naoi

profiles:

🎧 🦕 📸

chapters:

01 : disinfectant product fanatic

02 : gonna what anton kiss me?

03 : if only u were a likable student

04 : spill the beans

05 : you make me nervous shawty 🫦

06 : darkest corner of the room by the emergency exit

07 : resurface, reminisce, replay, rewind

08 : acid reflux

09 : love island usa

10 : i hate emo people

11 : i like hot single nerds

12 : feeling da fomo

13 : bona beef

14 : anton hate club

15 : super duper mega ultra rare sus 5000

16 : speed walk to conclusions

17 : yesss girl im a feminist 💯

18: who is ampon?

19: i think i’m the worst boyfriend in the entire world

20: want to be my boy?

21: you holding the list upside down then brotha

22: my shayla 😭😭😭😭

“You owe me!” Taehyung flails, feet stomping underneath the dining table like a tempered toddler.

Wedding season peaked in the fall — both a blessing and a curse. Hence, you only liked two things after being bombarded with back to back bookings: 1. a sweet treat 2. spending time with your friends. After weeks of tearful vows and hours of rigorous editing, seeing Taehyung, one of your closest friends since college, should be a blessing. 

Should be.

“When have we ever kept tally on owing shit? And for the last time, Tae,” you rub your temples, “I'm not helping you film. Can't you just cancel or reschedule with one of your directors?” 

In any other circumstance, you would have taken up this project.

You and Taehyung have a long-standing history starting as bright-eyed film students in the same cohort. You’d eventually discover his innate skills and very (heavy emphasis on the very) eccentric visions in film. He was different — highly cherished and praised by the university's faculty. You, on the other hand, put in extra hours only to barely skim the baseline.

You were just … good. Which isn’t a bad thing, but in a room full of endless potential and creativity, you felt like you didn’t belong. 

Taehyung never saw an issue in your style and passion, stereotypical or not.

Even though your classmates awarded him with the title “Most Likely to Win an Oscars,” he did quite the opposite. Everyone, including yourself, expected greatness from Kim Taehyung — whether it be through starting his own production company or winning a Sundance Film competition. 

But … his passions took a turn. 

Of all the spaces he could’ve wound up in, he landed himself in the adult film industry.

Yes. Porn.

When he broke the news on his career switch, you smiled and nodded, praying you didn’t display a single ounce of disdain. He’s been nothing but supportive in your journey and career. The least you can do is swallow and hide your judgment in favor of supporting your best friend.

Minus this particular tall ask. 

He frowns. “Please? I really need your help. You’ll do just fine, I promise.”

“I’m literally a wedding videographer.” You deadpan. 

“And you’d be perfect for the job!”

You shake your head vehemently, choosing to redirect all the attention to your untouched plate of chicken wings. They're cold now, time wasted on Taehyung's bizarre request.

“Come on.” He pleads. “I never ask you for these types of favors …”

"What about the time you asked me to stick a thermometer up your ass?"

"That was a medical emergency!"

You both continue listing crazy requests you’ve done for each other, inevitably leading to the same response: no, you didn’t want to film porn on his behalf. 

Boundaries existed for a reason and Taehyung knew when to throw in the towel. The last thing he'd want to do is make you uncomfortable.

Still, his shoulders drop, eyes hung low in disappointment. “Alright, I’ll let the director know I’ll have to miss out on this project.”

Bam, case-closed, you both can resume the night as intended.

Utensils scrape and clatter against the plates among other tables in the restaurant, but the silence and tension rings louder between you and your best friend. He purses his lips and looks away, unwilling to meet your eyes or say what’s weighing on his mind. 

You sigh. “Can I ask you something?”

"Sure, whatever." 'Sure? Whatever?' Now, that's teetering close to fighting words …

“Why this field? Our professors always loved your work—”

His bitter laugh cuts through your words. He leans against his chair and tips his head back.

“Spare me the judgment. I expected this from other people, not from my best friend.”

“I’m not judging—”

“You are.”

This was supposed to be a carefree night. 

No drama.

Instead, it seems to be leading right to the dreaded Talk™. Which, unfortunately, is anything but carefree.

“You’re right.” You concede, catching a flash of his frown. "Only because we've always tip-toed around this topic."

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth. Tell me why you decided on this route.”

“Dude, you can’t even say ‘sex work’ or ‘porn industry’ without looking like a deer in headlights. What makes you think I wanna talk to you about it?” Taehyung rolls his eyes. 

You grimace. Has your discomfort always been this apparent?

Hold on. Pause. 

“But you want me to help film?” You press.

“Well, I was wrong for trying to bring my friend out of their shell. There’s more out there besides weddings.”

Silence.

“W-wait.” He stammers. “That’s not what I meant. You know I respect–”

You hold a hand up. 

"I know.” You say, keeping your voice as leveled as possible. That was a talk for another time.

“Just tell me why you chose this route, Tae. I only ask because I genuinely care and want to know.”

You do.

Both you and Taehyung know that's all you do … too much sometimes, but that's what he loves about you.

“It’s just,” He starts, visibly uncomfortable and awkward, “I’m burnt out from all these expectations. You said it yourself ... ‘All the professors loved your work.’ I can’t fuckin’ keep up.”

“Filming porn is easy." He continues. "There’s no second-guessing. And … it's different. Makes me feel special.” He sniffs and wipes at his nose. “I'm happy there.”

You grab his hand, squeezing gently while he looks at you with a guilt stricken expression.

“I'm sorry for being short with you.” He apologizes. "You're right too. We keep dodging this topic."

Your thumb traces the top of his hand, “I think I’m just a little biased about that—the porn industry.” You correct yourself. “For the record, I'll always support you.”

Taehyung scoots closer to your chair and wraps his arms around you.

“I really did mean it when I said you’d be perfect for the job.”

You laugh. “I don’t think they need a wedding videographer’s touch for that sort of production, but thanks.”

The night continues as intended: lighthearted and free. Waitresses and nearby patrons stare in fascination (or in annoyance … you can't tell nor do you care) whenever a laugh rings a little louder at your table. You always feel fuller after being around your best friend.

“Proud of ya,” he drunkenly confesses after one too many drinks. “Love seeing you in your element.” 

Funnily enough, Taehyung had also dabbled into the wedding industry. Let's just say his clients didn't appreciate his … visions. Not everyone was keen on a Carrie themed wedding announcement, okay?

That's the difference between you and Taehyung. Tried and true versus abstract and risky. There's much to learn from each other, which is why the friendship works.

And you do have a thing or two to learn from Taehyung. 

Hell, you’ve always played it safe – never tested boundaries. You went to school, got decent grades, and now you run your own business. Everything was fine. Too fine.

The world was your oyster; yet, you’ve never made a quest to seek out for more. Point is, you’re comfortable and that’s what makes you uncomfortable.

Substituting for one of Taehyung’s gigs wouldn’t mean you’re forever locked in to that field … right? Makes you wonder, should you just do it? 

“Fuck it,” you mumble to yourself. 

“Hm?” Taehyung looks up from his phone after placing an order for a cab.

“I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”

“Huh? What are you—”

“Filming. Just this once.” You say, more definite in your words.

“Wait, uh, are you serious? You don’t have to, really. I was kidding when I said you owed me.” Taehyung waves his hands frantically.

“No shit.” You grin. “We’re friends. There’s no such thing as owing each other favors. I want to help you because I do. It’s important to you; therefore, important to me.” Self-growth, you tell yourself, because you needed that too.

He stares at you and shakes his head. 

“Let’s talk again when we’re both sober, okay?”

“But …”

“Sober.” He says, final and definite.

One week later

“Not too late to back out.” Taehyung’s voice blares through your phone speaker. 

Actually, it was too late and highly unprofessional if you were to back out the night before. 

“Why would I do that?”

He says your name sternly, “You don’t have to do something you’re uncomfortable with.” 

“Then why would you even ask me to do it?” You stare at your phone, hands slowing as you rub your moisturizer into your skin. 

“Honestly? Didn’t think you’d actually agree …” 

Hard to believe since he damn near dropped on his knees begging for your help.

“Well … surprise.”

“Okay, thank you. Seriously. You really are doing me a huge favor.” He sighs. “Let me know if you need any pointers.”

“Think I should be okay.” You lie. One way or another, you'll get through this project. Similar to your wedding bookings, you'll go in blindly. And similar to your bookings, everything has an opportunity to end beautifully … or not.

Again, you remind yourself to keep an open mind.

“I’m still shocked about this whole ordeal.” He confesses. 

“How so?” 

“You've never seen someone else's genitalia in the flesh.” He snorts.

“I know what a penis and vagina looks like, Tae.” You roll your eyes. 

“You know what I mean.” 

Celibacy at your age was nothing groundbreaking. Remaining a virgin at twenty-nine, however, was not something you accounted for. Your parents' strict dating policy as an adolescent residing under their roof had lots to do with it, but you had full reigns of your romantic life in college. Thanks to your fixation with school, dating never happened; consequently, sex never happened either.

Though, you had many close "fuck it" moments and contemplated randomly hooking up with a stranger to say you've at least experienced sex. Again, never happened. Your first time should be with someone you trusted and cared for. Plus, physical attraction played a huge role and there wasn’t anyone you felt particularly drawn to like that.

At the end of the day, virginity was a social construct. Life goes on. Who cares whether you've been sexually active with another person? 

Hint: you do. And secretly, so does the rest of society.

“So what?”

“Kind of poetic if you think about it.”

What was so poetic about filming porn as a virgin?

“Whatever you say, Shakespeare.” You scoff.

“That's a compliment." You don't have to see him to know he's got a prideful smirk plastered on his face. "But alright, I won’t keep you up any longer. Big day ahead of you tomorrow. Text me if anything comes up.”

“Mmkay, will do. G'night.”

Your clock reads a quarter after eleven. Too late to be doing any editing, but your mind buzzes with one too many thoughts to allow for respite. 

Settling into bed, you crack open your laptop. Might as well be productive and work out your inquiries and schedule for the upcoming month.

Emails? Replied.

Bookings? Confirmed.

Stomach? In knots.

You sink deeper into your mattress. Maybe this was all a mistake, but it's too late to back out now. 

Laptop still perched on your stomach, you groan before immediately clicking into your private browser tab to type in the infamous website you frequented in your early college years when curiosity got the best of you and hormones ran high. 

The first thing you saw were the flashing ads. ‘WANNA JERK OFF? YOU WON’T LAST FIVE SECONDS.’ Next came the tits. And by god, there were lots. You’ve never seen anything more perfect and round than the ones on your screen. A hand leaves your keyboard to grip your covered breast. Hm, yeah, definitely smaller than the ones you see — nipple far from perky like theirs.

More random thumbnails of lewd images pop up as you soak in the page. Your heart races and palms sweat, exhilaration coursing through you as you type in the production company’s name: RkivedShots.

“This is all for educational purposes. Like studying the night before an exam. Yep.” You reason.

Laying against your headboard, your knees prop up to steady your laptop. Hands reaching for your wired earphones, you lower the volume on your speakers in the event you accidentally clicked on something. 

You didn't live with any roommates, but this felt private. In the off chance your neighbors had super hearing powers, you preferred keeping all potentially explicit sounds to yourself.

'Director Kim is different. I like his vision. Totally my style.' Taehyung recounted during a coffee run last week.

Within ten seconds of being on the company’s channel, you concluded one thing: RkivedShots was … odd.

You hover over a thumbnail appearing as a clam, later transforming to a vagina. The title of the video read: reborn as a mussel like aphrodite spawning in sea foam [cum as sea foam].

What the hell.

‘we found god in each other’s genitals’

‘possessive possession — don’t worry, we have a shaman on site’

‘if you were clay, i’d mold you into the prettiest vase [hardcore bdsm]’

Your eyes widen at all the titles, which progressively worsens with the video’s preview containing trippy transitions and themes. Oh, you feel sick.

The idea of filming porn was no easy feat as is, let alone editing afterwards. But if you can’t even stand looking at RkivedShots’ thumbnails, how were you going to survive being on set tomorrow?

Fuck, you have to persevere.

‘fucking the patriarchy out of a conservative [not clickbait]’

Seems normal … ish.

You click on the video out of curiosity.

Big mistake.

Let's paint the scene: Two men at the Oval Office. One man, rather on the thinner side, dressed in hipster clothing with a matcha latte in one hand and a book in another while he had, what you presume, an older politician bent over a desk. 

“SAY YOU LOVE FEMINISM OR ELSE I WON’T FUCK YOU.”

“OH FUCK, I LOVE FEMINISM!!! PLEASE DON'T STOP!” The politician begs and fucks himself back.

Book tossed onto the desk, the hipster pours his iced matcha latte onto the politician’s back and begins going to pound town while the national anthem played in the background.

Your jaw drops.

With a grimace and a quick 'ew,' you frantically search for the back button to free yourself of whatever was playing. Says a lot when you feel more relief on the company's main channel than you had on that one video.

“God, what was that?” You mumble, finger swiping at your mousepad to sift through other videos. Your eyes land on another video titled ‘grapefruit.’ Short and simple. You’re not chancing it though and would rather edit a twenty hour long footage than watch someone potentially fuck a grapefruit … or whatever Director Kim came up with.

Finally, you reach a video appearing "normal" based on the title and thumbnail alone, only showcasing a half naked man in boxer briefs, face cut from view. His tattooed arm rests on his torso, hand cupping his groin area. 

‘relax with me after a long day [JK 🐰]’

You swallow. 

Thirty minutes long. A simple masturbation video. In comparison to all the hour long videos on this channel, this felt like an anomaly. Heart hammering in your chest, you click on the thumbnail.

You made a mental note to call it a night if you see even one crazy transition. You're hopeful though — hopeful the video would do exactly as the title suggested.

To relax — ease your mind a little after being exposed to nothing but oddities this evening.

Maybe, this one will be normal. 

But this begged another question: was porn normal?

Your breath hitches once the video begins, soft piano music playing in the background. The man on screen stirs something in the depths of your stomach. The piercings, sharp jawline, and angled brows paired with his round eyes? Every part of his face was a contradiction. And yet, you were undeniably captivated by his beauty. 

Eyes talk and his spoke to you without words. 

Unlike the video’s thumbnail, he’s completely clothed. The production style mirrored a vlog, except there's the looming knowledge of what's yet to come. Probably him. No, undoubtedly him. 

“Hey.” He greets with a lopsided grin. You increase the volume on your earphones a little higher, eager to hear more of him. 

The video cuts to him cooking a meal, eating, watching television, and working out. Mundane life stuff. Every segment was less than three seconds long. Short-lived. That is, until the next clip cuts to him showering.

The all-glass shower and camera angled modestly leave viewers with wandering thoughts. Even with the steam blurring the shower glass, there's urgency in his movements — longing to rejoin the camera.

The sight of him emerging from the shower stall has you clenching your thighs together. Camera still propped at the same angle, you're only able to make out his upper half. Which, honestly, was more than enough for your mind to dip into darker territories. And fuck … his dripping wet hair and body does things to your poor heart … among other parts of your body. 

As he dries his hair, you catch his eyes. 

Again, no actual words get exchanged. He keeps you entranced.

He’s on a light brown couch now, appearances matching the video’s thumbnail. 

Fumbling with the camera, he props it on the table. Not even one second after he backed away, the camera falls face down. He chuckles, rich and full of life. You bite back your own giggle having related to his struggle plenty of times in the past. 

“Whoops, sorry—dropped ya' on accident.” He says as he moves the camera upright. Seated back, that's when you see it. 

The outline of his hard cock. 

How’d he get like that? You’re not sure.

What you’re sure of, though, is how your body reacts as he smirks. Given any other man you've encountered online with this exact demeanor, you'd immediately rule them as overly confident, borderline cocky — only deserving of being ignored. Yet, you stay for him.

He knows he's hot.

And maybe for that reason, he needs no formal transition or introduction to what he does next. Your eyes follow the hand trailing down his torso and past the waistband of his boxers. Still covered, he wraps his hand around his hard length. The outline of his closed fist moves slowly, tugging until he releases a shaky breath.

“Fuck—ngh,” he tosses his head back, moans coming out sporadically — the slight lift in his voice damn near mimicked a whine.

Tongue heavier in your mouth, you watch him pull the front of his boxers down to expose his cock. It slaps against his abdomen. Thick. Hard. Flushed. 

He’s so beautiful. It’s only natural every part of him matched his perfection. The vein running on the underside of his cock matched with the ones on his hand.

You really should click out. 

Really. 

You shouldn’t dip your hand down your front.

Shouldn’t cup your still-covered pussy only to feel your arousal has seeped through your panties. 

Shouldn’t press your middle finger down your covered slit.

Shouldn’t whimper when he pauses to spit into his hand only to go back to jerking his length, legs spreading wider.

“Wish you were here with me.”

You’re not sure who he was referring to. Certainly not you, but the admission was enough coercion to give into your needs. 

For a moment, you forget why you're even on this site. "Research" purposes. Right. Yeah … and you're in the exploratory phase now, searching aimlessly for some form of relief.

You deserved it.

He wants you to.

Why else would the video be titled that way? 

The handsome man on your screen seems to contribute to your reasoning, giving you one more reason, one last go ahead. His honey voice resounds in your ears. “Want you to play with yourself too. Can you do that for me?”

The softly spoken request sends a shock wave down your spine, and if you weren’t already so aroused you would be ashamed at how fast your body reacted.

Your brows pull together at the bare contact of your middle finger and clit. 

You moan as you rub your clit in small circles, relieved from the motion. The occasional wet sounds reach your ears when you move a little quicker to match his pace.

You’re determined to do so, especially when he keeps voicing his praises. “Good. So good. Can you keep up with me?”

The laptop's fan whirs on your stomach, heat keeping you warm. Your forearm knocks and shakes the laptop. Still, you had the perfect view of him.

Another shaky breath slips past your lips.

His hips lift from the couch, hand paying extra attention to the top half of his shaft. He knows what he likes. What gets him shuddering — what gets him wanting more.

A clear, translucent liquid builds at his slit the more he jerks himself off. Doesn't touch it though — no, not yet. Lets it build until it dribbles down the edge of his length on its own, and he lets out a particularly raspy moan at the sight.

"Fuck." You choke, arm slipping down lower. Your middle finger stops just at your entrance.

Penetration was not your thing, but tonight, you entertain the fantasy of him inside you. Middle finger teasing your entrance, you push and prod, imagining his tip kissing your entrance. Would he beg to enter inside of you, whine and groan the same way he does while playing alone with himself? Smear and mark his precum all over your entrance to claim you as his?

Truthfully, the concept of something entering in you felt better than the actual act. You've tried fingering yourself in the past — hurt and burned like hell. Could never get the position right. And honestly? Who cared knowing the clit was right there?

But the thought of the man on screen pushing his length inside — stuffing you, fucking you, filling you up good … god, you needed to feel something, anything, inside you. 

Arousal trailing down your slit and ass, you wedge your arm down even lower. Your finger pushes against your entrance with a little more purpose, the first knuckle slipping in with little resistance.

Eyes shut, you bite the inside of your cheeks. You don't linger inside for long as a result of the stinging sensation.

A sigh of relief tumbles out as your finger goes back to its happy place.

Again, tried and true.

“Wanna cum with you so badly.” He breathes, jaw going slack before he wraps his lips around the digits of his other free hand. You watch with anticipation, teeth biting down your bottom lip at the sight of his wet, glistening fingers tracing around his nipple. 

T-shirt tucked underneath your chin, you shudder from the cold air, but copy what the man does. Imagine it’s his lips enclosed over your hardened nipples, the cold metal piercing making contact against your skin. He’d look up at you, smile prettily like he has in the video, and worship your body as he likes.

Fuck. 

There’s a certain numbness you feel at the bottom of your stomach signaling your end. You tense, fingers moving faster over your clit. 

His once pushed-back wet bangs are now dried and wavy on his forehead. If not for all the sinful acts he’s doing to himself neck down, he’d look like someone you could see hanging out with and talking to — a friend. Let’s be real … how good of a friend can you be to someone you’re about to cum with? 

He's not faring any better. His impatient whines grow louder, bleary eyes fighting to stay open as he jerks himself off faster. Everything tells you he’s going to cum: the blush on his chest, the tightness in his balls, the freshly bitten lips. 

Oh, you want every bit of it. Want, no, need to see how he finishes and how he loses control of his body in his climax. 

But just at the last second, he pulls away. Cock resting flushed and firm against his stomach, he laughs. Breathless, akin to a mock. Your hand comes to a halt as well, clit twitching against your fingers. There's no gratification in cumming if the experience was stolen and watered down.

“Sorry,” he breathes. “Still with me? Didn’t finish yet, right?”

A soft, yet frustrated whine leaves your lips. Technically, you didn't need him — could finish the job yourself. But you wanted this … wanted to end with him.

You wait patiently, body reeling in excitement as he wraps his hand around his length again. Your fingers remain stagnant, afraid one minor movement might lead to an unsatisfied orgasm.

“Want you to finish with me. Please?” His head falls back as he wanks himself again, speed ramping up. 

He does this multiple times. Gets himself all worked up. Teases himself—teases his viewer. Gets close. Stops. 

Rinse and repeat.

He edges himself near the point of punishment — excels at it like it’s his favorite sport.

And you follow after him every time because it feels good to be led like this. You’re so fucking wet, fingers coated with your slick. You're sure if you move from where you’re laying, there would be a damp spot on your bedsheets, a clear indicator of your arousal.

“You wanna cum with me so badly, huh?” He husks. “Been so good for me, yeah? Would be so nice to cum together, right baby? I’ll give you what you want.” 

His words earn another moan from you — and fuck, you don’t think you can last a minute longer. Quickly, your mouse hovers at the time bar again, eyes scanning for any indication of the most played segment. 

28:37. The video peaks right there — the finish line.

And you're deserving of every bit of this victory.

He wets his lips with his tongue and smiles. The glint of his lip piercings catches the light and then—

"Oh fuckfuckfuck, I'm gonna cum—"

You've been so good, so obedient. To hell with your goal of a timed orgasm to match his … you have to put yourself first. Toes curled, your body loses all control as you finish before him. 

It's enough, though. His whines, the stutter of his chest, the speed of his hand. And when his cum paints his abdomen and dribbles over his veiny fist, your hand flattens on your mound, four fingers rubbing vigorously to extend every second of your long-awaited orgasm. Back arching off your headboard, your body withers from the impact: gut-punching, velvety … practically soul-sucking.

You lay there shaking and sensitive from your earth-shattering orgasm for a couple seconds before pulling your hand out of your pants. It's then you realize how numb and achy your arm got from all the exertion. You raise your poor hand to your face, light catching and displaying a clear sheen of the aftermath of your intense orgasm. Before your mind could register what you had done, a breathy laugh cuts through the silence.

“Fuck. That was a good one.”

Whelp, there it is: post-nut clarity.

You’ve never ripped your earphones out and closed a browser faster than you have now. Shame heats up the back of your neck at the realization you had just beat off to a random stranger online. Sure, you’ve done so before in your early twenties, but you’ve grown since then (so you think). There were many alternatives to getting off without watching other people. 

You shake your head in embarrassment, forearm coming up to cover your eyes. 

Every part of your body feels weightless, tension no longer present in your muscles after finishing the way you did. As tempting as it was to just go to sleep, you know you’ll regret not cleaning up the mess between your legs and fingers in the morning. 

Another minute goes by before forcing yourself to look for a new pair of underwear and sleep shorts. The clean up and change in the bathroom is quick only because you can’t bear looking into the mirror. 

So afraid you’ll unearth and confront your true feelings of the time spent with the video: You liked it. Specifically, you liked how safe you felt behind the screen with that man. 

Sleep comes with little effort tonight … all thanks to a boy with eyes that spoke without words.

a/n: ty to my lovely betas @takeitawaykenny & @lovieku!! yall both saved my life with ur eagle eyes and big brains. this couldn’t have happened without your guys help and input 🥺 tytytytytyyyy

now.. gentle readers, thoughts/predictions? im editing ch1 atm, so any encouragement would be greatly appreciated ♡ i anticipate posting in a couple weeks. toodles!!

edit: no taglist for this series!

Jungkook sits across from you in the dimly lit restaurant, elbow propped against the table, his head resting heavily in his palm. Around you, the restaurant is lively — silverware clinking against porcelain, low laughter spilling between candlelit tables, soft conversations blending into the warm ambiance. Maybe even a quiet first love confession happening at a nearby booth, completely unbeknownst to you.

Still, none of it feels louder than Jungkook’s silence.

Because while everyone around you seems to be falling into each other, you and him sit in silent tension. Painfully distant, neither of you even looking at each other.

His glass of wine sits untouched and forgotten between you. Your fingers fidget anxiously in your lap, unsure of what to do with them. And somewhere between the appetizers and silence, a breakup waits patiently — only minutes away from happening.

As Jungkook sits there, quietly processing your admission, you feel the weight of months spent burying your truth begin to lift from your shoulders.

It’s bittersweet.

Relief settles in first. Your chest feels lighter now that you’ve finally said it all, now that you no longer have to force feelings or sidestep the conversations you were too afraid to have. For the first time in months, your conscience feels quieter.

But guilt settles beside it just as quickly, a lingering pang blooming in your gut when you see your boyfriend ex-boyfriend so visibly distressed.

You and Jungkook had been together for nearly a year. Not the longest relationship by any means, but long enough that loving him had become second nature. Long enough for him to know little things about you — like how you hated leaving your toothbrush in the bathroom or how you couldn’t sleep with socks on, no matter how cold it got. Long enough for spare clothes to accumulate each other’s apartments, for two robes to hang in your bathroom, and for his shoe rack to hold an extra pair of slippers despite the fact that he technically lived alone.

Long enough to feel settled. Long enough to already imagine eternity.

Jungkook had been painfully easy to love. Thoughtful. Dependable. Patient in ways that mattered. The kind of person who never raised his voice when he was upset, who noticed little habits you didn’t even realize you had, who showed up without hesitation even when life was heavy on his own shoulders. He checked every box you thought a good partner should have.

However, there was just one he didn’t quite complete.

Your heart is with him, but your body isn’t satisfied.

“Let me get this straight,” Jungkook says, elbows planted against the table, fingers intertwined tightly in front of him. His expression hardens with disbelief. “You want to leave me because we’re not having good sex?”

“Okay, maybe lower your voice,” you mumble quickly, embarrassingly glancing around the restaurant before looking back at him. “Kook, when’s the last time we actually had sex. And I don’t mean morning quickies right before work, I mean like… sex.”

Jungkook exhales through his nose, gaze dropping briefly to the table before reaching for your hand.

“Baby, you know how hard things have been,” he says quietly. “I work, you work. Whenever we have the time, we’re too exhausted. Half the time we barely even see each other.”

“I just don’t get it,” you say, pulling your hand back before he can fully take it. Frustration bleeds into your voice now, embarrassment fading away as something sharper takes its place. “It was never an issue before! We used to have sex all the time, Kook.”

Jungkook’s lip presses into a thin line as he watches you hesitate, like you’re standing on the edge of something you don’t wanna say — a word that feels almost forbidden on your tongue. But you’ve already gone this far.

So it comes out anyway.

“Do you just not love me anymore?”

Jungkook’s expression shifts in an instant. 

“What?” he says quickly. “No. No, baby, don’t do that.” His voice softens, quieter now. “You know I love you. That'll never change. Why would you even think that?”

“Can you blame me?” Your eyes sting as you look down at the table. “You barely kiss me anymore, Jungkook. You barely touch me unless we’re leaving for work or going to bed. I feel like I’m constantly begging for your attention.”

“Honey…” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “You know my hours have changed. My position at work is different now, there’s more responsibility and-”

“There you go,” you cut in, voice cracking despite yourself. “That’s exactly the problem.”

You shake your head, blinking hard.

“Every conversation somehow turns back to work. Every excuse is work.” Your chest tightens. “I get that you’re tired, Jungkook, I do. But it feels like your job gets all of you and I just get the short end of the stick.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says quickly, nodding like he’s already trying to solve it. “Okay, I get it. Look, I can take time off work, we can spend more time together and-”

“And then what?” you interrupt, brows knitting together. “We just go back to whatever this is?”

His mouth closes.

You shake your head.

“I don’t want you to fit me into your schedule. I should already be a part of it.”

“Babe, just…” He leans forward now, desperation and panic slipping into his expression. “Just tell me what you need, okay? Tell me what to do. I’ll fix it.”

And maybe months ago, hearing that would’ve been enough.

“I think…” You pause, looking down at your hands. “I think we need to take a break.”

The words land between you and settle into something ugly. The silence is thick and suffocating.

You don’t even have to look up to know Jungkook is staring at you now, eyes widened, nostrils flared slightly like the air had just been punched from his lungs. You can feel it — the disbelief, the panic, the hurt beginning to settle over him.

Because everybody knows what a break means.

At best, it’s the soft launch of an actual breakup — dragging things out before eventually never speaking again. At worst, it’s an excuse to sleep with other people while technically avoiding the guilt of calling it cheating.

Whichever one it is you’re offering, Jungkook won’t have it.

“No.”

He shakes his head immediately.

“Yes,” you say quietly, through your voice wavers. “I think it’s what’s best for right now.”

“What does this even mean?” he asks, pushing back in his seat slightly. “A break for what? So you can go find somebody else? Forget about me?”

The accusation stings, mostly because of how afraid he sounds.

You stand slowly, fingers reaching for your purse. “I need space, Jungkook.”

The words feel cruel leaving your mouth.

You turn toward the restaurant doors, exhaustion finally catching up to you. You just want to go home. Crawl into bed. Stop feeling everything at once.

But Jungkook isn’t ready to let the conversation end.

“Baby…”

His hand closes gently around your arm before you can make it far, enough to stop you but not enough to hurt — he would never. Before you can even turn back, he’s already standing in front of you.

“Please don’t do this,” he says, voice cracking around the edges now. His eyes search yours, glossy and pleading in a way that makes this harder than it already is. “Don’t leave me. We can fix this, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

You swallow hard.

“We will,” you say softly, forcing steadiness into your voice. “Just… not tonight, okay?”

Eventually, though, reality forces its way back into your brain. Because unlike your suddenly active love life, anatomy was not going to pass itself. So you force yourself to refocus.

And somehow, after another hour of aggressive highlighting and self-inflicted academic suffering, you manage to convince yourself you’ve earned enough productivity points to survive the rest of the day.

By the time you finally leave the café, your eyes hurt, your back hurts, and you’re running entirely on caffeine and academic anxiety.

Since your car was still dead in the parking lot of despair, you end up calling an Uber to campus.

The driver spends the entire ride listening to a podcast about cryptocurrency while you sit there clutching your coffee and trying not to fall asleep before noon.

College really was glamorous.

Your first lecture of the day feels approximately six hours long despite only lasting fifty minutes. By lecture number two, your stomach starts growling aggressively enough that the girl beside you glances over in concern. Which is how you end up surviving the afternoon on a second coffee and half a blueberry scone from the café between classes.

Honestly? It barely counts as food.

Still, you manage to drag yourself through all three lectures without physically collapsing, which feels like an achievement worth celebrating. Unfortunately, your last class of the day is anatomy. The mortal enemy.

You slide into your seat near the middle row while students chatter around you, and almost immediately you recognize the girl sitting one seat over.

She had long dark hair pinned back loosely and always dressed effortlessly cute in a way that felt intimidating but also weirdly approachable.

You’d talked exactly once before when she borrowed a pencil from you during a quiz. A few minutes before class starts, she glances over hesitantly.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Sorry, random question… but did you happen to take notes during yesterday’s lecture?”

You blink before nodding quickly.

“Oh— yeah, I did.”

Her shoulders visibly relax.

“Thank God.” She laughs quietly. “I missed class because my roommate purposely gave herself food poisoning.”

You stare at her.

“…Purposely?”

“She tried to make gas station sushi work for her.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It was tragic.”

You can’t help laughing a little as you pull your notebook out of your bag.

“You can look at mine if you want.”

“Seriously?” she asks. “You’re saving my life right now.”

You hand the notebook over while she smiles warmly.

“I’m Sakura, by the way.”

You tell her your name, and somehow the conversation continues naturally after that. Sakura turns out to be surprisingly easy to talk to — the kind of person who fills silences comfortably instead of making them awkward. By the middle of class, the two of you are whispering comments back and forth about how terrifying your professor’s diagrams look.

“That does not resemble a human organ,” Sakura whispers dramatically, staring at the projector screen. “That looks like roadkill.”

You nearly choke trying not to laugh.

“Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“You’re going to get us kicked out.”

“Oh, don’t threaten me with a good time”

By the end of the lecture, you realize something strange. You actually… enjoyed talking to someone new. Usually conversations with unfamiliar people drained you almost immediately, but Sakura somehow made things feel easy.

As students begin packing up, she hands your notebook back carefully.

“Thank you again,” she says. “Your notes are insanely organized, by the way.”

You groan. “Anton said the same thing.”

The words leave your mouth before your brain catches up. Sakura immediately pauses.

“…Anton?”

You freeze. Oh my God. Why did you say his name like he was already a regular part of your life?

“Uh,” you recover awkwardly, “this guy I met recently.”

Sakura’s expression shifts instantly into interest.

“Oh, there’s a guy.”

“There’s not a guy.”

“There is absolutely a guy.”

You shove your notebook into your bag aggressively. “There is potentially a male individual.”

“That’s worse somehow.”

You laugh despite yourself while the two of you head out into the hallway together.

“Well,” Sakura says, adjusting the strap of her bag, “male individual aside, we should study together sometime. You seem smart.”

You blink slightly.

“Oh.”

Why did you keep saying that today?

“You don’t have to sound shocked,” Sakura says dryly.

“No, sorry!” you say quickly. “I just— yeah. I’d like that.”

And surprisingly, you really do mean it. By the time the conversation ends and the two of you split off toward different buildings, your mood feels lighter than it had in weeks. Maybe Harvey was right. Maybe things actually were changing a little.

Unfortunately, your motivation to study disappears the second you step into the library later that evening. Still, you force yourself through another hour anyway.

You rewrite anatomy definitions until the words lose all meaning. You attempt practice questions. You drink the world’s saddest vending machine hot chocolate.

And by eight o’clock, you genuinely feel like your brain might start leaking out of your ears.

You’re halfway through rereading a chapter for the third time when your phone buzzes beside your laptop.

Immediately, your attention snaps toward the screen.

And there it is.

Anton :)

WHAT WOULD I DO - STRAWBERRY GUY | PLAYING NOW

Your stomach flips embarrassingly fast.

You open the message almost instantly.

a: are you still at the library?

y: unfortunately yes

a: do you need a ride home?

You blink at the screen. Then again. Somehow, something as simple as that makes warmth spread through your chest.

"Not Want to hang out?"

"Not I’m bored."

Just:

"Do you need a ride home?"

Like helping you had already quietly become something he wanted to do. You bite down on your smile before typing back carefully.

y: maybe

y: as long as you're still not a serial killer

Three dots appear again.

a: i think i’d be a really bad serial killer honestly

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it.

A second message follows right after.

a: also im outside already

Your eyes widen immediately.

You look up instinctively toward the dark library windows even though there’s no possible way to see the parking lot clearly from here.

Your heart starts beating a little faster.

And despite the fact that you’ve spent the last hour exhausted and miserable, suddenly you don’t really want to be in the library anymore.

You pack your things embarrassingly fast. Like, concerningly fast.

The second your laptop slides into your bag, you’re already shoving loose papers between textbook pages and zipping everything shut with the urgency of someone escaping prison.

You try not to think too hard about what that says about you.

A few students glance up as you hurry through the library, your boots echoing softly against the floor before you finally push through the front doors and into the cold night air.

And there he is.

Anton is leaning casually against the side of his car with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, the parking lot lights glowing softly above him. The second he notices you walking out, his face brightens almost immediately. That stupid, warm smile again. Your chest reacts to it instantly now, which is honestly becoming inconvenient.

“You escaped,” he says as you approach.

“Barely,” you reply tiredly. “I think another thirty minutes in there would’ve killed me.”

“That dramatic, huh?”

“You’ve never taken anatomy.”

“Fair point.”

He reaches for your bag automatically before you can stop him.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I know,” he says lightly. “But if I let you carry this, then I would be an asshole, because this is insanely heavy”

“You’re making me sound weak”

“No, just someone who carries lots of unusually large books”

You sigh dramatically while handing the bag over anyway. The corners of his mouth lift slightly like he knows he won that interaction. Then, just like yesterday, he walks ahead and opens the passenger door for you.

You pause for half a second.

“You always do that,” you notice aloud.

Anton blinks. “Do what?”

“The door thing.”

“Oh.” He looks oddly shy suddenly. “My mom would kill me if I didn’t.”

“That’s kind of cute.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. Immediately, your entire body heats up. Oh, okay.

Anton looks caught off guard too, his ears turning slightly pink as he glances away. You stare at him. Then you laugh so suddenly that it surprises both of you.

“There she is again,” Anton says softly once you finally settle into your seat.

“What?”

“That laugh.”

You immediately look down at your lap to hide your smile while he quietly closes the car door for you. The drive starts off easy after that. Comfortable.

The soft hum of the heater fills the car while music plays quietly in the background, and for once, your brain doesn’t feel like it’s moving a hundred miles an hour.

Anton asks how your classes went, genuinely listening while you complain about one of your professors spending twenty minutes explaining a topic that could’ve taken five.

“And then,” you say dramatically, “he said, ‘this will definitely be on the exam,’ which is basically psychological warfare.”

Anton laughs beside you.

“I’m serious. Nursing professors enjoy suffering.”

“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “I think every major says that about their professors.”

“No, but ours mean it.”

“Ah. Unique academic torture.”

“Exactly.”

He glances over briefly at a stoplight, smiling slightly.

“You’re funny.”

Your stomach flips.

“Oh.”

You immediately groan. “I need to stop responding to compliments like a really confused Victorian child.”

Anton nearly chokes laughing.

“A confused Victorian child?”

“Yes.”

“I honestly kind of love that description.”

You cover part of your face with your sleeve in embarrassment while he continues laughing quietly beside you. For a second, you just watch him.

The way his eyes crinkle slightly when he laughs. The way he taps his fingers lightly against the steering wheel at red lights. The way talking to him somehow never feels draining, even after the exhausting day you’ve had.

It feels easy being around him. Dangerously easy. And right as you’re starting to relax completely—

Your stomach growls. Loudly. The sound fills the car with horrifying clarity. You freeze instantly. There’s a split second of silence before you bury your face in your hands.

“Oh my God.”

Anton looks over, immediately trying not to smile.

“You’re hungry.”

“No, actually, that was my internal organs collapsing in on themselves.”

He laughs softly.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

You think about it.

“…Does half a blueberry scone count?”

Anton’s expression drops immediately.

“That was today?”

“There were two coffees too.”

“You’re surviving entirely on caffeine and academic pressure.”

“I’m resourceful.”

“You’re concerning.”

You groan into your sleeve while he shakes his head in disbelief.

“No wonder you look exhausted.”

“That’s so mean.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he says quickly. “You still look nice. Just tired.”

Your face heats up again instantly. This boy seriously needed to stop being accidentally sweet before you lost your mind completely.

Anton glances back toward the road for a moment before speaking again.

“There’s this pho place a few minutes from here,” he says casually. “I go there all the time.”

You look over at him.

“It’s open this late?”

“Mhm. And before you say no,” he adds quickly, clearly reading your expression already, “you genuinely need real food.”

“I can feed myself, you know.”

“Debatable.”

You gasp softly. “Wow.”

“I’m kidding,” he laughs. “Mostly.”

You hesitate for a second.

A smarter version of you would probably go back to the dorm, shower, and continue stressing about school in peace. But another part of you — the newer, quieter part that had started showing up since meeting Anton — didn’t really want the night to end yet.

And being completely honest, pho sounded amazing.

“…Okay,” you admit quietly.

Anton glances over.

“Okay?”

“You can take me to the pho place.”

The smile that spreads across his face is immediate.

And somehow, seeing it makes agreeing feel completely worth it.

- 🩶 -

The pho place ends up being tucked between a laundromat and a tiny convenience store just off campus. If Anton hadn’t brought you there himself, you honestly never would’ve noticed it.

The glowing sign outside buzzes faintly in the dark, and warm golden light spills through the windows onto the sidewalk. Even from the parking lot, you can smell broth and spices drifting through the air.

The second Anton parks, he looks over at you.

“Fair warning,” he says seriously, “I’m emotionally attached to this place.”

You laugh softly. “That sounds healthy.”

“It’s not. I come here at least twice a week.”

“That’s actually kind of impressive.”

“It’s because the owner likes me.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “Should I be worried about that wording?”

Anton grins while climbing out of the car.

The moment the two of you walk through the front door, the warmth hits you first.

The restaurant itself is small and cozy, filled with quiet conversation and the clinking of dishes. A few college students sit scattered around the tables, but most of the room feels calm and lived-in in a comforting way. And apparently, Anton wasn’t lying. Because the second an older woman behind the counter spots him, her entire face lights up.

“Anton!”

Before you can even process what’s happening, she hurries over toward him with the biggest smile imaginable. Anton immediately laughs.

“Hi, Ms. Minh.”

The woman pulls him into a tight hug like she’s known him forever before pressing a dramatic kiss to his cheek.

“You disappeared for one week and suddenly I think you died,” she scolds.

Anton looks both embarrassed and amused all at once.

“I had exams.”

“Excuses,” she says immediately.

You can’t help smiling as you watch the interaction unfold. Something about seeing Anton like this — relaxed, familiar, obviously cared for — makes your chest feel strangely warm. Then Ms. Minh notices you standing beside him. Immediately, her expression changes. Not bad exactly. Just… interested.

“Oh?” she says slowly, eyes moving between the two of you. “And who is this?”

Anton visibly short-circuits. You actually watch it happen in real time. His posture straightens awkwardly, and he rubs the back of his neck while glancing at you for approximately half a second before looking away again.

“This is…” He pauses.

You wait.

Anton clears his throat.

“This is— we’re—”

He looks genuinely nervous now, which is somehow unbelievably cute. Ms. Minh’s smile grows wider instantly.

“Ohhh,” she says knowingly.

Anton’s ears turn pink.

“We’re friends,” he says quickly.

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling too hard.

“Mmhm,” Ms. Minh says in the least convincing voice imaginable. “Friends.”

Anton looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole.

“This way,” she says cheerfully before either of you can recover.

She leads the two of you toward a booth near the back corner of the restaurant, still smiling to herself the entire time. The second she walks away to grab menus, you glance across the table at Anton. He’s covering part of his face with one hand.

“You okay over there?”

“She’s going to bully me forever now.”

You laugh softly. “You got nervous.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

Anton groans quietly. “I just didn’t know what to call you.”

“A person usually works.”

“That’s not helping.”

You grin into your sleeve while he shakes his head, still embarrassed.

Eventually, the two of you settle into easier conversation while looking over the menus. Though honestly, Anton barely even glances at his.

“You already know what you want, don’t you?”

“I always get the same thing.”

“That’s such a dad habit.”

When Ms. Minh comes back to take your orders, she winks at Anton so obviously that you nearly choke trying not to laugh. Anton, meanwhile, looks one step away from combusting. Once she disappears again, he drops his head lightly against the table for half a second.

“I’m never recovering from this.”

“You’re handling it very bravely.”

“Thank you.”

The conversation flows naturally after that. Easier than it probably should considering how recently you met.

At some point, while talking about classes again, you mention one of your professors assigning an absurd amount of reading.

Anton blinks at you.

“Wait.” He sits back slightly. “How old are you?”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “Nineteen.”

His eyebrows lift.

“You’re a freshman?”

“…Yes?”

“I thought you were at least a sophomore.”

You stare at him. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” he says quickly. “You just seem more put together than freshmen usually are.”

You burst out laughing.

“That’s actually insane.”

“What?”

“I cried in my car yesterday.”

“Okay, but emotionally falling apart and academic responsibility are different things.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself.

“What about you?”

“I’m twenty-one.”

“Oh my God.”

Anton immediately looks concerned. “What?”

“You’re old.”

He stares at you in disbelief.

“Old?”

“You’re basically ancient.”

“I’m two years older than you!”

“That’s a whole lifetime in college years.”

Anton laughs loudly enough that a couple nearby glances over briefly.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re elderly.”

“You’re nineteen.”

“And thriving.”

“You ate half a scone today.”

“That’s unrelated.”

The two of you continue bickering lightly even after the food arrives, the steam from the bowls curling warmly into the air between you. Also, the pho is incredible.

You realize halfway through eating that this is probably the first actual meal you’ve had in days where you weren’t multitasking, studying, or stressing about something. You’re just… sitting there.

Talking.

Laughing.

Existing beside someone who makes everything feel lighter somehow.

At one point, Anton catches you looking suspiciously emotional over the broth.

“…Are you okay?”

You blink quickly. “Yeah.”

“You look like you’re having a spiritual experience.”

“This soup changed my life.”

“There she is,” he says softly again, smiling when you laugh.

Eventually, after nearly two hours of talking without either of you realizing how much time had passed, the bill finally arrives. You reach for it immediately.

Anton reaches faster.

“Nope.”

“What do you mean, ‘nope?’”

“I’m paying.”

“You literally bought me coffee this morning too.”

“And?”

“And I can pay for my own food.”

“I know you can.”

“Then let me.”

Anton looks at you for a second before smiling slightly.

“I invited you.”

“So?”

“So I’m paying.”

You narrow your eyes. “This feels sexist somehow.”

He laughs quietly. “You can buy my coffee next time.”

The second the words leave his mouth, both of you pause slightly.

Next time.

Your stomach flips again.

Anton seems to realize what he implied too because he suddenly looks shy again, rubbing the back of his neck lightly.

“If you want,” he adds quickly.

You smile before you can stop yourself.

“I want.”

The relief on his face is weirdly cute.

By the time the two of you finally leave, Ms. Minh waves dramatically from behind the counter.

“Don’t disappear again, Anton!”

“I won’t!” he calls back while laughing.

Then, quieter as the two of you step outside into the cold air again, he reaches over naturally to take the container holding your leftovers from your hands.

“You don’t have to carry everything all the time,” you point out.

“I know.”

“You say that every time.”

“And yet I’m still carrying it.”

You roll your eyes, though your smile gives you away completely. Anton opens the car door for you again once you reach the parking lot. And this time, when you slide into the passenger seat, it doesn’t feel unfamiliar anymore.

It feels easy.

Like maybe, somehow, you were already getting used to him.

- 🩶 -

The drive back to campus feels softer somehow.

Maybe it’s because you’re warm now, full for the first time all day, or maybe it’s because somewhere between the pho and Anton accidentally calling you funny three separate times, you stopped feeling nervous around him.

The city lights blur past outside the windows while quiet music hums through the speakers again. And somehow, despite spending almost the entire day together already, neither of you seems tired of talking yet.

Anton drives with one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel while the other taps lightly against his knee.

“So,” he says after a moment, glancing over briefly, “what were you like in high school?”

You laugh immediately.

“Oh, awful.”

“That answer came out way too fast.”

“I’m serious. I was painfully awkward.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You should.” You sink further into the passenger seat dramatically. “I spent most of high school either studying or hiding in the library.”

Anton smiles slightly. “That sounds kind of nice actually.”

“No, it wasn’t. I had, like, three friends.”

“That’s a normal amount of friends.”

“One of them was my cousin.”

“That still counts.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re being very generous.”

“Well,” he says thoughtfully, “you don’t seem awkward to me.”

You stare at him. Then immediately look out the window so he doesn’t see your face heating up again.

“That’s because you met me during an emotional crisis,” you mumble. “My personality was distracted.”

Anton laughs softly beside you.

“What about you?” you ask after a second. “What were you like in high school?”

He groans quietly.

“Oh no. This feels dangerous.”

“That bad?”

“I was…” He pauses like he’s embarrassed already. “Annoyingly involved in everything.”

You blink. “What does that mean?”

“I did swimming, did student council for one year, worked part-time, and somehow still convinced myself I had free time.”

You stare at him in disbelief.

“So you were one of those people.”

“Unfortunately.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“I was productive.”

“You were unbearable.”

Anton laughs louder at that, shaking his head.

“You know,” he says, “I actually think I was way more awkward back then than I am now.”

“I don’t believe that either.”

“No, seriously.” He smiles to himself slightly. “I used to get nervous ordering food.”

You turn toward him immediately. “Wait, really?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s actually kind of adorable.”

The second the word leaves your mouth, Anton glances over at you. And suddenly the atmosphere changes slightly. Not bad. Just quieter.

Softer.

You immediately look down at your lap.

“Well,” you mumble awkwardly, “not adorable. That’s a weird word.”

“No,” Anton says gently. “I liked it.”

Your stomach flips so hard it almost hurts. You decide right then and there that eye contact is no longer an option. Thankfully, Anton rescues you both by continuing the conversation.

He tells you about growing up with his younger sister constantly stealing his hoodies and how his mom used to force him to bring snacks “for sharing” every day in middle school. You tell him about your brother convincing you as a kid that swallowing watermelon seeds would make one grow in your stomach.

“You believed that?”

“I was seven.”

“That’s fair.”

“You thought quicksand would be a bigger issue than it actually was.”

Anton points at you immediately. “Okay, but everybody did.”

You grin. By the time the dorm building finally comes into view, you almost feel disappointed. Again. Which honestly seems like it’s becoming a pattern around him.

Anton parks near the entrance before getting out first automatically. The second you reach for your leftovers and bag, he’s already opening your door.

“You know,” you say as you climb out, “I am physically capable of carrying things.”

“I know.”

“And yet.”

“And yet,” he repeats simply, taking your bag from you anyway.

You try not to smile too hard while walking beside him toward the dorm building. The night air is colder now than before, enough that your shoulders hunch slightly beneath your sweater as you climb the stairs together.

“You cold?” Anton asks immediately.

“I’m okay.”

“That wasn’t really a convincing answer.”

“I’m surviving.”

He looks like he wants to argue with you about it, but instead he just walks a little closer beside you.

When you finally reach the dorm entrance, you stop to dig through your bag for your keys. Or at least, you try to. Before you can unzip the pocket fully, Anton speaks.

“Wait.”

WHAT WOULD I DO - STRAWBERRY GUY | PLAYING NOW

You look up.

Something in his voice sounds different. Nervous.

Anton still has your leftovers in one hand, but the other rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck while he looks anywhere except directly at you for a second.

“Oh,” you say softly. “What?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer immediately. Which is unusual for him. Then finally, after taking a small breath, he looks at you properly.

“I know this probably sounds kind of insane,” he says carefully, “because we literally just met yesterday…”

Your heartbeat starts speeding up instantly.

“But…” He laughs nervously under his breath. “I don’t know. I really like being around you.”

You stare at him quietly. Anton shifts his weight slightly, obviously trying to figure out how to phrase whatever he’s thinking.

“And I’m not trying to put pressure on you or make things weird,” he says quickly. “I just—”

He pauses.

Then softer:

“I think this could actually go somewhere.”

Your chest tightens. The hallway suddenly feels way too warm.

Anton glances down briefly before continuing, quieter now.

“So I was wondering if maybe…” He smiles nervously. “You’d want to date? Not officially or anything right now. No labels. I just mean…” He shrugs awkwardly. “Us. Seeing where this goes.”

For a second, all you can do is look at him.

At the way nervousness had softened his expression completely. At the way he was clearly trying so hard not to overwhelm you. At the fact that despite being confident enough to approach you in a parking lot, he still looked genuinely anxious waiting for your answer.

And somehow, that’s the thing that settles your nerves most. Because Anton wasn’t smooth. He wasn’t playing games. He was just honest.

“I…” You laugh softly out of pure nerves before looking down for a second. “I’ve actually never really done this before.”

Anton’s expression softens immediately.

“That’s okay.”

“No, I mean really.” You glance back up at him. “Like… I’ve never dated anyone.”

For a split second, he looks surprised. Not judgmental. Just surprised. Then the smallest smile appears on his face.

“Well,” he says gently, “we can figure it out together."

You laugh softly. And the second you do, some of the tension leaves his shoulders too.

“I’d like to try,” you admit finally, your voice quieter now. “With you.”

The way his face changes at that answer makes your heart stutter completely. Not dramatic. Not overconfident. Just… genuinely happy.

“Yeah?” he asks softly.

You nod once.

“Yeah.”

Anton smiles then — warm and relieved and a little disbelieving all at once.

And standing there outside your dorm building under flickering hallway lights with your leftovers in his hands and your anatomy notes shoved awkwardly in your bag, you realize something very suddenly:

Maybe your car breaking down wasn't bad luck at all.

—