusement. “Relax, dude. You’re… uh… artfully suspended. Also, please stop moving, you’re making me dizzy.”

To his dismay, the robber still gyrated, knocking over carts and cans skittering across like tiny rockets. Thankfully, Yuji ducked just in time. With a sigh, he simply shot another web again.

“Hold still! Or I swear, I’ll—wait, nope, I’m not threatening you. I’m… just trying to help! With style!”

So, fast-forward to now, and really, it’s just another Tuesday in 2010s New York.

“The main cultural differences shape America in—”

“Hey! Can you let me down already?!”

Yuji, eyes squinted, snaps his head toward the man, coins jingling from his pockets. But he isn’t frowning at the robber… He just can’t read his notebook properly, especially with the thin fabric over his eyes. Each word is blurred into hazy smudges of grey.

Sometimes, Yuji Itadori doesn’t mind being the centre of attention.

Not when he's wearing the tight red-and-blue jumpsuit Nobara had stitched for him, seams puckered in all her nagging perfection.

Not when Megumi’s tech—definitely not borrowed, not stolen from his lab—glimmers faintly at his wrists.

And not when local news crews are scrambling to post grainy cellphone footage online, captions labelled with ridiculous, corny hashtags like #NYCSpidey, #OvercaffeinatedAcrobat, and #UnmaskThisGuy.

As soon as his last lecture of the day ends, he pulls down the mask, slips into the famous suit, and swings through the empire city that never sleeps.

He’s not Yuji Itadori anymore. He’s Spider-Man.

But tonight, though, he has an even greater problem than petty robberies and saving cats in trees. He has college.

“Dude, can you keep it down? I have an assignment due tomorrow, and I’m stuck here babysitting you—" Police sirens wail in the distance, cutting him off. And underneath his mask, he simply smirks, snapping his notebook shut as red and blue sweep across the graffiti‑scrawled walls. “Aaand that’s my cue.”

With a flick of his wrist, the man is left gaping, flailing uselessly as Yuji leaps from the ledge. 

The moon hangs low and full tonight. In the midst of its glow, he arcs over streets, headlights glinting like glass, weaving in between scaffolding poles. Trash swirls in the gusts around him, while faint damp concrete lingers as he glides past flickering streetlamps. The grids of blocks lie dark, the breeze sharp, yet every window glimmers with golden light; they’re constellations scattered across the city that guide him home.

Even if what he does is nowhere near world-changing, he’s always reminded that the city is full of life and narratives. Every window, every golden light that spills through each pane of glass, hides a story—a heartbeat—and that fact alone is enough to lessen the weight of his double life just a bit.

As always, while swinging past, his gaze skims the streets, searching through the blur of headlights and shadows. He finds you like clockwork. Trudging home, arms full of groceries: a paper bag with lettuce, a baguette tucked under your arm, and vegetables brimming atop. You’re humming a song from your dangling earbuds, oblivious to the world around you.

He doesn’t mean to stare, but when you live in the same flat, coming home at the same time he clocks out from patrol… well, it’s only natural he makes sure his crush roommate gets home safe, too, right?

“I wonder what she’s making tonight…” he mutters.

With one soft push, he slips his window open and dives back inside.

The wooden floor doesn’t even creak under his landing, and the globe lamp atop his desk glows like a dim moon over scattered paper. He passes sticky notes plastered across his wall, zipping out his suit and tossing his book onto the bed. Stepping out, he flicks on the hallway lights—and it isn’t long before he hears the usual. 

Your keys, the gentle click of the lock, and the first step you take inside, wrapped in the flat’s cosy warmth.

“Welcome back!” Yuji beams, hair tousled.

You nod back with a smile, shutting the door behind as you toe off your shoes. As you set the bag of groceries onto the kitchen island, you give him a smug smirk. “Did you just wake up?”

His eyes dart away, guilty, all while he rubs the back of his neck. A sheepish chuckle escapes. “...Maybe?”

You raise an eyebrow, sighing as he pulls a chair from the island. 

Ever since you moved in together with your childhood friend, you’ve learned three things about him: he eats terribly, naps like a cat, and will stare at you from the corner of the room with glassy, desperate eyes if he ever smells food.

And whether he admits it or not, you know when to drag him by the wrist, plop him down in front of a bowl, and pour him something warm. You’ve done it since high school. You’re still doing it now.

Sure, he’s stubborn, but so are you, and tonight is no different.

“I’m just making some simple tomato soup,” you say, spreading the groceries across the counter.

The city skyline glitters faintly from behind him, setting aglow the twinkling fascination in his golden eyes.

“Because you—” you tap his forehead with a finger, nudging him back, “are finishing your presentation script tonight. And I’m helping you with it.”

His eyes widen. “What?! How do you know about that?”

“If I have to hear Megumi complain one more time about you cramming your share of the load,” you groan, washing the vegetables, “I might start seeing both of you in my dreams.”

“Oops…” Yuji whistles, caught red-handed.

In the corner of your eye, you see him drift over as you slice the tomatoes.

“Can I help you cook then? Y’know… as repayment?” 

You nearly slice the tip of your finger at the audacity, but his hands, as usual, catch your wrist before anything disastrous happens. “You?”

You turn to look at him, his smile as bright as ever. “The last time you offered, everything tasted bland.”

He pouts under your gaze—lips pursed, brows scrunched. “I’ll never learn if I don’t try...”

A beat passes.

You sigh in resignation, and that’s all he needs. Yuji’s already pumping his fists triumphantly in the air, snatching the spare apron hanging off the oven handle.

“Let’s goooo!” he cheers.

On the other hand, you giggle at his flippant victory cry, but you don’t notice how his gaze lingers on you in the soft golden kitchen light—the curve of your eyes, the bloom of your cheeks. He’s taller than you, so it goes unnoticed, hidden in the shadow between you.

“And this time, don’t forget the salt,” you tease, stepping toward the pot.

“Yeah, yeah—oh! Put on that Cowboy Bebop opening. It’s been stuck in my head all day.”

You frown, eyeing the tiny apron stretched ridiculously over his frame. Your thumb’s already swiping across your battered iPhone 4, searching. When the first chord blasts, Yuji just stares.

“Based on how you’re holding that knife,” you chortle, “this feels more fitting.”

“…You think I’m gonna break into kung-fu fighting?!”

You shrug mockingly, moving to boil the water as he sputters just beside you. And it isn’t long before the kitchen settles into a cosy rhythm—the chop of vegetables, the hiss of butter, the soft swirl of simmering broth—and of course, your constant two-minute interval scoldings.

“Why are the tomatoes diced like… that?”

“I-I swear someone did this on Hell’s Kitchen last night—”

“I told you a little oil. Why is the pan half full?!”

“Uh…”

“I’m monitoring what kind of weird cooking shows you’re watching from now on.”

Soon enough, all that’s left is the soup’s fragrance wafting throughout the room—sun-ripe tomatoes, roasted garlic, and basil blooming bright with butter. It smells like warmth, like home, and the little life you’ve carved out together. Even Yuji stops mid-chop, knife still hovering in the air, just to inhale.

“Here you go,” you say, sliding the bowl toward him. On cue, he drops into his chair—shoulders rolling, a quiet sigh slipping past his lips. He thinks you don’t notice, but his fingers are still faintly red around the knuckles. The moment his eyes land on the bowl, something bright flickers in him.

The soup glows a deep orange-red, thick and velvety, droplets of olive oil shimmering across its sheen like tiny flecks of gold. Steam curls upward, brushing his cheeks, and in the dead of winter, the warmth blooms against him like late summer. Softening the night sky, brightening it like morning light.

When he takes the first spoonful, his eyes go wide.

Silence hangs in the room, but he just sets the spoon down gently, shoulders dropping another inch. He takes another bite, slower, and holds it in on his tongue. Under the table, his foot taps out its usual restless beat to a steady rhythm.

You have no idea what kind of day he’s had to be this hungry.

You don’t see the scuff on the side of his shoe, from where he landed too fast on the rooftop across the street. Or the tiny tear at the hem of his sleeve, where something sharp grazed him. Or the way he’d winced when you turned away earlier, instantly straightening as if nothing had happened.

All you see is Yuji—sunshine, sweetness—devouring the soup as if it’s literally saving him. You quietly rest your chin in your hands, grinning while he inhales spoonful after spoonful, like it’s the single greatest thing he’s tasted all week.

“Is it good?” you coo, and he nods so fast his hair bounces.

With all his enthusiasm, a smear of soup somehow ends up on the corner of his lip. He doesn’t notice, but you do, and you’re giggling before you can stop yourself.

You turn toward the window, watching the city smear into streaks of gold and red, and in that split second, he lifts his gaze, eyes catching on you. His spoon pauses halfway to his mouth, suspended in midair, forgotten for the still of a heartbeat as his own breath stumbles, chest rising too quickly in the quiet. Goosebumps prick along his arms, and this time, it isn’t from the danger his sixth sense is warning him of. It’s from the way the skyline burns in your eyes, as if every light in New York decided to gather just to admire you with him.

He catches the soft amber strokes on your cheeks as your small smile curls like cotton-soft warmth—and underneath the dim neon glow, you look too gentle for the shadows, too bright for the night. For a breathless moment, he wants to steal you away.

To borrow you from the world, and keep this evening tucked somewhere only for the two of you.

“...Let’s go see something.” The words slip out before he can catch them.

You blink up at him, and the room instantly falls away, softened to all but a hush of the world. “What?”

He’s already getting up from his seat, draping his jacket over your shoulders as he takes your bowl. Without a word, he just reaches out for your hand, urging you to take his lead. Following him to the window, you watch as he pushes it open to the rushing cold air.

“What are you—”

“Trust me.”

He steps onto the fire escape’s metal platform. You hesitate for only a heartbeat, then follow, fingertips brushing the cold iron railing. Halfway up, he glances back at you, and his smile spills across the dim rooftop glow. Brighter than Manhattan’s windows, brighter than the neon signs, and even more so than the giddiness in your chest.

Your heart stutters for a bit.

The hum of traffic drifts up from below, weaving through the gaps in the grating, and when you reach the rooftop, the wind tugs at your clothes, ruffling hair and jacket alike. Stretched beneath you is the entire glitter of New York ahead, a glowing chaos of gold veins and shadows.

You suck in a breath, clutching Yuji’s jacket tighter around your shoulders.

“...It’s beautiful,” you whisper.

He doesn’t look at the shimmering skyline, but only at you. The spark in your eyes catching the glint of distant lights. Sitting down, he pats away the dust beside him, pulling you down to follow him. You plop yourself down, knees brushing.

“Right? When things are heavy, I like to sit and just watch the lights from above.”

Giggling, you take the warm bowl from his hands, the heat spreading through your fingers and mingling with the steam curling like tiny ghosts between you. “I didn’t know you were also a rooftop climber.”

He flinches slightly, but you don’t notice, lost as you are in the flickering tapestry of lights and the comforting weight of his jacket draped around your shoulders.

“...Thanks,” you murmur.

He tilts his head to your voice, and his smile blooms like a lantern in the cold fluorescent glow of the city. He notices the dark circles under your eyes, the slump of your shoulders while cooking, and the faint, heavy sighs. Time hangs between you, quiet. 

“Is it because of your mother?” He doesn’t mean to pry. He simply waits, patient and quiet.

Years ago, when he was eleven and the weight of the world had abandoned him to debt and despair, it was you who had pulled him into the light.

You, who had brought him home, were pleading with your parents to let him stay, working alongside him through three jobs, shielding him from bullies, and carving out space for him in a world that had none.

And it wasn't because of pity—it was simply because it was right.

That small, steady truth had been more than enough for him to realise, walking home together one evening at fourteen, that life without you was unthinkable. Impossible.

But ever since that incident, Yuji spends his nights differently now, wondering if he even still has the right to be sitting next to you. Perhaps that’s why he’s swinging across buildings now, a distraction to the ache he can’t name. The tugging knot of fear that writhes from his core.

“Mm… same old,” you murmur, eyes drifting to the golden veins of streets below, lids heavy.

“You know I’m always here for you, right?” 

You shift your gaze toward him. His brows crease, jaw tight, lips parted, as if he’s waiting for a question you’ve buried too deep to speak. Yet your hands move betrayingly, fingers brushing against his, seeking him out over the coarse, cold brick beneath you.

He threads his fingers through yours with an ease so natural, it terrifies you. A knot coils low in your stomach, tightening with every heartbeat, your hand trembling beneath the gentle heat of his.

The wind tugs at your hair, lights flickering beyond the skyline like tiny stars. Amidst the faint hum of traffic and the electric scent of the city, each glow pulses, just like the racing of your heart.

You can feel it, the quiet certainty in his touch. You know he means it. You really do.

But even so, your lips betray you. They tremble against a single word, from the weight of too many nights spent replaying every thought, every fear.

“...Thanks.” A fragile whisper, soft as paper, heavy as stone.

Somewhere far below, a taxi honks. Somewhere far above, a neon sign blinks. But in between both, it’s just the two of you. And even with all the uncertainty, the nights, and the unspoken truths that linger between breaths, you settle.

This litany of quiet is enough.

It’s eleven o'clock out, the sun is stupidly bright, and you want to die. Like—crawl six feet under and stay burrowed in there—die. 

“See you tomorrow!” the woman calls as you leave, a paper bag of tangerines digging into your fingers.

You flash her a beaming smile, hiding your soul-rotting exhaustion. The door’s jingle follows you onto the bustling sidewalk.

New York is already in full chaos mode. Yellow cabs are barking at each other, crowds are shoving downstream like human traffic jams, and tourists are wrestling with crumpled city maps like they’re cursed.

When you glance up, you see the usual pigeons parading shop awnings, lined like entitled landlords. Scaffolding poles crisscross above you, towering between skyscrapers, and your earphones dangle uselessly around your neck.

No song is strong enough to fight the throbbing migraine pulsing behind your eyes, and it’s probably because you were up until 5:00 a.m. helping Yuji.

The memory punches you in the brain.

“Why the hell is it blank?” you’d blurted—because how else were you supposed to react to that monstrosity? You were both on the living room carpet, his laptop glowing tragically atop the coffee table.

Yuji jerked his head toward you, scandalised. “Um, no? There’s the title slide, the body slide, and the bullet points. It’s got everything it needs.”

You didn’t need a degree to see all the ways that was a crime, and maybe you’re just a saint—that’s what he thinks—but you were already storming into your room, grabbing your laptop.

“Okay, you—” you pointed at him, “write your script. I’m fixing your slides.”

His eyes widened, watching as you flipped open your laptop, copied the link, and sent it over.

“We’ll revise the whole thing on four, and—”

Bla bla bla… your words were already blurring into the mindless static of Yuji’s head. In that deserted hollowness of a brain, there was just awe.

The way your focus sharpened, the way your brows pinched, the way you sank into a task like the world around you melted away… it was the same look you’d had four years prior.

When both of you still worked for some cramped, greasy kitchen in Queens—and then, he’d been elbow‑deep in suds, wrist aching, sweat sticking his bangs to his forehead.

Suddenly, you burst through the door.

“What the—” Yuji had jumped, nearly dropping a plate. But you didn’t even flinch at his shock. You were already rolling up your sleeves, sweeping half his stack of dirty dishes into your arms.

“No wonder you’re coming home late every day,” you muttered, scrubbing. “I asked the manager how many extra shifts you took. Care to explain?”

Yuji immediately paused. Your eyes still stayed focused on your side of the sink, though. The plate in his hand, the steam, and the music drifting faintly from the restaurant’s old radio all seemed to stop.

“We need the money,” he said gently, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a hopeful smile. He reached to take the plate from you, “Come on—hand it back. It’s my responsibility.”

Your grip didn’t budge. You just glared at him from under your lashes. “We promised not to keep secrets from each other,” you murmured.

Silence fell. Only the muted hum of jazz seeped in from the dining area, trembling throughout the fragile string in the air.

Then you whispered, almost too quietly for him to hear. “...It's not like I want to stay home either."

His stomach tightened.

You weren’t supposed to say—even, feel that kind of hurt. Hell, he didn't want you to think of uttering those words... At least when he was by your side.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. But after a few moments of still silence, he dug his fingers into his palms. His chest paused mid-rise. “We’re moving out as soon as I get paid.”

Your head snapped toward him. And there it was—that boyish grin. The same one he’d given you at six years old on the playground, when he offered you half his juice box just after you scraped your knee.

“I checked our savings,” he said softly. “We’ll have enough by this month.”

Your lips parted. Your eyes widened. And when the realisation hit you, Yuji quickly stripped off his gloves and ruffled your hair with a warm, shaking laugh. “New York, angel. New life.”

Your throat tightened. Your heart stopped.

And before you knew it, your vision was blurring up like fog. His hair still spun rose-gold, soft and shimmering through the garble—and somehow, even through the haze, he was still the brightest thing in the room.

He had prayed to every God he knew to do anything, to never see you cry again. That if sadness ever had to choose, it would pick him, and not you.

So when your tears finally spilt under the cheap fluorescent lights, he didn’t hesitate. He pulled you in, firm arms wrapping around you as you clung to the back of his hoodie, shoulders shaking.

You choked on your own soft sniffles, finally surrendering to the dam of emotions you’d bottled all these years. All the while, he quietly kept his hold on you, whispering it again, breath warm against your ear.

New York. New life.

Flash forward four years—after the spider bite, after the powers, after the secrets that clawed at his nights—and some things never changed.

“Angel…” he murmured, stunned all over again. Because sure, he saved cats, strangers and entire banks on his better days, but it came at the cost of everything else.

His friends all think he’s unreliable, a dud, and weirdly bad at showing up—college deadlines slipped, plans fell apart, and every time the hairs on his arms stood up, that electric buzz tingling in his bones—he had to go. He just had to.

He knew what happened when he ignored it, and even in the darkest of nights, he still hears the crackle of fire from the apartment next door.

But you stayed.

You always stayed.

He wanted to hug you.

To kiss you.

To press his forehead to yours and promise that he’d protect you from everything—even himself.

But he swallowed it down, locked it away where it couldn’t slip out too easily.

And he just… smiled.

That boyish, earnest smile he never realises has the power to crumble all your walls.

Enough to also keep your whole world from collapsing. Enough to make you brave. Enough to make you trust him even when everything else in your life feels like it’s slipping between your fingers.

For as long as you can remember, it’s always felt like you and him against the world.

You know how he disappears every night, how he’s never on time for anything, how he comes back scraped or breathless or exhausted—but you never ask. You don’t pry. You don’t push.

Because Yuji is the one person you’d bend your whole life around if it meant easing his burdens. You trust him—you trust him in a way that terrifies you. You’ve known him long enough to understand the softness of his heart, the way he tries to carry everything alone, the way he refuses to let people worry for him.

And you know, deep down, that he’d never hurt anyone.

He’d never hurt you.

So you keep your silence with that one line he’s unknowingly drawn between you. 

Even when you feel his gaze lingering on you longer than it should.

Even when goosebumps rise along your arms in the soft, living warmth of the room.

Even when you ache to reach out, to cup his face, to ask him why it feels like something is always slipping away.

Neither of you speaks. Neither of you steps forward.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, all while his clench slightly at his thighs.

Even when this fragile string you’re threading so carefully on is the very thing hurting you both.

You’re slipping through the afternoon crowd like a loose page torn from a book, shoving past another tourist whose camera strap is swinging wildly. The air today smells faintly of burnt bagels, exhaust, and wet asphalt from last night’s rain, the earth’s sigh as it drinks the sky’s frigid tears. Metal trash cans clatter in the wind, lids rattling against their rims, and somewhere above, the faint screech of the subway reverberates from the tracks below.

Footsteps echo around you, tyres hiss against the wet asphalt, yet even in this city that never sleeps, your thoughts drift as you shuffle through the bustle.

I wonder how Yuji’s presentation went?

Hopefully well. Otherwise, you’ll have to suffer through the hell of Megumi’s complaints for at least another month. God, anything but that.

You yawn, squinting as your vision blurs slightly against the harsh reflection of the rising sun on glass skyscrapers. The traffic light clicks, the pedestrians’ signal flipping to red, but suddenly, your eyes catch something else entirely.

Something small, trembling, utterly out of place in the chaos. A golden-furred bundle curled in the middle of the crossing. 

A puppy.

Your heart stutters.

Everyone sees it, yet no one moves. Cars keep rolling, and the pup curls in on itself, shaking so violently you can feel it even from the curb.

What the hell?

Your mind scatters in ten directions at once, tripping over every worst-case scenario. Logic screams, “don’t run into traffic”, so you're forced to stand there—foot tapping, throat tight, breath trapped—waiting. As soon as the pedestrian light turns green, your legs run before you can even think.

You sprint.

Your sneakers slap against the asphalt, the city blurring around you in a rush of horns and exhaust. With a quick drop of a crouch, breath heaving, you slowly stick out a hand for it to sniff, but it shrinks back, paws skittering against the cold pavement. 

It’s terrified. Of everything. The honks, the stomps, the chatter—New York’s roar is swallowing the tiny thing whole.

The pedestrian countdown crackles overhead, each tick like a punch to your ribs, and your heartbeat syncs with it—frantic, stuttering, racing.

“It’s okay, it’s okay…” you whisper.

But it’s not. Not even close.

You glance up.

Ten seconds left.

Fuck it.

You drop the paper bag. Tangerines scatter across the crosswalk, bumping under shoes, rolling into gutters as you sweep the trembling puppy into your arms. Its ribs flutter against your palms frantically. You whisper whatever calming nonsense you can manage—

HOOOONK.

The blare is so loud it splits your thoughts in half.

Before you even fully straighten, the world explodes into white behind your eyes. You snap your head toward the sound.

A truck is barreling toward you.

Too close.

Too fast.

Your entire body locks. There’s no time to run, no time to scream. The world narrows to the shadow swallowing you—

An arm suddenly clamps around your waist.

The ground vanishes, wind knifes past your ears. In the blink of an eye, you’re off the asphalt and slammed into the blur of motion. 

The city snaps back into focus just as your feet touch down on solid pavement, and right behind you, “Whoa there—careful!”

You freeze, heart slamming into your ribs. You know that voice. You’d know it in a thunderstorm, a blackout, a dream.

“Yu—” But when you whirl around, ready to scream at him, you freeze. The person holding you isn’t Yuji.

It’s Spider-Man.

The spandex, the mask, and the red and blue in all its stupid glory—standing right in front of you, fingers still trembling slightly where they had been gripping your waist. He slowly lets go of it, watching as you spin to face him, face shaken. 

As more and more people start to crowd the two of you, they’re lifting phones, shouting.

It’s his voice. You know it.

But there’s also absolutely no way that Yuji Itadori—your perpetually late, starving, ghost of a roommate—is the same Spider-Man plastered all over the Daily Bugle every day, busy saving lives.

You swallow hard. “…Thank you.”

He glances down, raising his knuckle for the shaking pup—and after a few sniffs, he boops its nose, its tail giving a tiny, shy wag. 

“What a cutie,” he says softly. “Is this yours?”

He knows the answer. He shouldn’t even be talking this much. But when you look up at him—stunned, scared, and shocked—he stays.

You pause for a moment, brain short-circuiting before shaking your head. He gestures gently. “I can take him to a local shelter, if you want.”

What?

Your arms instinctively tighten around the pup, but after a few beats, the tension in your shoulders eases. With a hesitant nod, you slowly pass it over—and to your surprise, he holds the little thing way too gently, cradling it close to his chest.

Then, he asks, “Do you want to come with us?”

Your head instantly perks up to him. 

He wants you… to come with him.

You feel your own heart thudding against your ribs, the cluster of crowds sending your brain into cartwheels now. Your fists are still against his chest, clenched. Finally, after a few seconds, you nod once.

“...Please?” you add, voice barely above a whisper.

Something in him melts.

“Alright,” he murmurs, hooking an arm around your waist with the pup. “No tall skyscrapers this time, though. Gotta make sure I don’t scare the pup.”

Before you can even process what he’s saying, a white web shoots out from his wrist—

And you’re fucking airborne.

“AAAAAAAAA—!!” You’re screaming as the wind whips across your face, the ground blurring beneath your feet.

One awning leads to another, gilding just above the traffic—and somehow, that makes it even more terrifying; you can see the cars, the flashing lights, the stunned pedestrians filming you as you pass.

You cling to him like your life depends on it, (because really, it does) your yell trembling amidst the racing wind as your arms stay wrapped tight around his neck. Meanwhile, this idiot is laughing. Laughing. And even the puppy is having fun, tail wagging like a metronome of betrayal.

You swear you can even see his tail wagging as well, burrowing your face even deeper into his neck as you shut your eyes.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” you shout, voice cracking. The idiot of a vigilante only laughs harder, grip still strong on your waist.

He doesn’t know how his heart nearly stopped when he saw you kneeling in front of the barreling truck. He doesn’t know how close he came to losing his mind. And he doesn’t know how many Gods he’d prayed for the shortest split second.

Every God, to reach you in time.

But he knows one thing:

You’re here, screaming—scared shitless, sure—but alive.

“Put me down, put me down, put me down!” You’re sobbing into his neck, eyes glued shut as the wind smacks the hair into your face. 

Finally, the world slows to a stop. He lands softly on the asphalt, and everything stills—all but your trembling breaths. Shallow, shaky, and way too embarrassingly loud in your own ears.

He leans in, voice low enough that only you can hear it through the muffled city noise.

“We’re here,” he whispers.

You refuse to move. Absolutely not.

Your face stays buried in the crook of his neck, arms locked tight, fingers curled stubbornly. He chuckles softly.

Cute.

The pup wiggles out from between you two, popping its head out. It yaps once, twice, and you slowly crack open one eye, hands weakly releasing their grip on his suit. A shaky breath leaves your lips as you finally peel yourself off him, stumbling back—only for him to catch you again by the elbow.

“And we haven’t even reached forty feet yet,” he teases, head tilted.

You glare weakly, voice hoarse. “I am never doing that again.”

He doesn’t even need to say anything; you can feel the smug grin through the mask. 

With a soft spin on his heel, he steps past you toward a storefront wedged between two towering brick buildings. The sign above it is faded, chipped around the edges, and the door’s chime jingles as he slips inside with the puppy nestled in one arm.

You stand there in the midst of the pavement, though, heart still thundering, sneakers planted on solid ground, and even if you’ve touched the ground for at least a few minutes now, it feels like you’re still up there mid-swing.

The city moves like normal around you. Horns, footsteps, conversations—it all feels muted, stuffed cotton in your ears. You’re floating.

Absolutely floating.

A few moments later, the chime rings again. He steps out… with the same puppy still in his arms. You blink as he gives a tiny shrug.

“Sooo… turns out they’re totally out of vacant spots right now," he glances at the pup, the critter innocently tilting its head. “I can swing to another one, maybe—”

“I’ll take him.” The words leave your mouth before you even think them through, cutting through the fragile string of silence.

He looks at you, stunned. You’re taking it in?

Before he can say anything, you crouch immediately, scratching the puppy under the chin as it whines into your palm, tail flailing like a fuzzy little helicopter.

Sure, why not? Maybe Yuji will finally start showing up more often. Maybe he’ll actually help take care of it. Maybe—

“Uh—you sure?”

All the while, Yuji, as mentioned above, is panicking to death in his head. He’s not even there for half the night, how the hell is he gonna take care of it? But there’s you, of course, so it can’t be that bad, right?

“Mhm,” you nod, scooping the warm ball of golden fluff against your chest. “Look, it loves me already!”

You giggle as it barks happily, tiny paws scrambling at your collar as it leans up to lick your jaw. Warm little breaths puff against your skin, sunlight breaking through the thinning clouds overhead, catching on its fur and turning it into a tiny halo of honey-gold—soft enough to melt winter, blithe enough to quiet the city. 

He goes still. 

Of course, it loves you.

The breeze rolls by, threading through the loose strands of your hair, and he watches the sunlight kiss them the same way it kisses the dog’s fur, as if the two of you were made of the same warmth.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. The tilt of his head, the stillness of his hands, the way he forgets about the crowd, the noise, the city—all of it betrays him.

You’re shining underneath the bleeding sun, laughing even with the trembling puppy in your arms, and for one still second, the weight of what almost happened hits him harder than any fall he’s taken tonight.

Harder than any punch, any rooftop landing, any sprint through the freezing wind.

And he knows it. He knows exactly what that ache is.

“Where do you live?” he asks, voice lower than before, too casual even to be casual.

Your gaze snaps to him. And the second you see the curve of his masked grin—smug, obvious, and entirely too proud of himself—your stomach sinks.

“So…” he drawls, head tilting. “Round two?”

You groan, clutching the dog a little tighter like it might suddenly save you. “God, save me.”

“Roger that, Ma’am.”

You smack his arm. He laughs. 

And the sun, traitorous as ever, lights you up like something worth falling for.

The metal railing trembles as he steps onto your balcony, but unlike it, you don’t steady—not even after your sneakers touch the concrete. Your knees are still jelly, your stomach is still somewhere midair, and you’re pretty sure you’ll never get used to this.

Frankly, you’re praying you won’t ever have to.

Behind you, the sun melts into winter’s edge, streaking the clouds with bleeding crimson.

“Welcome home!”

“Thank you,” you breathe.

The golden pup squirms in your arms, and the moment you crack open the balcony door, it launches inside. You can’t help but laugh as it bounds across the living room, sniffing corners, trotting in frantic circles, all while its tail wags with a delirious joy only pure innocence can have. 

You’re tired—he can see it. The slope of your shoulders, the soft drag of your steps, the yawns you pretend are subtle. Even your laughter sounds like it’s holding up the walls of a crumbling day.

He leans against the railing behind you, watching with a chuckle, and he knows he shouldn’t linger, shouldn’t risk even this much, but it’s you. And tonight, for reasons he can’t name out loud, he wants to show you something special.

“Hey,” he calls softly, “ever wondered what it’s like sixty feet up?”

You turn. He stands there with his arms crossed, head tilted, grin smug enough to see even beneath the mask.

“You’re kidding.”

He shrugs. “You look like you need a pick‑me‑up. And I think I know just the thing.”

Before you can argue, his hands are slipped around your waist already, like he’s done this a million times before. And somehow, like your body recognises him from somewhere you can’t name, you don’t pull away. You only lift a brow, smirking. “Literally?”

He huffs a boyish laugh and reaches past you to slide the balcony door shut. His gaze flickers to the puppy already curled on a cushion, drifting into a soft nap after its chaotic afternoon.

“The vet said he’s trained and vaccinated. So…” His voice dips, playful. “It wouldn’t hurt if I steal you for a few minutes, right?”

You pretend to think about it. “Maybe.”

Maybe.

Damn, if he didn’t have his stupid mask on, you’d see the way his whole face breaks into the most hopeless grin ever. God really does send his hardest missions to his strongest soldiers.

“Hang on tight.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. Your arms loop around his neck, and just as quickly as you can breathe, you’re suddenly up in the air—you still can’t help but scream at the sudden jump in height.

A strangled cry rips out of your throat as the city drops away beneath your feet. He’s still laughing at the ridiculousness of your reaction, and for once in both your lives, you’re screaming with the sort of freedom that only comes with the wish of a shooting star.

You definitely feel like one, too. 

Skyscrapers streak past, wind clawing at your clothes. Your face is buried in his shoulder—because looking down might as well kill you—but even through your terror, a traitorous warmth swells in your chest.

He hears every sound you make, every breathless scream, and he’s stupidly amused. Even when your eyes are screwed shut from how fucking terrifying this is.

Finally, he lands on what sounds like concrete with a soft thud, steadying you before your knees can give out. Your fingers are still clutched to his suit, but he pries them off gently, turning you around. 

You crack open one eye.

Then both.

And instantly, your breath catches.

The horizon is on fire.

The wild, bright yellow flame burns in the centre of the molten gold, every skyscraper splinting it in fractured sheets of amber and rose. And as it dips right across the water, your heart skips a beat, the sky bleeding with streaks of orange and bruised violet. Light scatters from the heavens, a gorgeous shower that shimmers just across the horizon’s sea—a ramp of falling stars just for the two of you. 

“…It’s beautiful,” you whisper.

The same words you told him the first time he brought you to the rooftop. He remembers. God, he remembers everything. He turns his head.

The horizon is burning in the distance, but he doesn’t glance up. His gaze lingers on you, tracing the way the light brushes your hair, the tilt of your jaw, the slow inhale of your awe—and in that moment, the city, the sunset, the wind, nothing else exists.

You outshine every single drop of light in the bleeding sky, and he hates that he can’t even tell you.

Something in your chest loosens, then gives. For one strange, impossible moment, the pressure of everything—your deadlines, your rent, your exhaustion, the heaviness of simply existing—feels lighter.

You turn to him, smiling. “Thank you.”

The sun flares behind you, painting you in gold, and he thinks helplessly that even this sunset pales beside you.

His heart punches against his ribs, hammering hard enough to bruise.

He keeps his hands in fists so you won’t see them shake, nails digging into his palms, trying to anchor himself.

Because if he doesn’t, he’ll do something reckless.

…Like pull his mask up and kiss you under a dying sun.

He jabs a gloved knuckle against the glass of Nobara’s bedroom window—once, twice, thrice—fast. Even muffled behind the mask, Nobara can recognise it anywhere. Especially when it’s coming from her window on the tenth fucking floor.

“Knock, knock! House of fabulous engineers and fashion icons! Hellooooo?”

A muffled groan leaks from the glass.

The window slides open with a wet creak, and Nobara leans out—hair damp from a shower, hoodie half-zipped, face frowning. She’s literally one inconvenience away from shutting it on his fingers.

“What,” she deadpans, “the hell do you want?”

Yuji straightens proudly, chest puffing out. “Guess who just saved someone from a truck, carried them to a view that’d make Van Gogh rise from the grave, and completely turned their day around! And they don’t even know it was me!”

His words are tumbling over like runaway marbles, tripping out of his mouth in the sudden rush of excitement. Each breath fogs the inside of his mask, tiny clouds drifting up as he gestures wildly, eyes sparkling even behind the webbed veil.

From behind her, Megumi’s voice drifts, monotonous as ever. “You look like a five-year-old who drank too much espresso.”

Yuji spins halfway, giving him a thumbs-up. “And you built the tech that made that possible! So technically, I am a caffeinated genius who saves people, sooooo—you’re the genius behind the genius!”

“Obviously it’s about her,” Nobara says, arms crossed, one brow arched. “Why else knock on my window like some homicidal pigeon?”

Yuji grins boyishly beneath the mask, tilting his head. “Because someone had to tell the people who made me this awesome that I did something awesome!”

He hops back onto the slick rooftop, landing with barely a splash. Rain glazes over the red and blue of his suit, gloves leaving faint smudges of rain, but he doesn’t care. He crouches—knees loose, fingers tapping, eyes flicking between Nobara and Megumi—and he rambles.

“You’d be so proud. I got her out of danger—like, barely-saw-my-life-flash-before-my-eyes danger—and she held onto me and we just… we ended up on this roof where the whole skyline looked like it was melting gold. And she laughed! And I—”

His hand stills over his heart.

Nobara squints at him, expression softening for half a second before she ruins it deliberately. “You’re ridiculous. Just confess already.”

Yuji crouches lower, fists on his knees, eyes practically sparkling. The rain slides off his mask in thin streams, glossing over like small scattered stars. All the while, the skyline stretches behind him, windows blinking like constellations.

He’s glowing too, like he can’t hold all his giddiness inside. 

Behind her, Megumi doesn’t move, but there’s a faint, reluctant curve tugging at the corner of his mouth. They’ve both seen this a million times.

Yuji, hopelessly in love. Yuji, trying not to be obvious. Yuji, failing.

But then, he thinks of you, back in your apartment, probably waiting for him with that puppy curled on your lap—probably wondering why he’s coming back late again.

His heart kicks.

Without warning, he shoots a web to the edge of the rooftop. “Okay—gotta go—BYE!”

Before Nobara can yell, he launches himself into the storm-soaked night, flipping once, twice, and vanishing into the wind.

“YOU’LL HEAR ABOUT THIS TOMORROW, I SWEAR!” he hollers back, voice bouncing between the buildings.

Nobara sighs dramatically and shuts the window, all the while Megumi’s smirk survives exactly three seconds before he wipes it off.

As he disappears into the glittering darkness, the city continues to shine. But it’s obvious who he’s rushing home for, and somewhere below, the night hums with the secret only three people know:

Spider-Man Yuji Itadori is swinging through New York like a boy in love.

When Yuji comes back, he’s yelping in surprise when the little rascal of a pup rushes over to him. Its paws are already scattered across the wooden floor for a launched attack. “What the—?!” 

He picks up the pup in his arms, snuggling into it as you appear from the corner of the hallway, snickering at the scene. “Kiniro likes you already.”

It takes everything in him to bite back his laughter and act surprised. After all, he can’t quite literally tell you he was the one saving you both just earlier today, right?

“I didn’t know you brought back this little pup,” he giggles, letting it lick his face. “You even named him?”

You sigh, plopping yourself onto the carpet. “He was in the middle of a pedestrian street. Thankfully, Spider-Man saved him.”

You pat your lap, Kiniro eagerly running straight back to you, “The animal shelter was full, though, but I think we’re stable enough to afford just another pet, don’t you think?” 

Yuji’s already walking over to you, slinging his bag across the couch as he ruffles your hair. “I can just pick up another job if you really want to.”

He doesn’t miss that you don’t include yourself in being saved, but he doesn’t nag. All that matters is you’re safe and sound, and with the arrival of little Kiniro, your grin seems just a tiny bit wider. 

“Ugh, you’re not even home half the time,” you groan, tugging him down to sit next to you. “Don’t.”

He smirks at your comment, simply shrugging. “You would not believe my day, though,” he starts, running a hand through his hair.

“Coach made us do sprints at 8 a.m. Eight. A. M. The sun was barely awake. I was barely awake,” he plops himself down beside you. “Then I had to do that boring presentation for Anthropology.”

You snort. “What about it? Did you actually, I don’t know—not screw it up?”

“Ohhh, the presentation? Killed it. Destroyed it. Megumi totally knew you helped, too.”

You shake your head, smiling as he continues. With a soft sigh, you raise both hands behind you as you stretch out your sore arms. “Thank God. We still need to go grocery shopping, though… We don’t have food for either him or us.”

“Do you want me to go?” 

You’re already getting up, though. “Nah, let’s go together, like usual.”

He smiles. Yeah. Like usual.

So flash forward now, one hour later—

He’s tossing all sorts of odd combinations into your trolley, and when he’s the one pushing it, that means you’re going to be barely stopping him from picking yet another pack of chips in the aisle beside.

Because, seriously, what kind of trolley has fruits, meat, chips and dog food all at once? Any other college student, he says. Well, you don’t complain further, because you’re already busy thinking about what to cook for dinner.

Metal shelves press together like metro train commuters, all the while humming coolers whisper across aisles—stacked with the classic 99¢ ramen, chips, and plastic-wrapped bagels. The overhead fluorescent lights buzz faintly amidst the static hiss of the radio’s pop song, always a little too bright, and it cuts through the shuffle of tired locals grabbing dinner after work.

Both of you pass each aisle, and when he reaches up just one more time, he says, for the latest bag of chips, you slap his hands away. He gives you a pout, but you shoot it back down, eyes still peeled ahead, while the trolley miserably follows behind now.

“So what’s on the menu, Chef?” Yuji asks, arms on the handle. 

“Japanese curry,” you hum back, already tossing the small sticks of chives into the trolley behind.

His eyes glisten at the thought of it, his mouth watering already. “You always make the best dinners.”

With a mere huff and the slightest curl of your lips, you refuse to turn back to face him. You can already feel the piercing stare of awe on your back, but it does little to keep the budding brim of pride at bay.

Because honestly speaking, that’s all you need.

When the tiny 2010s New York apartment smells like onions sizzling in butter—warm, sweet, it seeps both into the walls and your mind that you’re actually home.

The window above the stove rattles a little every time a subway roars somewhere underground, but inside, it’s just the two of you, moving around the cramped kitchen like you both have a hundred times.

“You’re cutting them too big,” you tease, nudging his elbow as he chops another carrot chunk.

“They’ll shrink in the pot!” he fires back, puffing his cheeks. “Plus, big pieces are funner to chew.”

“That’s not how carrots work.”

“Sure it is.”

You break into laughter, and he falters into the same grin behind his ever-so-bravado. 

Before you can turn back to the stove, his hands slip around your waist from behind, pulling you just close enough that your back warms against his chest. It’s second nature to him by now—but somehow, this time, his touch reminds you of someone else just earlier this afternoon.

“Hey—hey,” you giggle, trying to stir the pot while he sways you side to side, “I’m gonna spill the roux.”

“That’s the plan,” he murmurs, chin gently resting on your shoulder as he watches the stew bubble. 

“Teamwork, right? I’m moral support.”

“Moral support doesn’t usually involve hugging me every five seconds.”

He gives a soft, guilty hum. “Hmm. Guess I’m extra supportive.”

Outside the window, the streetlights of early-night Manhattan cast a warm orange glow across the counter, mixing with the flicker of your old fluorescent kitchen light, and somewhere below, a taxi honks, someone yells. Your radio’s playing the classic pop songs on repeat rotation this week, and inside, tucked within the mellow warmth, there’s just the soft simmer of curry and the occasional clatter of utensils. Yuji leans forward to peek into the pot, arms tightening around you as if he can’t help it.

“That smells so good,” he says, voice a little softer now.

You feel your cheeks warm more than the stove ever could, but you still shove him with your hip anyway. “Then set the table, you sap.”

He laughs boyishly before finally letting go. Grabbing bowls, he’s humming off-key to the radio, and when you glance back at him, his sleeves are already rolled up. He plates the curry bubbling behind you, and the two of you settle snuggishly into the couch, blanket tossed over both of your legs.

As usual, Yuji sits close, stretching his arm along the backrest so that he can tug you closer whenever he feels like it. He’s already rambling off into the darkness, and long before you know it, you’re both talking over the show more than actually watching it.

“But, uh… lunch was good,” he adds quietly. “Ate outside. The weather felt nice. I kinda wished you were there, though.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it; Yuji seldom does things like this. He just rubs the back of his neck, cheeks burning pink.

“Y’know… campus stuff is better when you’re around,” he murmurs. “Feels less like I’m just running around all day and more like…” He pauses, searching for the word. “…I’m just living day-to-day.”

You snort. “You’re such a dork.”

“A dork who had a rough day,” he huffs, nudging your knee with his. 

You card your fingers through his soft pink hair despite yourself, and he melts instantly, like he’s been waiting all day for this. At some point, the warmth of the curry settles into your stomach, the weight of his arm drapes heavier against your shoulders, and your eyelids grow heavier with each second.

His heartbeat is steady, right under your ear, and beneath the warmth, you don’t even notice when your bowls slide onto the coffee table. You just fall asleep tucked into his side, wrapped in his hoodie and the low hum of the city outside the window.

He simply watches, and somewhere, underneath the warmth of the quiet, his hand stops just a beat from tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You don’t know how long you’ve slept, but when the sudden, distant siren of an ambulance cuts through the silence, you wake. The apartment’s dark except for the TV’s dim blue, and your head’s still snuggled against the couch cushion, but Yuji isn’t there.

His spot is still warm, yet the empty bowls are already in the sink.

“Yuji?” you whisper, sitting up as the floor creaks softly beneath your bare feet. Silence echoes, and only the faint late-night wail follows through the room, the ticking of your clock.

It's dead midnight.

Outside your window, a breeze seeps softly from the fire escape. The curtains shift, and you turn to read the single sticky note pasted on the coffee table, scribbled in his ever-so messy handwriting:

“Sorry. Something came up. Didn’t wanna wake you.

Be back soon :)”

You run your thumb over the smiley face, feeling the echo of warmth where he’d been.

You don’t know why he disappears every night.

But for now, all you know is the apartment still smells like curry and him—and the couch feels just a little too big without his arms around your waist.

Dawn breaks as gold washes over the pavement, daylight spilling into the still-waking streets. You’re shuffling along beside Yuji, shoulders brushing now and then. In both your hands are cups of cocoa from the corner cart, each crowned with a swirl of whipped cream he swears is just “the best in the city.”

Steam lifts from the paper cup, curling into the damp morning air, all the while streets still glisten from last night’s rain, passing headlights shimmering in fractured streaks. Inhaling, the air smells of salt and roasted peanuts, tinged with the sweet bite of chestnuts toasting somewhere behind you.

“You’re going to burn your tongue if you sip that too fast,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

He sticks his tongue out at you, laughing even harder when you snort back at him. You simply shake your head as he bumps your shoulder, grinning.

The crowd hums around you, a river of people rushing with purpose, but you walk slower than usual, matching his pace. His hair catches the sunlight in golden highlights, and as he turns to glance over at you, the corners of his mouth tilt when he notices you staring.

“And you’re gonna spill your drink if you keep staring,” he laughs, holding out his hand. 

You giggle, letting him grab your wrist gently, tugging you just slightly forward as you step over a puddle. His warmth lingers a second too long, and as the sun rises a little higher, he watches you sip from your cup—eyes soft and warm.

Kiniro’s barking as well, his leash wrapped just around Yuji’s knuckles. The boy gives it a little tug, but for a split second, his shoulders tense. He’s distracted for a moment, silent. 

There’s a siren somewhere uptown. A horn blast. Something sharp flickers across his expression before he smooths it away.

You pretend not to notice. Instead, you just nudge your shoulder into his again. “You okay?”

He grins. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

But his fingers tighten just slightly around your wrist.

You tilt your cocoa toward him. “Trade?”

He huffs a relieved laugh. “Fine, but only because I know mine has more whipped cream.”

You swap cups, and his shoulders loosen, the tension in his jaw melting away. Somehow, the warmth of the moment softens the city around you—right up until your phone buzzes. You glance down, frowning.

“Did you eat yet?” “Are you really out with him again?”

Your chest tightens. No matter how far you’ve moved, her messages still slice like winter wind. Instead, you shove the phone deeper into your pocket, just as Yuji starts rambling about some comic he swears he didn’t dream up. 

“Everything okay?” It’s his turn this time, unaware of the text buzzing under your coat.

You nod in response, though, forcing a smile. “Yeah… just distracted.”

He doesn’t probe, and you just follow him down a narrow side street, fire escapes shadowing over cracked sidewalks. The city hums with distant trains, honking taxis, and the usual rumble of early traffic. He twirls you once in the crosswalk, and for a brief moment, your worries fade. Laughter bubbles up easily, sunlight spilling through breaks in the buildings.

Everything is gold.

You don’t even pass five blocks before you hear the sudden strum of a guitar, faint from a musician tucked just beside a subway entrance, tin cup right at his feet. 

Yuji’s eyes sparkle instantly like a kid spotting magic.

“Dance battle?” he asks, grin stretching mischievously.

You nearly choke on your cocoa. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He’s already bending his knees, taking a fighting stance. “You. Me. Right here. Winner gets bragging rights for life.”

You groan, trying to pull him away, but the way he bounces on the balls of his feet, the laughter in his voice, makes it impossible to resist.

And before you know it, both your cups are set on the window ledge just beside, and he’s twirling you gently in the middle of the sidewalk, weaving through the small cluster of pedestrians staring in a mix of confusion and amusement.

“Yuji! Stop, I’ll—” you squeal, laughing so hard your stomach hurts.

He only snorts harder, spinning you until your hair whips across your face and you bury your head against his shoulder. “You’ve got moves,” he teases, voice softening. “Better than I thought.”

When the music shifts to a slower melody, he doesn’t let go. His grip on your waist pulls you closer, his forehead resting lightly against yours, eyes half-closed. The rest of the city fades, and in the midst of it, there’s only the pulse of your laughter, the warmth, and the soft brush of his breath against your cheek.

For a second, it feels like the world stopped just to let him hold you. Everything melts away, and time stills.

Then… he freezes. The sparkle in his eyes dims.

“I—I gotta—” he starts, pulling back slightly, fingers brushing yours.

You frown, confused. This isn’t the first time he’s bailing midway, and suddenly, the warmth’s twisting with the usual tension.

“What?” Your voice cracks. “Where are you going?”

He bites his lip, hesitating. “Something came up… I’ll be back as soon as I can. Promise.”

Before you can argue, he’s already turning, weaving through the crowd and quickly disappearing like he’s done so a hundred times. You watch, heart sinking, as the tide of bodies swallows him.

Your phone buzzes then—again—in your pocket.

Your stomach knots, all the while the sweetness of the morning is turning brittle at the edges. 

You frown at the screen, fingers trembling slightly… another message. 

This time, you take a deep breath, lukewarm cocoa in your hand, and look back down the street where Yuji vanished.

For a heartbeat, the world was quiet.

Almost enough to drown out the buzzing phone. The crawling ache.

Almost.

The campus is loud as usual, and your bag is slung lazily over your shoulder. It’s field day, and Nobara’s perched by your side like a hawk.

Field day always turns the campus into a festive frenzy—music blasting, banners everywhere, and the smell of grass and sunscreen wafting with the crispy fry of food from student stalls. The sun’s golden light is just enough to dust everything with a warm edge, shedding the tiniest bit of warmth amidst the early winter, but your chest still feels tight, and every cheer from the bleachers is merely another headache pulsing beneath the last.

Your fingers curl around your bag strap. 

“You better scream your lungs out for him,” she says, flipping her hair as the two of you shuffle through clusters of crazed students. “He made me promise I’d drag you here even if you tried to run.”

You roll your eyes with a huff of disbelief, but still, your chest warms at the mention of him. In the midst of it, Nobara pauses.

“Hey, you okay, though?” she asks, nudging your side. “You’re quieter than usual.”

“I’m fine,” you say, forcing the words past the tightness in your throat. 

The football field is already swarmed by the time you reach it. Voices rise and fall like crashing waves, bleachers trembling under stampeding students trying to get good seats. You spot Megumi standing near the edge in all his emo glory, stretching like he’s prepping for a battlefield instead of just another friendly match.

He sighs when he spots you and Nobara, but you don’t miss how the corner of his mouth twitches just a bit upward.

“Told you she’d come,” Nobara smirks.

He mutters something along the lines of “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” but his eyes flick briefly toward the locker tunnel—where Yuji should be…

And right on cue, the man himself bursts out.

Yuji comes sprinting with his helmet in hand, hair ruffled, grin stretched wide enough to split galaxies. His jersey clings to his shoulders, the number glowing against the sunlight. He’s sprinting across the grass like his body was built for this—shining, bright, unstoppable. His hair catches the morning light like rose-gold flames, the soft pink of it glowing warm against his skin.

But he’s late again, and not just a little—ten minutes behind schedule. Yet no one seems to mind except you.

Your chest twists. The familiar pang rises again. 

The moment he notices you, he practically trips over his own feet from how fast his attention snaps your way.

“There you are!” he calls, waving the helmet wildly above his head.

Nobara snorts. “Lord, he’s so lovesick it physically hurts.”

You pretend not to hear her.

Yuji jogs up to the fence separating players from spectators, leaning against it with both forearms as if he can’t stop himself from getting closer. His breath comes out quickly from the run, but his grin is wide and bright.

“You made it,” he says too eagerly.

“We always make it,” you scoff, nudging your bag up your shoulder. “Don’t disappoint us.”

“Yes—yes, Ma’am,” he salutes, cheeks pink. “I’m gonna win extra hard now.”

Behind him, the team captain shouts his name. Megumi barks at him, “If you miss the huddle again, I’m making you run laps.”

Yuji jumps, jolting upright. “Coming!”

But before he turns, he reaches out—fingers brushing yours through the fence. Just a fleeting drag of warmth, but enough to leave your pulse scrambling.

“I’ll look for you after every play,” he says sheepishly. “So… don’t leave, okay?”

Nobara rolls her eyes so dramatically that she might strain something. “He’s going to combust.”

You’re definitely not telling her you just might too.

But even then, Yuji still runs back to his team, helmet tucked under his arm, shouting something stupidly upbeat that gets the whole bench laughing. The field hums with energy, sunlight bouncing off jerseys, the grass almost glittering.

Finally, the game commences.

And Yuji—it’s like he was born for this.

He’s fast. Focused. And ridiculously competent.

Every time he steals the ball, the crowd roars. Every time he dodges someone twice his size, Nobara shrieks. And when he scores—an impossible curve just inside the goalpost—he swings both arms up, searching the stands until he locks eyes with you.

He beams like you just handed him the universe.

And the whole world feels golden—sunlight, victory, thrill. Megumi is yelling instructions, Nobara’s screaming insults at the opponents, and Yuji’s just there in all of his radiant glory—shining without even trying.

It’s warm. It’s bright. It’s alive.

You’re cheering too, but your smile still falters, tight around the edges. Your fingers tighten around the edge of your bag strap.

But for now… Yuji wins.

And he looks at you like you’re the reason he did. Truly, he does. He barely hears the final whistle over the roar of the crowd. One second, he’s sprinting across the field, cleats kicking up dust, teammates shouting his name—

And the next, he’s tearing off his helmet and running straight for you.

You barely get a sound out before he crashes into you, arms around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground in a dizzying spin. His laugh bursts warm against your neck, almost boyish in how free it is.

“You saw that, right? You saw that, right?” he breathes, grin blinding, forehead pressed to yours as if he needs proof—needs you—to make it real.

Nobara’s whooping behind you. Megumi’s pretending not to stare, and he’s shoving his hands in his pockets like he didn’t just sabotage two passes solely so Yuji could score. The field is a riot of noise—whistles, cheers, the brass band warming up again—but all of it blurs around him.

Yuji’s still holding you there, thumbs brushing your ribs. The pink of his hair, the warm brown of his eyes, the soft grin that always pulls at the corner of his mouth. His hair brushes your forehead when he leans in.

A voice cuts through the crowd. “Congratulations, you all! What a play!”

It’s a senior guy from another team—someone charming, loud, the type Yuji knows people tend to gravitate to. He jogs past, tossing you a quick smile like it’s nothing.

“You were cheering SO loud,” he tells you, laughing. “Honestly, I think you were louder than the team.”

Yuji’s smile twitches.

The guy just continues, leaning in a bit too close, “You coming to the afterparty? Nobara said you might—”

Yuji steps in without thinking, placing a hand on your back.

“Oh,” the guy says, blinking. “Hey, Itadori. Great game, man.”

“Thanks,” Yuji answers—but something in his eyes dims.

Nobara simply smirks with a cross of her arms.

His eyes flick back to you. Quick. Searching.

Did you smile back? Did you think the guy was cool? Did you—

Suddenly, the team crowds around him—slapping his back, grabbing his shoulders, shouting over each other, and you’re both separated from the wave of intrusion.

“You’re coming with us tonight, right?”

“Yo, we’re buying you dinner!”

“We’re gonna replay that touchdown like a hundred times—”

Yuji’s flustered, overwhelmed. His chest is heaving, and sweat trickles down his forehead. He doesn’t like the sudden attention, and he keeps looking back at you over their heads—checking, making sure you haven’t drifted away in the crowd, but he loses you just as quickly as they came.

Megumi sighs, nudging him. “Go,” he mutters. “We’ll catch up.”

And that’s all he needs.

He practically breaks out of the huddle just to run over to you—soft murmurs of apologies as he bumps into someone else’s shoulder. 

Everything else is noise to him, and it isn’t long until he catches the familiar sight of the back of your head again.

He settles beside you, still breathless. His fingers hover, then hook lightly around your wrist, tugging you closer.

“You’re walking with me, right?” His voice drops. “Please?”

Nobara wiggles her eyebrows. “You two are disgusting,” she groans, then pats your shoulder. “I’m getting drinks. Don’t do anything gross while I’m gone.”

She disappears. Megumi drifts off too, yelling something at a teammate.

And suddenly, it’s just you and him again.

The air is warm from the sun, the grass glittering with confetti. His hand is still curled around yours. “I’m really glad you came, y’know.”

You smile softly. “Of course I did.”

“And… that guy earlier,” he adds too casually, “Do you… know him?”

There it is—the tiny crack in his voice.

And something sinks in your stomach. You’re exhausted—raw beneath the skin. And you’re way too tired to explain the history he’s scarred you. Not today. Not after this win. Not when he’s glowing like a sun you don’t want to dim.

So you answer gently, “Not really. Don’t worry about it.”

Yuji’s silent.

But you can feel the tension humming beneath his ribs as he tries to read your face. After a few steps, he murmurs, barely audible underneath his breath. “Hey, so… did you really cheer that loud?”

You grin. “Yeah. For you.”

“Then why do you look so tired?” he asks.

Your steps falter. “I’m fine.”

His brows pinch. He looks at you closely.

“You don’t have to say ‘fine’ just because you think it’s easier,” he says. “I can handle it. Whatever it is.”

But your mind is still tangled from the morning, from the noise, from everything you haven’t wanted to burden anyone with. You look away.

It should’ve been easy—Yuji’s arms around you, the campus buzzing with leftover cheers, Megumi shouting something smug in the distance, Nobara somewhere in the corner of your eye. Everything is loud, and warm, and safe.

But Yuji doesn’t see the phone screen still lighting up in your pocket.

He doesn’t notice how your fingers have been curling in on themselves, and suddenly, the sunlight feels too bright. Your pulse crawls up the back of your throat. Softly, without meaning to, you’re muttering under your breath.

“You’re not even here half the time. How are you gonna ‘handle it’?”

He catches it too, but he doesn’t say anything. You don’t even know he heard it… because you aren’t entirely wrong. He’s been either late or disappeared midway through the last three times you hung out. Last weekend, he ditched you mid-dance, and you told him it was fine—of course it was fine—it just stung more than you want to admit, and today, he barely made it to field day on time.

Something about helping someone, getting caught up, you weren’t even sure.

He’s always trying, always running. Always tired.

You don’t want to be another thing that drags him down.

“It’s nothing. You don’t have to worry about me today. You’ve got more important people to celebrate with.”

Yuji stops walking altogether. The shift is small—barely a misstep on the pavement—but it feels like the ground trembles.

“What?” he asks quietly.

“Everyone’s congratulating you. You should enjoy it. You don’t need to be glued to me.”

His face falls in slow motion. “Is that… what you think? That I’m only here because I feel like I should be?”

You don’t answer fast enough, and your silence hurts him more than any shouted insult could have. The tension that holds in the air now is unbearable.

His face contorts into a frown.

“Seriously?” he murmurs. “I just ran straight to you after the biggest game of the semester, and you think I wouldn’t choose you?”

His voice wavers, and you quickly shake your head, tilting your head to look at him. “Yuji, that’s not—”

“No, it’s okay,” he says, stepping back, eyes darting everywhere except your face. 

“Yuji—” His expression ruins you, and now, you wish more than anything but to take back your words.

He swallows hard. “I get it."

There it is.

The crack in the glass. The place where he breaks. You reach out for him, but all he does is step away.

“You know I didn’t mean that, I was just tired—”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and the cheering behind you erupts, but the world between you stills.

The stadium burst into cheers for the next round of the competition, and his teammates are shouting his name, waving him over for the afterparty. “Yuji! Let’s go!”

He hesitates.

Because he wants to stay. You can see that. But still, he pulls his hand back.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” he says, smiling the way he always does—the one that makes your chest warm and ache and twist all at once. “Promise.”

You just… nod. It’s easier than saying you’re not sure you believe it anymore.

And even in the blinding afternoon sun, the warmth he leaves you with still feels cold.

The bleachers, the crowd, the pats on his back—they all drift into nothing.

Nothing matters.

Not when guilt claws at him with each step he takes further from you. He can’t stop himself, though.

He doesn’t deserve you, and even when he sees the faltering pain in your eyes, when it seems like he’s ripped your whole heart out, even when he didn’t mean to—

He should walk away from you.

You deserve better.

But when the hair on his skin stands, the jolt of every nerve in his system sparking up, the dread of what he’s always feared crawls back up into him.

He runs straight back to you.

You slowly step away from the crowd, letting the chatter fade into the background. The noise of the campus stadium and cheering grows distant, muffled, yet every step feels heavier than the last. Your bag drags against your shoulder, but truthfully, that’s not even what’s weighing you down.

Each breath catches in your chest as you walk through the shortcut through the science wing. Home. You just want to go home now.

The afternoon sun glares against the metal supports of the demo tents. You barely notice them. Instead, your mind is wrapped up in everything, and you hate that you even feel this way. Hate that even until now, every time you think you’ve grown to be logical enough, your heart always gets the better of you.

Your steps echo softly within the hollow of your mind, seconds stretching into minutes, minutes into hours. You don’t even know how long you’ve been walking. How far you’ve wandered. All you know is that you’re all alone—both literally and in your head.

A loud metallic groan rips through the air.

Suddenly, the metal pole just above the building snaps. There’s no thought, and only the sudden, sickening realisation that it’s coming down.

Oh.

You just stand there, memories flashing through your eyes in replay.

Yuji flashes through your eyes.

This is it—

But suddenly… in the blink of an eye, all you see is a blur of red and blue.

Your chest slams against a familiar chest, and the world flips upside down for a heartbeat. Air screams past your ears. The pole crashes behind you, scattering debris, a deafening clatter that reverberates in your bones.

You gasp, clutching him, every nerve ending on fire. Pain lances through your arm where the pole grazed you, and your knee scrapes against the pavement as he manoeuvres you away. 

The wind tears at your hair, and even in the chaos, your mind reels. 

“You… you okay?” His voice is low, urgent, but behind the mask, it trembles.

It’s Spider-Man.

But you can’t answer. Your body shakes, each blink glowing hotter and hotter as the weight of everything finally crashes.

“I—I—” You can’t finish.

Your throat tightens, and you simply break in his arms. His grip tightens, swinging you back toward a safer alleyway, ignoring the chatter, the noise, and everything else.

“It’s okay… you’re okay. I’ve got you,” he whispers, and somewhere in the midst of it, his voice cracks.

“Hey, look at me. Just—just look at me,” he lowers himself beside you, knees hitting the cold concrete, his hands closing around yours with a trembling gentleness. 

You choke on a breath, shaking your head furiously, face buried in your arms. “I can’t… I can’t—”

His voice softens, frays at the edges. “Please. Breathe. Just breathe.”

The tears spill faster, hot and relentless. You’re folding in on yourself, small and shaken, and the words slip out in pieces you can’t hold back.

“I—Yuji… I can’t… I just…” Your voice quivers. “I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to—”

“You’re not!” he almost shouts, but it cracks, breaking down into a whisper.

“Do you hear me? Your life matters. It matters.” His breath trembles. His hands cup your face now, fingers digging into the sides of your jaw as he kneels beside you. “And if no one else can keep you safe, then I will. I will. So don’t ever—ever say that again.”

Your sobs shake all the way through you, and he pulls you into him, arms banding around your body, holding you. Even then, the panic still claws at your ribs. He presses his forehead to yours, his voice barely holding itself together. “I’ve got you. Just… just trust me. Do you want to go home?”

You’re sobbing into his chest now. Your ribs are aching, your shoulders throbbing, and you’re stuttering in shallow gasps, yet somehow, with the last tiniest bit of strength left in you, you manage a nod.

His arms wrap around you again, lifting you gently. The wind roars past as he swings, your body cradled against his chest. The city blurs into streaks of silver and orange, but none of it grounds you. Everything still bites.

By the time he lands on your balcony, your legs buckle, and he sets you down with a quick turn away. Like he thinks he should leave. Like he thinks he’s the problem.

Your chest caves in.

“I can’t… I don’t—” you whisper, and then, with trembling fingers, you grasp his wrists.

He freezes, panic flashing behind the mask.

You tug him down to your level, breath shaky, heart ricocheting against your ribs.

You look up at him, heart pounding so loudly you can barely hear the storm around you—and for the first time, Yuji wants nothing more than to rip off his mask. Right here. Right now.

Because trust has always felt like something he wasn’t allowed to have… yet here you are, the one constant in the chaos of his double life, holding onto him like he’s the only steady thing in your world.

The home he was never sure Yuji Itadori deserves, not when Spider-Man’s saving lives, all the while Yuji is running late for another hangout somewhere else.

The slope of his jaw beneath the mask, the shape of his shoulders beneath the soaked suit, the faint scent of detergent he always uses at home. You’re exhausted—tired of the uncertainty, tired of the guessing—everything about him feels almost too familiar.

It breaks something loose inside you. “Yuji…?” 

Your voice is barely more than a breath, but to him, it lands even harder than lightning.

He freezes.

He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t even move a muscle.

Not even when your fingers slide to the edge of his mask, and in a heartbeat of terror and clarity, you pull it up. 

Your world stops.

The way his voice cracks in the exact shape of Yuji’s kindness, the way he whispers comfort with words only Yuji has ever spoken to you. The way he knows exactly how to hold you, just like Yuji did when you both danced in that one street.

And now, seeing him—wet-faced, trembling, eyes glassy with fear and relief—it hits you like a punch straight through the ribs.

“Y–You…” His voice breaks. “I’m sorry—I was going to tell you, I swear, I just—”

You don’t let him finish.

You just lean in and kiss him. Desperate, shaking. Relief, anger, and love all at once. Fear—that you could’ve lost him before you ever got to say any of it.

It’s right there and then he goes stiff with shock… before he finally melts with a shaky exhale, pulling you so close your feet practically leave the ground.

“You… you’re alive,” he whispers into your hair as he pulls back slightly, forehead resting against yours.

“I thought—God, I thought I lost you.” His voice cracks as he buries himself in the crook of your neck, arms still locked around you.

Your fingers curl into the back of his suit. “...Don’t go.”

He lifts his head, tears dripping down his cheeks. His forehead presses to yours, his breath shuddering.

“Stay. Please.”

You’re whispering, shaking. He looks at you for a second—and it doesn’t take another until his lips crash into yours again.

The floorboards creak. The air is heavy. Kiniro’s sleeping somewhere in the kitchen, but your legs are wrapped tight around Yuji’s waist now. He’s holding you up, fingers digging into your thighs.

“Wait—” He cuts you off with another kiss as he stumbles into the living room, lights still off.

Your hands gently clutch the back of his suit even tighter. Your kisses are sloppy, frantic, and desperate. He quickly yanks his mask off, throwing it straight at the couch while he lifts you like nothing with one hand.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, but he’s already back to nibbling your bottom lip, working his way up to your breathless gasps.

“Mm… Yuji,” Your fingers lace through the pink threads of his hair, ruffling through them as something pools just beneath your stomach. 

The door rattles behind you as he pushes it open with your back against it, a creak rattling across, and when he does pull away, a drool lingers just between the two of you, and he looks up at you, lifted, like the most gorgeous angel ever. You pant, hand grasping his clothed bicep, as he presses a thumb under your chin, tipping your head further back. 

He’s wanted this for the last five years of his life, and now here you are—lost in it and in his arms—he just might explode into a million pieces.

“I love you,” he peppers even more kisses, agonisingly dragging a trail from your chin, all the way up to your drooped eyelids, hazy, muzzy even as your breath heaves with each gasp. “So fucking much.”

Your heart’s also pounding loudly, and even when he plops you down on his bed, you refuse to let go. You watch as he fumbles the unbuttoning of your clothes, and you tilt your head back as he trails even more wet kisses on your face. His knee slides right between your legs.

Goosebumps trail each time his lips meet your skin, and his fingers are still gripped tight onto the flesh of your thighs. His bed, his taste, your head is so intoxicated with him, it’s driving you insane. Even inhaling the fresh lemon detergent of his sheets makes you nuzzle against it, whining as he plants yet another kiss on your neck.

“Slow down,” you sigh, threading your fingers through his hair as he trails down to your stomach, nails scratching his scalp as he nuzzles into your touch, kissing the thin fabric separating you from his desperate mouth.

But as drunk as he is, lost in the whirlwind of your moans driving him insanely, unbearably hot amidst the cold air, he pauses for a second.

Just above your stomach, he slowly turns to look up at you. “...Are you okay with this?”

He looks up at you like he’s worshipping a goddess, because even in all your dazedness, you’re drop-dead gorgeous—eyes glossy, lips curled, breath panting.

“Mhm…” He instantly snuggles his face into your stomach, making you giggle, “What the—Yuji!”

Every kiss feels like worship, his mouth tracing shakingly down the insides of your thighs until he reaches the heat between them. With a gentle press of his hands, he nudges your legs apart and slips your pants down your hips, letting them fall away completely.

He goes utterly still.

God, he thinks, it’s so fucking pretty. And even though he’s never done this before, not really, he’s seen enough, learned enough, to know what to do.

His thumbs glide through your slickness and gently spread you open, baring every trembling part of you to his stare. The cold whisper of air makes you shift and whimper, embarrassment warming your cheeks. You don’t see it, though—the way his gaze drops, dark with want, his breath nearly catching at the sight of you.

Slowly, he leans in, breath warm against you before his tongue draws a long, deliberate lick through your folds. He can’t help but utter a low, hungry groan rumbling from his chest.

“Fuck… taste so sweet,” he mutters against you, hips pressing hard into the mattress as if he can’t help himself.

“Yuji—” Your back bows off the sheets in an instant, a startled cry slipping out as your thighs snap around his head.

But he only growls softly in response, arms locking around your legs to hold you open for him. He doesn’t stop—not for a second—as he devours you, messy yet greedy, drinking down every drop of your sweet slick.

His throaty groan vibrates straight through you, sending shivers up your spine. Your jaw falls open, eyes fluttering shut as you melt back into the mattress. "You're so beautiful— so..."

He can’t help it—can’t help melting into your taste.

His mouth grows sloppier, jaw loosening so he can slurp louder, tongue moving with sprouting confidence. He circles your clit again and again, then dips lower, pushing his tongue clumsily but tenderly into your heat. His lashes brush his cheeks as he moves, muddled and klutzy—yet careful, and worshipping you with every greedy stroke.

Your fingers glide down your stomach, trembling as you reach for him, burying your hand in his hair. At the same time, your nails drag lightly across the nape of his neck as you tug him closer, guiding him deeper between your thighs. He groans into you, then pulls back only long enough to slick his fingers with his tongue before rubbing your clit in slow, deliberate circles. Silently, he watches your slick drip down, following the trail with dark, dilated eyes.

Your tongue slips out, thumb brushing your lower lip as you look down at him. The sight alone makes him shudder.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs.

Heat flares over your cheeks, but you nod with a soft, breathy hum, lips parted as he lowers his mouth again. He laps at your folds slowly, savouring you, sweet warmth spilling over his tongue while he keeps his gaze on you.

“Mhm… Yu…” you breathe, a small moan escaping as your lids grow heavy again.

Something warm blooms in his chest at the sight of you weakly squirming, voice all soft and sweet, and he dives back to your clit. His tongue flicks over the sensitive bud until your moans climb higher, your hips jerking. He’s rutting subtly into the mattress.

“Yu—ahh, I’m gonna—gonna cum—” Your legs tremble, thighs trying to snap shut on instinct, but he only tightens his arms around them, holding you open as his mouth works you through it—pushing you right to the edge.

And then you’re falling.

Your jaw drops slack, tongue lolling slightly as stars burst behind your eyelids. You gasp out a broken “Haagh—” all the while, soft, desperate moans spill from your lips.

The sound you make has him tensing all over again, breath catching as he leans in to press a soft kiss to your inner thigh. His eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, watching the way your lashes flutter, and how your body trembles with the aftershocks he pulled out of you.

He stares like he’s mesmerised.

And in the heat of it, he just can’t stop himself.

His thumb finds your clit again, pressing lightly, and your words dissolve into breathy whines. He's talking you through it. Watching as your pretty lashes kiss your cheeks as your hips lift, chasing more, and he gives it to you—sliding a finger inside with a low, desperate sound.

“Your voice… fuck—” he groans, the sound almost a plea.

You yelp, grip tightening—one hand buried in his hair, the other fisting the sheets.

Then he adds a second finger, humming as your walls stretch around him, giving you barely a heartbeat before he’s thrusting them in and out, building pace. Your eyes go wide, back arching sharply, nails sinking into his bicep as he peppers kisses up your neck.

“I—Y-Yuji—ahh, please—I just came—” Your voice breaks so sweetly it nearly kills him, and maybe he should give you a second to breathe—but he’s already kissing down your chest, already pulling your top up without you noticing, clumsily unclasping your bra with unsteady fingers.

He’s dreamed of tasting you like this for years. God, you can’t even imagine.

His tongue drags over your nipple, lips closing around it as his fingers keep working you open, and all he can think—watching you squeeze his arm, bury your face in his shoulder, thighs trembling around his wrist—is how heartbreakingly cute you are, and how intoxicatingly soft your breasts feel.

Your legs shake as he finally pulls his fingers out, and he pops them into his mouth, sucking them clean while staring right at you in all his dazed hunger. You feel yourself grow embarrassed at the obscene sight, your lips part in silent awe, chest rising and falling as you watch him.

Finally, after what seems like forever, he reaches for his suit, unzipping it and letting it fall to the floor. His hands fumble with his boxers—slow, torturous—and you can’t tear your gaze from the dark shape straining against the fabric.

When it slips free, your breath catches. Your heart lurches into your throat.

It’s fucking huge. Your pupils blow wide, a tiny sound catching in your throat. He gathers the pre-cum on his thumb, spreading it over the swollen head before settling beside you on the bed.

“'Kay, angel…” he exhales, voice shaking, “think we’re… good…”

Your face burns, dizzy with need. His lips find yours again as he rocks his cock through your slick folds, coating himself, teasing you both. You grind up instinctively, but he pulls back with sudden panic in his eyes. “Shit—condom—”

You cut him off. “I’m safe.”

He freezes. Looks at you once, and his fingers tremble. Both of you are flushed, breathless, then he kisses you again—harder, desperate. 

“I fuckin—“ he’s gasping through each clumsy kiss, “fuck—I love you—so fuckin’ much.”

The words—messy, breathless, dripping with sincerity—turn your mind to nothing but mush. By the time he settles back between your thighs, lifting your legs high around his waist, you’re already trembling. A slow, burning stretch blossoms inside you as he presses just the head of his cock in.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he murmurs.

“Ngh—Yuj—” you start, but he kisses you before the rest can leave your lips, fingers threading through your hair with such tenderness it makes your chest ache.

“You’re, urgh, doing so well… Yeah…” He watches in fascination at the lewd scene of your cunt taking in his cock. “Fuck—so fuckin’ good—“

He's panting, eyes fixed on where your body’s parting around him. He’s only seen stuff like this on his phone, but it doesn’t compare to the real thing, and the sight alone makes him choke on a groan.

Your moan breaks loose, higher and needier as he rocks his hips, inching in deeper. You’re tight—so tight—and the mix of pressure and pleasure has you clinging to him, whining when his hand squeezes your thigh.

“I-It’s okay, angel—fuck, b-breathe,” he huffs, eyes squeezing shut as a low groan rumbles out of him. “I’m not gonna last like this, baby.”

The name hits you like a spark—your body involuntarily clenches around him, and he notices instantly. He lifts his head despite the sweat trailing down his temple, a breathless, smug little smile tugging at his lips.

“You l-like that, baby?” he teases, voice cracked and warm. His hand cups your chin, guiding your gaze back to him as he pants through the ache.

“Y-Yuj…” you whisper, gasping as he sinks in deeper. You nuzzle instinctively into his palm, stroking your cheek.

And fuck—you can’t expect him to hold back when you’re kissing the rough heel of his hand like that.

He can’t doesn’t wait for you to adjust fully. His mouth crashes onto yours, tongue greedy and eager as he kisses you like he’s drowning. Because really, he is, with how his knees shake as he digs into the mattress, all before he slowly thrusts forward—each controlled drag burying more of his thick length deeper inside you.

You cling to him, nails digging into his broad shoulders, into the hard cut of muscle beneath his skin, and he grunts at the sting, hips rutting deeper, each movement slow and heavy enough to make your breath stutter.

You feel everything—every ridge, every pulse, every maddening inch of him, and your moans twist into soft, breathy cries, mixing with his low, guttural groans against your lips.

You don’t even hear how the room’s engulfed with nothing but the lewd squelches echoing through the quiet now, his hips softly plapping against you, grunting in your ear whenever you unintentionally clench around him.

Your soft whines turn into sweet cries, and his eyes dilate in awe, cheeks flushed as your vision blurs. Your wet lips part, crying his name over and over, and with each cry, you can feel him somehow grow even larger as he kisses your cervix like he’s addicted.

“Angh—wait!” you whine, grasping his nape, back arching as he continues his torturous pace, the burning yet filling stretch leaving you breathless.

Your mind is scrambled, completely lost to the pleasure as you try to adjust, but he’s already slowly picking up his pace. And it didn’t matter how pathetic your whines got, or how much you came, because he's just kissing you with worship, peppering every part of you like you’re heaven itself, tongue peeking into your mouth again.

And he’s hooked. Hooked with how every time he tries to pull, you’re sucking him back in.

“It’s too much—Yuj—Please—“ and he’s also whimpering right above you.

“Haah—Fuck, fuck, I’m close, baby—“ his lips part, groaning when you instinctually clench around him again.

He swallows each pathetic whine of yours and vice versa, grunting into you with every thrust, both of you panting against each other.

Your mouth’s dangling open with trails of drool, and each time he whispers sweet praises of how gorgeous you are, you can’t help but string out moans and whimpers, filling the thick air of his bedroom. “You’re taking me… so well… ”

You can hardly squeeze any comprehensible thoughts out of you, and your head falls back against him, strength slipping away, hips quivering as quiet whimpers escape you. “Hnngh, Y-Yujiii..."

“Can I cum inside?”

“M-Mhmm,” you agree instantly, breath catching as your body betrays you. You’ve forgotten long ago, anyway, how to resist him.

A certain shiver ripples through you, and Yuji’s pace picks up even more, breath even heavier for the release he's been saving just for you, his whole life.

“Baby,” He pleads. “Fuck, baby, please—Look at me,”

The same strong hand on your jaw softly tilts your head to turn, and your eyes meet his dilated pupils. “Can you feel that? Feel what you do to me? What you’ve been doing to me, baby? Ngh—”

You feel him rolling the rest of his cock deeper inside you while he’s whimpering, and all at once, the air seems to leave your lungs as he slides his arms beneath your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. Before you can even register what’s happening, he’s standing with you in his arms, the weight and closeness leaving your heart racing.

"Does this feel better for you?”

As if. Your legs go weak in his arms, trembling as your body twitches now with every subtle movement he makes. You’re completely at his mercy, breath catching and chest rising and falling faster than you can control. Tiny, messy traces fall from your lips, dripping out onto the floor with soft splatters down below.

He spreads you out wider, aims sliding beneath your thighs, and fingers digging into the plush of your thighs. You feel like you’re simply floating, all whilst he hauls you up and down his cock, leaving you helpless as you sink back into everything he’s sliding desperately into you.

“N-Ngh, Yuj—!” Your voice catches, eyes misting as he burrows closer into the crook of your neck.

A deep, almost dizzying warmth pulses through you, and suddenly, it all bursts. Your hands claw at his back, squirming and desperate for the grounding presence of him. He huffs against your skin as well, breath ragged. His voice drops eager, and you feel it shiver straight through you. “Haah… I’m so close.”

All you can do is tremble around him, giving a slow, lazy nod, lost in the crazed intensity between you.

He’s spilling every rope of cum inside you, and even through it, he doesn’t stop. He keeps a slower, gentler pace, thrusts kissing your cervix even more like he’s thanking you, same as how he’s peppering your face with kisses now.

"Yuji…"

He pants softly in your ear, plopping his cock out tiredly from your hole and onto your bed below. Both of you are still heaving; your bodies stay pressed tightly together.

You murmur from underneath his weight, voice muffled against his shoulder, and it makes him melt as he still holds you close.

“I love you so much... Fuck, I’m sorry I acted like a jerk,” he whispers, gazing into your tired, adoring eyes. “I’ll jump off a cliff if I ever make you cry again.”

You laugh, playfully punching his arm. With a quick peck to his nose, you’re already readjusting so you can straddle him again.

He traces a finger gently along your lips, a little grin on his face.

You raise a brow. “What?”

“Can we um—“ he leans in for a quick kiss, “Can we try doggy style now?”

Okay, cross his weird cooking shows—you’re monitoring his weird porn stash too.

Everything aches when you wake up.

Your arms are stiff, and your legs are all sore, peppered with bite marks and faint crescents from last night. Sunlight filters through the peeping blinds, painting golden stripes across the bed, but that’s not the only weight you’re feeling on top of you.

Yuji’s arm is draped over yours now, warm and comfortably heavy. He’s sprawled on his stomach beside you, hair a chaotic mess, eyelids shut, face practically buried in the pillow. You shift slightly, wincing at the soreness, and his eyes snap open like he’s sensed you awake.

Under his breath, a groan escapes him, followed by a tilt of the head as he glances at you, face squished adorably into the pillow. The memories of last night hit you like a freight train, and your face instantly blooms scarlet.

“Good morning,” he whispers, lips curling into a smile.

“…Morning,” you croak, voice hoarse.

He instantly breaks into laughter, rolling lazily onto his back beside you while you frown at him, still too self-conscious.

Your gaze drifts over him unconsciously, eyes tracing over last night’s scratches on his broad back. The little ridges where his elbows pressed into you, his chest rising and falling from sleep and… other marks. His ears are pink, warm under the sunlight, and he buries his face into your hair, all snuggled with you. Both of you stay like that for a few heartbeats, breathing each other in, disbelief lingering like the soft haze after fireworks.

Eventually, you reach for your phone, which you’d carelessly tossed on the bedside table yesterday. But when the lock screen lights up, your heart nearly jumps out of your throat.

“What—” Yuji murmurs, groggy and confused.

“I have class in thirty minutes!” you gasp, scrambling off the bed despite the soreness. “I cannot miss this one!”

His eyes instantly widen, and before you can blink, he’s already on his feet. He rushes over to your side, scooping you into his arms as he carries you bridal-style to the shower.

“I’ll get your clothes, uh— hold on!” he calls, and just like that, he’s darting to your room, leaving you blinking and flustered. 

The shower’s warmth does little to soothe the ache of your limbs, but you linger just long enough to pull the towel tight around yourself. When you finally do open the bathroom door, you freeze.

Spider-Man. In. The. Flesh.

He’s standing there, folded clothes in hand, looking every bit like the superhero he is. Though the awkward, nervous smile beneath it? 100% Yuji. You pause, staring, and when you finally reach for your clothes, you whisper a hurried thanks, cheeks burning.

He gives a little wave back at you.

You’re not telling him thanks, this time, though—when fast-forward five minutes, you’re in the air, soaring past skyscrapers, strapped in some ridiculous ghost mask he bought last Halloween.

Your stomach flips every time the wind picks up, hair whipping across your face, and the city below blurs into dizzying streaks of light. When you eventually land in a quiet alleyway, you’re gasping for breath, legs trembling, and he finally lets go of your waist. You glance at your watch.

Ten minutes left—cue panic.

You start to turn and dash, but can’t resist sneaking one last glance over your shoulder. Yuji simply stands there, chest heaving, mask slightly crooked, head tilted. He's waving you to get moving already.

But you can’t leave it at that, so quickly, you run back, grab his clenched fists gently in one hand, and lift his mask just slightly to plant a brief peck on his lips.

“Thanks,” you whisper. And before he can say a word, you’re off—rushing back into the bustle, heart hammering, adrenaline still sending quivers through your shaky legs.

"Oh my god...." He dramatically leans back against the cold alley wall, sliding down slowly while clutching at his own head beneath his zipped get-up.

His suit definitely needs an upgrade from Megumi, he thinks, because you’d left him totally knocked out.

And right now, his brain is half-filled with how easily you just slipped away—the other half overclocking on how he's so, so down bad for you.

A pigeon coos from above, judgmental in its stare.

Class has barely ended when your phone buzzes. The hallway is in its usual chaos—sneakers squeaking across scuffed linoleum, laughter ricocheting, backpacks slung over shoulders. You’re juggling your bag, your water bottle, and an overdue sense of exhaustion as you pull out your phone, fully expecting a group chat notification or a calendar reminder.

But then you see the name on the screen. Yuji.

Yuji: look at the manhattan bridge :))

Your brows knit, confused, but curiosity wins still, and you turn toward the tall window overlooking the city, breath fogging faintly against the cold glass. The sky is rinsed in a soft apricot glow today, dripping over the skyline like spilt honey. Its golden hour tints with warmth, enough to melt even the sharpest edges of steel and glass.

And that’s when you see it.

Strung between the beams like frost, shimmering in the golden, like it’s snared a wandering cloud amidst the bleeding sky—three words are strung across the Manhattan Bridge in enormous, gleaming webs.

Each letter is woven thick, looped around half a dozen times so they won’t blow away in the wind.

Your eyes widen. There is absolutely no way.

I LOVE YOU.

Your heart skips violently, and your breath stumbles out of your chest in a gasp.

A stupid, giddy laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it, and your hand flies to your mouth as if you can physically push your stunned smile back in.

“Idiot…” you whisper.

Around you, other students press against the windows, whispering, pointing. Someone mutters,

“Brother did a whole Hollywood sign…”

“Is Spider-Man in love?? With who??”

Your phone buzzes again.

Yuji: empty classroom, east wing. the one w the broken light. hurry! :(

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to fight off the warmth spreading through your chest as you practically float down the hallway. Your steps are light, your face is on fire, and your heart's busy doing backflips inside.

By the time you reach the forgotten old classroom in the east wing, your pulse is sprinting. The door sits slightly open, the flickering ceiling light casting lazy pulses of brightness across the desks like it’s trying, yet failing, to stay conscious.

You push the door open.

And there he is. Yuji stands near one of the desks, mask pulled back and tucked into his hood, pink-peach curls mussed from the wind.

His cheeks are flushed, hoodie slightly crooked, and even though he’s leaning like he’s been waiting forever, he probably swung here mere seconds just before you arrived.

How do you know that? Because the flowers in his hands look like they've just gone through hell and back.

When he sees you, something in him softens so completely it makes your breath catch.

“Hey,” he says, smile tugging gently at the corners of his mouth.

It’s so pure, so bright, it almost tricks you into thinking he didn’t just do something as insane as webbing a literal confession across a whole bridge.

You let out a breathy laugh as you approach him. “Yuji… you webbed the entire Manhattan Bridge.”

He rubs the back of his neck, practically glowing.

“I—uh—wanted to make sure you saw it?” He winces. “And that you didn’t think I was joking.”

His voice gentles. “I mean it.”

Before your brain can even catch up with your racing heart, he reaches out. His hands slip like usual to your waist.

He looks at you like sunlight through glass, stars folding into themselves—unfathomable heaven of devotion graced into every line of his expression.

“You ready to go home?” he asks softly. 

You wrap your arms around him.

“Yeah,” you whisper, and his forehead drops to your shoulder in the tiniest, softest surrender.

He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as you giggle and ruffle his hair.

“I love you too, silly.”

Outside, the sun sinks slowly behind the skyline, ember light scattered across the room as it catches on a stray fleck of web on Yuji’s sleeve. It glows like silver fire as he lifts you effortlessly, stepping toward the window. You simply cling to him, heart soaring as he pushes the pane open and the cool wind rushes in.

With a soft laugh, Yuji leaps, both of you cutting through the evening breeze as the city roars beneath.

Taxis honk, trains rattle, pedestrians shout, but everything muffles the moment his arm curls tighter around you.

With him, flying feels safe.

With him, the city feels small.

With him, the skyline with I LOVE YOU strung across it feels like the only world that matters.

He steals a glance at you mid-swing, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.

New York watches as he swings past skyscrapers—and this time, he isn't alone. He holds you like he has nowhere else to be but by your side, basking in the afterglow of a love he had written across the skyline just for you. 

Petals float below from the two of you, and you say his words back. Barely louder than the wind, but just enough for him, and only him, to hear.

It's what you’ve found between this litany of quiet you’ve both settled into:

“Home.”

CH 1 ⇐ CH 2 ⇒ CH 3 જ⁀➴