Ma Style

year one.

elementary school is where all the social groups are formed. the popular kids, the weirdos, the losers no one likes. where you start forming your special cliques and learning what’s okay to say and not okay to say out loud ( you learn that part the hard way ). you start implementing social norms, and wondering why the boys in your class are so gross.

you learn what crushes are, no matter how silly they were. there were only a select few that felt appropriate to crush on—and the most popular of the few in your class was jaemin. he was neat(er); organized. he didn’t spend his time scribbling his papers with gross drawings, and that, for the girls, was enough to fall in love.

everyone stuck to their own small groups, whispered nothings and giggles coming from one side as the other didn’t even bother to hush down.

boys will be boys is often a phrase you found stupid, because why is that an excuse for letting them ‘tease’ on how ugly you are? the kind of ugly that had them groaning drawn out ‘ew’s, every laugh in your ear and finger pointed in your face. where it felt like everyone was looking at you, noticing and scrutinizing for your deepest insecurities.

jaemin hadn’t stood up to them necessarily, but the power of words had always been bullets to the head. “they’re not ugly.” three simple words, spoken without a glance up, but it got the boys to hesitate.

those words repeated got them to back off, and a small glare had them giving up, heading off to the other side of the classroom. you looked up to meet his eyes. brown, hardened by the act of threat, before softening when reaching yours. inviting, friendly. the picture of kindness.

“hi.” 

a bright smile that reached his eyes. dark brown hair that barely covered the top of his eyes.

and for the rest of elementary, you were met with sharp glares, words muttered under breaths, because of the person standing next to you. na jaemin, always at your side. he never left after that. promised he never would. with that stupid grin that made you believe anything he said, that distracted you from reality. 

na jaemin. hiding behind that smile.

year two.

the entire concept of putting tweens and teenagers all in the same building is beyond you. while elementary school was playing around with friends you just made, middle school jumped up another level. 

different classes, puberty, growing up in the midst of getting good grades and keeping up your social status because at this point you’re insecure and affected by what people think of you.

jaemin was still as popular as ever, having collected a few more people to join you two in your shenanigans. you still got a few dirty looks here and there, and you shrunk in on yourself whenever you noticed them; only for a comforting hand to find yours. he had the same smile.

the few individuals jaemin had collected included people called: jeno, mark, haechan, and an upperclassman by the name of yuta that he had mentioned to you once. you didn’t meet yuta until a few years later.

jeno was quiet. regarded as cold and distant, but when you learned to read him, he just wasn’t one to talk often. concentrated. face stuck in a neutral expression until it broke when he smiled. you’re not quite sure how jaemin managed to snatch him.

mark and haechan came in a package deal ( more like that haechan clung onto mark ). you just knew them from the bickering, mark’s loud laugh, and haechan’s tendency to have chaos follow him.

all of them were pretty faces. popular — now that popular was an important word — desired. girls tripping over themselves and even guys trying their move. they mostly got ignored. not necessarily in a rude way, but in the awkward wish as to not be speaking another refusal. when asked, they all fumbled with a quick excuse.

and for some reason, no one pushed. consumed by the feeling of disappointment to be bothered.

haechan had been complaining about the fifth girl that came up to him in math, talking about how everyone gave the same spiel; consisting of how long they’d liked him, how pretty they think he is ( which did nothing to help his evergrowing ego ), and then the age old question: would you go out with me?

this was a typical conversation between the boys, comparing different ways they’ve been asked out. from stupid to thoughtful to unexpected. but it all ended the same. rejection. spurning. 

when in doubt, avoidance is the way to go.

mark was teasing him about it, jeno was barely paying attention after making a small comment that got spoken over. you and jaemin were studying together under the shade of a tree, leaves rustling over a small zephyr, small flowers scattered and blooming with the grace of spring.

he was listing questions, having you answer them.

it was almost a perfect day out. the grass was the green shown in movies, the sky blue. white, fluffy clouds floating along, the sun out but not sweltering. that perfect four pm air.

a stronger breeze circled through, ruffling leaves and flowers. you tugged your coat tighter around your shoulders, continuing the small back and forth with jaemin, until he looked up, noticed something, and a small laugh fell from his lips.

he made eye contact with you, reaching up and plucking a small petal from your hair before making you lean forward so he could brush out the rest of the ones that had fallen from the tree. “reminds me of your eyes,” jaemin hummed, holding up the white petal, earning a small tilt of the head from you. “pure; pretty.” 

your cheeks tinted red. and he flicked the petal back into your hair. that stupid grin.

year three.

bright lights and the squeaking of sneakers against gym floors were all you’ve ever wanted to hear. to say you weren’t a sports person wasn’t particularly right. you enjoyed sports. just at times, especially when the team is currently losing and they aren’t going to win, it wasn’t your favorite thing.

you were sat halfway up the bleachers, watching haechan freak out on the bench whenever the ref made a bad call — or any call actually ( you’re mostly sure he just played because mark dragged him to ).

jaemin was at your side, mumbling under his breath about stupid plays, which always amused you, how invested he’d get sometimes. granted, it wasn’t often. 

you were here for jeno, mark, and haechan. all who weren’t currently playing right now, which confused you, because previous games had shown you that they were the only ones on the team who knew how to play — except one of the lower classmen: chenle. who was the self proclaimed mvp of every game.

he played in every quarter, and mark had mentioned it before, chenle was going to take over as captain once mark left. and watching chenle, he deserved it. he was good.

a loud whistle pierced your thoughts, and you raised your head up slightly to look at what happened. people in the bleachers were yelling and booing at the referee, and jaemin was muttering under his breath as well, glaring. 

and when the referees made the call to give two free throws, a loud outburst was called from the students. you can say for sure you had no idea what was going on.

jaemin stood up abruptly, reached down to grab your forearm, before pulling you up as well with him. “let’s go,” he spoke, his voice a small grumble.

“go where?” you stumbled after jaemin, and catching up with his steps got him to release your arm.

“we’re losing anyway, no reason to hang out.” he shoved his hands into his pockets, earning a small giggle from you when you noted how invested he was. you poked his bicep, and his shoulders relaxed slightly.

climbing down from the bleachers, you offered a wave to a confused mark who had noticed the two of you, before following jaemin out of the exit of the gym.

“you know we’re not allowed to roam the school,” you spoke up when jaemin started heading down the hallway ( not that you were going to argue any further ).

“technically.” he shot you a smile, knowing you’d follow anyway.

the school was quiet. it was odd to hear, after knowing it full of loud and annoying students. it was almost peaceful — a place you’d enjoy being if it was like this every time.

you trailed after jaemin, watching the halls like you hadn’t memorized them years before. you couldn’t believe you were leaving next year. everyone told you that it went too fast — that as soon as you’re in high school, those four years would pass in a blink of an eye.

it made your skin itch. you weren’t ready for it to go. to leave.

“hey, where are you?” jaemin’s words cut through your thoughts. “looks like you’re off on an adventure,” he grinned, reaching out to poke your forehead. and you swatted his hand away.

“just thinking.”

“about?” he prompted.

you paused in your step, fingers fidgeting with each other. jaemin paused with you, and you took in the sight of him. one hand resting lazily in his pocket, the other at his side. turned slightly to face you, curiosity creasing his brow slightly. jaemin was so pretty.

“what we’re going to do. in the future,” you finally answered, earning a face from jaemin.

“we have years to figure that out, no point in worrying about it now,” he spoke immediately, voice underlined with soft laughter, stepping over to you. “years,” he reiterated, “we’re gonna be fine.”

your shoulders lifted in a shrug. and jaemin’s hands raised to hold your face. “you overthink too much, petal,” he hummed, and the way you had to tilt your head up slightly had him fighting back a small smile.

there was a time when you were taller than him.

“relax,” jaemin said, leaning forward and pressing a short kiss to your forehead. you relished in the feeling, the comfort. “we have time,” he promised again, thumb brushing under your eye. 

everything jaemin said, you couldn’t help but believe him. he said it with such conviction. the kind of tone that comes from the steady beating of a heart. confident, because you believe it won’t stop. reliance, because it shouldn’t stop.

“i know.” your agreement was like letting out a breath you’d been holding for years. he was right, anyway. you had time. you had so much time.

year four.

high school, freshman year is when you met yuta. by this point, you’d heard his name scattered around. whispered in every rumor — he was in that group of boys. the poisoned youth, the kids your parents warned you about when you were younger. the type you’d get caught dead hanging around.

they were known for dyeing their hair every month, coming to school whenever they wanted. walking into class twenty minutes late just because they felt like it. sauntering around as if they owned the place — and with the way they acted with the staff, you might just think they do.

you saw jaemin chatting with them once. twice when waiting for him after class. and when he noticed you, he’d bid them goodbye as if nothing happened. but it bothered you. itched at the back of your neck when you saw it, wondering what they could be talking about.

“it’s nothing, petal,” jaemin answered smoothly when you asked. and you had no reason to doubt him.

“you’re just talking?” you responded, biting the inside of your cheek. “they’re not good people, jaem.”

his gaze flicked up to meet yours. brown. that glint in his eyes, fire, warmth, softened at the sight of you. “we were just talking,” he repeated, voice small in confirmation. and the silence stretched as you both looked at each other. he pressed his lips into a thin line.

but it was jaemin. he had no reason to lie. “okay.” and that was it. eyes bright, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. and you blinked, snapping yourself out of it. this was jaemin.

you hated that you had to remind yourself.

“jeno’s tagging along for lunch —” jaemin started, changing the conversation after a moment, only for the voice of haechan to rip through his words.

“take me with youuuu!” echoed as the older rushed over, mark trailing calmly after him. “i want food,” haechan groaned, mumbling something about how he hadn't eaten all day as he clung to jaemin’s arm, earning a laugh from the group as mark shook his head.

“you ate half my lunch,” mark gave him a small look, and haechan sent the look right back. 

“you offered.”

“not half of it.”

jaemin and you looked at each other, rolling your eyes at your friends. 

but the feeling lingered. and yuta nakamoto was a person you started looking out for. 

it wasn’t long until he noticed — oddly perceiving for what he seemed to be. you figured you weren’t hiding it well, however. lasting gazes, sharp eyes, and half glares weren’t that difficult to miss. and he started watching you back. 

you learned new names. lee taeyong. johnny suh. huang renjun. all giving you the same eerie feeling, especially when their gaze met yours, as if they’d already been watching. as if they were observing you. studying you. you felt like a bug in a jar. parts of you regretted showing your animosity towards them.

especially when you bumped into the infamous yuta after school one day. his hair dyed with patterns of brown and blond. hazardous grin decorating his features, a glint in his eye. as soon as you met his gaze, you knew he knew. knew that you were apprehensive about him. knew that you noticed him talking to jaemin.

“sorry,” he smoothly started off the conversation. “am i in your way?” yuta hummed, unbothered and obviously had no intentions to move. you nodded despite. he decided to just get to the point. “i’m not doing anything with jaemin.”

“then why talk to him?” you immediately shot back, somehow finding it in you to speak up. 

yuta almost seemed stunned at your words — or the fact that you talked back — staring at you for a moment. “am i not allowed to interact?”

“you wouldn’t without a motive,” you said, resisting the urge to bite your tongue in sudden frustration.

“you don’t know me.”

“i don’t,” you admitted shortly, devoid of any hesitance. still edgy, still nervous, but always wanting to protect jaemin, “but i know enough.”

yuta raised his eyebrows slightly, before exhaling out a laugh. not quite mocking, not quite teasing. a mix of surprise and judgement. “you can’t believe everything you hear,” he hummed smoothly, a smirk tainting his features.

he would’ve been attractive if it weren’t for the cigarettes often hanging from his mouth, the group of people he surrounded himself with. the dangerous sparkle in his gaze. and your eyes narrowed. “leave jaemin alone,” words firm, stance grounded.

“i will,” he agreed too easily to make you feel any better. “i can’t help it if he comes to me, however,” the older evoked, looking you up and down once before heading off.

a chill ran down your spine, and you shifted uncomfortably. yuta gave you every unsettling feeling you could ever name. his last words seemed almost like a threat.

now that you’ve pissed him off, you’re worried what he’ll send.

but yuta didn’t send anything, not for a while. he barely looked at you anymore ( neither did the rest of his posse ), and he kept his promise of not talking to jaemin anymore.

relief was your first instinct, but confusion was your second. it felt off — yuta keeping his word. you kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. anxious tapping on your thigh when that group passed you in the hall, cursory glances around corners as if he’d jump out from somewhere. yuta was dangerous — at least that’s what people told you, but it wasn’t hard to swallow.

of course jaemin noticed your antsiness. he always paid too much attention.

his hand brushed the small of your back when you tensed up slightly at the sight of yuta. “something wrong?” he questioned, worry creasing his features.

you shook your head too fast. he didn’t say anything about it. “no — i‘m fine,” you mumbled, gaze flicking from where you last saw yuta, before forcing yourself to focus on jaemin as he paused in the hall. “just . . . nervous. test.” you added merely so he wouldn’t be concerned.

he hummed, sliding his hands into his pockets as he looked at you. a moment too long to be unsuspecting. “okay, petal.” smile. trust.

there was too much lying tainting this friendship. it felt wrong to lie to jaemin, but you followed him to class anyway; keeping quiet, words souring your tongue.

“c’mere,” he hummed, reaching over and tugging you closer by your shoulders, his touch warm and comforting. to curtail your worry that he knew you weren’t telling him about. he turned his head to look at you, squeezed your bicep slightly. 

you let out a breath.

year five.

it was your first high school party that you managed to get into. it was loud, bright. strobe lights centered in the living room, stereos blasting with a mix of music too diverse to name a genre. drinks in the kitchen, snacks thrown messily on the floor by the second hour, and bedrooms filled up with horny teens.

you moved your way through the house — practically being shoved by the crowd and you finally found a free space, eyes darting around desperately for jaemin. parties really were efficacious in making newcomers never want to come back. a hand skimmed your arm and you jumped, looking up to find jeno.

“where’s jaem?” he questioned immediately, one hand in his pocket, the other one dropped to his side as he glanced up over the heads of people. jeno had shot up in height this year. not extremely noticeable, but he walked into school one day and suddenly stuck out more.

“where’s mark?” you responded, answering with your question.

jeno raised his hand again to point out the older, looking helpless, surrounded by a number of girls. “escaped,” jeno mumbled, shrugging.

you nodded in understanding. and scanned the crowd. your eyes met jaemin’s. 

and always, always comforting. warm. like the peace of a sunset. the knowledge that the day is over and you can rest. a reassurance only jaemin could offer, easement that made your entire being lighten. 

“hi petal,” he breathed, reaching you after awkwardly pushing through the stream of people. 

“hi jaem,” you responded, tightness fading.

“drinks are in the kitchen,” he hummed with a small smile, and you finally registered the slight glaze covering his gaze. not enough to shadow them, but there. you peeked around him to notice yuta looking your way. expectant as he exited the kitchen.

you couldn’t say you expected to get out of this party alcohol free but yuta always made your skin itch. and you couldn’t help but think that he had something to do with this.

you looked away once jaemin’s hand landed on your forearm. “everything okay?” he questioned. you instinctively nodded, staring at yuta a moment longer before someone blocked your line of vision. you swallowed thickly.

and someone ran into your side. haechan, who almost spilled the drinks he had on you. he managed to hold them upright, before shoving one into your hands, and the other to jeno.

“should i ask?” jeno questioned, holding up the red cup to his face, examining it cautiously. you could never trust anything with haechan. he went around telling everyone he had his first drink of alcohol at ten ( which in all honesty wasn’t hard to believe — true or not ).

“take it back,” you mumbled, half groaning after catching a whiff of it, holding it out to haechan. he grinned, pushing your hand back to your chest.

“trust me,” shaking his head, he mimed tilting your head back and taking a sip.

“you’re insane,” you deadpanned, but the drink left your hands when jaemin took it from you and immediately tried it despite your worried protests.

jaemin let out a quick breath as he lowered the drink, took a moment to think about it, before nodding in satisfaction. haechan smirked smugly. “i know my stuff,” he raised his chin upwards slightly, relishing in all the praise he wasn’t getting. he was probably complimenting himself in his head as usual.

“just a sip, petal,” jaemin hummed, urging the cup to you, and when you shook your head, he thankfully let it go and took another drink with a small shrug. he quickly got whisked away by haechan — assumably for more drink concoctions — and you turned your head to look at jeno who was still swirling around the liquid in the cup.

“something’s up with jaem,” you mumbled, crossing your arms loosely, watching the two boys go and try to save mark on their way to the kitchen.

“yeah,” jeno agreed hesitantly, tracing your gaze.

you bit the inside of your cheek, before reaching out and taking the drink in jeno’s hands, bringing it up to your lips and taking a sip — albeit tentatively — before you could talk yourself out of it. 

the male beside you made some sort of strained sound that sounded like: ‘wait’, but the liquid was already making its way through your system, and soothing the churning in your stomach ( at the cost of fog in your mind ).

you exhaled slowly through your nose, before confidently going out into the crowd. you weren’t sure what haechan had put into the drink, but you definitely were sure that it worked quickly, because in the next hour your worries had dissipated and your concerns had hidden.

your arms were up, carelessly feeling the music, mixed in the crowd of sweaty bodies and shitfaced teenagers. and then an arm snuck around your waist, pulling you against a chest. jaemin’s voice whispered in your ear. “hey petal.” he smelled of alcohol, but you’re sure you did too.

his breath hit your neck. goosebumps ran over your arms. you stiffened slightly. 

and then a kiss behind your ear. “you look like you’re having fun.” his voice was lower than usual. deepened with something you couldn’t name. intoxication, maybe.

“do i?” you responded, voice shakier than you had intended it to be, and your drink sloshed over the sides of the cup when jaemin shifted and pressed a soft kiss the crook of your neck.

he reached out and took it from your hand before you spilled it over yourself as he turned to put it on the nearest surface. “careful,” he hummed and spun you slightly so you were now facing him. tilting his head to admire you better, his focus flicked over your features. his eyes were still foggy. 

“you’re like a flower, petal. you keep getting prettier and prettier,” jaemin murmured, hooking a finger under your chin. he leaned closer, and your breath caught as his lips brushed yours before he pulled back abruptly, almost snapping back to reality. his lips parted, about to speak —

“cops!”

immediately the music and alcohol screeched to a stop, your thoughts caught up with your heartbeat, and everyone scattered. people running out the back door, escaping through windows, and you stood frozen in shock, seeing the familiar red and blue lights flashing from outside.

oh holy fuck you’re going to get arrested and have your permanent record stained. you’re going to become the shame of the family, and you didn’t even have your diploma yet. oh god you’re so permanently screwed.

and then you were being tugged outside, the cold air hitting your face as familiar laughter surrounded you. “keep up!” haechan spoke, interlocking his arm with yours and pulling you along into a run. air rushed around you as your feet hit the ground in an attempt to not stumble and fall. 

haechan finally slowed into a walk after what felt like forever, letting go of your arm. it took you a moment to register, but the whole group was there. laughing, exhilarated by the thrill of almost getting caught.

you found amusement filling you too, hysteric laughter overcoming, and moments later the five were on the ground, staring up at the stars, calming down.

somewhere in the back of your mind you wondered if the cops would go out searching, but for now it couldn’t bother you to care.

“we need to promise —” haechan’s voice sounded, “— promise to stay together.”

a quiet sound of agreement rippled through. “love you guys,” haechan added, sitting up, and causing a chain reaction. you turned your head, eyes meeting jaemin’s. maybe it was the alcohol that hadn’t been shocked out of your system, but something in his eyes made you pause.

once again, however, red and blue lights ripped through the moment. and the group scrambled up, running again, stiffled laughter following.

jaemin’s hand found yours. making sure you kept up, making sure you were still by his side.

year six.

“hot—!” haechan yelped when he tried to reach out and touch the pot, currently on the stove.

that caused a round of laughter from the group. “it’s on the stove, hyuck, of course it would be,” mark chided. it was now summer weather. and for the past week, you swear the boys haven’t left your house; claiming you had the best air conditioning.

right now they were trying and currently failing in making a fine dining ramen, jeno peacefully chopping up vegetables as mark and haechan tried cooking the noodles without losing their hands.

you were sat on the counter, watching them for your own entertainment. they had begged jaemin for help ( the only sensible one they could trust with a gas stove ) but jaemin just shook his head, an amused smile twitching at his lips. 

he had escaped somewhere halfway through the process, and hadn’t come back since, but everyone was too focused on not making this a complete disaster.

“i think it’s going well?” mark spoke, peeking at the boiling noodles.

“is it?” jeno mused, not bothering to look up from the cutting board.

“yeah mark, is it?” haechan reiterated, hand resting on the counter as he looked at mark, eyebrow raised, as if accusing him of something.

“is it?” mark completed the cycle, asking himself the question as he met haechan’s gaze, letting out a laugh.

“careful,” jaemin spoke when he came back, making sure jeno didn’t cut too close to his finger. the older nodded slightly, and jaemin stepped closer to you, leaning against the counter, watching mark and haechan as they added the flavoring packets into the noodles.

somehow no one got burned, and the three — who worked hard on the food — claimed to need a break, and they hopped off to the living room to steal your tv for the next few hours.

their voices could be heard from the living room, jeno’s full bodied laugh that you’ve only heard a handful of times, and mark’s endless giggling. probably at haechan’s expense. you couldn’t help but laugh too, even if you didn’t know what they were laughing about.

“they’re idiots,” jaemin commented, glancing at the contents of the pot, letting out a satisfied hum of approval. 

“they got the jaemin acceptance?” you smiled.

“it looks edible enough,” he responded. his voice was an easy, lazy drawl. as if he’d spent the day working and couldn’t wait to just rest.

and maybe he was tired, with the way he stepped back over to you, taking the spot in between your legs, his arms wrapping around your torso as he leaned in, resting his head in the junction of your shoulder and neck.

the action barely surprised you, and your arms came to wrap around him as well, shifting to make him more comfortable. his breath panned over your neck, slow, steady.

“good?” you spoke up.

jaemin didn’t answer for a moment. but then he nodded. “good.” his lips brushing your skin with the syllable. and then another pause of nothing, until he pressed a small kiss to your neck.

“i love you, petal,” he murmured. the words so familiar, yet so different. there was a certain undertone to them, something quiet, unspoken, something you knew wouldn’t ever be said outloud purely because it didn’t need to be.

just as you were about to respond, he lifted his head, face far too close to yours. 

something in his eyes made your breath catch in your throat. “hi,” you whispered, taking satisfaction in the way a smile spread over his lips.

that stupid grin.

“hi,” he responded in a similar soft tone, shifting his hands so they rested at your waist, fingers tracing shapes onto your skin through your shirt.

you took this time. took this time to accept the butterflies in your stomach, the lump in your throat, to take in jaemin.

one of your hands traced up to his cheek, brushing your thumb under his eye, and his shoulders relaxed. you didn’t know when you had started inching closer. you didn’t know when your gaze flicked to his lips.

but you do know that he ducked his head at the last moment, letting out a soft hum. jaemin exhaled out something that resembled a laugh, before lifting his head again, meeting your gaze.

“we’re such idiots,” he huffed out, hands leaving your waist to hold your face in his hands. “i love you,” he reiterated, and his lips met yours.

it was soft, a feather brush of the lips. but there. intentional. and he pulled away just as quickly.

“i love you too jaem.” the words left your mouth before you could even think about them.

you swear he moved to lean in again. you swear something was behind his gaze before he shoved it away. something happy, excited. but the sudden disruption of mark echoed. 

“food is good, you guys have some yet?” mark questioned, walking into the kitchen before noticing the situation, and immediately covered his eyes, backing up. “didn’t see anything, didn’t ruin anything!” he yelped, only to bump into haechan, who therefore bumped into jeno, all three landing in an awkward pile. 

“what was happening??” haechan shoved mark off of him ( earning another yelp from the older ), sitting up to look into the kitchen, where jaemin had moved to stand beside you. 

both of you stifled a laugh when haechan let out a groan of disappointment.

“nothing was happening,” you spoke, leaning back on your hands, earning an unimpressed look from all three of the boys on the floor. “right jaem?” you glanced at the male at your side.

he stared at you for a moment too long. that excited spark fading slightly. “nothing,” he agreed with a small shrug.

“oh you have to be lying. i can smell the tension,” haechan spoke, pushing himself to his feet.

“ramen,” jeno spoke from his spot on the floor.

“what?”

“it’s the ramen. you didn’t turn off the stove.”

“what?”

year seven.

your worries lessened throughout the summer. jaemin hadn’t talked to yuta since that party — as far as you’re aware, and you really hoped you were right. 

junior year is where all the stress is; at least that’s what you’ve been told. figuring out where you want to go and balancing school with work. the two years earlier felt more stressful than this one, despite everyone complaining about the workload.

times had changed. haechan had spent most of last summer working, saving up for a car. he had gotten one, and despite the rusty look, he loved it.

the mornings had changed, from taking the bus to being picked up by haechan, squished in the backseat between jeno and jaemin. you had given up complaining about being in the middle.

mark had found a job at the local library, jeno was somehow surviving in the antique slash thrift store across the street from said library, and you and jaemin were still hunting for work.

hangouts at home changed to hangouts trailing after mark or jeno as they worked, rare moments between classes, and lunch. the world seemed destined to pull you all apart. and you were desperate to not let that happen. 

even so, it was peaceful; nice. no drama that you were involved in. no whispered rumors or mumbled gossip that could bother you. the library was quiet, the thrift store was comforting. jaemin was still jaemin as ever, haechan was still causing chaos whenever he could.

it was as if freshmen and sophomore year hadn’t happened. as if the weight had been lifted off your shoulders and you could finally breathe.

“get in quicker — mark ran late!” haechan exclaimed as you slid into the backseat, bumping into jeno on your way to the middle.

“it was you!” mark spoke, offended from the passenger seat. haechan didn’t respond, and sped off the moment your seatbelt clicked into place. you and jeno shared a small look, before you sat back, watching out the windshield as haechan drove to jaemin’s house.

jaemin was already out front, backpack slung over his shoulder and phone in hand as he sat on the porch steps. he quickly stood up when haechan yelled at him to get in, climbing in and swiftly buckling.

you glanced over at him, greeting on your tongue before it caught in your throat. “when did you do that?” jeno asked for the group, and jaemin grinned, threading a hand through his now silver dyed hair.

“yesterday,” he hummed innocently.

you felt something sick in your stomach. of course he could dye his hair, but he’d never mentioned it before. and not only did the color give yuta feels, he never did anything without consulting the groupchat first.

the group went quiet, before mark spoke up. “looks good, dude.”

that broke the tension. light chatter sparked as usual throughout the four boys, but you sunk down in your seat slightly, worry coursing through your body. 

arriving at school took another five minutes, but that had all of you rushing out of the car. the final bell rang in three. you glanced behind you to see jaemin meandering towards the doors, and you blinked, only to get pulled into the building by haechan before you could call to him.

there was something painstakingly off about him. something that had changed in that interval of a few hours where you don’t see him. but the moment you entered class, made eye contact with yuta in the back, you knew.

it was his senior year. his last chance to corrupt jaemin before he left. making your way to your seat after getting yelled at for pausing in the doorway, you couldn’t take your eyes off the older boy. he didn’t look away either. your eyes were narrowed, challenging, hiding the fact that you were scared.

scared for yourself. scared for jaemin.

scared of what he could do to jaemin.

your gaze snapped to the front when the lesson started. but you couldn’t get the thought out of your mind.

when lunch rolled around, you found the group at the normal table, and you took your normal seat next to jaemin. the one he always saved for you. normal. you wouldn’t deny that you dissociated for half the time, snapping out of it when jaemin nudged your shoulder with his, gifting you that stupid smile.

you reminded yourself to breathe. he hadn’t changed yet.

“why silver?” you questioned before the conversation could die off, reaching up to fix the strands of hair on his forehead. haechan spoke a small ‘get a room’ through a loud cough.

jaemin went quiet for a minute. too long. you were the one who told him to stay away from yuta in the first place. you knew he wouldn’t tell you. but at the same time he wouldn’t lie.

“a friend suggested it,” he finally said. too deliberate. too suspicious. and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“right.” was all you responded with. the space between you went taut as you pulled your hand away, and a guilty look he gave you when he thought you weren’t looking told you all you needed to know.

his hair stayed silver for weeks on end, and he even dragged you along to get it retouched every once in a while.

until he didn’t. 

the texts till midnight faded off to small ‘good nights’ at nine pm. his frantic notice of messaging you ‘EMERGENCY’ to get your attention changed to ‘petalllll’, patiently waiting for your response instead of spamming you. some might call it maturing, you called it concerning.

jaemin had always been bothersome in the most endearing way. and he never seemed to be at the risk of changing. which wasn’t particularly a bad thing, but it was too abrupt. too sudden for you to let it go easily. 

school was odd. he started pulling away then too. sitting across from you at lunch instead of being connected at the hip. his smile didn’t reach his eyes and the glint in his eyes looked too familiar. 

you found yourself at the library more often than not, craving for some nostalgia, hoping mark would be able to give that to you. granted, you just worriedly rambled, trailing along as he shelved books, but it was helping.

“somethings going on with him. the dyed hair, he takes hours to text back —” you sucked in a small breath. “i’m worried, mark,”

“i know you are,” mark responded, glancing at you. “but he’s probably just going through something. like that time jeno didn’t respond to us for weeks because his cat ran away.” the older shrugged.

you pressed your lips together. “but —”

“i know. it’s going to be fine,” mark interrupted you, offering you a pity smile.

and you swallowed, took a deep breath, nodded. trying to convince yourself using mark’s words. it’s going to be fine.

a hand came up to your shoulder, and you looked behind you to see jaemin. “hi petal,” he breathed, and immediately you knew something was wrong. you tensed, mark paused.

because the smell of cigarette smoke was infiltrating your senses.

“hi jaemin,” you spoke, voice weaker than you intended it to be. you cleared your throat.

the other let out a small hum of satisfaction as mark offered a greeting as well. jaemin tugged you closer, arm wrapped around your shoulders as usual. but it wasn’t the same, because you were tense. the one time jaemin’s presence hadn’t left you relaxed.

you weren’t calm, not even close to it. the cigarette smoke lingering on his clothes. that innocent grin. only smiling because he was high. he didn’t care if you knew or not, not now. and you’re scared that he won’t care even when it wears off. that he’ll stop caring, stop being jaemin.

apparently mark registered the look behind your eyes, because he reached out and tugged you over to him by your arm. jaemin’s face fell slightly, confusion crossing his gaze.

 “petal?” 

you looked up. jaemin’s eyebrows were furrowed, the start of a frown tainting his expression. mark squeezed your forearm. you drew strength from that. “yeah jaem,” you breathed.

he didn’t respond, watching you. the moment cracked when haechan came up from behind jaemin, practically jumping on him, the two almost falling over. all the apprehensiveness was suddenly gone from jaemin’s expression as he turned to haechan with a grin.

the smell of smoke was suddenly stronger. you could feel mark gripping your arm tighter.

it was almost suffocating, you felt your lungs constricting, and you wanted to pick up your feet and run as far away as you could. because not only was it jaemin, it was haechan too. forget being scared, you were terrified. like the world was crumbling underneath your feet. 

maybe it was dramatic, but you couldn’t feel any other way. not now. not when you could practically see them changing right before your eyes.

you couldn’t help but imagine a future where jaemin and haechan led jeno — mark as well — to follow them, leaving you completely, utterly, alone.

“i have to get home,” you spoke suddenly, and all the heads turned to you. “sorry,” you added, but the apology was mostly for mark, leaving him alone with them. you tugged your arm away before turning and practically running off.

year eight.

“petal!” echoed in the halls. you didn’t want to stop, but your feet seemed to pause anyway. jaemin always had that effect. 

“hey, it feels like you’re running away from me,” jaemin spoke after catching up, half out of breath from chasing after you. “i haven’t seen you in days.” he hummed.

“you saw me yesterday,” you reminded him, offering a small look his direction, trying to loosen the tension in your shoulders. at least the smoke smell wasn’t as distinct this time.

jaemin pursed his lips into a pouty frown. “i know, but we haven’t hung out.”

you didn’t respond, because you didn’t feel like lying and saying you had hung out recently. to be completely frank, you had been avoiding jaemin. purposefully reading his texts a few hours late, taking the wrong halls just to not bump into him. every time you saw him, that familiar sinking feeling settled into your stomach. suffocating.

“been busy then?” jaemin answered for you, peeking around to look at your face.

“job hunting,” you agreed shortly. it wasn’t a lie. you’d been job hunting for months. it seemed that no stores needed help anymore.

jaemin nodded. “the library?”

“tried already,” you shook your head.

“dream cafe.”

“apparently they hired five people last week,” you mumbled.

“really? but they’ve had that ‘hiring’ sign up for years,” jaemin reached up to fix his hair. still silver. “crazy timing,” he let out a small laugh, the kind that was forced, trying to ease the tension.

“yeah,” you agreed. jaemin’s eyebrows furrowed at your response, and he peeked at your face again.

“are you okay?” he asked, gaze flicking over your features. “you’re . . . acting off.”

“am i?” you mused; sarcastically if you looked close enough. 

jaemin hesitated. “yeah, petal.” he spoke quietly, almost weakly, as if he had finally gathered why you were so off. “i’ll see you later?” he offered after a silent moment, already backing up and giving you a wave.

you hated how stiff the conversation was. taut. awkward. stepping carefully as if to not set off a minefield. 

you supposed it was your fault.

jeno said the same thing after school. “granted, it’s also jaemin’s. he knows you don’t like what he’s doing,” the older added — probably just to make you feel better.

“you can’t be okay with this either, jeno,” you defended yourself, pressing your lips together.

he glanced at you, leaning against the counter slightly. it was a slow day, but you were sure jeno was fond of that. he never did like working the register. “i never said i was,” he finally said. too slowly for your taste.

tilting your head earned a small sigh from jeno. “i’m not okay with it.” words reverted, corrected, and you nodded in satisfaction. jeno rolled his eyes. “maybe you should focus on something else,” he mumbled. “maybe your grades? you only have one year left, you know,” he raised an eyebrow in your direction.

you made a face at him. “my grades are fine, thank you.”

jeno let out another sigh. “he’s going to be fine, okay? it’s jaem. he’s smart,” he tried again.

“mark said the same thing.” your gaze flicked to the side, uncertain. you couldn’t tell if it was genuine reassurance, or they just wanted you to get off their back.

jaemin never tended to follow the crowd — always one to diverge from the path, to push through foliage and leaves until he found the shortcut. so when he did end up in that crowd, it wasn’t hard to believe that he’d get lost. influenced by the wrong people, unaware of it happening.

which is what you wished was happening. you wished he was too naive, too gullible. but he wasn’t. jaemin knew exactly what he was doing.

that’s the worst part. he knows. and yet he still does it.

you knew he knew.

he knew you knew.

jeno’s customer service voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you glanced up from the counter, then down again, before doing a double take. hair dyed red, long, and somehow styled perfectly. sharp gaze, decorative chains and rings and necklaces.

yuta. 

you hadn’t seen him for a while. passing each other in school, maybe, but even then, you didn’t see him as much.

it was his last year. that was what you kept repeating to yourself. surely his effect wouldn’t last while he was gone. surely jaemin would go back to normal.

jeno offered you a side glance as he pressed a few buttons on the register, neatly folding the jacket that the older had picked out. you didn’t catch it, still unable to look away from yuta. and jeno offered a bag, turning away to grab it when he got a nod in response.

and finally, yuta met your gaze. eyes sharp, telling. if only you knew what story they were trying to thread. “thanks.” his voice was a slow drawl, hand coming up to collect the bag jeno offered. he didn’t look away from you.

“thank you for coming,” jeno spoke, in return, leaning on the counter, palms flat against the top. the smile yuta offered in return had you fighting back a shudder.

apparently yuta knew too.

knew that he won. that he got jaemin on his side.

if there were even sides to this. instead of just pathways. the walk of life. and yuta had pushed jaemin to the left fork in the road. you were still trying to drag jaemin back.

although . . . speak of the devil and he shall come. because there was the shimmer of silver hair — the one that almost sparkled in the sunlight. you knew because jaemin had shown you once, too adorably excited about it. especially when you offered the random glitter you had in your room at the time ( you were still finding glitter in your room ).

jaemin stepped up to yuta’s side, his expression falling immediately at the sight of you and jeno. like he hadn’t expected you to be there, like he hadn’t wanted you to be there.

you’re sure your expression fell too.

you couldn’t bother to pay attention to your features, instead stepping out and immediately grabbing jaemin’s wrist, pulling him away from the other two.

you’re also sure jeno shot a helpless look at the back of your head.

“jaem, i thought i told you he was bad for you.” you immediately hushed your voice down, despite the fact you had tugged jaemin away and yuta probably wasn’t bothering to listen.

it was a stark contrast to how indifferent you had acted before. you regretted it. you should’ve had this conversation earlier. 

the sad thing is, you did. you swear you’ve had this conversion with jaemin hundreds of times ( most of which were probably in your head ), and yet he was still here. still doing it.

“he’s not, petal. i swear.” jaemin always had this tick when lying. he’d press his lips together into a thin line. 

and you hated how you knew that, because why wouldn’t you? why wouldn’t you know jaemin’s every give away, his every microexpression? you were his best friend.

the utter thought of that pained you. you were his best friend. you thought you were his best friend but — 

well, you didn’t know if he thought that anymore.

“jaemin,” you almost pleaded. you weren’t sure if you were pleading for him to stop, for him to come back to you, or both.

he swallowed. glanced back at yuta, and then to you. “i’m sorry,” jaemin mumbled, hand coming up to scratch his cheek nervously.

“jaemin.” you probably sounded too desperate.

he glanced at yuta once more, pausing before his eyes flicked to meet yours. “what, petal?” he finally spoke after a suffocating silence. “i’m sorry.” something in his gaze had changed. something hardened, something that had your stomach settling uneasily. “people grow apart, they stop talking — what excuse do you want? move on,” and your name slipped past his lips.

jaemin had this talent of stealing your breath away. but he was the one that always reminded you to breathe afterwards, albeit this time he didn’t seem to want to give it back.

you had described suffocating before, but this was drowning. and the sea was winning.

it was jaemin collecting every soft kiss on the cheek, every three am text thread, every smile and tease ever interchanged, and using them as the kindling of the fire desperately trying to keep him warm.

but then a spark.

maybe you were just grasping at threads. non-existent threads.

but his lips pressed together. one, thin line.

year nine.

jaemin had been the only thing on your mind recently. granted, he was always there, but he was never so distinct. it was like he had consumed you. cracked every part of you inch by inch until you were painfully, excruciatingly —

“calm down,” a loud voice spoke, too close to your ear. and you jumped slightly, leaning away from the sound. “you think too much,” chenle mumbled.

“i have a headache,” you groaned.

summer was spent connecting. for some reason, somehow. it wasn’t even your plan ( your summer plans consisted of hiding from the sun and crying in your room ), but you got roped into it. and you needed company. mark was busy, haechan was who knows where ( granted you’ve been slightly avoiding him too ), jeno tried his best but he’d been on vacation all summer. and jaemin —

“you poor thing,” renjun hummed, patting your back, albeit the action felt condescending.

renjun actually wasn’t really one of yuta’s posse members, not like you had originally thought. he just tagged along once, got roped up into their antics, and then left as soon as it went too far.

the sun was out, the clouds were fluffy, the sky a shade of blue that felt too pretty for human eyes. and school started tomorrow. you’d barely seen jaemin all summer. texting him was a rarity — him responding was even rarer. now you’d have to face him tomorrow. because for all you knew, haechan was the easiest way to get to school.

renjun doesn’t have a car, chenle hasn’t bothered to learn how to drive yet. you’d just have to hope and pray that they hadn’t forgotten about you.

“when’s jisung getting hereee, it’s hottt,” chenle complained, dragging out the syllables for added effect, shifting on his spot on the picnic table as he pulled out his phone, checking the group chat for any updates.

“it’s been five minutes, le,” you mumbled, also pulling out your phone to check. 

“five minutes too late,” the younger responded, pursing his lips into a pout as he started typing out a message to assumably yell at jisung.

renjun shared a look with you, one of pure exasperation, and you smiled. jisung and chenle were underclassmen. you had bumped into the group randomly on one of your pity walks — the ones where you haul yourself outside so you can say you hadn’t rotted in bed all summer — and for some reason they sparked a conversation. 

chenle had recognized you, jisung didn’t know who you were. renjun offered an awkward start.

so here you were now, at the end of summer after hanging out with the friends you didn’t know your entire life. and you missed mark. you knew he’d laugh too loudly at chenle’s jokes, haechan would love messing with renjun, jeno would be jeno, and jaemin . . . he’d fit in too well and it hurt. 

it hurt because you missed him. painfully so. everything hurt. 

“i just got here. stop being so melancholy,” jisung mumbled as he sank into the seat next to you, nudging your arm with his to snap you out of your thoughts again. “this jaemin is a jerk, i don’t know why you’re sad about him.” he shook his head slightly.

you knew their opinions of jaemin. the topic had slipped out one time when they asked where your other friends were. it was a messy evening of disgusted and offended expressions, chenle’s loud dolphin screech when defending you, and jisung’s small mumbles of how you shouldn’t feel bad. renjun already knew most of it anyway.

“because —”

“you were friends for your entire life,” chenle interrupted, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “we know. but friends grow apart, just how life works.”

you went quiet, fidgeting with your hands, and the silence followed you, until it was broken by a small yelp of pain from chenle who sent renjun a sharp glare.

“i mean—sorry?” chenle turned back to you with a shrug. 

a hand found yours, and you glanced to the side to see jisung offering you a small smile. he squeezed your hand. you couldn’t help but offer a smile in return. 

jisung was a comfort you had found in the passing days. 

sure, chenle and renjun were good friends, but jisung was soft. quiet, and peaceful in the way that it settled your antsyness. he was like jaemin — what jaemin was to you before.

you tried desperately not to think of jisung as a replacement.

“come on guys, we’re already late,” jisung spoke up, distracting chenle effectively, and the male stood up from the picnic bench, pushing himself up, palms flat against the wood.

“jisung’s right, let’s go,” he hummed, shifting and happily hopping off, not looking back to see if you three were following.

you huffed out a small laugh, before moving and pulling jisung along with you, glancing to make sure renjun got up too.

the world seemed to want to match your mood that morning. the blue from yesterday had faded to a gloom, a grey cloud cover holding the sun back from shining. you were sat on your porch, staring at your text thread with haechan. ‘hey can you still pick me up?’ from you, highlighted by that familiar blue, and the words ‘read, 6:54 am’ right under them. 

no response, not even one of those thumbs up reactions. though you knew avoiding haechan all summer wouldn’t help with that.

it was seven thirty. routine was him showing up at seven ten. you clicked off your phone, letting out a small sigh, standing up. the school wasn’t that far. just enough walking distance to be annoying, but not painful.

your name was called, and you immediately looked up, finding the familiar action of haechan gesturing for you to get in, his car in front of the sidewalk, mark in the passenger seat as usual. 

you stepped over, climbing into the backseat, letting out a quiet, relieved breath to yourself. “where’s jeno?” you questioned, buckling as haechan started driving.

“he got a car apparently,” haechan answered, giving you an eye roll through the rearview mirror, “his parents and grandparents helped pay for it.”

“we get it, you worked hard for yours,” mark spoke, exasperated like he had heard this story before — he probably had — but a grin was on his face.

“why does he get his for free??” haechan whined.

“anyway, he’s picking up jaem, so you have the backseat to yourself,” mark ignored haechan’s pitchy complaints as he turned slightly to look at you.

“oh,” you said, a mix of relief that you wouldn’t have to be squished in between them anymore, but then came the dread. you had prepared yourself all morning to face jaemin, and now you had to wait an extra ten minutes. “thank god,” you added after a silent moment to avoid getting a pity look from mark.

the older stared at you for a moment, before turning back to sit right in his seat. and you slouched slightly, half listening to haechan’s continued envious complaints about jeno’s car.

you watched mark and haechan interact, feeling a slight relief that haechan didn’t question your sudden disappearance from his life. mark had told you a few months ago that haechan had immediately quit smoking after that moment anyway.

you turned to look out the window, attempting to prepare yourself.

when the familiar sight of the school building faded into view, you forced out a breath. haechan practically dragged you out of his car after he parked, and you listened in as he told you about his eventful summer.

part of you wanted to go find jaemin. the other wanted to run to your first period and start planning out all your routes of avoiding him while also not being a complete loner. you’d have to text chenle for his schedule. he probably knew renjun’s and jisung’s already too.

the second part of you won out, and you waved mark and haechan a goodbye, slipping out of the latter’s grip to head to your first period.

you wished it could’ve been a normal first day like usual. where you and jaemin somehow immediately find each other — where you practically always have the same schedule, and walked to class together. always.

a third part of you wished that your schedules were the same.

and a fourth wished they were different.

taking a seat near the middle of the classroom, you glanced at the board, before sliding down in your seat slightly, letting out the nth deep-sigh-of-resignation breath today.

the bell rang five minutes later. no jaemin. you didn’t know whether you wanted to let out a cheer or a disappointed cry. when the teacher walked in, the joyful first day activities began. you were trying to listen as they rambled about grade percentages, icebreakers, and themselves, but all your attention was stolen when the door opened. 

jaemin walked into the room like a ghost from your past. but he didn’t look the same. the jaemin you remembered had fire in his gaze. warmth, comfort. this one had ice. cold, dark indifference.

his hair was dyed a dark blue. dark enough that it could pass as black. his natural hair color. you wondered if that was on purpose, but you knew that nothing in his life was about you anymore.

you looked up to meet his eyes as he surveyed the room. brown, hardened by the act of threat, but they didn’t soften this time. he barely even looked at you, flicking away to look over your head for an empty seat. and he maneuvered through, brushing past you.

ignoring the way your heart sunk to your stomach was a task. but you don’t know what you were hoping for.

the summer of silence had said enough.

though the whispers that followed him were new. 

not that jaemin hadn’t gotten a multitude of rumors with his name before, but these were tense. words of how he’d stolen from convenience stores, how he had just picked something up and walked out with it.

there were mentions of drugs, alcohol, sex.

the third part of you knew they weren’t true, at least not all of them. though rumors came from a sprinkle of truth. 

“na jaemin,” the teacher spoke the moment jaemin sat down. apparently he’d made enough of a name of himself for the teachers to already know him. “please refrain from being late and interrupting class, won’t you?”

jaemin didn’t answer, slouching in his seat slightly, turning his head to look out the window. and the whispers started up again.

the moment the bell rung, you stood up to go find chenle, hating the way you almost fell over to keep from bumping into jaemin. he spared you something that barely resembled a glance, but you didn’t stick around.

blood was pounding in your ears and you felt so stupid for being on the brink of tears.

“hey —” a familiar voice caught up with you, and you were so painfully thankful to hear it.

“hi jeno,” you responded, but at that point you were already pulling him into a hug, hiding your face in his chest. your voice was barely audible, muffled against his clothing.

“hey,” jeno replied, with the same word, though softer this time, like he already knew what was going on inside your head. and his arms wrapped around your middle.

you stayed like that, in the middle of the hall, surely being the biggest annoyance to other people, until jeno let go and pulled you over to the side, ducking his head down slightly to meet your eyes. “you okay?” he questioned, worry creasing his features.

“she’s fine.” chenle’s voice came from out of nowhere, and you looked to your side to see the male staring jeno down like he had personally offended him.

you blinked, forcing your tears away as you let out a small laugh. “it’s fine lele,” you mumbled, removing yourself from jeno’s arms when you felt the pressure of jisung’s stare after he had come up from behind chenle. “this is jeno.”

chenle’s lips formed an ‘o’ shape, and his hardened expression immediately cracked. “wasn’t sure — better safe than sorry!” he chirped, offering a smile to jeno, who merely blinked in return.

“you already saw him?” jisung spoke, keeping his voice quiet like someone would be listening in. his hand came up to yours, interlacing your fingers.

you nodded, swallowing down the emotions threatening to spill over again. you didn’t think it would’ve been that hard.

jisung squeezed your hand. and you forced your eyes up from where they had fallen to the floor, noting the way jeno’s eyes seemed to be trained on your hands. 

“so where’s your next class?” chenle interjected, moving to distract you, shoulder bumping against yours as he led you on to start walking again. you didn’t let go of jisung’s hand, ultimately leading him along as well.

jeno took the spot next to chenle.

your mind flashed to a vague remembrance of your schedule. you shrugged, earning an eye roll from chenle as he proceeded to drag you to his next class instead.

year ten.

you’re not sure you could get any lower. 

you’re pretty sure your heart shatters over again every time you see jaemin. you wonder if you could sue the school for giving you and jaemin the same schedule — but last year you would’ve been cheering, jumping up and down with jaemin.

he’s changed his hair at least three times throughout the school year. from dark blue to blond, to light brown, and currently settled at a light pink.

his favorite color; if it was still his favorite color. or maybe he had changed that too.

‘come by the library?’ was the first notification you got after school, mark’s contact name popping up on your screen, and you shoved your phone back into your pocket, turning on your heel to head in the direction of the library.

you pushed the door open once you got there, relishing in the peaceful quiet of the place. you wondered why you didn’t go to the library as often — it was a nice break from everything. 

a quiet call of your name snapped you back to reality, and you turned to see mark gesturing you over, a cart of books at his side. 

“hey,” he hummed, and his tone of voice had you pausing slightly.

“hey,” you reiterated his greeting, although yours was slower, more cautious.

“jaemin texted me,” mark spoke, reiterating your tone this time, meeting your gaze, hand pausing halfway up to the shelf before he shoved it where it was supposed to go.

you bit your tongue. “oh.” you tried your best to keep your tone neutral, flat, even. it’d been too long for it to still have an effect on you ( that’s what you told yourself ).

mark continued. “he asked about you.”

“oh.”

that earned you a stare from mark, to which you responded with a stare back, and mark unlocked his phone to hand it to you.

you tapped to messages, jaemin’s contact, then scrolled up a bit until you saw ‘petal’. and you paused, starting your downwards scroll, scanning the messages.

‘petal hates me right’ was the first thing that really caught your eye, and your movement stalled, swallowing slightly.

you didn’t. you really didn’t hate him, no matter how much you wanted to, no matter how much chenle, jisung and renjun thought you should.

the way your heart stuttered every time you saw him was traitorous. in nerves, embarrassment, anything else — you couldn’t answer.

“you okay?” mark questioned, noting the look in your eyes. he reached out and took the phone from you, keeping you from seeing anything else. the way his finger twitched let you know that he regretted showing you.

“fine,” you mumbled.

mark let out a small breath, slow, knowing. 

“i’m going to head home.” the words left your mouth shortly. 

“stay safe,” mark spoke softly.

something bad was going to happen. you knew it the moment jaemin’s contact popped up on your notifications. the dread had started since you had read the text. and the uneasiness had settled in your stomach when you had typed back without thinking.

min  11:42 pm     can we talk?

you  11:49 pm     yeah

min  11:49 pm     okay

min  11:50 pm     i’m coming over

coming over. 

face to face. 

to talk.

you didn’t even know why you had agreed. your fingers had moved before you had even thought of a response. maybe it was years of practice. jaemin whining at you when you took too long to respond, that you had fell into this habit of responding in at least the next minute.

if that was even a thing.

you spent the ten minutes it took to get from his house to yours sitting on the couch, practically rocking back and forth, wondering why it took fifteen minutes instead.

until jeno’s car pulled into the driveway, and you were at the door even before jaemin knocked.

he did. the sound echoing through the room like some sort of impending doom. your hand grasped the doorknob, turned it, pulled. 

and there he was. jaemin — your jaemin. the one who had that everlasting sparkle in his eyes, the one who giggled at everything cute and snatched up everything even remotely pink.

“your hair’s pink,” you blurted out, despite already knowing this information.

jaemin’s gaze flicked up, as if seeing the color for the first time. he shrugged. “yeah.”

you swallowed before stepping aside, letting him in. the silence was long, painfully so. neither of you spoke. the only echo being the click when you closed the door.

your eyes traced his features like you hadn’t seen him in years. and it felt like it. that you haven’t seen your jaemin since yuta entered the picture. his eyes were soft, not the cold exterior you saw in school, but almost back to that soft brown. warm. guilt ridden.

“i’m sorry petal,” he finally broke the silence, saying the words you’d been thinking of for the past year. “i’m so fuck — i’m so sorry,” he whispered. not the strain where he was forcing them out, but the strain where the words had been wearing at his vocal cords for months, where the pressure of them had been pushing on his thoughts, where it caused an endless headache if he didn’t get them out, if he didn’t mean them.

you didn’t respond. couldn’t; not when relief flooded your eyes, not when it felt like your throat was closing up. you didn’t think you’d get him back, not your jaemin.

but now here he was, standing in front of you, shoulders shrinking into himself the longer you stayed quiet.

“jaem.” his name was an exhale, one that urged him to look up.

your eyes met. staring, unwilling to look away. and something clicked.

you weren’t sure what — maybe your friendship, maybe a silent agreement, maybe, maybe, both of you looking at each other, and finally realizing everything. the small, tiny details. the ones neither of you had talked about in months.

you found yourself crashing into jaemin’s arms, which wrapped around you. securely; the reassurance only he could offer, relaxation that made your entire being lighten.

a small laugh fell from his lips — though someone could say it sounded more like the start of a sob.

you don’t think you’ve ever felt so relieved in your life, not because jaemin was crying, but because now you knew you weren’t losing him, you hadn’t lost him.

“i love you, petal — i can’t — i can’t just apologize for doing — leaving you —” jaemin stumbled over his words, slightly muffled by the way he spoke them into your shoulder. his grip tightened, obviously straining.

“i love you too jaem,” you whispered back, and the words weren’t romantic, they didn’t need to be. because you both did love each other — too much for it to be expressed in a three word sentence, far too much for it to be ruined by vacuous stares.

he pulled away slightly, just enough to meet your eyes, a wisp of space between you two. you could see the slight glimmer in his eyes. the threat of tears. 

something in you stitched itself back together again. your hands traced up to cup his face, thumbing under his cheek as if catching the tears that hadn’t fallen yet. 

he started leaning in before you did. and the moment your lips met his felt like you’d gone home. it was years, years, of shared looks, sinking hearts, and smiles that were only there for each other.

jaemin’s hands came up to rest on your wrists, holding your hands in place, keeping you steady, centered, grounded. when he pulled away his eyes met yours again. his lips parted to speak, only for a small ding to interrupt the conversation.

the two of you let out a small laugh, and your hands dropped from his face. “you should check that,” you whispered, not wanting to risk breaking the moment by being too loud. “it’s late, might be your mom.”

jaemin nodded, heart sinking at the loss of your touch, before he pulled out his phone, earning the sight of a notification from jeno that read: ‘dude where did you even go’

another one popped up: ‘can you ask before stealing my car at midnight’

then a third one: ‘come back before my mom notices 💔’

jaemin huffed out another soft laugh, “i have to go,” he hummed, texting jeno back before sliding his phone away. “i’ll see you tomorrow? and we can talk? fully?” hope lingered in his eyes.

your smile was something jaemin couldn’t help but lean in to kiss again. a small noise of surprise slipped from your throat, eliciting another peck from him ( cuteness aggression ).

“jaem — jaem —” you giggled, reaching to hold his face in your hands again, keeping him from leaning in a third time. “you have to go,” you reminded him.

“right,” he whispered, not moving.

you let out a small hum, and another notification from his phone got him to straighten up slightly.

“okay,” jaemin mumbled, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “tomorrow,” he promised. and you nodded, watching him step back and bump into the door before opening it and slipping out with a small wave.

you glanced at the window, watching jeno’s car pull out of the driveway. and you let out a soft breath, relief surging through you for the nth time. god you loved him.

the multitude of jokes should’ve prepared jaemin for this — his life flashing before his eyes. and of course, the first thing was you.

when he was eight years old he had made the best decision of his life. speaking up and saving you from the jerks who thought you were anything but pretty. you had caught his eye on the first day of school, and he’d went home that day asking his mom about love.

when he was thirteen he knew it was you. maybe not romantically, but he knew you were his soulmate. the moment pink stained your cheeks and the nickname petal first slipped from his lips. it fit you painfully well. pretty, pure, soft.

and when he was fourteen he now realized he made you a promise he couldn’t keep. because you didn’t have any more time — not with him anymore. he wished you did.

jaemin knew you were lying. fifteen years old, seven years of friendship and he knew you like the back of his hand. how couldn’t he, with the way his eyes barely fell from you. but he had brushed it off, pushed it aside without talking about it. he should’ve asked.

sophomore year and he regretted everything — especially pulling away. especially not just leaning in and finally . . something could’ve started so much earlier, instead of the years of pinning, of knowing glances yet nothing happening.

seventeen left him dazed and confused, heavy with rejection. he couldn’t tell you how long he stayed up after that, how long he felt your lips lingering against his, your confession echoing in his head and yet he still didn’t address it. neither did you.

the silver hair he adorned for junior year, and mark joked that it had seeped into his head. maybe it had — maybe he could blame everything he’d done on hair dye poison. maybe he could rewind time and promise you it wasn’t your fault.

and maybe he should’ve told you that he had lied. that every single word of his in that fight wasn’t true, that he hadn’t changed, that he hadn’t grown apart.

yet all he left you with was a lingering kiss and a promise that he’d be back.

but he wouldn’t be coming back. 

not with the screeching tires in his ears, the loud honking, and the headlights of a car at his side.

god, he loved you. of course you would be the last thought on his mind.

you woke up to your phone buzzing on your night stand. groggy, tired, and half expecting it to be jaemin, you picked up without glancing at the caller id — jeno’s voice filling your ear.

“hey —” choked, tearful.

“jen?” you responded, panic surging through your voice. “hey, what’s —?”

“jaem. it’s jaem.” whispered. “fuck, y/n —”

“jeno, what’s happening,” you whispered back, heart racing, pushing yourself into a sitting position.

James has you pressed against the wall before you can breathe, his body hot and solid against yours like he’s been dying to get his hands on you.

He pulls his shirt off in one swift motion. Muscles flexing, stomach tightening and the second he catches the way your eyes linger, his mouth curls into a dirty, knowing smirk.

“Yeah?”

His voice drops, low and cocky.

“You like that don’t you?”

Your thighs clench without permission. You nod, helpless. He slides a hand down your waist, fingers dipping under your waistband, brushing heat, barely there, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Fuck,” he laughs softly, lips dragging along your jaw. “Look at you—so pretty.”

His thumb presses against your clothed pussy, firm enough to make your hips jerk forward.

You gasp, a quiet, desperate sound, and he eats it from your mouth as he kisses you hard, tongue pushing past your lips like he owns the right. Your back hits the wall again.

His hips grind into you, slow and deliberate, the thick shape of his cock rubbing exactly against the spot that makes your knees buckle.

“Thought you’d break for me this easy,” he mutters against your mouth. His fingers slip lower “Let me hear it.”

“J-James.. I-“

You jolt so hard the pen flies out of your hand.

You’re instantly pulled back from your fantasy—heat to ice water in a heartbeat.

“Y/n?” your dad calls, voice muffled through your bedroom door. “Dinner will be ready in ten. Your sister will set the table today.”

You slap your palm over the letter like you’re hiding a crime scene. “I—I’ll be down in a sec!”

Your voice cracks. Horribly. Clearing your throat, you try again. “Yeah! Just—uh—finishing something!”

Footsteps retreat down the hallway. Silence drops. Then the fright hits you. You stare down at the paper. At the graphic, thirsty disaster you apparently wrote while possessed by a sex demon.

“Oh my fucking god.” You grab the paper in both hands, crumpling it so fast it practically crunches like aluminum foil.

“What is wrong with you, Y/n?” You fling the balled-up letter toward the overflowing trash can. It bounces off the rim and lands on the floor like it’s mocking you. Of course it misses. Even your garbage has better aim than your life. A waste of paper and your time. You bury your face in your hands and groan into your palms.

“He doesn’t even know you exist,” you mutter, pacing once, twice, like that might shake the embarrassment off. “How stupid do you have to be writing porn about James!”

James, the school’s most popular student who also happens to be in the soccer team. James who probably doesn’t know you exist and has a girlfriend. Or situationship. Or whatever the hell Amy counts as.

You drop back into your desk chair, heart still racing from the stupid fantasy. A mixture between wetness and heat still clings to your skin in places you wish it didn’t.

“This is insane,” you whisper to the ceiling. “Actually insane.”

You grab another sheet of paper, intending to write something normal. Something sane. Something not involving walls and grinding and his stupid smirk.

The page stays blank. Your hand trembles slightly. You shove it away and stand up.

“Dinner,” you tell yourself. “Food. Air. Brain reset. No… horny… writing.”

You take one step toward the door. Then stop. Then glance at the trash pile, the paper mountain you swore you’d never let anyone see.

One of them shifts from the movement of your fan. A small, sinking feeling hits your stomach. You really need to get a better trash can. Or maybe a shredder—no! Therapy. But first: dinner.

You yank open your bedroom door before you can psych yourself out again. And somewhere in the back of your head—the part you hate the most—James’s voice from your imagination lingers like smoke: Yeah? You like that?

You swallow hard.

“Shut UP,” you whisper to absolutely no one. You go downstairs anyway.

You drift down the stairs the minute the kitchen smells like something worth living for again. Your sister Annie is figuring out how her new phone works that she got for her thirteenth birthday recently. Your dad has his elbows on the counter, the kind of casual that says he’s trying to be chill but actually means business.

“You okay?” he asks between ladles of sauce. He always asks when you look a little too quiet. 

You shrug and grab a roll. “Yeah. Fine. Hungry.”

He’s stirring the pot and watching you like someone trying to read the news in a window reflection. “You’re eighteen, Y/n. That means you should try opening up to people a little. Join a club, meet someone new. Don’t close yourself off to the same circle forever.”

You give him the eyebrow. “You mean Bella?”

“Bella’s great,” he says, tone is deliberately even. “But reliable isn’t everything. You have this… tendency to tuck yourself away. Try something that rattles you.”

“Bella is the most reliable person one could ever know,” you scoff, crossing your arms in front of you. Suddenly, the words slide into the hollow place where your thoughts live and rattles something loose. Open up. Rattle. Shake. It’s stupid, obvious, and for reasons you can’t quite explain, it feels like the exact sentence you needed to hear.Before your dad can say anything else, you quickly get up from your seat.

“Honey- where’re you going?!” Your dad asks, your sister’s gaze following his. You don’t answer him. There’s no time for that. Sitting at your desk with your lamp low, you carefully grab another slip of paper.. You’ve always been the type to catalogue everything. Feelings, small humiliations, the way your chest tightens when you see James in the hallway, into the soft, safe pages of your diary. But you ran out of pages two days ago. You didn’t throw the journal away; you just taped the spine and pretended that was a solution. Now the spine is a Band-Aid and your life is still leaking.

So you do something slightly insane. You write a letter. A letter to James that you’re obviously not going to send. But you’re not going to send it—fuck no. You might be crazy but not to that extent. Instead, this letter will just fulfill your delusions, knowing you’re too much of a pussy to actually go talk to him. 

Plus, James as Amy. A girl that’s ten times prettier than you. Even if the letter was sent, it wouldn’t do anything but humiliate her. You sit down and you write like the instruction are pressed into your ribs. 

Dear James,

I don’t know what kind of courage is even required to put this into paper and not just into the soft pulp of my diary where it will sit forever and never hurt anyone but me. I’m out of pages. I like to pretend that’s why this is happening, but really it’s because your face keeps crowding the edges of the life I think I should lead and I am tired of pretending nothing has changed.

I’m writing this because my dad said something tonight about opening up, and for once his advice didn’t annoy me. It lit the part of my chest that likes to tell the truth. Usually, I tell myself the truth in tiny, private scribbles. I tuck things away in notebooks and call it safety. But safe is starting to feel smaller than the way my thoughts about you try to grow.

So here it is: I like you. Not the kind of like that’s polite and fits into a yearbook quote. The kind of like that rearranges the soundtrack in my head and makes dumb songs sound like they were written for mornings when you’re still asleep beside me. I like the way you laugh when someone says something stupid on the field. I like the way your that little pout you make when you miss your shot during your soccer practice. I like the scar on your thumb. I notice the ways you look at nothing and I wonder if you’re keeping a private joke with yourself.

I don’t expect anything. I’m not asking you to change your life, and I’m not asking you to break anything open to fit me inside. I’m just telling you the shape of my heart as honestly as I can. If you look back and you don’t feel anything close, that’s okay. I’ll make more pages. I’ll close my hands around the feeling and let it be pretty and lonely and mine.

If by some impossibility you feel even a fraction of this, if you ever want to talk in the quiet and not for show, I’d like that. If you want to laugh and make terrible jokes and steal fries off my plate, I’d like that too. If you want to touch me and find out how the rest of me holds together like how you do with Amy—well. I want that too, but more than anything I want you to be honest with me the way I’m trying to be honest with you now.

— Y/n

You read it back and feel twelve whole things at once — proud, mortified, relieved, as well as questioning your life decisions. You fold it carefully like it it’s an explosive and slide it into an envelope. You address it with your own hand: Zhao Yufan, his legal name. Under his name, you scribble the address you only learned after realizing he lives six houses down. You seal the flap, press it flat like a bandage, and set the envelope on your nightstand.

You think about putting it in the diary, or a secret drawer, or burning it in the tiny metal box you use to store old receipts, but something about the whole open up thing makes you stubborn. This one you want to feel like it could be sent. So you tuck it under a small stack of textbooks on the nightstand, slide a pen across it like you’re filing it into safety, and tell yourself you’ll shower, you’ll calm down, you’ll decide tomorrow whether you actually post it or not.

You strip and step into the shower, the hot water hitting your skin in a rhythm that slows the part of you that wants to panic. Steam climbs the glass and you lean your forehead against the wall and breathe. You imagine the envelope still on the nightstand where you left it, protected by the textbooks like a little fort.

You shampoo and rinse and think of nothing and everything and finally step out, towel-wrapped and lightheaded. You cross your room, expecting the envelope to be exactly where you left it. But you don’t see it.

You assume you put it somewhere else—under a different stack, in a drawer you forgot about, safe. That makes you breathe easier. You make a mental note to check after you put your hair up. Only thing is you don’t get the chance. As soon as you lay down on your bed, you’re fast asleep.

—

Morning punches you in the face the moment your alarm shrieks. You bolt upright with that weird post-shower fog still clinging to your brain, and then the memory hits you like a shovel: The letter.

“Shit—” You stumble out of bed, hair a disaster, sleep shirt twisted around your waist as you lunge toward the nightstand.

Textbooks: check. Pen you left on top: check. Envelope? Not check. You flip the books. Nothing. Just kill me.

You yank open the drawer. Receipts, scrunchies, a rogue stick of gum. Oh—there’s your favourite lip gloss you lost in eighth grade. No envelope.

You drop to your knees and check under the bed like the letter might be hiding out of spite. Nada. 

“Okay, no. No no no—” Your voice rises, scrapes, breaks. You tear through your desk. Under the lamp. Behind your laptop. In your laundry basket like you’re truly losing it.

It’s gone.

You freeze so hard your breath forgets what it’s supposed to be doing. For a full five seconds you just stand there, staring at the nightstand like it personally betrayed you.

“Y/N! You’re gonna make Annie late!” your dad yells from downstairs.

Jesus Christ. Of course the universe picks today to make you a missing-letter fugitive.

You slap on makeup with the precision of a maniac, yank on loose jeans, absolutely forget deodorant, and sprint out the door with Annie trailing behind you.

She’s eating a Pop-Tart like nothing is wrong in the world. “Can you walk faster?” you hiss.

“You woke me up late,” she mumbles around strawberry filling. “This is your fault.”

She’s not wrong, and it only makes you want to scream into a pillow. “Actually, you could have set an alarm on your phone,” you say defend yourself. “What’s the point of having a phone if you can’t put it to use?” Annie rolls her eyes. The whole walk to her school, your brain is doing a full Olympic-level panic routine.

You drop Annie off—barely hearing her bye—and then you’re speed-walking toward your school like your life depends on it. Which, honestly? It kind of does.

Inside the hallway, it’s the usual teenage circus. Lockers slamming. People laughing too loud. Someone aggressively spraying Axe body spray like they’re trying to fumigate the building.

And then, you see him. James. He’s leaning against his locker, talking to Jihoon and some really tall guy, hair falling over his forehead in that stupidly soft way that makes your chest squeeze. He wipes his bangs aside with his knuckles and you swear your soul leaves your body like you’re some Victorian child witnessing the beauty of art for the first time. 

Your feet keep walking but your eyes stay glued to him as you’re now walking backwards somehow—hey, is it just you or did he bleach his hair blondish orange?

“Ouch! Watch where you’re going.”

Your shoulder ricochets off a wall of person, and a sharp, irritated gasp snaps you back to reality. “Hi Amy.”

Believe it or not, you and Amy were best of friends back in middle school until popularity took over her. Her brown wavy hair is perfectly glossy. Her skin is so flawless it looks like someone airbrushed her in real time. She’s applying a swipe of lip gloss with one hand and glaring at you like you just stepped on her dog with the other.

“Oh, it’s just you,” she snaps, pursing her lips as she caps the gloss. “Some of us actually care about how we look in the morning.”

Heat floods your cheeks, crawling up your neck. You mutter, “Sorry,” but it comes out thin and squeaky—humiliating.

Her eyes flick over you, slow and critical, before she glances past your shoulder toward James—her whole expression softening instantly, like flipping a switch.

You try your hardest not to look. It would be very embarrassing to do so. But you do.

James is watching. Not glaring. Not smirking. Just watching with that unreadable, calm expression he always gets when he’s trying to figure something out. His friends are waving their hands in front of his face to catch his attention. 

Your stomach drops to your toes. Because for one terrible, dizzy moment, you wonder if that letter got somewhere it shouldn’t. You swallow tightly.

This day is already hell. And it’s only 8:07 AM. 

You don’t even get three steps down the hall before Bella materializes beside you like she teleported straight out of loyalty. Her ponytail bounces while her iced latte sloshes, eyebrows already raised. “I saw that, by the way,” she says.

You groan into your hands. “Please. Please, Bella. Don’t.” Bella wiggles her brows. “You full-on stared at him like he was Michelangelo’s David, and then you—what was that? Moonwalked into Amy?”

“Let’s. Not. Talk about it.” You want to crawl inside your hoodie and never come out. Bella laughs so hard she snorts. “Okay, fine. But holy crap, you’re lucky she didn’t claw your face off.”

You don’t tell her about the letter. God, no. Bella is your ride-or-die, but even she doesn’t deserve to carry that radioactive emotional grenade.

The day crawls by at the pace of a wounded snail. Class, class, pretend to take notes, class. After school, you follow your usual routine: cut through the side field, slip past the bleachers, and make your quiet little trail toward the soccer field.

It’s stupid. SO stupid. But watching the practices has always been… calming? Or maybe masochistic. Hard to tell. They’re already running drills. Cleats thudding. Shouts carrying. 

And there he is, James, wearing the neon-pinnied version of perfection. He’s quick. Controlled. Focused. The way his legs move is ridiculous. He spins the ball like it’s attached to him by secret magnets.

Usually Amy’s on the bleachers, cheering him on with her friends. But today there were no signs of her being no where near this field. Strange. You wonder where she is. That should make you feel relieved. It doesn’t.

For once, James isn’t playing like you’re invisible. Because suddenly, he sees you. Actually sees you. His brows knit. His chest rises, pauses. And before you can process what’s happening, he jogs off the field. Then he’s running. Running toward you.

Panic detonates in your ribcage.

No. No no no no—

He stops way too close. Close enough that you smell him—clean, sharp, expensive. Something like cedar and citrus and everything you absolutely should not like.

“Hey,” he says, breath still catching from the run. “Y/n? Is that your name?” You freeze. He rubs the back of his neck. Looks down for a second. Then back at you.

“I see you watching the games sometimes and I, uh… got your note.”

Your heart stops. Literally stops. If a doctor checked you right now, you’d be declared clinically dead. “I just—” he swallows hard. He’s awkward. He’s never awkward. “I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring it.”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. Not even a squeak. He shifts his weight, eyes flicking toward the field like he wishes someone would rescue him.

“Listen… I just got out of a breakup. Like. Recently.” He laughs once, dry and not very funny. “And… I don’t even know you. So I can’t—it wouldn’t be fair. Or right. You know?”

“Then get to know me.” That’s what you want to say. Instead you nod slowly. Or maybe you physically malfunction. Hard to tell. He gives you this tiny, apologetic half-smile that somehow hurts worse than being stabbed.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. And then he jogs back onto the field like he didn’t just smash your chest open with his bare hands. You stand there frozen long enough that a stray soccer ball rolls by your foot and you don’t even flinch.

James looks even better up close. And yeah he smells like something expensive. Something that makes your stomach twist. You were never supposed to know that. You swallow, throat tight. It’s the start of the new school year and this day was- well... You’re not sure there’s even a word for it.

The next few days are awkward as hell.

You avoid his locker like it’s a landmine. You walk a little faster in the halls. How the hell did he get his hands on your letter in the first place? If your brain had a mute switch, you would’ve used it. Bella notices and gives you the exact look that says tell me everythingwithout actually making you talk.

You don’t tell her anything. Not about the letter, and about how your stomach clenches when he passes.

One afternoon you cut across the field and freeze halfway, because there they are, the once infamous couple arguing in that tense whisper that looks loud from a distance. Amy’s hands are animated, her face flushed in that way people get when they think they’re right and are also angry. James is calm but tight; his jaw works like he’s chewing on something heavy. You don’t hear words. You only see the body language: Amy stepping closer, James stepping back. The rest of the team keeps practicing around them like it’s normal to be emotionally shredded in the middle of drills. Maybe this happens a lot? Expect this time, they’re arguing as exes, not as a couple.

Three days later, you’re sitting with Bella like every other lunch school-day—salad in front of you, two conversations happening at once. “Hey,” Bella starts, “you think that I could fit three French fries up one nostril?”

You barely get two fries into your mouth before a shadow falls over your lunch table. Bella freezes mid-sip of her iced latte. Her eyes go huge. “Um… incoming.” You turn slowly, like your neck is rusted, praying it isn’t who you think it is. 

James. Hands in pockets. Hair slightly damp from gym. Looking like a walking problem. You could recognize his cologne from miles away.

“Y/n,” he says, voice low. “Can we talk?” Bella nearly breaks her own neck nodding. You shoot her a warning look, but she just winks. Or tries to. It looks more like a seizure. You follow James out to the side courtyard, heart punching your ribs like it’s trying to escape. Did he see you eves dropping on him and Amy’s argument? Or even worse—he somehow got a hold of that piece of paper you wrote a whole entire smut scene of you and him on. No. There’s no way that’s possible. But the letter- shut up y/n.

Finally, he stops by a bench and shifts his body awkwardly. You brace yourself for whatever’s coming.

“Okay, so… about what I said a few days ago.” Deep breath. “I changed my mind,.”

You blink. Not once. Not twice. About twelve times. “I’m sorry—what?” He runs a hand through his hair, jaw tightening. “Amy found out I talked to you the other day.” His eyes flicker to you. “And she’s… not handling it well.” You say nothing. Your brain is buffering like bad Wi-Fi. “So,” he continues, “she’s convinced I’m into you. And she’s trying to make me jealous by flirting with every guy in our grade. Which is…” He grimaces. “Annoying.”You’re staring at him, blank-faced, because what else are you supposed to do? “So if she thinks you and I are together,” he finally says, “she’ll calm down. And maybe she’ll want to get back together. It’s just… easier this way.”

Ah. There it is.

It’s not because he suddenly sees you. It’s not because your face lives rent-free in his mind the way his does in yours. It’s because you’re convenient and somehow read the stupid love letter you were going to keep to yourself and through away after a few days. 

You swallow, throat scraping. “So you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend… so your get back together?” He nods, relieved you understand. “Yeah. Exactly.”

You take your time thinking—way longer than necessary, honestly. But you’re not stupid. Fake dating James? James, whose face makes your brain glitch? James, who already thinks you confessed some weird crush? Why the hell wouldn’t you?

“Fine,” you say eventually. “I’ll do it.” His whole body loosens like he’s been holding tension since August. “Thank you. Seriously. Okay, uh… we should follow each other on Instagram.”

Shit. 

He pulls his phone out. You do the same—hesitantly. “It’s @y_notn?” He repeats, typing the username into Instagram, then clicking onto your page. You see his lips form a smirk. “You’re already following me I see.” You cheeks match the color of his shoes.

He types fast. “I’ll tag you in my bio. You can tag me in yours too.” Your pulse jumps but you nod in agreement anyways.

He pockets his phone again. “Meet me after practice today. Same field as always.” He gives you a small smile that’s entirely too soft to be legal. “I assume you know what time that is.” Like you haven’t literally watched every practice he’s had since school started.

You nod, trying not to implode. “Yeah. I know.”

“Cool.” He steps back, gives you a once-over that feels like a warm hand on your spine. “See you then, Y/n.” When he walks away, you realize you’re not breathing. You’re not sure you’ll ever breathe normally again.

Bella ambushes you before you even sit down. She’s practically vibrating with questions, textbooks forgotten in her hand.

“So spill. What did you two even talk about? Why is he talking to you when he has a—what is she—Amy? What the freak is going on?” Her eyes are all sharp curiosity and that ridiculous, fierce-protective thing only best friends get. You do the only mature thing you can think of: play it cool. “It’s nothing,” you say, which is still a lie and also technically not. You haven’t explained anything to anyone, not even to yourself.

Bella doesn’t buy it for one second. “Nothing? Y/n. You’ve been crushing on that guy ever since I’ve known you. Do you know how dramatic that was? Spill.”

You fold your fork over your lips. “He said some stuff. Nothing huge.” You focus on making your voice flat, unimpressed, as though your heart didn’t vault into your throat and refuse to come down two hours ago. She leans in until her face invades your space. “Did he… break up with Amy?”

You stare at her. The question feels like a live wire. “Yeah,” you say before you can stop it. “They—he said they broke up.”

Bella’s jaw drops so hard you’d think she swallowed a stone. “And you didn’t tell me? Am I not your best friend anymore or what?” She half-pleads, half-accuses. You laugh because panic tastes weird and small. “I didn’t know until this week, B. Chill. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be the person who screams and jumps on him or whatever you do when you’re extremely dramatic.”

She pouts, not actually mad. “Wait—so was he talking to you because he likes you or something and wants to move from Amy?”

It takes you a moment to respond. “It’s… complicated,” you say, and she deflates into a theatrical sigh. “I’ll keep you updated for sure.”

Later, after classes pretend to move slower than molasses. You go to the side courtyard like you promised. He’s there early, hands in pockets, looking like he walked out of a billboard and then stole your ability to breathe. He waves you over like he’s practiced casualness in a mirror.

“So,” he says, hands folded like he’s bracing for feedback as you two settle down on a nearby bench. “About us.”

You swallow. “About us.” Something you thought you’d never hear come out of his mouth, This is ridiculous. Then you remind yourself why you’re here in the first place.

He exhales. “I should make—uh—parameters. Boundaries. Whatever you want to call them..” He looks earnest. Which is both disarming and scalding.

“Okay,” you say. “No kissing. No… anything farther.” You say it like you’re filing a restraining order against your hormones. Your cheeks heat up right after you say it, like you’ve exposed your soul in public.

He gives you a genuinely confused look. “What’s so wrong with kissing?” You look at him and feel stupid and stubborn and painfully sincere. “I want my first kiss to mean something. I don’t want my first kiss to be a prop in someone’s plan. I want it to be because of… feelings. Real ones.”

He studies your face. For a second you think he’s scoffing. Instead he looks surprised, like he expected something else out of you entirely. “So you’re saying you’ve never kissed anyone? You don’t seem like a first-kiss kind of person,” he says, like it’s an observation, not an accusation.

You don’t know if that’s supposed to be a compliment. “I’m not,” you say. “I just… want one that matters.”

He nods slowly, and shockingly, he takes it in. “Okay. No kissing,” he repeats. “No making out. No—anything. Got it. I was looking forward to that part though.” That last sentence makes you look up immediately. He lets out a “oh look at you, you feel for it,” laugh. Of course he didn’t mean it.

“And pet names? Like, are we team ‘babe’ or are we staying sane?”

You sigh. “Pet names are allowed but No PDA that crosses boundaries. Hand-holding okay. Quick pecks on the cheek—fine, but only if it’s not humiliatingly dramatic in front of Amy.”

He snorts at that, and for a moment the tension loosens. “Dates?” he asks. James going on a date with you? You want to poke yourself to make sure this isn’t all just a dream.

“Sure.”

You actually grin, and it feels like a defect in your usual composure. This is insane. You’re literally negotiating love like it’s a group project. He hesitates, then asks, “Can I—uh—pick you up to school? Like, to drive you? Make things look… convincing.”

Your brain short-circuits. “I walk my younger sister to school,” you say. “So no.” He brightens, thinking on his feet. “I can drive her too. Drop them both off. Make it seem legit.”

You gape. “You’d drive my twelve-year-old sister to school?” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Yeah. Less awkward than you explaining a fake boyfriend every morning.”

“Wow,” you say, simultaneously mortified and oddly touched. “That’s… actually kind. Okay, maybe.”

“And—if you want—I can drive you home now,” he adds. “Make it easier. Practical.” You almost laugh because this feels exactly like a dream for someone else and not like your actual life. But then you see his eyes dart—just for half a beat—toward the tree line at the edge of the parking lot. Amy. 

He looks back at you and, without missing a beat, pulls you closer. His hand rests on the small of your back, which feels equal parts possessive and protective. His other hand ghosts over your arm, fingers light, claiming. “Smile,” he whispers into your ear, breath hot and soft and ridiculous.

His hands wander like they’re memorizing the geography of you—over your shoulder, along your ribs—nothing obscene, just bordering on intimate enough to make your teeth ache.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you home.” He makes sure to emphasize on the baby part so it’s loud enough for Amy to hear. The pet name lands heavy in your chest.

He slides his fingers into yours and leads you toward the parking lot. Your sneakers scuff the concrete. Maybe the letter getting sent out wasn’t as bad after all. But then you remember this is all an act. James doesn’t actually like you. And once he’s back with Amy? You don’t even want to think about it.

You find the car before you recognize it. Low, polished, the kind of car that hums quietly like it was born rich. Leather seats. Chrome that catches sunlight like it’s showing off. You knew he was from money, but you’d never actually seen it up close like this.

He opens the passenger door for you with a theatrical little bow that somehow feels oddly considerate. “Hop in,” he says, and for a second the world narrows to leather and the faint plastic smell of air freshener and the rapid, stupid beating of your heart.

You climb in, and as the engine starts, you wonder which part of your life is a fever dream and which part, if any, is real.

James pulls up in front of your house like he’s done this a hundred times, like this is just routine for him now. The car quiets, he taps the steering wheel once, and turns toward you.

“Thanks for driving me,” you say, suddenly shy for no reason except he’s looking at you like that. You try to keep your smile contained, but it still slips out, tiny and embarrassing.

He catches it immediately. “Cute,” he says under his breath, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. He clears his throat, hoping you didn’t hear him slip. 

“So this is where y/n lives? Didn’t know you lived a couple houses down from me.” You smile and reach for the door handle, trying to act like a normal functioning human being, when he stops you with a soft, “Y/n—wait.”

You blink at him. “Yes?” He holds up his phone. “Can I take a picture of us holding hands? For my Insta so Amy can see.” You swear you felt something real between you two until he snapped you back to reality. “Like… right now?”

“Yeah.” He extends his hand, palm up, waiting. “C’mon.”

You place your hand in his because what else are you supposed to do? Say no? Die? Teleport? His fingers lace through yours, warm and soft, and your whole bloodstream turns into electricity. You feel your body heat up. This is your first ever physical contact with him.

He lifts his phone with the other hand and pulls your joined hands closer to the console where the lighting is better. Of course he knows his angles; he’s literally James.

“Look at me,” he murmurs. You do. He snaps the picture the moment you meet his eyes, like he wants you in the frame even if you’re only visible in the reflection of the screen. 

After the photo is taken, he stares at it for a quick second. Call yourself delusional but you swear you saw him holding back his smile. After tagging you, he uploads it instantly. Your heart legitimately forgets how to beat.

“Great,” he says, dropping your hand slowly, almost reluctantly. “Text me when you’re inside.”

“S-sure,” you mutter, stumbling over your own voice like a clown. You climb out of the car. He waits until you’re at the porch before he pulls away, tires rolling smooth and silent like he didn’t just flip your entire life upside down.

You walk in, still clutching the warmth of his hand like an idiot who’s never known happiness before. Your dad glances up from the kitchen, eyes narrowing with that suspicious dad-squint. “Someone’s smiling.” You almost choke. “I’m not—I’m literally—I wasn’t—”

He laughs. “Alright, alright. I’m not interrogating you. How’d you get home so fast?”

Panic rushes through your veins. “Uh. Bella’s brother drove us. We were going the same way.”

Lie. Instant lie. Horrible lie. Bella doesn’t even have a brother. You want to fistfight yourself.

“Huh,” your dad says, not looking convinced but not digging either. “Alright, well—oh! Before I forget.” He stands, wipes his hands on a dish towel, and smiles like he’s about to tell you something wholesome. Instead he says the single worst sentence you’ve heard in your entire life. “I forgot to tell you this but I saw that letter on your desk last week and helped mail it for you, honey.” Your stomach hits the floor. You swear your vision goes white around the edges.

“What—what letter?” You hear your own voice crack like a broken flute.

“The envelope under those textbooks on your desk thst was addressed to one of our neighbours? I figured it’d save you and I less time because I was stopping by the post office anyways,” He beams, proud of himself.

You cannot breathe. So that’s how James got your note. The letter that was literally your unhinged, handwritten, half-fantasy confession about James. The one you should have burned. “Thanks,” you whisper, voice tiny and hoarse. 

You bolt up the stairs the second you’re free, close your bedroom door with the gentlest click ever because of course tonight is the night you suddenly care about door volume, and just… collapse. Face-first into your bed. You don’t even bother turning the lights on.

Your body is still buzzing, like James’s handprint is burned into your skin. Your heart keeps replaying the whole car scene at 8K resolution, IMAX, Dolby Atmos, every upgrade possible.

James and Amy? Over. James talking to you? Actually real. James fake dating you? Also real. You? Completely malfunctioning.

You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling like it personally betrayed you. Because the thing is, it’s fake. He asked for to take the picture for Amy, not because he wanted it for himself. He’s James. He dates girls who look like they stepped out of a perfume commercial. You literally tripped over air in homeroom last week.

Still… your chest squeezes around this tiny, dangerous wish. You wish it wasn’t fake, how he meant the way he looked at you in the car, and the warmth in his hand wasn’t just acting. But whatever. That’s not your life. Guys like him don’t like girls like you. You know that. You’ve always known that.

Next morning starts off painfully normal, which is honestly rude given the way last night cracked your brain open. You drag yourself out of bed, brush your teeth while half-asleep, pull on a hoodie that still smells vaguely like laundry detergent and despair, and braid Annie’s hair while she wiggles like a caffeinated squirrel.

“Hold still,” you mutter, trying to tame the last strand. “I am holding still,” she says, not holding still. You finally get her ready, grab your bag, and step out of the building with her hand in yours. It’s quiet outside, cool enough to wake you up a little. The walk to her school is familiar, easy, predictable.

Your brain needs predictable right now. You’re three blocks down before a car honk breaks the morning calm—one sharp, deliberate beep.

You and Annie both turn at the same time.

James’s car is parked at the curb. Leaning slightly toward the window, one hand on the wheel, raising his eyebrows in a “Really? You forgot?” kind of way.

“Oh shit,” you whisper. Annie gasps dramatically and sprints toward the car like she’s starring in her own movie. “Did you just say a bad word?” she calls out over her shoulder. “Also who’s that?”

“My… uh…” You have nothing. No explanation. Just panic. “Just—wait—Annie!” But she’s already yanking open the passenger door. “Did you forget about stranger danger?!”

“Hiiiiii!” she beams at him. James grins back, all sunshine and dimples. “Good morning.” He looks cute when he smiles.  You stumble up behind her, cheeks burning. “Sorry—she just—uh—”

“It’s fine,” he says. “She’s cute.”

Annie giggles like he handed her a scholarship. “My sister thinks cute! Her face literally turned red when she—” You quickly slap your palm on top of her mouth, nearly choke on your own tongue. “Annie! You can’t just—say things—!”

James laughs. “I can see that.” Fuck you. He nods toward the backseat. “You riding or walking?” Right. The whole fake dating thing. You climb in, mumbling, “I totally forgot you were picking us up.”

He shoots you a look in the rearview. Teasing. “Kind of figured.” Annie, meanwhile, is already telling him her entire life story. “So my sister woke me up late again, and Y/N didn’t let me have candy in the morning, so can you convince her t—“

“Annie,” you hiss, “personal space!” James glances at you, amused. “Your sister’s very bubbly.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Runs in the family.” He raises an eyebrow. “Really? Haven’t noticed much of that in you.” You look out the window so he can’t see your face fall and combust at the same time. “Well… it takes me a while to open up.”

There’s a beat of silence—soft, not awkward. Then, quietly, he says, “I don’t mind that. Your breath trips.  Annie thankfully interrupts you before your brain melts. “Are you Y/N’s boyfriend?” You and James say entirely different things at the exact same time.

You: “NO—no no no—he’s not—don’t—” James: “Something like that.”

You whip your head toward him so fast your neck protests. “What?!” He smirks. “Relax. Just keeping the story consistent.” “That’s not consistent, that’s— that’s—”

“Convincing,” he finishes, winking. You swear your pulse jumps like it’s trying to break out of your body. By the time he pulls into the school parking lot, your nerves are shredded.

“Wait.” His voice stops you again. You freeze halfway out. He gets out too. Walks around the car. And then extends his hand. Palm up, a silver ring on his index finger. 

“Come on,” he says. “They’re already staring.” Your stomach drops to your knees. You place your hand in his, because apparently you’ve lost all brain function. His fingers lace through yours. Firm. Warm. Familiar already in a terrifying way. You wonder what if he uses hand cream—and if so, what kind?

You walk side by side, hands joined, through the courtyard. Every. Single. Person. Looks. Someone literally whispers, “Are you kidding me?” as you pass. Another girl stares like you committed a war crime. You try to keep your face blank, but your heart is doing parkour. Even his friends look at him weird. James leans toward you just slightly. “You good?”

“I’m—fine,” you lie. He squeezes your hand. A tiny squeeze. You nearly short-circuit. Then you turn down the hall. And there she is. Perfect hair. Perfect face. Perfect everything. Leaning against her locker with her friends, scrolling through her phone—Amy.

Until she sees you and James. Her entire expression freezes—then sharpens. Expression goes from neutral to knives-out in half a second.

It hits you so hard your stomach does a full gymnastics routine. You instantly look away, like you’re gonna be burned alive if you make eye contact for more than a microsecond. James actually glances. Quick, sharp, assessing—like he’s checking if she saw. And apparently she did, because he gives the smallest nod to himself and keeps walking.

Your palm is sweating in his, which is honestly humiliating, but he doesn’t comment. Doesn’t squeeze or slow down or look at you twice. He’s just walking. Playing the part. Cool. Unbothered. Like this is all just logistics. People are still staring, whispering, straight-up gawking as you pass.  You keep your face forward. Try not to shrink… or die. All three are failing.

When you reach his locker, he drops your hand casually like he’s turning off a light switch. He spins his combo, grabs a book, and says, completely normal, “I saw her staring.”

Your heart is still in your throat. “It’s progress, I guess.” He nods once, satisfied. “Think it’s working.”

James doesn’t look at you again—just shuts his locker with a quick clack and tosses his bag over his shoulder like he didn’t just nuke your nervous system in the hallway.

“See you later,” he says, already turning away. And you’re left standing there, trying not to look like you’re about to dissolve into mist.

The rest of the week doesn’t calm down — it just mutates into this weird fever dream where James keeps doing things that make your brain short-circuit.

Like Wednesday morning, when you’re trying to open your locker and the stupid thing jams for the eighth day in a row. You mutter under your breath, “I hate this place,” and kick the bottom corner. Out of nowhere, James appears behind you, lean and warm and annoyingly tall.

“Move,” he says, voice low like he’s about to break into a safe.

“I’ve tried that,” you snap, not even looking up. “It doesn’t—” He slams his palm against the top left edge with one clean, confident hit. The locker pops open like it’s scared of him. Hot. “Are you—what? How—?!”

He shrugs, smirking. “You’re welcome.”

You roll your eyes way too dramatically, but you’re pretty sure your soul floats out the back of your head when he taps the top of your hair and says, “I’ll be here if you need help with anything else.”

You stare after him like a malfunctioning Roomba as he walks off.

Then there’s Thursday, when you’re walking through the courtyard with James and trip over absolutely nothing. Like, genuinely nothing. A single leaf. A shadow. Air. You go stumbling forward like a newborn deer. Before you can fall, James catches the back of your hoodie and pulls you upright by the hood like you’re a cat being relocated.

“I swear to God,” you wheeze, face on absolute fire, “the ground attacked me.”

“Yeah,” he deadpans, “the ground looked really hostile.”

You shove his shoulder because you can’t come up with a good comeback and also because you’re mortified. He lets out a quiet chuckle and it unlocks something sweet and dangerous in your chest.

Next it’s Friday morning. You and Annie are waiting for him outside, and your sister is bouncing around talking about how she wants to get a hamster named Bean. James comes out of the car, leans over the passenger seat, and gives Annie an exaggerated thumbs-up.

“Bean’s a great name,” he says, like he’s taking her dead seriously. “Very strong. Very intimidating.”

Annie giggles like she’s met a celebrity. You can tell that your sister likes him a lot. Too bad it might all end soon. You’re standing there blinking because why is he being sweet when no one is watching? There’s no audience at 7:53 AM on a suburban sidewalk. No reason to impress anybody. He looks at you for a beat too long. “What?” you say, defensive because your nervous system is fried.

“Nothing,” he says, that tiny smile tugging at one corner. 

Later that same day, you’re at his soccer practice again, this time on mandatory fake-girlfriend attendance, apparently, but this time you don’t sit on the bleachers. You’re late, so you stand awkwardly by the fence, hugging your bag. 

James sees you. Mid-scrimmage. He’s literally making it past two guys and still looks over like you’re a lens flare he enjoys catching. Amy’s on the far side of the field glaring daggers, and that’s probably why he does it, why he pushes a bit harder. For some reason, she started showing up again. 

But then he smirks. And it’s not aimed at Amy. He jogs up after scoring, out of breath, flushed, hair sticking to his forehead. The kind of sweaty that shouldn’t be attractive but absolutely is.

Before you know it, his practice ends, the sun’s low, and the field looks like it’s glowing. You’re standing by the fence scrolling your phone, pretending you’re not waiting for him even though obviously you are.

They scrimmage one more play. James gets the ball. The field actually erupts. He slips past two defenders, cuts left, shoots—Goal. The boys yell and explode like he just cured cancer. And then he does something so stupidly cinematic you almost faint: He runs straight toward you. Like you’re his checkpoint.

He stops right by the fence, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, jersey sticking to him — black and green, drenched in sweat, clinging to every muscle that should not legally exist on an 20-year-old.

“Did you see that?” he breathes out, grinning like he’s half-drunk on adrenaline.

“I—I mean—yeah,” you say, but it comes out more like a squeak because you are absolutely staring. His hair is plastered to his forehead, his neck glistening, jaw sharp enough to slice your willpower in half. He smirks when he notices.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” he teases, voice low. You immediately snap your eyes away. “I wasn’t—looking. I was—blinking.”

“I didn’t know blinking took that long,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer to the fence. You nearly dissolve into the grass.

By the time he drops you off, your brain is a puddle. He taps the steering wheel, looks at you with that same unreadable-soft expression you’re starting to recognize. “Same time tomorrow?” 

Before you could answer, your dad comes out on the porch at the worst possible moment, holding a mug and squinting into the driveway. “Is that the handsome guy Annie keeps talking about?”

Why oh why. “Wha—dad—I—no—?” James, traitor that he is, just smiles and waves like this is a barbecue and not the crumbling of your sanity. “Yes I am!”

Your dad lights up. “Well! Why don’t you stay for dinner?” You see James glance at you like he’s asking for permission—like you’re the deciding vote before he says, “Sure. If that’s okay.” Okay?? You’re already having an out-of-body experience. Inside, Annie is THRIVING. She pats the couch between her and James like she’s the host of a reality show. You sit, fully preparing to be normal. You fail immediately.

Halfway through the movie, James shifts closer—casual, smooth, evil—and drapes an arm behind you on the couch, feeling himself at your home. Not even touching you yet, just… there. Warm. Heavy. Loud in your peripheral vision. Your heart is trying to escape your ribcage with a crowbar.

Then, out of nowhere, he reaches over and slides the scrunchie out of your ponytail. Slow. Deliberate. Like he’s unwrapping a present. Your hair falls down your shoulders and you swear the air temperature spikes 40 degrees.

“Looks better like this,” he murmurs, barely audible over the TV.

You’re going to combust. Annie is too invested in the movie to notice you dying.

He loops it around his wrist, then pulling out his phone to check something. You assume he’s going to post something on his Instagram for Amy to see, but he checks the time instead. Strange

Your dad comes in once to ask if you all want snacks. James answers politely. You stare at the wall like you’re seeing God. He grabs a piece and feeds it to you. Even morestrange.

Eventually it gets late, and he stands, gives Annie a little salute, thanks your dad for the evening, and looks at you with this unreadable softness that makes your stomach flip.

“See you tomorrow,” he says.

—

The night air is cold enough to bite, but he doesn’t feel it. His whole skin is still warm from your house, your couch, your hair brushing his shoulder. 

As he hopped into the car, shouldn’t be thinking about that. It wasn’t supposed to feel like that. Getting out, he walks up his front steps, keys halfway out of his pocket, when he freezes.

Amy is sitting on his porch. Arms crossed. Eyes sharp. Wearing that perfume he likes.

“James,” she says, chin tilted, voice honeyed she knows works on most people.

He exhales, slow. “Amy. What are you doing here?”

She stands up, taking a step closer. “I wanted to talk. We haven’t really—y’know—processed everything. And I…” She lets the sentence trail off, fingers brushing his arm like muscle memory. “I miss you. We were good together.”

He should want this. He knows that. This was the whole point, wasn’t it? Proving he could move on, making her jealous, getting her to come back.

“We were,” he says quietly. It comes out flat. Even he hears it.

Amy leans in, confidence flickering back. “I mean… moving on to someone like her?” She smirks. “Convincing. I’ll give you that.”

He doesn’t say anything. She slides her hand down his arm like she’s done it a thousand times — because she has. Her voice drops. “You could’ve just talked to me, James. You didn’t have to pretend.”

Her eyes glint. She steps closer again, enough that her breath hits his collarbone. “What do you say? Are you up for a redo?” Amy reaches for his wrist, then stops at a certain spot.

“Oh.” Her voice shifts — sweet turning sour. “What’s this?” Her fingers brush the scrunchie. Your scrunchie. Still warm from your hair. She looks up at him, eyebrows lifted like she’s caught him with a crime weapon.

“Is that Y/n’s?” she asks, sickly sweet. His voice is small, quieter than he expects. “It is.”

Amy lets out a low, humorless laugh. “Wow. You’re really committing to the bit.” He doesn’t correct her.

She slips it off his wrist and ties her hair with it, steps back, arms folding. “Well,” she says, lips curling, “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, James.”

She walks away without waiting for an answer. Her perfume lingers. But his wrist feels heavier than everything she tried to imply. He stands there a long time after she’s gone. And the scrunchie stays exactly where it is.

—

James picks you up like nothing happened, acting like he didn’t stand on his porch last night looking existential with your scrunchie on his wrist while his ex tried to crawl back into his life.

“Morning,” he says, voice warm, as you hop into the car. 

“Good Morning.”

He glances over, tapping the steering wheel. “Tired?” You scratch your neck, letting out a soft groan. “Not at all.”

He actually laughs under his breath. “Liar.” Ugh. Of course he knows.

He drives for a bit, a comfortable quiet settling between you — or, well… almost comfortable. Then he says it. Soft. Almost shy. “I really like spending time with you.”

You freeze. Brain: 404 error. “Why?” you say before your filter can save you. He looks over. “Why not?”

“No, like—” you wave a hand, “you don’t have to do the whole… nice boyfriend act right now. No one’s looking.” 

His brows pull together, confused, just a tiny bit hurt. “I know.” It’s nothing. It’s everything. You don’t know what to do with it, so you shove it into the mental junk drawer and slam it shut.

—

After your second class, Bella picks you up and you two walk to your lockers, minding your own business, when Amy appears like a horror movie jump scare, leaning against the lockers, arms crossed, eyes on you like target practice.

“You know James doesn’t actually like you?” She says sweetly.

It’s not like you didn’t know that. The thing going on between James and you is all for show. Bella stiffens beside you. You close your locker and keep walking. 

Amy clicks her tongue. “Y/n—you forgot something.”

You turn just in time to see her toss your scrunchie. It hits the floor at your feet like a punchline. Bella’s eyes go HUGE. “Um. What—?”

“I’ll explain later,” you mutter, scooping it up with fingers that are absolutely trembling.

You don’t go to his practice after that. Screw that. Screw all of it. You go home, burrow under your blanket, and try to convince yourself you don’t care even though you obviously care so much it feels like a bruise.

Around six, there’s a knock downstairs. Please don’t tell me it’s who I think it is.

You hear your dad open the door.

“Oh! Hi James!”

“Is Y/n home?” he asks, and his voice is nervous. Nervous? Since when does James get nervous? “Yes, she’s upstairs in her room, doing whatever you teenagers do.”

“Can I— uh— can I talk to her?”

“…Sure, come in.”

You want to sink into the floorboards. Your dad calls up the stairs, “Y/n! James is here!”

Yeah, you heard.

A moment later, there’s a soft knock on your door. “Can I come in?” You don’t answer, and quickly pull the cover over you. He opens just enough to peek inside. “Hey.” You sit up, knees tucked to your chest. “Hi”

He steps inside, closes the door behind him, runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to hit CTRL+ALT+DEL on his own life. “Why didn’t you show up to my game? You always show up.” 

You look at him for a long second, then ask the question that’s been chewing through your ribs all day.

“Did you… meet up with Amy last night? And then give her my favourite scrunchie?” 

His head snaps up fast. “No.”

“No?”

“I mean—yes and no. It’s not what you think.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Then what happened?”

He sighs, shoulders dropping. “She just spawned in front of my house as I was driving home. I never asked her to come” Your chest tightens, but you keep your voice steady. “Right. And when she took my scrunchie… you just let her take it?” He flinches a little — just barely, but you see it.

“Yeah, that’s my bad,” he says quietly. “But hey, at least you got it back.”

You stay quiet, jaw set as you look down at the scrunchie on your wrist.

“And it’s not a big deal,” he adds quickly. “It’s just a scrunchie y/n.” He stops himself. “Well — not just a scrunchie. Yours.” Your lungs betray you with a small inhale. He moves a little closer, hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “Really. And… I wanna make it up to you.”

You tilt your head “How?” And because he’s him — chaotic, dramatic, inexplicably confident — he smiles.

“You heard of ‘Ski Slopes Nation?” The ski trip party my friend hosts every year. It’s, uh, kinda big. And really fun. I want you to come with me.”

You look down at yojr hands, unsure what to say. Strange, wouldn’t he have asked Amy? “James, I don’t even know anyone there.”

“Okay,” he says, shrugging, taking one small step closer. “So what? You’ll know me.”

“That’s not enough. You’ll be distracted by you know who.”

He sighs, walking towards your bed as he puts his finger under your chin, turning your head to face him. He tilts his head, smirk creeping back. “You’re the only distraction I need.”

Your stomach flips so hard you have to look away again. How can he say this when he doesn’t even like you?

“Think about it,” he murmurs. He reaches for the doorknob, pauses, glances back at you with that soft half-smile. “And for the record, I’ll buy you snacks for the whole time we’re there.”

Then he leaves you alone with your heartbeat trying to set a new world record.

“Wait… it was fake?!” Bella’s voice is a cartoon of betrayal—half screech, half wounded martyr. You’re sitting across from her at your usual greasy-spoon table, regretting your life decisions, and she’s dramatically clutching her phone like you’ve personally stolen her childhood.

“I thought he actually liked you,” she adds, scandalized. “I mean, everything! His stories, the way he looked at you—God, I practically had a panic attack of joy.”

You shrug, because what else do you do when your life is embarrassing and baffling at the same time. “It was the plan. To make Amy jealous. To get her to get back with James.”

Bella pokes your forehead with the end of a fry. “So you were a pawn? That is actually a geniu—horrible!”

You let out a sigh and then tell her about the ski thing—James’s invitation that felt suspiciously like a peace offering. Bella immediately goes into PR mode.

“Why aren’t you going?” she asks, all business now. “This could be huge. Honestly, go. I’ll totally come with you if that’ll change your mind.”

You almost say no. You almost say yes. You do say, finally, “Okay, but you cannot leave my side for once.”

She claps and picks up your phone from the table. “Text him now.” She demands while handing you her phone. Slowly, you unlock your phone and type in: “Ok, Ski Slopes Nation it is.” Sent.

Weekend flies. Saturday morning, you stand by the curb, heels tapping like a metronome, expecting Bella’s overzealous face any second. Typical you overpacked for a three night trip. James pulls up right on time, engine purring luxury. You get in. You do a full inventory of your nerves.

Ten minutes later you notice Bella’s text: one-line replies. 

Bella: Sorry guys, mom lowkey got mad because I fumbled my test 🙁. Maybe next time?

You stare at the message like it physically hurt. She didn’t tell you before. This was her plan all along for you to go to the Ski Slopes Event alone with James. She was never going to come.

You turn to James, ready to explode with “where is she?” but the words scramble and bail right out of you. Your hand goes for the door handle. You’re doing the awkward petty-exit thing when he reaches over, still driving, and grabs your wrist gently.

“Wait,” he says. His voice is small, not demanding, just…earnest. “Please. Don’t go.”

You stare at his hand on yours. Your knee-jerk plan is to get out and walk, to reclaim dignity off the side of the highway, but the highway is suddenly very far away and his palm is somehow steadying.

“Why?” you ask, because why not make him explain himself.

He pulls into the next parking spot, kills the engine, and turns fully to you like it’s the thing he’s meant to do all day. The car becomes its own little island of breath.

“I wanted you to come,” he says, simple and flat, like it’s obvious and he’s been dying to say it. “Not because of Amy. Not to make her jealous. I… I actually like doing this with you. I like spending time with you.”

Your brain files that under “unreliable information” and simultaneously under “this actually matters.” You blink. “But—wasn’t this whole thing supposed to get Amy back?”

He hesitates, then answers honestly, the way people answer when the truth is awkward but necessary. “Yes that was the plan. At first. But I don’t know if I want to go back to that. I don’t know if I ever did. And the more time I spend with you—not pretending—it’s not the same. You’ve made me felt something no one else has ever made me feel. But what I know is that I like you. A lot.”

You roll your eyes because dramatic vulnerability is embarrassing even when it’s kind of endearing. And your body heats up. Your cheeks are probably tomato colored, but you try staying nonchalant. “So what, you just switched teams mid-game?”

He gives you one of those looks that’s half apology, half dare. “Sort of. Do you… do you wanna keep doing this? Not for Amy. For us. Keep this—whatever this is—going?”

You inhale, exhale, try to be sensible. “You know how this looks,” you say. “Welp, the love letter sure worked out—just now how I expected.”

He smiles, small and stubborn. “It sure did.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes—part incredulous, part hopeful. You tuck your hand back into yours under the dash. “Fine,” you say, because why be brave when you can be cautiously stupid instead. “But I’m watching you. One misstep and I will glare you into ashes.”

“Deal,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips that’s half triumphant, half relieved. “Also, I’m getting your scrunchie back. Properly next time.”

You look out at the highway ahead, and despite the chaos, despite the lying and the staging and the way your life currently reads like a badly edited montage, there’s a tiny part of you that answers before your brain can veto it.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s keep doing this—carefully.”

He squeezes your hand. The car pulls back onto the road, and the rest of the world sounds like muffled static for a second, just you and the hum of the engine and the very complicated possibility of something messy and real.

“Are you sure you have snow tires on?” You double check as more snow comes down while you guys drive up the mountain. The atmosphere in the car was not quiet, but soft. Not awkward anymore, not tense, just this gentle humming between you two—like the car has its own heartbeat now and it somehow synced to yours. James lets out a low chuckle, reaching for your hand, giving it a tight squeeze. 

“I’m sure y/n.” The way he spoke your name was so attractive yet reassuring. Snow lines the trees like powdered sugar and the sky is a blue so obnoxiously pretty it looks edited. James keeps flicking quick glances at you like he’s checking if you’re still real. You’re still trying to get over the fact that you’re seated in Jame’s car that actually has feelings for you.

When he parks outside the lodge, you hop out and the cold instantly punches your lungs. He grabs the bags before you can even protest because he’s a show-off with biceps, apparently. Inside, the place is gorgeous—warm lights, crackling fireplaces, couples everywhere wearing matching sweaters like they’re in a Pinterest board.

James leads you down a hallway lined with wooden doors and stops at one. Unlocks it, then opens the door. You follow him in. And freeze.

There are multiple reasons why you freeze. First and most obvious reason, the scenery. You knew James and his friends were filthy rich, but this is on a next level. The place was small, but it felt so cozy and expensive at the same time. Second reason, the bed. Notice how it’s bed and not beds plural? 

“…Hold on,” you say, voice thin. “Where’s—uh—the other bed?” There is one bed. One. Big, yes. Fluffy, absolutely. But still ONE BED.

James glances at it like it’s the weather. “Oh. Yeah. They ran out of doubles.” He looks at you over his shoulder. “Is that okay? It is pretty spacious so we can sleep on either ends.” 

Is that OK??

Your soul: NOPE. SOUND THE ALARMS. EVACUATE THE PREMISES.

Your mouth: “Yeah it’s fine.”

Typical y/n. Always lying out of your ass crack.

He tosses his duffel on the floor and starts unpacking, casual as ever, while your brain is mapping out emergency escape routes and calculating the surface area of the bed to figure out how far you can sleep from him without dying.

“We’ve got, like, four hours until the big event,” he says, kicking off his shoes. “It’s basically a party with drinks and games. Then we go skiing. People kinda go all out.”

Skiing? You? “Is it bad that I don’t know how to Ski?”

He snorts—soft, fond. “It’s okay. I’ll teach you if you’re down. I’m sure you’ll be able to manage.

He finishes unpacking and flops onto the bed, arms behind his head. “You can talk, y’know,” he says, teasing. “You’re doing that quiet-stressing face again.”

“I’m not”—

“You are.”

“Stop reading my mind.”

“Stop being readable.”

You grab your water bottle just to have something to do. He watches you, amused. The silence stretches—not awkward, but charged. Like static in the air before lightning strikes. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, rambling about something—how cold it is, how Bella tricked you, how the hallway smells weirdly like cinnamon. You don’t stop talking because if you stop, you’ll think, and if you think, you’ll panic.

Halfway through your rant about overpriced ski equipment, you notice he’s not responding. He’s just… staring. Not in a bored way. Or in a polite-listening way.

In a hungry way. In a memorizing-your-mouth-movements way. In a way no fake boyfriend should ever stare. No one has ever looked at you like that.

You clear your throat. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

James’s voice is low, a little rough. “I don’t know.”

You short-circuit. “I—what—you—you don’t know—?”

“Yeah.” He shifts closer—just enough for your knees to touch. 

You swallow. Loudly. “Cute.”

“Mm.” His eyes drop to your lips like gravity dragged them there. “And distracting.”

Your heart is doing backflips. Your hands start sweating. You are ninety percent sure you’re about to ascend straight off the bed.

“James…” you whisper, though you’re not sure if it’s a warning or an invitation. He moves closer, slow enough to give you time to pull back. You don’t. You couldn’t even if you tried. His forehead almost touches yours, breath warming your skin. “Tell me if you don’t want this,” he murmurs.

You don’t answer. You lean in. Never once in life were you expecting James to be your first kiss. Obviously in those little fantasies of yours, but never in real life.

His lips brush yours—barely, like a question he’s too scared to ask out loud—and your breath catches so hard your ribs ache. He tilts his head, closes the space, kisses you properly this time, soft but hungry, like he’s been holding this in for weeks.

He pulls back, breathless, eyes flashing with something you can’t quite name. Then suddenly he’s dragging you into his lap, steady hands guiding you, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear before pulling you in for another kiss. This one is hungrier—messy, frantic, almost starving.

A small moan slips out of you the second his tongue pushes into your mouth. He’s good—too good. And you were the complete opposite. Heat blooms low in your stomach, and you can feel him hardening beneath you, the realization sending a shiver through your whole body.

He chuckles against your lips, the vibration buzzing straight through you as his tongue keeps exploring your mouth.

“You like that?” he murmurs, fingers trailing up your thigh. You nod instantly, needy, like your body answered before your brain could catch up.

He leans in, breath brushing your ear. “Tell me what else you want,” he murmurs. You part your lips, but nothing comes out—you’re too wound up, too turned on from everything he’s already done.

“Tell me, baby.” The pet name makes your pussy clench around nothing.

“I—I don’t know,” you finally manage to whisper.

“You don’t know?” he repeats, eyebrow lifting in a teasing way. Embarrassment floods your cheeks as you shake your head and bring your hands up to hide your face.

“Hey,” he says softly, pulling your hands away. Your eyes meet, and he him unintentionally bitting his lower lips, his eyes now roaming all over your body.

Before you can even react, he’s kissing you again—deep, consuming, pulling you straight back into the heat of him.

“Do you know how to grind on me?” he asks when he pulls away again. You shake your head no.

“Here, let me guide you.”

His hands settle on your ass, gentle but sure, guiding your hips back and forth over his clothed cock as he pulls you back into the kiss. You both let out soft moans, the sound tangled between your mouths. It’s overwhelming, your fingers sliding into his hair, tugging just enough to pull another sound out of him.

“God, baby… you look so hot on top of me,” he whispers, his hands roaming over your ass again.

Before you know it, James’s hands slide down to the zipper of your jeans. He wants more—you can feel it in the way his breath catches, the way his fingers hesitate there like he’s waiting for permission. You stop him, catching his hands before he can go any further.

He looks up at you immediately, eyes searching your face.

“Something wrong?” he asks softly, tilting his head just a little.

“I—I don’t want to go further than that,” you say, your voice small but steady. “Not right now.”

James searches your face like he’s trying to read every micro-expression you’ve ever had in your whole life.

“Am I making you feel uncomfortable?” he asks quietly. You shake your head fast. “No, it’s not that. I just… don’t wanna do that right now.”

His shoulders loosen immediately. “Oh. Okay.” And the way he says it—soft, not offended, not disappointed—makes something warm twist in your chest.

He presses one last kiss to your forehead before sliding you gently off his lap. “I’m gonna go shower,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek, “then we’ll get ready for the party.”

When he disappears into the bathroom and the door clicks shut, the room feels too big. Too quiet. Too… loud inside your head. You flop back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling again, because apparently that’s your hobby now. And, of course, your brain immediately starts being a menace.

Yeah, he used to do this with Amy. Plus, breakup wasn’t even that long ago. Maybe you’re just some transitional little detour while he untangles whatever is still left inside him.

You groan into a pillow. “Get it together,” you mumble at yourself. Your overthinking is doing parkour.

Then the bathroom door swings open—and your soul exits your body.

James steps out with a towel sitting dangerously low on his hips, droplets rolling down his chest like they were directed by a film crew. His torso? Toned. Defined. Absolutely from-the-cover-of-a-ski-lodge-soccer-player-romance-novel level sculpted.

His dyed dirty blonde hair is wet, dripping onto his shoulders, making him look unfairly good. You snap your gaze to the window like it personally offended you.

He grabs his bag and looks over at you. “You gonna get ready?” he asks casually, like he isn’t currently the hottest man alive standing half-naked five feet away.

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, I was just… thinking.” (About your sanity evaporating.)

You peel yourself off the bed and rummage through your bag, already annoyed at yourself because you did not pack for a fancy winter party. You pull out something normal, plain, safe—because of course you brought nothing special. James glances over with a soft smile. “Going casual?” You shrug. “I didn’t really bring, like… party clothes.”

His eyes drag over your outfit, then your face.

“You’ll look amazing,” he says simply.

The Ski Slopes Nation’s “big event” is already at full volume by the time you and James walk in. It’s loud. Like… loud-loud. Bass thumping through the floorboards, laughter coming from every corner, people yelling over each other like they’re competing for the Olympic gold medal in being obnoxious. James doesn’t even flinch. He’s been to a million of these. You on the other hand—feel like you just walked into a live-action TikTok POV.

James keeps a warm hand at the small of your back as he leads you through the crowd. “C’mon,” he says, leaning down so you can hear him, breath brushing your ear. “Gotta introduce you.”

His friends spot him immediately.

“AYYYY ZHAO YUFAN BOY!” A giant wasian guy—Martin—throws his arms up like James just scored a goal. He’s tall. Like… tree-level tall. The kind of tall that makes you physically tilt your head back to make eye contact. Next to him is Keonho—smaller, ridiculously handsome, annoyingly charming. Both of them stare at you for a beat, confused as hell.

James just grins. “Guys, this is Y/N.” Martin nods like he’s analyzing an alien species. “Ohhh… she’s the one.” Keonho elbows him. “Bro, don’t be weird.”

You want to evaporate. James squeezes your hand like he can tell. People around the room keep glancing. Whispering. Doing double-takes. James showing up with another girl this soon after Amy? Yeah. You can practically feel the gossip starting to ferment.

You clear your throat. “I’m, uh, gonna grab something to drink.” James nods, gentle. “I’ll be right here.” The second you leave, Martin leans in with that tall-guy nosiness. “Dude. She’s so different from Amy.”

James rolls his eyes. “Okay?”

“No, like… in a good way,” Martin says. “She’s calm. Doesn’t have that whole… I’m-influencing-the-room energy.”

Keonho smirks. “And you like her. It’s obvious.” James gives them a look but doesn’t deny it. Across the room, Amy is staring—hard. Snow-white expensive looking sweater that somehow makes her look like a judgmental snow angel. She watches James talk to his friends, then looks you up and down like you’re the clearance rack version of her.

You return with a drink—your first real drink ever—and try to pretend the room isn’t spinning from nerves. You take a sip. And another. And another. Warmth blooms in your chest, buzzing under your skin. James finds you instantly. “Hey.”

His brows pinch. “You good? You seem… off.”

You look at him. And your brain decides now is the perfect time to unhinge.

“You… used to have sex with Amy a lot, right?”

James chokes. Like, full cough-wheeze combo. “That’s what’s been bothering you?”

You shrug, trying to play it off. “It—doesn’t really matter. I mean… I know you’re with me right now, so that’s all that counts.”

James steps closer, hand cupping your jaw gently. “Y/N. She’s my past. You’re the one I’m choosing now. And every second with you feels… different. Better.”

Your chest squeezes so tight you forget how to swallow.

You look down at your shoes. “It’s just… I guess my first time with you would be your… I don’t know… however-many-th time with her.”

A breath leaves him—soft, understanding. “Hey. Look at me.”

“I’m not comparing you to her. I’m not thinking about her when I’m with you. I’m here, with you. And I like us. A lot.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Okay. You’re right.” And just like that, the tension melts a little.

The night blurs in the best way—laughter, games, James’s friends warming up to you, your drink going down way too easily. You’re not drunk, but definitely… pleasantly wobbly. James stays close the whole time, his arm brushing yours, hand grazing your lower back, fingers brushing your knuckles. Subtle, tiny things that keep your brain fried the entire night. 

At one point Martin challenges James to some stupid game that involves taking shots and hitting a mini soccer ball into a trash can, and you swear the cabin shakes when everyone screams after he makes it. You’re laughing. Actually laughing. And your cheeks hurt in the happiest way.

Eventually, when you’re both a little tipsy and the cold outside feels way too sharp, James wraps an arm around your waist and walks you back to the room.

Inside, you both stand awkwardly over the giant bed again.

“Uh… I’ll sleep on that side,” you say, pointing to the edge like it’s a danger zone.

James nods. “Yeah. Sure.”

You settle under the covers, facing away, trying to breathe normally. James climbs in on the opposite end, careful, respectful, leaving a canyon of space between you. As you close your eyes, the coldness of your body was stopping you from falling asleep. After laying there for a few minutes, you finally resort to your last option.

“James?”

He replies immediately. “Yeah?”

“I’m cold.”

There’s a beat. A quiet little inhale. You could practically hear him breathing from the other side of the bed. Then the mattress dips as he moves closer, sliding an arm around your waist and gently pulling you back into him. Warm. Solid. Safe. You exhale without meaning to, your body relaxing instantly into his.

His breath brushes your neck. “Better?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

And just like that, wrapped in him, heartbeat syncing with his, you fall asleep.

The next night creeps in faster than you expect. The final night of the trip—the big skiing day. The sky’s already going dark-blue, that weird shade where you can’t tell if it’s late afternoon or 11 p.m., and the cold is sharp enough to pinch your nose.

James helps you zip up your jacket, his fingers brushing your neck, sending chills that have nothing to do with the weather.

“You ready?” he asks, all smug confidence.

“No,” you answer instantly.

He laughs. “You’ll be fine. I’ll teach you.”

Outside, the slopes glow under tall floodlights, making the snow sparkle like someone dumped glitter everywhere. Kids and pros and show-offs are zooming down the hill like Olympic qualifiers. You’re already planning your funeral.

James clips your boots in for you because he doesn’t trust you with anything involving gravity.

“Okay,” he says, stepping behind you, hands gripping your arms gently. “Lean forward a tiny bit. Just enough to not fall backwards.”

“Okay,” you say, immediately leaning like a malfunctioning tower.

He steadies you. “Not that much—unless you wanna eat snow.”

“I’m gonna eat snow regardless.”

“That’s fair.”

He teaches you slowly, patiently—how to stop, how to turn, how not to accidentally kill yourself. And you… kinda get the hang of it? Ish? You manage to go five whole meters without face-planting.

Every time you wobble, he’s right there catching you by the waist. Every time you mess up, he laughs—not mean, but soft, fond, like he likes seeing you try. Eventually, you’re actually skiing—well, sliding down at the speed of an elderly turtle, but still.

James skis backwards in front of you, because of course he can. His eyes are warm, cheeks flushed red from the cold.

“You’re doing good!” he calls out.

“You’re lying to be nice!”

“I am,” he admits.

You finally stop at the bottom and nearly fall, but he lunges forward, catching you. Your helmet bumps into his chest.

“Hey,” he breathes, smiling down at you. “See? You didn’t die.”

“Yet,” you mutter.

After a while, you both sit in the snow, helmets off, catching your breath. Snow somehow gets down the back of your jacket and into your gloves and probably your soul.

You shriek. “OH MY GOD IT’S IN MY SHIRT—” James bursts out laughing. “You good?”

You do the most logical thing: grab a handful of snow and yeet it at his face.

He freezes. Then smirks. “Oh, it’s on.”

Next thing you know, you’re in a full snowball war—screaming, laughing, slipping everywhere, James chasing you around trees with perfect aim while you miss every single throw like you’re allergic to accuracy.

By the time you both stumble back toward the lodge, you’re breathless and soaked and ridiculously happy. Right outside the hallway to your room, James bumps your shoulder lightly. “Hey, uh… go ahead to the room. I need to tell Martin something real quick.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He kisses your cheek—quick, warm—before turning away.

You head inside. You shower, change, check your phone, sit on the bed, go through photos, scroll TikTok, stare at the ceiling, contemplate the meaning of life…

Forty-five minutes pass.

The door finally opens. James steps in, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s tired. “Sorry. Martin was being annoying.”

You smile. “It’s okay. I had fun these two days. Thank you for convincing me to come.”

His eyes soften. “I’m glad you did.”

—

The next morning is chaotic—bags everywhere, people rushing, doors slamming, winter air biting at your face. James looks exhausted, barely awake, stuffing clothes into his duffel like a zombie.

His other friend is waiting for him outside, yelling for him to hurry.

You zip your jacket and head into the hallway. Martin’s there, tying his boots.

“Hey, Martin?”

He looks up. “Hm?”

“What did you and James talk about last night?”

He blinks. “Last night? …We didn’t talk.”

Your stomach drops. “He didn’t see you?”

“No? I didn’t see him at all.”

Oh. Oh great. Fanfuckingtastic. A cold wave rolls through your chest harder than the mountain wind.

When you climb into the passenger seat of James’s car, he’s quiet—clearly tired. He yawns as he turns the engine on. The drive is silent for a long time. Like… too long.

Finally, he speaks. “Are you going to the match today?”

“No.”

He glances at you, confused. “Why not?”

You keep your eyes on the window. “Because I know you didn’t go see Martin.”

The air tightens.

“So who was it?” you ask. James doesn’t answer. Your heart beats loud enough to hurt. The coach starts calling him the second you guys pull into the parking lot.

“James! Let’s go! You’re 14 minutes late. Warm-ups!”

He’s still staring at the steering wheel.

“Tell me,” you whisper. “Did you go see Amy?”

“Look—” he starts, voice low, strained, “I can explain.”

The coach yells again. “FIVE MINUTES, JAMES!”

Your throat burns. “Am I just your second best?”

He winces—like the words physically hit him.

The coach yells again, sharper this time: “Last warning!”

James steps out of the car, but turns back, gripping the door.

“Please,” he says, eyes desperate. “Just come to the game. I promise I’ll explain everything after. Please.”

And then he’s gone, jogging off toward the field, leaving you sitting in the quiet car, heart pounding like it’s trying to break out.

—

The school library is quiet in that specific after-school way — soft humming lights, the vague smell of old pages, one kid coughing somewhere like he’s auditioning for a Victorian death scene. You’re still not sure about meeting up with James after his games. It has been a hell of a week,

You’ve been curled up in a corner armchair for about an hour or two with some random book you grabbed just to distract your brain from… everything. It’s working, sorta. 

Until you flip the page and land on a quote that hits you like a truck:

“If someone chooses silence when they owe you honesty, let them go.

But if your heart aches louder than your pride…

you’ll find your way back anyway.”

You stare at it like it personally slapped you across the face. Why does everywhere you go have to remind you of James. And then you glance at the clock.

You are one hour late to the end James’s game. 

Like — not fifteen minutes, not “oops my bad,”

but a FULL sixty minutes late.

“Shit.”

You jump up so fast the librarian gives you a death glare that could shatter glass.

You shove the book back on the shelf sideways (crime) and practically sprint out. It’s pouring outside — full dramatic movie thunderstorm pouring. The kind that soaks your socks instantly.

You take out your sad little umbrella and start the walk home, hugging your jacket to your chest like that’ll protect you from your own thoughts. But when you reach the edge of the outdoor courts—the ones the team cuts across after games—you pause,

Because there’s someone standing there. Alone. Soaked. Head down. Kicking at the gravel like he’s fighting ghosts. James.

He’s drenched top to bottom, rainwater mixed with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, jersey clinging to him. And he’s… waiting. Still. Just standing there like he refuses to leave until something changes. Your chest does something stupid and painful, a mixture of guilt and anger.

You walk up quietly, stepping behind him, lifting the umbrella up on your toes so it covers the both of you. One tiny circle of dryness in a whole world of rain.

He tenses first—then turns slowly. The moment he sees you, his expression crumples in this soft, relieved way that knocks the breath right out of you.

“…You came,” he says, voice low, almost disbelieving.

You swallow. “Yeah. I— I was late. And then it started raining, so I was just walking home but…”

Your eyes flick to him.

“But you’re still here.”

You lower the umbrella slightly so you can see his face better. Drops of rain slide down his cheek, and he looks exhausted — not physically, but in that “I’ve been stressing about losing you for hours” kind of way.

“What made you come?” he asks quietly. You shrug, breath fogging the air. “I… read something. And it made me realize I wasn’t done. With us.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks away for a second like he’s overwhelmed.

You take a small step closer. “Who were you with, James?”

He lets out a breath that’s practically a sigh of defeat. “Amy.”

Your stomach sinks — until he lifts his head, eyes sharp, honest.

“But not for what you think.”

You don’t say anything. You just hold the umbrella and wait.

“I went to tell her to stop,” he says. “To stop showing up everywhere. To stop spreading shit about you. About us. To stop acting like I owe her something.”

His voice strengthens, anger threading through it.

“I told her if she messed with you one more time, I’d—” He stops, shaking his head. “—I’d actually lose it. I didn’t want things to blow up in front of you, so I waited until later. That’s it. That’s all it was.”

Your eyes sting. And your voice comes out smaller than you want.

“…Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He steps closer, rain dripping off his jaw. “Because when you asked, you already looked like I’d punched a hole in your chest. And then the coach was yelling at me, and I panicked.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.”

The rain softens around you, or maybe you just stop noticing it.

You whisper, “I thought you were… choosing her again.”

His face twists — hurt, like the idea physically wounds him.

“Y/N.”

He reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist gently, like he’s asking permission.

“You were never my second best.” Your throat closes up.

“And I waited,” he adds. “For an hour. In the rain. Just in case there was even a 1% chance you’d show up.” You let out a tiny, shaky laugh. “That’s really dumb of you.”

He smiles, soft and crooked. “Yeah. But I’m yours, so… it tracks.”

You look at him—really look—soaked, shivering, but eyes warm like he never doubted you’d return.

You step forward and tuck yourself against him, arms looping around his waist. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole day and pulls you in, umbrella tilting awkwardly over both your heads.

His chest is warm even though his clothes are freezing. His chin rests on your hair. His heartbeat is steady and loud.

“Hey,” he murmurs into your ear.

“What?”

“Thanks for coming back.”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Don’t make me chase you through a storm again,” you mumble.

He chuckles, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “Then don’t leave me behind.”

You shrug playfully. “No promises.”

He leans down, forehead touching yours, breaths mixing in the cold air.

Warm and close and full of everything you’ve been too scared to say.

“Let me walk you home,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Let’s go home.”

He takes the umbrella from you, threads his fingers through yours, and the two of you walk out of the storm together — matching steps, matching heartbeats — leaving every misunderstanding behind on the wet pavement.

And for the first time in a long, long time…

You don’t feel like you’re someone’s temporary choice. You feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. With him.

“comfortable?”, mark murmured, his lips brushing against your hairline. you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his body mixing with yours. you nodded, nuzzling deeper into his chest. the familiar scent of his cologne made your stomach flutter each time you inhaled.

his fingers moved from your arm, to your neck tracing the line of your jaw. you titled your head back, that’s when his hips found yours. the kiss was soft, with a hint urgency. you responded right away, your lips parted as his tongue traced your lower lip. your hands moved up to his chest, tangling in the fabric of his shirt. mark deepened the kiss, one hand slid from your shoulders to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space between your bodies.

the bed sheets shifted beneath you as you adjusted your position, legs draping over his. his mouth moved from your lips to your neck, leaving a trail of open mouth kisses. you arched against him, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his teeth grazed that sensitive spot just below your ear.

mark’s hand moved from your waist to your thigh, fingers squeezing gently through the thin material of your leggings. “mark”, you let out needier than you intended. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with desire. “i want to touch you is that okay?”

you nodded unable to form words, his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your leggings. the brush of his fingertips against your panties made you jump, shooting desire through your entire body. a small smile spread across his lips realizing how wet you are. “someone’s needy”, he teased.

your cheeks burned, the embarrassment you felt was quickly forgotten as his fingers pushed past your panties, finding your slick folds. you were embarrassingly wet, the sounds filling the room. mark circled your clit, slow and deliberate. your hips moved against his hand, seeking relief.

“please”, you whimpered, he obliged sliding one finger inside you while his thumb continued slow circles on your clit. your back arched off the bed as he found that spot, he added a second finger, stretching you deliciously as he curled them just right. your moans filled the room, “that’s it”, he encouraged. “let me hear you.”

his pace increased, his fingers pumping in and out of you while his thumb worked at your clit. the pressure was building inside you. mark’s other hand moved to your breast, thumbing your nipple through your bra.

“mark, i..”, the words dissolved into a broken cry as your orgasm washed over you. mark didn’t stop, his movements became more deliberate. your body trembled, the pleasure turning sharp. mark’s fingers pressed deeper, hitting that spot again and again.

“fuck, wait..”, a gush of liquid erupted from you, soaking mark’s hands, your leggings, and the sheets beneath you. the sensation was intense, almost overwhelming. your body shook uncontrollably, your vision went white as you road out your orgasm.

mark froze for a second, his eyes wide with shock as the liquid continued from your body. his expression quickly changed, from shock to pride. “holy shit”, he breathed, his voice filled with wonder. “did you just?”, you couldn’t answer, your body still trembling from the aftershocks as his fingers continued, slower this time. another gush escaped you, smaller this time. mark laughed, the sound vibrated through your body.

“again”, he demanded. his eyes locked on yours as he increased his pace. “i want to see it again.”, your mind went blank as he worked towards another orgasm. the overstimulation was almost too much.

this time when you came, mark watched everything. his fingers never stopping their movements as you came each orgasm more powerful than the last. the sheets beneath you were soaked, thighs drenched with your release but mark loved every second.

But curiosity did get the better of you. An hour into this silent, hot moment of shameless foreplay and intimate exploration, you finally touched the bulge on Haechan's pants.

It was sort of an accident, but not really. You had actively been avoiding the area even when your arm lay by your side and your fingers were so near you could sense the bulge and cock. Your thoughts were elsewhere – on the sensation of Haechan's fingers near your clit, and on the allure of his naked upper body – when your hand brushed against the erection in his pants which made Haechan really excited.

He pushed his groin against your hand. The movement was slow and controlled. He began to softly grind against you, and his fingers quickly slipped over your stomach and to your boob where they froze.

He held his breath. Your brain became alert and aware of the ‘accident’ your own hand had caused. But you didn't pull your fingers back, only extended them further.

You felt the outline of the boner. The tip of the head which poked at the fabric. You squeezed Haechan's dick over his pants, and his grinding motions became longer, harder and slightly faster.

That's when a shift happened, after more than an hour since this all started. Haechan suddenly retracted his arm and rolled on his back, and you turned slightly toward him when he slowly unbuckled his belt.

You put a hand on his bare, soft chest and closed your eyes. You imagined his actions but were afraid to look. And you buried your face in a pillow when you felt him raise his knees and feet, and heard him slide the pants off.

You knew exactly what he was doing when he stripped down to his underwear. And you didn't mind it, didn't stop him.

When he returned you lay on your back again and let him grind against your body and touch it. Chenle was turned away from you and didn't move a single muscle.

The man with whom you had dreamed of having sex for some time was all over you once again. His lips and hands became more eager and abrupt now that he was practically naked. And to guide you, encourage you and check your limits, he pushed on the top around your neck with an obvious desire to take it off.

At first you didn't do anything in return, just lay there with your eyes shut and mouth slightly open, so horny you could burst and so alert and aware of every little detail it scared you.

But then you raised your neck. The top was released from under you and Haechan helped pull it over your head. He removed it, dropped it on the floor, and a new level of the night was reached which was a thrilling relief to you both.

His fingers slid south and found your wet pussy again. You squirmed slowly and spread your thighs so wide your knee bumped into Chenle's ass which made you quickly pull it back in. The man didn't seem to have noticed, thank god.

With each passing minute, eager to feel more of your naked body, Haechan felt heavier against you. He wasn't on top of you, not yet, but he desperately wanted to be and you could tell.

To show his intentions he fixed the seams of your panties between his thumb and index finger and pushed down. Your ass on the mattress kept the fabric in place, but then you instinctively raised that part of your body too.

The man wanted you naked. You wanted to get naked with him, and feel more of his soft skin. And you temporarily closed your legs so he could slide the panties off, over your thighs, knees and feet where you kicked them aside.

The duvet under which you had been laying when all of this started was still down there, but it no longer covered you up. The relative darkness made you feel safe, but Chenle's presence was constantly on your mind because it was impossible not to brush against him.

Perhaps Haechan worried about that too, because he suddenly reached down for the cover, and pulled it over you both before he aligned his body with yours.

That's when your fingers touched his erection. And this time, it didn't feel so dangerous and scary despite the fact you could clearly feel more of it without the jeans in the way.

You grabbed the shaft and stroke it over his underwear. To touch a dick for the first time in your life was really exciting. And the scary feeling was gradually fading, or at least you were able to ignore it.

You continued to make out. Haechan kept grinding against you and let out a grunt, when he repeatedly pushed his boner in between your fingers.

Then he pulled his head back slightly and looked at you. “Condom?” he whispered, one hand on your chest and the other stroking your cheek and hair.

You could barely make out his eyes and expression right in front of you. “What about Chenle?” you whispered, and held the man around his shoulder.

The question made Haechan incredibly happy. It meant you really did want to go all the way.

“He's sleeping,” he pointed out and shrugged, as if it was no big deal. Then he pulled the duvet higher, an attempt to make you feel safer and more willing.

It worked. You thought for another few seconds, but dammit if Chenle was going to ruin this for you. Maybe his presence was a sign though. It wasn't him being there that scared you, after all.

“Hmm, maybe not,” you whispered, and Haechan was audibly disappointed.

He didn't show it, not really. But you could hear it in his voice. “Oh, okay,” he said and faked a smile, then kissed your lips as if to tell you it really was okay, that he respected your decision and feelings.

He slowly rolled away from you and exhaled. He stopped touching you, and lay flat on his back with a hand behind his head, staring at the ceiling, likely trying to make his erection go away.

You stayed beside him for a minute, your fingers playing between you. Then you raised your hand under the cover, and put it on his crotch where the erection still throbbed. You slowly began to stroke and massage it again, so curious to feel it.

Haechan let you touch him. He enjoyed every pleasurable second of it. But his hand didn't return to your clit, and he didn't make any further attempts to get to fuck you. If you didn't want to – if he wasn't going to get the release he so desperately needed – all he could do was try to cool down.

Not that it mattered. You were friends and he knew the same things you did about the potential dangers of what you were doing. Maybe it was for the best that you stopped, for everyone's sake. It wasn't too late and wouldn't hurt your friendship.

The room became totally quiet, for the first time since foreplay began. Chenle still didn't move a muscle, but you became very aware of how heavy his breathing was. Yeah, there was no doubt about it, even if he might have been awake before he was definitely asleep right now.

You moved the hand to Haechan's stomach, then pushed it south underneath the seams of his briefs. That's when you felt a cock in the flesh for the first time, your fingers brushing against the head before you grabbed the length of the shaft.

It was heart-pounding experience. The moment was fun and thrilling. It put your mind on high alert, and Haechan didn't move or react at first, but then he raised his ass and slid the underwear down, raised his knees again and took them all the way off while you stroke the erection continuously.

Clearly you both really wanted this. And that's when you knew and decided. What was the point of dancing around the subject like this?

Fuck it, you thought. What harm can it do? You wanted to feel that cock inside you so bad, and Chenle wasn't a problem.

“Okay,” you said and turned your head.

Haechan raised his and stared at you. “What?” he whispered.

“Maybe… a condom?”

The man's heart jolted. He was visibly thrilled by your change of heart, as evident by the way his body quickly moved.

He worked hard not to show it too much but failed. Eagerly he rolled away from you, but with a certain slowness as not to scare you off or wake the sleeping man which could ruin everything.

He came prepared and returned with something. You let go of his boner and let your hands rest on your stomach. You couldn't see but knew what Haechan was doing, when he put the condom on under the cover before his lips came back to yours.

You rolled to meet him when his hands returned to your body. He half way sat up, leaning over you while you made out. And when you pushed your arm in under him to hold him, he raised his hips and climbed on top.

You spread your legs wide for him, and multiple times your knee bumped into Chenle who still didn't react. You sank down into the mattress while Haechan's lips were all over your mouth, smacking quietly as you stroke his naked back and waist.

You wondered where the cock was. For a moment you couldn't feel it, and wondered how it would get in. Were you expected to do something, or how did it work?

Haechan saved you. While leaning on an elbow he reached in, and you felt both his hand and the head against your lower stomach.

Then the sensation disappeared, only to return closer to your clit. And when the head and hand touched your wet folds you held your breath, your brain all but shutting down from the scary and arousing stir.

“Are you sure?” Haechan asked and paused.

“Yeah,” you said and smiled up at him.

Then he sank down, slowly, and the head made your folds part and spread your hole open.

It felt strange, not at all how you had imagined. Not bad, but not amazing either.

Haechan pulled his hand out and held you around your sides. He exhaled in a long, controlled breath before he kissed you.

The erection slowly slid in. It hurt, when the head went deeper and your wet pussy licked the length of the shaft. Then he pulled back slightly, and the pain only intensified.

Haechan's lips froze on yours. He moved his ass slowly, carefully up and down a couple of times. Then he opened his eyes and asked, as if he could read your mind: “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

You didn't want him to worry. You definitely didn't want him to stop. “No,” you lied, an answer which made Haechan feel relieved.

His movements increased slightly in speed and intensity. He knew what he was doing and was gentle, but also fucking horny and eager for more. It was a balance between giving in to his desires and making sure you were enjoying it too.

When you didn't complain, however, nor ask him to stop, his mind drifted away from the worry of how it felt for you, and whether his friend would wake up and ruin the moment, and became fully focused on your body and the strong sensation of it gliding against his cock.

The pussy he had already been exploring and fingering for so long felt great to him. And to you, as the pain faded, and your body and mind loosened up.

Your hands came alive on Haechan's back, moving up and down in gentle but steady strokes. It felt pretty good once you got into a rhythm.

Haechan was a wonderful man, one of your best friends, and though it still didn't feel at all how you had imagined it, sex really was very nice.

The experience went on in this position, at the same pace and with you doing nothing but moving your hands and receiving the occasional kiss, for five minutes or so.

Your thoughts jumped between the warm and soft body in your arms, to the hard cock inside you and what it felt like, and to Chenle's lingering presence.

At one point a tingling sensation jolted between your legs, a wonderful glimpse into what great sex could feel like. It was fleeting, but it made you excited and helped you further give in to your curiosity.

Your hands moved higher and lower as a result. You opened your mouth wider and allowed yourself to breathe more audibly. And the bed let out a squeak, when Haechan thrust a little deeper inside you.

The noise made you both stiffen slightly. But it felt too good, and by now you were too into it, to stop.

Your hand reached down to the man's ass, a part of him your curiosity was eager to learn more about. You stroke his bare cheek which made your heart flutter and scared you, to the point that the hand quickly retracted.

He's naked! you thought, as if you hadn't been entirely sure before.

The brief touch made Haechan excited too, and he began to heave lowly near your ear.

The bed squeaked again. This time, he didn't slow down because he really didn't want to. And Chenle's tiny body beside you began to rock gently to the rhythm.

Your knee bumped into him several times at this point. The first time your heart and brain reacted to it. The second time you tried harder to keep it away from him, but Haechan's body pushing down on the inside of your thigh made you fail. The third time you gave up and let it happen, because you had come so far by now that Chenle was easy to ignore.

He wasn't reacting anyway. And dammit if he was going to ruin this for you. Even if he did wake up, it wasn't going to stop you.

*****

Chenle lay on his side with his back toward his friends. He knew what you were doing back there, touching and making out. And it hurt in his heart, so bad. But he didn't want to stop you either.

He was surprisingly turned on. So fucking horny. It was thrilling to him, to know his hot friend was being touched. Too bad it was by one of his fellow members.

That Haechan would have sex in the same bed as him had never even occurred to him before. Now, when he heard and felt what was going on in the dark, he simultaneously hated and loved it. But if he focused his thoughts only on you, and imagined your body and pretended no one else was present, it secretly really thrilled him.

When he felt a knee bump into his ass he opened his eyes wide and stared at the wall in front of him. His erection was throbbing but he didn't touch it. His head was resting on his hands.

At one point he actually drifted off. Foreplay lasted for so long. His mind was elsewhere and his cock had softened. It was easier to just pretend like nothing was happening.

But then he woke up. For a moment he thought that you and Haechan had stopped, perhaps fallen asleep yourselves. He imagined it would be in each other's arms, all horny and maybe naked. He could always hope and dream.

That's when the smacking sounds resumed, and the mattress jolted slightly which made him alert. The erection between his legs quickly returned.

“Condom?” he heard Haechan whisper. It made him listen intently.

“What about Chenle?”

“He's sleeping.”

It made the man freeze up and hold his breath. A part of him really wanted this to happen, for you to have sex while he was right there. Just the idea turned him on.

But another part of him was hurting. Aching. And when you didn't immediately respond to Haechan he nearly started to cry.

Because the truth is, Chenle had a major crush on you. He had for quite some time. And being a virgin himself, the idea of what you were doing – of what you might agree to any second now – was painful as hell.

“Hmm, maybe not,” you whispered, in your mind super quietly but to Chenle's perceptive ears it was really loud.

You decision gave him mixed emotions. He was relieved, very much so. But with a hand on his crotch slowly massaging his shaft so you wouldn't notice, also utterly disappointed.

The time that followed made Chenle feel hollow. He tried real hard to go back to sleep but couldn't. He didn't want to miss anything, but he also didn't want to hear any more. He suddenly wished he wasn't there, or that you weren't.

If you didn't want to have sex with his friend, that was a decision Chenle would be happy with. If you did, he had no reasonable reason to object. Of course, he did – you were all in the same bed after all – but doing so would risk revealing his true feelings for you and that was the most dangerous and scary thing of all.

He hoped this was the end of it. But a repetitive sound and tiny but repetitive shaking soon filled the room, one which Chenle could only imagine the cause of. It was the sound of your hand moving up and down under the covers, slowly jerking Haechan off.

And then came the words that pierced his heart in the worst possible way, and made his cock throb so hard it gave him an intense pleasure like never before.

“Okay.”

“What?”

“Maybe… a condom?”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Chenle closed his eyes hard, squeezed his cock tight, and really struggled not to move a muscle.

What happened next was super vivid in his mind. He felt and heard your two bodies behind him shifting around, but he never knew when the condom came on or exactly when his friend climbed on top of you.

He did know when the sex had started though. And he heard Haechan's questions: “Are you sure?”, “Are you okay?” and “Does it hurt?”

The soft jumping of the mattress, and the knee bumping into his back several times, made everything super obvious.

The mental images in his head were wild, and it was the most horny and simultaneously painful moment of Chenle's life.

It broke his heart when you said “Yes” to the first question and “No” to the last.

He wanted to cry again when his little body rocked gently to the rhythm of the sex happening right behind him.

And his cock throbbed so hard, his hand unable to stop stroking it, he definitely didn't want to speak up.

It was a strange, overwhelming concoction of mixed emotions. One which Chenle knew only one way to deal with: if you, his crush, was going to lose your virginity to his friend while Chenle himself had to endure the sounds and sensations of it in the same bed, he had to reach his own climax in order to even begin to get over it.

*****

Haechan's breaths were shallow and abrupt near your ear. His lips had stopped touching your skin, and his hand remained dormant while they occasionally squeezed you.

You stared at the ceiling, then closed your eyes and let the moment consume you. It felt pretty good, each time the body on top of you pushed in.

No, it felt great! So thrillingly good. Haechan was such a sweet lover, and you knew in that moment that you would think back on your first time as an amazing experience.

You didn't move much at all, but you let the man fuck you. It had been clear all night that he wanted to, and your heart felt as happy as his now that he did.

The cock sliding in and out, stretching your pussy wide open, gave you an exciting thrill. And the same words could be used to describe the fact that you weren't alone in the bed, though the thrill and excitement stemming from that was something else.

By now the bed was jumping and squeaks were frequent and repetitive. Haechan didn't seem to mind so neither did you. You just let it all happen, let him continue to fuck you, going with the flow and enjoying every second of it.

His skin was soft and wonderful to touch. His breaths in your ear turned you on. And the back and ass made your heart and groin tingle, a sensation you also had never anticipated.

Do I love him? you wondered. You did, though perhaps not in the intense and romantic way you imagined while his cock was inside you.

“Huuh, ohh!” Haechan suddenly grunted, so loudly it made you open your eyes wide.

Chenle was a deep sleeper, you knew that, but even if you naively thought he didn't know what was happening, you knew there was no way he didn't hear that. At least if he was awake.

It surprised you how little it bothered you. So what if Chenle heard? It was only sex. Your first time, yes, but just sex nonetheless. You would probably laugh about it, or pretend like it never happened. In either case it was not a big deal that Chenle was there.

What was a big deal, however, was the change in the relationship between you and Haechan. You had dreamed of him for so long, hoping that something like this would happen. Now you couldn't stop thinking about the consequences, even when he had been in you for some time.

What did it mean? Would you be dating now? Was this just a one time thing for him? Did he have feelings for you too, or was he just horny?

As the man lay naked on top of you, stroking your exposed body under the covers and fucking your still wet pussy with his hard cock, you didn't have any answers.

But you were excited about what they might be, about the possibilities and doors that were opening as a result of your actions on this night.

“Huuh, uuhhh,” Haechan heaved again. His ass began to jump a little faster, and Chenle's body was practically shaking beside you. “Mmm, mmm, m-m-m-mmm!”

It was clear even to you that he was trying to hold back, but also that he failed to be silent. At first you didn't know what was happening, when his cock throbbed inside you and released. But then he slowed down, felt heavier, and you knew that something had changed.

Is it over? you wondered, but you didn't ask. It sounded like the man was enjoying himself, but you had no idea if he thought you were any good. Should you have done something, other than just lay there and touch and hold him?

“Haaah, oh my god!” the man wheezed in your ear, words that made you feel surprisingly good. Then he kissed your cheek, and you turned your head to meet his soft lips.

His strained look made you smile. The cock was emptied in the condom, and though you didn't know what that meant or what it looked like or even that he had indeed orgasmed, it felt good.

Haechan managed to smile too when he opened his eyes. He pushed gently on your face to bring it closer, and buried his head in your neck.

His breath was hot on your skin. His other hand gently stroke your hip, while yours ventured down his back one last time. You felt and squeezed his ass, because you suddenly worried it might be the last chance in your life to do so, to feel him naked.

You caressed him, touched him, loved him. If it was really over, you suddenly really worried about what came next, and the many questions became more immediate.

And Chenle returned to your mind. He was still there, with his back toward you. Deep down you knew there was no chance in hell he was sleeping, but he pretended to, and that was really nice of him.

*****

Chenle lay wide awake and on high alert, listening to the obvious noises of sex right behind him.

His hand was inside his pants and underwear. His t-shirt had slid up to his chest, and a part of his back was exposed.

He barely needed to move his fingers. Gravity and the jumping mattress did it for him. And he was so hard, so fucking turned on, his aching heart had no space to influence his emotions.

Masturbating to the noises and mental images of his friends was a coping mechanism, but also an exciting adventure. And with time, as he felt and imagined the girl Chenle himself had hoped and dreamed of losing his virginity to one day, he actually enjoyed it.

His eyes were wide open, to just stay alert and make sure his friends couldn't see what he was doing.

His hand and fingers moved in tiny but ever more rapid motions, as he lay on his side and jerked off.

The sounds, the increasingly large and careless movements of their bodies, made him feel safe in knowing that they didn't care about him.

“Huuh, ohh!” Haechan grunted which made Chenle's heart skip a beat and his hand move faster still. He became convinced that his friend just camel, though how could he know?

He immediately had mixed feelings about that too. He listened for any sounds coming from the girl. It was you he was crushing on, and your naked body that was vivid in his mind. He heard nothing, but aided by Haechan's noises his imagination did a pretty good job at filling in the gaps.

He saw your boobs in front of him, though he had never seen a pair in real life.

He knew you absolutely loved having sex with him, from the expression on your face the way he imagined it.

And he believed he was an amazing lover, because in his mind it wasn't Haechan who was fucking you, but Chenle himself whose cock made you react with such intense pleasure.

The jumping of the mattress quickly slowed which made Chenle worried. He suddenly felt the pressure of time, and moved his fingers even faster.

He had a clear goal, an intent. Jerking off was no longer about continuous pleasure and dealing with the pain of what was going on, but about reaching a release before it was too late.

He knew that if he didn't come now he would never be able to without you noticing. Falling asleep, knowing that you and Haechan were naked right behind him, would be impossible if he was still hard.

He closed his eyes and opened his mouth wide to silence his rapid breaths.

He shook his arm fast, in tiny motions to keep the shaking down but simultaneously with increasingly little worry if you did notice what he was secretly doing.

He stretched out the seams of his sweat pants and underwear, to give his fingers and hand more space. Then he grimaced hard and let go of the seams, and came in his underwear so hard it made his mind go blank.

It was the strongest, most incredible orgasm of his life. For a split second, it felt as though he lost his virginity along side you.

He quickly pulled his hand out before it got soiled. It was a little too late and he wiped it on his shirt, suddenly fearing that otherwise either one of his friends might brush against it in the night.

Then he relaxed, exhaled deeply but slowly to stay as silent as possible, and stopped moving just as Haechan did the same.

He felt it when his friend climbed off the girl they both desired.

He listened and imagined what was going on when you turned on your side and put an arm around Haechan's chest.

And finally, when the pain in his heart began to return and take up more space inside him again, he decided that he just had to fall asleep now, or else the night would be long and excruciating.

*****

Haechan's lips were so soft and enticing, and the spent man looked adorable.

The duvet was down to your hips and your upper halves were exposed, when you lay in each other's arms, happily stroking each other and beaming of after glow.

Then you couldn't ignore the fact that you needed a bathroom break, and slowly whispered: “Where are my clothes?”

Haechan sat up and tried to help you. You reached out and stroke his back, and watched the shape of his ass in the dark when he got up.

He walked around and picked items off the floor and off the bed. You smiled when you saw his soft cock, and when he picked the condom up from a table by the side of the bed and put it in the trash.

The he returned to you, gave you whatever clothes he had been able to find, and you put your panties on under the covers while he stood next to the bed and pulled his underwear up.

He returned to bed in a t-shirt but with no pants. Meanwhile you got up, in your top but no bra underneath, scooting down slowly as not to disturb the sleeping friend over there.

You quietly left the room. Haechan lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, a hand behind his head and a faint smile on his face.

He was as far away from Chenle as possible. Your spot was in the middle and it was best to keep it that way.

Chenle could only agree, but he also hoped in the moment that you would never return. He wasn't sure if his heart could take it if you did.

“Haechan?” he whispered and turned his head.

Haechan's heart jolted. “Yeah?” he whispered calmly.

“You're fucking loud.”

The man who just fucked you chuckled. “Sorry,” he mumbled, but he didn't sound very regretful.

When you returned, you stopped in the door and saw the two men in bed, both wide awake, two of your best friends. You quickly returned to the spot in the middle, and glanced at Chenle who was on his back.

He smiled at you. You smiled back and covered your body. He got out of bed, and you turned to Haechan to cuddle.

“He heard?” you asked.

“Yup,” Haechan said. Then you both giggled and embraced.

When Chenle returned you were all but asleep. You had drifted so far you barely noticed him crawling in. And then you passed out, with Haechan's chest pressed against your face, and a feeling of joy and content in your heart.

Chenle did manage to fall asleep too, eventually. Tomorrow, none of you would acknowledge what happened. But the relationship between you and Haechan had changed, and it wasn't the last time you slept together.

Next time, Chenle wouldn't be there. You spent increasingly much time alone with just the one of them. You always knew that maybe Chenle had feelings about that, but you didn't think too much about it because there was nothing you could do.

Your heart was Haechan's. And the fact that you gave him your virginity meant something. It was a natural part of growing up, and your friendship was still intact.

Chenle had no choice but to accept it, and the memory of that night was etched onto his brain. It became his go-to mental porn when he was alone and horny.

You felt really good about the future, and your first time really was great.

Happiest of all, however, was perhaps Haechan himself. He was ecstatic about what had happened, because he was never just horny at all.

He had a huge crush on you, always did. It was thanks to this night that you finally learned that.

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now you were stepping out of the elevator on the seventh floor with a bag of takeout in one hand and your hood pulled low over your face.

the hallway was quieter than usual this late at night. most of the practice room lights had already been shut off, leaving only a faint glow spilling out beneath a few studio doors farther down the hall.

you adjusted your mask higher against your nose as you walked.

a staff member carrying a stack of folders passed by without sparing you more than a tired glance. apparently, someone wandering around the company building in an oversized hoodie at nearly midnight wasn’t unusual enough to question anymore.

honestly, that felt a little concerning.

the familiar sound of music leaking faintly through a familiar looking door told you exactly which studio seonghyeon was still hiding in.

you knocked once before carefully pushing the door open.

the studio was dim except for the glow of the monitors and the tiny LED lights lining the desk. empty drink cans and crumpled lyric sheets were scattered everywhere, making the entire room look like the aftermath of a small disaster.

seonghyeon himself was slumped forward in the rolling chair with a pair of headphones over his ears.

for a second, he didn’t notice you.

his attention stayed fixed on the computer screen, brows furrowed slightly in concentration while he replayed the same section of audio for what sounded like the hundredth time.

then you let the door click shut behind you. his head lifted immediately. and just like that, the exhaustion on his face softened.

“you came,” he said, pulling one side of the headphones off his ear.

“obviously.” you lifted the takeout bag slightly. “you sounded pathetic over text.”

“i did not.”

you raised an eyebrow.

his gaze flickered briefly toward the messages on his phone sitting beside the keyboard before he quietly reached over and flipped it face-down.

right. guilty.

a laugh slipped out of you as you walked further into the studio. the room looked exactly how you expected: dim lights, scattered lyric sheets, three empty iced americanos, and seonghyeon himself buried beneath oversized headphones and exhaustion.

“have you eaten yet?” you asked.

“probably.”

you stared at him. “…what does that even mean?”

he shrugged lightly, already turning back toward the monitor. “i had candy earlier.”

“that’s not a meal.”

“debatable.”

you set the takeout down beside his keyboard before reaching over to pause the track he’d been replaying for the last thirty seconds.

finally, he looked properly at you. his eyes lingered for just a second too long. and you recognized that look immediately. 

the one that always appeared after long schedules and exhausting days. the one where he suddenly got quieter around you, like simply having you nearby was enough to make all the fatigue catch up to him at once.

“what is it?” you asked softly.

“nothing.”

liar.

you moved closer until your knees brushed his chair. “you literally texted me saying you missed me.”

“i was being dramatic.”

“mhm.”

his mouth twitched faintly, like he was fighting a smile.

you reached up to push his hair back from his forehead, fingers brushing lightly through the strands. the second your hand touched him, his eyes fluttered shut for half a second before reopening.

ah.

so he was that tired.

“you should take a break,” you murmured.

“can’t.” despite his words, he leaned unconsciously into your touch.

your fingers continued combing through his hair for another moment before you pulled your hand away. immediately, his brows furrowed slightly.

there it is again.

you hid your smile by turning toward the takeout bag. “eat first, then suffer over your music.”

“wow,” he deadpanned quietly behind you. “you’re so supportive.”

“…i’m literally feeding you.”

“fine.”

his chair creaked softly as he rolled back from the desk. even exhausted, he still tried to carry himself normally, stretching his arms over his head like he hadn’t been hunched over a computer for the last five hours.

the effect was ruined slightly by the way he nearly yawned halfway through it.

you snorted.

“don’t laugh at me.”

“you look miserable.”

“i am miserable.”

you handed him one of the food containers, watching as he immediately perked up at the smell.

“oh,” he blinked down at it. “wait, i love you.”

“you say that every time i bring you food.”

“because you only visit me when i’m starving.”

“maybe if you acted like a functional human being, i wouldn’t have to.”

he hummed absently, already taking a bite. and for a few minutes, the room settled into something quieter.

music played softly from the speakers while seonghyeon scrolled through files on the monitor between bites of food. every now and then he’d mumble something under his breath about lyrics or replay a section of audio with a tiny frown.

you watched him from the couch tucked against the wall. watched the way exhaustion sat heavily beneath his eyes. watched the way he kept rubbing at the back of his neck when he thought too hard. watched the way his attention drifted toward you every couple of minutes anyway.

eventually, his chair rolled across the floor toward you.

you looked up from your phone just in time for him to stop directly in front of the couch.

“…what?”

“nothing.”

he just sat there for a moment, staring at you with heavy-lidded eyes. then, with a quiet sigh, he pushed himself out of the chair and dropped onto the couch beside you.

immediately, he leaned against your side.

a quiet laugh escaped you. “you lasted longer than i expected.”

“what does that mean?”

“you’ve been pretending you weren’t clingy for the last twenty minutes.”

“i’m not clingy.” despite his mumbled argument, one of his arms slid around your waist as he rested his head against your shoulder.

“…right.”

a quiet huff left him, somewhere between offended and sleepy.

“you literally rolled across the room to get to me,” you added.

“maybe i was cold.”

“you’re wearing three layers.”

there was a brief pause before he muttered quietly, “…emotionally.”

that earned a proper laugh from you this time, soft enough to make his expression loosen.

for a second, neither of you said anything.

he just stayed tucked against your side, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing against your waist beneath the fabric of your hoodie. then his gaze drifted downward. to your mouth.

the movement was subtle enough that you almost missed it. almost. 

slowly, very slowly, his arm around you tightened. 

“you know,” he said quietly, “i was serious earlier.”

“about what?”

“missing you.”

the teasing tone from before was gone now. completely.

something in your chest softened immediately. your hand came up to brush lightly through his hair again, and the way his eyes fluttered shut for a brief second almost gave him away entirely.

“come here,” you murmured.

he didn’t hesitate this time. one hand slid up to cup your jaw while the other stayed firm around your waist, pulling you closer until you were practically halfway in his lap. his lips met yours softly at first, tired more than anything else.

like he’d been wanting this all day.

the quiet sigh that left him against your mouth made your stomach flip.

he kissed you again slower this time, lingering just enough to make your chest ache. his thumb brushed gently along your jaw while your fingers slipped into his hair, and the second you scratched lightly against his scalp, his grip around your waist tightened.

a small sound escaped him before he could stop it. you felt him smile a little against your lips afterward, embarrassed and entirely too pleased at the same time.

and honestly? you let him. his lips were warm against yours, despite how cold his hands felt on your waist.

for a moment, he kissed you like he’d forgotten about everything else entirely. the unfinished demo. the long day. the producer outside somewhere in the hallway.

and even after the kiss softened, he didn’t really pull away. every time there was even an inch of space between you, he’d close it again instinctively. one more slow kiss, one more lingering touch against your mouth.

eventually, seonghyeon pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

his breathing was uneven. so was yours, probably. and for a long moment, neither of you spoke.

the soft music still playing from the speakers filled the silence while his thumb continued brushing absentmindedly against your waist, like he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go yet.

then—

a loud knock against the studio door.

both of you froze instantly.

“seonghyeon?” a producer’s voice called from outside. “are you still alive in there?”

he closed his eyes in visible disappointment. you bit your lip hard to stop yourself from laughing.

“one second,” he called back, voice noticeably rougher than before. silence lingered outside the door for a moment.

“…why do you sound like that?” the producer asked suspiciously.

your entire body jerked with suppressed laughter while seonghyeon stared at the ceiling like this was personally ruining his life.

“i’m sick,” he answered immediately. you had to bury your face into his shoulder to stop yourself from making noise.

another pause.

“…right,” came the deeply unconvinced response. “anyway, finish the demo before you die.”

footsteps faded down the hallway. the second they disappeared completely, seonghyeon dropped his head against your shoulder with a long groan.

“we almost got caught.”

“you almost got caught,” you corrected.

he lifted his head just enough to squint at you. “wow. no loyalty.”

you grinned and his expression softened almost immediately afterward.

“don’t leave yet.” he mumbled quietly.

and honestly?

with the way he was still looking at you… hair messy, lips pink from kissing, exhaustion written all over his face… there was no way you were going anywhere anytime soon.

©young2keu, 2026

🥥 is typing...

mark:

renjun:

jeno:

haechan:

jaemin:

chenle:

jisung:

johnny:

• huge daddy kink, whenever he’s in the mood he’s calling himself daddy, riling you up, and when he finally has you where he wants you, he smirks wickedly as you scream the name.

• big on spankings, whether it’s for punishment, humiliation or just for pleasure, he just loves to have you bent over his knee as his hand comes smacking down over your ass until it’s red raw and bruising

• size kink!! loves over powering you and being able to have you however and wherever, just lifting you up and taking you how he wants.

• very vocal, this man loves to talk, and it’s always so vulgar. “fucking take it, that’s it you’re just my little fuck doll huh?” “oh you can’t take it? that’s too bad” “awe baby it hurts? that’s the point” “who’s my pretty cum dump? that’s right, you are” “don’t run from it baby, just take it like a good girl”

• uses a lot of toys on you, vibrators, dildos, pussy pump you name it. his favourite is the pussy pump. “look at that~ pussy’s getting all nice and puffy, poor cunt is gonna be so sensitive” when he pulls the pump off with a pop he’s spreading your folds to admire just how swollen you are down there, the slightest touch has you whimpering from sensitivity. “fuck… look at that, it’s so shiny and pink baby girl”

• he’s such a tease hands roaming your body, almost where you need him, laughing when you try and move your hips to catch his fingers, prompting him to slap your thighs hard “said stay fucking still, you move again i’ll tie you up and leave you in here alone”

taeyong:

• a lot of bondage, he doesn’t want you going anyway or trying to push him away, mostly silks and ribbons, fluffy handcuffs and spreader bars

• he has an evil smile and that unhinged look behind his eyes, “look so pretty tied up like this sweetheart, so helpless” gets off on you being completely at his mercy, constantly reminding you you can’t get away “look at you trying to get away, so silly, where you gonna go? you’re cuffed up for a reason”

• he has a lot of pet names for you, varying from sweet and sickly to purely wicked “oh honeybun you’re struggling so much huh?” “listen, slut you know you’re just my fuck doll, so stop squirming, or am i gonna have to tie those ankles to the headboard? keep your legs spread”

• big finger sucking guy! especially when he’s hitting it from the back, his long slender fingers snaking in front of you, pushing past your lips as you choke on moans, wants to give you something to really choke on. “that’ll shut you up” you hum against his fingers, drool seeping down his knuckles and wrist. “messy fucking girl”

yuta:

• another bondage truther, except he uses gags instead of his fingers. “shut your fucking mouth and take it” not like you have a choice, hog tied and gagged. yuta loves watching you struggle

• real nasty, spitting all over you and in your mouth, after he’s finished fingering you and you’ve squirted, he’ll pull back, spitting down a hot glob of his spit onto your pussy and gives your clit a small spank before he’s standing up and fumbling with the opening of his pants.

• lots of degrading, loves to take pictures and film you, laughing manically when you’re screaming and crying. “you’re gonna get us a noise complaint slut”

• possessive asf. constantly asking who you belong to, who your pussy belongs to, “what are you?” “y— ah!” “i asked you a question” he pulls you by the hair, bringing your back flush against his chest “what the fuck are you?” “your cum dump daddy…” hums in approval “that’s right, and this is my pussy yeah?” “yes!” “whole body belongs to me, don’t ever forget”

• he’s so gross, definitely has a piss kink, loves to give you golden showers as punishment, pissing down on you like you’re absolutely nothing, soaking you, then makes you open your mouth for him. “open your mouth pet, drink up”

doyoung:

• big brat tamer. really loves when you act up because it means he can really go to town. pulling you close as you walk out the door of the restaurant from dinner “hope you’re happy with yourself, you’re fucked when we get home”

• big denial guy, his punishments consist of holding vibrators up to your clit, following your movements when your hips try and get away, fingering you and leaving you begging to cum, stuffing you with a dildo and bringing his hand down to spank the base so you feel it deep inside you, spankings with paddles or hairbrushes.

• he also has a lot of whips, he really makes you regret being a brat. he has rules for a reason, and when you break them, he’s going to break you.

• “what did daddy tell you huh? you just love trouble don’t you sweetheart?” has you screaming and crying, begging for forgiveness and for his hips to let up, but it only makes him drill into you faster, doesn’t care if you have both came 3 times already, he will overstimulate himself if it means you get what’s coming to you.

• has you in positions that will have your muscles screaming for days after as a reminder that he owns you, and that he will break everything about you if you act up again. and of course in your dumb bratty brain you listen and obey him for a week before you’re back to stressing him out.

jaehyun:

• he is taking what he wants when he wants, you’re his free use slut, doesn’t need to ask. just coming up to you, pulling your hair, the look in his eyes dark and scary “get on your knees”

• one of his rules is you can’t touch yourself, and you obey as much as you can, but you find loop holes. one day he woke up to you using his hand to get yourself off while he slept, watched you through hooded eyes as you struggled to rut against his relaxed fingers before he speaks up. “so fucking desperate baby, if you needed your cunt touched so bad could’ve woke me up” “i— daddy i’m sorry, please”

• rolling over and using his fingers on you again, but with more purpose,, tells you not to touch, already done enough of that with his limp hand, rubs your clit, spreading your arousal over your folds, “you’re fucking lucky baby, think your clever using daddy’s hand so you don’t get in trouble huh?” he sees you bite your lip and nod yes “fucking dumb girl, only thinks with this huh?” pinches your clit hard making you twitch and whine out

• loves making you go dumb on him, slurring out incoherent half sentences, just mumbling the word daddy over and over. he just loves seeing the mascara run down your cheeks and your lips get all wet and puffy from all the spit and crying.

• his thrusts are always extremely deep, hard and fast. only really slows down when he’s punishing you or planning to edge you, but even he can admit he’s desperate to feel you fall apart on him so he doesn’t hold himself back often.

jungwoo:

• anal truther sorry i dont make the rules. he loves fingering your ass, plugging you up or stuffing his fat cock in your asshole. subconscious painal kink, tells you to just breath through the burn, even if he had you plugged up the stretch around his cock is something unlike anything else. “i know it hurts, just take it, will feel so good in a minute, just breathe n let me fuck you” fucks your ass more than your pussy.

• he teases you a lot just to get you worked up then teases you for how easy you are. “are you serious? humping against my thigh just cause i winked at you and pulled your hair? fuck you are so easy”

• calls you a slut all the time with how quickly you get turned on. “fucking slut, doesn’t take much does it? always ready to get fucked is that right?” you whine and pull at his hand tighter “mhm… please…” gives into you, but is very rough to prove his point.

• a lot a lot a lot of laughing at you while your spread out crying, writhing around on the bed, covered in bruises and hickeys, his cum is splattered across your body. his punishment is always pulling out, he knows you crave his cum inside you more than anything, so he always denies you of that, “can’t believe you’re gonna make me waste this baby, it’s gonna be so much i can feel it, and you can’t even keep it”

• when he cums over your body you know better than to touch it or try lick some up, he will literally not touch you for days maybe weeks if you go against his wishes.

mark:

• oh he’s making you beg for everything. won’t touch you at all unless you’re begging. you want attention? beg for it, you want his kisses? beg for them, you want his hands all over you? beg for his touch, you want his dick? you better get down on those knees and chant for him

• very stern, uses his strength on you a lot, pushing you down back on the bed when you try and chase his movements, or using his feet to kick you back down on your knees after you’ve just finished sucking him off “did i say move? didn’t think so”

• another one who likes anal, whenever you bend over his lap to suck him off his fingers are dipping lower over your lower back, bringing his fingers to his lips to lube them up before he’s pushing inside your tight hole, grunting at just how tight the squeeze is just around one finger.

• big on rules but not as strict with them as jaehyun, if he finds you touching yourself or getting yourself off in some way, he just pulls whatever you’re using away with his strong arms. makes you beg obviously to take over, telling you that you know better, all you have to do is ask him nicely and he would’ve helped you get off.

haechan:

• always has that shit eating grin on his face, he can be real mean, spanks your pussy, slaps your face, spits on you, degrades you pulls your hair, drags you around.

• manhandles you a lot. lifting you up and dropping you on his dick when he makes you ride him. pulling your head down flush against his pelvis as you choke on his dick, pushes your legs up impossibly high, ankles practically around your neck.

• a lot of dirty talk. “pussy is drooling so much for me, you want it so bad huh?” when you nod helplessly he’s slapping your face, hand coming up to grab your cheeks harshly “use your fucking words greedy girl” “yes! want it so much!”

• loves hearing you beg, fuels his ego, not that he needs it. heads big enough as it is just looking at how desperate you are for him, body giving it all away before your words do, but that doesn’t stop him.

• so much teasing and devastating foreplay that lasts hours before he’s finally giving you what you want. “look at you begging for my dick like a whore, humping my fingers like a bitch in heat, i’m not even doing anything, just riding my hand like a slut huh”

jeno doesn't think he's ever picked up a book in his life, but he's joined a book club. he still doesn't like reading, by the way, but he admits that he likes other things. for example, he likes bringing you coffee, he likes saving you a seat, he likes hearing you talk about your favorite book... even though you have a different one every day; he can't believe you finish thick volumes in a day. he likes to accompany you to the bookstore and he especially likes it when everyone else declines a session at the last minute, because then the world shrinks down to just the two of you, sitting on a sofa, with him pretending to read and you using his shoulder to get comfortable, making his heart race a little, making you laugh softly.

renjun, the boy you're mentoring, doesn't seem to need your help at all. but just to confirm, you decide to play dumb and give him a complex quiz. ha! he thought he could fool you. what bet did he make that he has to do this? or maybe he wants someone to study with, in which case he could have asked you. you might have refused, but why would he pretend he needs tutoring when he's clearly smarter than you? playing a joke or wanting to be friends with the one everyone excludes, without knowing that you do it deliberately and on purpose. maybe you're not as smart as you think you are, because if you were, you would know right away what his eyes are trying to tell you.

jisung will soon lose his mind if you keep getting closer to see his notes… he would lose his mind with anything you do at this point, though. it's not like he's smarter than you; he doubts that quite a bit. you're the brightest person he's ever met. you agreed to help him with his notes, but that means you want to see his notebook all the time to make sure he's doing well. he really, really appreciates it, but he's starting to think it was a bad idea. he could do something stupid and then he'd look like an idiot in front of you and then he would lose his mind. he doesn't know which is worse anymore. he's about to lose it, he's even started sweating, until he looks at you watching him before you laugh again, implying that you've been doing it on purpose and that you know you make him nervous, because he likes you.