being on the school's yearbook team came with a lot of perks. one being, if you have a hallway crush—you can snap a picture of them with no question. the other bonus of that being, the picture is as clear as day. “hey can I get a picture of you?” you’d say, flashing your badge with a soft smile. the downside? having to interview sports teams. the tigers soccer team had been on a winning streak all season, with that being the case—you and two other members were the one assigned with interviewing 3 players. unfortunately, you were assigned to eom seonghyeon, anton lee, and sophomore player louis lim. It was unfortunate really, you had no problem with anton and louis. seonghyeon was your problem.

the sun was beaming down, it smelled like feet, and the bleachers were hurting your butt; you have NEVER wanted to go home more. “could you end practice faster so I can get home before the sun goes down?” you check your imaginary watch, your entire face was screwed up staring at the boy in front of you whose face was just as scrunched up. he turned his head to you slowly, “don't be crass, be patient.” he groaned at you, rolling his eyes. “I’m trying but I’m getting bit up by mosquitoes and it's 1000 degrees out,” you argue, you thought for a minute at his choice of words. “crass? Do you even know what that means?” your head turned to the side. Your tone suggested you thought he was stupid.

“would you rather I call you an ass? be patient.” he bites back. running back to the field without waiting for a response from you.

he was the last and most important interview you had to get—and the hardest. you didn't understand why his sister or best friend, keonho, couldn't do it, they were also on yearbook, but they insisted you did it. so here you are now, sitting under the sun, watching sweaty boys run around with a clunky camera and notepad sitting next to you. you pulled your phone out, it was already 3:47, last period was about to end and you still hadn't gotten your interview. a deep, bored sigh came from your lips. your eyes locked on Seonghyeon as he was running drills repeatedly and spoke to a teammate from time to time.

“hey.” a voice comes from behind you, you recognized the voice from anywhere. “hi nicholas.” you turned your head to the side to see him in your peripheral. he gave you a quick side hug while he moved to sit next to you, getting comfortable on the hard bleachers. “why are you out here?” he furrowed his eyebrows, he hadn't seen the camera next to you. you thought he did so you just pointed out to the field, “sean, I’m waiting for him.” your eyebrow twitched at the thought of sitting out here for even longer just to wait for seonghyeon.

the crease in nicholas’s eyebrows deepened in confusion, “but why–” you cut him off by lifting your camera, his mouth formed into the shape of an ‘O’ while nodding. he checked his actual watch, “class is over. you gonna keep sitting and waiting?”

“yep.” you sighed.

“good luck with that.” he patted your shoulder, a matching sigh comes from his lips. you listened to his footsteps bang against the aluminum become further away until they stopped.

you saw seonghyeon walking towards you, his eyes watching nicholas’s disappearing figure. he was now in a white tank top, sweatpants, and a pair of nike vomeros. he threw his backpack over the railing with a sigh. “you ready?” seonghyeon leaned over the railing, his eyes were panned where Nicholas was sitting. “it’s 4:08.” you quipped, grabbing your things and walking away, expecting him to follow you. “i’m not doing this with you today.” He finally jumped over, catching up to you.

“It’s after school hours, you told me we would be able to do it during your athletic block.” you replied, your voice sharp and annoyed. “dude, i’m sorry, you saw for yourself that coach wasn't letting us go.” he complains, running a hand through his hair. you rolled your eyes, you couldn't be there any longer, you felt like you were gonna explode.

“can we just go somewhere else to do it?” he starts again, breaking the short silence. your head snapped to his, the irritation was visible on your face.

“no.”

“why not? we can get it over with and never deal with it again,” his voice was slightly hoarse from the amount of exercise from his earlier practice, he cleared his throat before continuing. “unless you wanna drag it on and continue seeing me.” he states in a matter of fact tone, making your eyes roll again. a loud groan breaks past your lips as you throw your head back in defeat.

“don't make me regret this.” you mutter, speed walking to your car. you didn't catch it, but his lips twitched up slightly.

after the short instance of back and forth, the two of you ended up in an empty mcdonald's facing each other with matching grimaces. ”let’s get this over with, i’m meeting martin later.” you form your lips into a thin line, watching his face go through about 5 different emotions. “for what?” he chewed on his bottom lip awaiting your response, you picked up this habit from him months ago. “that's not really your business, is it?” your tone was short and clipped, “can we start now?” you pull out your notepad and recording device.

the silence that followed after that click was deafening. “name, position, and grade.” you mumbled, jotting down your name and date on the pad. “you know all of this.” he scoffs, leaning back in the uncomfortable red chair, placing an arm across the other one. “name, position, and grade.” you repeat yourself, raising an eyebrow. he stares at you for a second, sighing. “eom seonghyeon, attacking midfielder, and i’m in the 11th grade.” he answered flatly, sinking further into the plastic mcdonald’s booth. one arm was draped over the backrest while the other toyed with a loose straw wrapper he’d found on the table.

you scribbled the information onto your notepad despite already knowing every answer by heart. the sound of your pen scratching against paper filled the silence for a moment. “favorite part of this season?” you kept your eyes trained on the page, refusing to look up at him. if you did, you’d probably get annoyed all over again.

“winning.” seonghyeon replied immediately. he didn’t even pretend to think about it, his answer coming out with a lazy shrug of his shoulders. your pen paused, slowly, you lifted your head. “you gonna elaborate on that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. the disbelief was obvious in your voice.

“no.” he shook his head once before reaching for his drink. the corner of his mouth twitched as he took a sip, like he was enjoying making your job harder. a long sigh escaped your nose. “wonderful. really insightful stuff.” you muttered, writing his answer down anyway.

“thank you.” seonghyeon nodded solemnly. the fake sincerity on his face lasted all of three seconds before it cracked. “favorite teammate?” you asked quickly, determined to keep the interview moving before he could say something else irritating.

“jay.” seonghyeon answered.

“that’s a lie.” you immediately shot back. your eyes narrowed into slits as you leaned back against the booth.

“okay.” he adjusted his answer without missing a beat. “juhoon.” a dry laugh escaped you. “that’s also a lie.” you informed him, clicking your pen repeatedly. “i’ve watched enough practices to know you spend ninety percent of your time attached to jake.”

at the mention of his teammate, seonghyeon rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “you sound obsessed.” he observed, dropping his gaze back to you. “it’s literally my job to observe people.” you argued, gesturing toward the camera sitting beside you. “no.” seonghyeon shook his head. his expression softened into something dangerously close to amused. “you just like arguing with me.” your mouth immediately opened. then closed. then opened again. “i don’t like arguing with you.” you said firmly, crossing your arms over your chest. “okay.” he replied. the single word hung between you.

outside the window, students crossed the parking lot in small groups, heading home for the day. the golden afternoon sunlight poured through the glass, catching against the edge of seonghyeon’s hair. you looked away first, mostly because you hated noticing things like that. “next question.” you cleared your throat, flipping to the next page in your notebook. “what goals do you have for the rest of the season?”

“to win state.” seonghyeon answered. this time there was no sarcasm. his posture straightened slightly, and for the first time all interview his expression turned serious. you nodded as you wrote.

“and after high school?”

“to play college soccer.” he rubbed a hand along the back of his neck before looking out the window briefly. “hopefully somewhere far away.” the tip of your pen froze against the paper. you weren’t sure why those last four words bothered you. hopefully somewhere far away. for a second, neither of you spoke. the silence wasn’t awkward. it was worse, it was familiar. you looked away first.

for some reason, that felt like losing.

“next question.” you cleared your throat. “who’s had the biggest impact on your soccer career?” his eyes didn’t leave yours. you wished they would. “probably you.” your pen slipped across the paper.

“what?” you murmured, finally lifting your head from your notebook. your eyebrows pulled together as you searched his face for any hint that he was joking. “what?” he echoed immediately, sounding genuinely confused by your reaction. his posture straightened slightly in the booth, and the amusement that had been lingering in his expression disappeared.

“don’t do that.” you looked back down at your notes, though your eyes weren’t actually reading any of the words. the tip of your pen hovered over the page, frozen in place. “do what?” seonghyeon asked, leaning forward onto his forearms. his gaze stayed fixed on you, unwilling to let you hide behind your notebook.

“answer seriously.” you replied, your voice coming out sharper than intended. you clicked your pen once before setting it down on the table with a small thud. “i am answering seriously.” he frowned as he said it, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. there wasn’t a trace of teasing in his voice this time. the booth suddenly felt ten times smaller. the loud beeping of the fryers behind the counter and the quiet hum of the air conditioner faded into the background. the only thing you could focus on was the way he was looking at you.

seonghyeon dropped his gaze first. his eyes settled on his hands resting against the tabletop, his fingers absently tracing the edge of a crumpled napkin. “when nobody else came to games, you did.” his voice came out quieter than before. the confidence he’d carried throughout the interview was gone, replaced with something far more vulnerable. he swallowed hard before continuing.

“when i’d get benched sophomore year, you stayed after practice with me.” he let out a humorless laugh under his breath, shaking his head once at the memory. “you sat there for almost two hours while I complained about coach bryant.” your grip tightened around your pen. the plastic creaked faintly beneath your fingers as you stared at the scribbled notes on the page. you hated how vividly you remembered that day.

“we broke up months ago.” you reminded him quietly. the words felt heavier than they should have as they left your mouth. you finally looked up again, meeting his eyes across the table. “i know.” seonghyeon nodded once. his jaw flexed as he looked away toward the window beside your booth. “then why are you bringing this up?” you asked, frustration bleeding into your voice. your arms crossed over your chest as if that could somehow protect you from the conversation. his jaw clenched. a muscle ticked in his cheek as he stared out at the nearly empty parking lot.

“because you’re acting like we’re strangers.” he finally admitted. the words came out low and rough. his eyes drifted back to yours, and for the first time all afternoon there wasn’t any irritation in them. for a moment, neither of you spoke. the silence stretched across the table, settling between the untouched fries and scattered interview notes.

“i’ve asked all my questions,” you start packing your things up, avoiding eye contact with him. “i’ll email you my rough draft soon.” you turn your back, speed walking to your car, attempting to do 8 count breaths. ‘what the fuck’ was repeated in your thoughts so many times, they could probably kill a nun.

you knew he wasn’t leaving his seat for another 10 minutes, you watched him nibble his bottom lip and run a hand through his hair. seonghyeon always had a bad case of overthinking, hence why he still hasn't moved from his seat. you hadn't made any move to turn on your car yet either. the parking lot was nearly empty now. most of the students had already gone home, leaving only a handful of cars scattered beneath the orange glow of the parking lot lights. your hands rested against the steering wheel, still and motionless. you glanced toward the mcdonald’s window. seonghyeon was still sitting in the same booth.

same expression and the same annoying habit of chewing on his bottom lip whenever he got stuck in his own head. aquiet laugh escaped you before you could stop it, nothing about him had changed. almost as if sensing it, his head lifted.

your eyes met through the glass. you immediately looked away. “shit.” you muttered under your breath, letting your forehead fall against the steering wheel. the cool leather did nothing to calm the sudden rush of nerves creeping up your spine. two seconds later, your phone buzzed, once. you already knew who it was.

seonghyeon: why are you still here?

your eyes rolled.

you: why are YOU still here?

the typing bubble appeared.

disappeared.

appeared again.

disappeared again.

seonghyeon: i asked first

you: i’m waiting for traffic

seonghyeon: there are like six cars

you: exactly

seonghyeon: are you actually meeting martin?

your thumb froze above the screen.

you stared at the message for several seconds before forcing yourself to type.

you: yes

the reply came almost immediately.

too immediately.

seonghyeon: oh

just “oh.” nothing else, your stomach twisted. for some reason, that one word annoyed you more than anything he’d said all afternoon. you unlocked your car door. before you could talk yourself out of it, you shoved the door open and stepped out into the evening air.

across the parking lot, seonghyeon was already standing outside the restaurant. his hands were shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. the bright mcdonald’s sign illuminated half his face while the rest remained hidden in shadow, like he’d been hoping you’d come back. “you’re annoying.” you called out as you approached him. your car keys swung from your fingers while you narrowed your eyes at him. the insult lacked any real bite.

a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. the first genuine smile you’d seen from him all day. “you came back.” seonghyeon pointed out quietly. his gaze followed you as you stopped a few feet away from him. there was something annoyingly satisfied in his expression.

“don’t sound so excited.” you crossed your arms over your chest. despite your attempt at looking unimpressed, your eyes refused to leave his face.

“don’t sound so disappointed.” seonghyeon shot back. he shifted his weight onto one foot, his shoulders relaxing for the first time since the interview started. you rolled your eyes. he smiled wider. and somehow that irritated you even more.

“what do you want, seonghyeon?” you finally asked. your voice came out softer than intended. the fight you’d been carrying around all afternoon felt exhausting now. his smile faltered, just slightly.

the movement was so small most people would’ve missed it, you didn’t—because you’d spent nearly a year memorizing every version of his face. “i don’t know.” he admitted after a moment. his gaze dropped to the pavement between you. one hand emerged from his pocket to rub the back of his neck. “i just didn’t want you to leave like that.”

“why are you doing this to me?” you say through gritted teeth, more tired than irritated. the break up between you two was short and mutual, nothing more. now he just wanted to come back? you examined his face, his eyes were darting everywhere except for you and half of his bottom lip was tucked in between his teeth, he looked like he was falling apart. his shoulders dropped at your words.“i’m not—y/n,” he started, only to stop himself. he dragged a hand down his face and exhaled sharply through his nose. “i’m not trying to do anything to you.” you let out a disbelieving laugh, it sounded almost like a scoff.

“really?” you asked, throwing your hands up. “because from where i’m standing, it feels like you’re opening a bunch of doors that we already closed.” he flinched at your words—actually flinched. his mouth opened but nothing came out, “i just…” his voice faltered. he looked down at the pavement between your feet. “i hate this.”

“hate what?” you frowned. “this.” he gestured between the two of you. “you're talking to me like i’m some guy you interviewed for the yearbook. you're looking at me like you don’t know me anymore.”

the parking lot suddenly felt too quiet. “you broke up with me too, seonghyeon,” you reminded him softly. “i know.” he nodded immediately. “i know i did.”

his voice cracked on the last word.

“but i didn’t think…” he swallowed hard. “i didn’t think we’d become strangers,” his face twisted with frustration, his eyebrows pulling together as he dragged both hands through his hair. “then we’re arguing every time we speak.” he let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head once. “i hate it.” you blinked at him. for a moment, all you could do was stare.

because he looked miserable—not angry, not annoyed, just…miserable. “we argue because you keep saying things like this.” you replied quietly, your fingers tightening around your keys. “what am i supposed to do with this, seonghyeon?”

he looked at you helplessly. “i seriously don’t know.” he admitted after a long pause. his shoulders slumped, all the fight draining out of him. one hand came up to rub at his forehead as he let out a shaky breath. “i just know i miss talking to you.”

your breath caught in your throat. he looked almost embarrassed by his own words. his eyes stayed fixed on the pavement, like admitting it out loud had physically pained him. “you miss arguing with me?” you asked weakly, blinking at him. your eyebrows rose slightly, disbelief coloring your voice.

a laugh escaped him, it was small and tired. “apparently.” he replied, finally looking up at you. the corner of his mouth twitched upward, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. you hated it, you hated that you wanted to laugh too.

the two of you stood there for a moment, staring at each other underneath the parking lot lights. a car drove by somewhere in the distance, its headlights briefly illuminating the side of his face.

“i miss you too.” you finally admitted. the confession came out quieter than you intended. your fingers tightened around your car keys. his head lifted immediately. “deadass?” he asked, genuine surprise washing over his features. his eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t prepared himself for that answer.

“stop acting shocked.” you muttered, averting your eyes for a second. “you make it really hard not to be.” he replied, a small huff of laughter leaving him. he shifted his weight onto one foot, his expression softening.

you rolled your eyes. a smile enveloped his face, there it was again, his stupid smile. you looked away first. “i don’t know if i want to jump back into… whatever that was.” you admitted quietly. your gaze settled on a crack in the pavement between the two of you. “we broke up for a reason.”

his smile faltered. “i know.” he nodded once, the movement almost imperceptible. “and i don’t want us to try again and end up hating each other.” you continued, finally looking back up at him. your voice softened near the end of the sentence.

“i know.” he repeated. his eyes didn’t leave yours. silence settled between you. the evening air had cooled considerably since you’d left the restaurant. somewhere behind you, someone laughed from inside mcdonald’s.

“could we…” he started before stopping. he looked away for a second, chewing on his bottom lip. your eyebrows knit together. he looked nervous, which was almost funny, because this was seonghyeon. the same boy who could argue with teachers and referees without a shred of hesitation. “could we maybe just…” he rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost awkward. “not be strangers?”

you stared at him. then at the giant glowing mcdonald’s sign above his head, then back at him. a laugh escaped you before you could stop it, he frowned.

“what?” he asked, blinking at you. you shook your head. “nothing.” another laugh slipped out. you lifted a hand to your mouth for a second. “we’re having this huge, life-changing conversation in front of a mcdonald’s.” he stared at you, his expression unreadable. then slowly looked up. the bright yellow arches glowed above him.

he looked back down. and laughed, it was an actual laugh and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d actually heard it. “come here.” you said suddenly, turning toward your car. his eyebrows shot upward. “where?” he asked, watching you in confusion. “my car.” you jingled your keys before glancing back at him. “i feel ridiculous standing here.” a grin spread across his face.

and despite yourself—you smiled back. the moment the doors shut, it became quiet again. too quiet. you looked at him. neither of you said anything. “so…” he started, resting one arm on the center console. his fingers tapped against it nervously. “so…” you repeated, turning slightly in your seat to face him. he laughed softly under his breath.

“i really did miss this.” he said quietly. his eyes searched your face, almost as if he were making sure you were actually there.

your smile faltered, because you did too, kinda. you looked at him for a long moment. then at his eyes. you glanced at his mouth quickly, picking your eyes back up to meet his. his gaze dropped briefly. when it came back up, it was careful, hesitant. like he was waiting.

“this is probably a bad idea.” you murmured. your voice had dropped almost to a whisper. “probably.” he agreed, though he didn’t move away. neither of you moved.

“really bad.” you added.

“definitely.” he replied.

silence. you could how your heart was about to beat of your chest, if you got any closer to him you would probably hear his heartbeat too. on reflex, you leaned forward. his eyes widened slightly, but he still met you halfway.

the kiss was familiar, too familiar. he made the quietest sound of surprise before one hand came up and settled against your cheek. his thumb brushed across your skin.

and for a few seconds, nothing else existed. not the breakup, not the interview, not the months spent avoiding each other. when you finally pulled away, both of you remained close enough that your noses almost brushed.

you blinked twice, not believing if that was real or not. “okay.” you said finally, sounding slightly breathless. “okay.” he echoed, equally dazed.

“that did not help.”

a laugh escaped him. you laughed too. “so…” he started again, his thumb still resting lightly against your cheek. “not strangers?” you looked at him. really looked at him, his messy hair, the nervous way he was looking at you, and the fact that he still held his breath whenever he wanted an answer from you.

a small smile tugged at your lips. “not strangers.” you agreed softly.

the breath he let out sounded almost relieved. “and maybe…” he began carefully, lowering his hand. “really, really slow?” you considered him for a moment. then nodded once. “really slow.”

“one more kiss, i know you have to go see martin.” he held up one finger, his voice softer now, almost careful. there was a shy look on his face that didn’t match the usual confidence he carried on the field.

you gave him a deadpanned look, leaning back slightly in your seat. “you’re insane.” you muttered, though there was no real bite to it. his lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. “one kiss.” he repeated, quieter this time.

you stared at him for a second longer than you should have. the air in the car felt different now—smaller, heavier, like the silence itself was waiting.

you exhaled through your nose. “i hate you.” you said flatly, already leaning in anyway. he let out a soft, almost relieved laugh under his breath. “no, you don’t.”

that was all he got out before you closed the space between you. the kiss wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t hesitant either.

it was familiar in a way that made your chest ache. his hand came up to your jaw almost immediately, warm fingers settling there like it was instinct. he tilted his head slightly, deepening it just enough that your thoughts stalled for a second—like your brain forgot what it was doing.

you could feel him exhale through his nose, slow and shaky, like he’d been holding his breath the entire day without realizing it. your hand rested lightly against his nape, not pulling him closer, but not letting him go either.

it lasted longer than “one more kiss” should’ve, long enough that it felt unfair. when you finally pulled away, it was slow. your eyes opened first, and for a second, neither of you moved.

his forehead hovered near yours. his thumb brushed your cheek once, absent, like he wasn’t ready to fully let go yet. you swallowed.

“okay,” you murmured, breath uneven. his eyes flickered down to your mouth, then back up. “okay.” he echoed again. you leaned back slightly, breaking it for real this time.

the air rushed back in like nothing had happened. you reached for your seatbelt like your hands suddenly remembered how to function.

“i have to go.” you said, mostly to yourself. “yeah.” he nodded, but didn’t move right away. then he finally pulled back. his hand slipped away from your jaw slowly, reluctantly, like he was thinking about not stopping. you thought that was it, you were wrong.

before you could even process it, he leaned in again—quick this time—and pressed a short kiss to the side of your jaw. just beneath it.

it was so soft, it felt almost gentle and it caught you completely off guard. your breath hitched at the feeling. “seonghyeon—” you started, turning your head slightly. he was already pulling away, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was unfair, completely and utterly unfair.

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

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

Across your lap, James looked entirely content.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s that serious?”

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

“You harassed them for three weeks.”

“It was a carefully constructed three weeks.”

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

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

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

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

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

Beautiful.

There truly wasn’t another word for it.

Beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course he did.

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

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

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

His eyebrows knitted together. “You tired?”

“I’m not, don’t worry about me.”

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring at me.”

“I can stare at my boyfriend.”

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

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

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

Honestly? He looked ridiculous—Ridiculously beautiful.

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

James blinked. “Oh.”

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

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

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

“Please?”

“No.”

“Baby.”

“No.”

His grin only widened. “Sweetheart.”

Your resolve weakened instantly.

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

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

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not that innocent.”

You groaned. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You really like it, huh?”

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

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

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

His jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

You burst into laughter.

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

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

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

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

single word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your lips curved upward. “Is it?”

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

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

God, he was tired.

You could hear it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God.

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

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

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

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

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

“There you are.”

You blinked. “There who is?”

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

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

His eyebrow lifted. “Maybe?”

“I was just zoning out.”

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

“Was i? I can’t even remember.”

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

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

You immediately swatted his hand away. “Ow.”

“You deserved that.”

“For what!?”

“You were being suspicious.”

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

“See?”

“See what?”

“You were staring.”

You groaned. “Just talking to talk.”

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

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

James noticed the subtle alteration in your expression almost instantly. 

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

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

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

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

Your breath caught immediately.

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

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

“Maybe you are.”

“Don’t say that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“James.”

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

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

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

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

“I’d say the same about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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