val

He knew about the late-night drives, the missed curfews, the sound of a car engine idling outside your house fifteen minutes after you were supposed to be home. He knew Seonghyeon smiled his way through trouble instead of avoiding it, and somehow always managed to drag you directly into the middle of whatever terrible idea he’d had.

By the third time Seonghyeon had shown up at your house past midnight, and the second time your father had caught him trying to quietly drop you off only to nearly reverse into the mailbox, any chance of him being viewed as a respectable influence had disappeared completely.

So when you’d first brought up the idea of a sleepover your father had looked at you like you were insane.

"No," he'd said.

Then no again.

Then absolutely not.

Then not in this house, not while I'm breathing, not over my dead body, and did you think he was born yesterday?

You'd persisted anyway. You'd brought it up at dinner, pushing peas around your plate while your mother hid a smile behind her wine glass. You'd caught your father in the hallway before bed, in the kitchen over his morning coffee, in the garage while he swore at something under the hood of his car. You'd asked so many times that your brother had started mimicking you: "Dad, can Seonghyeon sleep over?" in a high-pitched whiny voice that made you want to throw a pillow at his head.

You even attempted dramatically insisting that everyone else’s parents allowed it, which only earned you a long look and a “I’m not everyone else’s parents.”

All of these attempts earned you nothing but your father's disapproving gaze and, consequently, the slow squashing of your heart. Every time you brought it up, he'd fix you with that look that said don't push your luck, and you'd feel your hopes deflate a little more.

Eventually, you'd recruited your mother.

Your father had always been weak when it came to her. It was something only years of love could really create—that quiet power she held over him, the way he'd soften around the edges whenever she asked for something. He'd deny you for weeks, but she could undo all his resolve with a single look across the dinner table.

Maybe you and Seonghyeon would be like that when you were older.

Not that you ever thought about that, obviously. That would be crazy. You were only seventeen. You definitely hadn’t ever dreamed what it would be like to have your own house with Seonghyeon. Not at all.

But your mother was your secret weapon and over the following days she slowly wore him down.

"He's a good student," she'd mention the next night, stirring her coffee. "I saw his report card. You saw it too, didn't you?"

Your father would grunt.

“They’re good kids.”

Another grunt.

“You used to sneak out too, you know.”

That usually got a longer silence.

And every single time, you’d watch your father try very hard not to look affected while your mother hid a tiny smile behind her coffee cup.

It took nearly three weeks.

Three weeks of promises. Three weeks of “we’ll stay apart.” Three weeks of “the door will stay open.” Three weeks of your father looking personally exhausted by the entire situation.

But eventually, somehow, he caved. Not happily or gracefully, but he did.

The conditions came immediately after.

“Guest room,” your father had said firmly, pointing directly at Seonghyeon from across the living room. “Down the hall.”

Seonghyeon had been sitting on the couch so stiffly it was almost painful to watch, hands flat on his knees, posture straight like he was interviewing for a scholarship instead of asking to sleep over at his girlfriend’s house.

“Yes, sir.”

“Not her room.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not near her room.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And absolutely no funny business upstairs.”

At that, you’d nearly choked trying not to laugh while Seonghyeon nodded with suspicious seriousness.

“No funny business,” he repeated solemnly, like he was signing a legal contract.

Your father narrowed his eyes immediately, clearly unconvinced by how agreeable he sounded.

The worst part was that Seonghyeon looked entirely too amused underneath it, like he was enjoying this.

Your mother had stepped in before your father could change his mind completely, patting Seonghyeon lightly on the shoulder as she stood.

“He likes you,” she’d whispered kindly once your father disappeared into the kitchen.

Seonghyeon had glanced toward the doorway your father had vanished through before looking back at her. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“It is,” your mother insisted. “He would have killed you by now if he didn’t.”

“That’s comforting.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

You’d had to look away because you were already starting to laugh.

Even now, hours later, lying awake in bed, you could still picture the expression Seonghyeon had worn all through dinner afterward: trying and failing to hide his smile every single time your father repeated one of the rules.

Which was exactly why sleep felt impossible now.

The house had been quiet for almost an hour.

The movie downstairs had ended. Your father had fallen asleep in his armchair halfway through it, your mother eventually nudging him awake while Seonghyeon tried very hard not to laugh. Everyone had gone upstairs after that, lights shutting off one by one until the whole house settled into silence.

And Seonghyeon was right down the hall.

Not far enough away to ignore.

You rolled onto your side again with a sigh, tugging the blankets higher before immediately kicking them back down again.

It was ridiculous, you saw him almost every day and yet somehow knowing he was only a few rooms away made you feel restless in a way you couldn’t fix.

The worst part was that the two of you had actually behaved all evening. Mostly.

You’d sat together on opposite ends of the couch at first, which was your father’s idea obviously, but little by little Seonghyeon had started inching closer whenever nobody was paying attention.

A shift of his knee against yours under the blanket. His shoulder brushing yours when he leaned over for popcorn. His hand lingering just slightly too long when he reached into your bowl instead of his own. Tiny, barely noticeable things.

Except your father noticed everything. Every single time your knees touched, you could practically feel your father narrowing his eyes from across the room without even looking away from the television.

At one point, Seonghyeon had leaned over to whisper something in your ear during the movie, and your father had immediately gone: “What was that?”

“Nothing,” both of you answered at the exact same time.

Which honestly only made it worse.

By the time everyone finally headed upstairs, you’d barely even gotten a proper goodnight. Just a quick glance, a small grin from him halfway down the hall, and a quiet: “Sleep well.”

Like that was actually possible now.

With a quiet sigh, you sat up in bed, throwing your blankets aside and pushing your hair back from your face as you stared toward your bedroom door.

This was ridiculous. You weren’t twelve. He was literally just a few doors away. You’d survived entire weekends without seeing him before. So why did knowing he was in your house suddenly make sleep impossible?

You flopped back dramatically for half a second, staring at the ceiling again. Then you immediately sat back up.

Just for a minute. That was all.

You’d go down the hall, see him, complain that you couldn’t sleep, maybe make fun of the guest room your father had stuck him in, and then come right back upstairs before anyone noticed.

Easy.

You slipped carefully out of bed, the floor cool against your feet as you crossed the room. The whole house had that deep, late-night stillness to it now, where every tiny sound suddenly felt dangerous.

The hallway outside your room was dark, lit only faintly by the pale moonlight spilling through the window at the far end. Shadows stretched long across the floorboards, the old house creaking softly around you as if it were settling deeper into sleep.

You reached for your doorknob slowly, trying not to make noise.

The hinges gave the faintest creak as you pulled it open—

—and froze instantly.

Seonghyeon was already standing right outside your room. For a second your brain genuinely stopped working.

He looked equally caught off guard, though far less guilty about it. One hand was half-raised like he’d been about to knock, his hair slightly messy from sleep or from running his hands through it too many times.

You just stared at each other silently in the dark hallway. Then his eyes flicked over your face once, and the corner of his mouth pulled upward slowly. “You too?” He whispered.

You blinked. “What are you doing?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

“You’re supposed to be down the hall.”

“And you’re supposed to be asleep.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again because unfortunately, it really wasn’t. He looked far too pleased about that realisation.

You tried crossing your arms, aiming for annoyed, but it lost some effect considering you were standing there in oversized sleep clothes staring at him in the middle of the night.

“You weren’t supposed to leave the guest room,” you whispered again, quieter this time.

“And you weren’t supposed to open the door.”

His voice stayed calm and low, but there was amusement tucked into every word. You rolled your eyes automatically, though your heartbeat had already started picking up.

He noticed, even in the darkness, how you were unable to meet his gaze for a moment.

Of course he noticed. Despite the impression you gave about not getting nervous around him, small parts of yourself that only he noticed ratted you out to him every single time. He’d known you long enough to tell.

Seonghyeon took a small step closer, enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne mixed with laundry detergent from the sweatshirt he’d changed into earlier. “You couldn’t sleep either?” He asked.

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Maybe.”

“Mm,” he murmured, clearly not believing you for a second.

Then, before you could think too hard about it, his hand slid around your waist naturally, easily, like it belonged there. The movement pulled you closer in one smooth motion and your breath caught before you could stop it.

He leaned down slightly, giving you barely enough time to realise what he was doing before his mouth met yours.

Soft at first, careful enough that you almost thought he was trying to behave.

Though that lasted about three seconds because the second you kissed him back, his grip tightened slightly at your waist, and you felt him smile against your mouth like he’d just proven himself right about something.

Your fingers curled instinctively into the front of his sweatshirt, bunching the fabric lightly, and you melted into him, making a small sound against his mouth, a sigh of relief. He chuckled slightly. You could feel it, the small gust of air that escaped him, and you wanted to stay here forever.

But then you remembered where you were, how your parents' bedroom was at the end of the hall that now felt increasingly small and dangerous

You pulled back and his mouth chased yours, his eyes still closed, his lips still parted. He leaned in for another kiss until you put your hand on his chest, pushing him back gently.

His eyes opened and he blinked, confused. His lips were pink, slightly swollen, he was looking at you like you'd just taken something vital away from him, a frown forming on his face. “Why?” He whispered, sounding genuinely betrayed by the interruption.

You stared at him incredulously before pointing toward your parents’ bedroom farther down the hall. “We cannot get caught,” you mouthed carefully.

He glanced once in that direction, then looked back at you completely unbothered. “They’re asleep.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“And I was right last time.”

“You almost got hit with a shoe.”

“That wasn’t that serious.”

You gaped at him quietly. “My dad threatened to kill you.”

“Yeah,” he whispered thoughtfully. “But he says that every time he sees me now.”

Which was, annoyingly, true.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You like me.” The smugness in his whisper made you roll your eyes again, even though the warmth climbing into your face completely ruined the effect.

Unfortunately, he noticed that too. His expression softened instantly, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Before he could lean down again, you grabbed his wrist suddenly. His eyebrows lifted in surprise as you tugged him backward down the hallway. “Wait—where are we going?”

“Shh,” you whispered immediately. You started guiding him carefully toward the stairs, both of you moving slowly to avoid the loud spots in the floorboards.

The old house creaked anyway. Every single noise made you freeze for half a second before continuing. At one point, the stair beneath Seonghyeon’s foot let out an especially loud groan, and you whipped around so fast you nearly ran into him, only to find his shoulders were already shaking silently with laughter.

“This isn’t funny,” you mouthed.

“It kind of is.”

You glared at him while trying not to laugh yourself.

By the time the two of you finally reached the bottom of the stairs, the house had gone still again.

Moonlight spilled through the living room windows in pale strips, turning everything soft silver-blue. The furniture looked different at night somehow: quieter, softer around the edges. Even the air felt still.

For a second, neither of you said anything. You could hear the faint ticking of the clock in the kitchen alongside the hum of the refrigerator somewhere down the hall.

Seonghyeon glanced around slowly before looking back at you, hands shoved loosely into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Now what?” He whispered.

You shrugged, trying to act like dragging him downstairs in the middle of the night had been a completely normal decision. “I don’t know,” you said quietly. “You’re the one lurking outside my bedroom.”

A small grin tugged at his mouth immediately. “I was being romantic.”

“You were standing in the dark outside my door.”

“Romantically.”

You snorted softly, shaking your head. He wandered away before you could answer, moving toward the vinyl cabinet beneath the stereo system in the corner of the room. Immediately, suspicion hit you. “Oh, don’t touch those.”

Too late.

Seonghyeon crouched in front of the cabinet anyway, flipping through your father’s records with the kind of confidence people only had when they absolutely should not be touching something. “You own, like, fifty sad old man albums,” he murmured.

“My dad likes music.”

“Your dad likes depression.”

You rolled your eyes, moving closer as he continued flipping through them one by one.

“What even is this?” He whispered, holding up a record sleeve covered in dramatic black-and-white photography.

You glanced at it. “I don’t know.”

“That guy looks miserable.”

“He’s probably singing about heartbreak.”

“Yeah, well. He should cheer up.”

You laughed quietly through your nose, quickly covering your mouth when the sound echoed slightly too loud in the room. Seonghyeon looked very pleased with himself for causing it.

He kept searching until one particular record made him pause. Slowly, he pulled it free from the shelf.

“My Love Will Never Die,” he read under his breath.

You immediately groaned. “Oh my god.”

“What?” He asked, already grinning.

“You cannot be serious.”

He turned the sleeve over in his hands dramatically. “This is perfect.”

“It’s ancient.”

“Barely.”

“It literally belonged to my parents before I was born.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Classic.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself while he carefully slid the vinyl from its sleeve. For all his usual recklessness, he handled it surprisingly gently.

“That thing’s older than both of us,” you whispered.

He glanced up at you while setting it onto the player. “Still works better than your dad’s rules.”

“You are obsessed with annoying him.”

“He makes it easy.”

A soft crackle filled the room as the needle settled. Eventually the music started low and warm, instantly making the whole room feel slower.

‘I know, I know I love you (love you)

And I really love you so, need you (love you)’

Something about it changed the atmosphere immediately. The teasing quieted a little and the darkness around you suddenly felt softer instead of sneaky.

Seonghyeon stood there for a second listening before turning toward you again and holding out his hand. “Dance with me.”

‘And I'll never let you go, honey (love you)

My love for you will never die, ooh, ooh’

You stared at him immediately. “Absolutely not.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Why not?”

“Because this is embarrassing.”

“It’s literally just dancing.”

“In my living room. At like one in the morning.”

“Exactly,” he whispered. “Makes it better.”

You crossed your arms. “No.”

“You dragged me downstairs.”

“That does not mean I owe you a dance.”

“You’re hurting my feelings.”

“You don’t have feelings.”

“Wow.”

You tried to stay serious, but his smile was already ruining it. Especially because he looked completely unashamed standing there holding his hand out like some dramatic movie character. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Still waiting.”

You let out a quiet sigh, already losing the argument.

‘So, come on over (love you)

I want you to hold my hand, tell me (love you)’

Before you could properly refuse again, he stepped closer and took your hand himself. Your stomach flipped stupidly fast at the contact. “You’re so annoying,” you whispered.

“You’re still dating me,” he murmured, pulling you gently toward him anyway.

One of his hands settled naturally against your waist whilst the other stayed wrapped loosely around yours, and just like that something softened. The teasing faded a little around the edges.

You could feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, could feel his thumb moving absently against your side while the music drifted quietly through the dark room.

Neither of you were really dancing properly. Just swaying slowly in place, being close enough that your slippers kept brushing against his socks every few seconds.

The floor creaked once beneath your feet and both of you froze instantly before trying not to laugh.

“Oh my god,” you whispered through a grin. “We’re actually going to get caught.”

“We’re fine.”

“That’s exactly what you said before my dad almost killed you.”

“He didn’t almost kill me.”

“He threw a shoe at your head.”

“And missed.”

You laughed quietly again, shaking your head as he smiled down at you.

‘That I'm your lover man, darling (love you)

My love for you will never die (ooh)’

For a little while, neither of you said anything after that. The music played softly around you while moonlight stretched across the floorboards. Somewhere outside, a car passed faintly in the distance before everything settled quiet again.

Seonghyeon looked down at you after a minute, his expression softer now, less teasing. “This song’s ridiculously old,” he murmured.

You glanced up at him. “You’re literally dancing to it.”

“Yeah,” he said easily. His hand shifted slightly at your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “Because you’re here.”

And somehow that was worse than his usual flirting, because he said it so simply like it wasn’t even a line to win you over, it was just the truth embedded so deeply into his soul he couldn’t help but share.

Your eyes dropped away from his immediately, warmth rushing into your face as you tried very hard to focus on literally anything else besides the way he was looking at you.

Which only made him smile a little more. You hated when he did that: looking at you like that afterward, all quiet and unfairly sincere, like he knew exactly what it did to you.

You glanced down at the front of his sweatshirt instead, fingers curling lightly into the fabric near his shoulder. “Don’t say stuff like that,” you muttered.

“Like what?”

“You know what.”

A small pause passed between you before he spoke again, quieter now: “You get shy.”

Your head snapped back up immediately. “I do not.”

“You do,” he whispered, smiling a little wider now. “Right now.”

“I’m literally looking at you.”

“Yeah, after avoiding eye contact for like thirty seconds.”

“It was not thirty seconds.”

“Mm.” He tilted his head slightly. “Felt long.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the effect was ruined by the fact that he was still holding you close in the middle of your dark living room while some ancient love song played softly behind him.

“This is why my dad doesn’t trust you,” you informed him.

“He didn’t trust me before this.”

“That’s true.”

“See?”

You shook your head, trying not to laugh again.

‘Love's so necessary (wow)

That's why I just gotta be your man, oh, come on’

The record crackled softly between verses, the sound warm and familiar in the quiet house. Seonghyeon swayed lazily with the music, more interested in watching you than actually dancing properly.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “your mom definitely knew we were gonna sneak downstairs.”

You looked up immediately. “No, she didn’t.”

“She definitely did.”

“She wouldn’t allow that.”

“She likes me.”

You snorted. “She tolerates you.”

“She offered me more dessert at dinner.”

“She felt bad for you because my dad kept threatening your life.”

“Still counts.”

You rolled your eyes, but he only grinned.

‘Oh, girl (love you)

I want you to hold me tightly, kiss me, baby (love you)’

The song kept playing low through the speakers while the two of you moved slowly across the living room in uneven little circles. Every now and then the floor creaked beneath your feet, and both of you would instinctively freeze before dissolving into muffled laughter when nobody came downstairs.

At some point, his hand slipped lower against your waist, settling against your hip.

“So this is your definition of ‘no funny business?’” You whispered.

His eyebrows lifted innocently. “We’re dancing.”

“You are absolutely pushing it.”

“Your dad specifically said no funny business upstairs.”

You stared at him and he stared back completely serious for about two seconds before the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, trying not to laugh too loudly. “You’re horrible.”

“Still won you over though, huh.”

You groaned quietly, dropping your forehead briefly against his shoulder as he laughed softly under his breath, the sound warm and sleepy.

The living room smelled faintly like dust and laundry detergent and your father’s aftershave lingering in the furniture. Outside, wind brushed softly against the trees near the window, and somewhere far off, a car drove past on the main road. Everything felt suspended somehow, as though the whole world had gone quiet around the two of you.

Your eyes drifted half-shut for a second before you felt Seonghyeon shift slightly.

“You tired?” He whispered, his lips just grazing your hair as you hummed in response.

“A little.”

“You should sleep.”

“You first.”

“I’m not tired.”

“You yawned like six times during the movie.”

“That was acting.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him incredulously, your eyebrows drawing together. “Why would you fake being tired?”

He shrugged lightly. “Wanted your mom to think I was innocent.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You are actually unbelievable.”

“Worked, though.”

“No it didn’t.”

“She called me sweet.”

“That’s because she doesn’t know you.”

He grinned. “You do.”

Unfortunately.

That stupid warm feeling hit your chest again. You looked away before he could notice it this time, but his hand squeezed lightly at your waist like maybe he already had.

‘And make me know how much you love me (love you)

My love for you will never die (ooh)’

The record neared its end, music softening under the crackle of vinyl, though neither of you moved to stop it.

Seonghyeon rested his chin lightly against the top of your head for a second, voice quieter when he spoke again. “You know your dad’s gonna blame me if we get caught down here.”

“He blames you for everything already.”

“Fair.”

“You breathed too loud at dinner and he looked ready to fight you.”

“I was nervous.”

You blinked, pulling back slightly. “You were nervous?”

“Yeah.”

“You? Nervous?”

He looked down at you like the answer was obvious. “Your dad scares me.”

You burst into quiet laughter immediately. “No, he doesn’t.”

“He threatened me with a garden tool last month.”

“That was one time.”

“It was a rake.”

“You survived.”

“Barely.”

You giggled slightly, forehead dropping against Seonghyeon’s shoulder for a second.

Upstairs, your father’s eyes opened immediately. He laid there for half a second, listening. Another faint laugh drifted up from downstairs and your father sat upright. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Beside him, your mother groaned softly, hands rising to rub her eyes. “What now?”

“They’re awake.”

He was already throwing the blankets off when your mother sat up and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t.”

“They’re downstairs.”

“So?”

“So?” He repeated in disbelief. “It’s one in the morning.”

Your mother squinted at him sleepily. “And?”

“And he’s down there with her.”

“You allowed him over.”

“That is suddenly feeling like a mistake.” Another muffled sound floated upstairs completely incoherent; for all he knew Seonghyeon could be plotting sneaking you out again. Your father pointed toward the floor. “You hear that?”

“I hear two teenagers.”

“I hear bad decisions.”

Your mother snorted softly, letting go of his wrist and lowering herself back onto the mattress. “You used to climb through my bedroom window.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Your mother smiled a little, already pulling the blankets back up. “Leave them alone. Let them have this.”

Your father stared at the bedroom door for another long second, clearly still considering marching downstairs anyway. Then he sighed heavily and dropped back onto the mattress. “If he breaks my record player, he’s dead.”

“Sure, honey.”

Your father grumbled something under his breath before dragging a pillow over the side of his head dramatically. “I don’t want to hear it,” he muttered.

Your mother laughed quietly beside him, reaching over to switch the lamp off again while downstairs, completely oblivious, the static kept playing softly through the house, the two of you in your own world.

"This is nice," Seonghyeon finally spoke again, his voice muffled against your hair.

"Mm."

"We should do this more often. It’s much easier sneaking downstairs than climbing through your window."

"You're going to get us killed."

"Worth it."

You pulled back just enough to look at him. The streetlight caught the side of his face, illuminating the soft curve of his smile and the way his eyes were half-closed like he was already half-asleep. You reached up and brushed his hair back from his forehead. It fell right back, the way it always did.

"Come on," you whispered. "We should actually go to bed. Before he comes down here with a baseball bat."

He groaned but let you step back. His hand lingered on your waist for a moment longer, then dropped to his side. You walked together to the stairs, your bare feet silent on the cold floor, his heavier behind you. At the top of the stairs, you stopped, turning back to face him.

"Goodnight," you whispered.

"Goodnight."

Neither of you moved.

"You first," he said, a soft smile resting on his face.

"No, you."

He smiled—that slow, lazy smile that always made your stomach flip. His eyes softened in the dim light, crinkling at the corners, and for a moment, he just looked at you like he was trying to memorise the shape of your face. As though he wanted to remember this exact second.

Then he leaned in.

His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, gentle but sure. His thumb brushed against your temple and you felt your eyes flutter closed before his lips even touched your skin.

When they did, it was soft. Softer than you expected. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, and they pressed against your forehead with a tenderness that made your chest ache. He stayed there longer than he needed to, just breathing you in, and his breath warmm against your hairline. You could feel the faint tremor in his fingers where they rested against your scalp, could feel the way his chest rose and fell with a slow, steady breath, like he was trying to steady himself.

Your own hands had found the fabric of his t-shirt at some point, your fingers curled into the soft cotton, holding on without meaning to. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and you never wanted to let go.

When he finally pulled back, it was slow, reluctant even. His lips brushed your skin one last time before he straightened, and his hand slid from your hair to your jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. His eyes were dark in the dim light, soft, and he looked at you as though you were something precious.

"Goodnight," he whispered. His voice was low, rough, barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat.

Then he let go. His hand dropped to his side and he took a step back, then another, his bare feet silent on the carpet. The hallway was dark, but you could see the outline of him: the slope of his shoulders, the mess of his hair, the way he kept his eyes on yours even as he moved away.

He reached the guest room doorway and paused. His hand rested on the frame. He looked back at you one last time, and something warm and unspoken passed between you.

Then, eventually, he stepped inside, and he was gone.

You walked to your room, climbed into your own bed, and pulled the blanket up to your chin, still feeling the warmth of his hands in your hair. The house was silent again, the needle of the vinyl player resting in the final groove, evidence of the events of what had just happened right under your father’s nose.

You closed your eyes and, for the first time all night, felt sleep pulling at the edges of your mind.

In the master bedroom, your father lay on his back with his arm over his eyes, pretending not to have heard the faint creak of the stairs twenty minutes ago. Beside him, your mother smiled into her pillow and said nothing.

With a sigh, you click your seatbelt into place and flip open the menu, genuinely trying to build a case for why this is the worst decision you’ve ever made. Unfortunately, it is hard to maintain righteous regret when the menu has no prices on it. Not one. Just elegant font, artful descriptions, and ingredients arranged like poetry.

…you’d booked economy.

Economy.

But then he’d upgraded your tickets last minute like that was a normal thing a person did — insisting you fly with him. Like swapping someone’s middle seat for a first-class cocoon with a duvet and a champagne flute was just… hospitality.

“Um… Satoru?” Your brow arches as you take in the absurdly extravagant menu. “How much does this cost, exactly…?” He doesn’t even glance up. “Mm? Oh.” Flipping a page, his hand waves lazily. “Don’t worry about it.”

…

Don’t worry about it?

You are very much worrying about it. Because how the hell does an intern afford this?! You know how much interns make at your company; you’ve worked with HR, signed off on the numbers — and it is categorically not this.

But fine. Whatever. That is, somehow, the least of your problems right now. And your mind was already veering back toward the more immediate catastrophe currently taxiing toward the runway.

Your family.

“Right… well. Anyways, Satoru,” you say, setting the menu down. “We should probably establish the basics before we get to Japan and—”

“—what do you like to eat?”

You blink, lips parting.

“I—sorry…what?”

“I like sweets,” he says, turning toward you. A toothy grin spreads across his face, dimples peeking. “Let’s see… cake, cream buns, mochi…” he muses. “Oh! Especially kikifuku mochi, it’s the best.” He nods solemnly. “Honestly, I think it’s the whipped cream inside that really makes the difference.”

Your brow furrows as you stare at him.

…when did this become a TED talk about sugar? You were trying to discuss a plan, and he is out here curating a dessert menu like the most pressing crisis of the next ten hours is pastry selection.

“Okay…? That’s nice. But we should talk about—”

“Food,” he states, picking up the menu you just set down. He flips it open and angles it back toward you like that is the only sensible conversation available. “C’mon. What do you like? Not what you’ll settle for… what you’ll actually like. Ten hours is a long time, sweetheart.”

Brow knitting, you frown.

He cannot be serious. That is not the priority right now.

“That—that can wait. We need to—”

“—establish the basics, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and tips his head back against the seat, like your resistance is personally exhausting him. But then his gaze flicks back, amused. “And I’m just saying food is a basic necessity. Because you skip lunch when you’re busy, forget breakfast when you’re anxious, and then act shocked when you feel like shit three hours later. So, eat.” He places the menu back in your hands. “Preferably something that isn’t stale pretzels, yeah?”

Something hot and startled climbs your neck so fast it’s almost impressive. Your mouth opens, but whatever rebuttal is forming never makes it. Because before you can recover—

“Honestly, I gotta say… the soba is pretty good too, actually.” His face is suddenly just over your shoulder, murmuring close enough that you feel the heat of him against your ear. “If you don’t want the wagyu, that is. Wait—scratch that. Maybe ramen…?” His finger traces a line on the menu, pale lashes lowering, tongue clinking gently. “Mm… never mind. Too much broth and there could be turbulence.”

Your whole body stiffens. Because his closeness does not feel unwelcome. Which is exactly the problem.

…when did he get so comfortable?!

“…stop doing that,” you mutter, pulling back. He looks over, the picture of innocence. “Doing what?”

Your lips purse.

“I dunno. Being…”  But the word dissolves, and you're reaching for your water, needing something to do with your hands. “So… comfortable. So—” You cut yourself off with a small huff. “Like this.”

His grin is unbearable, lazy and crooked.

“Oh?” he reclines. “Like what, baby?”

You sputter into your water.

“Baby?”

You’re choking on your drink, and Satoru looks entirely too pleased with himself. He's chuckling, leaning over without a second thought, one hand settling warm between your shoulder blades.

“Awwh… what’s this? Don’t be shy now,” he hums, the picture of helpfulness, rubbing slow circles with a sigh. “We’re gonna have to get way cozier than this if I’m playing boyfriend. Just establishing the basics, yeah?”

As you straighten with a glare, you can tell without a doubt he is openly enjoying himself. That grin hasn’t moved a goddamn inch.

…asshole.

Huffing, you settle back into your seat. And it isn’t long before the plane shudders gently away from the gate, inching out onto the runway with that slow, terrible sense of inevitability that only air travel is capable of producing.

“Ladies and gentlemen, at this time please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened… flight attendants, prepare for departure.”

The overhead announcement crackles through the cabin, too polished to be comforting. While beneath you, the whole plane seems to draw tight, a low hum building through the floor, climbing up through your seat.

You exhale, letting your eyes fall shut. Just long enough to pretend you weren’t here. Just long enough to avoid the window, the runway, and the deeply unhelpful fact that your brain liked to save all its worst thoughts for takeoff.

…like how first class wasn’t exactly known for improving your odds. Like how takeoff and landing were statistically the worst parts. Like how the engine sounded different now, probably… maybe, and—

“Hey.”

Satoru’s voice came quieter this time; enough to pull your eyes back open. When you look over, that vibrant blue is already watching you — steady, unhurried, like he has been waiting for you to surface.

“Are you… nervous?”

“What? N-No…” you lie, huffing. His brow arches, sensing your bullshit. “Okay… then why are you doing that with your hands?”

Following his gaze, your fingers had folded into fists without even noticing, in that particular way they always do when you’re trying to physically hold yourself together.

Fuck.

It’s ridiculous, really. You knew flying was statistically safe! Knew it the way you knew balance sheets and quarterly projections and the exact percentage margins that kept departments alive. And yet, takeoff had always felt like the part where logic starts losing altitude.

“Oh…” A small, awkward laugh slips out, just as the engine begins to roar. You smooth your palms over your trembling thighs, shouting over it. “It’s fine! Really! I just… um—I guess I don’t particularly like takeoff, is all!”

His expression softens in a way you weren’t braced for. But before he can answer, the plane surges forward and your eyes squeeze shut. A massive force presses you back into the seat while vibrations climb through the floor and up your spine.

It’s terrible. Completely terrible. But somewhere in the middle of it, a warm hand slides against yours. It takes you a second to register his fingers lacing between your own, and the moment his thumb brushes the back of your hand, you instinctively grip him tighter.

Your eyes stay shut, but you feel the plane lift hard and fast into the sky. And somewhere between the roar of the engines and that awful pull in your stomach, the slow circles his thumb traces against your skin become the only thing your body seems willing to trust.

By the time the pressure eases and the plane finally levels out, your lungs have only just remembered how to work. For a second, neither of you moves until—

“…better?”

His voice brushes the quiet between you. You blink your eyes open.

“Yeah…” you whisper. “Um… thanks.”

He smiles. “Sure.”

That thumb brushes one last time against the back of your hand before finally pulling away, dropping back into his lap with a simple nod like it had been nothing. And the loss of that warmth was immediate enough to sting.

Oh…

He’s… annoyingly good at taking care of you. And worse, your body had recognized it before your brain could file the proper objection — clinging first, thinking later, like comfort was something you could afford to trust.

Maybe the altitude was messing with your head…

Ten hours was a long time.

Long enough to work out the safest parts of the lie. How long you’ve been together. Where you met. Which version of the truth felt neat enough to survive one wedding weekend without collapsing under the weight of follow-up questions.

It was just… not long enough, apparently, for the parts that actually mattered.

“Soooo… question…” Satoru had stretched lazily, turning his glass between two fingers as he glanced over. “What exactly should I expect when we land?”

You kept your attention on the blanket across your lap, flattening a wrinkle. “Probably… jet lag?” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze, fussing with the fabric. “And a long enough drive to regret everything in peace.”

He snorts. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” Ice clicked softly as he tipped his glass, shifting toward you. “Not what I meant, though. I meant with your family.”

And when the warmth of his attention settled against the side of your face — you hesitated. Because it was patient in a way that only made it harder to meet. Patient in the way of someone who’s learned that pushing doesn’t work on you. Which you’re unsure is better, or worse. Because waiting means he’s paying attention, and paying attention means he’ll notice when you crack.

“We’ll just… talk about that later,” you huffed, tugging the blanket a little higher before turning toward the window. “I’m tired. Gonna try to sleep.”

Later… yeah. Later.

But by baggage claim, you were running out of runway. You had to do it soon. Get it over with. Preferably somewhere between the airport and your hotel, where you could spit it out quickly and not have to watch his face too closely while you did.

So now, Satoru yawns beside the conveyor belt, tired blue eyes skimming the slow parade of suitcases rounding the carousel. Hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, posture easy in a way that only makes you more tense. You stand there staring at the back of him, fingers hooked tight in the seam of your shirt.

Now.

“Hey… Satoru?” you mumble. “Hm?” His gaze lands on your luggage and he’s already stepping forward to grab it. “Um, well…” You hesitate. “About my family… I—"

“—oh! Look—look! There they are!”

The moment her voice rings through the terminal, everything inside you locks. You turn, and for one wild second, you genuinely wonder if it’s too late to get back on that godforsaken plane.

Satoru hauls your suitcase off the belt.

“What about them?” he asks, turning when you stop short. Then he sees your face. “…sweetheart?” His brows furrow, following your line of sight — and there is your mother, cutting through the crowd with Trish beside her, moving with the kind of delighted urgency you aren’t prepared to see for at least another twelve hours.

No.

No, no, no.

“—oh my god, there he is!” Your mother walks straight past you — past you — and both hands are wrapping around Satoru’s like he’s who she came for. "Oh, he's handsome. Trish, look—"

It’s no surprise, really, that you’re a second thought. You’ve been a second thought since before you could name it. But that isn’t the wound that matters at this particular moment. The bigger problem is that she’s here.

…why the hell is she here?!

You were supposed to have more time—

“—oh my god,” Trish breathes to you. “Damn. girl. He’s, like… stupid handsome.” And Satoru’s grin went smug, drawling. “Oh, please, ladies. Keep the compliments coming. I’m feeling very welcomed~”

Your mother giggles. “Handsome and funny. Oh, he’s a charmer,” she says, smacking his shoulder playfully. Though the laugh lands bitter. “God. Why on earth would she keep you from me?! I mean… wow. I was beginning to think she’d die alone.”

The words hit like a slap dressed as a joke.

Satoru blinks, the smile faltering for half a second, head tilting imperceptibly.

…great.

Of fucking course she’d say something like that within the first thirty seconds.

“Mother… what—” your voice wavers, eyes falling shut with a swallow. “Sorry. I just—what are you both doing here?”

She did a tiny double take, like she’d only just remembered you were standing there. “Oh, honey…” A hand waves, scoffing. “Don’t be silly—of course we’re here to pick you up! God. I wouldn’t leave you stranded at the airport,” she snorts.

Oh, right.

So she wouldn’t abandon you at an airport. Just in another country.

…good to know there's a line somewhere.

“Besides, why don’t you both just stay with us instead?” she’s already reaching for Satoru’s hand again, bright with the idea. “We’ve got a guest room ready, and I’d love for the chance to talk to you.”

Your body goes rigid.

Oh no. Fuck no.

Anything but that.

Satoru must have seen it written across your face — that particular shade of panic —because his eyes cut to you for only half a second before he slips his hand free, turning back to your mother with a smile already in place.

“That’s incredibly kind, ma’am,” he says, tugging you into his side with an ease that shouldn’t have felt as steadying as it did. “But we’re staying pretty close to my family’s place, and I should probably swing by tomorrow morning.” He rubs the back of his neck with a theatrical groan. “It’s been a few months since I’ve seen my father, and trust me, I’ll regret it if he finds out I came to Tokyo and didn’t stop by, y’know?”

Apparently, ten hours isn’t long enough for the parts that actually matter, because…

“Oh? Your family’s place?” your mother repeats, brows lifting. “So, are they here in Tokyo too, then?” He nods. “Mm, yeah. Pretty much all the Gojos are—at least on my dad’s side. My mom’s in Kyoto.”

…

Wait.

Did he just say Gojo?

As in—

Your boss’s family?!

No. Absolutely not. Between the jet lag, the shock, and your mother still glowing beside you, your brain simply does not have the bandwidth for this. Your lips part, blinking like that might somehow rearrange what he just said into something less insane.

Nothing comes out.

“Gojo…” your mother repeats, brows knitting. “Why does that sound familiar?” Trish blinks. "Wait—like… Gojo Corporation Gojo?!"

Satoru’s grin widens. “Yep. That’d be us.”

“Ah!” Your mother snaps her fingers. “Gojo Corporation. Yes—of course! Silly me. I thought that name seemed familiar…”

And now, the hurt arrives before the shock finishes landing — ugly and precise and aimed at the exact spot that never heals right. Five years of your work, your career, your life inside that building. But she only knows it because a handsome man says it in a terminal.

You stare. “Mom… you can't be serious?” and the hurt in your own voice catches you off guard. “I’ve… I've literally been working at Gojo Corporation for the last five years.”

Fuck...

Get it together.

Out of the corner of your eye, Satoru watches you. But your mother moves on like you’re invisible.

“Oh Satoru Gojo, you just keep getting better and better.” You feel him hesitating as she tugs eagerly. “Come—come! At least let us drive you both to the hotel, hm? There’s so much I need to hear and—”

“—sorry ma’am, no.”

Satoru’s pulling you into him like the decision has already been made. And you blink while his fingers smooth gently through your hair, tipping your chin up with a long finger.

“Honestly, I’m beat…” His thumb brushes your cheek, gaze searching your face. “…aren’t you, love?”

There’s a hitch in your breath

Oh.

So… you’re not invisible?

As it leaves you in a quiet shudder, for one suspended second, there is nothing but that soft blue of his eyes and the way they’ve gone gentle for you. All you can do is nod — and a single tear slips free before you can stop it.

He tucks you against his chest, hiding your face, and flashes a grin back at your mother.

“Ugh… I appreciate you coming to get us, but we’ve been up for way too long and—” Glancing down at his phone, he lets out a small laugh. “Ah. Perfect timing! Would ya look at that—my driver’s here.” A tug of your hand. “But we’ll catch up tomorrow, yeah? Bye, ladies~”

Your legs are moving on their own, and you don’t even catch the expression on your mother’s face. Can’t. Not when your pulse is still tripping over itself. Not when his hand wraps around yours like letting go isn’t even a question.

The suitcase rolled behind you, with the airport crowd bustling. While those bright eyes flicked back, making sure you were still there every few steps.

“C’mon, pretty girl… we’re almost there,” he murmurs. “Just stay with me, okay? Eyes on me, yeah?”

And… you weren’t sure why he lowered his voice. Not when they were already well out of earshot. You only know that… it nearly undoes you all over again.

By the time the limo pulls away from the curb, Satoru had already figured out two things: your mother was awful, and somehow, he’d gotten you out of there only to realize he hadn’t fully brought you back with him.

It’s the furrow in your brow that gets him first… then the wobble in your lip — the one you think you’re hiding, the one you always think you’re hiding. You haven’t said a word since climbing into the backseat. Haven’t looked at him either. Instead, you stay toward the window, watching Tokyo slip by in blurred ribbons of light, glowing against the glass in streaks of neon. A city that has no business being that beautiful when you look that broken.

…shit. Should he crack a joke? No. Maybe not.

But asking if you’re okay feels useless. You obviously aren’t. And worse, saying it out loud feels like the fastest way to make you disappear even further behind that window — to watch you pull the shutters down the way you always do.

“Well, then…” A hand drags through his hair as he lets his head fall back against the seat. “Um… gotta say—your family really believes in making an entrance, huh? Talk about—”

“—I thought your name was Satoru Geto.”

He blinks.

“Huh?”

Your gaze finally pulls from the window, landing on him, and the hurt in it is so carefully contained it almost looks like composure. Almost. Except he’s spent four months learning to read you, and composure doesn’t tremble at the edges like that.

“…Satoru Geto,” you mutter carefully. “That’s the name on your employee record, no?”

Oh...

Right. That.

“…is it?” His gaze slips away, fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah… um. About that. Geto’s actually my best friend. I just used his last name because the initials matched.” He’s flopping back against the seat with a small shrug, one arm slinging across the top. “Made it easier to sign off on stuff that way. Gotta work smarter, not harder, right?”

And tilting his head, a crooked grin tugs at the corner of his lips.

Yours doesn’t move.

“Right,” you deadpan, turning back toward the window. “So your plan was to just let me keep calling you that.”

You don’t say it like a question.

…is it a question?

Satoru’s brow furrows at the hurt threaded beneath the words. “No… I—” he huffs, hands dropping into his lap. “Obviously I had to hide it while I was working with you, but my legal name was on the boarding pass I gave you, so it’s not like I was actively hiding it, sweetheart.”

You scoff under your breath. “Oh. Cool. So I was just supposed to… what—figure that out on my own?” And suddenly, your voice is doing this awful thing now — losing its clean, controlled shape, slipping into something thinner. Hotter.

He hears it immediately, sighing. “Sorry… but why is this the problem?” he asks, more confused than anything now. “Help me out here. I mean… I thought your mom was what had you upset back there.”

Your eyes roll. “Your name is literally on my paycheck, Gojo. How is that not a problem?”

He stares. Genuinely stares. Because for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with that. To him, his name was just a name. The company was just a company. Status had always felt like something other people got weird about first. Not him.

So, like an idiot, he goes for the joke.

“Well… technically, I think my name is on a lot of paychecks, so—"

“—Jesus Christ, am I a fucking joke to you?”

And the humor drops out of him so fast it almost startles you. Shit. That backfired tremendously. “Whoa—what? No!” He straightens, brow furrowing. “No, no, no. God, no—sweetheart, of course not. Why would you think that?”

You’re looking away before he can see what that does to your face, because you hate how quickly his voice goes from careless to cracked. Hate yourself for making it do that.

Damnit.

You know that wasn’t fair. He had just gotten you out of there. Seen you unraveling in that airport and stepped in without making it worse. Without making you ask. And still — somehow, in the span of twenty minutes, the whole world had shifted under your feet. Him, your mother, that last name. This damn… wedding.

…why does everything feel so hard to sort through right now?

“Just…” You swallow, shifting towards the window, blinking back tears. “Sorry. Don’t talk to me right now.”

His expression softens. “C’mon… no,” he murmurs. “Please… please don’t be like that. I’m sorry you found out this way. I should’ve told you sooner.”

The crack in his voice makes everything unbearable, and outside, Tokyo keeps sliding past in fractured light. So, you look at the window because it’s easier than looking at him. Easier than trying to untangle the mess that is your life. Easier than naming what specifically hurts so much.

And easier than asking yourself what, exactly, had been real and what had only ever been off the record.

Clearly, the universe looked at the absolute clusterfuck of this trip and decided it wasn't finished with you yet.

Because apparently, your fake boyfriend had a limo. Your fake boyfriend, who can upgrade your tickets to first class like it’s nothing. Your fake boyfriend who is also, apparently, your boss — and decided to book you at a luxurious five-star hotel in Tokyo while somehow neglecting to mention that part too.

Whatever. Either way, you're too tired to care. Or maybe just too tired to forgive him — despite the way the marble floors and soft gold light whisper luxury around you like an apology you didn’t ask for.

All you know, is that by the time the two of you make it upstairs, your silence was beyond awkward and hardened into something heavier. More deliberate. So, the moment the suite door clicks open, you’re beelining to the bedroom.

“Goodnight.”

You mutter it under your breath, shutting yourself into the bathroom before he can answer you. And when you change into your pajamas, you try not to linger in the mirror — because your whole face feels tight from holding yourself together, from trying not to cry for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. And as if that weren't enough, the wedding is tomorrow.

…how the fuck are you supposed to get through that too?!

With an exhausted sigh, you push open the bedroom door, reach back to kill the light, and—

“…what are you doing?” you deadpan, stopping cold in the entryway. Because at the foot of the bed, you find Satoru in sweats, crouched on the floor, carefully spreading a blanket across it. He smooths the corner flat and those blue eyes flick up, then drop back down.

“Making myself comfortable?”

…

That explains absolutely nothing.

Your brows pull together. “Okaaay…? Clearly. But—why?” Rolling your eyes, your arms cross. “Don’t tell me you fucked up the reservation. I mean, you’re the one who booked this place. Don’t you have your own suite?”

“Yup. I do.”

He says it so easily it almost irritates you more. You watch him fluff the pillow and set it on the floor like this is perfectly normal behavior for a man who can apparently summon private drivers and spend obscene amounts of money at the drop of a hat.

Your teeth grit. “Great. So go lay in your bed.”

Exhaling through his nose, he lowers himself onto the marble like it’s no different than a mattress. One arm tucks behind his head, the other rests over his stomach, all lazy limbs and impossible calm.

“Nah,” he says. “Think I’ll sleep here. Promised you wouldn’t be alone this trip.”

And the universe, apparently, hadn't taken quite enough from your dignity yet. Because you find yourself genuinely speechless.

For a moment, you just stand there looking at him — at the ridiculous length of him stretched out across the floor, at the fact that he has a whole bed somewhere else and was still choosing this — and at how he somehow managed to make the gesture feel casual enough not to embarrass you and sincere enough that it did anyway.

“…suit yourself,” you grumble, stomping over to your bed.

You yank the covers back and climb in with an irritated sweep, reaching over to find the light. Darkness folds over the room in one soft rush, and for a while, there’s only the low hum of air conditioning and the distant glow of Tokyo bleeding dimly through the curtains. Somewhere beneath it all, you can hear the faint rustle of fabric from the floor, the small settling sound of him getting comfortable.

…

Or trying to.

You lie stiffly on your side, facing away from the edge of the bed that he lays, staring into the dark like you can force your mind to shut up if you just do it hard enough.

Ugh…

Despite how tired you are, sleep feels impossible.

Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pillow and shift to the other side of the bed with an annoyed little huff. And there’s the broad line of his back in the dark. One arm folded under his head, the other sprawled carelessly over the blanket, like this is all perfectly normal. Like sleeping on the marble floor in a five-star hotel is not objectively unhinged behavior.

“…you’re actually gonna sleep down there?” you mutter into the dark.

“Mm.” His voice comes easy, amused. “You should be sleeping, missy.”

“So should you,” you huff. “In a bed.”

Chuckling, he shifts onto his back, sprawling out like a starfish. He hums. “Nahhh,” and an exaggerated exhale breathes out of him, tired. “The floor’s fine. I’m reconnecting with the earth. Re-centering. Some might say it’s very… grounding.”

You can hear that pleased little smirk of his, even in the dark, and it pulls a snort out of you before you can stop it. “…wow, seriously?” Biting back a grin. “You’re so stupid.”

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah… maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. Probably won’t be the last, either. But…” With a tired sigh, he drapes his arm over his face, half-hiding in the dark. “…guess I’d rather be stupid than leave you alone, though.”

The words slip out, and the room goes strangely quiet. Something tender and awful pulling tight in your throat as you stare down at him for a second too long.

…what are you even supposed to do with that? With him?

He’s down there on the floor, keeping a promise you never asked him to make.

Swallowing, your fingers tighten on the blanket. “…hey, Satoru?” That low hum answers, and you hesitate, staring at the dark shape of him on the floor, your heart doing something stupid and uncomfortable against your ribs.

“Come up here,” you blurt.

…

Silence.

“Wait… huh?”

Your eyes squeeze shut.

As if saying it once wasn’t bad enough.

“I-I mean…” you’re shifting onto your back, staring hard at the ceiling because looking at him suddenly feels impossible. “I just… there’s plenty of room, so just—come up.”

…

He’s quiet just long enough to make your face burn hotter. And when he’s pushing himself onto one elbow, even in the dark, you can feel the disbelief radiating off of him like heat.

“Uh… right,” he laughs awkwardly. “I think the jet lag’s getting to me, because there’s no way I heard that right unless you’re fucking with me.”

You cover your face with a groan.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Christ, stop making this harder—” you snap, voice rising. “I’m serious you idiot! Because you’re not making me feel worse tonight by sleeping on the goddamn floor—so hurry and get your ass up here before—”

“—yes ma’am.”

He’s moving before you can rethink the entire thing, despite how your pulse is suddenly loud in your own ears. You scoot over, clutching the blanket to your chest, and the mattress dips beneath his weight — the sheets rustle. His body shifts. And then everything goes still.

…too still.

All you can do is lie there. Stiff. Acutely, helplessly aware of him. But it’s dark — mercifully dark — and thank god for that, because you don’t think you could survive seeing his face right now. Not this close. Not after that. Not with your own invitation still echoing back at you like something you’d like to physically retrieve out of thin air.

“Soooo…” he mumbles, fingers tapping the mattress. “Um… for the record, this is like… significantly nicer than my original arrangement. Way less marble.”

Despite the nerves, his words loosen a laugh from your chest. “…yeah? Well, good,” you mutter, tugging the blanket a little higher. “Because honestly, the level of commitment you were showing that floor was a little concerning.”

He chuckles. “True, true.” And suddenly, you can hear the lazy stretch of a grin in his voice. “Buuuut I mean… I wasn’t about to lose our first fight—not as your boyfriend.”

Your breath catches. “W-Wow…” You huff like that’ll cover it. “You—um… got real comfortable with that word fast,” you mutter, trying for dry and missing by a mile.

A low hum. “I'm a committed man. What can I say?” and his voice is all smug velvet and sleep-rough warmth. “Mmm… I kinda like the sound of it, actually.”

The words land lower than they should. Because that should not sound as good as it does.

“D-Don’t… don’t say it like that,” you stammer.

The mattress dips.

“Mm?” he whispers. “…well, how else should I say it, princess?”

…

Fake.

Fake boyfriend.

The word lands somewhere quiet and ugly under your ribs, and all at once the warmth of the bed feels strange against your skin. Because that's what this is. What it has to be. A role. A weekend. A lie with soft edges and an expiration date. And…

“Just—nevermind…” you mutter, shoving it down, repositioning your pillow. “Laying in a bed with my boss was not really on my bingo card for this trip. Or finding out halfway through it, apparently.”

He scoffs. “I’m not your boss. My dad’s your boss.” A humorless breath leaves you. “Yeah? Well, that is not as comforting a distinction as you think it is, Gojo, when your name is still on my—”

“—Satoru,” he corrects softly.

You blink into the dark.

“Wait. Sorry… what?”

A small huff leaves him, almost annoyed, almost something softer. “It’s just…” he grumbles, shifting against the sheets, “I like it a lot better when you call me Satoru…” And even without seeing him, you can hear it.

Is he… pouting?

The fabric rustles again as he shifts. “Look…” he says after a beat, and the teasing has gone out of his voice now. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just…” He exhales through his nose. “I didn’t think hearing my last name would make you start acting like I was suddenly somebody else...?”

Your lashes flutter as he scoots closer, and this time, your breath catches. Because a thin line of moonlight slips through the curtains, cutting across the bed just enough to catch him there. The loose fall of white hair over his forehead, the softened line of his mouth, the pale blue of his eyes gone dim and almost silver in the dark.

“And…” His voice lowers, softer now. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I liked just being Satoru to you..." Those blue eyes dip to your lips, just for a second, before lifting back to yours. His breath hitches.

“Y’know I’m still me… right?” He whispers.

As his breath fans across your face, you feel fingers slipping over yours, careful enough to feel like a question, and your pulse does something wild. Because for one suspended second, he doesn’t look real. He looks like something half-dreamed.

Beautiful.

“Right…” you breathe, the word thin. “I know that, and… I-I’m sorry for lashing out at you earlier. I just… I wasn’t expecting any of this, and then everything at the airport and—and god—and then my mom and—"

The words are tumbling out now, too fast, too loose, and even in the dark you feel laid open by them. Bare in a way that makes you want to snatch every one back. Because there he is, looking at you with that same unbearable patience, thumb brushing over the back of your hand in slow, absent strokes, his mouth tipped in a smile so soft it almost feels private.

…yours.

And that’s what’s terrifying. He feels like something you could lean into. Like warmth can be simple. Unconditional. Real.

But…

Nothing in your life has ever taught you how to lean into warmth without waiting for the condition beneath it. Without turning it over, looking for the fine print. So, perhaps that’s why, when his thumb brushes over your hand again, you pull away.

And his frown is instant.

“I-I…” Your eyes squeeze shut as you clear your throat. “Sorry.” The word comes out frayed. “I want you to know I appreciate you doing this. Genuinely. But…” You swallow hard around the ache pressing at the base of your throat. “Tomorrow is it.”

The room goes so quiet you can hear the air conditioning hum.

His brow furrows, pushing himself up on his elbow. “Um… what are you saying?” He scoffs, lips pulling into a disbelieving grin. “I don’t understand. Why are you acting like everything—”

“—after this is over,” you blurt, chest rising. “You can just—forget all this happened, okay?” And your voice thins. Blinking back tears, your eyes flick away. “That’s it. You’ll forget about me. You go back to your life. I go back to mine. Just like we agreed and—”

“—I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

Your eyes glance back from the hurt in his voice, and somehow that only makes it worse. Because...

Why?

Why does he have to look at you like that?

You exhale shakily. “I think we both need sleep more than we need this conversation, so…” The blanket is already up at your chin by the time the words leave you. “Let’s… leave it at that. Okay? I’m exhausted," you whisper. "Goodnight, Satoru.”

Shifting away, you roll onto your side before he can say anything else, before he can make this harder than it already is. The bed gives with a quiet creak behind you.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

And you lie there, holding yourself rigid, as if that could undo the part of you that almost turned back.

Still. Despite how tired you are… sleep feels impossible.

a/n. oof. sorry for leaving you on the angst 😭 but this felt like the right place to split it so part 3 can be fully wedding-focused. tysm for reading! i'm blown away by all your support. he's literally so patient and attentive, whaaa. i wanna eat him up 😭

“Please! I promise you that I won’t be too much trouble! I’ll just walk behind. You guys won’t even notice me there.”

You sigh, turning around to face a customer. You hand them their coffee, saying a quick bye before turning around to face Mai.

“Now you’re just starting to sound like a stalker. If you really want to go with us, just come.”

You check the orders, twisting in place to grab another large cup. You can see the way Mai’s eyes light up at your words, her mouth curling up into a relieved smile. 

You knew she liked Eom Seonghyeon for a while, her crush dating back since her first day of middle school.

She had always been too shy to say anything, but now that you were in the first year of high school, she had decided it was finally time to ‘make a move’.

“Really? Thank you! Oh my gosh what am I going to do…” she jumps around, almost squealing in excitement.

“You can start by pumping the fucking caramel.”

The next day, Mai invites you to her house, telling you that she was stressed and needed more help than ever.

“Which shirt should I wear?”

She holds up two, a pretty pink polo and a white long sleeve.

“Just layer the pink over the white, it’s gonna be cold out anyway.” You yawn, relaxing into her bed.

“But, I want him to offer me his jacket…” she pouts.

“Then wear the pink one, if you’re really that desperate.” The last part earned you a slap to your shoulder.

“Whatever.” She turns back around, switching through her hangers for a few moments before holding up two skirts. 

“What skirt should I wear?” 

You mentally slapped your forehead, realising it was going to be a long morning.

She ended up wearing a pink button up, paired with a short denim skirt you picked out from the depths of her closet. She had even sprayed the citrus perfume that he had once called nice.

“Do you think he’ll think I’m cute?”

“Mhm, and with this outfit he’ll also get down on one knee and propose to you.” You remarked dryly, scrolling through whatever text messages Seonghyeon had sent now.

Today 11:34 am

Priss/prick

when are u comingggg

bro people keep staring at me

are you sure my fit doesn’t look weird?

you know ive just stopped trying with my fits now

You

Why tf are u typing with ur caps off

Ik damn well u don’t know how to turn auto cap off

Are u doing it manually like a loser?

Priss/prick

Shut up

Also finally u responded

What took u so long

You

Js wait

Mai is coming w us

Priss/prick

Your friend?

Why is she coming?

I js wanted it to be us two

You scrunch your nose at his words.

You

Broski watch ur words

We are NOT a couple

Priss/prick

Yk damn well that’s not what I meant

Wtv js hurry uppp

I keep getting Grandma’s come up to me and ask if I want to date their granddaughters

You

Maybe they js feel bad bc u look so ugly

Priss/prick

Sybau

You chuckle, locking your phone and shoving it into your pocket.

“Maiii, are you done yet?” You drawled, walking over to the outside of her door.

“Yes, I just couldn’t find the sambas he told me looked good!” A short moment later, her apartment door finally opens.

You both say a quick goodbye to her parents before walking to the elevator.

“By the wayyy, has he said anything about me coming?” She asks, her eyes filled with hope.

Although you’re not too sure about what she’s expecting.

You shrugged. “Nothing much.”

She deflates a little, pursing her lips.

“Don’t worry about it too much. Just be yourself.” You try to comfort, patting her shoulder gently as the doors open.

She nods, taking a deep breath to reassure herself.

You meet Seonghyeon at a park 20 minutes later.

He had sat on some random picnic table, his long legs crossed over each other. “Finally, what took you guys so long?”

You shrugged and Mai just awkwardly smiled behind you, a pick tinge already at the corners of her ears.

“Hi.” She says.

Seonghyeon stands up and waves at her before staring at you.

“What?”

“I thought Saturdays were just for us two. Why did she have to come?” He doesn’t say it with any malice, his tone light and barely harsh. He just seemed…curious? Maybe confused? 

Your eyebrows connect for a millisecond at his words. He can’t be serious, you think.

“She just wanted to come. Also, be nice to her.” You say, taking a step closer and flicking off some lint on his hoodie. “You’re acting like the whole hangout is ruined just because she came.”

He shrugs at that. “I’m not saying it’s ruined.”

“Then why do you keep asking me why she came?”

You don’t realise how close his face is until you make eye contact. His eyes almost soften as they look down into yours, or maybe you’re just imagining things. 

“I just like it better when it’s us two.”

The hangout went as well as you expected it to.

Although it had a rocky start, with a few uneasy silences and awkward comments, by the end of it everyone was laughing.

He had even offered her his hoodie when it got colder, an action that made her almost as red as Martin when he was embarrassed. 

He also treated her to açai, buying her a bowl and when you had visited a cafe after, he had opened her water bottle for her.

She had gushed all about it after, pacing around in her room in happiness.

“And he even knew the sidewalk rule! Gosh, he’s just so…perfect!” She says, plopping down onto her bed and smiling. 

She grabs her plushie and lays down next to you, staring at the ceiling as she probably recalled the whole day once more.

You had been scrolling on your phone the whole time, responding to her sentences with various hums.

“He’s just so nice! And handsome, and cute…”

“You gonna name him the whole dictionary of nouns?”

She hits you with the plushie, turning on her side to face you.

“Say, how come you never liked him?”

The question makes you furrow your eyebrow. You look over at her, her curious eyes looking right at you.

“Well, I mean I’d never thought of him that way before.”

“Reallyyy? You can tell me anything, I won’t be mad.” She says, but you can see the way her hands tighten around the plushie, the twitch of her jaw telling you that she was nervous to hear what you had to say.

You sigh. What have you gotten yourself into? “Don’t worry, it’s not like I’d catch feelings for him anytime soon.”

The first time you had met Eom Seonghyeon was on the first day of middle school.

It wasn’t anything special, just an assigned seat in math class.

At first he was quiet.

He didn’t talk much, and he was quite shy.

Others would even tease him, calling him a princess because of how his demeanour and looks were.

You didn’t really care about that though, just as long as he wasn’t a snitch.

You would try to say hi every morning, trying to at least be polite.

After a week of awkward conversation, you had both finally started getting comfortable around each other.

You would both offer the other a snack snuck in through your bags, give each other answers, and even laugh at the most stupid jokes together.

A month after you had met, you went over to his place to meet his parents for the first time.

They were nice to you, offering you food and making sure you never went without a drink. His younger sister also quite liked you, discussing and watching dramas with you, something she had called ‘the intellectual’s talk’.

You found yourselves talking more outside of math class, even sitting together in classes you hadn’t before.

Then when you started working at your parents cafe, he started showing up there. You would mess around with him during breaks, sometimes even taking bites out of his food. When things got too crazy, he would come behind the counter just to help you out.

“So when can I apply to actually work here? You know I won’t be doing free labour forever–“

“Hyeon, I’m going to smack you if you ask that question one more time.”

When he started swimming, you would show up to his practices, timing his laps and giving him towels when he needed. Some of his club members would even joke that you were like a housewife, except after a few weeks of ass-beating, they stopped calling you that.

During his meets you would cheer the loudest for him, even resorting to buying a megaphone just to yell his name out.

It wasn’t really helping your reputation, but you just thought that was what friends were supposed to do.

You met Mai during your second year.

You hadn’t exactly planned to become friends with her. You were polite when you needed to be, but never nice enough to say you wanted to be ‘best friends’.

But then she started getting bullied.

You had caught them in an alley close to the school.

They had been kicking at her, making her curl up into a ball.

You had run in, grabbing one of the beer bottles off the floor and smashing it against the walls.

They had run off quickly after that, scared that you would actually hurt them.

She looked scared and her lip had been bleeding. You walked her home, carrying her bag and making sure she was alright.

The day after that, she started sticking around you more. She sat close to you and Seonghyeon during recess, even following you around until she reached her class.

At that point you just decided to become friends with her.

She told you about her crush a couple months later, saying that she saw him sitting next to you at the back of the classroom and thought he was the prettiest guy she had ever seen.

Now here she was, sending him love eyes from across the cafeteria.

He sat right in the middle next to Martin and Keonho, two guys he met through swimming. James and Juhoon sat across from them, both eating silently as the three bickered over something else.

She sighs wistfully, staring at him like he was a work of art. “Do you think he ever thinks about me?”

“No.” You had said immediately.

She smacked your shoulder, making you rub the spot she hit.

“Just tell him you like him already. The worst thing he could say is no.”

“See that’s what you think! I just want to get closer with him. Like how close you two are!”

You turn, raising an eyebrow at her statement.

You think about it for a moment. How close were you two? You never thought of being ‘best friends’ with him, but you were close enough that you could probably show up to his place unannounced and he wouldn’t even care.

You shake your head, pressing your lips into a thin line. “I don’t think we’re as close as you think we are…”

“Well how close do you think you are? Because back when I first started having a crush on him, I thought you two were like, close to dating already.” She reaches over your lunch, taking a few bites out of your sandwich.

“I wouldn’t say we’re close, but we’re not exactly strangers either.”

“So what would you call yourselves?”

You look back over at him. He’s laughing at another joke when he catches your gaze, his eyes staring right back at you. He waves at you before turning back around and talking to his friends.

You look back at Mai, who seems to be finishing up the sandwich now.

“Casual. I’d say we’re casual friends.”

“You think we’re casual?” Seonghyeon asks. 

He sits in front of you, tilting his head against the train window.

Your parents had both decided to go on a strawberry picking trip together, saying that they all needed to try something new. Much to your disappointment, his little sister was at a sleepover, so it was just you two.

You hadn’t told him about Mai’s crush, but you did bring up the topic of what you had been talking about.

“Is that how you see it?”

He shakes his head, looking out the window now. “I did think we were a little more than that though.”

“Really? What did you think we were?” You’re not sure why you asked that, knowing that some part of that question could have alluded to something more.

He seems to think for a moment before sitting up, staring at the train ceiling.

“I don’t know. A lot of the stuff we do together are things that best friends would do, and sometimes we grow a little too distant but still come back to each other.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, thinking about his next words. “We talk, at least once everyday even though we’re not in the same classes anymore, but we also went through that period where we just didn’t have the time to be close, but we understood each other enough to know that we didn’t mean to hurt each other.”

You stare at him as he speaks, the way his lips form different shapes to speak, the way his eyebrows twitch as he recalls all the memories, the way his hair falls over his eyes as he moves around. 

You realise that everything he says is true.

To say it simply, you had stopped talking for about three months in your last year of middle school.

It wasn’t anything abrupt, and it wasn’t like you guys had some big argument.

You just stopped.

He stopped sending you those nonsense reels and you stopped calling him.

It wasn’t like you guys had been rude or said something unforgivable.

You were both just really burnt out.

The cafe wasn’t doing well and he kept getting injuries that prevented him from swimming.

He kept getting some type of shoulder and neck pain, which prevented him from doing his events, while your parents kept struggling to pay the cafe bills.

You ended up having to take a few other jobs around town, getting one at a record store and another cafe.

It started off small, with missed calls and texts. Sometimes you would both leave the other on read, too tired to respond back. 

After a while, Mai found it awkward to choose between sides.

“So don’t. You don’t have to stick around either of us–you have other friends.”

You don’t know what caused you to say that. You had smacked your hand over your mouth, and had apologised immediately after. She knew you didn’t mean it in a bad way, you had just said it in a bad manner.

She knew you were too stressed and tired to care, so she ended up taking your advice just to make it easier.

You still feel bad months later, but it ended up helping her as she actually began to put herself out there more, even hanging out with girls she had once told you terrified her because they were so pretty.

The interactions with Seonghyeon before the break were just filled with ‘sorry for missing out’ or whatever favors your parents needed from the other. You two just got too busy to keep each other in your lives, so you let go of it.

You remember his last message before the break being ‘See you.’

The odd thing about it was that you didn’t miss him at all during the three months.

You were too focused on trying to keep things at your jobs together while also keeping up with your studies.

It didn’t feel awkward seeing him at school, but it didn’t exactly feel comfortable either. 

He didn’t disappear from your life. His presence was still there, just quieter. 

You didn’t wave to each other like you always did, instead just making eye contact before looking away. 

You remember the day you had reconnected.

The cafe was doing well again, and your parents could even hire another person to work so you didn’t have to. You didn’t hear much about him, maybe a few updates from Mai, saying that he was doing really well in swimming now.

You had just been sitting around your room, watching some random show when your phone started vibrating.

It was a facetime call from Seonghyeon.

The photo that popped up was an old baby polaroid of him, something that his parents had shown you last year. You had forgotten you had set it to that picture, remembering his protests about it.

You didn’t know how to feel.

You weren’t shocked, but you weren’t upset either.

Were you happy? Overjoyed? You didn’t know.

You simply swiped to answer, as if you didn’t just spend weeks not talking. 

You find his face staring back. 

You recognised the swim lockers behind him, but that wasn’t the point.

He held up a gold medal, smiling stupidly as Keonho and Martin cheered behind him. Water was still dripping down the sides of his hair, the pink towel you had always brought for him now wrapped around his neck.

“I won.”

Back to the present, you sit down on a wooden bench in the shade, fanning yourself as hot air blows past.

Your parents all had scattered across the field, both your mothers taking pictures almost everywhere. Your fathers had decided to do a little bet, something about who could pick the most.

A few school kids ran around the bushes, playing some random game and even seeing who could pick the biggest berry. Their yellow hats peeked out just above, the bright sun shining down on the plastic.

You stared at the ground, watching some ants crawl across the dirt.

“What are you thinking about?”

You hear his voice behind you before something cold is pressed against your neck, making you flinch.

You turn, staring at him in annoyance.

“Where did you even get that?”

Seonghyeon opens the soda one handed, giving it over to you while sitting down.

“Receptionist? I don’t know what it’s called but there was a vending machine where you had to sign up.”

You hum in acknowledgment, taking a quick sip.

“How many strawberries did you pick?”

“Like 30? I gave them to my mum though, I’ve no idea what she did with them.” You shrugged. “What about you? How many did you pick?”

“Hmm, 40? I just picked whichever ones looked good. I think my mum wants to make a jam out of it.”

“Is she on a baking spree again?”

The conversation flowed easily after that. 

The topic went from school to work, swimming to basketball. After that, you both decided to walk through the fields, taking photos off of the digital camera he bought you last spring. 

Although for some reason he ended up taking more pictures of you than himself.

Weird, but you didn’t question it.

After about an hour, you returned back to your parents, only to see a frantic woman screaming out some kid's name.

“Wooju! Wooju! Where are you?” Her voice echoed across the farm, making a few other visitors turn their heads. Her voice was hoarse and starting to crack, clearly tired from how many times she had probably called out for the kid.

20 kids were already around her, calling out Wooju’s name with their shrill voices. A few were even starting to cry, their wails becoming louder than the teacher.

Your dads had decided to help the lady, while also dragging you two along. A few of the other visitors ended up looking as well, along with a bunch of other teachers from different schools.

You and Seonghyeon walked to the far edges of the farm, calling out the kid’s name.

Your voices echoed right after the other, the calls becoming much more intense as the search went on.

“He can’t have gone into the forest, right?”

“Don’t jinx it. Let’s just keep our search in the field and if we’re really desperate, we’ll go into the forest.”

After a few minutes, the sky had started to go dark. The previously blue skies were now turning into a muddled orange.

Luckily your mother’s had brought flashlights, so you and Seonghyeon had delved deeper into the fields while sticking closely together.

At this point, a whole search party was out for the kid.

Farmers from across the town were all in the field, along with a few big helpers who decided to go into the edges of the forest in case the kid had really gone that far.

After a few minutes of searching with Seonghyeon, both of you stared into the forest close by. The forest looked way darker than it was this morning, looking more like a horror film set rather than a peaceful painting.

“Should we check?” You had asked out of worry for the small boy.

“It wouldn’t hurt.”

You didn’t want to seem scared in front of him, so you hardened your resolve and walked forward. You stood in front of it, the fence only reaching your thigh. It felt forbidden to cross, but you bring your leg over, pushing yourself onto your arms and landing on the other side.

He hopped over the fence right after you, staying very close to you in case something happened. You both walked tentatively, cautiously looking around for anything that even looked slightly dangerous.

You couldn’t hear anything from the fields, and the ground in front of you was starting to get darker. The trees were starting to get denser as well, the path now only able to fit three people.

You were a little scared, but you tried to push it down, knowing that the kid was probably more scared than you.

You took another step forward, bringing your flashlight anywhere in front of you. You could only recognise the sound of your breathing and the faint crunch of the leaves underneath your shoes.

“Hey..” 

You flinched at hearing Seonghyeon’s voice so close to you. In the silence, you realised your heart started beating against your chest loudly, adrenaline and fear raging through your body.

“What?”

Your tone came out a little brash, sounding harsher than you meant it to be.

He didn’t seem to care, just sighed and switched over his flashlight to his right hand.

“Hold my arm.”

“Huh?”

You couldn’t process what he had said properly until he held out his arm, offering it to you.

“If it makes you feel safer, hold my arm.”

You were about to refuse until a cold breeze blew in, the darkness around you starting to seem much more clearer than before. The branches rustle all around you, the trees suddenly feeling much, much bigger. You hear crows cawing out far away from you, but it’s loud enough that it sends you shivers up your spine.

“Fine.”

You wrapped your hand around his arm, the fabric of his long sleeve soft and warm.

This doesn’t mean anything. You thought to yourself.

Mai was the one who liked him, not you.

Every step you took forward made you feel more nervous than the last, but at least you knew Seonghyeon would be next to you the whole time.

It’s not that his presence comforted you–

Well, maybe it did.

But, maybe it was more like ‘if something happened you could just push him as bait and run away’ type of comfort.

“Wooju?”

You had called out, trying to hear anything else other than your thunderstorm of a heartbeat.

“Wooju!” Seonghyeon had echoed, looking over to the left.

It’s too quiet.

You want to turn back, but the image of a little boy curling up and crying pushes you forward. You can’t imagine how scared he must be–you just hope that he’s okay.

“Hello?”

The small voice comes from the left, interrupting your thoughts.

You both turn immediately, finding a yellow hat peek out from behind a tree.

Two eyes pop out as well, their pupils dilating as you immediately point the flashlight in towards that direction.

“You were saying my name.”

You immediately let go of Seonghyeon, rushing over to the kid and making sure he was okay.

You look all over him, seeing if there were any injuries. You see a giant red smear on his calf, calling Seonghyeon to come over as well.

Wooju notices your gaze, looking down at his legs. “That’s just strawberries; Kana rubbed all of us with it!” He had laughed out, giving both of you a toothy smile.

You notice the top part of his gum bleeding, immediately making you lean back down.

“What happened here?” You pointed at it, making sure he was comfortable with you pulling his lip up.

“I bit into a really big strawberry and lost my tooth! It’s in my pocket-wait,” the small boy rustles around his short’s pockets, digging through whatever trinkets he had in there.

“Here!” He pulls the large strawberry out–almost deformed with the ridges and leaves at the top. Stuck right in the middle is a small tooth, the dried residue of blood staining the part that was attached to his gum.

You look at Seonghyeon, who also looked relieved but also exasperated.

“My mummy said that the tooth fairy gives you more money for bigger teeth!”

Seonghyeon snorts, pushing his free hand into his pocket. “Oh actually the tooth fairy isn’t–“ you kick the back of Seonghyeon’s leg before he could say anything.

“That’s very sweet Wooju. Now, has she also told you that you shouldn’t go into forests without anyone with you?” You try to say in a soft voice, reminding yourself that you were still in the forest where anything could happen. 

You already knew that Seonghyeon was probably making fun of you behind your back, probably pretending to gag at your soft act.

Wooju frowns, a pouty expression now on his face. “The lady said we could go anywhere!”

“Right. Well, you have to go back now.”

“No!” He shakes his head, crossing his arms over his puffed out chest.

You sigh before Seonghyeon steps in front of you, leaning down just enough so that he’s the kid's height. “Do it or we’ll feed you to the wolves.”

“Do you think Seonghyeon likes me back?”

You wake up to hearing those exact words, already having regretted opening your eyes.

“Shut up.”

You turn, begging for sleep to take you back, only for the windows to be abruptly opened.

You groaned, opening your eyes and finding Mai’s silhouette standing right next to the bed.

“Can you please help me?”

You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow and rubbing your eyelids. You notice from the corner of your eyes that she starts to pace around the room, her hands scrunching the hem of her skirt.

“I really like him, but I realised last night that he barely knows me!” She sighs.

“I know he’s probably just being nice, but I really do like him! And I don’t want to be confused about anything when I’m with him, so can you help me?”

“No.”

You turn, about to cover yourself in your blankets when she rips them off of you, the covers thudding against the floor.

“Please! Even if it ends in rejection, I still want to try!”

You sighed, staring at the ceiling. “If I help you, can you give me my covers back?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

You sit up properly, watching as she almost jumps at you.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

She smiles, her eyes sparkling in excitement.

“So, what’s the first step I should take?”

You get off your bed, grabbing your covers and folding them onto the bed. “Well, first, I’m gonna tell him that all three of us should hang out, and then I’ll pretend to cancel so that you two can get some alone time.”

“If that’s your plan, couldn’t I just ask him to hang out?”

“Well, are you going to ask him?”

She thinks about it for a moment before shaking her head, her lips pressed into a thin line of embarrassment.

“So, is that it?”

“Yep.” You say, popping the ‘p’ a little too loud. “I’ll text him and say we’ll be going to the mall.”

“But what if he gets suspicious?”

“I said don't look!” Seonghyeon hisses, grabbing his uncle’s shoulder and facing away from the girl—you. “She keeps looking at me. I think she knows we're fire nation.”

His uncle takes another glance at you and continues pouring steaming jasmine tea into a porcelain cup. He graces a small, knowing smile.

“Seonghyeon, I've seen that girl coming to our shop for a couple weeks now,” his uncle remarks, lifting the teapot as the cup fills to the brim. “I think she likes you.”

Seonghyeon looks at his uncle with an expression nothing short of mortified. He's thankful for the usually irritating bustles of the shop, for they're the only thing keeping him from going beet red and losing it. Seonghyeon spares another look at you, regretting it immediately when you make direct eye contact with him.

He regrets it even more when you take one final sip from your teacup and place it down—standing up from your table and walking over to the front counter. Directly towards him. His eyes subconsciously trace the fabric of your clothes, how they sway with each step as you stalk closer and closer. He looks away and pretends to be busy with stacking teacups.

“Hello,” you say gently, catching the attention of both him and his uncle. You lean a hand on the counter. “I hate to come off as blunt, but I was wondering if I could get your name?”

Seonghyeon rarely ever feels like a nervous wreck. But for some reason, he finds himself developing sweaty hands and a racing heart awaiting your arrival.

His uncle ironed out clothes just for this date, combed his hair, and gave him a flower to give to you. A pink carnation.

A beautiful flower for a beautiful girl, his uncle had told him.

Seonghyeon's still in slight disbelief of all the things that happened following your inquiry of his name. How you shyly asked if he would go out with you, how his uncle enthusiastically agreed on his behalf, how he felt his cheeks turn slightly pink when he saw you smile and waved him goodbye.

He feels that familiar pink blush begin to surface when he spots you rounding the corner to meet him at the front of the tea shop, just like you had agreed earlier in the day. His heart skips once again when you beam at him.

“Oh! You look nice, Seonghyeon. Very handsome,” you remark. His heart races at the compliment, against his will.

He doesn't know what to say back. His hands fidget at his sides while you look at him with a smile so pretty that he's quite literally lost for words.

“Will you walk with me?” You ask, rhetorically. “There's a spot I want to show you. It's my favorite place in town.”

Your hand loops around his arm, lightly tugging him forward without waiting for a response.

“This place, oh Seonghyeon, it's beautiful! Just wait until you see it,” you proclaim. He admires the expression your face makes accompanying your words.

Seonghyeon's hyper-aware of the warmth your hand leaves on his arm, still very much holding on. It makes him remember the flower in his robe pocket—the one meant for you.

“The water reflects the lights that encircle it,” you continue. “And it's just so…ethereal.”

“Hm,” He says in response.

“Oh, enough about me, though. Tell me about you, Seonghyeon.”

He glances toward you before looking ahead. He's walking extremely slow to match your pace, the walk becoming a brisk one as your hand remains fixed on his upper arm.

I'm a liar. I'm from the fire nation. I'm not the earth kingdom boy you think I am. I hail from a land of destruction and empires. I could never be the boy you need me to be.

“I…” Seonghyeon doesn't know what to say. He could lie. Say that he's lived in the Earth Kingdom all his life. Tell you lies and lies to protect himself.

But something about you, the way you're looking at him, makes him unable to do that. Your eyes, your sweet, curious, gorgeous eyes, looking into his.

“I've been very close to my uncle my whole life. We've always done everything together.”

“That's sweet,” you reply. “I can tell he cares for you.”

And I've found myself caring for you, sweet girl.

“Wait,” Seonghyeon halts his steps, prompting you to do the same. Your hand drops from his arm as you face him fully. “I have something for you.”

“Really?” You smile. “What?”

“Uh…close your eyes.”

You raise an eyebrow skeptically, before closing them. Seonghyeon watches the flutter of your flashes as they close.

He takes out the carnation from his robes, holding the stem delicately. He's never been one to have such a gentle touch. Yet for you…

His calloused hand takes your soft one. His fingers place the stem in your hand.

“You can open them now,” He whispers.

Your eyes flutter back open. Your head tilts down, looking at the pink flower in your hand. You turn it in your hands.

“Oh, Seonghyeon,” you gush. “This is—it'so beautiful!”

A beautiful flower for a beautiful girl, he thinks.

He finds himself unable to look away from you as the most gorgeous smile adorns your lips, and how you look back up at him like he's more than…everything he's run away from.

“Ok,” you step closer. “Now it's your turn to close your eyes.”

Seonghyeon closes his eyes. He hears your soft giggle. A breathy laugh he wants to hear again and again.

And then it happens. Your lips on his. A sweetness that fills all his senses.

He can feel your hand lightly grab the fabric of his robes, the way you tilt your head.

His arms come around your waist to deepen the kiss, eyes still closed—as if opening them will break the magic of this moment.

The magic of you.

divider by @uzmacchiato !

taglist @mbella607 @one-chance-pls @notesbyeliza @09zpzkeonnss @jiyeons-closet @yunjiiin @jesmightjumptmr @kisscortis @uhbuhhbuhbbhu @cjrnctzenforlife @vanillakirstein @jellywichu @nevernowsa @heesunglover @clemenzzz @lovhyeon @camdenlou @lcvehyeon @realseanshady @yu-sofan @lunaryoongie @dearlyhyeon @fleuriins

You did venture quite far though—the sea was a good mile outside of the village huts. Technically you were still in village territory, though technicalities were always more complicated with girls than they were with anyone else.

Apparently, you ventured out so far that you ran into a mysterious stranger lying in the snow, someone who clearly didn't belong.

Your boots crunched in the snow as you stepped closer to the lying down person. The symbols embroidered on their clothing became visible with the proximity.

Fire Nation.

Shit. Wha—how? Whatever, it didn't matter, you needed to get back to the village, alarm the elders—

Cough. Cough.

The Fire Nation soldier shifted slightly from the position they were in. Instead of laying on their stomach, they were now turned to the side, the helmet atop their head askew.

This had to be a fucking joke.

Slowly, so slowly it felt menacing, the soldier got up. You could tell by now that it was a man—his face was visible underneath his helmet, he was tall and muscular even with the fire Nation regalia somewhat covering his body shape.

You had not moved an inch. You were still standing in the crunch of snow and ice a couple feet away, hands by your sides. Your eyes darted around the landscape, unsure of what to do.

It was fascinating how much you felt like prey, despite being the one to have found this soldier passed out in the snow. It was fascinating how much the power of an enemy could weaken your own. How quickly you went from being the hunter to the hunted.

The fire Nation man had not yet seen you, as he took off his helmet entirely and shook the snow out of his hair with a gloved hand.

Shit, shit, shit, you thought. Move, do something, anything.

Rookie mistake.

You took a step backward, completely forgetting that the fresh snow still retained its audible crunch.

The sound made the soldier whip his head around, and if you didn't feel like a deer with a target on your face before, you sure did now.

There was a brief moment of eye contact between the two of you. If you hadn't seen the fire Nation symbols on his uniform, you still would've been able to tell by the fiery gaze he held.

Fear rushed back into you, and your instincts told you to run.

So you ran.

“W-Wait!” You heard the clang of his metal armor as he ran after you. “I'm not going to hurt you!”

You picked up the pace, but the depth of the snow and ice made it exceptionally harder.

You're not sure how much you ran and how far you'd gone, but you could still hear the sounds of heavy footsteps and rustling clothes chasing after you.

You looked back.

And tripped.

Flat on your face.

Fuck.

You heaved a sigh, your exhale visible in the cold air, your breath shaky. Your hands shook as you slowly, very very slowly, turned around on the ground, seeing the Fire Nation man tower over you menacingly.

You were sitting up now, palms digging into the cold Earth.

The man knelt down in front of you.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” He whispered.

Up close, you had a much better view of his features.

His short, brown hair was tousled—slightly wet from the snow. His jawline was chiseled, features all extremely defined, eyes softened but still containing the heat of a Fire Nation soldier.

You backed away on your palms, albeit ungracefully.

“Hey, wait,” the man said. “Please.”

“Get away from me!” you yelled.

“I promise, I'm not going to hurt you.”

The Fire Nation and their awful, empty promises.

“Stay back!” You got back up on your feet.

The soldier kneeled down on the snow, putting his hands up in the air. He looked up at you with the eyes of a man not lying, but of one pleading.

“Please,” He begged, softer. “There was a storm at sea. I have no idea where the rest of my crew is. Don't leave me here.”

“Why should I listen to you? You bear the regalia of an invader! Of a monster!” Your voice echoed through the empty winter landscape.

“I'm,” his voice shook. “I'm not a monster. I'm not like them.”

Curse this man. Curse the way he begged for mercy, from you of all people, who couldn't kill him if you tried. Curse the way that the soldier of the enemy was making you want to…believe.

“Who even are you?”

“James,” there was a small glimmer of hope in his eye. “Zhao James.”

Zhao?

“Are you…related to the admiral?”

James swallowed. His left brown eye twitched the slightest bit.

Ah. So he was.

“How am I to believe you're not like the rest when everything I've seen and learned in the past five minutes seems to contradict that?”

“I…” his voice trailed off.

You noticed from your position now standing up that only one of his hands was gloved. The other remained seemingly unharmed from the snow. To keep his extremities warm, though, he would have to be a…

Firebender.

“Please.” He bowed down completely, touching his head to the ice and making a prayer with his hands. “I beg you.”

You made a small motion with your hands, bending a ball of snow. You then squared out your fingers, making the snow hit him in the face.

His body flinched at the sudden blow of water.

“Get up.”

“Wha–”

“Get. Up.”

James lifted his head. He got up from his previous position and took a knee, before fully standing up.

“Thank you, thank y–”

“Don't thank me.”

What were you even doing, helping the enemy? The people who attacked your sister tribe, the ones who killed your father in battle?

You stepped closer to James. The proximity was close—way too close—but you paid it no mind.

“I'm not helping you because I care, I'm helping because I believe you. I believe what you say even though every bone in my body is telling me not to.”

James looked at you with an unreadable expression.

“Thank you.” His deep timbre came out in a soft whisper. You didn't want to admit the way it made you feel.

You took a step diagonally, so you were beside him instead of in front, and pushed his back with your hand. He let out a small grunt.

“You're feisty.”

“You talk a lot.”

James grinned and began walking.

“So…you're a waterbender?”

You nodded.

“Surprised you didn't try to impale me at the sight of me.”

You scoffed. “They don't teach people like me those types of things.”

He seemed like he wanted to say something, inquire further probably, but resolved with staying quiet.

“Don't think I didn't notice you're a firebender.”

James stopped walking. “You're observant.”

“And you're even more of a threat. I shouldn't be helping you right now.”

“But you are.”

You weren't even sure what to do with him. If you were to take him back to the village, they would surely put him in the prison. But you definitely couldn't wait for Admiral Zhao, to whom he was presumably related, to come to your shores and find him.

Taking him back to the village was the best option, as imprisoning him would be a much better option than waiting for Fire Nation soldiers to come bumbling to your doorstep.

“Where are you taking me?”

Part 2...maybe??