mmm

The argument itself wasn't even all that important to be honest.

And quite frankly? If someone asked either of you three days later what had started it, neither of you would've been able to give a clear answer.

It had started somewhere around dinner time. Something about schedules, work, plans that kept getting pushed back…and frustration became another frustration…then another…and then somehow it wasn't about schedules anymore.

It was about feeling unheard, then feeling misunderstood, then feeling like the other person wasn't listening. The apartment had grown quieter as the night went on.

Not calmer, no. Quieter. Like eerily quiet.

Quiet like every word suddenly could blow up everything even larger.

You stood near the kitchen island with your arms folded tightly across your chest, and James stood on the opposite side. 

He was tired. You could see it in his face.

Dark circles beneath his eyes and hair slightly messy from running his hands through it all evening. Exhaustion that made every emotion feel worse than it normally did.

"You keep saying you'll make time."

His jaw tightened.

"I am making time."

"You cancelled twice."

"I had work."

"I know you had work."

"Then why are we still arguing about it?"

You stared at him.

"Because you didn't even tell me until the last minute."

"I apologized."

"That's not the point."

His eyes closed briefly. Like he was trying to stay patient. Trying to stay calm.

And honestly?

You were trying too. Neither of you wanted this, but somehow neither of you knew how to stop either.

"Then what is the point?"

The frustration in his voice made something inside your chest tighten.

"The point is that it feels like I'm always the thing that gets pushed back."

It was instantaneous the regret that crossed his face…because he knew what you meant.

He did. But he was tired…and overwhelmed…and frustrated…and for the first time all night, he snapped.

"No, that's not fair."

His voice wasn't yelling yet, but it was definitely a lot sharper than before. 

Harder too. You both heard it.

You blinked.

James rubbed at his forehead, already irritated with himself.

"I didn't mean-"

"You don't get to decide whether it feels fair."

"I know that."

"Then stop acting like I'm attacking you."

"I'm not acting like that Y/N."

"You are."

"No, I'm trying to explain-"

"James."

"No, because every time I try to explain-"

Back…and forth..and back. Neither of you were listening anymore, just reacting. The conversation getting louder, faster, and messier, until finally-

You said something, he responded, you interrupted, and suddenly-

BANG.

His palm slammed down against the kitchen island.

The sound cracked through the apartment.

Loud and sharp in an instant.

Silence followed. Complete silence.

James' chest rose once.

Twice.

Still caught in the argument, still frustrated, still-

Then he looked up…and saw you.

Everything stopped.

Your shoulders had gone rigid, eyes wide, and face completely blank.

No anger, arguing…anything…just...frozen. Like your brain had gone somewhere else. Somewhere years away.

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and James felt his stomach drop.

"Baby-"

Your lips parted as you swallowed hard.

"...I'm sorry."

The words were barely audible, and James physically recoiled.

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

"No."

His voice cracked immediately.

"No, baby-"

You were already standing up, reaching for your jacket, and planning on leaving.

The look on your face as it briefly flashed in front of him?

My goodness.

The look on your face…it wasn’t anger or disappointment in his sudden reaction, it was fear. Like real, authentic, true fear. And James had never wanted to beat himself up more than he did right then and there.

"Wait."

You grabbed your keys.

"I'm so…sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

The desperation in his voice came out instantly.

"Please stop saying sorry."

Your hand shook slightly.

"I just…need…some air."

"Okay."

He nodded immediately, trying his best not to make it worse.

"Okay. That's okay."

You moved toward the door, and James followed. Not crowding or blocking you by any means, but he was terrified.

"Baby."

You paused, refusing to turn around. He really didn't know what to say…or how to fix it, how to take back thirty seconds ago, or how to erase the look on your face.

"Please don't leave angry."

Your shoulders tightened…which made him hurt even worse. Because he knew. He knew you weren't angry anymore…and that was the problem.

Then the elevator doors opened promptly, and you stepped inside. Without looking back, the doors slid shut, and James felt something in his chest crumble. 

What has he done?

♡ 

The second the elevator doors closed, James was on the move. It was as if it was instinct. A step forward, then another-

"Wait."

The word left him breathless, stupidly hopeful, like somehow pressing the button enough times would magically undo what had just happened.

He hit the call button once from the outside.

Twice.

Three times.

Nothing.

The small display above the doors changed,

descending. Taking you farther away.

"Come on," he whispered.

His heart had started beating really strangely now. Like to fast and hard, but at the same time frozen. He pressed the button again. Nothing. He took a step back and raked both hands through his hair.

Think.

Think.

The elevator wasn't stopping. He could still catch you downstairs. Right?

Right.

James spun around so fast he nearly clipped his shoulder against the corner of the wall. Then, he ran. He didn't even think about taking another elevator. He threw open the heavy stairwell door and took the steps three at a time. Then two, the fluorescent lights beginning to blur overhead from his sheer speed, and his shoes slamming against concrete.

Thirty-eight floors.

Thirty-seven.

Thirty-six.

He almost lost his footing around the thirty-second floor, but he caught himself against the railing and kept going. By the twenty-fifth floor, his lungs burned. By the twentieth, his legs screamed…but he didn't stop. Because all he could see was your face, the way you'd gone still, the way you'd whispered “I'm sorry”, the tear sliding down your cheek, and…fear. Real fear. He had never wanted you to look at him like that. Never. And now-

He shoved through the final stairwell door into the lobby. The doorman startled.

"Mr. James-"

James barely heard him.

He looked outside just in time to see you climbing into the backseat of a yellow taxi, the cab door shutting. Your head turned slightly toward the window as the driver began pulling away.

"No-“

James stumbled out onto the sidewalk, the cold New York air hitting him all at once. Rain from earlier still clung to the pavement, creating a smell in the air and reflecting city lights beneath the passing traffic. The taxi quickly merged into the street as he just stood there…breathing hard and watching the red taillights disappear. Gone. 

His chest tightened painfully.

The doorman approached carefully.

"Sir?"

James blinked.

"...thank you."

His voice sounded wrong. Thin almost, as he turned back toward the building. Every step toward the elevators felt heavier than the last, because now what? You needed space.

You'd asked for space…so he couldn't exactly start calling every hospital or convenience store or shopping center in Manhattan because of one argument. 

Right?

His stomach twisted.

…Right?

♡ 

The elevator ride back upstairs felt unbearably long. 

James stood in the corner of lift, his chest still heaving from nearly running down forty flights of stairs, and his reflection stared back at him through the mirrored walls.

He looked…bad. Like…awful. His hair was sticking up from dragging his hands through it, his shirt wrinkled, face pale…but eventually, the elevator dinged and the penthouse doors slid open.

Silence greeted him. Harsh and unwelcoming. He made it three steps inside before stopping abruptly. 

The city glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows exactly the same as before. Cars were moving, lights blinking, and people continuing on with their evenings. Everything looked normal…but everything felt wrong. His eyes drifted toward the kitchen…toward the island…and toward the exact spot where his hand had struck marble.

BANG.

James physically flinched. Your face flashed through his mind instantly. Your wide eyes, rigid shoulders, and a tear slipping down your cheek.

"...I'm sorry."

"No."

The word cracked out of him. He pressed both hands over his mouth, suddenly unable to breathe properly.

No. You hadn't done anything wrong. You'd spent two years learning, very slowly and carefully, that arguments didn't have to end in fear. That frustration wasn't a build up to pain. That love…wasn't conditional. And the first thing you'd done after he lost control?

Apologize.

James squeezed his eyes shut.

"I ruined it."

The whisper sounded strangled. He'd spent two years trying to teach you that you never had to earn gentleness, especially with him. 

Then, in thirty quick seconds, he'd become exactly what he'd promised never to be.

"Okay."

He dragged a shaking hand through his hair.

"Okay."

Think. You'd asked for space…but space didn't mean disappearing. Space didn't mean pretending he wasn't terrified.

His gaze shifted toward the elevator, then back toward the apartment, and then toward the elevator again.

He lasted maybe five minutes before grabbing his coat.

♡ 

The doorman looked up in surprise when James reappeared back in the lobby.

"Mr. James?"

James slowed to a stop in front of the desk.

For a moment, he couldn't speak out properly. Then-

"When she left earlier..."

The older man immediately softened, already aware who he was talking about.

"Yes, sir?"

James swallowed.

"...was she crying?"

The hesitation nearly killed him.

"...a little.”

James looked down at the polished marble floor.

"Oh."

The sound escaped him quietly.

"...did she seem upset?"

The doorman offered him a sympathetic look.

"I think she looked…hurt.”

James closed his eyes briefly. Hurt. Not angry or furious or irritated…which he probably would’ve preferred…

…but hurt.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes before forcing himself to continue.

"Did you happen to notice where the taxi headed?"

"I'm sorry, sir," The doorman shook his head. “I didn't."

James nodded immediately.

"Right."

Of course.

"Thank you."

He turned toward the doors.

"Mr. James?"

He stopped.

"You should give her time."

James offered a weak smile that looked more painful than reassuring.

"I know,” He said, looking out through the glass doors toward the city. “I just don't know how to sit still knowing she's hurting."

♡ 

He checked the diner first. The one tucked between two big brick buildings where the two of you sometimes ended up after midnight because neither of you had wanted to cook. The minute he walked in, the waitress recognized him immediately.

"No girlfriend tonight?"

James forced a smile.

"...not tonight."

She shook her head.

"Dang…I haven't seen her in a bit."

He nodded thoughtfully and thanked her anyway.

♡ 

Next, he headed for the bookstore. It was the little independent one you'd dragged him into because, according to you, "the smell of books was lowkey sickening in the best way possible."

You weren't there.

♡ 

He arrived at the pharmacy a few blocks away minutes later. He didn’t expect to see you here, but he thought he’d check.

Nothing.

♡ 

The small park near your apartment was his next stop. It was the one with the chipped green benches where you'd sat during summer evenings eating overpriced ice cream. He always liked pushing you on the swings there.

It was empty.

♡ 

By the time James found himself standing on yet another crowded Manhattan sidewalk, the city lights had blurred together. People were brushing past him without a second glance, taxis honked, and faint laughter drifted through the air from someone or somewhere nearby. 

He stared down at the pavement longingly.

He didn't really know where you went when you were hurting. 

The realization hollowed something out inside his stomach. He knew how you took your coffee, how you liked your steak, which side of the bed you preferred, and that you'd steal fries off his plate even after insisting you weren't hungry. He also knew how you tucked your cold feet beneath his legs in the middle of the night and every version of your smile.

But he didn't know where you went when your heart hurt. Because he'd never been the reason it had before.

James swallowed hard.

"....Gosh,” His voice cracked. “I'm so sorry."

A taxi sped past…and then another. Slowly, he looked back toward the direction of home. If he kept searching, you might come back while he was gone…and you'd step into an empty apartment after finally finding the courage to return.

The thought alone made his chest tighten.

No. He couldn't control when you'd come back, he couldn't force forgiveness, and he couldn't take back what had happened…but-

He could make sure you didn't come home alone.

♡ 

The doorman looked surprised when James returned again.

"You didn't find her?"

James shook his head.

"No."

Then, after a pause-

"...I'm going to wait down here."

The older man blinked.

"It's late, sir."

"I know."

"You could go upstairs, I’ll call the room if I see her."

James glanced toward the elevators, and then back toward the front doors.

"No,” he started, voice quiet. “If she walks back in tonight...I want the first thing she sees to be someone waiting for her."

Silence stretched between them, but then the doorman nodded once. Without another word, James sat down in one of the lobby chairs facing the entrance. Every time the doors opened, his head lifted…and every time they closed again, disappointment settled a little heavier in his chest.

Hours passed, but he stayed anyway. Because if you came home at midnight, he'd be there. If you came home at one, he'd be there. If you came home at two in the morning with swollen eyes and shaking hands and uncertainty in your heart...

He'd still be there. Waiting. Ready to apologize as many times as it took. Ready to spend the rest of his life proving that thirty terrible seconds just now would never define the way he loved you.

All he had to do now…was hope you'd come home.

♡ 

The lobby had grown quieter. So quiet that even Manhattan seemed to soften in the early hours of the morning.

The stream of residents coming and going had slowed to almost nothing, the receptionist had eventually switched shifts, and the television mounted in the corner played some late-night talk show at a volume too low to understand.

James hadn't moved at all since he sat down. At some point, the doorman had even offered him coffee…and another one…but then simply stopped asking. 

Every time the doors slid open, James looked up. Every single time. A businessman carrying takeout…a woman in heels angrily taking them off before reaching the elevators…a college student giggling quietly into his phone…but none were you.

The clock behind the desk read 1:47 a.m.

Then 1:58. James rubbed both hands over his face. Maybe you were staying with someone…or maybe you just needed the night. Maybe-

The front doors opened and cold air drifted into the lobby. James looked up automatically as he always did, and forgot how to breathe. 

You stood just inside the entrance. Your jacket was wrapped tightly around yourself, your hair slightly messy from the wind outside, and exhaustion sat heavily beneath your eyes. You looked tired…and small. Like the weight of the evening had finally settled deep into your bones.

For a second, neither of you moved. But then, your eyes found him…and stopped.

James was out of his seat before he even realized it and stopped several feet away.

Not too close or reaching for you just yet…but there.

You blinked at him.

"...What are you doing down here?"

His throat tightened.

"I didn't want you coming home alone."

The answer came out immediately. No hesitation evident. Like he'd been repeating it in his head for hours.

You stared at him.

"You've been here?"

James glanced down briefly.

"I looked for you first."

Your eyebrows pulled together.

"What?"

"The diner."

His voice sounded rough.

"The bookstore you like."

You blinked.

"The pharmacy."

His gaze dropped toward the marble floor.

"The park."

Silence.

"I couldn't find you."

The confession came out quietly.

"I didn't know where you go…when you're hurting."

Something flickered across your face.

"But I knew eventually..." His voice cracked. "...eventually you'd have to decide whether you wanted to come home."

His eyes finally lifted to yours.

"So I stayed."

The lobby had never felt so quiet.

"You waited down here for me?" you whispered.

James nodded once…then twice.

"I know you asked for space."

His fingers twisted together in his palm.

"And I know I don't deserve forgiveness just because I'm sorry…but…but I needed you to know that I meant it."

His eyes were red. You hadn't noticed at first, but now? Now you could see how exhausted he looked. How his hair was sticking up in every direction, how he'd apparently changed absolutely nothing since you'd left, how he looked like he hadn't slept…or rested…or stopped worrying.

"James..."

His expression crumpled almost instantly.

"I'm so sorry."

The apology rushed out of him.

"I know sorry doesn't fix it."

His voice shook.

"But I scared you."

Your eyes immediately burned.

"I yelled."

A tear slid down his cheek before he could stop it.

"And I know it wasn't just yelling."

His breathing hitched.

"I know what that looked like to you."

"James-"

"No."

He shook his head quickly.

"Please let me say this."

His voice cracked again.

"You spent two years trusting me."

He swallowed hard.

"And for thirty seconds..."

His eyes squeezed shut.

"...I saw you look at me like I was someone else."

The tears you'd been holding back finally slipped free.

"I've never hated myself more than I did watching you apologize to me."

He laughed weakly through a broken breath.

"And…you didn't even look angry."

His lips trembled.

"You looked scared."

His voice dropped to almost nothing.

"And…I did that."

The lobby blurred around your eyes as you took a shaky breath.

"You know what I thought when I walked in?"

James looked at you.

"What?"

You let out a watery laugh.

"I thought you were going to be upstairs asleep."

His eyes widened immediately.

"What?"

"I thought..." Your voice cracked. "I thought maybe you'd decided I was overreacting."

His face fell.

"No."

The response was instant. Firm. Like it actually physically hurt him that you said it.

"No."

He took a breath…and then another.

"I couldn't even sit down."

A weak laugh escaped him.

"Both the doorman from the 6:00 shift and from the 1:00 shift thinks I've lost my mind."

Despite everything, a tiny sound almost escaped you.

"You asked him if I was crying."

James looked horrified.

"He told you that?"

"Better question. You asked if I was crying?"

His shoulders slumped.

"...Yeah."

"You searched half of Manhattan?"

"I didn't know where else to look."

He wiped quickly at his face.

"I know that's probably insane-"

"It's kind of insane."

"...Okay."

"...But also..." your voice softened. "...kind of sweet."

James blinked and then stared at you.

"...Sweet?"

"You still scared me."

His eyes immediately filled again as he looked to the ground.

"I know."

"But..."

You took one careful step closer.

"...I also know this isn't who you are."

He looked like he couldn't decide whether to cry harder into your arms or collapse on the floor from relief.

"I don't want us pretending tonight didn't happen."

You reached for his hand.

"But I don't think those thirty seconds erase two years either."

James looked down at your joined hands, and then back up at you.

"...Can I hug you?"

The question came out so quietly you almost misheard him. 

Eventually though, you softly squeezed his fingers.

"You never had to ask before."

His expression fell slightly.

"I know…but I want to now."

You nodded once.

"Okay."

The second you opened your arms, James folded into them carefully. Like he was afraid you'd disappear suddenly if you squeezed too hard. His forehead pressed against your shoulder in relief.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered again.

You wrapped your arms around him.

"I know."

"No excuses."

"I know."

"I'll never stop making this right."

You closed your eyes.

"I know."

And standing there in the middle of the lobby at two in the morning, with a sleepy doorman pretending very hard not to watch and New York still shifting beyond the glass doors, James held you like someone who understood now just how fragile trust could be. Not broken, but precious. Something to protect and something to choose. Over and over again. 

…even after the worst thirty seconds of your life.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 

The apartment was steeped in a rare, unhurried tranquility. Not silence, true silence had never existed in James’s presence. He was far too animated for that, forever filling empty spaces with stories, ridiculous observations, and endless streams of commentary that somehow never grew tiresome.

this was something softer. Something infinitely more intimate. The sort of quiet that descended after a demanding day had finally loosened its grip. The sort that settled comfortably between two people who no longer felt obligated to entertain one another because their mere presence was enough.

Outside, the city continued its restless rhythm, but within the confines of the apartment, time appeared to slow.

Golden sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting elongated ribbons of amber across the hardwood floors. The living room glowed beneath the warmth of the setting sun, every surface bathed in shades of honey and gold. Somewhere in the background, the television droned on mindlessly, its voices blending into nothing more than ambient noise.

Neither of you paid it any attention. Your focus had long since drifted elsewhere. Specifically, to the man sprawled across your lap, and, more importantly, his hair.

His newly dyed blond hair. You were beginning to suspect that your fascination had evolved into a full-fledged obsession.

For nearly an hour, your fingers had remained tangled within the silken strands, repeatedly threading through them as though you were attempting to commit their texture to memory. Every pass revealed another variation of color beneath the evening light.

Some sections gleamed like molten gold. Others resembled pale champagne. Occasionally, when he shifted beneath the sunlight, the strands shimmered with almost platinum undertones.

It was unfair, completely and utterly unfair.

James had always been attractive. That much had never been up for debate. Yet somehow this new hair color transformed him into something devastatingly beautiful.

The contrast was breathtaking. The pale blond framed his features with startling precision, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones while simultaneously softening the overall look. His dark eyelashes appeared even longer against the lighter shade. His eyes seemed brighter, more expressive, every glance carrying an intensity that left your pulse stuttering unexpectedly. It should have been illegal.

Across your lap, James looked entirely content.

One arm rested lazily over his stomach while the other dangled uselessly off the couch. His head was comfortably nestled against your thigh, using you as a pillow without a trace of shame.

Not that you minded. If anything, you secretly adored moments like this.

The version of James that the public rarely saw. Not the charismatic idol, not the performer who commanded stages and captivated arenas.

Just James. Sleepy, comfortable, safe. His eyes remained half-lidded with exhaustion, yet he continued speaking, determined to finish whatever story had captured his attention.

“…I still remember going up to the office jokingly if there is a chance i could dye my hair blonde,” he mumbled, voice roughened by fatigue, “the visual team told me blonde wouldn’t suit me.”

Your fingers swept through his q bangs again. A habit you could no longer control. A distracted hum escaped your lips.

James’s eyes fluttered shut momentarily beneath your touch. “So I informed them they were incorrect.”

The corner of your mouth twitched upward. “Hm?”

“I was very persuasive.” His tone carried the utmost confidence.

You looked down at him with obvious skepticism. “Very persuasive?”

“Extremely persuasive.” The smugness in his voice was immediate.

You laughed softly. “How exactly did you persuade them?”

One eye cracked open. A grin spread lazily across his face, the kind that always preceded trouble. “I annoyed them until they gave up, it was going on for three weeks.”

The laugh that burst from you was immediate. “Three weeks!?”

James frowned. “They were being stubborn as fuck.”

“It’s that serious?”

His expression transformed into exaggerated offense. “I’ll have you know that it was a carefully constructed argument.”

“You harassed them for three weeks.”

“It was a carefully constructed three weeks.”

Your laughter grew louder, and instantly, his smile widened. That happened every time, without fail.

No matter how exhausted he was, no matter how terrible his mood had been beforehand, your laughter seemed to illuminate something inside him. Like a flower turning toward sunlight, like a reflex he couldn’t suppress.

The realization made warmth bloom beneath your ribs. You glanced down at him again.

A mistake, because James chose that exact moment to look up. 

The setting sun caught in his blond hair, igniting the strands like spun gold. His features softened beneath the warm glow. The sharp planes of his face became almost ethereal.

Beautiful.

There truly wasn’t another word for it.

Beautiful.

His eyelashes cast delicate shadows against his cheeks. His lips curved lazily as he watched you. His eyes, dark and impossibly expressive, reflected the fading sunlight in a way that made them appear almost liquid.

For a moment, you forgot what he had been saying entirely. Forgot the television, forgot the apartment, forgot everything

Alll you could see was him, and God—He was breathtaking. Not in the polished, magazine-cover way that millions of fans admired. Not in the carefully styled, professionally photographed way people discussed online.

This was different. This was the kind of beauty that emerged during quiet evenings and lazy conversations. The kind found in sleepy smiles and messy bangs. The kind revealed only to those fortunate enough to witness it. The kind that made your chest ache with an overwhelming surge of affection.

James blinked slowly, then smiled. A small smile, entirely unaware of the effect he had on you, or perhaps completely aware. With James, it was honestly impossible to tell.

A dramatic sigh escaped you before you could stop it. The sound wasn’t particularly loud, yet James noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

Somehow, after all this time together, he had developed an almost supernatural awareness when it came to you. A shift in your posture, a subtle change in expression, the faintest alteration in your tone—nothing ever escaped him.

His eyes fluttered open slightly. Concern immediately surfaced across his features. “What’s wrong?”

You absentmindedly twirled a strand of blond hair around your finger. “Nothing.”

His eyebrows knitted together. “You tired?”

“I’m not, don’t worry about me.”

“You sighed like a Victorian woman standing beside a rain-covered window while contemplating a forbidden romance.”

A laugh nearly escaped you. You managed to suppress it… Barely. Instead, you rolled your eyes toward the ceiling. “That’s oddly specific.”

James slowly pushed himself up on one elbow, his expression growing increasingly suspicious. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring at me.”

“I can stare at my boyfriend.”

“Not like that.” A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

“Like what?” You studied him for another second.

The soft blond strands fell effortlessly across his forehead. The fading sunlight illuminated them from behind, creating a halo of gold around his head.

Honestly? He looked ridiculous—Ridiculously beautiful.

You exhaled slowly. “You just look really good.”

James blinked. “Oh.”

There was a brief pause. “Like…” You narrowed your eyes. “Like really hot.”

The transformation was immediate. His entire face brightened, the sleepiness vanished. A grin spread across his lips, slow and devastatingly pleased. “Keep talking.”

You immediately reached forward and poked his cheek. “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Baby.”

“No.”

His grin only widened. “Sweetheart.”

Your resolve weakened instantly.

Dangerous. That was the only word capable of describing James when he used that voice. Low, warm, affectionate. The kind of voice that felt like being wrapped in your favorite blanket, the voice specifically engineered to dismantle your dignity.

His eyes sparkled mischievously. He knew exactly what effect he had, the menace. “Look at you” he cooed.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not that innocent.”

You groaned. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Unfortunately, he sounded entirely confident, because he was entirely correct.

You returned your attention to his hair before he could become any more insufferable. The strands slipped effortlessly between your fingers. Silky, featherlight, far softer than you had anticipated.

Every time you touched it, you became increasingly convinced that blonde had been the best decision he had ever made.

Well… Maybe second best. The first had been dating you, obviously.

Without realizing it, you began absentmindedly playing with the ends again. Twisting a small section around your finger, letting it unravel. Repeating the motionagain, and again.

The sunlight transformed individual strands into ribbons of gold. You were fascinated, completely captivated. Eventually, a quiet chuckle broke the silence.

“You really like it, huh?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “I love it.”

James gasped dramatically, his hand flew to his chest. “More than me?”

You immediately looked horrified. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

His jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

You burst into laughter.

James stared at you in mock betrayal before finally reaching for your hand. His fingers intertwined with yours effortlessly. The way every physical interaction between the two of you had become.

“Good answer,” he murmured. Despite his teasing, his thumb brushed across your knuckles with unmistakable fondness. The gesture sent warmth flooding through your chest.

For a while, neither of you felt compelled to fill the room with conversation. The silence that settled between you wasn’t awkward nor empty.

The apartment seemed enveloped in a tranquil stillness. The television continued playing in the background, though neither of you registered a 

single word.

Nothing beyond this moment seemed particularly important. Not schedules, not responsibilities, not tomorrow. Just this, just him.

Without warning, James shifted. The movement was subtle, he simply gravitated closer, as though some invisible force continuously drew him toward you.

His cheek found its place against your stomach, nestling there comfortably. One arm slid around your waist.

The action carried such natural familiarity that it made your chest ache. There had once been a time when physical affection felt deliberate. When reaching for each other required thought. When holding hands still caused nervous butterflies.

Now it was effortless, an ingrained habit, a language all its own. James sought you the same way flowers sought sunlight. Without hesitation, conscious intent.

Simply because it felt right. Your fingers immediately slipped back into his hair. No thought preceded the gesture, no decision was necessary.

It happened automatically. A reflex cultivated through countless evenings spent exactly like this. Your fingertips threaded through the silky blond strands, gently combing them back from his forehead.

The texture remained almost absurdly soft. The color still fascinated you. Each golden strand gleamed beneath the fading sunlight like spun silk. 

The moment your nails lightly scratched against his scalp, James visibly relaxed. A quiet sigh escaped him, his shoulders loosened. The tension he’d been carrying throughout the day gradually melted away beneath your touch.

“That’s nice.” His voice emerged low and drowsy. Softened by exhaustion, the words were nearly slurred together.

Your lips curved upward. “Is it?”

A sleepy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah...” The response came immediately, as though there had never been another possible answer.

You laughed quietly. The sound was swallowed by the warm atmosphere surrounding you both.

God, he was tired.

You could hear it.

His energy had slowly diminished throughout the evening, leaving behind a version of James few people were fortunate enough to witness.

The exhaustion stripped away every carefully maintained layer. What remained was simply him. The James the world rarely saw.

The public knew the dazzling idol who effortlessly commanded attention whenever he stepped onto a stage.

They knew the confident performer whose charisma seemed limitless beneath flashing lights and roaring crowds, the polished celebrity who appeared in interviews, magazine covers, and promotional videos. But they didn’t know this James.

They didn’t know the one who became impossibly clingy whenever he was sleepy. The one who searched for your hand beneath restaurant tables without even realizing he was doing it, who refused to sleep until he heard your voice after particularly difficult days, who stole your hoodies, sweaters, blankets, and occasionally entire pillows before insisting they had somehow become his property.

The one who sent you three-minute voice notes at absurd hours of the night because a random thought had entered his head and apparently couldn’t wait until morning, the one currently sprawled across your lap.

The realization washed over you with startling force. You had fallen in love with him countless times before. In crowded airports, in late-night phone calls, in quiet mornings, in fleeting glances.

Yet somehow, your heart continued discovering new reasons, as though loving him was an endless process rather than a destination.

The affection swelling within your chest felt almost overwhelming, warm enough to ache, gentle enough to make your throat tighten unexpectedly.

Your thumb brushed across his forehead. The pad of your thumb skimmed his skin before sweeping a few loose strands away from his face.

Immediately, James leaned into the touch without hesitation, like a cat seeking warmth from a familiar hand.

The sight nearly destroyed you. There was something indescribably precious about being loved so openly.

You looked down at him. The soft blond hair scattered across your lap. The relaxed features no longer sharpened by cameras or stage makeup, the faint rise and fall of his chest, the contentment written into every line of his expression.

His eyelashes rested against his cheeks. His lips remained slightly parted. His entire body seemed to radiate comfort, and suddenly, the realization struck again.

God.

You loved him, not because he was talented, or because he was admired, not even because he was beautiful, though he undeniably was.

You loved him because he was James, because he laughed too loudly, or he talked too much when he was excited, especially when he trusted you with every version of himself.

The thought settled warmly inside your chest, and as your fingers continued gliding through his blond hair, you found yourself smiling.

Several minutes drifted by in comfortable serenity before James finally stirred. One eye slowly cracked open.

The movement was sluggish, weighed down by lingering exhaustion, yet the instant his gaze landed on you, a familiar look of amusement surfaced.

“There you are.”

You blinked. “There who is?”

“The person who’s been staring at me for the last ten minutes.”

A smile immediately threatened to betray you. “Maybe.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Maybe?”

“I was just zoning out.”

James huffed a laugh through his nose. “You absolutely were staring though.”

“Was i? I can’t even remember.”

His expression became increasingly incredulous. “Don’t play dumb now, doll.”

You offered your most innocent smile, the one that never fooled him. James stared at you for several seconds. Then, without warning, he reached upward and pinched your cheek.

You immediately swatted his hand away. “Ow.”

“You deserved that.”

“For what!?”

“You were being suspicious.”

Your jaw dropped. “Suspicious for admiring my boyfriend?”

“See?”

“See what?”

“You were staring.”

You groaned. “Just talking to talk.”

James laughed, the sound reverberated softly throughout the room. The kind of laugh that seemed capable of dissolving stress simply by existing.

Your chest tightened unexpectedly, because the truth was embarrassingly simple.

James noticed the subtle alteration in your expression almost instantly. 

At this point, you were thoroughly convinced that your boyfriend possessed some sort of unfair advantage when it came to reading you. After years of memorizing your habits, studying your mannerisms, and paying attention to details most people overlooked, he could decipher your emotions with alarming accuracy.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he studied you from where he rested against your lap. “You know you’re pretty, right?”

Your heart completely betrayed you. The words struck with embarrassing effectiveness. Warmth flooded your face instantly.

Then he leaned closer, not enough to invade your space. Just enough for you to notice every detail. The faint mole near his cheek, the curve of his smile, the pale blond strands falling carelessly across his forehead, the warmth hidden within his dark eyes, the affection that lived there so openly.

Your breath caught immediately.

His thumb brushed against your cheek, the touch was featherlight, tender, affectionate. “So cute.”

You rolled your eyes. “You say that like I’m a puppy.”

“Maybe you are.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I mean...” His smile deepened. “You’re very cute puppy.”

Before you could retaliate, he leaned forward. A soft kiss landed against your cheek.

You blinked. Then another landed beside the first, then another, and another.

Each one accompanied by increasing levels of satisfaction, like he was accomplishing a very important mission.

The ridiculousness of the situation eventually became too much. A laugh escaped you. Soon you were laughing so hard your shoulders shook.

“James.”

“Hm?” He didn’t stop. Another kiss, then another.

Your laughter only grew. “What exactly are you doing?”

James finally pulled back. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, the expression was so sincere that you almost laughed again. “Showing affection.”

“Really? Cause ever since you dyed your hair blonde, you gotten more clingy.”

“I’d say the same about you.”

The confidence was infuriating, the smile accompanying it was even worse. Warm sunlight illuminated his blond hair, transforming the pale strands into molten gold. Combined with the ridiculous grin currently stretching across his face, the effect was devastating.

You hated how attractive he looked, you hated it even more because he knew it.

Then, without another word, he rested his forehead against yours. Immediately, the distance separating you vanished.

Suddenly, your entire world narrowed to the person sitting directly in front of you. The warmth radiating from his skin, the faint scent of shampoo lingering in his blond hair, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the comforting pressure of his hand resting securely against your waist.

Everything felt impossibly close, neither of you spoke, there was no need. The silence felt intimate rather than empty. Comfortable rather than awkward, a sanctuary constructed from countless shared moments. The kind of peace people spent entire lifetimes searching for.

You simply sat there, gazing at one another while evening sunlight painted everything gold. His eyes drifted over your features as though committing them to memory.

The tenderness in his expression nearly undid you, and then, as if drawn forward by instinct alone, James smiled.

Your fingers automatically slid through his blond hair once more, then, completely unashamed, he settled more comfortably against you.

it was your turn to leave his message on read.

what could you possibly say in this situation?..

you lay in bed the next few nights trying to figure out how to reply.

you don’t get much sleep with as the gayo daejeon approaches you’re barely able to sleep at night and you spend hours practicing for your performance.

you were already nervous about performing with your senior yeonjun and now you’ve been feeling extra stress knowing you’re going to be in the same space as james.

the more the days passed and the festival got closer you were stressing yourself sick.

you spend your time in korea isolating yourself until your thoughts get interrupted..

“y/n?” you hear and you jump softly hearing yoonchae’s voice outside your door.

“i’m sleeping yoonchae i don’t want to get out of bed to open the door” you say as an excuse as you’re literally sitting on the couch.

“it’s okay the manager gave me a key” she says unlocking the door.

“YOONCHAE” you whine and her eyes widen when she sees you.

“have you been sleeping” she asks stunned.

“do i look that bad?” you ask softly.

“you just look pale and i can see your eye bags” she says softly “gayo daejeon is coming up you need rest y/n”

“i’m trying yoonchae..” you say softly feeling ashamed.

“what happened?” she asks as she hasn’t see you this torn since you and james broke up in the first place.

you just show her your phone “what do i do..”

she reads the messages and she’s surprised he even texted after everything “he couldn’t have just said this months ago bruh”

“i don’t know how to say the right thing” you sigh.

“focus on your schedule you can deal with him later y/n” she sighs as she doesn’t even know how to help.

the closer it gets to gayo daejeon the more you force yourself to shove the thought of him aside as you don’t want to ruin the opportunity to be able to preform with yeonjun.

taglist!! (comment to be added) @pumrikku @wettbaby @kpopsmutty69 @pix3lkitten @kismetute @ptbmartini @pinklemonade34 @amb4rluvs @soulskiu @tbsloneely @goldenmellow @67rizzlerlovercortis @mountvesuvu @momozzzzzzzz @love4yubin @yatta-exe @iiunique @zzzmirella @ikeufied

you had completely fucked it up.

the original plan had been to ignore the rumors and let people get bored on their own. fans had been going insane over the possibility of you and woojin, finding “proof” in absolutely everything and turning every interaction into a conspiracy theory. it was entertaining at first, mostly because it was nice getting shipped with someone who wasn’t one of your members for once, but you definitely weren’t planning on adding fuel to the fire. eventually everyone would move on and find something else to obsess over.

unfortunately, that plan lasted right up until you accidentally logged into the wrong account.

you had been laying on your bed scrolling through your phone when longshots uploaded a new post. without really thinking about it, you left a quick comment underneath.

it wasn’t until after you hit send that your stomach dropped.

slowly, your eyes moved to the username.

cortis.

not your private account.

the official cortis account.

for a moment you just stared at the screen, hoping that maybe you were hallucinating. unfortunately, reality had other plans. before you could even process what you’d done, another notification appeared.

woojin had replied.

you immediately sat upright. “oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

the reply had only been up for seconds and somehow people were already finding it. likes were piling up. reposts were piling up. the quote tweets were multiplying at a horrifying speed. you didn’t even want to look at them because you already knew exactly what they were saying.

you dropped your phone onto the bed and buried your face in your hands. “i’m finished.”

less than two minutes later, your bedroom door flew open so hard that it slammed against the wall.

for about three seconds, keonho and seonghyeon stared at you.

then keonho launched himself across the room.

you barely had time to react before he grabbed your pillow and started repeatedly smacking you with it. every hit was accompanied by a new complaint about your complete lack of survival instincts and media training while you curled up on the bed laughing so hard that your stomach hurt.

“okay, wait, stop hitting me so i can explain.” you managed to get out between laughs.

surprisingly, that worked.

keonho lowered the pillow and both he and seonghyeon stared at you expectantly. the room went quiet as they waited for your explanation. you looked at keonho, then at seonghyeon, then back at keonho.

for a second it genuinely looked like you were about to say something. instead, you shoved both of them as hard as you could.

neither of them had been expecting it. the two immediately fell off the bed and crashed onto the floor with matching yelps while you practically threw yourself off the mattress and sprinted toward the door.

“hey!”

you were already gone.

laughter echoed through the dorm as you ran down the hallway at full speed. behind you, you could hear the sounds of two idiots scrambling back to their feet while loudly demanding that you get back there immediately.

“absolutely not!” you shouted over your shoulder, nearly slipping while turning the corner.

the chase continued through the apartment. you dodged around furniture, nearly crashed into a wall, and somehow made it all the way to the front door before either of them managed to catch you. the second you reached it, you threw it open and bolted outside.

unfortunately, keonho and seonghyeon followed.

the three of you tore down the street like complete lunatics, laughing the entire time. somewhere along the way, all common sense disappeared. nobody stopped to think about the fact that you were idols. nobody thought about cameras. nobody thought about fans.

the only thing on your mind was getting away.

you glanced behind you and immediately regretted it because keonho was somehow gaining on you. “why are you so fast?” you yelled.

“because i wanna kill you right now!”

seonghyeon, meanwhile, was laughing so hard that he could barely keep up with either of you. every few seconds he doubled over trying to catch his breath before forcing himself to keep running.

people were definitely staring now.

a few pedestrians had already pulled out their phones. one person actually pointed at the three of you before excitedly showing their friend. if any of you had been paying attention, you probably would’ve stopped immediately.

instead, you just kept running. your lungs were starting to burn by now, but there was no way you were letting either of them catch you after starting this. besides, the second you slowed down, keonho was absolutely going to continue his lecture about social media responsibility.

TAGLIST : CLOSED @fimmisstuff @konolien @jiyeons-closet @seonghyeonskibidi @ri-eveowe @ocyeanicc @cherid0ll @tetsur0-1 @claireo-o @peetabreaaad @stxrripure @lunaryoongie @stargirlxe @aespaqq @seovk1 @hrrystylesss12345 @paydadakoksevmiyorum @rie-diculous @boochisuri @isackiscunty @h0neylemon @stxr-lilac @vzergg @6rei-ji @cupidvx @vavavy @hans-sweetie @faeriwonz @fromsaltandsea @sunkissezd @beljakovina @aphantassia @hyeoncake @ningninjas @sidluvskeonho @lucy1568 @lalipop143 @sourcandyfish @tinkerbellsgf @saaaaasie07 @skyeincc @amethyystlvr @hyuneskkami @cosmicwintr @sonyui @lynvriee @hheerrmmiitt @ilovemamamuti @thisismepls @anglheartz 50/50

he’s tired—can barely move, and yet, he still calls you to him.

“sweetheart,” his voice gruff, carrying a slight rasp as he beckons you. “c’mere please.”

a frown etches itself on your face, walking your way to him from the kitchen. “baby, ‘m almost done with din–”

you don’t get the chance to finish your complaint when he’s pulling you by the arm into his lap. a soft gasp leaves your lips at the sudden movement. then you’re settled, straddling the large expanse of his lap and you feel it. 

he wraps his arms around your body, flushing you against his chest. his lips press against the shell of your ear and he whispers, “don’t care about dinner, just let me hold my wife, yeah?”

he swears it’s all he needs—to hold you close and inhale your scent—but his pulse is racing and blood roars in his ears all due to sheer desire and he can’t stop himself from shifting his hips the slightest bit. 

you feel that, too. it elicits a sharp gasp. 

you can almost hear the small smirk forming on his lips, “how was your day, beautiful?” he murmurs, hands moving to your hips. 

and his movements are so calculated. from the way he ever so gently grounds you into him to the way his breath fans against your ear sending shivers down your spine. 

“was fine…” you mumble, unable to stop the way you shift in his lap, body begging for more attention. “missed you.”

“yeah?” he asks, his voice is low and nearly unrecognizable. “missed you s’much more, my love. been waiting for this moment all day.” 

you pull back slightly to look into his eyes. they’re tired. exhausted even, but they still hold that fire. that pure, burning desire. they’re his fuck me eyes. and, god, do you love them.

“zaynie,” you whisper, unable to trust your shaky voice. 

he hums, and the soft, pitched noise has you leaking through your bottom, probably leaving a wet patch right on his pants. “tell me, sweetheart.” his hands squeeze at your sides and his hips slowly, but surely, roll into you. "what did you do today?"

you whimper, pussy clenching around nothing. "mmph, not much…" another roll, evoking another wet gasp. "fuck, just… cleaned, w-went on a walk—" he's pushing against you deeper now. you feel the outline of his cock push into you with every not-so-little thrust. "s-saw, saw that stray kitty in the park again."

"mmm, we should really take her in, shouldn't we?" he breathes, cock twitching at the sound of your voice breaking with every grind.

"zaynie," your hands grip his shoulders, pulling him back so you can look at him. his face is flushed, pink blooming over his cheeks and spreading to the tips of his ears. you gyrate against him, pulling a breathy moan from your husbands hung open mouth. "dinner's gonna burn."

"let it burn then." he says, the words coming out in a hiss. "need my wife—we can order takeout later, i'll even cook, don't care. let me just have you like this first." 

a beg. to the untrained ear, you can't hear it, but you know zayne like the back of your hand. you know that heat curls in his stomach, that tension lies in every bone in his body, that pure desire is the only thing he feels right now. the need to be close to you is strong, but the need to be fully sheathed inside you, fucking you till he's completely stress free and you're completely full of his cum is much, much stronger. 

it's why all the fatigue evaporates and he can't stop himself from flipping you onto the plush couch— rubbing into you you like he might die without feeling the outline of your pussy through your soddened panties and leggings . he can't even be bothered to rid you of your clothes… he craves the release. he needs it more than anything. needs you more than anything.

you let out a pathetic needy sob, overly worked up by him fucking you through your clothes. "z-zayne, more—ugh, need more. t-take it off, please." 

his cock twitches helplessly at the sound. it's what he's been missing while drowning in work for hours on end. 

"sweetheart," he moans brokenly. "promise i'll fuck you just the way you like—just need you to take this first. you can do that for me, can't you?" he whispers and the word shoot an immense amount of heat straight to your core. "you can be a good little wife, right, darling?"

you can never say no to him, especially when he talks to you like that. you respond wordlessly, giving your husband what he wants—no, what he needs—and wrap your legs securely around his slim waist. 

"that's it, good girl." and the way zayne sounds is the polar opposite of the weight of his words. his voice is frayed, desperate. "f-feels, ha, feels so good like this, yeah?" 

his hips move faster, imitating the way they would if he were actually inside of you fucking you with full force. your body rocks with every thrust, every grind, your tits bounce underneath your apron, the couch—even as firm as it sits—sways with you in tandem.

it goes on and on. endless, whiny praises from him, sobbing pleas from you, your bodies rubbing against one another effectively ruining his dry-clean-only slacks till you finally feel that tight knot form in your lower belly. 

and he's close, too, but zayne's been close to coming undone—he just didn't want to let go without you. 

it happens so quickly that you barely have the time to process it. "baby, baby," you gasp, nerve-endings coming alive while your heart pounds at the speed of light. "'m—oh, fuck, baby. 'm cumming, cumming, cumming."

"cum with me, sweet girl." he wheedles, never losing his momentum for a second. he grinds you both through it till he feels your body pull taut underneath him. till you're shaking and sobbing and clinging onto him for dear life. 

then he stills and his orgasm is explosive. he's vocal, moaning out your name mixed with all the sweet pet names he's given you. his cum leaks through his boxers and said dry-clean-only slacks, beading out of the fabric in a taboo, yet very erotic way. 

it takes you both minutes to come down till the smell of burning food fills your nostrils.

then you hear the unmistakable beeping of the fire alarm.

"oh, shit."

KIT SAYS... they took my yaoi/bl app away from me. if you guys know where i can read my yaoi ad free, email me. (dm me or send me an ask, I'm begging i need to fujo out over hot men that kiss) oh and this isn't proofread lol