WELCOME TO POLARKOOK
art by StarDustJarr
hello this is @princekooks and @sarosfilms reblog account!
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editing account: @taemantic
cherry valley forever
Not today Justin
Peter Solarz
NASA
we're not kids anymore.
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
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wallacepolsom

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hello vonnie

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oozey mess

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@polarkook
WELCOME TO POLARKOOK
art by StarDustJarr
hello this is @princekooks and @sarosfilms reblog account!
follow for fic recommendations and fun content.
editing account: @taemantic

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
FREAK! â P.SH
âââ you want a good girl that does bad things to youâËęŠď˝Ą OR where sunghoon's friends thinks that you're too innocent and he doesn't get the pleasure he needs. however, he knew that you already had him wrapped around your finger and you were ready to prove his friends wrong.
pairing: bf!sunghoon x innocent(ish)!reader
content + warnings: just pure smut and filth what's new atp, jake and jay are kind of cocky and pervs, switch!sunghoon, switch!reader, whiny sunghoon nghh, unprotected p in v (cap before you tap), bondage using tie, oral (m receiving), cowboy, light choking, taking photos/filming during sex - lmk if i missed anything!
word count:2.4k / 2,447
bea speaks! wait bc i actually have so many drafts that i just want to post them all but this one has to be my fav yet so far
⥠â§âË â ๨ৠâ§â .á
SUNGHOON LEANS BACK IN HIS CHAIR, the low hum of the bar around him with a glass of whiskey in his hand. A few drinks in, his friends are already laughing louder than they should, teasing each other, joking about their upcoming trip to Taipei.
"So... are we bringing our girlfriends along or what?" Jay asks, swirling his beer.
"Yeah, I mean, Taipei sounds like a perfect couple's getaway," Jake chimes in, smirking. He gives Jay a knowing look, knowing that their girlfriends are going to get along well.
A pause. Then Jake glances at Sunghoon, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "What about you, man? You gonna drag that little angel of yours along?"
Sunghoon stiffens, nearly spilling his drink. "Guys, come on. Don't start with that."
Jay laughs, shaking his head. "She's too innocent right? Doesn't do anything wild?"
"Yeah," Jake pipes in, leaning back. "Best she doesn't even like... let you, you know... get your fun."
Sunghoon groans, running a hand down his face. "I swear, stop. That's my girlfriend you're talking about. She's perfect whether she does or doesn't."
Jay and Jake exchange a glance and laugh, taking casual sips of their drinks. "Perfect, huh?" Jay teases, smirking. "Bet she's really something in private."
Jake snickers, "Yeah, man, I'm curious how she really is."
Sunghoon narrows his eyes, a grin tugging at his lips despite his flushed cheeks. "Guys, please? You wouldn't last two minutes if you had someone like her."
The door clicks open and Sunghoon steps inside, a faint grin on his lips and hair slightly tousled from the night. Before he can even take off his shoes and jacket, you're practically flying across the living room, arms wide.
"Finally, you're home!" you exclaim, wrapping your arms around him from behind and burying your face in his back. "How was hanging out with the boys? Don't tell me they worked you up again."
Sunghoon chuckles, the sound low, and then sighs as he turns around to embrace you in his arms. "You have no idea. They, wellâthey teased me. About... you."
You freeze for a split second, not because you doubt him, but because of how they teased him. Your brows knit together. "They teased you? About me? About what specifically?"
He laughs softly, shaking his head, obviously still embarrassed. "Said you're too innocent. That I don't... get enough. I tried to stop them, I swear, but..."
You tilt your head, eyes sparkling with amusement, and press a quick kiss to his jaw, teasingly. "Too innocent, huh?"
His breath catches, a low chuckle escaping him as he felt relief wash over him. He knows the truth: you've got him right where you want him, and now you're teasing him while pretending to scold him.
You slide a hand down his chest, letting your fingers brush down to land on the waistband of his pants, voice dipping just low enough for him to feel it in his bones.
"You know, maybe they're wrong," you murmur, tilting your head to meet his eyes.
Sunghoon swallows, his eyes darkening. "Oh really? And how would I know that?"
You bite your lip, leaning closer until your lips graze his ear. "You'll have to see for yourself."
You pull back just enough to look at him before running away into the bedroom. He shakes his head and smiles to himself before chasing after you.
Sunghoon catches you easily, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off the ground as he enters the bedroom. He throws you on the bed, eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and desire.
"Oh, I'll definitely find out for myself," his playful mood turning into something hungrier. He climbs onto the bed, crawling over you on his hands and knees.
"They think you're too innocent to fuck me the way I want, huh?" he leans down, caging you in with his arms, his face inches from yours. "Let me check something real quick."
He captures your mouth in a deep, dominant kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips to claim yours. HIs hands slide down your side, resting possessively on your hip.
"Sunghoon, let me..."
Without protesting, he immediately lets you take over. You sit up and push him down onto the bed, watching as his eyes widen. He's never seen you take over like this; only ever seeing you be as equally sexual whenever he's on top.
You straddle his hips as you bend down to kiss him, deep and intoxicating. He watches you with hungry eyes, his hands gripping the bedsheets instead of reaching for you as you grind down on his growing erection. He's wants to see what you'll do, curious to see if you really can fuck him the way he wants.
A pit of fire flowed through you as an idea hit. You grab onto his tie, slowly untying it as you continue to grind on him. Once it was undone, you pull away, grabbing his wrist and tying them to the headboard.
His breath hitches as you tie his hands above his head, a shocked laugh turning into a groan. He pulls experimentally at the tie, finding himself truly restrained.
"Where did you learn how to do that?" he moans, eyes flicking down to your face, then lower to where you're still straddling him.
When you begin to undo his belt, slow and teasing, he swallows hard with his chest rising and falling rapidly. You're completely dominating him right now, and he loves it. His restrained position makes his biceps flex attractively as he watches you, waiting for your next movie.
His cock is now fully hard, tenting in his pants.
"Baby..."
Sunghoon was almost sure you were going to continue to touch his hard cock, but then you unbutton his shirt, revealing his toned chest. He arches into your touch, his skin burning where your fingers trail. Once his shirt is open, you push it aside, running your hands over his muscular chest and abs, scratching lightly.
"Fuck, just like that..."
You finally unbuckle his bet and unzip his trousers, revealing his hard cock straining against his boxers. He sucked in a breath, completely at your mercy. His cock springs free as you pull the waistband of his boxers off. It slaps against his stomach, thick and already leaking.
"I've seen this cock so many times, but it's so big," you whisper, fingers wrapping around him. His hips buck up, seeking more friction.
"You're killing me hereâ"
His cock twitches against you as you continue to pump him, maintaining eye contact. Once you could tell he was about to beg, you lick a strip up from the base to the tip, making him curse and tug against the tie. You wrap your lips around the head, sucking gently while one hand grips his thigh.
He groans loudly, his head falling back against the pillow. The sensation of your mouth wrapped around him is overwhelming, especially with his hands restrained. He can only lie there and take it.
"Baby, slow down," he chokes out, his gaze coming back up to watch you as you look up at him through wet eyelashes. He starts to thrust up into your mouth, but you pull away.
"No, wait!" he whines when you pull off, his cock red and dripping with your saliva. He looks desperate, chest flushed as he's panting. He clearly is enjoying this.
You climb back up his body, pressing your small frame against his larger one. He can feel your soft curves against his hard muscles, your tits pressing against his chest. He lifts his hips, trying to rub againt you.
"Baby, I'm begging you..."
You silence him with a kiss, your tongue pushing into his mouth aggressively. He kisses you back eagerly, his tied hands pulling at the restraints out of frustration. You grind down on him slowly before taking off your pants, but leaving your panties on to tease him.
You continue to grind on his cock, letting it rub against your clothed pussy. He groans, feeling the thin fabric between you both. His cock slides against you, the tip pressing against your clit through the panties.
He thrusts up helplessly, his hips bucking again. "Let me inside, please?" he whines. His voice is breathy and desperate, completely under your spell. You keep grinding, your pussy soaking through the thin fabric and making a quiet, wet sound as you rub against him.
He can smell your arousal, seeing how turned on you also are. His cock twitches, wanting nothing more than to sink into you, but you're controlling everything.
"Baby, I swear to godâ" he pants, eyes rolling back slightly when you lean down to leave wet, openâmouth kisses on his chest. Beads of sweat drop down his neck as veins begin to pop out, and you're loving the way he's under you right now.
You circle your hips slowly, teasing him further. Sunghoon's hands are fidgeting against the restraints, wanting to reach out and grab your hips to help you ride him, but he couldn't.
Sitting up, you finally pull your panties to the side to let his cock slide through your wet folds. A small moan escaped your lips as his tip rubbed against your clit, and you swear Sunghoon's body tensed at your sweet sound.
The head of his cock catches on your entrance as you position him to your hole, and he almost sobs with relief. He's never been this turned on in his life, neever felt so desperate to be inside someone. His hands tug uselessly at the tie above his head.
"Please, baby. I've been good."
You slowly lower yourself, taking his entire length in one slow, torturous movement. He feels your tight pussy stretch around him, swallowing his cock inch by inch until you're fully seated fully on his lap. His eyes roll back, a long moan escaping him.
When you begin to move, you whimper, chest heaving. Even though you've been teasing Sunghoon this whole time, you were worked up yourself from being so used to him being on top.
You bounce on him slowly, almost completely pulling off before going back down. Once you're fully impaled on his cock, he takes a moment to savor the sensation. You're so tight, so wet, so warmâit's heaven. His hips jerk involuntarily, trying to thrust up into you.
Your hands reach forward to lightly wrap around his neck, a sign for him to behave. He swallows hard, his throat working against your hand. You lift your hips again again before sliding back down and grinding at the bottom. The pace was so slow, even if you were getting frustrated.
You lean down to kiss him, then another idea pops up.
Sunghoon watches curiously as you reach for his phone beside him, his brow furrowing slightly. He has no idea what you're planning, but the way you continue to ride him despite being accompanied by something else makes him lose his mind.
You turn his phone towards him, letting his FaceID open it.
"Baby... what are youâ?"
You quickly found his messages, opening the group chat with Jake and Jay before snapping a photo of Sunghoon under you, hand around his throat, his wrists restrained.
His eyes widen in shock as he realizes what you're doing, but then you grind against him roughly, his eyes rolling back. He opens his mouth to protest, but then you take another picture, capturing the perfect image of him. It was clear evidence that you weren't just some innocent girl.
Sunghoon [11:42 PM]: [1 image attached]
You toss his phone aside, giving your full attention back to him. He watches his phone, frozen in horror, but some part of him was excited, knowing he just proved his friends wrong. The notification sounds came in quickly.
The sheer humiliation of his two friends seeing him like thisâtied up, choked, dominatd by youâmakes his cock throb inside you involuntarily. Before you could continue, you felt his hands grip your hips tightly.
He freed himself.
His hands are free now, but instead of pushing you off or reaching for his phone, he flips you over in one swift motion.
"You sent that to Jake and Jay?" he asks in short breaths.
"Had to prove them wrong," I moan as he thrusts back into you, rough. His arousal spikes even higher as your nonchalant response, almost wanting to fuck the small smirk off your face. You didn't even bother to hide it.
He starts to thrust harder, fucking you as he imagines his friends seeing this picture. His hands grip your hips tightly as he pounds into you, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. He's completely lost in the moment, almost on the edge of an orgasm.
Suddenly, his phone buzzes with incoming messages.
Jay [11:45 PM]: Bro??????
Jake [11:46 PM]: I told you he was a bottom lmao
Sunghoon laughs breathlessly, feeling a strange rush of embarrassment that actually makes him thrust deeply inside you.
"They're never letting me live this down."
He continues thrusting, completely unfazed by his friends' reaction. In fact, their messages only fuel him. He leans down to capture your lips in a messy kiss, hips slamming rougher against you.
A loud moan escapes you, your thighs twitching as your hands go to scratch his back. He moans at the sensation, clearly reaching his high soon.
With one hand still holding your hip, he grabs his phone again with the other and starts recording you, a complete mess under him. The camera captures every thrust, every moan, every second of you crying his name and begging him to slow down. He made sure to angle the camera so your expressions are clear: brows knit together, lips parted, tits bouncing with every thrust.
Sunghoon [11:53 PM}: [1 video attached]
He watches as the message gets delivered, then tosses it aside as his friends' quick replies become background noise.
"SâSunghoon, slow down, please," you beg, hands gripping onto his biceps as your thighs quiver, your high almost crashing down. He slams into you hard, making you gasp as his free hand rubs your clit in rough circles.
His hips jerked, thrusts becoming erratic as he slows down. When he leans down to kiss your neck, biting your collarbone, you feel the wave wash over you, your vision turning white as you see stars. Sunghoon continues to fuck you through your orgasm as he reaches his, spurts of his thick cream coating your walls.
Jake [11:57 PM]: Holy fuck dude
Jake [11:57 PM]: I think I need a minute brb
Jay [11:58 PM]: We owe one to Sunghoon
⥠â§âË â ๨ৠâ§â .á
Š avtrns 2026 | please do not copy, repost, or translate my work
perm taglist: @kristynaaah @chowonasblog
5-STAR DICK, 5-STAR DICKHEAD × â¸â¸ ŰŤ × a sim jaeyun oneshot
ÂŤ Man, fuck your pride â Just take it on back, boy Âť
SYNOPSIS. ⎠in which you have the best sex of your life OR- in which you get fucked over by the fuckboy
âŽ. ěŹěŹě¤. ⎠2.2k âŽ. â fuckboy jake â explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, fingering, doggy, squirting, overstim, spit kink, degration/praise, alcohol incidence, party scene, emotional cruelty, humiliation?, strong language
part 1 â part 2 â part 3
𼼠laceys note ; jake is lowkey a massive dick in this but itâs fine igggg, this is pure filth so MDNI (or do I canât control you) hope yous enjoys babies đ comments, reblogs, feedback and likes keep me writing!
You had never been a party person.
Not really.
Your nights were usually spent curled up with a book or bingeing shows while your roommate Sunoo tried to bribe you out of your cave with promises of âepic vibesâ and âcute guys.â
Tonight was no differentâuntil he literally dragged you from your bed by the ankle, your oversized sweatshirt bunching up as you flailed.
âCome on,â Sunoo whined, tossing your jeans at your face. âItâs the pre-semester rager at the soccer house. Free drinks, hot people, zero studying. You need this.â
âI need sleep,â you groaned, but he was already rifling through your closet for something âsluttier than pajamas.â (His words not yours)
Thirty minutes later, you stood in the driveway of a sprawling frat house, bass thumping through the walls like a heartbeat.
The air smelled of cheap beer, weed, and desperation.
Sunoo linked arms with you, pulling you through the door into a sea of bodiesâred Solo cups were everywhere, strobe lights flashing aggressively and people grinding in corners.
You clung to him like a lifeline, already regretting the tight black top heâd forced on you, that left nothing to the imagination.
âSee? Itâs great fun,â he shouted over the music, thrusting a drink into your hand. âDrink. Dance. Live.â
You sipped the mystery concoctionâsweet, burning, vodka-heavyâand scanned the room.
Faces blurred. Laughter spiked.
Sunoo vanished into the crowd after ten minutes, yelling something about finding his âsituationship.â
Left alone now, you wedged yourself against a wall, nursing your cup, watching the chaos of drunk and horny âadultsâ unfold.
Thatâs when some drunk asshole barreled into you. Liquid sloshed over your hand, soaking your top.
The guyâtall, sloppy, reeking of tequilaâdidnât even glance back, just kept stumbling forward. Your cup was half-empty now, sticky and ruined.
âFuck,â you muttered, shaking off the spill.
âHere.â
A voice cut through the noiseâsmooth, confident, closer than you expected.
You turned to find a guy holding out a fresh cup, condensation beading on the plastic.
Dark hair tousled just right, sharp jawline shadowed with stubble, fitted white tee hugging broad shoulders and a hint of abs beneath. Piercing eyes locked on yours, lips curved in a smirk that screamed trouble.
âOn the house. That dipshit owes me for the mess.â
You blinked, caught off guard by the easy charm. âUh, thanks. You didnât have to.â
He shrugged with casual grace, positioning himself against the wall beside you, near enough that his cologneâa crisp, masculine blend of cedar and spiceâenveloped you.
âNameâs Jake. And it absolutely was. I canât let an asshole like that ruin a pretty girls night.â
The compliment landed with practiced ease, his gaze sweeping over you in a slow, appreciative of your low cut top, the look ignited something low in your belly.
You supplied your name, accepted the drink, and took a tentative sip. Stronger than the previous one, it spread warmth through your limbs almost immediately.
Jake mirrored your pace, conversation igniting as if you were old acquaintances. He was funny, sharp, the kind of guy who made the room feel smaller, quieter, just for you two.
âYou dance?â he asked, nodding toward the makeshift floor.
You laughed. âNot nearly drunk enough.â
He grinned, dimples flashing. âWe can fix that.â
Two more drinks laterâhis refills, always perfectly timedâthe world tilted soft and hazy. The music coursed through your veins like liquid fire.
Jakeâs palm settled at the small of your back, steering you into the midst of swaying bodies. Collisions occurred. During a slutry track, his chest aligned with yours, hips moving in perfectly against one another.
Heat radiated between youâhis breath warm against your neck, fingers tracing the edge of your waistband with deliberate subtlety.
âYou smell incredible,â he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
A shiver raced across your skin.
Emboldened by the alcohol and the electric pull of his proximity, you pivoted within his grasp, your hands gliding up the firmness of his chest. âSo do you.â
The kiss happened naturally, like gravity. His mouth claimed yoursâfirm, skilled, tasting of whiskey and want and no hesitation.
His tongue teasing yours, deepening the kiss fast. Hands were everywhere: yours in his hair, tugging at the roots and his gripping your ass, pulling you flush against the hard line of him.
The world narrowed to Jakeâhot, demanding, perfect.
He broke away first, eyes dark with hunger. âUpstairs?â
Your heart thundered against your ribs. Eveything in you screamed; stranger, party, mistake.
But alcohol took over and you nodded, still flushed from the kiss.
He grabbed your hand and navigated the both of you through bodies, you climbed the groaning staircase to a bedroom at the end of a corridor.
The door clicked shut and Jake locked it.
The space was dimly lit by a string of small light, illuminating a king-sized bed with rumpled sheets that carried a faint scent of fresh laundry.
Posters of soccer legends adorned the walls, discarded underwear littered the floorâ giving a clear signs of occupancy or maybe a couple was here before the tow of you.
None of it mattered in this moment.
His shirt came off first, revealing a torso honed by relentless athletic discipline: broad chest tapering to chiseled abs, a tantalizing trail of dark hair vanishing below his waistband.
You absorbed the sight, desire pooling hot between your thighs.
Your top followed, then your bra, unfastened with his deft fingers that clearly told you heâs done this before. Jeans peeled away. Underwear vanished. You both were bare now, skin humming with anticipation.
Jake backed you to the bed, gaze raking over every exposed curve like a starving man.
âFuck, youâre a goddamn dream,â he growled, voice thick with reverence and filth.
He claimed your mouth againâthis time slower, dirtier, tongue fucking into you with lewd precisionâbefore shoving you down onto the mattress.
He prowled over you, his weight pinning you down, mouth blazing a trail of wetness across your skin: teeth sinking into your neck hard enough to bruise, lips sucking purple marks across your collarbone, tongue lavishing attention on your breastsâcircling hardening nipples, drawing them into the wetness of his mouth until you arched, a gasp tearing from your throat.
He was a fucking sex god.
His fingers dove between your thighs, spreading your already slick folds wide.
He pumped two thick digits insideâcurling viciously against your G-spot, scissoring to stretch you open, his thumb battered your clit in brutal circles.
You thrashed from the pleasure, soaked and sobbing, the wet schlick of his hand was obscene and so loud over the muffled bass of the party below.
âJakeâfuck, pleaseââ
He laughed dark, withdrawing his fingers but only to shove his boxers down.
His cock sprang freeâthick, long, with veins bulging along the shaft and a flushed red head leaking pre-cum.
He snatched a condom from the drawer, rolling it on with practiced speed.
He gripped your thighs, yanking them apart wide, folding you nearly in half. Teasing your dripping hole with the fat head of himself, smearing your arousal all over him.
Then he slammed inâbottoming out in one brutal thrust that ripped a scream from your throat.
The stretch burned so perfectly, your tight walls fluttering around his girth. He was so big.
âSo fucking tightâgonna ruin this pussy,â he snarled, hips snapping immediately into a brutal rhythm.
The bedframe banged the wall like a gun shot, headboard cracking wood over and over and over. Every stroke demolished you: cockhead hammering your G-spot relentlessly, his pelvis grinding your clit, balls slapping your ass wet and loud.
He pinned your wrists overhead with one hand, the other mauled your titsâpinching your nipple hard, twisting until tears pricked your eyes.
His mouth devoured yours in sloppy kisses, swallowing your escalating cries and screams.
Sweat sheened visible on you both under the dim lit lights, bodies slapping filthyâschlick-schlick-schlick echoed as a cream ring foamed at his base.
Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, signaling your approach.
He sensed it, redoubling his effortsâthrusts growing erratic, one hand hitch your leg higher over his hip, altering the angle to fuck you even deeper.
âCome for me,â he commanded, voice gravelly against your ear. âLet me feel you.â
The orgasm hit you and shattered youâyour vision fracturing into white-hot bursts, thighs quaking uncontrollably around his waist.
A keening moan escaped you as your nails raked bloody crescents down his back.
He flipped you suddenlyâass up, face smashed into the sheets making your screams and moans muffled, your hips were yanked back onto his cock.
The new angle wrecked you even more: deeper, meaner, your cervix battered with each plunge.
Spanks fell on your assâred-hot stings blooming from his large handsâhis free hand fisting your hair, yanking your head back to spit in your open mouth. âSwallow.â
He fucked you harder with each thrust as you both neared the edge. Your gummy walls tightening around him, clenching him so hard. âGood girlâtake this dick.â
Your second orgasm came faster and harder, your vision blacking this time, your cunt convulsing in violent spasms and pulses, squirting a mess down your thighs and on his cock.
He growled, pounding you through it once again, never slowing before burying balls-deep, in you, his cock throbbing while white ropes spurted into the condom, grinding his pelvis filthly against you as he made you take every drop.
Finally he collapsed beside you in wreckage, panting and euphoric.
Jake peeled off after a minute, knotting the condom and grabbing water in a bottle form the bedside table (who knows how long thatâs been there). After he took a sip he tossed you it casually.
âFucking unreal,â he panted, smirking sated.
You nodded, wrecked and glowing. âHoly shit.â
He stretched, muscles flexing in the low light, then glanced toward the clock. It glowed 2:17 a.m., the party below still faintly audible.
He rose then, sliding his boxers back on with nonchalance. âYou leaving?â
The question struck like a bucket of ice water.
You propped yourself on your elbows, sheets pooling at your waist, disbelief etched deep into your features. âExcuse me?â
He shrugged, zipping his jeans up without meeting your eyes, tone clipped and entitledâas though you had overstayed your welcome.
âPartyâs dying. Figured youâd wanna bounce before it clears out. Avoid the walk of shame.â
Silence enveloped the room. The finest climax imaginable, reduced to this? Dismissed like a paid companion post-transaction? No tender embrace. No exchange of numbers. No acknowledgment beyond the satisfaction of sex and a mind-blowing orgasm.
âYouâre joking,â you said, voice sharpening.
He paused while tugging his shirt over his head, one eyebrow arched in mild irritation. A smug smirk twisted his lips. âWhat? This isnât a slumber party, sweetheart.â
You bolted upright, snatching your clothes with trembling hands. âFuck you, Jake.â
âAlready did.â His grin widened, dimples showing like they were mocking you. âGood, right?â
Rage boiled in you, and humiliation settled hot on your cheeks.
You dressed fast, bra twisted hasty around you, jeans yanked rough on againt your skin.
He watched, arms crossed, leaning against the dresser like you were nothing but another notch in his fucked up belt.
You unlocked the door with click. And stormed straight outâno goodbye necessary, he didnât deserve that form you.
You slammed it behind you, hard enough to rattle frame and echo down the corridor.
Downstairs people had dissolvedâSunoo located you eventually, concern furrowing his brow, he was still a bit tipsy but could see that look you had on your face. âWhere the hell were you? You alright?â
âFine,â you lied through gritted teeth.
Outside, the cool night air slapped you. The entire walk home you seethed with rageâyour body still thrumming from the aftershocks of probably the best sex youâve ever had (much to your dismay).
You thought about how casually heâd told you to basically âfuck offâ, your mind branded him with entitled prick.
TAGLIST. @kristynaaah @yuudaiinhs @urlocalengene @woninlove @n4n4files @jimineepaboya @grdientlips @hooniluhv @afanok @engenewilstaykon @yumi-yearns (just ask to be added to perm taglist lovelies)
I might write a part 2 but idkk, maybe if this gets enough love đ¤
Wait hear me out this Leon x neighbor!reader has me thinking about a toxic ex showing up and Leon having to get him to go away
Loved this idea!
Not Yours Anymore
Dinner has already softened into something unstructured by the time it happens. What started as a plan, something as simple as "stay for a bit" and "we'll eat while it's warm," has unraveled into something looser, something lived-in. The plates aren't perfectly arranged anymore; one of them was pushed slightly to the side, where Leon had leaned his weight against the counter, picking at the last of what you'd made without much thought. The air still carries the warmth of the food, something rich and grounding, but it's mixed now with something else too, something quieter, something that belongs more to the space than to the meal itself.
Him.
He moved into your heart quickly, fitting perfectly, like a missing piece of a puzzle. His jacket is slung over the back of one of your chairs like it's been there before and will be there again. His sleeves are pushed up just slightly, enough to show where the tension of the day has finally started to loosen. Even the way he moves feels different here, less guarded, less precise, like he's allowed himself to exist in the space instead of just passing through it.
And you notice it. You notice everything. The way he leans closer when you talk, even when he doesn't need to. The way his gaze lingers, steady and warm, like he's still a little surprised he gets to be here at all. The way he gives you soft kisses on your head when he moves around you in the kitchen, insisting he help with dinner.
You're in the middle of cleaning up, telling Leon about something annoying that happened at work, when the knock comes. It makes your stomach drop. Two sharp thuds on the door. Too sharp. Too firm. It doesn't match the rhythm of anything you know, doesn't carry that soft familiarity you've come to expect. It cuts through the room instead of settling into it, pulling everything tight in a way that makes your words falter before you even realize why.
You don't even have to look at him to know it, but when you do, his gaze is already on you, not the door. He's watching your reaction first, the way your shoulders tense just slightly, the way your posture shifts like your body recognized something before your mind caught up.
"Expecting someone?" he asks, his voice low, even, but there's a subtle edge of awareness threaded through it now.
You shake your head no immediately.Â
The walk to the door feels longer than it should. Each step is measured, slower than usual, like something in you is already bracing for what's on the other side. You don't want to assume, don't want to jump to conclusions, but there's a familiar unease settling low in your chest, something you recognize even if you wish you didn't.
Leon doesn't crowd you, but he adjusts, his presence aligning slightly closer to yours, like he's already placing himself where he needs to be without making it obvious. You know... in case you need him, he thinks.
You reach for the handle and open the door. And there it is. The past, standing exactly where you didn't want it.
Your ex looks almost the same. That's the first thing you notice, and somehow it's the most frustrating part. Like nothing about him has shifted, like the time between then and now didn't mean anything, didn't change anything, didn't force him to grow into something better.
He smiles like this is normal. Like showing up unannounced, uninvited, after everything, is just another conversation waiting to happen.
"Hey," he says, your name following it too easily, too familiar, like he still has a right to it.
"I told you not to come here," you reply, and your voice is steadier than you expect it to be.
He exhales like you've said something inconvenient rather than final, running a hand through his hair as if this is all just a misunderstanding he can smooth over.
"Can we not do this right now?" he says, already pushing past your boundary without acknowledging it. "I just want to talk."
"We already did," you reply, your voice sharper now, not loud, but edged with something real. "You just didn't listen."
You see it in the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his posture shifts, irritation creeping in where charm didn't work.
"I made a mistake," he says, like that should be enough. "It wasn't that serious."
There it is. The same line he used last time. The same dismissal that was supposed to excuse his actions. Something in your chest twists, not as deeply as it used to, but enough to remind you exactly why you're standing here instead of letting him in.
"It wasn't serious to you," you say, your words landing a little harder now, your hand tightening slightly against the doorframe. "That doesn't mean it didn't matter to me."
He scoffs, a short, disbelieving sound that feels louder than it should in the quiet of the hallway.
"You're still stuck on that?" he mutters. "It was one night."
"You lied to me," you say, quieter now, but steadier than before. "You didn't just cheat, youâ"
"I said I was sorry," he cuts in, his voice rising just enough to talk over you, to reclaim control of the conversation. "What else do you want from me?"
There it is again. That shift from apologetic to defensive. From regret to entitlement. The usual cycle with him. You feel it, the familiar frustration, the edge of something sharper pressing up beneath your ribs. Your fingers curl slightly, grounding yourself in the doorway as you hold your ground.
"I wanted you to respect me," you say, and this time your voice doesn't waver at all. "You didn't."
He laughs. Actually laughs. And that stings more than anything else he's said.
"You're acting like I ruined your life," he says, shaking his head like you're the unreasonable one. "It wasn't that deep. It was months ago."
"Right..." you sigh, moving to close the door in his face. "Goodnight."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he steps forward, using his forearm to keep the door from closing. "Please, hear me out."
Behind you, Leon goes still. Something in your expression changes, just slightly, just enough that the hurt slips through before you can hide it, and Leon sees it.
He steps forward, making his presence known as if he hadn't been just around the corner the whole time. "You coming back, baby?"
The space beside you fills with him, steady and grounded, his shoulder aligning just slightly with yours, arm wrapping around your waist.
Your ex's attention snaps fully past you at the sound of Leon's voice. It's subtle, the way his posture shifts, but it's there. The casual persistence from before falters just slightly, replaced with something sharper, something more aware as his gaze lands on Leon properly for the first time.
Leon doesn't look rushed. He doesn't look tense. If anything, he looks like he's been there the whole time, like this is just another moment unfolding exactly how he expected it to. His arm settles more fully around your waist, Â steady, grounding, his thumb brushing once against your side in a quiet reassurance that's meant only for you.
His jaw tightens, his forearm still braced against the door like he hasn't quite decided whether to back off or double down.
"...Mhm," he mutters, glancing between the two of you, his tone shifting into something more defensive now. "Didn't realize you moved on that fast."
You feel Leon's hand shift slightly at your waist like he's reminding you that you're not standing here alone.
"It's been months," you say, your voice steadier now, even if your heart is still catching up. "I'm allowed to."
Your ex scoffs again, but there's less confidence in it this time, less bite.
"Yeah, sure," he says, though it sounds more like he's trying to convince himself than you. "Just didn't think you'd replace me that easily."
Leon lets out a quiet breath beside you, almost a laugh, but not quite. Something softer, something edged just enough to mean something.
"I wouldn't call it a replacement," Leon says, finally looking at your ex directly, his tone calm, almost conversational. "That would imply you left something worth filling."
Your ex goes still for half a second, like the words didn't register right away, like he's still catching up to the fact that Leon isn't playing along, isn't intimidated, isn't even particularly impressed.
"What's your problem?" he snaps, irritation finally breaking through properly now.
Leon's expression doesn't change. He doesn't rise to it. He just tilts his head slightly, like he's considering the question more than reacting to it.
"You showed up uninvited," Leon says evenly. "Ignored what she said. Then tried to make her feel like she's the problem."
A small pause.
"That's usually where I start having one."
Your ex shifts his weight, his arm finally dropping from the door, though he doesn't step back yet. Not fully.
"I said I was sorry," he pushes again, though there's less force behind it now, less certainty. "I just wanted to talk."
"You talked," you reply, quieter now, but firm. "I'm done listening."
"You want me to close the door," he asks, low enough that it feels like it belongs to you, not the hallway, "or are we giving him another minute?"
Your ex hears that, too. And for the first time since he showed up, something in his expression shifts into something smaller, something that looks a little more like realization than frustration.
"...Seriously?" he says, quieter now, but edged with something bitter. "You're really doing this?"
You meet his gaze without wavering.
"I already did."
The silence stretches just long enough to make it clear there's nothing left for him to argue with. Your ex exhales sharply, shaking his head like he's still trying to make sense of something that doesn't belong to him anymore.
"Fine," he mutters. "Whatever."
He steps back now, looking defeated in a way you've never seen.
"Good luck with that," he adds, gesturing vaguely between you and Leon like he still needs the last word, even now.
Leon's mouth tilts just slightly, something softer than amusement settling into his expression as his gaze flicks down to you instead of staying on him.
"Don't need it," he says calmly.
Then, quieter, meant for you more than anyone else, his hand shifting just slightly at your waist as he leans in a fraction closerâ
"You always attract this kind of trouble," he murmurs, voice low enough that it brushes past your ear, warm and almost teasing, "or am I special?"
Your breath catches despite everything, a small, startled exhale slipping out before you can stop it, the tension of the moment cracking just enough to let something lighter through.
Behind you, your ex goes still for half a second, like he's realized too late that he's no longer part of the conversation at all.
The door closes. The latch clicks. And just like that, the tension drains out of the space all at once, leaving behind something quieter, something heavier in a different way. Leon doesn't move right away. His hand is still at your waist, steady and warm, his presence still close, still grounded, like he's making sure the moment has actually passed before he lets anything shift.
Then, softer, "You okay?"
The question lingers for a second after he asks it. The tension that had been holding you upright, steady, composed enough to face him, to hold your ground, finally loosens all at once now that the door is closed. Your shoulders drop just slightly, your breath slipping out in a quiet exhale you didn't realize you'd been holding.Â
Without thinking about it, you lean into Leon. It just happens, your weight shifting toward him, your forehead brushing lightly against his shoulder as if that's where you were always meant to land once it was over. Leon doesn't hesitate to comfort you, his arm tightening just slightly around your waist, his hand flattening more firmly without much thought, settling lightly against the back of your arm, steady and warm.
"Hey," he murmurs, softer now, his voice closer, meant only for you.
You nod against him, a small movement, your fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt like you need something solid to anchor yourself to.
"I'm okay," you say, though it comes out quieter than you intended, a little more honest than the version you might have given earlier. After a beat, you add, "Just didn't think he'd ever show up again."
Leon exhales softly, something measured and controlled, his chin dipping just slightly as if he's taking that in, filing it somewhere it matters.
"Yeah," he says, low and steady. "He shouldn't have."
Your grip tightens faintly against his shirt, your thoughts catching up now that the moment has passed, replaying pieces of the conversation whether you want them to or not.
"He always did that," you admit after a second, your voice quieter now, more thoughtful than tense. "Acted like if he just kept talking, I'd eventually give in, and sometimes I did."
Leon's hand shifts slightly at your side, his thumb brushing once in a slow, absent motion that feels more intentional than it should.
"I used to stay longer than I wanted to."
"That's not happening anymore," he says after a moment, his voice quiet but sure.
You lift your head slightly at that, just enough to look at him, your expression softer now, the earlier tension replaced with something warmer, something steadier.
"No," you agree, a small breath of a smile touching your mouth. "It's not."
Leon's gaze holds yours for a second longer, like he's making sure you mean it, like he's measuring the difference between who you were then and who you are now. Your fingers shift slightly against his shirt, not gripping as tightly now, but not letting go either. The quiet settles around you again, softer this time, less tense, but still holding the echo of what just happened.
You hesitate for a second because you don't want to say it. You haven't said it out loud in a while.
"It was with someone I knew," you admit finally, your voice quieter now, more thoughtful than anything else. "We were friends."
Leon doesn't interrupt you. He listens, thumb rubbing soft circles on your skin.
"She used to come around sometimes," you continue, your gaze drifting slightly, remembering. "He always acted like she was just a friend. Like I was overthinking it."
Your mouth tightens faintly, not with fresh hurt, but with the kind of frustration that lingers long after the damage is done.
"I found out later it had been going on for a while."
"He's got a pattern, then," Leon says, his tone calm, but there's something firmer underneath it now, something that wasn't there a second ago. Something protective, something that doesn't like what it's hearing.
You let out a small breath, something that almost passes for a laugh, though it's softer than that.
"Yeah," you murmur. "Guess so."
Leon studies you for a second, his expression quieter now, more thoughtful, like he's taking in not just what happened, but how you're carrying it. His mouth tilts into a smile, into something that feels a little more like him again, a little lighter, a little sharper in that controlled way he uses when he wants to take the edge off something without dismissing it.
"You've got questionable taste in men," he says, glancing down at you briefly before his eyes lift again, steady and warm. "Good thing you're improving."
It catches you by surprise, with enough humor to break the weight without ignoring it. Your breath catches for a second before a real smile finally breaks through, small but genuine, the tension easing out of your shoulders just a little more.
"That so?" you ask, a quiet hint of amusement threading back into your voice.
Leon hums, low in his chest, his hand still warm at your waist as his gaze lingers on you just a second longer than necessary.
"Yeah," he says, softer now. "Big upgrade."
"Big upgrade?" you echo, tilting your head slightly as you look at him, your tone light but threaded with something playful now, something that wasn't there a minute ago. "That sounds a little biased."
Leon huffs a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh, his hand still resting at your waist as his thumb brushes once, slow and absent, like he's gotten used to keeping you there.
"Maybe," he admits, though there's no real concession in it, his gaze steady on yours.
You narrow your eyes at him just slightly, your hand finally loosening from his shirt enough to shift, your fingers sliding lightly along the fabric before settling again, this time a little more deliberately.
"Pretty confident for someone who just showed up for dinner," you add, a hint of teasing slipping more clearly into your voice now. "You don't even know what the competition looks like."
His head tilts just a fraction, his gaze dipping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes, something warmer, more focused settling into it.
"I've got a pretty good idea," he says quietly.
The space between you feels smaller again, charged in a different way now, lighter than before but no less real. Your fingers tighten faintly where they rest against him, grounding yourself in the moment as your gaze flicks to his mouth without meaning to.
When you look back up, he's already watching you. And this time, you don't hesitate. You lean in first.
The kiss is soft and certain, your lips meeting his with a quiet confidence that feels earned, like something you've both already decided without saying it out loud. Leon responds immediately, his hand shifting at your waist, drawing you closer as his other hand lifts to your jaw again, familiar now.
When you pull back, it's slow, your breath brushing his as your forehead nearly meets his, both of you lingering in that space like neither of you is in a hurry to leave it.
Leon's gaze stays on you for a second longer before something lighter slips back in, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.
"Still think I'm wrong?" he murmurs.
You let out a small, breathy laugh, your hand giving a faint, playful tug at his shirt.
"Ask me again later," you reply, just as soft.
Leon's hand lingers at your waist for a second longer before he finally steps back just enough to give you space, though not much. His fingers brush lightly against your side as he moves, the contact lingering even after it's gone.
His gaze drifts toward the kitchen, then toward the half-finished dinner waiting patiently where you left it.
"We're gonna have to reheat that," he says, a quiet note of amusement slipping back into his voice.
You glance over your shoulder, following his line of sight, and huff a small laugh.
"Yeah," you admit. "Probably."
Leon steps past you then, not far, just enough to reach for the container, popping the lid slightly as if checking the damage, his movements easy, familiar, like he belongs here just as much as you do.
"Tragic," he mutters under his breath, though there's no real complaint in it.
You move beside him without thinking about it, your shoulder brushing his as you reach for a plate, the contact easy now, expected.
"Your fault," you say lightly. "You distracted me."
Leon glances at you from the corner of his eye, something warm settling into his expression again.
"Worth it," he replies.
And somehow, standing there with him in your kitchen, the tension gone, the warmth back, it feels like it.
Thanks for reading! My requests are open! I would love to hear from you! <3
the pink pill | jjk version (m) â â3 daysâ
⼠banner by: @jkndigo.
⼠PAIRING: jungkook x fem!reader
⼠SUMMARY: In each of these universes, you find yourself consuming what is known as the pink pill. This pill is essentially a drug that enhances your libido to the max and youâll quite literally never experience arousal like you do when youâve taken this pill. Thankfully, in each universe, thereâs a man thatâs ready to help you explore and reach your peak of sexual euphoria.
⼠GENRE: smut â porn without plot â best friends
⼠CATEGORY: one-shot [part of the pink pill series]
⼠WARNINGS: unprotected sex (wrap it up!!!!), extremely horny!reader, missionary, cocky!jungkook, doggy style, cum-shot, creampie, crying, overstimulation, kissing, reader asks her bff jk for a favor, theyâve never had sex before(w each other), kissing w tongue, annoying friends, reader is dared into taking the pill, fingerfucking, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, slight choking, bit of spanking, praise, slight guilt for fucking best friend, jungkookâs stamina (deffo inspired by seven), minors DNI
⼠WORDCOUNT: 9.1k
a/n: aaaand the first addition to tpp series is out 𼴠this was originally going to be a short drabble for jk but i liked the concept so much that i decided to make it a one-shot + write one for every single member. so see this as my first thought for the fic (not boring imo but the most basic one? if that makes sense) anyways, hope u enjoy!
â TAGLIST â
â MASTERLIST & CONCEPT VIDEO â
âWhat even is that?â you ask your friend, Lee, as you reach for the pink package that she just nonchalantly tossed onto your coffee table. Youâre seated on your couch as you wrap your fingers around the piece of pink carton, uncrossing your legs once you have it in your hands.
Your eyes scan the white letters around the pink cartoon cat but you still canât make much sense of it.
âI saw someone tweet about it. Essentially, itâs like viagra for vaginas,â Lee tells you as she leans back into the couch, a cold can of coke in her hand.
You canât help but snort in mockery as you throw it back onto the table in front of you and say, âThereâs no way in hell you actually believe that thing works.â
Your other friend, Yoona, walks out of your kitchen with another can of soda in her hand. She glances at the small pink package on the table as she plops down on your couch next to you, an amused grin on her lips.
Lee shrugs her shoulders as she zaps through the comedy movies catalogue on Netflix with your remote, her eyes absentmindedly shifting to the packaged pill. âIâm not sure. It was like 10 bucks on Amazon.â Her gaze lingers on the pill, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
You roll your eyes, annoyance bubbling in your chest at the fact that your friend is dumb enough to get scammed like this. â10 bucks? They just sold you some cinnamon powder in a capsule and called it a day,â you laugh, returning your attention to the TV as you throw your feet up onto the coffee table.
âOh, yeah? Then why donât you take it?â Lee challenges you, pushing the pill in the pink package toward you with her foot.
Your eyes shift toward the pill. âYou want me to take that pill right now?â Your eyebrow cocks up and you stare at it for a moment as if it were poison before turning your attention to her. It could very well be poison, actually.
A smirk stretches onto Yoonaâs lips as she seemingly enjoys the thought of Lee challenging the most stubborn person on planet Earth. Yoona leans forwards after sipping her coke, parting her lips to say, âYeah, since you donât think that it works, right?â
You nonchalantly shrug your shoulders, hoping to appear unbothered. You raise your own drink to your lips and glance at your friends over the rim of your can. âI really donât,â you say before you take a sip of your iced tea. âBut Jungkook is coming over later.â
An evil look twinkles in Yoonaâs eyes as your words reach her ears. âAh, so you do think thereâs a chance it works.â Sheâs proud of her little gotcha-moment but you make sure itâs short-lived.
She watches as you swallow too quickly, a low burp escaping your lips as you scramble to defend yourself.
âNo, I literally donât.â Why would you? Viagra is insanely expensive, to think itâs counterpart is available on Amazon for 10 bucks is insane.
âThen take it,â Lee tilts her head to the side, a shit-eating grin on her lips. âBesides⌠you keep saying thereâs nothing going on between you and Jungkook. Why mention heâs coming over if youâre not fucking him and if you donât think the pill works?â she adds, eyes twinkling with satisfaction as if sheâs got you.
You place your can of iced tea back down on the table with a thud. âIâm not fucking Jungkook, you weirdo,â you grumble as you defiantly reach for the pill.
You and Jungkook have been best friends for years, they know that! They know how both you and Jungkook physically cringe and wince whenever someone mistakes the two of you for a couple. Now, they put the image of having sex with him in your brain and itâs weird.
(Read: Well, lately, it has been crossing your mind but it quickly gets ignored.)
Youâre not dumb, you know Jungkookâs been popular for being attractive since forever but he was never really your type.
Keyword: was.
Itâs not your fault, though! Jungkook has been growing out his hair and has been working out, his arm is covered in tattoos and he seems to be making good money as a freelance video editor.
âWell, if youâre not fucking him, can I? I donât know whatâs in the air but heâs been changing a lot lately. Like his beauty looks like it doesnât even belong on Earth.â Yoona takes the final sip of her old drink after she says that, crumpling it up and slamming it down onto the table with an obnoxious exhale.
You can tell sheâs saying it to get a rise out of you but you quite literally donât care. Why would you care about who the hell your friend is fucking?
âFuck him if you want, I literally donât care,â you say quietly as you gather the empty cans onto the tray you brought them in. You actually canât bring yourself to care about Jungkookâs sex life, in all honesty.
âSee, youâre jealous! I bet youâre fucking.â Leeâs teaseful words and Yoonaâs obnoxious giggles are starting to irritate you. Canât they just accept the fact youâre not fucking your best friend just because he has a penis?
You glare at the both of them with a twitch in your brows, your nostrils flared and your fingers tingling with the urge to throw the empty cans of soda at them.
You make up your mind and say, âAlright, to prove to you that this stupid pink pill doesnât fucking work and nothing is going on between Jungkook and IâŚâ You pop the pill out of its pocket and place it on your tongue, swiftly swallowing it down with the rest of your iced tea. âTwo birds, one stone.â
The room fills with obnoxious laughter and giggles as they watch you, shaking their head at your obstinance. âYouâre so stubborn and so petty,â Yoona adds before taking a sip of her new coke after cracking it open.
âYou really think the pussy equivalent of viagra would cost 10 bucks? Be serious,â you grumble in annoyance, throwing your feet up onto the table again and slouch further into your couch as you try to pay attention to whatever is playing on the TV.
They share a mischievous look but you canât bring yourself to comment on it. âOkay, if you say so.â Lee brings her shoulders up in a shrug and drops the topic for now.
â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â
About 45 minutes later as Yoona and Lee get ready to leave, Yoona nudges you with her foot. âDo you feel anything?â
âNo. I donât. Iâm telling you, itâs not real,â you tell them in all honesty. You really donât feel any different. You donât show your relief, though.
âBummer. I really wanted you to learn a lesson,â Lee laughs and blows you a kiss when you put up your middle finger.
You say goodbye as they walk out and you just return your attention to your TV, watching the sappy drama that Lee and Yoona are obsessed with for some reason.
After a few moments, your phone buzzes.
[7:02PM]
Jungkook
Lays or Pringles?
[7:03PM]
You
pringlessssss
[7:03PM]
Jungkook
Bet. Be there in about an hour
[7:04PM]
You
okiii
You mindlessly throw your phone somewhere on the couch beside you and rise to your feet to clean up the mess Lee and Yoona left behind.
â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â
Well, fuck.
About another 40 minutes later, youâre starting to actually regret taking that damn pill.
You canât fucking believe this. Your nipples have been erect for 20 minutes and youâre sure youâre in need of a change of underwear.
What the hell is in that pill?
You walk into the bathroom to examine your appearance in the mirror. The air knocks out of your lungs at the sight in front of you.
Your pupils are dilated, your cheeks and nose are piping hot. Your lips are swollen and a thin layer of sweat is draped over your forehead.
Your heart has also been beating quicker than usual.
You want to hump everything in your sight. Is this what itâs like for an animal in heat? Fucking hell. Youâve never been this aroused.
Your hand slowly travels down your stomach and under the hem of your sweats. Reaching into your underwear, your fingertips are met with a disgusting amount of pure sticky substance.
If you werenât wearing your sweatpants so low on your hips, you definitely would have soaked through the thick material of your sweats, thatâs how fucking drenched you are.
What should you do? Take a quick shower? Itâd be useless to shower now since the effects can last for days. Youâd just continue to produce your bodyâs natural lubrication and you donât have the time to be showering every hour.
Clean up and change your underwear? That sounds like itâd make the most sense but youâd go through a lot of panties in a couple days too. Maybe you should literally just wear a tampon?
Fucking hell. You shouldâve never taken that fucking pill. Damn those fucking friends of yours.
Like a gag in a sitcom, just as you reach for your underwear drawer, your front door swinging open rips through your eardrums. Regret immediately seeps into your stomach for giving Jungkook your spare residence key.
âHoney, Iâm home,â Jungkook jokes and the sound of him kicking off his shoes as he closes the door rings in your ears like a blaring alarm.
You want to drop onto your knees and scream until you pass the fuck out. Your eyes flicker between the drawer and your bedroom door. What should you do?
He doesnât give you much of an option when you hear him searching for you. âY/N? Where are you?â Jungkookâs voice rings even louder in your ears this time and you can hear him approaching your room. You internally cry out and quickly head towards your bedroom door.
You walk into the hall and watch as he stops in his tracks. Heâs wearing a black beanie, grey sweatpants and a grey sweater with a plastic bag in his tattooed hand which you assume are the snacks he picked up on his way here.
Grey fucking sweats.
Jungkook has always been handsome but for fuckâs sake. Your core literally pulsates at the sight of him right now.
âHey,â you breathe out and walk up to him, brushing past him and into the living room in a straight line.
âHey⌠You okay?â His eyebrows shoot up in surprise and quickly pinch into a frown as he follows you into the living room.
You quickly nod your head, hand on your head as you try to collect your thoughts. âYeah, Iâm fine. You?â you say, trying to appear casual as you head into the kitchen to grab a can of his favorite beer.
The sound of the plastic bag full of snacks hitting your coffee table and his body plopping onto your couch doesnât go unnoticed by you. âIâm great, work was chill.â
You place your hands on your kitchen counter and lean forwards, taking a moment to catch your breath but your breath is not steadying at all.
Your feet carry you to the living room and you carefully place the cans onto the coffee table, trying your best not to look at him in those damn sweatpants.
Jungkook has ditched the beanie and his long black locks are sprawled on the backrest of the couch as he has comfortably sunk into your sofa, hair messy and screaming to be tugged on. You have to fight every bone in your body to not climb onto his lap right now and grind into him.
Have some fucking decorum, heâs your friend. Not an object.
Your chest deflates as you softly exhale. Make your way to the couch as you carefully sit down. Hope to the Lord that you donât soak through your clothes. Youâd usually sit next to him but today you think itâd be best to sit at the other end of the couch.
He aims his frown at you but you pretend not to notice. He doesnât comment on it, though. You crack your new can of iced tea open because thereâs no way youâre putting alcohol in your system with this amount of arousal pooling inside of you.
âWhat movie are we watching?â he asks after a moment of silence in hopes of deterring the awkwardness as he turns his head to the TV, his thumb pressing one of the arrows on your remote, going through the catalogue of available movies.
âUh⌠I donât know. You can choose,â you mumble as you take a few more gulps to distract yourself.
He frowns at your words but keeps his eyes glued to the TV. âI chose last time. Itâs your turn to choose.â
âYeah, sorry, I justââ you start, which makes him look at you, âjust put that one on.â You wave your hand toward the TV and he turns his head to look at the one heâs landed on before you return your attention to chugging your iced tea.
âWe watched that one 3 weeks ago.â He sits up this time. âAre you okay? You look like youâre about to keel over,â he says, quietly. He sounds concerned and you sound fucking stupid.
You shake your head as the sparkling beverage burns your throat, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. âIâm fine, Iâm okay,â you mumble under your breath.
âAre you trying to convince me or you?â he asks, âAnd why are you sitting so far away?â he whines as he scoots closer to you, his hand reaching out to grab your waist but you shoot up out of the couch and onto your feet, avoiding his touch by a hair.
The moment he touches you, youâre going to pounce on him. No doubt in your mind.
âNo, donât,â you squeal, taking a step away from the sofa.
Now Jungkook is really fucking confused.
He quickly stands up as well, a concerned yet confused frown on his face. He probably thinks he did something wrong which makes your chest tighten with guilt. âWhatâs going on? Why are you acting like youâre about to have a fucking stroke?â
You breathe loudly as you pace around the living room with your hands on your head and say, âI might.â
Jungkookâs breath abruptly hitches in his throat as your concerning words ring in his ears. âWhâ Huh? What? Should I call an ambulance?â
You shake your head. âNo, itâs not like that,â you mumble before you finally turn to him, dropping your hands from your head and letting your fingers pick at the loose flesh around your nails.
His eyes drop down to your anxious fidgeting before traveling back up to stare at you. âThen, what is it? Youâre scaring the shit out of me right now, Y/N.â
He actually does look terrified right now, staring at you with wide eyes as his teeth absentmindedly play with his lip piercings.
You loudly exhale in exasperation and rub your forehead as you consider just telling him. âI fucked up, Jungkook, and Iâm panicking,â you say, rubbing your eyes until thereâs colored spots in your vision. âI never shouldâve taken that fucking pill.â
You watch as his face becomes that of a cartoon character, eyes wide, brows raised to the stars, mouth twitching. âWhat? Pill? What pill? Are you high?â
You roll your eyes and grunt in annoyance with yourself for phrasing it like that. âNo, Iââ you groan loudly before cutting yourself off and heading into the kitchen. You wince as you shove your hand into the trash can, taking the ripped pink piece of carton out of the garbage. You stare at it for a while but already find yourself heading back into the living room before you overthink it and change your mind.
Jungkook is still standing in front of the couch, his big brown eyes still wide with concern and his bottom lip reddened from how much heâs been chewing on it.
You walk up to him and with a flick of your wrist, you toss it onto the table in front of him. He glances at the pink package before glancing back up at you but youâre already looking away with your arms crossed.
He slowly sinks back down and takes the ripped package into his hands to examine it. He reads the words for a few seconds but he still seems confused. âFemale sexual enhancement and libido boosting? What the fuck is this?â
You groan as you drop to your knees on the floor across from him, in front of the coffee table.
âItâs like viagra for people with pussies and itâs supposed to make you horny as fuck. My friends dared me to take it because I told them it wasnât real.â
He looks up at you through his brows, a mix of surprise and confusion still on his face. âDo you think itâs laced with something dangerous?â
âNo, nothing like that but whatever the fuck they put in it is working. Itâs fucking working,â you whine as you place your elbows on the coffee table in front of you with a loud thud, burying your face in your palms.
Thereâs a moment of silence between you two.
âSo likeâŚâ he begins, trying to stifle a laugh, âyouâre really horny? Right now?â
âJungkook,â you groan, eyes shamefully looking up at him and youâre just in time to watch him clutch his arms around his stomach as he just obnoxiously laughs in your face. âStop laughing!â
He chuckles for a little while longer before calming down. âIâm sorry, Iâve just never heard of this before. How are you feeling?â He places it back onto the table and returns the eye contact, still an annoying grin on his soft lips.
âLike I could fuck the fridge if it had a dick.â
Jungkook bursts out laughing maniacally, throwing himself back onto the couch as he exaggeratedly gasps for air.
âJungkook! Iâm panicking, stop laughing!â you whine, standing back up on your feet as heat rushes to your face, a lump of embarrassment forming in your throat.
âSorry, sorry,â he chuckles as he wipes a tear at the corner of his eye. âYouâre just so fucking stupid.â
You huff in response and glare down at him, his eyes slowly trailing up your body to meet yours and the single act of his black eyes drinking you in makes a curtain of lava drape over your already burning body.
You tap your foot against the floor impatiently. âWhat should I do?â You chew on your lip as you ask him the impossible question.
He simply shrugs his shoulders and leans back into the couch, hands on his upper thighs right below his hips. Heâs not making this any fucking easier. âMasturbate. Or go get fucked.â
You wince, a thousand volts of electricity travelling up your vertebrae at his words. âTonightâs our movie night, though.â
âBabe, youâre clearly not in the right headspace to be watching a movie with me.â
You internally scream at the pet name he sometimes uses when the both of you are alone. It never makes you feel anything in particular but right now, your stomach clenches at the pet name and youâre painfully reminded that it didnât help your sticky underwear situation at all.
âStill, I donât want to ditch you. Thatâs not cool,â you mutter as you take a seat on the couch, cringing as your panties stick to your core and your slick is undoubtedly smeared all over your sex and inner thighs. No matter how nonchalant he is about the situation, youâre too embarrassed to excuse yourself now to go change your damn underwear.
âSo what? Youâre just gonna sit next to me and squirm all evening?â he asks you, a genuine look of confusion on his face.
âMhm.â You shrug your shoulders in hopes of appearing nonchalant and unbothered as you reach for the remote.
But youâre extremely bothered. Hot and fucking bothered.
âYou can go masturbate, you know. Iâm not going to act weird about it,â he tells you with a carefree air around him as he tears a bag of chips open.
His words make your pussy clench around nothing and you have to actively remind yourself to cross your arms to hide your erect nipples, despite the fact he has probably already noticed.
âI doubt masturbating will do the trick. Besides, it says the effects can last up to 72 hours. Iâm not going to masturbate for 3 days.â
He breaks into a fit of giggles again, making you roll your eyes as you swing one of your legs over the other. It appears casual but really, youâre just looking for some friction.
âYouâre so dumb for taking that pill.â He reminds you, as if you donât already know that. He glances at you when a childish huff pushes past your lips.
Neither of you say anything else but the moment of silence is disturbed by the scrunching of the bag of chips in Jungkookâs hands.
You take a moment as you consider what you really want to ask him. Should you just say fuck it and ask him to fuck the shit out of you?
The idea quickly gets obliterated by your rational self and you finally choose a movie to play.
Throughout the movie, you notice Jungkookâs eyes on you every now and then. The constant crossing of your legs and arms doesnât go unnoticed by him but he never comments on it.
Youâre doing great until a sex scene starts playing on the screen. You suck in a breath as you watch intently, your fingers twitching in your lap.
The actress on the screen is crying out in â over the top â pleasure as the man pounds into her, the headboard of the bed banging against the wall exaggeratedly makes the frames that are hung up on the wall crash to the ground with a loud clatter. You know itâs all fake but that doesnât stop the gushing in your panties.
âY/N,â Jungkook chuckles as he motions for you to skip the scene but you donât react to him.
You stare blankly ahead of you at the TV, sitting in silence. You can see Jungkook shaking his head at your stubbornness in the corner of your eye as he stretches his arm over your lap, reaching for the remote thatâs next to your thigh. His arm is hovered over your lap, face almost pressed into your chest and his cologne is the final drop that has your head spinning.
The silence that falls around the two of you as you impulsively wrap your hand around his wrist â thatâs reaching for the remote â is suffocating.
He instantly freezes, eyes glued to the remote that he had just wrapped his fingers around. Heâs in an awkward position, lying on his hip and his arm stretched out over your thighs with his face mere inches away from your breasts.
You finally decide to speak up.
âWill you do me a favor?â you quietly ask him after those few moments of silence as you let go of his wrist, your eyes nervously glued to your fingers as you fidget with the laces of your sweatpants.
This time, Jungkook is quiet.
Jungkook is never quiet.
The tension is palpable and it makes you want to jump off your balcony right now. His silence is already starting to make you regret asking him.
He slowly moves back to his seat but you canât see much else as you refuse to look away from your lap.
He finally speaks up and youâre conflicted on whether youâre relieved that he does or not. âAre you asking me what I think youâre asking of me?â His voice is lower than usual. It sends a quick shiver down your spine and awakens the goosebumps on the upper layer of your skin.
You donât even look at him and in response, you just stay quiet, your silence confirming his speculation.
You two sit in unbearable silence for what seems like a damn eternity, the obnoxious moaning coming from the TV is not making this any easier. Jungkook seems to be in deep thought before you see him rise to his feet in your peripheral vision. You swallow thickly as he starts heading towards the entrance hall.
Shit. Heâs leaving.
You donât blame him, though. Who the fuck asks this of their best friend?
You shut your eyes tightly, holding your breath as you patiently wait for the sound of the door clicking close to hit your ears.
But it never comes.
âAre you coming or not?â
His words shoot into your eardrums like a thousand needles and it makes your heart violently jerk against your ribcage.
You crack your eyes open to see him standing in the doorway of the hall, back turned to you but his head turned over his shoulder as he stares you down with an unreadable expression clouding his face. A frown climbs its way onto your brows as you slowly get up. Your feet take you to him on their own, body magnetizing towards him as your stomach bursts with excitement and your veins are set aflame with desire.
You shyly follow him into your bedroom as if youâre the one visiting his home. âAre you sure?â you quietly ask him as you enter your bedroom after him, closing the door with a soft thud.
He slowly turns to you, head cocked to the side as his black gaze drapes over your body and makes you feel incredibly small. âYouâre my friend in need of some help. Why would I not be sure?â His face is a bit expressionless and his voice sounds different than what youâre used to.
Your brows pinch together at his disregardance. âJungkook, this isnât a usual request. Iâm not asking you to drop me off at home after work or to delete an ugly picture of me you posted on your instagram. Iâmââ
âYouâre asking me to fuck you. I donât see why it has to mean anything more than what it is. Sex isnât that big of a deal, Y/N.â
You idly blink at him, listening to his blunt words as he casually tells you heâs down to fuck you. All those years of the two of you swearing you had never crossed any lines, how you donât see each other that way, how youâre like family and this is what itâs come to?
The doubt glimmering in your eyes doesnât go unnoticed by him, evident by the crossing of his arms over his chest and the cocking of his head to the side. âAre you sure?â he asks you this time, his voice soft and his tone neutral.
You stare at him for a couple seconds but youâve made up your mind.
You start walking past him, heading for your bed. You tuck your fingers under the hem of your sweats and wiggle them off your hips as you turn around to face him again, stepping out of the sweats pooling at your ankles. You take a seat on the edge of your bed and kick your sweats away, all whilst looking up at him through your pretty lashes.
You notice that his own breath is getting heavier. His Adamâs apple bobs up and down as he watches you slowly lean back on your hands, bending your legs at the knees and propping your feet up onto the edge of the mattress as you spread your thighs wide apart, allowing him to witness your extreme arousal firsthand.
Jungkookâs eyes drop down to whatâs between your legs, the massive wet patch of slick on your panties and your inner thighs lathered in your stickiness make his eyebrows twitch.
âIs that pill giving you a major confidence boost too?â he mumbles as he walks up to you, referring to how youâre usually on the shy and modest side. He tugs his sweatshirt off and throws it somewhere on your floor.
âI donât give a fuck about what itâs given me, I need you to fuck me like youâve never fucked anyone before. Right now,â you say with a hiss to your tone as you ditch your t-shirt, leaving you in your sheer tank top and no bra.
Your erect nipples havenât gone unnoticed by him and your words make him grunt in response. You watch as he starts palming himself through his sweatpants, body now towering over you as he stares down at you.
Youâve seen Jungkook shirtless before, when heâs working out or playing some random sport with his friends that you agreed to cheer him on for from the sidelines. Even when he stays over or you stay over at his. So, his physique shouldnât be surprising to you and it isnât, but the sight of his bare torso right now drives you up the fucking wall.
He reaches for the hem of your panties, making you close your thighs as he yanks them down your legs. The massive string of slick still connected to your underwear makes him swear loudly, your panties aggressively tossed to the floor by him.
âI canât believe how wet itâs made you,â he grunts as he places his hands on your knees and gently spreads your thighs again, eyes glued to your sticky pussy. âIâm pretty confident Iâve satisfied all the people Iâve had sex with but Iâve never seen anything like this. Youâre fucking dripping.â
And you are. You can hear the splatter of a droplet hitting your floor and the embarrassment drives you absolutely insane.
You notice his hand tightening around his boner. âFuck, I want to taste.â
You can tell he wants to touch, lick, taste you but youâve already made it clear that you need him to fuck you right this instant.
âJungkook, Iâll literally die if you donât fuck me right now.â You lean back onto your elbows, eyes still staring up at him as he slowly starts tugging his sweatpants down his legs. Soon he ditches the Calvin Klein boxers too, allowing his erection to spring free.
Your eyes drop down to the dick in his hand, hard as a rock as he spits in his hand and strokes himself whilst eyeing you. His dick is red at the tip but darkens at the shaft, itâs not massive but itâs not small either. Itâs just the right size. The sight alone could have you squirting hands-free.
You need to be sedated.
âI donât have any protection on me,â he begins, âAre youââ
You cut him off. âIâm clean. Are you?â
You know Jungkook is incredibly responsible when it comes to his sex life but you still make it a thing to ask.
âYeah,â he breathes out. Upper teeth sunken into his bottom lip. Strokes his own dick.
âGood, âcause I need to feel everything,â you grunt as you reach for your clit. You drag your fingers up your wet slit and pull your fingers away from your pussy to show him the thick string of your slick that stays connected from your pussy to your fingers. The string doesnât break even though youâve stretched it out a few inches.
Itâs your way of telling him you donât need any prep because you are disgustingly drenched.
âFuck,â he mumbles under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He takes a few moments to collect himself before he positions himself at your sex. He rubs the head of his dick up and down your slit, gathering your slick onto his tip with a hiss escaping his mouth. âBirth control?â
Your legs violently jerk at the sensation of the head of his dick rubbing up and down your slit. You could cum right now. âYeah.â Your reply leaves your lips in a pornographic moan and you canât even bring yourself to be embarrassed about it.
He positions his dick at your hole with one hand whilst the other supports your leg by the back of your knee. âReady?â
âFor fuckâs sake, just put it in already. I feel like Iâll come undone any second,â you whimper, your chest rising and falling dramatically as you pant.
A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest, looking up into your eyes for the first time since you showed him your wet pussy. He slowly starts pushing into you, his eyes watching your face as your mouth falls open and your eyebrows scrunch together at the intrusion.
A whiny groan leaves his throat as your walls wrap around him. âHoly shit. Youâre so fucking tight. So fucking wet,â he mumbles more to himself as he starts pushing further in, the sweet moans spilling from your lips raising goosebumps on his arms as you clench around him, threatening to milk him of everything heâs worth.
He leans forward and hovers over you, wedging himself in between your legs as he keeps pushing into you. His hands are flat against the mattress on each side of your waist, the back of your knees bent at his forearms, around his elbows. Youâre spread so wide that the sound of your soaking pussy is, at times, louder than the slapping of his skin against yours.
You cry out at the pleasure, itâs like your sensitivity has been cranked up to a hundred. Your senses are sent into overdrive, the tiniest friction has your head spinning because nothing compares to how youâre feeling right now.
You open your eyes to the most beautiful sight youâve ever seen, Jungkook on top of you with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes closed. Heâs gorgeous.
Tears prick in your eyes at the pleasure, the head of his dick rubbing against your walls so good has you seeing stars. You can feel every single ridge, vein, nook and cranny of his dick as he fucks into you. Your walls tighten around him so well, your slick already making a sticky mess against his sex and your bum.
As if he sensed you looking at him, his eyes crack open and stare down at yours. His gaze drops down to your lips and before you know it, he has his lips pressed to yours. Youâre surprised at first but your lips quickly work back, a moan escaping your throat which allows him to lick into your mouth.
After several minutes of making out and fucking, Jungkook pulls back to catch his breath. âSorry about that but you feelâ you feel so fucking good,â he grunts as he leans back again, turning you onto your side and lifting your leg as he continues to fuck into you.
You yelp at the switch of position, your fingers tightly wrapping around the sheets under your waist, watching as your leg slightly jerks against his chest but he restrains your thigh as he holds onto it tightly.
The familiar clench in your stomach takes you by surprise. Already?
âIâm gonna fucking cum. Iâm gonnaââ You have never orgasmed this fast and definitely not from solely penetration before but this pill is working wonders.
Jungkook nods his head in understanding as he kisses your calf thatâs up on his shoulder. âCum on my dick, babe,â he says with a moan before he tilts his head back in bliss.
Fuck him for using that pet name.
âOh, fuck. Oh, my God. Iâm gonnaâŚâ you cry out as your orgasm drops onto you like a pile of fucking bricks, a million volts of electricity frying your brains and making your heart beat a thousand miles a minute.
Youâre grateful that Jungkook keeps fucking you because your orgasm has never lasted this long before. Your legs are shaking, your hands are bunching up the sheets around you and your throat burns from the cries youâve let out.
The continuous clenching of your pussy during your orgasm has pushed Jungkook to the edge as well, his brows furrowed in concentration.
His own orgasm approaches him as his thrusts get a little rougher, your breasts bouncing from the momentum of his hips slamming into yours.
Not long after you, he pulls out in one swift motion. It seems like he pulled out right on time because ropes of his warm cum instantly land all over your sex and stomach the moment he pulls out.
He reaches for his dick and pumps himself to milk himself of every drop, bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he watches himself cum all over his best friend.
His hand comes to a halt and he collapses on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck as he tries to catch his breath.
After a few moments of silence and no movement other than the heavy breathing, you say, âJungkookâŚâ
He pauses for a moment and then says, âGive me a few minutes, Iâll be ready for round two in a bit.â His voice is quiet and muffled from being buried in the crook of your neck.
âRound two?â you ask him, a scrunch on your brows as you frown at the ceiling.
He slowly lifts his head, his eyes searching yours. âYeah, you donât wanna go for round two?â he asks, his voice is neutral as if heâs asking you about the weather. Doesnât he realize he just fucked you? Heâs talking to you with the sweetest look in his eyes as if he didnât just give you most mind-blowing orgasm of your life.
âWell⌠Yeah. But I donât expect you to,â you quietly say, blinking up at him with doe eyes.
âNonsense,â he grumbles as he finally pushes himself off of you, his softening dick retreating from you. He glances down at your chest and looks back up at you. âCan I take this off?â he asks, gently tugging at your tank top.
Without another word, you reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head. He quietly apologizes as he takes it from you and uses it to wipe your body clean before tossing it aside. He knows youâre too fucked out to scold him for it.
Jungkookâs eyes immediately drop down to your breasts, his big brown eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. His hands reach up but freeze right above your breasts, eyes glancing up to read your expression and see if itâs okay to touch them.
Your eyes flicker with desperation. âPlease,â you breathe out, encouraging him to go ahead.
He brings his hand up to his mouth and licks at his thumb, bringing it down to toy with your erect nipple. âWow,â he whispers, closing in on your other breast with his mouth as he gently licks and sucks on your nipple.
Your moans sound pathetic, hips involuntarily thrusting up into his. It makes him chuckle like the cocky asshole that he is, his hand gently pressing against your stomach to push your hips down. âI donât think Iâve ever seen anyone this horny,â he states as he rolls off of you and props himself up next to you, leaning on his elbow to support his own weight.
His hand slowly trails from your breast down to your stomach and youâre already spreading your thighs further apart for him which makes him chuckle again. The tips of his middle and ring finger find your clit, the direct contact to the most sensitive area in your body sends a shiver down your legs.
Small circles are being rubbed onto your clit by his soft fingers and after a few moments, his eyes shift down to his fingers as he pulls them away from your pussy. âLook,â he says in a deep exhale.
You glance down at his hand like heâs asking you to. Heâs showing you the string of slick thatâs connected to his fingers and if you werenât high off arousal right now, youâd be extremely embarrassed at how wet you are.
His fingers dive back in, sliding in between your folds and massaging all around before he plunges his fingers into you. This makes you thrust your hips straight up into his hand, a pornographic moan spilling from your lips.
âYouâre so needy,â he chuckles, pushing you down as he starts furiously fucking his fingers into you, curling them repeatedly to assault your g-spot.
You yelp at the torture on your sweet spot. âShut the fuck up,â you grunt, your reaction to his teaseful words makes him chuckle.
He presses his soft lips into the side of your neck as he continues his abuse on your pussy, not commenting on the way your legs jolt and jerk with every curl of his fingers but forcefully restraining you from writhing with his own body.
âJungkook, Iâm gonnaââ
âAlready?â he teases you, twisting his body so half of it is now hovering over you. You turn to look at him as you sob, the squishing sounds your pussy makes are loud enough to finally embarrass you. His face is hovering right over yours as his hands slam into your sex. Your hands reach up to the back of his head, pulling him down to press your lips into his so you can avoid his piercing gaze.
He wastes no time kissing you back, his hand picking up its insanity-inducing pace. White spots cover your eyelids as a strange sensation washes over you. Itâs not an orgasm, you donât recall ever feeling this before. You cry into his mouth and it takes you a second to realize youâre squirting all over your bed.
âFuuuck,â Jungkook grunts into your mouth, the pace of his hand never faltering as it continues to slam into your sex. Tears stream down your face as your second orgasm quickly approaches you right after your squirt session, your legs continuously jerking and squirming under him.
âJungkookâ!â you sob as your hips involuntarily recoil against the mattress, your orgasm finally hitting you directly after your squirt session. Your hips running away from Jungkookâs hand doesnât mean anything to him. He just keeps fucking his fingers into you. Lips still pressed to yours as he swallows your pleading cries.
He hums against your mouth, lips wrapping around your tongue as he gently sucks on it. You aggressively squirm under him, your hands weakly pressed up against his shoulders and chest in an attempt to push him off. He finally gets the memo and retreats his fingers.
He canât help himself as he pulls away from your lips, bringing his sticky fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean, humming in delight at the taste of his best friend.
He pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a pop and sits up, looking down at the mess you created. âDamn. I didnât know you could do all that,â he mumbles before running his hand back up your disgustingly wet slit, holding you down with his other hand to keep you from squirming.
You canât even answer, youâre completely fucked out under him, trying to catch your breath.
âYouâre not giving up on me, are you?â he quips, using his sticky hand to pump his growing erection.
Your eyes drop down to his hand, swallowing hard as you eye his dick. âGet on all fours, come on,â he says as he slaps your thigh, getting on his knees on your mattress in front of you.
âGive me a second, you freak,â you mumble as you prop yourself up on your elbows. You shake your head in an attempt to gather your thoughts but it doesnât do much.
You finally turn over and lazily get onto your hands and knees, arms shaking and you try your best to ignore your slick trickling down the back of your thighs.
His hand comes down to knead your asscheek, a low grunt leaving his throat. âIf thereâs one thing Iâve fantasized about when it comes to you, itâs your ass,â he mutters under his breath, both his hands now kneading the soft skin of your bum.
âYouâve fantasized about me?â you ask him, glancing over your shoulder to look back at him.
His eyes glance into yours before they return to your perky ass in front of him, one hand stopping the kneading of your cheek to pump his dick and position it at your sex.
âIâd be lying if I said I havenât,â he starts, âbut it was only a handful of times and it was way back when we first met, no worries,â he adds, rubbing the tip of his dick up your slit. âI take our friendship seriously.â
It knocks a moan out of you and your arms already give out, your face colliding with the mattress under you. How seriously did you both take this friendship if youâre rubbing your genitals together right now?
âHave you fantasized about me?â he quietly asks you, a quiet hiss leaving his lips as he continues to rub his tip up and down your wetness.
You sniff, silently thinking about your answer for a moment before sighing and saying, âMaybe once a year.â
A soft chuckle escapes his lips at your response and he shakes his head. He doesnât reply and instead pushes into you, groaning at the stretch again. âI literally just fucked you, how are you still soââ he groans loudly as he bottoms out. He throws his head back as he starts fucking into you but quickly tilts it back down to watch the skin of your asscheeks recoil against his hips.
Your pathetic wimpers make him reach around your hip, gently rubbing your clit as he starts thrusting into you. You cry out at the overstimulation, stretching your arm out behind you to push into his lower stomach in an attempt to push him off but thereâs absolutely no strength behind the push because you donât want him to stop.
âYou sound so fucking pretty like this,â he grunts, fingers continuing to rub circles on your overstimulated clit and he pays absolutely no mind to your hand pressing into his lower abdomen. âTell me how Iâm making you feel.â
With another sob into your pillow, you shake your head at his request. He canât possibly expect you to form a coherent sentence, right?
Thatâs until you feel a sharp sting spread through your asscheek, your ass recoiling from the spanking he just gave you. You gasp and lazily turn your face to look over your shoulder at him as you shout, âJeon Jungkook!â
He leans over, his chest pressed into your back and his lips pressed against your ear. âTell me,â he whispers as he pushes you forward, watching you fall flat onto your stomach, face pressed into the pillows. Youâre now fully lying face down on the mattress.
Just as you turn to look over your shoulder at him, he has entered you again. The fact that youâre lying face down with your legs together makes him curse as he struggles to enter you all the way but he does, the feeling of being wrapped all around him has you seeing stars.
He places his hands on each side of your elbows as you prop yourself up on them, his lips pressed to the shell of your ear and his chest pressed into your back as he starts thrusting into you again.
âJungkook,â you moan as you turn your face slightly, eyes staring up at him. His face is so close to yours, eyes glued to the mattress underneath you.
âTell me how it feels, baby.â
Fuck. Why would he call you that?
Your mouth is agape and your eyebrows are furrowed as Jungkook keeps fucking into you from behind, his eyes finally shifting to yours. His proximity and intense eyes make you finally comply as you say, âItâ It feels so fucking good.â
His black eyes penetrate yours and you canât tear your eyes away from his. âYou look so fucking pretty like this, Y/N, holy shit. I just wannaââ he grunts as he cuts himself off, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder as he keeps fucking into your tightness.
âYou just wanna what?â you say, a soft whimper following your words as you encourage him to finish his sentence.
âDestroy you.â
A cry spills from your lips the moment he says that, the pace in which heâs thrusting picks up and itâs getting rougher with each passing second. At this point youâre almost getting hatefucked and you canât help but love every second of it.
âI hope thatâs a promise,â you manage to reply.
âOh yeah?â His hand wraps around your throat from the back, making you lift your head up, the back of your head colliding with his shoulder. Your temple is pressed against his jaw as he gently squeezes your throat.
The sinful sounds such as his skin slapping against yours, the squelshing of your wet pussy and the moans spilling from your lips are the only things you can hear and want to hear at this moment.
Jungkookâs lips and nose graze the shell of your ear, quiet moans leaving his mouth and you can only describe it as liquid gold being ladled into your ear by angels.
âFuck, come ride me.â He doesnât even wait for a response as he slides right out of you, lets go of your throat and drops his body next to yours before rolling onto his back. His strong arms reach for you and yank you up by your arm and waist, pulling you toward him.
A surprised yelp leaves you as youâre forced to climb onto him, every single time your clit grazes his skin has you biting back a pathetic sob. You guide his dick toward your sex and without hesitation, you sink right down onto his sex.
He grunts at the way you tightly wrap around him, hands reaching for your hips. You start bouncing on him, thighs and ass slapping into his hips which makes him moan your name softly.
You throw your head back in pure bliss and place your hands on his thighs, allowing yourself to lean back on them and support your weight as you fuck yourself on his dick.
âHoly shit,â he mumbles as he watches your every movement, eyes scanning the way your face twists in pleasure, the way your breasts bounce, the way your stomach jiggles, the way pretty moans continuously fall from your lips.
He brings his fingers to your sex and rubs that pattern that you like directly onto your clit. He watches as your body starts jerking and your legs start trembling with a shit-eating grin.
âIâm gonna⌠Iâm gonnaââ
He cuts you off. âI know, pretty. Cum all over me,â he says as he continues to stimulate your already overstimulated clit.
You want to keep riding, you really, really want to but you canât. Your body collapses right on top of his torso, breathless and a mess. He jumps right into action as he holds onto your forearms and pins them into your lower back, holding you tightly against his chest as he thrusts up into you.
Your face is buried in the pillow right next to his head, your cries probably deafening him as he fucks you toward your 3rd orgasm of the hour. Your body is moving like jelly at this point and you canât contain your sobs as your body continues to tremble like a leaf in the wind.
Your 3rd orgasm hits you like a fucking train and you canât even move, you keep crying in Jungkookâs hold as he mercilessly pounds his hips up into you.
Fireworks explode on the back of your eyelids, electricity fries your brain into a pile of mush and your body is set alight, all your nerve endings bursting with magma.
When youâve ridden out your orgasm, a surprised whimper rips through your throat when youâre suddenly flipped, thrown onto your back against your mattress and your legs pushed back towards your torso.
He climbs onto you and slides right back in, ignoring your cries of overstimulation as he harshly fucks into you, his hands placed against the mattress right next to your ribs on each side of your body.
You weakly crack your eyes open to glance up at him, your gaze shifting all over his face. The layer of sweat covering his forehead and nose, his bottom lip trapped in between his bunny teeth, his eyes staring deep into your fucking soul.
âWhere⌠Where do you want me to cum?â he breathily asks, his hips aggressively recoiling against yours as his own orgasm approaches him rapidly.
âFill me up until you pass out, Jungkook.â Your voice is hoarse at this point, cracking at the end of your sentence. He knows itâs nothing more than a figure of speech but itâs got his hips stuttering for a moment.
âFuck, youâre soâŚâ He canât even finish his sentence as heâs finally releasing his load, shooting ropes of his cum straight into his best friend.
âFuck,â he curses continuously as his thrusts get inconsistent. His head drops onto your shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as he moans softly with each sloppy thrust, the disgusting squelching of his cum being fucked into you rings louder than any alarm. After his climax has washed away, he finally collapses on top of you, face nuzzled in the crook of your neck.
You stay like that, staring up at the ceiling as tears roll down the sides of your face from the pleasure, overstimulation and sensitivity still pulsating in your veins.
After a few more moments, Jungkook quietly rolls off of you and tries to catch his breath.
You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hands and exhale deeply before whispering his name.
He opens his eyes and turns his head to you, humming softly in response.
âThank you,â is all you can say.
He shakes his head and props himself up on his elbows as he glances at you. âDonât thank me just yet. You said it can last up to 3 days, right?â
Your brows pinch together and your stomach bursts into flames. âWhat do you mean?â
âI mean that Iâm not done with you yet.â
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under the mistletoe áŻâ jeon jungkook
a dreamersparacosm holiday special .á.á
SUMMARY. Every Christmas, since you were six years old, Jeon Jungkook gave you a kiss under the mistletoe. But when you were fifteen, you were replaced by a revolving door of girlfriends. Thus began your decade-long aversion to the holidayâthis year, however, youâve been tasked with hosting the annual Christmas soirĂŠe, and thereâs no telling what might be waiting for you under the mistletoe this time around.
pairing. jeon jungkook x reader
word count. 23.8k
warnings/genre. childhood best friends to lovers (aka idiots to lovers if you squint!!!), slight angst, fluff, reader is the grinch reincarnated, jungkook is oblivious, alcohol consumption, smut, oral and fingering (f receiving), multiple orgasms, big dick jungkook bc what else, unprotected sex sorry sheâs on the pill, crying during sex (but in a cute way), itâs all just really cute i kinda hate them
note. welcome to the dreamersparacosm golden era⌠two one-shots over 15k words in one month. my fingers are tired. but itâs all fine n dandy bc itâs the HOLIDAYS!!! and what better way to celebrate than with a friends to lovers fic? believe it or not, this was originally going to be enemies with lovers, but i had a long talk with myself and realized that theres no way in hell i could ever do justice to a e2l in under 304949k words, but rest assured there is enough pining and angst to keep you well-fed 𼰠oc is yearning final boss, jungkook is a slowburner whoâs also an idiot. my favorite kind of couple! i hope you all had a wonderful holiday! p.s: stay tuned for an extra special treat from these two later today :)
âśď¸ â˘áá||á|á|||| last christmas by wham
banner creds | masterlist | epilogue blurb
The Grinch has always been your favorite Christmas movie.Â
Not because itâs particularly funny or thrilling, but because you can relate to that pessimistic green ball of fur. He despises the holiday just as much as you doâand thatâs generous, considering your animosity towards the day has reached unfeasible levels. You might be worse than the aforementioned ball of fur.Â
Thereâs really no one else to blame for your aversion to the holiday⌠besides Jeon Jungkook.Â
Jeon Jungkook has been your best friend since cradle. Your mother and his shared a room at the hospital, and since then, have kept a tight-knit relationship. Growing up, you and Jungkook shared more life experiences than siblings would. Conjoined birthdays, first day of school, puberty, heartbreak. It was hard not to imagine him in your life, when he had already invaded every part of it with his infectious smile and doe-like eyes.
Every Christmas, since you were six years old, Jeon Jungkook gave you a kiss under the mistletoe. It started innocently enough, with your parents cooing sweetly as he pressed his little lips to your warm cheek. Your face burnt like a volcano shortly after, your hand pressing up to touch the spot where his lips met your skin every few minutes.Â
When you were nine, he upped the ante. He grabbed your face with his grubby hands, and smushed his lips onto yours with a peck. It was precisely three seconds and two milliseconds long (you know because you held your breath). When he pulled away, he smiled that big bunny smile and ran off to play with your toys. Life continued on as such, leaving you behind to pick up the pieces of everything you thought you knew.Â
At the age of fifteen, he got his first girlfriend, Haeun. They met in Science class, paired up by accident, but the crush he had on her was with such certainty it took you by storm. That Christmas, he didnât give you a peck on the lips or the cheek. That year, your body felt empty. That fateful holiday, you watched as Jeon Jungkook gave Park Haeun a big, sloppy, romantic kiss under the mistletoe, one that rivaled any one he ever gave you.Â
And so, Christmas went from your favorite day of the year, to your nightmare.Â
Even when his and Haeunâs puppy love died out by high school graduation, she was swiftly replaced by Eunji. And then Chaeyoung. And then SanaâŚand the list went on, and on, and on.Â
So, yeah. Christmas. Not your best day. In fact, itâs pretty low on the totem pole, right next to the anniversary of your grandfatherâs death.Â
All this to sayâthis is why youâve been ignoring your best friendâs pleas for the past thirty minutes on hosting the annual Christmas soiree at your apartment. Your humble abode. Your sanctuary. Thereâs no way in hell youâll be stringing red and green lights from your ceiling, singing âho, ho, hoâ and passing around jell-o shots that were crafted by the devil himself. And you most definitely, certainly, will not hang up a mistletoe.Â
âBut why not?â Jungkook whines again, bouncing up and down on your couch cushion like a puppy. His bottom lip juts out slightly, which would be endearing if he was a teenager and not a 28-year old man.Â
âBecause I donât want to. I donât like Christmas.â You ignore him as best as you can, thumbing through your Instagram feed. Engagement posts, pregnancy announcements⌠god, the holidays are the worst. No, you wonât be blowing âbaby dustâ to your friends trying to get pregnant.Â
âSince when?â He gawks, pausing his movements to stare at your side profile intently.Â
âSince forever. You know this,â you say calmly. âThe Grinch is my favorite movie.â
He scoffs. âSo? Itâs mine too. That doesnât mean I hate Christmas.â
You donât have the heart to tell him that your abhorrence for the holiday stems from his inability to give you a kiss since the age of fifteen. Thirteen years later, you canât help but want one still.Â
You roll your eyes. âYou donât hate Christmas because you like giving gifts and receiving them.â
âThatâs not true,â he argues, snatching your phone out of your hand and tossing it on the coffee table. You finally turn to look at him, and heâs all red cheeks and wide eyes, and it makes you want to die. âYou have the nicest apartment out of all of us. We canât do Namjoonâs because they just had the baby, we canât do Jisooâs because Tae is allergic to dogs, and we canât do mine because Iâm renovating. Yours is the best option.â
All true points, but none that you want to confront head-on. âMight it also be that you donât want to do yours because then people will know you havenât moved on from Hana?âÂ
Jungkookâs face contorts, and for a split second, you feel guilty for sinking that low. You didnât mean to, but itâs true. His most recent ex-girlfriend, Hana, doesnât live in that apartment anymore, but it almost feels like she does with the amount of her stuff lingering around. They were together for a year, but mysteriously broke up after Christmas last year.Â
âNot cool,â he mumbles, playing with his sleeve.Â
âIâm sorry,â you sigh, âI just really donât wanna host, Koo.âÂ
âCâmon, do it for me,â he pouts, and it becomes even harder to say no to him. Youâre putty in his reliable hands.Â
âWhat will I get out of hosting?â You cross your arms over your chest. A hint of a smile creeps onto his face as he realizes youâre slowly beginning to cave. You always do when you start asking questions.Â
âNamjoon and Dahyun will cook. Taehyung will make the drinks. And I, your trusty best friend, will task myself with decorating the entire place,â he says proudly, chest puffed out like heâs the Superman of Christmas or something equally as idiotic.
âJeon Jungkook is going to decorate my apartment?â you question, dumbfounded. âThe one who put the star on upside down last year?âÂ
The memory plays as vivid as ever, a reel of images flashing through your mind of Jungkook proudly grinning at the miniscule tree he helped construct in your living room. The lights barely worked, the ornaments were hanging on by a thread, and the star was upside down, but he swore Michaelangelo wouldâve thought it was abstract art.
He rolls his eyes. âWhy canât you let anything go?âÂ
âAnd tangled the lights so bad Namjoon had to come over and cut them with scissors?â
Jungkook pouts the same way he used to when he was three. âButââ
âAnd ate the gingerbread house before we could even display it?â
Jungkookâs mouth opens to defy you, but decides itâs best not to go up against your vicious truths. âI was hungry and you had nothing but expired Chinese food in your fridge,â he grumbles. Itâs annoying how easily he can disarm you when heâs boyishly upset at the world.Â
In the grand scheme of things, hosting the Christmas soiree at your house is nothing. Nada. Zilch. A blip on your radar. Itâs not like heâs asking you to loan him a million won, or donate a kidney to his brother (albeit those are all things you would do for him). Heâs simply asking you to open your home to your closest friends to spread holiday cheer.Â
Somehow, some way, it feels like the hardest thing you have to do.
Maybe because in the grand scheme of things, youâre also hopelessly, relentlessly, disgustingly in love with Jeon Jungkook, and the word no is not one that leaves your lips often when heâs around.Â
âFine,â you relent. His entire face lights up, and your heart does the same dance it always does. âI have conditions, though.â
âAnything you want.â He scoots closer. You can smell his cologne, a pine and bergamot scent he wears for the holidays. âIâm at your service.â
âWeâre gonna do classy Christmas. Iâm talking silver decorations, maybe some gold. None of that tacky red and green shit from the dollar store.â
âUhu.â He nods. âAligned, captain.â
âAll the food will be catered. Iâm not making poor Dahyun cook. She has enough on her plate already.âÂ
He salutes you, which makes you snort.Â
âLastly, and most importantly, no mistletoe.â
His smile falters. Tips downward so that itâs almost unrecognizable. The light in his eyes dims, and now you almost feel guilty. âWhaâwhy not?â
See, if this were a Christmas romcom broadcasting on Hallmark, this is the pivotal moment where youâd confess everything. How youâve been in love with him since you were old enough to feel that feeling of warmth in your chest, how watching him kiss other girls made all your kisses seem foolish, how every Christmas without his lips on yours (even platonically) makes you want to move to a foreign country. Heâd probably gasp, pull you close, and kiss you right there on your sofa while snow fell cinematically outside your window. Credits would roll over a montage of you two ice skating and baking holiday cookies, all set to some Kelly Clarkson cover of âLast Christmas.â
But this isnât a Hallmark movie, and youâre not that brave.Â
So, instead, you say, âItâs tacky and overdone. I donât want it in my apartment.â
Jungkook seems genuinely concerned, as though you just informed him you have four days to live and your final wish is to jump out of a plane. âBut itâs tradition. Every year, thereâs a mistletoe.â
You huff, hugging the blanket wrapped over your legs tighter to you. âWell, I donât care. Thatâs my conditions. Take it or leave it.â
He watches quietly for a moment as you inspect the fibers of the blanket. He knows you well enough to not pry further, but he also knows that heâs the only one youâll talk to if he does decide to investigate. Thereâs no sound except the rattling of your heater and the sound of cars honking past your window. The television screen remains paused on a scene from The Grinch you could probably recite by heart.Â
âOkay,â he finally says. âNo mistletoe.â
âGood. Glad thatâs settled.â You stand up, desperate for distance. âNow get out. I have work to do.â
âFirst of all, itâs Sunday. Second of all, weâre watching the Grinch. Thatâs not work,â he points out.
âIâm sure I could find something to do. Iâve been meaning to dust my bookshelf,â you counter.Â
âOh, really? You walking your squirrel after that?â he teases, smirking.Â
âI am actually.â You cross your hands over your chest, the signal you make when itâs time for him to exit your apartment.Â
He stands, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rides up slightly, exposing a sliver of toned stomach, and you have to look away. Youâve been down this road too many times.
âIâll text you tomorrow about picking up supplies,â he yawns, heading for the door. âWeâll need to grab stuff from my place anyway. Iâve got extra string lights in storage.â
You trail behind him. âFine.âÂ
He pauses at the threshold, turning back to look at you. âThanks for doing this. I know itâs not your favorite thing.â
Oh, If only he knew it was his fault. âYeah, well. You owe me.â
âI always do,â he grins, and then heâs bounding down your staircase, leaving you alone with the Grinch and the hollowed feeling in your chest that never really goes away.
When youâre certain heâs finally gone, you lock the door and sink back into the couch, pressing play on the remote. On screen, the Grinch is plotting to ruin Christmas, and you canât help but think to yourself, same, buddy. Same.
Heâs probably got the right idea. If you steal all the decorations before he can hang them, accidentally forget to buy eggnog, or come down with the Black Plague on the day of the party, you could ruin the whole thing.Â
But you wonât. Despite everything, you canât actually hurt him. Youâd host a thousand Christmas parties, hang a million strands of lights, bake cookies until your hands cramped, if it meant making Jeon Jungkook happy. Thatâs the real bittersweet tragedy of your situation. Not that he doesnât love you back, but that you love him enough to pretend you donât.
Jungkook likes to call his apartment his âmodest mancave.â
Heâs called his bedroom that since you two were old enough to be in school. However, one spring day during Sophomore year, youâd barged in unannounced and found him scrambling to hide a bottle of lotion and suspiciously large pile of tissues. He came up with some daft excuse about allergies, but you knew what the option meant. He knew that you knew. It became just another shared moment in the encyclopedia of your friendship, because thatâs what you two always did. You witnessed each otherâs embarrassing moments and life continued on.
Which is why his apartmentâs state right now doesn't deter you. It's a little messy (okay, a lot messy) with random moving boxes heâs never unpacked stacked haphazardly in corners and furniture pushed against walls at odd angles. Thereâs a pile of paint swatches on the coffee table, each one a slightly different shade of beige that all look identical to your untrained eye.Â
He had texted you earlier in the day to get started on Operation: Un-Grinchify Christmas, as he referred to it. You werenât really up for it, but he sent you three crying emojiâs and then you were halfway out the door with mismatched socks on.Â
Jungkook swears he has a box of light-up reindeer somewhere when you first arrive to his home. Something about them looking like theyâre having a seizure when theyâre plugged in. He's so entranced in his search heâs completely forgotten about your own holiday dilemma.Â
âKoo?â you yell down his hallway. You venture down, stepping over a stack of books and what appears to be a broken lamp, following the sound of muffled cursing.
You find him in his bedroom, halfway inside the closet, ass up in the air. Boxes and random junk are scattered around himâold magazines, a deflated basketball, what looks like his matching Halloween costume with Hana from two years ago.
âI know itâs here somewhere,â he mutters, voice echoing from deep within the closet. Leaning against the doorframe, you cross your arms over your chest, utterly amused by his same old childish ways.Â
âNeed help, or should I just enjoy the view?âÂ
âShut up,â he says, but you can hear the smile in his tone. âIâm finding an ancient artifact.â
âHow ancient is it? We talking middle school? Elementary?â
âI donât know, all I know isâaha!â He backs out, brown hair flopping around, and cracks his head on the closet rod with a thunk. âFucking fuckâowââ
You canât stop the giggle that falls from your lips, and it turns into full-blown laughter when you catch wind of his appearance. Heâs rubbing his head, hair sticking up in five different directions.Â
But then you see whatâs in his hands, and all laughter ceases with a wheeze. Itâs the most hideous collection of green and red tinsel garland youâve ever witnessed. It looks like itâs gonna shed all over your home, and thereâs no way youâll let your cat named Ginger anywhere near that.Â
âTa-da!â He holds it up proudly, grinning brightly.Â
âAre you insane?â
âWhat?â he gawks, inspecting it for himself. âThis is the epitome of Christmas.â
âJungkook, I said classy Christmas. Elegant. That looks like a drunk elf threw up.â You gesture at theâŚthing, deeply perturbed at the fact he would even show it to you.Â
He shakes the garland at you like it might change your mind. âBut Christmas needs a little green and red! Thatâs literally the symbolic colors of the holiday.â
âI donât care if it was sent down by Santa himself. Itâs not going in my home,â you argue.Â
âBut why?â he pouts, and you can already tell which direction this conversation is going. But youâre standing your ground this time, because if you donât youâll fold like papier mache.Â
âIt looks like it has dust mites from 2014,â you grimace.Â
He moves closer, forcing you to look at the grimy strings. âCâmon, just one strand? For your old pal?â
âNo.â
âPlease?âÂ
âI will leave, Jungkook.â
He sighs, defeated, and holds the garland out to you anyway. âFine. But you have to be the one to throw it away. I canât bear to part ways with her.â
Rolling your eyes, you take it from him, and your fingers brush his. Softly, gently, barely even there to the naked eye. You doubt he even notices it. But heat crawls up your spine and nestles a home in your chest.Â
You snap out of it, tossing the garland in the trash in his bedroom. âWhy do you even have that anyway?âÂ
âIt was Hanaâs.âÂ
You freeze in your tracks, hand hovering over the trash bin. When you look back at him, his ears are pink, eyes trained on some shadow on the wall behind you. âOh.â
âYeah.â He clears his throat, rubs the back of his neck. One of his nervous tics from childhood. âIâve been meaning to get rid of her stuff. What you said yesterday... it kind of stuck with me.â
Guilt settles in your bones. âKoo, I didnât meanââ
âNo, youâre right.â He finally catches your gaze. âIâve been holding onto things I shouldnât. Not even because I miss her, really. Itâs justâI donât know. Easier to keep it than deal with it, yâknow?
You do know. You know all too well. Youâve been keeping your feelings in a box for years for the exact same reason.Â
âBut Iâm trying now,â he continues. âTo move on. Actually move on, not just say I am. It still feels weird, throwing away a part of my life. Even if I know itâs the right thing to do.â
Throughout your life, you have continuously kept a square of people in your life that you care about. It mostly consists of your parents, Jungkook, his parents, and your friends. You donât ever really rearrange it to make space for others, because you already have the ones that matter. You hope that when Jungkook rearranges his square, maybe removes Hana, you take up a bigger chunk of it.Â
âIâm proud of you,â you smile. Even if the selfish part of you has been waiting for this moment since last Christmas.
He returns your smile with a feeble one of his own. âThanks.â
For a moment, you two stand there, soaking in the silence. But just like that, it always falls back into place the way itâs meant to be. âI need your silverware for my kitchen, by the way. Iâm not using mine for this party.â
âWhat? Why not?â He furrows his brows.Â
âBecause I donât want Taehyung's drunk ass dropping my good forks down the garbage disposal like last New Years.â
Jungkook rolls his eyes. âHe apologized and paid for new ones.â
âBut it wasnât the same exclusive ones I had,â you sing-song, leading him back down the hallway to his kitchen. âShow me what youâve got, mister.â
For the next hour, you two bicker over everything. He wants to bring the fork set with wooden handles, but you object with the fact that they look like they belong in a cabin in the forest.Â
Then itâs the string lights. Heâs insistent on multicolored ones, big bulbs of green, yellow, and red that would look outdated against the rest of your apartment. You opt for the warm white ones, and he sticks his tongue out at you and says youâre boring.Â
Heâs a child. You make sure to tell him that about five separate times. On the sixth time, however, he retorts, âYou take that back.â
âMake me.â
He waves a serving spoon at you. âIâm not playing with you, young lady.â
âOh, please,â you wave him off. âYouâre the one who begged me to host.â
Itâs comfortable, the way it always is. The bickering, the back-and-forth, the way you can read each otherâs expressions before the words even come out.
At some point, while youâre debating whether his punch bowl is too tacky (it is), he wipes his hands on a dish towel and tosses it over his shoulder. âYou should check the closet in case you see anything else you wanna take.â
âThe old shit in there?âÂ
He smacks you with the towel. You yelp, leaping back a few inches. âThereâs goodies in there too, Iâll have you know.â
âSure, Koo. Goodies, otherwise known as old shit.â But youâre already laughing, walking back into his room and diving into the closet.
You push back the ugly garlandâs former neighbors. Thereâs a box of tangled charging cables, some old textbooks from college, a pair of busted headphones. Itâs very standard Jungkook chaos. His mind is also disorganized, so itâs no wonder he has the room to match.Â
You rummage around a bit more, sighing as you wave the dust from your face.Â
On the top shelf, shoved way back in the top corner, you come across a box.Â
Small, cardboard, duct-taped on the bottom half into oblivion. Thereâs a piece of paper taped to the front, and even in the dim closet light, you can make out your name written in his messy handwriting. [Y/N].
For a moment, you blink at the box, heart pounding, and then realize you have no idea what to do.Â
If you open it, maybe heâll know. Then youâll look like a stalker. On the other hand, heâs been your best friend since birth, so finding out you have stalker tendencies might not be a dealbreaker.Â
You stretch up on your toes, tugging the box toward you just enough to peek inside. A flash of worn brown fur catches your eyes, and then you see the teddy bear ear flopping out. Your teddy bear. You lost it in middle school, and you assumed it was gone forever, donated or thrown away during one of your momâs delirious cleaning sprees.Â
He kept it.Â
âFind anything good?â Jungkookâs voice migrates from the kitchen. You jolt, almost dropping the box. Your hands shake as you shove it back into place, blood whooshing through your eardrums.Â
âNah,â you call back. Your voice sounds a bit shaky, but you hide it behind several coughs. âI was right. Old shit.â
You back out of the closet, closing the door carefully. What else is in there?
Later that night, when sleep proves itself to be unfeasible, and youâre tossing and turning underneath your comforter, you ponder what else might be in the box, and if he keeps it for the same reason youâve kept every birthday card heâs ever written you. Tucked away in your own closet, in your own box, with his name on it.Â
Apparently, hosting a Christmas soiree is not as straightforward as youâd hoped it would be.
First, thereâs Jisoo, who texts a novel about how sheâs trying this new clean eating thing and can there please be gluten free and dairy free options? You respond with a thumbs up, and then run to text Jennie to see if sheâs actually serious. She sends back a skull emoji, which 1) youâre not sure what that implies and 2) you guess itâs confirmation that yes, sheâs serious, but also yes, sheâll quit and eat regular food after two glasses of wine.Â
Then Taehyung calls to inform you heâs trying to maintain a vegetarian lifestyle, and not the kind that occasionally eats fish, but the kind that will know if you used chicken stock in any recipe. You add âvegetable stockâ to your growing shopping list, since catering cost more than your rent, and resist the urge to bang your head against the counter.
Namjoon sends his regrets that he and Dahyun canât stay long because baby Haewon is âin turmoil right now,â which translates to âweâll be there for an hour max.â Youâre not even annoyed about that oneâyouâve seen the bags under Namjoonâs eyes, and honestly, youâre impressed heâs coming at all.
The point is, youâve given up. By Wednesday, your Notes app looks like a grocery list written by someone having a mental breakdown, and youâre seriously reconsidering this whole thing.
To his credit, Jungkook tries to help as much as possible. Inevitably, this means dragging him to your apartment on weekends, even though you do that often enough already. Saturday morning, he shows up with boxes, four different sets of more lights, some ornaments, all of them white, all of them looking functionally identical.
âOkay,â he says, holding up the first strand. âWhich one screams âthis is a classy Christmasâ?â
You squint at it from the couch, hugging your mug of hot chocolate. âHmm. I donât know. That one kinda screams dollar store.â
âCut.â He drops it and holds up the second. âThis one?â
âHmm, uglier than the first.â
âHow can someone be so picky?â He holds up the third, and you can see him struggle to hold a straight face. âFine. This one. Final answer.â
Tilting your head, you study it. It has a warm hue, the bulbs delicate and tiny. Itâs kind of pretty, sans the scratches on some of the bulbs. âI think we have ourselves a winner.âÂ
âSold.â He drops the others in the pile heâs been gathering. The ones on the right are the takers, the ones on the left are getting deposited in your dumpster at 5PM sharp. âSee? This is why we make a good team.â
You have to fight not to let your mind wander off when he says things like that. âBarely. When we were five, we were on the same team for kickball and you nearly broke my ankle.â
He frowns, âOkay, but then I patched you up good as new with a Hello Kitty bandaid. That shit wasnât easy to find.â
It was over two decades ago, but still remains a permanent fixture in your brain. You were sprawled on the playground, crying so hard youâd given yourself hiccups, convinced your ankle was shattered and your legs would be cut off. Jungkook had run to get the teacher, but came back before she did, sliding on his knees beside you like some action hero. Heâd pulled a crumpled Hello Kitty bandaid from his pocket (you have no idea why he had it, heâd never explained) and stuck it on your ankle with the utmost seriousness, tongue poking out in concentration. âAll better,â he had promised. Miraculously, youâd stopped crying. It wasnât because the bandaid helped, but because Jungkook looked so proud of himself, you didnât have the heart to tell him your ankle still hurt.Â
âYouâre still a pain in my ass.â
âYeah, yeah, but whoâs doing this home renovation for free? Me.â
You canât argue with that.Â
He continues pulling things from the boxes. More tinsel, garlands, ornaments in muted golds and silvers. Each item gets held up for your approval, and you find yourself less focused on the decorations and more on him. His cheeks flush crimson when you compliment one of his choices. A bright smile overtakes his features when you agree to something halfheartedly just because it makes the smile grow tenfold.Â
Youâd fallen for him a long time ago, but even now you realize how far down youâve already gone.Â
âOh shit,â he exhales, freezing midway through a box. âNo way.â
âWhat?â You shift excitedly on the couch, trying to peer into the box.
He pulls out a photo album, the edges frayed and the cover dusty. You recognize it as soon as you see it. It was one of the many your moms had compiled over the years, chronicling every significant (and insignificant) moment of your joint childhood.â
âI forgot I even had this,â he says incredulously, flipping it open. He moves to the couch, dropping down beside you, and his knee brushes yours.
Your body knows to jerk back instinctively, heart jumping into your throat. He doesn't notice, too absorbed in the photos, but your knee burns where it touched him.
âGod, look at us,â he laughs, pointing to a picture of you both at around 7 years old, covered head to toe in mud. âYour mom was pissed at us.â
âYeah, she was pissed because you pushed me into the puddle,â you remind him.
âAnd then I got you out of it.âÂ
âYou said âwatch thisâ and then did it. I donât think you really won brownie points with Mom,â you laugh at the memory.Â
He flips through the book, oohing and aahing everytime you stumble across a cute picture. Theyâre reminiscent of a time when everything was easy, when you didnât have to worry about adult things like taxes and bills and groceries. It was just you and Jungkook, conquering the world one playdate at a time.Â
Jungkook flips to the next page. Thereâs a photo taped to the page, with your momâs handwriting underneath. âChristmas, 9 years old, Busan.â
You're both standing under a mistletoe that looks comically large above your small heads. His lips are pressed to yours in that brief, earth-shattering peck you still think about once in a while (or more precisely, when itâs late at night and youâre missing his presence).
You take a deep breath. Your chest feels tight, like someoneâs tugging on it by the ends of a string.Â
Jungkook stares at the photo for what feels like forever, an unreadable expression crossing his face. âI remember this,â he quietly says.Â
You canât speak. Your tongue feels like deadweight.Â
âYou held your breath and everything,â he reminisces, and you suddenly feel breathless. Like youâre drowning and gasping for air, but even when you hit the surface, itâs not enough.Â
He flips the page again, and there's another one. Age 10. Same mistletoe, different living room. It was the year your parents moved homes, but remained down the street from Jungkookâs. Youâre wearing a red dress your mom made you wear, and heâs in a sweater that's too big. His hand is on your cheek, and you can see, even in the photo, how red your face was.
âWe did this every year,â he notes, and thereâs a nostalgic edge to his voice that wasnât there before.Â
âYeah.â The word comes out hoarse. You clear your throat. And then the words are out before you can stop them, tinged with wistfulness, "Until we didnât.â
Jungkook doesnât acknowledge that. Just flips again. Through age 11, age 12, age 13, age 14. Each photo is a documentation of a tradition that meant everything to you.Â
Then he turns the page, and the mistletoe is gone. Age 15. Youâre standing stiffly next to Haeun, whoâs tucked under his arm, beaming at the camera. You look like you want to disappear.
âHm,â he hums, frowning. âI guess we stopped here.â
Itâs so juvenile, so high school itâs almost embarrassing. He hadnât cared for the absence of your kiss. For him, it was a silly thing your families let you partake in. âYou had Haeun. The mistletoe thing was for kids anywayâ
âWas it though?â He studies the photo, and you wish he would stop, wish he would close the album and move on to anything else. The question isnât meant to be flirtatious but a selfish part of you wishes it was. âI always thought it was fun.â
âOur parents got so excited over it.â He flips back to the earlier photos, running his finger over the vintage picture. âWeâd be right under the mistletoe and sheâd count down with her camera ready like it was the New Years countdown.â
âShe was probably hoping to plaster us on some kidsâ Christmas ad.â
âIt was cute.â He lands on the photo from when you were sixâthe very first one. His tiny self kissing your cheek, your hand frozen mid-reach to touch the spot. âLook how tiny we were. Little babies.â
He says it so innocently that something inside you stumbles.Â
You cover your face with your hands, as if he could see the adoration written all over your face. But even if he could, he probably wouldnât say anything âIâm mortified. I didnât realize my mom took so many pictures of us kissing as kids.âÂ
He scrunches his brows, looking over at you. âWas it really that bad?âÂ
Yes. No. It was the best and worst thing that ever happened to you. âKinda. I mean, I survived, didnât I?â
âBarely, from the looks of it.â He taps the photo, where baby you looks seconds away from a panic attack. âItâs not like I had cooties.â
You smile. âOh, yes you did. If anyone had cooties, it was definitely you. You ran that playground like it was your personal dating pool.â
âRude.â He bumps your shoulder, turning the page slowly, lingering on each mistletoe photo. âI canât believe we did this for almost a decade.â
âUsed me for practice?â It doesnât feel like thereâs enough air in your apartment, even with the window cracked open. Itâs taking tremendous effort to breathe.
âWorked well for us, I think.â
âWhyâd you stop?âÂ
Oh god, youâve really done it now. Â
Surprisingly enough, the embarrassment comes belatedly, but it settles in your stomach all the stronger.Â
Surprise flashes across his face. âWhat?â
âAfter Haeun. I guess⌠I donât know. You neverââ You wish you could say the words, wish you could be brave, wish you could be six years old again with Jeon Jungkookâs lips on your cheek. âWhyâd it just⌠end?â
Heâs quiet. The sound of your space heater rattling and Ginger purring fills the room, but not enough to quell the anxiety thatâs rumbling in your stomach. Heâs going to let you down gently, you hope. Quick and painless, like a bullet to the head.
âI donât know. I guess I thought you didnât want to anymore. We were older. I thought it would feel weird to you.â
Weird.Â
And this whole time, for you, his kiss was nothing short of ethereal.Â
âPlus,â he continues, oblivious to the way your heart is splintering, âI figured itâd be uncomfortable doing it once I had girlfriends. Like it would be... I don't know. Inappropriate or something.â
He was being considerate. Somehow, and you know youâre being irrational, that makes it worse.
âIt makes sense.â You force a smile. âRelax, Koo. Iâm not writing sonnets about your lips every night.â
He snorts. âOh, please, you wish you could have lips as luscious as mine.â
You push his shoulder, and then itâs just you and Jungkook again. Nothing more, nothing less.Â
He flips through a few more pages, ogling at pictures even youâd never seen before. He points to one where you're both wearing matching reindeer antlers. âNow, this should be on a Christmas card.â
âIâm shocked my mom didnât have cards made. I wouldâve burned themâ
âYouâre such a Grinch.â He closes the album but keeps it in his lap, fingers tracing the worn cover. Jungkook is quiet for another moment, and you catch the look on his face, the one he makes when heâs struggling to choose his words correctly. Decisively, he says, âDid you really hate it? The mistletoe thing?â
Your heart hammers. This is it, you think. This is where you could tell him. Where you could say actually, I loved it, I lived for it, I died a little every year you stopped.
But heâs looking at you with curiosity, as if heâs pondering what your favorite color is or what you had for breakfast. As if the answer doesnât matter beyond satisfying his momentary interest.
You lie. âIt was fine. Just a stupid kid thing.â
He sets the album aside, wiping his dusty palms on the front of his pants. âYeah. Totally.âÂ
Jungkook moves back to the decoration boxes, and you remain frozen on the couch. You grip your safety blanket as tight as you can, until you think you feel your blood flow cutting off. You just want to feel numb.Â
âYou know what is crazy, though?â He pulls out a string of garland, examining it for tangled bits. âYou used to be obsessed with Christmas.â
Your stomach does a somersault. âI was not.â
âYeah, you kinda were.â His eyes linger on the garland, although youâre certain itâs in perfect condition. âYou made us watch Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and Frosty the Snowman on repeat. You also made us build snowmen every single time it snowed, even when it was like, two inches.â
âEveryone loves those things when youâre a kid.â
âYeah, I guess.â he sighs. âBut I donât know. You had a countdown, youâd call me everyday in December to tell me how many days were left. That was your favorite holiday, and now Iâm the only one who likes it.âÂ
You shrug, hoping to come across as nonchalant, but you know he can read your face like an open book. âPeople change.â
âWhen did you even stop liking it?â He picks up a few string lights, untangling them as heâs doing to you currently.Â
Your throat tightens. âHigh school, maybe?â
âCause of stress or something? School shit?âÂ
âSure.â
âItâs a yes or no question.â
âThatâs the answer youâre getting.â You really, really wish there was a sinkhole that could swallow you entirely right now.Â
He studies you, and you can see him thinking, piecing together something you donât want him to figure out. But despite it all, he just shrugs, letting it go. âIt's depressing. You used to light up the whole room when Christmas came around. Now you look like someone killed Ginger."
She purrs in the corner.Â
âSorry, Ging.â He throws the lights to the yes pile. Itâs surprisingly larger than the no pile. âI just want you to be happy this Christmas. Thatâs all I care about.â
You half-smile at him, nodding. You donât know how to tell him that you could be happy, could be ecstatic, if just this Christmas, you felt his lips on yours again.
Turns out, itâs a lot easier to throw yourself into party planning when youâre trying to distract yourself from something.
This whole debacle makes you realize youâve never actually hosted a Christmas party. You actively avoid Christmas. What made you think you could pull this off? (Granted itâs all Jungkookâs fault, but thatâs neither here nor there.)
The group chat you made for the attendees is already chaosâJisoo asking about the playlist, Taehyung confirming heâs still vegetarian (yes, still, it's been four days), Dahyun asking if she can breastfeed in your bedroom. Your anxiety spikes with every notification.
So itâs no surprise that the day before the party, you wake up in a cold sweat at 6AM with the horrifying realization that you have no idea what youâre doing. By the time Jungkook arrives at noon, youâve managed to rearrange your furniture three times and stress-clean your bathroom until itâs sterile enough to perform surgery in.Â
âWow,â He steps inside, taking in the boxes of decorations youâve laid out for him to tackle. âDid you even sleep?âÂ
âI would, but Jisoo and Jennie are blowing up my phone like this is the fucking MET Gala or something.â You huff, not pausing your incessant scrubbing of your kitchen sink.Â
âThey know itâs just the annual Christmas party⌠right?â
You puff another exasperated breath. âYes. But none of that matters to them because theyâve sent me 30 different outfit options like Iâm going to be judging them personally or something.â
He bites back a smile. âItâs time to call in the big guns. Where can I get my hands dirty, sergeant?â
You really are grateful heâs here. And exists. And all those other sentimental things that your heart sings about constantly.Â
You two go full decorator mode, moving through your apartment like a well-oiled machine. He hangs the garland while you untangle lights, arrange the ornaments while he figures out how to make your bookshelf look âfestive but not icky.â His words, not yours.
Itâs disgusting how much Christmas is invading your space. Your minimal, clean apartment now looks like Santa threw up in it. There are silver bells on your kitchen counter, a wreath on your door that's so aggressively pine-scented you can taste it. There are candles labeled things like âWinter Wonderlandâ and âCinnamon Crazeâ that you know will take weeks to burn through after this is all said and done.
But you keep going, because if you stop, youâll think. If you think, youâll remember the photo album, the mistletoe pictures, the dumb kid thing.
âAlright, I need my harshest critic.â Jungkook motions to you to survey the living room.Â
Standing beside him, you inspect the damage. Warm white lights are strung along your windows and wrapped around your bookshelf. A garland drapes elegantly across your mantle (you don't have a fireplace, but the decorative mantle suddenly feels worth it). There are small golden ornaments scattered tastefully on your side tables, and the wreath on the door is admittedly very pretty, even if it does smell like a forest.Â
âNot too shabby, Jeon.â
He looks offended. âYeah, no shit. I deserve better than that.â
âSubpar at best.â
âIâm gonna punt Ginger like a football.â
âI think the lights are nice,â you finally concede, because they are. They make your apartment look warm, cozy even.
âTold you I was good at this." He's grinning like a Cheshire cat, that proud, bunny-toothed smile that makes your chest hurt. âAdmit it. I crushed this.â
You roll your eyes. âYou did alright.â
He gapes, blinking frantically. âOkay? Okay? I turned your Grinch lair into a winter wonderland!â
âMy abode is not a lair.â
âIt was before I arrived.â He sticks his tongue out, and you shove his shoulder.Â
âI think we're done,â you say, more to yourself than to him. âThis is... yeah. This is enough.â
âWell⌠almost.â Jungkook looks like a kid whoâs just been told he canât have dessert before dinner but is already plotting how to sneak a cookie anyway.
Your stomach sinks. âWhat do you mean almost?â you ask, even though you think you already know.Â
âI have a surprise.âÂ
You protest, âJungkookââ
âWait right here.â He holds up a hand, jogs back toward the entryway where heâd dropped his bag earlier. You stiffen like youâre made of ice, the only thing moving in your body being your heartbeat that thumps along the walls of your ribcage.Â
Please donât be what you think it is. Please donât be what you think it is.Â
He turns around, and your heart sinks lower than where your stomach sat.
In his hand, dangling from a red ribbon, is a mistletoe.
Itâs small, crinkled, fake plastic leaves bent at weird angles like it was shoved in the back of his closet for years. It probably has been.Â
âNo,â you object immediately.Â
âCome onââ
âNo. This is a hard no, Jungkook.â And you know youâre being harsh, but itâs the only way youâll get him to stop whatever efforts heâs decided are worth his time.Â
âYou said no mistletoe in the apartment,â he argues, walking toward you with that stupid sprig held up. âTechnically, this is going above the doorway, which is a threshold. Not in the apartment.â
âThatâs the worst logic Iâve ever heard.â
âBut itâs tradition!â You can see the hope in his eyes, the genuine excitement, and it makes you want to rip your hair out. âEvery Christmas party needs a mistletoe.â
âNot this one.â
âEspecially yours. Ours.â His voice softens, and that's worse somehow. âFor old timesâ sake?â
You hate the tone in his voice, the guilt-tripping, the pity.Â
âI donât want it,â you repeat. âI told you this already.â
His smile falters as he realizes youâre truly serious. âWhy not?
âBecause itâs stupid and outdated and I donât want people making a big deal about it.â
âWhy would any of our friends make a big dealââ
âJungkook,â you plead, crossing your arms, putting a physical barrier between you and that mistletoe. âI said no.â
He just stares at you, confusion and hurt flickering across his face. âI donât get it. Itâs literally just a mistletoe. Itâs supposed to be fun.â
Fun, weird⌠a list of words that describe the opposite of what mistletoe makes you feel.
âItâs not fun for me.â You burn holes into your floor, refusing to look at his puppy eyes that would make you feel more guilty than you already do.Â
âWhy not?â
Because everytime I look at it, I think about you kissing me when we were kids. Because it reminds me of when Christmas was my favorite day of the year. Because seeing it in my apartment, above my doorway, at my party, will make me think about all the Christmases you kissed other girls and not me.
âBecause I donât like it,â you decide upon, âCanât you just respect that?â
An awkward silence spreads amongst you two, punctured only by Ginger purring in the corner. Jungkook's hand drops to his side, mistletoe dangling limply from his fingers.
âFine,â he murmurs. âNo mistletoe.â
âThank you,â you sigh in relief.Â
He walks back to his bag and shoves it inside, and you should feel relieved. You should feel like youâve won. But instead, you just feel like youâve punched him square in the face.
âI should probably go,â he says, not meeting your eyes. âLet you rest before the big day tomorrow.â
âOh, uh, yeah.â You shift on your feet awkwardly.Â
He gathers his things timidly, and you know heâs giving you time to take it back, to say youâre sorry, to explain, to undo the angst youâve created.Â
At the door, he pauses before reaching for the doorknob. Jungkook turns, clutching his bag strap so tightly his knuckles resemble those of a ghost. âI really don't understand what's going on with you.â
âNothingâs going on,â you mutter.Â
âThatâs utter bullshit,â he snaps, and you raise your eyes to meet his. The usual warm chocolate shade of his orbs now shifts to onyx. âYouâve been weird about this whole Christmas party thing since day one.â
âI said, thereâs nothing going on. I donât want to talk about it,â you repeat, hoping itâll stick.
âBut I do!â His voice rises, and you flinch. Jungkook doesnât yell. Not once in your lifelong friendship has he ever raised his voice or laid a finger on anyone. You were never involved in any of his relationship arguments, but you imagine he never argued with them like this. You suddenly feel dizzy, like the world is spinning too quickly for you to catch your breath. âIâve known you forever. Youâre my best fucking friend, and something is clearly wrong, so just tell me.â
Frustration coils in your stomach. Why canât he ever leave anything alone? âStop it. Please, just stop. Why canât you just respect my boundaries? I said no mistletoe. I said I donât want to talk about it. Why isnât that enough for you?â
âThis obviously is not just about the fucking mistletoe, [Y/N].â He tugs at his hair, rage rolling off him in waves. âSince the moment I brought up you hosting, you acted like I was attacking you.â
âBecause you are!â None of it makes sense, not one bit, but you canât tell between anger and panic and all you can see is red. âMaybe because you just bulldoze through my life, rearranging things, making decisions, assuming you know what's bestââ
âWeâre best friends. We help each other with everything,â he grits through clenched teeth.
âIâm not Hana, Jungkook. I wonât just let you decorate my life and pretend everything's perfect.â
For a moment, Jungkook seems taken aback by your outburst, recoils a step, landing with his spine against the front door. His face goes pale. âWow. Thatâs fucking low.â
âIs it?â You're on a roll now, unable to stop even though you can see youâre hurting him. Maybe you just want him to hurt the way you do. âBecause when you kept all of Hanaâs things, when your apartment was basically a shrine to her, I never said a fucking thing about it. I just let you deal with it however you needed to. So why canât you give me the same courtesy? Why canât you just let this go?â
âHana and I broke up!â His voice cracks, eyes glassy, âThatâs so different and you know it.â
âHow is it different? Enlighten me.â
âShe was my girlfriend. And it hurt, okay? It hurt to let her go. But I did it. I'm doing it because itâs over and I donât miss her that way anymore. And youâre the one who pushed me to. So donâtâ" He pauses, jaw clenched, and you can see heâs trying to swallow his tears. âDonât throw that in my face like Iâm some pathetic asshole who can't move on.â
Fuck. âKooââ
âNo.â He holds up a hand. Itâs shaking. âYou want boundaries? Fine. Hereâs one: donât call me until you figure out what the fuck is actually going on with you. Because this isnât you. The you I know doesnât make me feel like shit for trying to care about you.â
You swallow around the lump forming in your throat. âJungkook, Iâm so sorryââ
âSave it.â His voice is quieter, and you miss the yelling, because at least then he still cared about you. Heâs given up. âIâll still come to the party tomorrow because I told everyone I would. But after that⌠maybe we should take a break from each other or something.â
âOh.â
Throughout the duration of your friendship, you and Jungkook have only ever fought once. It was known as The Great Argument of 11th Grade, and it was so juvenile that even your parents got involved. Now, you donât really remember the specifics of what went down or who started it, but you do remember that it only lasted a day, because Jungkook said, âyou know I canât stay away from you for too long.â
The concept of space from him is one youâve never considered.Â
He leaves before you can say anything more, the door clicking shut with finality, echoing through your decorated apartment.
You stand there, frozen, staring at the space where he was. The mistletoe is still in his bag. He took it with him.
The rest of your unfortunate day is spent spiraling about your argument with Jungkook. You sit on the couch, crying to some stupid Hallmark movie where the girl gets the guy and everything works out perfectly. Then you cry in the shower, the water mixing with your tears until you canât tell which is which. You go so far as to cry in your car on the way to the grocery store, because you two were supposed to go together to prepare for this stupid party.
Even the supermarket is taunting you. Thereâs couples everywhere walking around gleefully, hand-in-hand, debating between red or green napkins like itâs the most important decision of their lives. Meanwhile, youâre shuffling through the aisles in a massive oversized hoodie thatâs doing nothing to hide your puffy eyes and red nose.
Sniffling, you round the corner to the next aisle, looking for Taehyungâs stupid vegetable broth. Your cart collides with someone elseâs with a loud clang, and youâre thrown, apologizing like crazy, âOhmygod, Iâm so sorry, I wasnât paying attentionââ
â[Y/N]?â
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Hana.Â
The last time you saw Hana was last January after the breakup. She was collecting her things at Jungkookâs apartment, and youâd shown up at the wrong moment. Her eyes were bloodshot, movements solemn as she shoved books and clothes into a duffel bag. Sheâd barely looked at you, just mumbled a quiet âheyâ before brushing past you in the hallway. You had felt guilty then, even though you had no reason to be.Â
At least now, she looks radiant. Her skin reflects off the luminescent overhead lights, cart stocked full of fancy cheeses and wine bottles and overpriced crackers. She looks like someone who has her shit together. Someone whoâs moved on.
Unlike you, apparently, who looks like youâve been crying in your car. Which, by all means, you absolutely were.Â
âHana,â you slap a smile onto your face, although youâre 99 percent certain it looks strained. âItâs good to see you.â
âYou too!â She seems actually happy about the encounter. Itâs not like you two ever had a bad relationship, but you werenât besties by any means. âItâs been forever.â
âYeah, almost a year.â Youâre too hyperaware of your puffy eyes, your ratty hoodie, the fact that you probably look like youâve been hit by a truck. But of course, she looks like she just stepped out of Vogue.
âHow have you been?â she asks.Â
âGood. Busy. You know, the holidays,â You nod at your cart, which contains three different types of cheeses, ten bags of chips, and a bag of chocolate chips for yourself because you need to eat your feelings when you get home.Â
âI do,â she laughs. âWork has been insane lately. I barely have time to go outside.â
âRight, youâre at that new marketing agency now?â You remember Jungkook mentioning it once, back when talking about Hana was therapeutic for him.
âI do.â she nods. âItâs a lot but I love it. What about you? Still at the magazine?â
âI am. I actually just finished a pretty big piece, so thatâs good.â
âThatâs amazing,â she earnestly responds. You want to hate herâit would be easier if you could hate herâbut sheâs always been kind. Even when you wanted to despise her for being with Jungkook, she made it impossible.
Thereâs a lull in conversation, and you debate making a run for it until she asks, âHow are you and Jungkook?â
You furrow your brows. She could just ask you about Jungkook. You wouldnât judge her for wondering. âWhat do you mean?â
âI justââ A crimson blush creeps onto her cheeks. âI mean, how are you guys doing?â
Why would she ask about you both together? Granted, itâs not that unreasonable. You and Jungkook are attached at the hip; everyone knows that. âWeâre⌠good? Heâs good.â
âCool,â she says, but she doesnât even look convinced by your answer.Â
You donât know why you feel the need to overshare, but it all comes tumbling out like word vomit. âYeah, heâs actually been helping me plan this Christmas party. Total nightmare, honestly. Heâs been at my place basically every day this week, decorating andââ
She cracks a smile. âThatâs so cute you guys are still inseparable.â
âI mean⌠â you trail off, slightly confused by her angle. âWeâre best friends. So yeah.â
âOf course,â she rushes to say. âDuh. Silly me.â
âIs that... weird?â You clear your throat and shift on your feet. You donât even know what sheâs trying to get at anymore, and honestly, you really need to get as far away from this supermarket (or Seoul) as fast as you can.Â
âNo! No, not weird. I think itâs sweet, actually.â She pauses before adding, âI'm really happy for you guysâ
Either you must be braindead, or sheâs undergoing memory loss. âIâm sorry Hana, I donât think Iâm following.â
She laughs softly, but itâs not mocking. âCome on, [Y/N]. You donât have to pretend with me.â
Your stupid heart skips a beat, your brain struggling to make sense of her words. âPretend about what?â
âThat you and Jungkook arenât together, obviously.âÂ
Have you entered an alternate universe? Did you accidentally drive into another dimension in all your sadness, missed the supermarket completely?
âWhat?â you sputter. âNo, weâre notâoh my god, no. We would never, I meanâweâre best friends.â
She reaches out, placing a warm hand over your own. Youâre going to die. Itâll be a painful death, but youâll make it work. Anything to get out of this. âNo, itâs okay. You can tell. Honest to god, Iâm seeing someone now. Iâm not like, jealous or anything.â
Itâs confirmed. Youâve entered an alternate world where youâll soon grow a second head and become the queen of a make-believe land.Â
âHana, Iâm dead serious. Jungkook and I are not dating.â You need her to believe you. You need someone to believe you, because if Hana thinks thereâs something there, what the fuck does that mean? âWeâve never dated. Weâre just friends. Thatâs all weâve ever been.â
She studies your face, searching for the lies. Confusion replaces her certainty. âWait, really?â
âReally.â
âBut youâŚâ She trails off, shaking her head. âWow. Okay. I genuinely thought you guys had finally gotten together.â
Your throat constricts. âW-Why would you think that?â
âBecause,â she stops, biting her lip. âNevermind. Iâm sorry. I shouldnât have assumed.â
It gives you pause for a minute, and your heartâthat idiotic organ of yours that can never let go of anythingâtrembles in your chest.Â
âNo, what were you going to say?â Youâre not sure you want to know, but you canât let it go now.
She casually flicks her hand. âItâs nothing, I swear.â
You exhale a breath you didnât realize you were holding. âHana. Please.â Â
She sighs, shifting on her feet. âItâs just... when Jungkook and I were together, it was always pretty clear that you were the most important person in his life. Which, like, I totally respected! I did, I get it. But it was also kind of hard sometimes, you know? Like I was always competing with this... ghost. This idea of what you two had.â
Ever since you were young, people had this tendency to group you and Jungkook into this category of fate, as if the universe had done you both a favor by placing you in adjacent hospital cribs. It was always âyouâre lucky to have each otherâ and âwhat a gift to be so close,â that you had never stopped to consider that your luck, your fate, your happiness, your shining star, might cast shadows on the people who tried to love him.
âHana, I never meant toââ
âNo, no,â she rushes to say, âTrust me, it wasnât you. You did nothing wrong. Neither did he, really. He tried his best. But I could always tell his heart wasnât fully in it. At least, not in the way it should have been.â
Words fall short of what you want to say. Hana and Jungkookâs relationship had always felt like something out of reach to you. An enigma. The plot of some braindead romance novel. They met at a concert, an underground indie band that only the two of them liked. He had stumbled home that night with a smile on his face that couldnât be erased, eyes bright as exploding stars, talking so fast his words tripped over each other. You remember thinking this is it, the real thing, the love that rewrites him. You had never imagined that magic would ever run dry.Â
âAnyway,â Hana continues, âI just assumed that once we broke up, you two would figure it out. The way he talked about you, the way heâd light up when you texted... I don't know. I thought it was inevitable.â
âWell, itâs not.â The words prick your tongue like thorns. âWeâre just friends.â
âOh. Well, thatâs still cool,â she offers, but her eyes have gone all soft.Â
For a while, itâs quiet. Sheâs staring at you intently, chewing on her lip like she has more to say but needs to mash it down. But you really just want to grab Taehyungâs stupid vegetable broth and get the fuck out of here.Â
âIt was great to see you, Hana. I need to go andââ
â[Y/N], wait.â She latches onto your arm before you get a chance to escape.Â
You stare at her, wide-eyed, heart racing, mouth dry.Â
âI probably shouldn't be telling you this. Maybe it should be him, I donât fucking know," she says, rolling her eyes. "But clearly he hasnât grown the balls yet. Well, that, or his peanut brain hasnât pieced it together. But Iâm gonna tell you anyway.â
Your hands grip the cart handle. âTell me what?â
Thereâs a long pause, and you can feel her weighing her words. Until, finally, she admits, âLast Christmas, when we were under the mistletoe⌠when Jungkook kissed me.â She takes a deep breath. âHe was looking at you.â
Your first reaction is to laugh. Which you do, actually, loud enough to bounce off the cans of corn on the shelves. At the sound, Hana raises an eyebrow.Â
âWhat are you talking about?â you giggle. âNo, he wasnât.â
Sheâs watching you now with something that resembles pity.
âWe were under the mistletoe at your friend Jisooâs apartment. Everyone was there, all your friends. And he kissed me, butâŚâ Hana swallows thickly. âWhen we pulled apart, his eyes were open, and he wasnât looking at me. He was looking across the room at you.â
You think youâre going to die in this godforsaken supermarket.Â
âI didnât say anything that night. I thought maybe Iâd imagined it, but then it kept happening. Heâd be with me, but heâd be watching you. Listening for you, waiting for you to text or call.â She laughs dryly, but youâre not sure either of you find this funny. âOn New Years, I asked him about it. I asked him if he was in love with you.â
Bile rises up in your throat. You donât even think you want to hear the rest of this. If sheâs right, if itâs true, if youâve missed this, if, if, if..
âWhat did he say, Hana?â
âObviously, he lied and said no. He said you were just friends, and that I was being ridiculous. But then we broke up two weeks later. We both agreed we needed space, and I said that he wasnât ready for something serious. And maybe that's true, maybe I was reading into things." She finally meets your eyes again. "But I donât think I was.â
Last Christmas, you were so drunk on Jisooâs eggnog that you hardly remember anything. You try to piece together the snippets of the night you have. There was dinner, which you scarfed down in under a millisecond. Then you all played pin the cock on the Santa (not suitable for kids, but luckily, baby Haewon only lived in Dahyunâs uterus at that point). You barely even remember the mistletoe portion of the night. Thatâs got to be some kind of trauma response to the stupid little leaf.Â
âWhy are you telling me this?â Your voice sounds far away, like it belongs to someone else.
âBecause," Hanaâs lips curve upwards into a soft smile, âI spent a year loving someone who was in love with someone else, and it sucked, but you know what sucks more? Watching two people who are meant to be together waste time pretending theyâre not.âÂ
She reaches out and squeezes your arm. âIâm not bitter about it anymore. Iâm happy now. I want him to be happy too. I think... I think he could be very happy with you.â
You want to argue. You want to tell her sheâs wrong, that sheâs misremembering, that she too was poisoned by Jisooâs eggnog, that there's no way Jungkook feels that way about you.
But then you think about the box in his closet with your name on it. The teddy bear he kept. The way heâs been trying so hard to make you love Christmas again. The mistletoe he wanted to hang in your apartment.
No. It canât fucking be.Â
âI gotta go,â you say abruptly.Â
â[Y/N]ââ
But youâre already moving, abandoning your cart in the middle of the aisle, heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. You make it to your car before the tears start again, but this time theyâre different. This time, you donât know if youâre crying because youâve been in love with someone who doesn't love you back, or because you might've missed the entire thing completely.Â
Thereâs not enough wine in this apartment, nor this world, that will get you through this Christmas party in one piece.
It feels like the world is moving around you but youâre just glued to your kitchen, gripping your glass of white wine so tightly youâre surprised the stem hasnât snapped. Surprisingly enough, everyone arrived on timeâeven Namjoon and Dahyun, balancing poor baby Haewon on their hip, her tiny Santa hat slipping over one eye. Thereâs enough alcohol floating around to feed a bar, courtesy of Taehyungâs overenthusiastic mixology skills.Â
Itâs truly a splendid evening. A roaring success. Everything going exactly as planned.Â
Except, there are two minor (major) insignificant, soul-crushing details that are fucking up your perfect evening:Â
Hanaâs words have been playing on loop in your brain all day.Â
When Jungkook arrived, he looked at you for exactly 0.5 seconds, said absolutely nothing, and spent the last hour charming everyone else in the room.
Other than that, splendid evening. Gatsby would be seething with jealousy if he saw the kind of party you were throwing.
Jungkook had walked in, present in hand for Haewon (because he was her godfather and she practically got whatever she wanted when he was around), and heâd met your eyes before looking away. No smile. No âhey.â Not even a nod of acknowledgment.Â
Naturally, since torturing you seems first on his agenda, he chooses this night to become the town jester. Jennie has been laughing at his jokes for what seems like ages, her hand on his arm, her head thrown back in delight. Taehyung keeps pulling him into conversations, clapping him on the shoulder. Even Dahyun, who normally has her hands full, is more entranced by Jungkook than her own daughter.Â
Everyone loves Jungkook. Everyone always loves Jungkook.
Yet, he wonât even spare you a passing glance.Â
Itâs what you deserve, you know that, but your heart is cracking at the seams and your brain isnât faring any better.Â
You feel ill. Fucking ill.
Turning to the kitchen sink, you brace your hands on the counter. Breathe in. Breathe out. Youâre fine. You just need to get through the next few hours without having a complete breakdown in front of all your friends.
âYou alright?â
You jump, releasing an exhale when you see itâs just Jisoo. Sheâs holding a glass of red wine, matching with her burgundy turtleneck, eyebrow raised in that knowing way of hers that says she sees right through all your bullshit.
âOh, yeah,â you reply. âJust taking a quick breather.â
âMhm.â she eyes you up and down, leaning against the counter. âYouâre basically hiding at your own party.â
âCouldâve sworn you did this last year at your Christmas party when your lasagna came out burnt,â you point out.Â
Jisoo deadpans. âThis isnât about me. Weâre talking about you.â
Damnit. You were hoping she would let it go.
âIâm just here making sure everythingâs to perfection. Yâknow, Taehyung with his⌠vegetarianism..â
Jisoo takes a slow sip of her wine, âYou wanna try that again, or should I just cut to the part where you tell me whatâs actually wrong?â
Your heart falls to your ass. Jisoo is the one friend on this planet who has consistently read you down to the bone. Sheâs going to see right through any lie you try to feed her, so youâre wondering if itâs even worth it.Â
Itâs worth one last shot.Â
âNothingâs wrongââ
âBitch just tell me.â
You close your eyes and try to imagine a beach, somewhere tropical with waves kissing your ankles and sand that burns your feet. Try to imagine a world where you donât have to answer Jisoo's question, where Hana never ambushed you in the grocery store yesterday, where your feelings for Jungkook stayed frozen at age nine, still innocent and within reach.
Unfortunately, when you open your eyes again, youâre at a Christmas partyâyour Christmas party, in your annoyingly red sweaterâand Jisoo is staring at you expectantly.Â
âI fucked up.â
Jisoo doesnât look surprised in the slightest, which, okay. Rude. âWith Jungkook?â
You raise an eyebrow. âHow did you know that?â
âI mean, youâre not having a fight with any of the girls, or I wouldâve heard an earful. That and he wonât glance in your direction and you look like youâre about to throw up. Doesnât take Einstein.â She places her wine down. âWhat happened?â
Keeping it bottled up has never done you any favors, so you steady your voice and explain everything. How you didnât want to host the party in the first place because Christmas makes you miserable. How Jungkook kept pushing about the mistletoe. How you snapped at him, brought up Hana, threw his grief in his face. How he left and told you he needed space and you havenât spoken since.
You probably couldâve told her more, but you donât want to tell her about the mistletoe tradition. You donât tell her about being in love with him for thirteen years. Those truths feel like just yours.Â
When you finish, Jisoo is quiet for a long moment. Then, she sighs, levels you with a look, and says, âThat was a low blow.â
âI know.â
âLike, really bad.â
âI know.â
âHe was just trying to help, and you basically told him heâs pathetic for not being over his ex.â
âI know, Jisoo. Trust me, I know.â You press the heels of your palms against your eyes. âI feel like shit about it.â
âHave you apologized?â
âHe said he needed space. Hence why he wonât look at me.â
âI mean, space doesnât mean you canât say sorry.â She picks up her wine again. âLook, I get it. You were overwhelmed. The party planning, the decorations, whatever else is going on in that head of yours. But Jungkook didnât deserve thatâ.
âI know he didnât.â you reply, now having trouble controlling your voice. âI just... I donât know how to fix this.â
âThe word youâre looking for, my dear, is sorry,â she smiles sympathetically.Â
You nod, even though the thought of approaching him right now makes you want to crawl into a hole.Â
The party outside seems to pick up in volume, and through the crack in the doorway, you see Jungkook holding baby Haewon, cradling her carefully against his chest like sheâs made of glass. Heâs wearing a dark green sweater, the color of mistletoe, and his skin looks golden under the string lights he helped set up. Heâs cooing at the baby, making ridiculous faces, and Haewon is giggling, her tiny hand reaching up to grab his nose.
Dahyun is standing next to him, saying something that makes him laugh, and the light sound carries over the music and chatter. Itâs his real laugh, the one that crinkles his nose and shows all his teeth, the one you thought you only got to see.Â
And suddenly you can picture it with perfect clarity: Jungkook, a few years from now, holding his own baby. His and someone elseâs, some girl who isnât you, who doesnât have years of baggage and unspoken feelings weighing her down. Someone who can give him the uncomplicated love he deserves.
You didnât even realize Jisoo was talking until you feel her hand on your arm.Â
Blinking out of your daze, you snap back to the kitchen, to the party, to reality. âSorry, what?â
But itâs too lateâJisoo isnât looking at you anymore. Sheâs following your gaze to the dining room, to Jungkook and the baby, and understanding dawns across her face.
âOh,â she says.Â
Who knew a single syllable could carry so much weight?
âHow long?â Jisoo questions.
âHow long what?â
âDo not play dumb with me, missy. How long have you been in love with him?â
Youâve been tiptoeing around the truth for a long time. But youâre so tired of pretending, and the wine has loosened your tongue, and Jisoo is looking at you with such gentle understanding that the truth just spills out.
âSince I was a kid.â
Jisoo's eyes widen. âJesus Christ, [Y/N].â
âYeah,â is all you can offer.
âDoes he know?â She lowers her voice, leans more into you like he might somehow hear across the room.Â
âAbsolutely not,â you retort. âHe canât, and he wonât. It would ruin our friendship.â
She opens her mouth to protest, to probably give you some grand speech on how love wins above all, but you hold your hand up to stop her. âIâm serious, Jisoo. You canât tell him. Pinky promise me.â
She studies you for a long moment, and you can see her debating whether to push. Finally, she sighs and holds out her pinkie. âI promise. But for the record, I think youâre an idiot.â
âI get that a lot.â
From the dining room, you hear Jungkook laugh again, and it feels like someoneâs wrapped barbed wire around your heart and pulled tight.
âYou really should talk to him, though,â Jisoo repeats. âLike tonight, before it gets worse.âÂ
Itâs already worse.Â
âI canât,â you disagree, taking a gulp of wine. âYou saw him. The man wonât even look at me.â
âBecause heâs pissed, not âcause he hates you.â She squeezes your arm. âThis is Jungkook weâre talking about. Your Jungkook. Heâs probably just as miserable as you are.â
The words your Jungkook make you shiver. Heâs never actually been yours in any way that matters. But god, the way Jisoo says it makes you want to believe it. Makes you want to crawl inside those two words and live there, in a world where your Jungkook means heâs yours the way youâve always been his. Completely, irrevocably, in every way a person can belong to another.
âI donât know, he seems to be the fucking class clown tonight,â you mumble into your wine, and Jisoo snorts.Â
âI promise you heâs waiting for you to make the first move. He said he needed space, but that doesnât mean he wants the space. You know how he isâheâs a loverboy. Gets all up in his feelings and shit.â
You do know. Youâve known Jungkook long enough to recognize all his patterns.
Either way, you know just what to say to appease Jisoo. âMaybe later.â
âLater as in tonight, or later as in youâre going to avoid him until you two just forget about it and move on?âÂ
Yeah, exactly that.Â
âWeâll see.â
Jisoo gives you a look that says she knows exactly what âwe'll seeâ means in your vocabulary. âWhatâs your therapistâs name again? I want to give them a call.â
You hold up your middle finger.Â
âItâs gonna be a loooong night,â she exhales a loud breath.
And truly, she must have magical powers or something, because it is nothing short of a treacherous evening for you.Â
It all starts with Dahyun intercepting you, forcing you to hold Haewon. âCan you hold her for a sec? I need to use the bathroom and Joonâs three drinks deep trying to explain some conspiracy theory to Taehyung.âÂ
Youâre halfway through your protest when she just plops Haewon into your arms. She settles against your chest with a little coo, her Santa hat askew. She smells like powder, milk, and Dahyunâs perfume. Her tiny fist curls into your sweater, and despite the trainwreck that is your life, you smile brightly.Â
âHi, pretty girl,â you murmur, adjusting her weight. âI bet you donât know what itâs like to be in love with someone who doesnât love you back. Because everyone loves you, since youâre perfect.â
Bouncing her gently, you two sway in place, and she makes a happy gurgling sound as if to say âyes, I know Iâm perfect.â Someone has put on Nat King Cole, and the crooning voice of âThe Christmas Songâ fills your apartment with a nostalgic warmth youâve been trying to avoid all month.
Haewon has the cutest little fingers and even tinier toes, and it amazes you how someone so utterly perfect could exit your friend Dahyunâs body. Before she met Namjoon, she was nothing short of a party girl, but now, her days are filled with Mommy & Me yoga classes and supermarket runs.Â
Itâs your dream life, you think. One that you would give anything to live with Jungkook.Â
Youâre so focused on this fantasy, the one youâve conjured up in your head and dreams for years, that you donât even realize Jungkook is blatantly staring at you.Â
Heâs standing near the drinks table, a bottle of beer frozen halfway to his lips. You meet his eyes, and itâs just you and Jungkook (and Haewon).Â
Haewon squirms in your arms, breaking your gaze. You look down at her, adjusting her hat, heart hammering against your ribcage. When you look back up, Jungkook has turned away, saying something to Taehyung that you canât hear over the blood whooshing in your ears.
But his knuckles are white around his beer bottle.Â
Later on in the night, after youâve tended to Taehyungâs vegetarian needs and listened to Jisoo rant about how clean eating relates to consumerism, you retreat to the kitchen under the guise of refilling the snack bowls. No one needs more chipsâthere are three unopened bags on the counterâbut you need a moment of reprieve.Â
You rip open a bag of pretzels, and a few go flying everywhere, but you manage to catch them in your hand.Â
âNeed any help?â
Your body goes rigid. Youâre certain even your heart has stopped its beat.Â
Jungkook is standing in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, looking anywhere but directly at you. The green sweater really is unfair. The golden undertone of his skin shimmers under your fluorescent light, makes his eyes look lustrous.Â
âAll good here,â you retort. âIâm just restocking.â
He makes a noise of acknowledgment, shuffling closer toward you.Â
You pour pretzels into a bowl with more force than necessary, and several bounce onto the counter.
âThe partyâs a hit,â he offers.Â
âYeah. Everyone seems happy.âÂ
âThe foodâs really good too.â
âIt was all Namjoon and Dahyun,â you snort. Your dream of getting food catered pretty much died immediately. Then you tried cracking open a recipe book and nearly fainted.Â
This is excruciating. Youâve never done small talk with Jungkook. Never needed to.Â
âListenââ
âJungkook,â you say in unison.Â
Words cease to exist. You both stop. A dreadful, awkward silence fills the kitchen.
He clears his throat. âI want us to talk later after everyone leaves. If thatâs okay with you?â
Where the idea of talking to him used to excite you, is now replaced by a pit in your stomach that wonât budge.Â
Hanaâs words crash back into your consciousness. He was looking at you.
But what if she was wrong? What if she saw something that wasnât there because she was hurt and wanted an explanation that made sense? What if you let yourself hope and it destroys you?
âMaybe, Jungkook.â
Disappointment flashes across his face. He nods slowly. âCool, yeah, uh, just let me know.â
He turns to leave, and you want to say more, want to stop him from leaving.
Your mind runs back to the grocery store, Hanaâs words.Â
You open your mouthâto say what, you don't know. Sorry. Wait. I need to tell you something.
âJungkook.â
Jennie pokes her head into the kitchen, oblivious to everything. âThere you are! Taeâs trying to make everyone play some weird drinking game. You have to come referee before I murder him.â
Jungkook looks back at you, a question in his eyes.
âGo ahead,â you smile. âIâll join in a sec.â
He hesitates for just a second, then follows Jennie to the party.
By the time you make it back to the living room, Taehyung has indeed corralled everyone into some drinking game involving Christmas trivia. You slide into an empty spot on the couch next to Jisoo, who gives you a pointed look that you ignore.Â
âIs this a joke?â you ask.Â
âTis not, Christmas hater,â Taehyung jokes. He explains the rules of the game, most of which you spend picking at your fingernails. The game begins with Jennie getting a question wrong about Rudolph and has to take a shot of tequila. Dahyun argues that her answer about Home Alone is technically correct. Jungkook keeps score attentively, tongue poking through his teeth.Â
You're almost starting to relax when Namjoon, flushed from wine and dad-exhaustion, looks around your apartment with squinted eyes.
âWait,â he says loud enough to make Taehyungâs and Jisooâs current feud halt. âWhereâs the mistletoe?âÂ
Last Christmas by Wham is blaring from your speakers, and you can hear traffic from the street below, but a barrage of red alerts blasts through your brain.Â
Shit.Â
Your throat goes dry.
âYeah!â Dahyun laughs, adjusting Haewon on her lap. âWhere is it? I thought mistletoe was like, mandatory at Christmas parties.â
âMaybe she forgot,â Jennie offers, and you could kiss her on the lips.Â
âFeels like a crazy thing to forget,â Jisoo chimes in, and you shush her with a glare.Â
âI didnât forget.â You can feel Jungkookâs eyes on you, but you donât look at him. âI just didnât put one up.âÂ
âWhy not?â Taehyung interrogates, crossing his arms over his chest. âItâs tradition.â
Tradition. That stupid fucking word.Â
âItâs not really my thing.â You shrug.Â
âSince when?â Jennie arches a brow. âIn college, you made us all kiss under the mistletoe in Jihyoâs dorm.â
You were obliterated and desperately trying to create some scenario where kissing Jungkook would happen again, even as a joke. It hadnât worked. Heâd kissed Jisoo on the cheek and youâd kissed Namjoon and everyone had laughed and moved on and youâd gone home and cried into your pillow.
âI was drunk,â you argue.Â
Jisoo is studying her drink intensely, and by the sheer force of mind reading, you beg her not to say something.
âI think it's nice,â Dahyun says, attempting to ease the awkwardness. âMore elegant without it, you know? Like out of an Ikea catalogue!â
You throw her a grateful look.Â
âIt does save people from those awkward forced kisses with people they donât want to kiss,â she adds, and multiple other people nod in agreement.
âExactly! Thatâs exactly it.â You practically leap out of your seat.Â
But you can still feel Jungkook looking at you. You chance a glance in his direction and immediately regret it. Heâs not trying to hide his expression anymore. He looks visibly hurt, with his jaw tight and lips twitching.Â
âShould we keep playing?â Jennie asks, and bless her for it.
âYeah,â Taehyung shuffles his trivia cards. âAlright, next question is for Jungkook.â
The game resumes, clockwise around the room, but even then, neither you or Jungkook care about anything else but each other.Â
Jungkookâs not sure when it happened.
There wasnât a single moment, no dramatic revelation where the clouds parted and you were all grown up. It was more like watching a sunrise, so gradual that he didnât even notice it was happening until the entire sky was painted in vivid bright colors. One day you were his best friend, the girl who knew all his secrets and laughed at his dumb jokes and fell asleep during movie nights with your head on his shoulder. Then, somewhere along the way, you became something moreâflourished into a beautiful flower.Â
He thinks it might have started in high school, when you showed up to junior prom in that light blue dress that complemented your eyes. Your mother spent thirty minutes poking and prodding at your dress, noting that you were âfilling out nicely,â and it had taken all of Jungkookâs might not to ogle at your growing chest.Â
It couldâve also been in college, after you went through your first breakup and decided the proper next step was to cut your hair short, revealing the curve of your neck. He had stared for the better half of a week, and luckily, it went away once winter rolled around and you wore turtlenecks.Â
It could have been last year, when you laughed so hard at one of his stories that you snorted wine out of your nose, and instead of being grossed out, heâd thought it was the most endearing thing heâd ever witnessed.
Maybe itâs always been there, lurking underneath your friendship.Â
The thing is, Jungkook has always been sure heâs not in love with you. Heâs never let himself think about it in those terms, never let the thought fully form before shoving it back down where it belongs. You are his best friend, have been since before he understood what friendship meant. Youâre the person who knows him better than anyone, whoâs seen him at his worst and somehow still shows up. Youâre the constant in his life, the thing heâs never had to question.
But in the quiet of his own mind, he can acknowledge that you are utterly and thoroughly beautiful.Â
Youâre brilliant too, in ways that constantly surprise him even after knowing you for years. Sharp and funny and creative, with this ability to see people that makes everyone feel understood. You remember things, stupid little details about peopleâs lives that they mentioned once in passing. Youâre the kind of person who makes playlists for your friends based on their moods.Â
You made one for him last month. Called it âwhen koo is in his feelings.âÂ
He listened to it on the way to the Christmas party.
And yeah, okay, maybe he thinks about you more than a best friend probably should. Like when heâs dating someone, thereâs always this small part of his brain remembering things to tell you later, moments youâd find funny or interesting. Sometimes, he compares every girl he dates to you without meaning to⌠itâs just the way they laugh never quite measures up, their sense of humor is always slightly off, their understanding of him remains surface-level.
But thatâs all normal friend stuff, he thinks.Â
âPenny for your thoughts?âÂ
Namjoon sidles up beside Jungkook, hugging a beer bottle tight to his chest. Itâs the first time heâs drank in a while, and Jungkook resists the urge to laugh at just how drunk he looks.Â
Jungkook takes a long sip of his beer, watching you over the rim of the bottle. Youâre laughing at something Jisoo said, but it doesnât reach your eyes. âItâs nothing.â
âShut up.â Namjoon leans against the wall for stability. âTell me whatâs up.â
âNothingâs up.â
âShouldnât you be out there, making my wife laugh harder than I have?âÂ
Jungkook rolls his eyes. âIâm tired.â
âYou have the energy of a bunny, so I doubt that,â Namjoon snickers. âCâmon, fess up. I never get involved with drama anymore after Haewon. Enlighten me.â
Jungkook considers deflecting again, but what's the point? Namjoon's going to stand here until he cracks. âWe got in a fight. Me and [Y/N].â
âOh shit, for real?â When Jungkook meekly nods, Namjoon takes another swig of beer. âWhat about?â
âI wanted to hang up a mistletoe for the party and she said no.â God, saying it out loud seems so stupid. âI pushed it and then sheâŚâ
âShe what?âÂ
âShe said some mean things, then I said some things. It got messy.â
âThis sounds kinda dumb,â Namjoon jokes, and Jungkook levels him with a piercing glare. He knows itâs dumb, knows this whole thing is stupid, but he can;t shake the feeling that thereâs something unresolved lingering underneath. âYouâll be fine.â
âYeah.â
âThat was not a confident yeah.â
âI mean, I told her we should talk after the party. She said maybe,â Jungkook laughs dryly. âChances of us talking are looking pretty low right now.â
âDude,â Namjoon exhales a breath. âSheâs not going to stay away from you. That girl loves you.â
âI donât knowâŚâ
âYou know where she lives. You have a key, for godâs sake.â
Jungkook does have a key. In his defense, you have one to his place too. Itâs never not been a thingâyouâve been trading apartment keys since college, back when you lived in that shitty studio with the broken heater and he needed to water your plants when you went home for your momâs birthday.
âI think she really wants space this time, though,â he frowns. He doesnât like the idea of it, but itâs part of his fault youâre even in this predicament right now.Â
âYou guys are idiots.â Namjoon stares at him. âWhy do you look so sad about this? Itâs just a little fight, right?â
Jungkook opens his mouth to agree, but he chokes on the words forming in his throat. His eyes find you across the room again. Youâre holding Haewon, swaying gently, and the baby's grabbing at your hair with her tiny fists. You smile down at her, and even from here, he can see the softness in your expression, and how youâve adjusted your hold to support her head.
He doesnât really know why, but his heart seizes.
âYeah. I think so.â
Namjoon hums. âItâs not like, âŚanything more, right?â
Jungkook furrows his brows, tearing his gaze away from you. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âYâknow what I meanâŚâ Namjoon starts doing some weird vague gestures with his hand, and Jungkookâs beer-soaked brain struggles to keep up. âItâs not like that with you two?â
Oh.Â
âNo, no. Itâs not like that with us,â Jungkook denies quickly, almost too quickly. He knows itâs not impractical for someone to suggest. Ever since he was a young boy, heâs been curbing questions regarding your relationship status. It never annoyed him; in fact, it filled him with pride knowing people thought he was worthy of what sunshine you had to offer. âSheâs my best friend.â
âCouldâve fooled me.â
âExcuse me?â
Jungkookâs chest feels tight.Â
But Namjoon doesnât note the way his face goes pale, or the way his fingers flex around his bottle. He continues on, âBro, Iâm not trying to start anything. But Iâve known you since college, and Iâve watched you do this thing where you date someone, it gets serious, and then somehow it always ends. And you know what the common denominator is?â
He really doesnât want Namjoon to say anymore. Doesnât want him to vocalize what might actually be true, but has been something Jungkook has been mashing down for decades of his life. Naked, unmistakable fear courses through him.Â
âHer.â Namjoon points with his beer bottle. âEvery single time, you come back to her. You text her more than your girlfriend, or you cancel dates if she needs you. You measure everyone against her without even realizing youâre doing it.â
Jungkook canât speak, because itâs true. He knows itâs true. Heâs done it countless times, like when it was he and Sanaâs one-year anniversary, but you had the flu, so he dropped everything to take care of you. Or when Chaeyoung got upset with him because he had responded to your text before even giving hers a second glance.Â
He canât help it.Â
âYouâve been dragging her through your relationships for years,â Namjoon says, âAt some point, you need to ask yourself why you keep coming back to her.â
âBut sheâs my best friend!â Jungkook protests petulantly. âWe always show up for each other.â
âYeah, but do best friends look at each other the way youâre looking at her right now?â
Jungkook hadnât even realized heâd been staring again. Youâve handed Haewon back to Dahyun and youâre laughing at something, a hand flying up to cover your mouth in that way you do when you think your laugh is too loud. Itâs not, Jungkook thinks, Itâs never too loud.
âWhat do you want me to say?â Jungkook mumbles, averting his eyes to his scuffed-up shoes.Â
âI feel like you should just be honest with yourself, Kook.â Namjoon claps him on the shoulder. âIâm willing to bet money on the fact that your fight wasnât really about the mistletoe.â
âI donât think so,â Jungkook scoffs. He hopes he looks nonchalant, but his hands are trembling.
Namjoon doesnât utter another word, and for a moment, Jungkook thinks itâs over. Namjoon will let it go and theyâll move on. He shifts weight onto his other foot, taking a swig from his beer.
âJungkook.â Fuck, if the way Namjoonâs looking at him right now is any indication of whatâs to come, heâs so fucked. âYou know sheâs in love with you, right?â
Itâs out in the open, and he canât believe Namjoon just said it, doesnât know where he even got that idea, but he does know that it must be the truth. It has to be, because he would never suggest otherwise. And the notion should be earth-shattering, world-tilting, but itâs not.Â
Maybe Jungkook knew this whole time.Â
âNo-No, sheâs notâweâre notââ
But the more he ruminates on it, he realizes: you canât be. Youâve neverâthereâs never been any indicationâyouâve never said anything or done anything orâ
In all the years heâs known you, youâve never dated someone seriously. Like living together, talk of engagement. Sure, there were a few guys here and there in college, but nothing that stuck. Nothing that lasted more than a month or two. Heâd always figured you were just picky, focused on your career, not interested in settling down.
Was there more to that? Jungkookâs heart jolts in his chest.Â
Oh god. Oh fuck.
How long? How long have you been carrying this? Since you were kids? Since high school? College? How many years has he been obliviously parading girlfriends in front of you, kissing them under mistletoe, talking about his relationships, asking for your advice about girls who werenât you?
His hands are shaking. He sets his beer down on the nearest surface before he drops it.
âI think, maybe, youâve always known.â Namjoonâs voice sounds like itâs coming from far away.Â
All those times he came back to you after dates that didnât go well. All those nights you stayed up listening to him talk about his problems with whatever girl he was seeing. All those moments he chose you over them without even thinking about it because being with you was easy and comfortable and right in a way nothing else ever was.
He can never remember half of those girlsâ names. Canât remember what he saw in them or why he thought any of them were worth it.Â
But he remembers every Christmas with you.
He remembers all of it.Â
Jungkook looks up, searching for you in the crowd, and finds you emerging from the kitchen with Jisoo.Â
Panic claws up his throat. âBut sheâs never said anythingâlike, we neverââ
âIf I were her, I wouldnât say anything.â Namjoon shrugs.Â
Jungkook feels like he can't breathe. âYou donât know what youâre talking about. Youâre justâyouâre guessingââ
âI am assuming, but I know enough. Dahyun has me watching a ton of kdramas, so I know when someoneâs pining.â
His credentials are questionable.Â
âThat'sââ Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt. âFuck. Why wouldnât she tell me?â
âProbably because you introduce her to new girlfriends everyday.â Namjoonâs words are blunt, but his expression is sympathetic. âThink about it. When has she ever had the space to tell you?â
Never. The answer is never. Because heâs always been with someone or getting over someone or talking about someone, and even when he wasnât, he was busy treating your friendship like it was sacred.Â
Jungkook was so busy protecting what you had that he never stopped to think about what you could be.Â
âI didnât know,â Jungkook admits weakly.Â
âItâs fine. You do now.â Namjoon takes a massive gulp of his beer, placing the empty bottle on the nearby table. âBy the way, why did you care so much if she hosted? Why did it matter if it was at her place? You knew Dahyun and I didnât mind.â
Jungkookâs guilt wraps around him like a hug. He does feel guilty about lying, he truly does, but he doesnât have a good answer. Namjoonâs place would have worked fine, baby or not. Jisooâs apartment was an option despite Taehyung's dog allergy. They could have figured something out.
But he had told everyone secretly that you needed to host this year.Â
For a long, long moment, Jungkook is silent. He pushes through the fear, the nerves, the voices in his head telling him otherwise. He tells Namjoon, âBecause Christmas is ours.â
To no oneâs surprise, Namjoon and Dahyun are the first to make their exit. Haewon is already fast asleep on her fatherâs shoulder, snoring peacefully. Then Jisoo leaves, who gives you a long, meaningful look and a whisper of âtext me laterâ that you have no intention of following through on. Taehyung and Jennie linger for a little before they realize they have more pressing matters to attend to (read: their new vibrator they ordered).
Youâre certain Jungkook slipped out sometime in the middle of the exodus. You donât see him leave, but you hear the door close a final time and feel the absence of him.
Wonderful. You can clean up in peace and spend the rest of the night spiraling about Hanaâs words, the talk you never had with Jungkook, and how quickly youâll be able to move countries and change names.
Youâre elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing at a wine glass aggressively, when you hear footsteps behind you.
What the fuck. Did you leave your door unlocked?
Itâs definitely Taehyung. With a gulp, you crane your neck to see behind the doorway.Â
And then you scream.Â
You drop the glass into the sink, whirling around with your wet hands up like youâre going to fight off an intruder with dish soap.
Jungkook jumps, hands flying up in surrender. âOh my god, sorry! Sorry, sorry, Iâm sorryââ
âFucking hell, Jungkook!â Your heart tries to escape from your body. âI thought you left!â
âI was in the bathroom.â His eyes are wide, looking genuinely distressed at having scared you. âI didnât mean toâI thought you knew I was still here?â
Soap suds drip down your arms. Heâs pressed against your bookshelf, trying to camouflage into your books. Itâs ridiculous, but itâs so like you both that it makes you giggle.Â
Itâs a soft one, but he notices it and snorts in response. And then you two erupt into endless laughter, your heart soaring at the familiar sound of his timbre. His chest shakes with each laugh, and tears fall from your eyes.
But after a few seconds, the laughter finally fades, and you two stand there, sizing the other up.Â
âWhat are you still doing here?â you ask, reaching for a dish towel to dry your hands.Â
âI wanted to see if you were open to talking.â
You turn off the running water, pivoting to face him fully.
âI am.â
He takes a deep breath, swallowing thickly. Jungkook does this thing where his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek when heâs struggling to find the right words. Youâve seen him do it countless times.
His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.
âIâm sorry.â Jungkook says. âAbout the fightâŚabout pushing you to hostâŚand the, uh, the mistletoe thing.â He runs his fingers through his hair. âI didnât mean to hurt you. I justâChristmas has always been our thing since we were kids. It was always ours, and I donât know⌠I guess I didnât want that to change.âÂ
With him, things are always stagnant. Theyâre stable, trustworthy, and you know theyâll always be there. Youâre not sure where his childlike wonder wentâall those times he would drag you to unknown places to explore, or made you try new foods even if you knew youâd hate it.Â
But maybe youâre not worth the risk for him.Â
âMe neither,â you agree quietly.Â
You swivel back to face the sink, tears brimming your eyes. Reaching for another glass, you flick on the water, dousing your hands in soap. The water is frigid but you plunge your hands in anyway.Â
âHey,â comes Jungkookâs calm voice.Â
You keep scrubbing.Â
âHey.â
His fingers wrap around your arm, and you let out a sigh.Â
âThatâs it? Thatâs all?âÂ
You canât look at him. If you look at him, youâll break. âWhat else do you want me to say? I forgive you? I do. Jungkook, this is stupid.â
âI donât know. Something. Anything.â His hand lingers on your bare skin. âDonât shut me out. We had one fight and for some reason, it feels like Iâm losing you and I donâtââ He stops, takes a breath. âTalk to me.â
Thereâs so much you could say. You could tell him about the mistletoe tradition and how itâs haunted you. You could tell him about watching him fall in love over and over with people who arenât you. You could tell him about Hana and the grocery store and how you havenât been able to think about anything else since.
But most importantly, you could tell him the truth: youâve been in love with him since you were a child, and every Christmas since you were 15 years old felt like getting stabbed repeatedly.
Jungkookâs eyes are red-rimmed, lips quivering. Heâs still tethered to your arm, unable to let go as if youâll disappear. Youâre disgustingly terrified of this moment, not of losing him, but because heâs never even been yours to lose. Everything could change. You could say the words and watch your friendship shatter. You could tell the truth and have him look at you with pity, or worse, heâll look at you and apologize, say he doesnât feel the same towards you.Â
What if what you need to move on isnât to ignore it, but accept the rejection?
You can do that, you think.Â
You swallow, âJungkookââ
âPlease,â he pleads, âI canât fix it if I donât know whatâs wrong.â
You finally turn to face him, and his hand slides down from your arm but doesnât let go completely. His fingers catch yours, wet and soapy as they are, and hold on.
âI donât even know where to begin,â you admit.Â
âStart anywhere.â His thumb brushes against your knuckles, and you donât even think he realizes heâs doing it. âMaybe⌠start with why you donât like Christmas anymore.â
Thatâs the question, isnât it? Thatâs the thread that, if pulled, will unravel everything.
âDo you⌠remember our mistletoe tradition?â
He furrows his brows. You had just reminisced on it a few days ago, but somehow it feels like a lifetime. âOf course.â
âDo you remember when it all started?â
He looks at you like youâre an apparition. âYeah.â
âWe were just kids⌠but you kissed my cheek and I thought it was the most magical thing in the world. We did it every year, every year until you finally kissed me on the lips.â
Jungkook inhales audibly, nods once, and squeezes your hands tighter.Â
âIt became my favorite day of the year,â you continue, and you sound out of breath. âIt wasnât because of the presents, or the food, or Santa. It was those three seconds under the mistletoe with you. I lived for it. Counted down the days to it. And when we were 15, you got your first girlfriend.â
Understanding starts to dawn on his face, and itâs almost worse than if he didnât get it.
âYou kissed her under the mistletoe that year.â You swallow back the sob that climbs up your throat. âI watched and I stood there and you gave her this real kiss, this romantic kiss, and I realized that all those years⌠they were just a game to you. A tradition.â
He opens his mouth, most likely to object, but you speak over him.Â
âIt just kept happening. There was always someone there, someone who wasnât me. I smiled and pretended I was happy for you while I was watching you fall in love with people who⌠whoâŚâ Now or never, you think. â....who got to have what I wanted.â
Tears begin to blur your vision, muddling Jungkookâs features.Â
âIâve been in love with you for god knows how long, Jungkook. And every Christmas since I was 15 is just a constant, giant, unavoidable reminder that you donât love me the way I love you.â
The tears are falling freely, hot and fast, painting your cheeks.Â
âThatâs why I didnât want to host. Thatâs why I didnât want the mistletoe. Because I canâtââ Your voice breaks. âI canât watch you kiss someone else under it again. I canât do it anymore. Itâs killing me.â
You remove your hands from his, wiping furiously away at the wetness on your face. When you blink, you notice Jungkookâs also crying. Cheeks ruddy and chest heaving, lips trembling. â[Y/N]. I-I⌠how come you never said anything?â
âYouâre my best friend, Koo.â You wrap your arms around yourself, self-soothing the ache thatâs built in your chest. âIf you donât love me like that, I completely understand. I do. Youâve never given me any indication that you feel the same way and thatâs okay, thatâs fine, Iâll get over it eventuallyââ
Jungkookâs face falls, softening. â[Y/N]-â
âI donât want to lose you. I canât. Youâre the most important person in my life and if telling you this means youâre going to look at me differently or feel weird around me orââ
âStop.â he firmly says, and his hands come up to cup your face. His thumbs wipe at your tears and you know you look like a wreck, but heâs looking at you as though you were sent from the heavens above. âJust stop for a second.â
You hiccup, trying to catch your breath.Â
âCan we stand in the doorway?â he asks.Â
You deadpan. âWhat?âÂ
âThe doorway,â he repeats like thatâs supposed to clarify anything for you. He takes one of your hands in his, peeling you away from the counter. âCan we stand in the doorway?â
âIâwhat? Why?âÂ
You blindly follow him, like you always do. Let him lead you out of your kitchen. Your living room is a messâempty glasses and crumpled napkins, remnants of your Christmas party.
Jungkook positions you in the doorway between your living room and hallway. His green sweater brings out his sparkling eyes, and your heart flutters in your chest.Â
âJungkook, can you just reject me quickly so we can move onââ
âLook up.â He smiles.Â
With shaky breath, you crane your neck.Â
Hanging from your doorway is a mistletoe. Thereâs a red ribbon tied around it, dangling back and forth to the tune of your oscillating fan.Â
You snort out a snot bubble, but neither you nor him seem to care too much. âWhen did that even get there?â
âWell, I had to wait till the end of the night,â he remarks sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck that iss now flushed crimson. âI thought you might rip my dick off or something if I did it earlier.â
You sink your fingernails into your palms to keep yourself grounded, to keep yourself from leaping paces ahead. Behind your ribcage, your heart stumbles.Â
Heâs the first to laughâitâs wet and graceless, body shaking in tandem. Youâre laughing too, but also crying.Â
Your heart soars like itâs trying to escape your chest and fly around the room.Â
Jungkook settles down, and something softer crosses his expression. When he speaks next, his voice is steady, sure of himself.Â
âYou think I donât feel the same way?â His voice breaks. âYou thinkâJesus Christ, [Y/N], youâre all I think about. Youâre all I ever thought about.â
âReally?â you whisper, voice so feeble you think he canât possibly have heard it.Â
But he nods.Â
âI wake up, and the first thing I do is check my phone to see if youâve texted me. I go through my entire day remembering things to tell you laterâstupid shit, important shit, all the stuff in between. When something good happens, youâre the first person I want to tell. When something bad happens, you'âre the only person I want to see.â He wipes a stray tear thatâs made its way down his cheek. âYouâre the first person I think of when I wake up and the last person I think of before I fall asleep, and most nights I dream about you too.â
âYouâŚâ you trail off, shake your head. Thereâs no words to describe how you feel, no proper sentence to show how your entire body feels like itâs on fire.Â
âLet me say this because I should have said it years ago. A decade ago. I should have said it every single Christmas instead of being with people who werenât you and pretending that was enough.â
Jungkook takes a step forward. His scent envelops you, makes you feel at home. Like youâre six years old again and anything is possible.Â
âI kissed you under that mistletoe when we were kids because if anyone was going to be my first kiss, it was going to be you. I didnât even really understand what kissing meant. But I knew I wanted it to be you.â
He lets out a breathy, quiet laugh. And it feels like youâre kids again, standing under the mistletoe, pulling into each other like magnets.Â
âI kept doing it every year becauseâbecause those three seconds were mine. They were ours. It didnât matter that I was too young to understand what it meant or why it made my stomach feel weird or why Iâd think about it for weeks afterwards. I just knew that kissing you under the mistletoe was the best part of Christmas⌠the best part of my whole year.â
âYou know, I was never able to understand why my relationships never seemed to work. Why no one ever wanted to stay with me for the long run. And it took me a long time, but Iâve got it all figured out now.â He has to stop to clear his throat, and itâs then, and only then, that you see the tears glistening in his eyes again. âI think⌠I think Iâve been looking for pieces of you in every girl I meet.â Â
Your feet remain frozen to your floor. If you pinch yourself, youâll wake up from this dream, and you want to live in it as long as life will allow.Â
âIâd find a girl who had your hair color, or a similar sense of humor, or the way you scrunch your nose when youâre thinking, and Iâd think âthis is it, this is the one.â But it never was, because they werenât you,â he says. âI would be on dates, and think about what youâd say about the restaurant, or the movie, or the conversation. I could be kissing someone and wonder why it didnât feel the way it felt when I kissed you when we were children.â
He takes another step, hardwood floor creaking beneath his weight.Â
Heâs so close you can almost taste his woodsy scent.Â
âIâm a coward, [Y/N]. I kept dating people, kept trying to make it work with someone else, because I thought if I could just find the right person, Iâd stop being in love with you.â
âKoo,â is all you can manage.
âBut there is no right person for me. Thereâs just you, thereâs only ever been you. Youâre not a piece of the puzzle, [Y/N]. You are the whole fucking puzzle. Every piece, every corner, every goddamn edge. And Iâve been trying to force other pieces to fit for years, but they donât. They canât.â His tears are moving faster than he can stop them, and he lets them pour out of his eyes onto his sweater.Â
âThe only reason I stopped kissing you under the mistletoe was because I was falling in love with you.â Heâs grinning through his tears. The kind of grin youâve been the only person to extract out of him. âI was a stupid kid who was falling in love with their best friend and the first thought I had was: what if you didnât feel the same way? What if I told you and you laughed in my face? And I know Iâm stupid, but I stopped because I needed to tell myself I was over it, that it was a phase, that we were just friends.â
Jungkook takes one final step forward until youâre practically nose-to-nose.Â
His voice is no higher than a whisper. âI never got over it, though. I never stopped loving you.â
Your head is spinning. Jeon Jungkook. Your best friend, your platonic soulmate, your everythingâŚ
âYou⌠you love me?â
âI love you so fucking much,â he confirms. âI love the way you sing off-key during all our car rides together, and the way you cry during commercials with pets. The way you remember everyoneâs birthdays, even if they donât remember yours. I love how you scrunch your nose when youâre concentrating and how you chew your lip when youâre nervous. I love your terrible jokes and your beautiful laugh and how magical everything suddenly feels when youâre around.â
Inevitably, youâre sobbing too. Not in a pretty way, but you donât think it matters anymore. Nothing matters but this.Â
âI love that I was lucky enough to be born the same day as you, that the universe knew before we knew that there was no me without you. I love that I know everything about youâyour favorite color, your biggest fears, how you like your tea. I love that you know me better than anyone else in the world.âÂ
His hands go to cup your face. âSo, yeah, I do love you. And I know I wasted time, but I am telling you now with utmost certainty. If you'll let me, I want to make up for all the time I wasted being too scared to love you the way you deserve.â
Your hands come up to cover his, pressing them harder against your face.Â
âI want you to be mine and I want to be yours, in every way possible, [Y/N].â
And you really, really need to stop crying, but itâs impossible. They well up, like all those emotions youâve been mashing down for decades, ballooning into something too large for your body to handle.Â
âThose are happy tears⌠right?â he chuckles.Â
âYes,â you sob. God, heâs never going to let you live this down. âI love you. I love you so muchââ
âI love you too.â He kisses your forehead, cheeks, the tip of your nose. âI love you, I love you, I love you. I'm going to make sure you never doubt that again.â
You laugh, a watery bubbling sound.Â
You look up at the mistletoe hanging between you two. Itâs a small piece of plastic and ribbon, but somehow it represents years of longing and heartbreak and fear that just needed time to blossom into something ethereal.
âYou still remember the tradition?â Jungkook tucks a stand of hair behind your ear.Â
You couldnât forget even if you tried. âWhen youâre under the mistletoeâŚâ
âYou must kiss the person youâre with,â he finishes.Â
His thumbs linger over your cheekbones, gazing into your eyes. Theyâre still the same from when he was little. Wide-eyed, full of childlike wonder and innocence. His pupils are blown.Â
âCan I kiss you?âÂ
You stupidly smile. You nod just as he gets the last syllable out. Nodding so hard and so frantically itâs almost manic, tears streaming down your face, your hands coming up to grip the collar of his green sweaterâthat goddamn green sweater the color of mistletoe.
âYes,â you breathe, âYes, please, yesââ
He kisses you.Â
And oh.
Oh.Â
You hold your breath, counting the seconds in your head. Itâs longer than three seconds and two milliseconds.Â
Your knees buckle under the weight of his kiss, with his hands cradling your face gently. Your fingers twist tighter in his collar, pulling him closer, closer, never close enough.
The salt of both your tears mixes on your lips, can feel the way his breath stumbles against your mouth. One of his hands slides into your hair, angling your head just so, and you make a sound you didnât know you were capable of making. Youâre pliable in his arms.Â
His tongue outlines your bottom lip, and you grant him access immediately, needing to feel more of him, any part you can grasp to know this is real. Youâre both still cryingâyou can feel fresh tears sliding down your cheeksâbut youâre also smiling, laughing into the kiss like idiots because this is insane.
Jungkookâs tattooed hands slide down to your waist, pulling you close to him until thereâs not an inch to spare between your bodies. Your apartment, the mess of cups and plates scattered around, the snazzy Christmas decorations youâll throw away tomorrowâit all fades away until thereâs just this. Just him.
âI love you,â he murmurs against your mouth, and then heâs kissing you again before you can say it back. âLove you so much, Iâm a fucking loser, Iââ
âShut up,â you giggle. âShut up and kiss me.â
You donât know how long you stand there, kissing under the mistletoe like teenagers who just discovered what kissing is. It could be seconds or hoursâtime feels irrelevant when his mouth is on yours, when his hands are holding you.
At some point, you know itâs not enough. You want more.Â
Finally, you think to yourself.Â
Youâve never wanted someone this bad. Never craved someoneâs brain, heart, and soul like this.Â
Heâs possibly thinking the same thing as you, and if the way he holds you is any indication, youâre the luckiest girl in the world. His hands travel over your waist, until they reach your thighs. In one smooth motion, he picks you up, and your legs wrap around his waist instinctively.
Jungkook is stronger than you though, even though you know he goes to the gym everyday, even though youâve watched him rearrange the furniture in your apartment on a random Tuesday after work. But feeling him hold you up effortlessly while kissing⌠your panties might drop before you even reach the bedroom.Â
You kiss him as he tries to navigate with his eyes closed, stumbling slightly down the hallway, both of you giggling between kisses like drunk teenagers. He nearly crashes into the wall, overcorrecting and spinning you both around.
âSmooth operator, hm?â you tease.Â
âShut up,â he mumbles. âI swear to god you switched where your bedroom was.â And then heâs kissing you again, and you forget about his horrible navigation skills.Â
Miraculously, you make it to your bedroom. Lays you down on your bed, following you down until heâs hovering over you, weight balanced on his forearms on either side of your head. The lamp on your nightstand casts soft shadows across his features. He chews his lip anxiously.Â
âDo you, umââ He stops, tries again. âDo you wanna maybeââ
You canât help but giggle. Your hand comes up to cover your mouth when you see the way his face falls. âKoo. I know youâre not a virgin.â
âOh my god.â He drops his forehead to your neck with a groan, and his face is burning hot against your skin. âI know. I know Iâm not. But itâs you, itâs so different. Iâm nervous.â
Jungkook is experiencedâfar more than you, thatâs for certain. You were never bothered by the difference. You had lost your virginity solely as a means to an end, to just say you did the damn thing so you werenât a complete and total loser. But Jungkook has plenty of notches on his belt, and your heart melts at the thought of you being the one to dismantle him completely.Â
You slide your fingers into his hair, tugging until he lifts his head to look at you. His eyes are dark and vulnerable, full of love it makes you want to cry all over again.
âHey. Itâs just me, Koo.â
âWell, thatâs kinda the problem,â he gruffs, playing with the necklace around your neck. âIt is you. It matters a lot.â
âIt matters to me too,â you rush to agree, cup his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his scarlet cheeks. âWe donât have to do anything you donât want to do. We can justâwe can just lie here. We can talk. We canââ
He kisses you, cutting off your rambling. Slower, assured. âI want to. I really, really want to. I just⌠I want it to be good for you.â
Your fingers trace the constellation of moles on his face, and thereâs just so much of him you want to uncover, so much golden skin and muscle. âIt will be.â
This time, when his lips meet yours, he relaxes into it, earlier nervousness melting away. Your hands slide up under his sweater, feeling the bare skin, the sculpted abdomen youâve sparingly seen. Your fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck, playing with the soft strands there, and he makes a soundâhalf-sigh, half-groanâthat strikes straight through you. His hips shift slightly, pressing against yours, and now itâs your turn to gasp into his mouth.
âStill nervous?â you mutter.Â
âA little,â he says through a moan as you roll your hips to press against his growing length. âWhat if you think I-Iâm, fuck, bad in bed?â
âYou wonât be.â You kiss down his sharp jawline, down the vein that protrudes from the side of his neck.Â
âYou donât know that. I could be really bad at this.â
You laugh, tugging him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist. âJungkook, youâre not going to be bad at sex.â
He nuzzles into your neck, inhaling the scent of gingerbread cookies that still lingers on you even after hours of burning them. âBut what if I am?â
âKoo. I love you. I wouldnât care even if your dick was 2 inches.â
He lifts his head from your neck. âOkay, donât push it.â
Jungkook kisses you, warm tongue swiping against your bottom lip. His calloused hands slide up your red sweater, feeling the black lace bra underneath. His breath stutters at the realization, fondling your breasts in the way heâs always dreamed of.Â
Messily, hungrily, your sweater comes off first, then his, a tangle of fabric and laughter as he fumbles with the back of your bra. Jungkook apologizes against your lips, but you donât care in the slightest, just want more and more and more. He flings your bra across your bedroom, greedily taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking the hardened nub. And youâre so wet, can feel it pooling in your panties, soaking through the fabric. Every roll of his hips, every flick of his tongue sends shocks of lightning through you.Â
âSo fucking pretty,â Jungkook groans, readjusting your body higher on the bed until your head reaches the pillow. He unclasps your legs from around his waist, making room for himself to wiggle down in between them.
You canât stop the familiar swell of nerves racing through your body, even as he kisses down the valley of your breasts, down to your stomach, past your navel. His lips hover over the button of your jeans, delicately undoing. Taking his time as though not to miss a single moment.Â
You weirdly get the urge to cover yourself, to hide under the strength of his burning gaze. What if he compares me to all the other girls? you think. What if Iâm not as beautiful as Sana or Eunji or Hana?
And then Jungkook says, âYouâre so beautiful, baby. Most beautiful girl Iâve ever known.â
Tears threaten to appear again.Â
He tugs your jeans off, his hair tickling your inner thigh as he goes. His lips follow, pressing chaste kisses along your naked skin. The mattress dips as he adjusts himself, wraps his arms around your thighs and tugs your clothed, soaking cunt to his face. You gasp, your walls clenching around nothing. âRelax, baby,â Jungkook bites your inner thigh, soothing it with his tongue. âGonna take care of you.â
âPlease,â you beg, and you donât even know what youâre begging for, but when you meet his eyes you know exactly what. More of him, more of his mouth, his tongue, his lips.Â
He pushes your panties to the side, and without preamble, youâre spreading your legs further.
Immediately, Jungkookâs eyes go to what lies between them.Â
âSo wet, baby,â He lets his pointer finger gather your arousal. âYou always get this wet for your best friend?â
You gasp, eyes trained on his. His voice has gone husky, eyes hooded and dark. He presses into your sensitive nub, and you jolt forward, hands tightly gripping the sheets underneath. âAnswer me.â
âY-yes, Koo. Always wet for you, just for you.â
That seems to be enough for him. He leans forward, dragging your underwear down your legs until theyâre no longer his concern, and then his mouth is on you.Â
âFuck!â You practically scream, body lurching forward, humming violently underneath him. Itâs been a whileâmaybe more than a while, possibly yearsâsince youâve had someone willingly eat you out, and by the way Jungkook does so, he seems enthralled to get a chance to enjoy the taste of you. His tongue strokes through your folds, wet and wide, working its own rhythm that has you withering underneath his grasp. His hands press into your hip bones, stabilizing your movements. He buries his whole face in it, lets himself soak up every last bit of arousal youâve produced. Two minutes of this and youâll be a goner, but you donât want this to end, not now, not ever.Â
âTastes so sweet, baby,â Jungkook moans into your wetness, licking a long stripe from your hole up to your clit. âBeen hiding this from me, hm?â
âI-Itâs yours, Koo. Always has been,â You squeeze your eyes as tight as you can, stars blooming in your vision. He taps your thigh, and you know he wants you to look at him, but you can hardly breathe or think or speak.Â
He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, and your fingers fly to his unkempt hair, tugging and pulling until youâre certain itâll come off his scalp. Without warning, he pushes one finger into you, testing you. He watches as you keen, profanities falling off your lips. Jungkookâs finger crooks into you at an angle you thought only you could reach, and youâre putty in his unrelenting hands. âFuckâoh my god, yes, right there Koo, oh, yesââ
âFeel good, baby?â He gathers his saliva, spitting onto your clit and letting it drip down to his fingers, a second digit entering you. âTalk to me.â
Heâs gentle about it, tentative, as though heâs trying to learn you, teach himself the new side of you heâs unlocked.Â
âM-more,â you keen. âFaster, please.â
And heâs so willing, so ready. Itâs so wet, unlike anything that happens when you touch yourself. His tongue and fingers fuck you through it, squelching sounds echoing against the thin walls of your bedroom, sweat slicking down the valley of your breasts. You feel your walls clench around him once, twice, and your legs tremble in his hold. You can feel it dripping down your inner thigh, onto your sheets, onto his chin.Â
âSo tight around my fingers,â he groans, and you watch as his other hand travels down to his belt buckle, furiously trying to undo it. âSo hard just thinking about beinâ inside you.â
âI-I want that,â you reply breathlessly. âI want you inside me.â
âFuck,â he grunts, working his nimble fingers quicker, tongue vacuum-sealed around your clit, milking you entirely. âI want to feel you cum for me. I want to taste it.â
You nod, bunching your bedsheets into little fists of agony. When you look up, you can see Jungkookâs hair spread across your lower stomach, tattooed biceps straining. His free hand strokes his cock, and a swarm of butterflies release in your stomach at the sight. Youâve made him so desperate that he has to touch himself. You have.Â
And the sight is just too much for you to handle. âAghhâKoo, fuck, Iâm gonnaâIâm gonna cum.â
He doesnât say anything, just lets his tongue continue at the same pressure, same speed, until youâre coming undone all over him. You feel it everywhere, in your chest, in your core, in your toes. You arch off your mattress, legs quivering and locking around his head. It feels like time is a myth, Jungkook fucking you through your orgasm until you almost collapse.Â
You tap him on the head with your foot, falling back onto your pillows tiredly.Â
Jungkook peers up at you, still the same wide-eyed expression on his face, except this time, your arousal is glistening on his face, scarlet lips swollen and wet. He presses a few kisses on your thighs, stomach, before dragging himself up on his biceps to hover you. He kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and you canât help but moan into his mouth. Itâs so dirty, so scandalous, sends a shock through your spine.Â
âI want you to fuck me,â you whisper between kisses.Â
His cheeks turn red.Â
âM-me too. I want to be inside you,â he stutters, kissing down your neck. âBut I might need a second.â
You furrow your brows, suddenly self-conscious. âWhy?âÂ
He kisses your jaw, avoiding eye contact. âBecauseIcamealready.â
âWhat, Koo?â
Jungkook sighs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. âBecause I came already.â
Oh.Â
Your heart wonât be able to handle this much affection tonight. You just know it.Â
You giggle, unable to hide the smile on your lips.Â
âStop,â he groaned into your neck. âDonât laugh, Iâm humiliated.â
âNo, Iâm notââ you laugh, âIâm not laughing at you. Youâre so cute, Koo. I love you.â
He grins toothily. âI love you too.â
And then you laugh again, and he laughs with you, and it feels like your heart is blooming, petals unfurling in your chest.Â
You wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him to you as close as humanly possible. You kiss him and try to make him understandâthrough the press of your lips, the desperate grip of your handsâjust how completely he owns every part of you.Â
You use your weight to roll him over, straddling his buff thighs, letting your soaked cunt linger over his growing length.Â
âHi,â he smiles big and wide, peering up at you like you hold the entire universe in your palms.
âHi,â you repeat, kissing his cheeks, forehead, jawline.Â
Behind you, you reach to grab his length in your hands, trace the veins that protrude. His mouth gapes open, watching as you realize⌠holy fuck.Â
Youâve always been respectful of Jungkookâs boundaries. Never once peeped on him or seen him in his boxers. The farthest you ever got was a pair of grey sweatpants, and even then, it didnât reveal much. There was no way to prepare yourself for this moment.
But as you stroke his cock languidly, you realise one thing for certain: that is not going to fucking fit inside you.
You donât even need to vocalize it, because heâs already saying, âWeâll work with what we can. But I think you can take it, baby.â
Gulping, you nod. You want to take it. Want to feel every inch inside of your gummy walls, want to hear him wither underneath you.Â
Heâs hard again too, you note. You could cry, knowing just how bad he wants this. Wants you.Â
You align his tip to your sopping hole, jaw slack as you gather the juices to hopefully make it easier. And then youâre sinking onto him, inch by inch, curses falling from his lips, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. âO-oh fuck, Koo.â
âKeep going, baby,â he moans, guiding you onto him until your clit meets his pubic bone. âJust like that, all the way.â
A sound rips free from the very core of you, both hands landing on his stomach to steady yourself. For a moment, you just sit there, trying to accommodate his length inside you. Feels so painfully good, stings just right.Â
âYou okay?â He reaches to brush a strand of wet hair from your face.Â
âYeah,â you exhale, rocking your hips gently, back and forth, figure-eights. You can feel him in your stomach, can see the bulge protruding from your body. His eyes lock onto it, bottom lip tucked behind his front teeth. âFeel so full, Koo. Itâs so deep.â
âFuck, baby.â His fingers dig deeper into your hips, directing your movements. A swell of confidence runs through you, and you brace yourself, lifting yourself off his cock to slam back down on it. He all but screams, thighs quaking beneath your weight.
âYouâre a fucking goddess,â he moans, head lolling back against the pillow. âI love you so much, my sweet girl, my best girl, fuck.â
âI love you too, Koo.â Your fingernails scrape down his chest, leaving red marks in your wake.Â
You can see his abdomen muscles rippling with effort as he tries not to come undone too fast, jaw clenched tightly. His tattoos are slick with sweat.Â
Your orgasm sneaks up onto you, but you donât want it to end, donât want to know the feeling of separation from him. Falling forward, you bury your face into his neck, and he wraps his arms around you, fucking up into you.Â
His cock hits just where you need him, and your moans bounce off the walls, your headboard creaking with each thrust he makes to meet your movements. âI-Iâm so close, Koo,â you moan.
âMe too, baby,â he says. His cock plunges greedily into your wetness, and you whimper. âI love you so so much, canât live without you.â
You canât help the tears that stream down your face. Itâs too muchânot just the sex, but that itâs sex with him. Jeon Jungkook, your best friend since birth, since before you knew anything else. You love him so much you donât know how your heart will contain all this. It might burst any second.Â
He feels the tears on his skin, and heâs slowing his thrusts, whispering, âAre you okay, baby? Did I go too fast? Want me toââ
âNo, no. I want you to keep going.â You look into his eyes, and his expression softens. âI justâI love you. I canât believe this is real.â
He kisses you, barely more than your mouths slotting together, and then his thrusts continue, more desperate and sloppy but still full of the same devotion. âI love you,â he murmurs into your mouth. âI-I know Iâve said it so many times tonight, but I love you so fucking much.â
Your warm, wet heat clenches around him. Little moans and whimpers escape you, teetering on the brink of another orgasm. âI know,â he gasps, and heâs crying now too, his whole body shaking. âI know, baby. Me too. Iâve got you.â
You stop moving completely, letting him take over, and the sounds are filthy, but the love that runs between you both is anything but. âMy baby. Mine, youâre mine,â His teeth sinks into your shoulder as he thrusts up into you, wetness dripping onto his cock and the sheets below. His hands cup your ass, slamming you up and down his girth.
âYours,â you cry, clutching him.Â
He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his face is soaked with tears, eyes red and swollen and so full of love it physically hurts to witness. âIâm never letting you go,â he says, crying so hard he can barely get the words out.
âMe too,â you promise, âIâm not going anywhere. Iâm right here.â
âShit, Iâm gonna cum, [Y/N], I canâtââ
Your fingernails dig into his biceps, mouth ripping open to moan out his name along with i love you i love you jungkook please please, and you feel him release inside you, spurts of his cum painting your walls as you tighten around him. You milk him dry until he canât take it anymore, until you feel so full you think your DNA has been adjusted to match his.Â
You all but collapse onto him, staying like that with your hearts thrashing against your ribs, reaching for each other through flesh and bone.
You want to stay here. Right here, in this specific moment, where his arm is around you and his breathing is shallow and you feel like youâre at home.
Itâs a ridiculous thought. Childish, even.
Youâll have to get up soonâyour bladder is already making demands, and reality is waiting just outside this bed. But not yet. Youâre not ready yet.
Jungkook sighs into your hair. âI donât wanna move.â
âMe either.â
âDo you⌠do you want this with me?â His chest rumbles with the question.Â
âWhat do you mean?â
âI just⌠this meant something to you, right? The fact that we had sex?â
âOf course it did.â
You prop yourself onto your shoulders, brushing the hair out of his eyes. They twinkle and glow underneath your low light. He gulps before speaking, âI want us to be together. Or, at least try. I want us to take the risk because youâre worth every goddamn risk.â
Every birthday candle since you were a child was dedicated to him. Every shooting star, every 11:11 on the clock, every stray eyelash, every penny thrown into a fountain. You wished for thisâfor himâso many times you lost count. Wished for him to look at you the way heâs looking at you now, like you hung the moon and painted the stars.
You almost want to pinch yourself. But his hand is warm on your waist, heartbeat steady under your palm, and when you dig your nails slightly into your thigh, you donât wake up to your blaring alarm. This isnât a dream.
âI want that too. I want to wake up next to you and fight about whose turn it is to do the dishes and learn all your weird habits I donât know yet.â
â[Y/N],â He cups your face in his hands. âYou literally know all my weird habits. Even the fact that I collect Captain Underpants original copies."Â
âWell yeah but I want to learn the new ones,â you shrug.Â
He chuckles. âI canât wait.â
Jungkook kisses you again. When he pulls back, heâs smiling that bunny smile thatâs been your undoing since childhood. âYour party tonight was awesome, by the way.â
âIt was all you.â
He smiles. âWeâre really doing this.â
You know heâs not talking about Christmas anymore.Â
You laugh, resting your forehead against his. âHaving second thoughts already?â
âNot even a little.â He pauses, then his eyes go wide. âOh my god. Your Christmas gift!â
He shoots up, still naked, peppering your face with a hundred tiny kisses. Forehead, nose, cheeks, chin, eyelids, everywhere he can reach while you dissolve into giggles.
âKoo, whatââ
But heâs already scrambling off the bed, running to where his bag is discarded by your front door. You hear his feet padding against your floor as he runs back, jumping onto the bed with enough force to make you bounce. Heâs grinning so wide it must hurt, holding something behind his back.
âClose your eyes,â he demands.Â
âJungkookââ
âClose them,â he whines.
You do as he says, and you feel the bed shift as he settles in front of you, feel his warmth as he leans close.
âOkay,â he softly says. âOpen.â
Timidly, you open them.Â
Heâs holding a teddy bear. Your teddy bear. The one he kept in a box with your name on it.
Itâs exactly as you rememberâworn brown fur, one ear more floppy than the other, the tiny red bow around its neck that youâd tied when you were 7. He even kept it clean, maintained.
âOh my god,â you exhale. Tears form in your eyes until theyâre streaming down your face as you stare at this piece of your childhood, this tangible proof that heâs been carrying you with him all along.
His face falls. âOh crap, do you not like it? I thoughtâI mean, I kept it because I thought maybe one day I could give it back to you, but if itâs weird orââ
âNo, no.â Shaking your head frantically, you reach for the bear with trembling hands. âI love it. I fucking love it, Jungkook.â
His smile returns, likeâs 6 years old again and just kissed you for the first time under the mistletoe.
Jungkook nuzzles into your neck, and you both burrow under your comforter, teddy bear clutched between you. His arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you flush against his chest, and youâve never felt safer. Never felt more loved.Â
Itâs quiet for what feels like eternity. His breath syncs with yours, fingers tracing illegible patterns on your hip.Â
âWhat was in that box in your closet, by the way?â you quietly wonder aloud as you stroke the bearâs fur.Â
He pauses. Goes completely still.
âYou saw that?â
âIt has my name on it.â
Heâs quiet for a long moment, and then he presses a kiss to your shoulder.
âEverything I love about you. Thatâs whatâs in there.âÂ
You hug him (and the bear) tighter to you.Â
After about an hour or so of intertwined limbs and lazy kisses, his breathing begins to slow, face buried in your hair. Sleep always comes easy when heâs around, and your eyes hang heavily.Â
âCan we watch the Grinch tomorrow?â The words come out slurred with exhaustion.
In the darkness, you smile, tangling your fingers with his over your stomach.Â
Youâd curled up with that green, bitter creature every year, finding solace in his hatred of the holiday because at least someone understood. At least someone else knew what it felt like to watch everyone around you celebrate something that only brought you pain. Youâd watch him scheme and plot and try desperately to steal Christmas away, and youâd think yes, exactly, take it all. Because if you couldn't have the Christmas you wanted, the one where Jungkook kissed you under the mistletoe and meant it, then what was the point of any of it?Â
The Grinch was safe. The Grinch was yours. The Grinch never asked you to be anything other than bitter and broken and sick of watching other people get their happy endings.
But that girl who needed the Grinch, sheâs gone. She got her happy ending, her Christmas miracle.Â
Plus, the Grinch is overrated.Â
âActually,â you whisper, âIâm thinking we watch Frosty the Snowman.â
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under the mistletoe áŻâ jeon jungkook
a dreamersparacosm holiday special .á.á
SUMMARY. Every Christmas, since you were six years old, Jeon Jungkook gave you a kiss under the mistletoe. But when you were fifteen, you were replaced by a revolving door of girlfriends. Thus began your decade-long aversion to the holidayâthis year, however, youâve been tasked with hosting the annual Christmas soirĂŠe, and thereâs no telling what might be waiting for you under the mistletoe this time around.
pairing. jeon jungkook x reader
word count. 23.8k
warnings/genre. childhood best friends to lovers (aka idiots to lovers if you squint!!!), slight angst, fluff, reader is the grinch reincarnated, jungkook is oblivious, alcohol consumption, smut, oral and fingering (f receiving), multiple orgasms, big dick jungkook bc what else, unprotected sex sorry sheâs on the pill, crying during sex (but in a cute way), itâs all just really cute i kinda hate them
note. welcome to the dreamersparacosm golden era⌠two one-shots over 15k words in one month. my fingers are tired. but itâs all fine n dandy bc itâs the HOLIDAYS!!! and what better way to celebrate than with a friends to lovers fic? believe it or not, this was originally going to be enemies with lovers, but i had a long talk with myself and realized that theres no way in hell i could ever do justice to a e2l in under 304949k words, but rest assured there is enough pining and angst to keep you well-fed 𼰠oc is yearning final boss, jungkook is a slowburner whoâs also an idiot. my favorite kind of couple! i hope you all had a wonderful holiday! p.s: stay tuned for an extra special treat from these two later today :)
âśď¸ â˘áá||á|á|||| last christmas by wham
banner creds | masterlist | epilogue blurb
The Grinch has always been your favorite Christmas movie.Â
Not because itâs particularly funny or thrilling, but because you can relate to that pessimistic green ball of fur. He despises the holiday just as much as you doâand thatâs generous, considering your animosity towards the day has reached unfeasible levels. You might be worse than the aforementioned ball of fur.Â
Thereâs really no one else to blame for your aversion to the holiday⌠besides Jeon Jungkook.Â
Jeon Jungkook has been your best friend since cradle. Your mother and his shared a room at the hospital, and since then, have kept a tight-knit relationship. Growing up, you and Jungkook shared more life experiences than siblings would. Conjoined birthdays, first day of school, puberty, heartbreak. It was hard not to imagine him in your life, when he had already invaded every part of it with his infectious smile and doe-like eyes.
Every Christmas, since you were six years old, Jeon Jungkook gave you a kiss under the mistletoe. It started innocently enough, with your parents cooing sweetly as he pressed his little lips to your warm cheek. Your face burnt like a volcano shortly after, your hand pressing up to touch the spot where his lips met your skin every few minutes.Â
When you were nine, he upped the ante. He grabbed your face with his grubby hands, and smushed his lips onto yours with a peck. It was precisely three seconds and two milliseconds long (you know because you held your breath). When he pulled away, he smiled that big bunny smile and ran off to play with your toys. Life continued on as such, leaving you behind to pick up the pieces of everything you thought you knew.Â
At the age of fifteen, he got his first girlfriend, Haeun. They met in Science class, paired up by accident, but the crush he had on her was with such certainty it took you by storm. That Christmas, he didnât give you a peck on the lips or the cheek. That year, your body felt empty. That fateful holiday, you watched as Jeon Jungkook gave Park Haeun a big, sloppy, romantic kiss under the mistletoe, one that rivaled any one he ever gave you.Â
And so, Christmas went from your favorite day of the year, to your nightmare.Â
Even when his and Haeunâs puppy love died out by high school graduation, she was swiftly replaced by Eunji. And then Chaeyoung. And then SanaâŚand the list went on, and on, and on.Â
So, yeah. Christmas. Not your best day. In fact, itâs pretty low on the totem pole, right next to the anniversary of your grandfatherâs death.Â
All this to sayâthis is why youâve been ignoring your best friendâs pleas for the past thirty minutes on hosting the annual Christmas soiree at your apartment. Your humble abode. Your sanctuary. Thereâs no way in hell youâll be stringing red and green lights from your ceiling, singing âho, ho, hoâ and passing around jell-o shots that were crafted by the devil himself. And you most definitely, certainly, will not hang up a mistletoe.Â
âBut why not?â Jungkook whines again, bouncing up and down on your couch cushion like a puppy. His bottom lip juts out slightly, which would be endearing if he was a teenager and not a 28-year old man.Â
âBecause I donât want to. I donât like Christmas.â You ignore him as best as you can, thumbing through your Instagram feed. Engagement posts, pregnancy announcements⌠god, the holidays are the worst. No, you wonât be blowing âbaby dustâ to your friends trying to get pregnant.Â
âSince when?â He gawks, pausing his movements to stare at your side profile intently.Â
âSince forever. You know this,â you say calmly. âThe Grinch is my favorite movie.â
He scoffs. âSo? Itâs mine too. That doesnât mean I hate Christmas.â
You donât have the heart to tell him that your abhorrence for the holiday stems from his inability to give you a kiss since the age of fifteen. Thirteen years later, you canât help but want one still.Â
You roll your eyes. âYou donât hate Christmas because you like giving gifts and receiving them.â
âThatâs not true,â he argues, snatching your phone out of your hand and tossing it on the coffee table. You finally turn to look at him, and heâs all red cheeks and wide eyes, and it makes you want to die. âYou have the nicest apartment out of all of us. We canât do Namjoonâs because they just had the baby, we canât do Jisooâs because Tae is allergic to dogs, and we canât do mine because Iâm renovating. Yours is the best option.â
All true points, but none that you want to confront head-on. âMight it also be that you donât want to do yours because then people will know you havenât moved on from Hana?âÂ
Jungkookâs face contorts, and for a split second, you feel guilty for sinking that low. You didnât mean to, but itâs true. His most recent ex-girlfriend, Hana, doesnât live in that apartment anymore, but it almost feels like she does with the amount of her stuff lingering around. They were together for a year, but mysteriously broke up after Christmas last year.Â
âNot cool,â he mumbles, playing with his sleeve.Â
âIâm sorry,â you sigh, âI just really donât wanna host, Koo.âÂ
âCâmon, do it for me,â he pouts, and it becomes even harder to say no to him. Youâre putty in his reliable hands.Â
âWhat will I get out of hosting?â You cross your arms over your chest. A hint of a smile creeps onto his face as he realizes youâre slowly beginning to cave. You always do when you start asking questions.Â
âNamjoon and Dahyun will cook. Taehyung will make the drinks. And I, your trusty best friend, will task myself with decorating the entire place,â he says proudly, chest puffed out like heâs the Superman of Christmas or something equally as idiotic.
âJeon Jungkook is going to decorate my apartment?â you question, dumbfounded. âThe one who put the star on upside down last year?âÂ
The memory plays as vivid as ever, a reel of images flashing through your mind of Jungkook proudly grinning at the miniscule tree he helped construct in your living room. The lights barely worked, the ornaments were hanging on by a thread, and the star was upside down, but he swore Michaelangelo wouldâve thought it was abstract art.
He rolls his eyes. âWhy canât you let anything go?âÂ
âAnd tangled the lights so bad Namjoon had to come over and cut them with scissors?â
Jungkook pouts the same way he used to when he was three. âButââ
âAnd ate the gingerbread house before we could even display it?â
Jungkookâs mouth opens to defy you, but decides itâs best not to go up against your vicious truths. âI was hungry and you had nothing but expired Chinese food in your fridge,â he grumbles. Itâs annoying how easily he can disarm you when heâs boyishly upset at the world.Â
In the grand scheme of things, hosting the Christmas soiree at your house is nothing. Nada. Zilch. A blip on your radar. Itâs not like heâs asking you to loan him a million won, or donate a kidney to his brother (albeit those are all things you would do for him). Heâs simply asking you to open your home to your closest friends to spread holiday cheer.Â
Somehow, some way, it feels like the hardest thing you have to do.
Maybe because in the grand scheme of things, youâre also hopelessly, relentlessly, disgustingly in love with Jeon Jungkook, and the word no is not one that leaves your lips often when heâs around.Â
âFine,â you relent. His entire face lights up, and your heart does the same dance it always does. âI have conditions, though.â
âAnything you want.â He scoots closer. You can smell his cologne, a pine and bergamot scent he wears for the holidays. âIâm at your service.â
âWeâre gonna do classy Christmas. Iâm talking silver decorations, maybe some gold. None of that tacky red and green shit from the dollar store.â
âUhu.â He nods. âAligned, captain.â
âAll the food will be catered. Iâm not making poor Dahyun cook. She has enough on her plate already.âÂ
He salutes you, which makes you snort.Â
âLastly, and most importantly, no mistletoe.â
His smile falters. Tips downward so that itâs almost unrecognizable. The light in his eyes dims, and now you almost feel guilty. âWhaâwhy not?â
See, if this were a Christmas romcom broadcasting on Hallmark, this is the pivotal moment where youâd confess everything. How youâve been in love with him since you were old enough to feel that feeling of warmth in your chest, how watching him kiss other girls made all your kisses seem foolish, how every Christmas without his lips on yours (even platonically) makes you want to move to a foreign country. Heâd probably gasp, pull you close, and kiss you right there on your sofa while snow fell cinematically outside your window. Credits would roll over a montage of you two ice skating and baking holiday cookies, all set to some Kelly Clarkson cover of âLast Christmas.â
But this isnât a Hallmark movie, and youâre not that brave.Â
So, instead, you say, âItâs tacky and overdone. I donât want it in my apartment.â
Jungkook seems genuinely concerned, as though you just informed him you have four days to live and your final wish is to jump out of a plane. âBut itâs tradition. Every year, thereâs a mistletoe.â
You huff, hugging the blanket wrapped over your legs tighter to you. âWell, I donât care. Thatâs my conditions. Take it or leave it.â
He watches quietly for a moment as you inspect the fibers of the blanket. He knows you well enough to not pry further, but he also knows that heâs the only one youâll talk to if he does decide to investigate. Thereâs no sound except the rattling of your heater and the sound of cars honking past your window. The television screen remains paused on a scene from The Grinch you could probably recite by heart.Â
âOkay,â he finally says. âNo mistletoe.â
âGood. Glad thatâs settled.â You stand up, desperate for distance. âNow get out. I have work to do.â
âFirst of all, itâs Sunday. Second of all, weâre watching the Grinch. Thatâs not work,â he points out.
âIâm sure I could find something to do. Iâve been meaning to dust my bookshelf,â you counter.Â
âOh, really? You walking your squirrel after that?â he teases, smirking.Â
âI am actually.â You cross your hands over your chest, the signal you make when itâs time for him to exit your apartment.Â
He stands, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rides up slightly, exposing a sliver of toned stomach, and you have to look away. Youâve been down this road too many times.
âIâll text you tomorrow about picking up supplies,â he yawns, heading for the door. âWeâll need to grab stuff from my place anyway. Iâve got extra string lights in storage.â
You trail behind him. âFine.âÂ
He pauses at the threshold, turning back to look at you. âThanks for doing this. I know itâs not your favorite thing.â
Oh, If only he knew it was his fault. âYeah, well. You owe me.â
âI always do,â he grins, and then heâs bounding down your staircase, leaving you alone with the Grinch and the hollowed feeling in your chest that never really goes away.
When youâre certain heâs finally gone, you lock the door and sink back into the couch, pressing play on the remote. On screen, the Grinch is plotting to ruin Christmas, and you canât help but think to yourself, same, buddy. Same.
Heâs probably got the right idea. If you steal all the decorations before he can hang them, accidentally forget to buy eggnog, or come down with the Black Plague on the day of the party, you could ruin the whole thing.Â
But you wonât. Despite everything, you canât actually hurt him. Youâd host a thousand Christmas parties, hang a million strands of lights, bake cookies until your hands cramped, if it meant making Jeon Jungkook happy. Thatâs the real bittersweet tragedy of your situation. Not that he doesnât love you back, but that you love him enough to pretend you donât.
Jungkook likes to call his apartment his âmodest mancave.â
Heâs called his bedroom that since you two were old enough to be in school. However, one spring day during Sophomore year, youâd barged in unannounced and found him scrambling to hide a bottle of lotion and suspiciously large pile of tissues. He came up with some daft excuse about allergies, but you knew what the option meant. He knew that you knew. It became just another shared moment in the encyclopedia of your friendship, because thatâs what you two always did. You witnessed each otherâs embarrassing moments and life continued on.
Which is why his apartmentâs state right now doesn't deter you. It's a little messy (okay, a lot messy) with random moving boxes heâs never unpacked stacked haphazardly in corners and furniture pushed against walls at odd angles. Thereâs a pile of paint swatches on the coffee table, each one a slightly different shade of beige that all look identical to your untrained eye.Â
He had texted you earlier in the day to get started on Operation: Un-Grinchify Christmas, as he referred to it. You werenât really up for it, but he sent you three crying emojiâs and then you were halfway out the door with mismatched socks on.Â
Jungkook swears he has a box of light-up reindeer somewhere when you first arrive to his home. Something about them looking like theyâre having a seizure when theyâre plugged in. He's so entranced in his search heâs completely forgotten about your own holiday dilemma.Â
âKoo?â you yell down his hallway. You venture down, stepping over a stack of books and what appears to be a broken lamp, following the sound of muffled cursing.
You find him in his bedroom, halfway inside the closet, ass up in the air. Boxes and random junk are scattered around himâold magazines, a deflated basketball, what looks like his matching Halloween costume with Hana from two years ago.
âI know itâs here somewhere,â he mutters, voice echoing from deep within the closet. Leaning against the doorframe, you cross your arms over your chest, utterly amused by his same old childish ways.Â
âNeed help, or should I just enjoy the view?âÂ
âShut up,â he says, but you can hear the smile in his tone. âIâm finding an ancient artifact.â
âHow ancient is it? We talking middle school? Elementary?â
âI donât know, all I know isâaha!â He backs out, brown hair flopping around, and cracks his head on the closet rod with a thunk. âFucking fuckâowââ
You canât stop the giggle that falls from your lips, and it turns into full-blown laughter when you catch wind of his appearance. Heâs rubbing his head, hair sticking up in five different directions.Â
But then you see whatâs in his hands, and all laughter ceases with a wheeze. Itâs the most hideous collection of green and red tinsel garland youâve ever witnessed. It looks like itâs gonna shed all over your home, and thereâs no way youâll let your cat named Ginger anywhere near that.Â
âTa-da!â He holds it up proudly, grinning brightly.Â
âAre you insane?â
âWhat?â he gawks, inspecting it for himself. âThis is the epitome of Christmas.â
âJungkook, I said classy Christmas. Elegant. That looks like a drunk elf threw up.â You gesture at theâŚthing, deeply perturbed at the fact he would even show it to you.Â
He shakes the garland at you like it might change your mind. âBut Christmas needs a little green and red! Thatâs literally the symbolic colors of the holiday.â
âI donât care if it was sent down by Santa himself. Itâs not going in my home,â you argue.Â
âBut why?â he pouts, and you can already tell which direction this conversation is going. But youâre standing your ground this time, because if you donât youâll fold like papier mache.Â
âIt looks like it has dust mites from 2014,â you grimace.Â
He moves closer, forcing you to look at the grimy strings. âCâmon, just one strand? For your old pal?â
âNo.â
âPlease?âÂ
âI will leave, Jungkook.â
He sighs, defeated, and holds the garland out to you anyway. âFine. But you have to be the one to throw it away. I canât bear to part ways with her.â
Rolling your eyes, you take it from him, and your fingers brush his. Softly, gently, barely even there to the naked eye. You doubt he even notices it. But heat crawls up your spine and nestles a home in your chest.Â
You snap out of it, tossing the garland in the trash in his bedroom. âWhy do you even have that anyway?âÂ
âIt was Hanaâs.âÂ
You freeze in your tracks, hand hovering over the trash bin. When you look back at him, his ears are pink, eyes trained on some shadow on the wall behind you. âOh.â
âYeah.â He clears his throat, rubs the back of his neck. One of his nervous tics from childhood. âIâve been meaning to get rid of her stuff. What you said yesterday... it kind of stuck with me.â
Guilt settles in your bones. âKoo, I didnât meanââ
âNo, youâre right.â He finally catches your gaze. âIâve been holding onto things I shouldnât. Not even because I miss her, really. Itâs justâI donât know. Easier to keep it than deal with it, yâknow?
You do know. You know all too well. Youâve been keeping your feelings in a box for years for the exact same reason.Â
âBut Iâm trying now,â he continues. âTo move on. Actually move on, not just say I am. It still feels weird, throwing away a part of my life. Even if I know itâs the right thing to do.â
Throughout your life, you have continuously kept a square of people in your life that you care about. It mostly consists of your parents, Jungkook, his parents, and your friends. You donât ever really rearrange it to make space for others, because you already have the ones that matter. You hope that when Jungkook rearranges his square, maybe removes Hana, you take up a bigger chunk of it.Â
âIâm proud of you,â you smile. Even if the selfish part of you has been waiting for this moment since last Christmas.
He returns your smile with a feeble one of his own. âThanks.â
For a moment, you two stand there, soaking in the silence. But just like that, it always falls back into place the way itâs meant to be. âI need your silverware for my kitchen, by the way. Iâm not using mine for this party.â
âWhat? Why not?â He furrows his brows.Â
âBecause I donât want Taehyung's drunk ass dropping my good forks down the garbage disposal like last New Years.â
Jungkook rolls his eyes. âHe apologized and paid for new ones.â
âBut it wasnât the same exclusive ones I had,â you sing-song, leading him back down the hallway to his kitchen. âShow me what youâve got, mister.â
For the next hour, you two bicker over everything. He wants to bring the fork set with wooden handles, but you object with the fact that they look like they belong in a cabin in the forest.Â
Then itâs the string lights. Heâs insistent on multicolored ones, big bulbs of green, yellow, and red that would look outdated against the rest of your apartment. You opt for the warm white ones, and he sticks his tongue out at you and says youâre boring.Â
Heâs a child. You make sure to tell him that about five separate times. On the sixth time, however, he retorts, âYou take that back.â
âMake me.â
He waves a serving spoon at you. âIâm not playing with you, young lady.â
âOh, please,â you wave him off. âYouâre the one who begged me to host.â
Itâs comfortable, the way it always is. The bickering, the back-and-forth, the way you can read each otherâs expressions before the words even come out.
At some point, while youâre debating whether his punch bowl is too tacky (it is), he wipes his hands on a dish towel and tosses it over his shoulder. âYou should check the closet in case you see anything else you wanna take.â
âThe old shit in there?âÂ
He smacks you with the towel. You yelp, leaping back a few inches. âThereâs goodies in there too, Iâll have you know.â
âSure, Koo. Goodies, otherwise known as old shit.â But youâre already laughing, walking back into his room and diving into the closet.
You push back the ugly garlandâs former neighbors. Thereâs a box of tangled charging cables, some old textbooks from college, a pair of busted headphones. Itâs very standard Jungkook chaos. His mind is also disorganized, so itâs no wonder he has the room to match.Â
You rummage around a bit more, sighing as you wave the dust from your face.Â
On the top shelf, shoved way back in the top corner, you come across a box.Â
Small, cardboard, duct-taped on the bottom half into oblivion. Thereâs a piece of paper taped to the front, and even in the dim closet light, you can make out your name written in his messy handwriting. [Y/N].
For a moment, you blink at the box, heart pounding, and then realize you have no idea what to do.Â
If you open it, maybe heâll know. Then youâll look like a stalker. On the other hand, heâs been your best friend since birth, so finding out you have stalker tendencies might not be a dealbreaker.Â
You stretch up on your toes, tugging the box toward you just enough to peek inside. A flash of worn brown fur catches your eyes, and then you see the teddy bear ear flopping out. Your teddy bear. You lost it in middle school, and you assumed it was gone forever, donated or thrown away during one of your momâs delirious cleaning sprees.Â
He kept it.Â
âFind anything good?â Jungkookâs voice migrates from the kitchen. You jolt, almost dropping the box. Your hands shake as you shove it back into place, blood whooshing through your eardrums.Â
âNah,â you call back. Your voice sounds a bit shaky, but you hide it behind several coughs. âI was right. Old shit.â
You back out of the closet, closing the door carefully. What else is in there?
Later that night, when sleep proves itself to be unfeasible, and youâre tossing and turning underneath your comforter, you ponder what else might be in the box, and if he keeps it for the same reason youâve kept every birthday card heâs ever written you. Tucked away in your own closet, in your own box, with his name on it.Â
Apparently, hosting a Christmas soiree is not as straightforward as youâd hoped it would be.
First, thereâs Jisoo, who texts a novel about how sheâs trying this new clean eating thing and can there please be gluten free and dairy free options? You respond with a thumbs up, and then run to text Jennie to see if sheâs actually serious. She sends back a skull emoji, which 1) youâre not sure what that implies and 2) you guess itâs confirmation that yes, sheâs serious, but also yes, sheâll quit and eat regular food after two glasses of wine.Â
Then Taehyung calls to inform you heâs trying to maintain a vegetarian lifestyle, and not the kind that occasionally eats fish, but the kind that will know if you used chicken stock in any recipe. You add âvegetable stockâ to your growing shopping list, since catering cost more than your rent, and resist the urge to bang your head against the counter.
Namjoon sends his regrets that he and Dahyun canât stay long because baby Haewon is âin turmoil right now,â which translates to âweâll be there for an hour max.â Youâre not even annoyed about that oneâyouâve seen the bags under Namjoonâs eyes, and honestly, youâre impressed heâs coming at all.
The point is, youâve given up. By Wednesday, your Notes app looks like a grocery list written by someone having a mental breakdown, and youâre seriously reconsidering this whole thing.
To his credit, Jungkook tries to help as much as possible. Inevitably, this means dragging him to your apartment on weekends, even though you do that often enough already. Saturday morning, he shows up with boxes, four different sets of more lights, some ornaments, all of them white, all of them looking functionally identical.
âOkay,â he says, holding up the first strand. âWhich one screams âthis is a classy Christmasâ?â
You squint at it from the couch, hugging your mug of hot chocolate. âHmm. I donât know. That one kinda screams dollar store.â
âCut.â He drops it and holds up the second. âThis one?â
âHmm, uglier than the first.â
âHow can someone be so picky?â He holds up the third, and you can see him struggle to hold a straight face. âFine. This one. Final answer.â
Tilting your head, you study it. It has a warm hue, the bulbs delicate and tiny. Itâs kind of pretty, sans the scratches on some of the bulbs. âI think we have ourselves a winner.âÂ
âSold.â He drops the others in the pile heâs been gathering. The ones on the right are the takers, the ones on the left are getting deposited in your dumpster at 5PM sharp. âSee? This is why we make a good team.â
You have to fight not to let your mind wander off when he says things like that. âBarely. When we were five, we were on the same team for kickball and you nearly broke my ankle.â
He frowns, âOkay, but then I patched you up good as new with a Hello Kitty bandaid. That shit wasnât easy to find.â
It was over two decades ago, but still remains a permanent fixture in your brain. You were sprawled on the playground, crying so hard youâd given yourself hiccups, convinced your ankle was shattered and your legs would be cut off. Jungkook had run to get the teacher, but came back before she did, sliding on his knees beside you like some action hero. Heâd pulled a crumpled Hello Kitty bandaid from his pocket (you have no idea why he had it, heâd never explained) and stuck it on your ankle with the utmost seriousness, tongue poking out in concentration. âAll better,â he had promised. Miraculously, youâd stopped crying. It wasnât because the bandaid helped, but because Jungkook looked so proud of himself, you didnât have the heart to tell him your ankle still hurt.Â
âYouâre still a pain in my ass.â
âYeah, yeah, but whoâs doing this home renovation for free? Me.â
You canât argue with that.Â
He continues pulling things from the boxes. More tinsel, garlands, ornaments in muted golds and silvers. Each item gets held up for your approval, and you find yourself less focused on the decorations and more on him. His cheeks flush crimson when you compliment one of his choices. A bright smile overtakes his features when you agree to something halfheartedly just because it makes the smile grow tenfold.Â
Youâd fallen for him a long time ago, but even now you realize how far down youâve already gone.Â
âOh shit,â he exhales, freezing midway through a box. âNo way.â
âWhat?â You shift excitedly on the couch, trying to peer into the box.
He pulls out a photo album, the edges frayed and the cover dusty. You recognize it as soon as you see it. It was one of the many your moms had compiled over the years, chronicling every significant (and insignificant) moment of your joint childhood.â
âI forgot I even had this,â he says incredulously, flipping it open. He moves to the couch, dropping down beside you, and his knee brushes yours.
Your body knows to jerk back instinctively, heart jumping into your throat. He doesn't notice, too absorbed in the photos, but your knee burns where it touched him.
âGod, look at us,â he laughs, pointing to a picture of you both at around 7 years old, covered head to toe in mud. âYour mom was pissed at us.â
âYeah, she was pissed because you pushed me into the puddle,â you remind him.
âAnd then I got you out of it.âÂ
âYou said âwatch thisâ and then did it. I donât think you really won brownie points with Mom,â you laugh at the memory.Â
He flips through the book, oohing and aahing everytime you stumble across a cute picture. Theyâre reminiscent of a time when everything was easy, when you didnât have to worry about adult things like taxes and bills and groceries. It was just you and Jungkook, conquering the world one playdate at a time.Â
Jungkook flips to the next page. Thereâs a photo taped to the page, with your momâs handwriting underneath. âChristmas, 9 years old, Busan.â
You're both standing under a mistletoe that looks comically large above your small heads. His lips are pressed to yours in that brief, earth-shattering peck you still think about once in a while (or more precisely, when itâs late at night and youâre missing his presence).
You take a deep breath. Your chest feels tight, like someoneâs tugging on it by the ends of a string.Â
Jungkook stares at the photo for what feels like forever, an unreadable expression crossing his face. âI remember this,â he quietly says.Â
You canât speak. Your tongue feels like deadweight.Â
âYou held your breath and everything,â he reminisces, and you suddenly feel breathless. Like youâre drowning and gasping for air, but even when you hit the surface, itâs not enough.Â
He flips the page again, and there's another one. Age 10. Same mistletoe, different living room. It was the year your parents moved homes, but remained down the street from Jungkookâs. Youâre wearing a red dress your mom made you wear, and heâs in a sweater that's too big. His hand is on your cheek, and you can see, even in the photo, how red your face was.
âWe did this every year,â he notes, and thereâs a nostalgic edge to his voice that wasnât there before.Â
âYeah.â The word comes out hoarse. You clear your throat. And then the words are out before you can stop them, tinged with wistfulness, "Until we didnât.â
Jungkook doesnât acknowledge that. Just flips again. Through age 11, age 12, age 13, age 14. Each photo is a documentation of a tradition that meant everything to you.Â
Then he turns the page, and the mistletoe is gone. Age 15. Youâre standing stiffly next to Haeun, whoâs tucked under his arm, beaming at the camera. You look like you want to disappear.
âHm,â he hums, frowning. âI guess we stopped here.â
Itâs so juvenile, so high school itâs almost embarrassing. He hadnât cared for the absence of your kiss. For him, it was a silly thing your families let you partake in. âYou had Haeun. The mistletoe thing was for kids anywayâ
âWas it though?â He studies the photo, and you wish he would stop, wish he would close the album and move on to anything else. The question isnât meant to be flirtatious but a selfish part of you wishes it was. âI always thought it was fun.â
âOur parents got so excited over it.â He flips back to the earlier photos, running his finger over the vintage picture. âWeâd be right under the mistletoe and sheâd count down with her camera ready like it was the New Years countdown.â
âShe was probably hoping to plaster us on some kidsâ Christmas ad.â
âIt was cute.â He lands on the photo from when you were sixâthe very first one. His tiny self kissing your cheek, your hand frozen mid-reach to touch the spot. âLook how tiny we were. Little babies.â
He says it so innocently that something inside you stumbles.Â
You cover your face with your hands, as if he could see the adoration written all over your face. But even if he could, he probably wouldnât say anything âIâm mortified. I didnât realize my mom took so many pictures of us kissing as kids.âÂ
He scrunches his brows, looking over at you. âWas it really that bad?âÂ
Yes. No. It was the best and worst thing that ever happened to you. âKinda. I mean, I survived, didnât I?â
âBarely, from the looks of it.â He taps the photo, where baby you looks seconds away from a panic attack. âItâs not like I had cooties.â
You smile. âOh, yes you did. If anyone had cooties, it was definitely you. You ran that playground like it was your personal dating pool.â
âRude.â He bumps your shoulder, turning the page slowly, lingering on each mistletoe photo. âI canât believe we did this for almost a decade.â
âUsed me for practice?â It doesnât feel like thereâs enough air in your apartment, even with the window cracked open. Itâs taking tremendous effort to breathe.
âWorked well for us, I think.â
âWhyâd you stop?âÂ
Oh god, youâve really done it now. Â
Surprisingly enough, the embarrassment comes belatedly, but it settles in your stomach all the stronger.Â
Surprise flashes across his face. âWhat?â
âAfter Haeun. I guess⌠I donât know. You neverââ You wish you could say the words, wish you could be brave, wish you could be six years old again with Jeon Jungkookâs lips on your cheek. âWhyâd it just⌠end?â
Heâs quiet. The sound of your space heater rattling and Ginger purring fills the room, but not enough to quell the anxiety thatâs rumbling in your stomach. Heâs going to let you down gently, you hope. Quick and painless, like a bullet to the head.
âI donât know. I guess I thought you didnât want to anymore. We were older. I thought it would feel weird to you.â
Weird.Â
And this whole time, for you, his kiss was nothing short of ethereal.Â
âPlus,â he continues, oblivious to the way your heart is splintering, âI figured itâd be uncomfortable doing it once I had girlfriends. Like it would be... I don't know. Inappropriate or something.â
He was being considerate. Somehow, and you know youâre being irrational, that makes it worse.
âIt makes sense.â You force a smile. âRelax, Koo. Iâm not writing sonnets about your lips every night.â
He snorts. âOh, please, you wish you could have lips as luscious as mine.â
You push his shoulder, and then itâs just you and Jungkook again. Nothing more, nothing less.Â
He flips through a few more pages, ogling at pictures even youâd never seen before. He points to one where you're both wearing matching reindeer antlers. âNow, this should be on a Christmas card.â
âIâm shocked my mom didnât have cards made. I wouldâve burned themâ
âYouâre such a Grinch.â He closes the album but keeps it in his lap, fingers tracing the worn cover. Jungkook is quiet for another moment, and you catch the look on his face, the one he makes when heâs struggling to choose his words correctly. Decisively, he says, âDid you really hate it? The mistletoe thing?â
Your heart hammers. This is it, you think. This is where you could tell him. Where you could say actually, I loved it, I lived for it, I died a little every year you stopped.
But heâs looking at you with curiosity, as if heâs pondering what your favorite color is or what you had for breakfast. As if the answer doesnât matter beyond satisfying his momentary interest.
You lie. âIt was fine. Just a stupid kid thing.â
He sets the album aside, wiping his dusty palms on the front of his pants. âYeah. Totally.âÂ
Jungkook moves back to the decoration boxes, and you remain frozen on the couch. You grip your safety blanket as tight as you can, until you think you feel your blood flow cutting off. You just want to feel numb.Â
âYou know what is crazy, though?â He pulls out a string of garland, examining it for tangled bits. âYou used to be obsessed with Christmas.â
Your stomach does a somersault. âI was not.â
âYeah, you kinda were.â His eyes linger on the garland, although youâre certain itâs in perfect condition. âYou made us watch Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and Frosty the Snowman on repeat. You also made us build snowmen every single time it snowed, even when it was like, two inches.â
âEveryone loves those things when youâre a kid.â
âYeah, I guess.â he sighs. âBut I donât know. You had a countdown, youâd call me everyday in December to tell me how many days were left. That was your favorite holiday, and now Iâm the only one who likes it.âÂ
You shrug, hoping to come across as nonchalant, but you know he can read your face like an open book. âPeople change.â
âWhen did you even stop liking it?â He picks up a few string lights, untangling them as heâs doing to you currently.Â
Your throat tightens. âHigh school, maybe?â
âCause of stress or something? School shit?âÂ
âSure.â
âItâs a yes or no question.â
âThatâs the answer youâre getting.â You really, really wish there was a sinkhole that could swallow you entirely right now.Â
He studies you, and you can see him thinking, piecing together something you donât want him to figure out. But despite it all, he just shrugs, letting it go. âIt's depressing. You used to light up the whole room when Christmas came around. Now you look like someone killed Ginger."
She purrs in the corner.Â
âSorry, Ging.â He throws the lights to the yes pile. Itâs surprisingly larger than the no pile. âI just want you to be happy this Christmas. Thatâs all I care about.â
You half-smile at him, nodding. You donât know how to tell him that you could be happy, could be ecstatic, if just this Christmas, you felt his lips on yours again.
Turns out, itâs a lot easier to throw yourself into party planning when youâre trying to distract yourself from something.
This whole debacle makes you realize youâve never actually hosted a Christmas party. You actively avoid Christmas. What made you think you could pull this off? (Granted itâs all Jungkookâs fault, but thatâs neither here nor there.)
The group chat you made for the attendees is already chaosâJisoo asking about the playlist, Taehyung confirming heâs still vegetarian (yes, still, it's been four days), Dahyun asking if she can breastfeed in your bedroom. Your anxiety spikes with every notification.
So itâs no surprise that the day before the party, you wake up in a cold sweat at 6AM with the horrifying realization that you have no idea what youâre doing. By the time Jungkook arrives at noon, youâve managed to rearrange your furniture three times and stress-clean your bathroom until itâs sterile enough to perform surgery in.Â
âWow,â He steps inside, taking in the boxes of decorations youâve laid out for him to tackle. âDid you even sleep?âÂ
âI would, but Jisoo and Jennie are blowing up my phone like this is the fucking MET Gala or something.â You huff, not pausing your incessant scrubbing of your kitchen sink.Â
âThey know itâs just the annual Christmas party⌠right?â
You puff another exasperated breath. âYes. But none of that matters to them because theyâve sent me 30 different outfit options like Iâm going to be judging them personally or something.â
He bites back a smile. âItâs time to call in the big guns. Where can I get my hands dirty, sergeant?â
You really are grateful heâs here. And exists. And all those other sentimental things that your heart sings about constantly.Â
You two go full decorator mode, moving through your apartment like a well-oiled machine. He hangs the garland while you untangle lights, arrange the ornaments while he figures out how to make your bookshelf look âfestive but not icky.â His words, not yours.
Itâs disgusting how much Christmas is invading your space. Your minimal, clean apartment now looks like Santa threw up in it. There are silver bells on your kitchen counter, a wreath on your door that's so aggressively pine-scented you can taste it. There are candles labeled things like âWinter Wonderlandâ and âCinnamon Crazeâ that you know will take weeks to burn through after this is all said and done.
But you keep going, because if you stop, youâll think. If you think, youâll remember the photo album, the mistletoe pictures, the dumb kid thing.
âAlright, I need my harshest critic.â Jungkook motions to you to survey the living room.Â
Standing beside him, you inspect the damage. Warm white lights are strung along your windows and wrapped around your bookshelf. A garland drapes elegantly across your mantle (you don't have a fireplace, but the decorative mantle suddenly feels worth it). There are small golden ornaments scattered tastefully on your side tables, and the wreath on the door is admittedly very pretty, even if it does smell like a forest.Â
âNot too shabby, Jeon.â
He looks offended. âYeah, no shit. I deserve better than that.â
âSubpar at best.â
âIâm gonna punt Ginger like a football.â
âI think the lights are nice,â you finally concede, because they are. They make your apartment look warm, cozy even.
âTold you I was good at this." He's grinning like a Cheshire cat, that proud, bunny-toothed smile that makes your chest hurt. âAdmit it. I crushed this.â
You roll your eyes. âYou did alright.â
He gapes, blinking frantically. âOkay? Okay? I turned your Grinch lair into a winter wonderland!â
âMy abode is not a lair.â
âIt was before I arrived.â He sticks his tongue out, and you shove his shoulder.Â
âI think we're done,â you say, more to yourself than to him. âThis is... yeah. This is enough.â
âWell⌠almost.â Jungkook looks like a kid whoâs just been told he canât have dessert before dinner but is already plotting how to sneak a cookie anyway.
Your stomach sinks. âWhat do you mean almost?â you ask, even though you think you already know.Â
âI have a surprise.âÂ
You protest, âJungkookââ
âWait right here.â He holds up a hand, jogs back toward the entryway where heâd dropped his bag earlier. You stiffen like youâre made of ice, the only thing moving in your body being your heartbeat that thumps along the walls of your ribcage.Â
Please donât be what you think it is. Please donât be what you think it is.Â
He turns around, and your heart sinks lower than where your stomach sat.
In his hand, dangling from a red ribbon, is a mistletoe.
Itâs small, crinkled, fake plastic leaves bent at weird angles like it was shoved in the back of his closet for years. It probably has been.Â
âNo,â you object immediately.Â
âCome onââ
âNo. This is a hard no, Jungkook.â And you know youâre being harsh, but itâs the only way youâll get him to stop whatever efforts heâs decided are worth his time.Â
âYou said no mistletoe in the apartment,â he argues, walking toward you with that stupid sprig held up. âTechnically, this is going above the doorway, which is a threshold. Not in the apartment.â
âThatâs the worst logic Iâve ever heard.â
âBut itâs tradition!â You can see the hope in his eyes, the genuine excitement, and it makes you want to rip your hair out. âEvery Christmas party needs a mistletoe.â
âNot this one.â
âEspecially yours. Ours.â His voice softens, and that's worse somehow. âFor old timesâ sake?â
You hate the tone in his voice, the guilt-tripping, the pity.Â
âI donât want it,â you repeat. âI told you this already.â
His smile falters as he realizes youâre truly serious. âWhy not?
âBecause itâs stupid and outdated and I donât want people making a big deal about it.â
âWhy would any of our friends make a big dealââ
âJungkook,â you plead, crossing your arms, putting a physical barrier between you and that mistletoe. âI said no.â
He just stares at you, confusion and hurt flickering across his face. âI donât get it. Itâs literally just a mistletoe. Itâs supposed to be fun.â
Fun, weird⌠a list of words that describe the opposite of what mistletoe makes you feel.
âItâs not fun for me.â You burn holes into your floor, refusing to look at his puppy eyes that would make you feel more guilty than you already do.Â
âWhy not?â
Because everytime I look at it, I think about you kissing me when we were kids. Because it reminds me of when Christmas was my favorite day of the year. Because seeing it in my apartment, above my doorway, at my party, will make me think about all the Christmases you kissed other girls and not me.
âBecause I donât like it,â you decide upon, âCanât you just respect that?â
An awkward silence spreads amongst you two, punctured only by Ginger purring in the corner. Jungkook's hand drops to his side, mistletoe dangling limply from his fingers.
âFine,â he murmurs. âNo mistletoe.â
âThank you,â you sigh in relief.Â
He walks back to his bag and shoves it inside, and you should feel relieved. You should feel like youâve won. But instead, you just feel like youâve punched him square in the face.
âI should probably go,â he says, not meeting your eyes. âLet you rest before the big day tomorrow.â
âOh, uh, yeah.â You shift on your feet awkwardly.Â
He gathers his things timidly, and you know heâs giving you time to take it back, to say youâre sorry, to explain, to undo the angst youâve created.Â
At the door, he pauses before reaching for the doorknob. Jungkook turns, clutching his bag strap so tightly his knuckles resemble those of a ghost. âI really don't understand what's going on with you.â
âNothingâs going on,â you mutter.Â
âThatâs utter bullshit,â he snaps, and you raise your eyes to meet his. The usual warm chocolate shade of his orbs now shifts to onyx. âYouâve been weird about this whole Christmas party thing since day one.â
âI said, thereâs nothing going on. I donât want to talk about it,â you repeat, hoping itâll stick.
âBut I do!â His voice rises, and you flinch. Jungkook doesnât yell. Not once in your lifelong friendship has he ever raised his voice or laid a finger on anyone. You were never involved in any of his relationship arguments, but you imagine he never argued with them like this. You suddenly feel dizzy, like the world is spinning too quickly for you to catch your breath. âIâve known you forever. Youâre my best fucking friend, and something is clearly wrong, so just tell me.â
Frustration coils in your stomach. Why canât he ever leave anything alone? âStop it. Please, just stop. Why canât you just respect my boundaries? I said no mistletoe. I said I donât want to talk about it. Why isnât that enough for you?â
âThis obviously is not just about the fucking mistletoe, [Y/N].â He tugs at his hair, rage rolling off him in waves. âSince the moment I brought up you hosting, you acted like I was attacking you.â
âBecause you are!â None of it makes sense, not one bit, but you canât tell between anger and panic and all you can see is red. âMaybe because you just bulldoze through my life, rearranging things, making decisions, assuming you know what's bestââ
âWeâre best friends. We help each other with everything,â he grits through clenched teeth.
âIâm not Hana, Jungkook. I wonât just let you decorate my life and pretend everything's perfect.â
For a moment, Jungkook seems taken aback by your outburst, recoils a step, landing with his spine against the front door. His face goes pale. âWow. Thatâs fucking low.â
âIs it?â You're on a roll now, unable to stop even though you can see youâre hurting him. Maybe you just want him to hurt the way you do. âBecause when you kept all of Hanaâs things, when your apartment was basically a shrine to her, I never said a fucking thing about it. I just let you deal with it however you needed to. So why canât you give me the same courtesy? Why canât you just let this go?â
âHana and I broke up!â His voice cracks, eyes glassy, âThatâs so different and you know it.â
âHow is it different? Enlighten me.â
âShe was my girlfriend. And it hurt, okay? It hurt to let her go. But I did it. I'm doing it because itâs over and I donât miss her that way anymore. And youâre the one who pushed me to. So donâtâ" He pauses, jaw clenched, and you can see heâs trying to swallow his tears. âDonât throw that in my face like Iâm some pathetic asshole who can't move on.â
Fuck. âKooââ
âNo.â He holds up a hand. Itâs shaking. âYou want boundaries? Fine. Hereâs one: donât call me until you figure out what the fuck is actually going on with you. Because this isnât you. The you I know doesnât make me feel like shit for trying to care about you.â
You swallow around the lump forming in your throat. âJungkook, Iâm so sorryââ
âSave it.â His voice is quieter, and you miss the yelling, because at least then he still cared about you. Heâs given up. âIâll still come to the party tomorrow because I told everyone I would. But after that⌠maybe we should take a break from each other or something.â
âOh.â
Throughout the duration of your friendship, you and Jungkook have only ever fought once. It was known as The Great Argument of 11th Grade, and it was so juvenile that even your parents got involved. Now, you donât really remember the specifics of what went down or who started it, but you do remember that it only lasted a day, because Jungkook said, âyou know I canât stay away from you for too long.â
The concept of space from him is one youâve never considered.Â
He leaves before you can say anything more, the door clicking shut with finality, echoing through your decorated apartment.
You stand there, frozen, staring at the space where he was. The mistletoe is still in his bag. He took it with him.
The rest of your unfortunate day is spent spiraling about your argument with Jungkook. You sit on the couch, crying to some stupid Hallmark movie where the girl gets the guy and everything works out perfectly. Then you cry in the shower, the water mixing with your tears until you canât tell which is which. You go so far as to cry in your car on the way to the grocery store, because you two were supposed to go together to prepare for this stupid party.
Even the supermarket is taunting you. Thereâs couples everywhere walking around gleefully, hand-in-hand, debating between red or green napkins like itâs the most important decision of their lives. Meanwhile, youâre shuffling through the aisles in a massive oversized hoodie thatâs doing nothing to hide your puffy eyes and red nose.
Sniffling, you round the corner to the next aisle, looking for Taehyungâs stupid vegetable broth. Your cart collides with someone elseâs with a loud clang, and youâre thrown, apologizing like crazy, âOhmygod, Iâm so sorry, I wasnât paying attentionââ
â[Y/N]?â
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Hana.Â
The last time you saw Hana was last January after the breakup. She was collecting her things at Jungkookâs apartment, and youâd shown up at the wrong moment. Her eyes were bloodshot, movements solemn as she shoved books and clothes into a duffel bag. Sheâd barely looked at you, just mumbled a quiet âheyâ before brushing past you in the hallway. You had felt guilty then, even though you had no reason to be.Â
At least now, she looks radiant. Her skin reflects off the luminescent overhead lights, cart stocked full of fancy cheeses and wine bottles and overpriced crackers. She looks like someone who has her shit together. Someone whoâs moved on.
Unlike you, apparently, who looks like youâve been crying in your car. Which, by all means, you absolutely were.Â
âHana,â you slap a smile onto your face, although youâre 99 percent certain it looks strained. âItâs good to see you.â
âYou too!â She seems actually happy about the encounter. Itâs not like you two ever had a bad relationship, but you werenât besties by any means. âItâs been forever.â
âYeah, almost a year.â Youâre too hyperaware of your puffy eyes, your ratty hoodie, the fact that you probably look like youâve been hit by a truck. But of course, she looks like she just stepped out of Vogue.
âHow have you been?â she asks.Â
âGood. Busy. You know, the holidays,â You nod at your cart, which contains three different types of cheeses, ten bags of chips, and a bag of chocolate chips for yourself because you need to eat your feelings when you get home.Â
âI do,â she laughs. âWork has been insane lately. I barely have time to go outside.â
âRight, youâre at that new marketing agency now?â You remember Jungkook mentioning it once, back when talking about Hana was therapeutic for him.
âI do.â she nods. âItâs a lot but I love it. What about you? Still at the magazine?â
âI am. I actually just finished a pretty big piece, so thatâs good.â
âThatâs amazing,â she earnestly responds. You want to hate herâit would be easier if you could hate herâbut sheâs always been kind. Even when you wanted to despise her for being with Jungkook, she made it impossible.
Thereâs a lull in conversation, and you debate making a run for it until she asks, âHow are you and Jungkook?â
You furrow your brows. She could just ask you about Jungkook. You wouldnât judge her for wondering. âWhat do you mean?â
âI justââ A crimson blush creeps onto her cheeks. âI mean, how are you guys doing?â
Why would she ask about you both together? Granted, itâs not that unreasonable. You and Jungkook are attached at the hip; everyone knows that. âWeâre⌠good? Heâs good.â
âCool,â she says, but she doesnât even look convinced by your answer.Â
You donât know why you feel the need to overshare, but it all comes tumbling out like word vomit. âYeah, heâs actually been helping me plan this Christmas party. Total nightmare, honestly. Heâs been at my place basically every day this week, decorating andââ
She cracks a smile. âThatâs so cute you guys are still inseparable.â
âI mean⌠â you trail off, slightly confused by her angle. âWeâre best friends. So yeah.â
âOf course,â she rushes to say. âDuh. Silly me.â
âIs that... weird?â You clear your throat and shift on your feet. You donât even know what sheâs trying to get at anymore, and honestly, you really need to get as far away from this supermarket (or Seoul) as fast as you can.Â
âNo! No, not weird. I think itâs sweet, actually.â She pauses before adding, âI'm really happy for you guysâ
Either you must be braindead, or sheâs undergoing memory loss. âIâm sorry Hana, I donât think Iâm following.â
She laughs softly, but itâs not mocking. âCome on, [Y/N]. You donât have to pretend with me.â
Your stupid heart skips a beat, your brain struggling to make sense of her words. âPretend about what?â
âThat you and Jungkook arenât together, obviously.âÂ
Have you entered an alternate universe? Did you accidentally drive into another dimension in all your sadness, missed the supermarket completely?
âWhat?â you sputter. âNo, weâre notâoh my god, no. We would never, I meanâweâre best friends.â
She reaches out, placing a warm hand over your own. Youâre going to die. Itâll be a painful death, but youâll make it work. Anything to get out of this. âNo, itâs okay. You can tell. Honest to god, Iâm seeing someone now. Iâm not like, jealous or anything.â
Itâs confirmed. Youâve entered an alternate world where youâll soon grow a second head and become the queen of a make-believe land.Â
âHana, Iâm dead serious. Jungkook and I are not dating.â You need her to believe you. You need someone to believe you, because if Hana thinks thereâs something there, what the fuck does that mean? âWeâve never dated. Weâre just friends. Thatâs all weâve ever been.â
She studies your face, searching for the lies. Confusion replaces her certainty. âWait, really?â
âReally.â
âBut youâŚâ She trails off, shaking her head. âWow. Okay. I genuinely thought you guys had finally gotten together.â
Your throat constricts. âW-Why would you think that?â
âBecause,â she stops, biting her lip. âNevermind. Iâm sorry. I shouldnât have assumed.â
It gives you pause for a minute, and your heartâthat idiotic organ of yours that can never let go of anythingâtrembles in your chest.Â
âNo, what were you going to say?â Youâre not sure you want to know, but you canât let it go now.
She casually flicks her hand. âItâs nothing, I swear.â
You exhale a breath you didnât realize you were holding. âHana. Please.â Â
She sighs, shifting on her feet. âItâs just... when Jungkook and I were together, it was always pretty clear that you were the most important person in his life. Which, like, I totally respected! I did, I get it. But it was also kind of hard sometimes, you know? Like I was always competing with this... ghost. This idea of what you two had.â
Ever since you were young, people had this tendency to group you and Jungkook into this category of fate, as if the universe had done you both a favor by placing you in adjacent hospital cribs. It was always âyouâre lucky to have each otherâ and âwhat a gift to be so close,â that you had never stopped to consider that your luck, your fate, your happiness, your shining star, might cast shadows on the people who tried to love him.
âHana, I never meant toââ
âNo, no,â she rushes to say, âTrust me, it wasnât you. You did nothing wrong. Neither did he, really. He tried his best. But I could always tell his heart wasnât fully in it. At least, not in the way it should have been.â
Words fall short of what you want to say. Hana and Jungkookâs relationship had always felt like something out of reach to you. An enigma. The plot of some braindead romance novel. They met at a concert, an underground indie band that only the two of them liked. He had stumbled home that night with a smile on his face that couldnât be erased, eyes bright as exploding stars, talking so fast his words tripped over each other. You remember thinking this is it, the real thing, the love that rewrites him. You had never imagined that magic would ever run dry.Â
âAnyway,â Hana continues, âI just assumed that once we broke up, you two would figure it out. The way he talked about you, the way heâd light up when you texted... I don't know. I thought it was inevitable.â
âWell, itâs not.â The words prick your tongue like thorns. âWeâre just friends.â
âOh. Well, thatâs still cool,â she offers, but her eyes have gone all soft.Â
For a while, itâs quiet. Sheâs staring at you intently, chewing on her lip like she has more to say but needs to mash it down. But you really just want to grab Taehyungâs stupid vegetable broth and get the fuck out of here.Â
âIt was great to see you, Hana. I need to go andââ
â[Y/N], wait.â She latches onto your arm before you get a chance to escape.Â
You stare at her, wide-eyed, heart racing, mouth dry.Â
âI probably shouldn't be telling you this. Maybe it should be him, I donât fucking know," she says, rolling her eyes. "But clearly he hasnât grown the balls yet. Well, that, or his peanut brain hasnât pieced it together. But Iâm gonna tell you anyway.â
Your hands grip the cart handle. âTell me what?â
Thereâs a long pause, and you can feel her weighing her words. Until, finally, she admits, âLast Christmas, when we were under the mistletoe⌠when Jungkook kissed me.â She takes a deep breath. âHe was looking at you.â
Your first reaction is to laugh. Which you do, actually, loud enough to bounce off the cans of corn on the shelves. At the sound, Hana raises an eyebrow.Â
âWhat are you talking about?â you giggle. âNo, he wasnât.â
Sheâs watching you now with something that resembles pity.
âWe were under the mistletoe at your friend Jisooâs apartment. Everyone was there, all your friends. And he kissed me, butâŚâ Hana swallows thickly. âWhen we pulled apart, his eyes were open, and he wasnât looking at me. He was looking across the room at you.â
You think youâre going to die in this godforsaken supermarket.Â
âI didnât say anything that night. I thought maybe Iâd imagined it, but then it kept happening. Heâd be with me, but heâd be watching you. Listening for you, waiting for you to text or call.â She laughs dryly, but youâre not sure either of you find this funny. âOn New Years, I asked him about it. I asked him if he was in love with you.â
Bile rises up in your throat. You donât even think you want to hear the rest of this. If sheâs right, if itâs true, if youâve missed this, if, if, if..
âWhat did he say, Hana?â
âObviously, he lied and said no. He said you were just friends, and that I was being ridiculous. But then we broke up two weeks later. We both agreed we needed space, and I said that he wasnât ready for something serious. And maybe that's true, maybe I was reading into things." She finally meets your eyes again. "But I donât think I was.â
Last Christmas, you were so drunk on Jisooâs eggnog that you hardly remember anything. You try to piece together the snippets of the night you have. There was dinner, which you scarfed down in under a millisecond. Then you all played pin the cock on the Santa (not suitable for kids, but luckily, baby Haewon only lived in Dahyunâs uterus at that point). You barely even remember the mistletoe portion of the night. Thatâs got to be some kind of trauma response to the stupid little leaf.Â
âWhy are you telling me this?â Your voice sounds far away, like it belongs to someone else.
âBecause," Hanaâs lips curve upwards into a soft smile, âI spent a year loving someone who was in love with someone else, and it sucked, but you know what sucks more? Watching two people who are meant to be together waste time pretending theyâre not.âÂ
She reaches out and squeezes your arm. âIâm not bitter about it anymore. Iâm happy now. I want him to be happy too. I think... I think he could be very happy with you.â
You want to argue. You want to tell her sheâs wrong, that sheâs misremembering, that she too was poisoned by Jisooâs eggnog, that there's no way Jungkook feels that way about you.
But then you think about the box in his closet with your name on it. The teddy bear he kept. The way heâs been trying so hard to make you love Christmas again. The mistletoe he wanted to hang in your apartment.
No. It canât fucking be.Â
âI gotta go,â you say abruptly.Â
â[Y/N]ââ
But youâre already moving, abandoning your cart in the middle of the aisle, heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. You make it to your car before the tears start again, but this time theyâre different. This time, you donât know if youâre crying because youâve been in love with someone who doesn't love you back, or because you might've missed the entire thing completely.Â
Thereâs not enough wine in this apartment, nor this world, that will get you through this Christmas party in one piece.
It feels like the world is moving around you but youâre just glued to your kitchen, gripping your glass of white wine so tightly youâre surprised the stem hasnât snapped. Surprisingly enough, everyone arrived on timeâeven Namjoon and Dahyun, balancing poor baby Haewon on their hip, her tiny Santa hat slipping over one eye. Thereâs enough alcohol floating around to feed a bar, courtesy of Taehyungâs overenthusiastic mixology skills.Â
Itâs truly a splendid evening. A roaring success. Everything going exactly as planned.Â
Except, there are two minor (major) insignificant, soul-crushing details that are fucking up your perfect evening:Â
Hanaâs words have been playing on loop in your brain all day.Â
When Jungkook arrived, he looked at you for exactly 0.5 seconds, said absolutely nothing, and spent the last hour charming everyone else in the room.
Other than that, splendid evening. Gatsby would be seething with jealousy if he saw the kind of party you were throwing.
Jungkook had walked in, present in hand for Haewon (because he was her godfather and she practically got whatever she wanted when he was around), and heâd met your eyes before looking away. No smile. No âhey.â Not even a nod of acknowledgment.Â
Naturally, since torturing you seems first on his agenda, he chooses this night to become the town jester. Jennie has been laughing at his jokes for what seems like ages, her hand on his arm, her head thrown back in delight. Taehyung keeps pulling him into conversations, clapping him on the shoulder. Even Dahyun, who normally has her hands full, is more entranced by Jungkook than her own daughter.Â
Everyone loves Jungkook. Everyone always loves Jungkook.
Yet, he wonât even spare you a passing glance.Â
Itâs what you deserve, you know that, but your heart is cracking at the seams and your brain isnât faring any better.Â
You feel ill. Fucking ill.
Turning to the kitchen sink, you brace your hands on the counter. Breathe in. Breathe out. Youâre fine. You just need to get through the next few hours without having a complete breakdown in front of all your friends.
âYou alright?â
You jump, releasing an exhale when you see itâs just Jisoo. Sheâs holding a glass of red wine, matching with her burgundy turtleneck, eyebrow raised in that knowing way of hers that says she sees right through all your bullshit.
âOh, yeah,â you reply. âJust taking a quick breather.â
âMhm.â she eyes you up and down, leaning against the counter. âYouâre basically hiding at your own party.â
âCouldâve sworn you did this last year at your Christmas party when your lasagna came out burnt,â you point out.Â
Jisoo deadpans. âThis isnât about me. Weâre talking about you.â
Damnit. You were hoping she would let it go.
âIâm just here making sure everythingâs to perfection. Yâknow, Taehyung with his⌠vegetarianism..â
Jisoo takes a slow sip of her wine, âYou wanna try that again, or should I just cut to the part where you tell me whatâs actually wrong?â
Your heart falls to your ass. Jisoo is the one friend on this planet who has consistently read you down to the bone. Sheâs going to see right through any lie you try to feed her, so youâre wondering if itâs even worth it.Â
Itâs worth one last shot.Â
âNothingâs wrongââ
âBitch just tell me.â
You close your eyes and try to imagine a beach, somewhere tropical with waves kissing your ankles and sand that burns your feet. Try to imagine a world where you donât have to answer Jisoo's question, where Hana never ambushed you in the grocery store yesterday, where your feelings for Jungkook stayed frozen at age nine, still innocent and within reach.
Unfortunately, when you open your eyes again, youâre at a Christmas partyâyour Christmas party, in your annoyingly red sweaterâand Jisoo is staring at you expectantly.Â
âI fucked up.â
Jisoo doesnât look surprised in the slightest, which, okay. Rude. âWith Jungkook?â
You raise an eyebrow. âHow did you know that?â
âI mean, youâre not having a fight with any of the girls, or I wouldâve heard an earful. That and he wonât glance in your direction and you look like youâre about to throw up. Doesnât take Einstein.â She places her wine down. âWhat happened?â
Keeping it bottled up has never done you any favors, so you steady your voice and explain everything. How you didnât want to host the party in the first place because Christmas makes you miserable. How Jungkook kept pushing about the mistletoe. How you snapped at him, brought up Hana, threw his grief in his face. How he left and told you he needed space and you havenât spoken since.
You probably couldâve told her more, but you donât want to tell her about the mistletoe tradition. You donât tell her about being in love with him for thirteen years. Those truths feel like just yours.Â
When you finish, Jisoo is quiet for a long moment. Then, she sighs, levels you with a look, and says, âThat was a low blow.â
âI know.â
âLike, really bad.â
âI know.â
âHe was just trying to help, and you basically told him heâs pathetic for not being over his ex.â
âI know, Jisoo. Trust me, I know.â You press the heels of your palms against your eyes. âI feel like shit about it.â
âHave you apologized?â
âHe said he needed space. Hence why he wonât look at me.â
âI mean, space doesnât mean you canât say sorry.â She picks up her wine again. âLook, I get it. You were overwhelmed. The party planning, the decorations, whatever else is going on in that head of yours. But Jungkook didnât deserve thatâ.
âI know he didnât.â you reply, now having trouble controlling your voice. âI just... I donât know how to fix this.â
âThe word youâre looking for, my dear, is sorry,â she smiles sympathetically.Â
You nod, even though the thought of approaching him right now makes you want to crawl into a hole.Â
The party outside seems to pick up in volume, and through the crack in the doorway, you see Jungkook holding baby Haewon, cradling her carefully against his chest like sheâs made of glass. Heâs wearing a dark green sweater, the color of mistletoe, and his skin looks golden under the string lights he helped set up. Heâs cooing at the baby, making ridiculous faces, and Haewon is giggling, her tiny hand reaching up to grab his nose.
Dahyun is standing next to him, saying something that makes him laugh, and the light sound carries over the music and chatter. Itâs his real laugh, the one that crinkles his nose and shows all his teeth, the one you thought you only got to see.Â
And suddenly you can picture it with perfect clarity: Jungkook, a few years from now, holding his own baby. His and someone elseâs, some girl who isnât you, who doesnât have years of baggage and unspoken feelings weighing her down. Someone who can give him the uncomplicated love he deserves.
You didnât even realize Jisoo was talking until you feel her hand on your arm.Â
Blinking out of your daze, you snap back to the kitchen, to the party, to reality. âSorry, what?â
But itâs too lateâJisoo isnât looking at you anymore. Sheâs following your gaze to the dining room, to Jungkook and the baby, and understanding dawns across her face.
âOh,â she says.Â
Who knew a single syllable could carry so much weight?
âHow long?â Jisoo questions.
âHow long what?â
âDo not play dumb with me, missy. How long have you been in love with him?â
Youâve been tiptoeing around the truth for a long time. But youâre so tired of pretending, and the wine has loosened your tongue, and Jisoo is looking at you with such gentle understanding that the truth just spills out.
âSince I was a kid.â
Jisoo's eyes widen. âJesus Christ, [Y/N].â
âYeah,â is all you can offer.
âDoes he know?â She lowers her voice, leans more into you like he might somehow hear across the room.Â
âAbsolutely not,â you retort. âHe canât, and he wonât. It would ruin our friendship.â
She opens her mouth to protest, to probably give you some grand speech on how love wins above all, but you hold your hand up to stop her. âIâm serious, Jisoo. You canât tell him. Pinky promise me.â
She studies you for a long moment, and you can see her debating whether to push. Finally, she sighs and holds out her pinkie. âI promise. But for the record, I think youâre an idiot.â
âI get that a lot.â
From the dining room, you hear Jungkook laugh again, and it feels like someoneâs wrapped barbed wire around your heart and pulled tight.
âYou really should talk to him, though,â Jisoo repeats. âLike tonight, before it gets worse.âÂ
Itâs already worse.Â
âI canât,â you disagree, taking a gulp of wine. âYou saw him. The man wonât even look at me.â
âBecause heâs pissed, not âcause he hates you.â She squeezes your arm. âThis is Jungkook weâre talking about. Your Jungkook. Heâs probably just as miserable as you are.â
The words your Jungkook make you shiver. Heâs never actually been yours in any way that matters. But god, the way Jisoo says it makes you want to believe it. Makes you want to crawl inside those two words and live there, in a world where your Jungkook means heâs yours the way youâve always been his. Completely, irrevocably, in every way a person can belong to another.
âI donât know, he seems to be the fucking class clown tonight,â you mumble into your wine, and Jisoo snorts.Â
âI promise you heâs waiting for you to make the first move. He said he needed space, but that doesnât mean he wants the space. You know how he isâheâs a loverboy. Gets all up in his feelings and shit.â
You do know. Youâve known Jungkook long enough to recognize all his patterns.
Either way, you know just what to say to appease Jisoo. âMaybe later.â
âLater as in tonight, or later as in youâre going to avoid him until you two just forget about it and move on?âÂ
Yeah, exactly that.Â
âWeâll see.â
Jisoo gives you a look that says she knows exactly what âwe'll seeâ means in your vocabulary. âWhatâs your therapistâs name again? I want to give them a call.â
You hold up your middle finger.Â
âItâs gonna be a loooong night,â she exhales a loud breath.
And truly, she must have magical powers or something, because it is nothing short of a treacherous evening for you.Â
It all starts with Dahyun intercepting you, forcing you to hold Haewon. âCan you hold her for a sec? I need to use the bathroom and Joonâs three drinks deep trying to explain some conspiracy theory to Taehyung.âÂ
Youâre halfway through your protest when she just plops Haewon into your arms. She settles against your chest with a little coo, her Santa hat askew. She smells like powder, milk, and Dahyunâs perfume. Her tiny fist curls into your sweater, and despite the trainwreck that is your life, you smile brightly.Â
âHi, pretty girl,â you murmur, adjusting her weight. âI bet you donât know what itâs like to be in love with someone who doesnât love you back. Because everyone loves you, since youâre perfect.â
Bouncing her gently, you two sway in place, and she makes a happy gurgling sound as if to say âyes, I know Iâm perfect.â Someone has put on Nat King Cole, and the crooning voice of âThe Christmas Songâ fills your apartment with a nostalgic warmth youâve been trying to avoid all month.
Haewon has the cutest little fingers and even tinier toes, and it amazes you how someone so utterly perfect could exit your friend Dahyunâs body. Before she met Namjoon, she was nothing short of a party girl, but now, her days are filled with Mommy & Me yoga classes and supermarket runs.Â
Itâs your dream life, you think. One that you would give anything to live with Jungkook.Â
Youâre so focused on this fantasy, the one youâve conjured up in your head and dreams for years, that you donât even realize Jungkook is blatantly staring at you.Â
Heâs standing near the drinks table, a bottle of beer frozen halfway to his lips. You meet his eyes, and itâs just you and Jungkook (and Haewon).Â
Haewon squirms in your arms, breaking your gaze. You look down at her, adjusting her hat, heart hammering against your ribcage. When you look back up, Jungkook has turned away, saying something to Taehyung that you canât hear over the blood whooshing in your ears.
But his knuckles are white around his beer bottle.Â
Later on in the night, after youâve tended to Taehyungâs vegetarian needs and listened to Jisoo rant about how clean eating relates to consumerism, you retreat to the kitchen under the guise of refilling the snack bowls. No one needs more chipsâthere are three unopened bags on the counterâbut you need a moment of reprieve.Â
You rip open a bag of pretzels, and a few go flying everywhere, but you manage to catch them in your hand.Â
âNeed any help?â
Your body goes rigid. Youâre certain even your heart has stopped its beat.Â
Jungkook is standing in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, looking anywhere but directly at you. The green sweater really is unfair. The golden undertone of his skin shimmers under your fluorescent light, makes his eyes look lustrous.Â
âAll good here,â you retort. âIâm just restocking.â
He makes a noise of acknowledgment, shuffling closer toward you.Â
You pour pretzels into a bowl with more force than necessary, and several bounce onto the counter.
âThe partyâs a hit,â he offers.Â
âYeah. Everyone seems happy.âÂ
âThe foodâs really good too.â
âIt was all Namjoon and Dahyun,â you snort. Your dream of getting food catered pretty much died immediately. Then you tried cracking open a recipe book and nearly fainted.Â
This is excruciating. Youâve never done small talk with Jungkook. Never needed to.Â
âListenââ
âJungkook,â you say in unison.Â
Words cease to exist. You both stop. A dreadful, awkward silence fills the kitchen.
He clears his throat. âI want us to talk later after everyone leaves. If thatâs okay with you?â
Where the idea of talking to him used to excite you, is now replaced by a pit in your stomach that wonât budge.Â
Hanaâs words crash back into your consciousness. He was looking at you.
But what if she was wrong? What if she saw something that wasnât there because she was hurt and wanted an explanation that made sense? What if you let yourself hope and it destroys you?
âMaybe, Jungkook.â
Disappointment flashes across his face. He nods slowly. âCool, yeah, uh, just let me know.â
He turns to leave, and you want to say more, want to stop him from leaving.
Your mind runs back to the grocery store, Hanaâs words.Â
You open your mouthâto say what, you don't know. Sorry. Wait. I need to tell you something.
âJungkook.â
Jennie pokes her head into the kitchen, oblivious to everything. âThere you are! Taeâs trying to make everyone play some weird drinking game. You have to come referee before I murder him.â
Jungkook looks back at you, a question in his eyes.
âGo ahead,â you smile. âIâll join in a sec.â
He hesitates for just a second, then follows Jennie to the party.
By the time you make it back to the living room, Taehyung has indeed corralled everyone into some drinking game involving Christmas trivia. You slide into an empty spot on the couch next to Jisoo, who gives you a pointed look that you ignore.Â
âIs this a joke?â you ask.Â
âTis not, Christmas hater,â Taehyung jokes. He explains the rules of the game, most of which you spend picking at your fingernails. The game begins with Jennie getting a question wrong about Rudolph and has to take a shot of tequila. Dahyun argues that her answer about Home Alone is technically correct. Jungkook keeps score attentively, tongue poking through his teeth.Â
You're almost starting to relax when Namjoon, flushed from wine and dad-exhaustion, looks around your apartment with squinted eyes.
âWait,â he says loud enough to make Taehyungâs and Jisooâs current feud halt. âWhereâs the mistletoe?âÂ
Last Christmas by Wham is blaring from your speakers, and you can hear traffic from the street below, but a barrage of red alerts blasts through your brain.Â
Shit.Â
Your throat goes dry.
âYeah!â Dahyun laughs, adjusting Haewon on her lap. âWhere is it? I thought mistletoe was like, mandatory at Christmas parties.â
âMaybe she forgot,â Jennie offers, and you could kiss her on the lips.Â
âFeels like a crazy thing to forget,â Jisoo chimes in, and you shush her with a glare.Â
âI didnât forget.â You can feel Jungkookâs eyes on you, but you donât look at him. âI just didnât put one up.âÂ
âWhy not?â Taehyung interrogates, crossing his arms over his chest. âItâs tradition.â
Tradition. That stupid fucking word.Â
âItâs not really my thing.â You shrug.Â
âSince when?â Jennie arches a brow. âIn college, you made us all kiss under the mistletoe in Jihyoâs dorm.â
You were obliterated and desperately trying to create some scenario where kissing Jungkook would happen again, even as a joke. It hadnât worked. Heâd kissed Jisoo on the cheek and youâd kissed Namjoon and everyone had laughed and moved on and youâd gone home and cried into your pillow.
âI was drunk,â you argue.Â
Jisoo is studying her drink intensely, and by the sheer force of mind reading, you beg her not to say something.
âI think it's nice,â Dahyun says, attempting to ease the awkwardness. âMore elegant without it, you know? Like out of an Ikea catalogue!â
You throw her a grateful look.Â
âIt does save people from those awkward forced kisses with people they donât want to kiss,â she adds, and multiple other people nod in agreement.
âExactly! Thatâs exactly it.â You practically leap out of your seat.Â
But you can still feel Jungkook looking at you. You chance a glance in his direction and immediately regret it. Heâs not trying to hide his expression anymore. He looks visibly hurt, with his jaw tight and lips twitching.Â
âShould we keep playing?â Jennie asks, and bless her for it.
âYeah,â Taehyung shuffles his trivia cards. âAlright, next question is for Jungkook.â
The game resumes, clockwise around the room, but even then, neither you or Jungkook care about anything else but each other.Â
Jungkookâs not sure when it happened.
There wasnât a single moment, no dramatic revelation where the clouds parted and you were all grown up. It was more like watching a sunrise, so gradual that he didnât even notice it was happening until the entire sky was painted in vivid bright colors. One day you were his best friend, the girl who knew all his secrets and laughed at his dumb jokes and fell asleep during movie nights with your head on his shoulder. Then, somewhere along the way, you became something moreâflourished into a beautiful flower.Â
He thinks it might have started in high school, when you showed up to junior prom in that light blue dress that complemented your eyes. Your mother spent thirty minutes poking and prodding at your dress, noting that you were âfilling out nicely,â and it had taken all of Jungkookâs might not to ogle at your growing chest.Â
It couldâve also been in college, after you went through your first breakup and decided the proper next step was to cut your hair short, revealing the curve of your neck. He had stared for the better half of a week, and luckily, it went away once winter rolled around and you wore turtlenecks.Â
It could have been last year, when you laughed so hard at one of his stories that you snorted wine out of your nose, and instead of being grossed out, heâd thought it was the most endearing thing heâd ever witnessed.
Maybe itâs always been there, lurking underneath your friendship.Â
The thing is, Jungkook has always been sure heâs not in love with you. Heâs never let himself think about it in those terms, never let the thought fully form before shoving it back down where it belongs. You are his best friend, have been since before he understood what friendship meant. Youâre the person who knows him better than anyone, whoâs seen him at his worst and somehow still shows up. Youâre the constant in his life, the thing heâs never had to question.
But in the quiet of his own mind, he can acknowledge that you are utterly and thoroughly beautiful.Â
Youâre brilliant too, in ways that constantly surprise him even after knowing you for years. Sharp and funny and creative, with this ability to see people that makes everyone feel understood. You remember things, stupid little details about peopleâs lives that they mentioned once in passing. Youâre the kind of person who makes playlists for your friends based on their moods.Â
You made one for him last month. Called it âwhen koo is in his feelings.âÂ
He listened to it on the way to the Christmas party.
And yeah, okay, maybe he thinks about you more than a best friend probably should. Like when heâs dating someone, thereâs always this small part of his brain remembering things to tell you later, moments youâd find funny or interesting. Sometimes, he compares every girl he dates to you without meaning to⌠itâs just the way they laugh never quite measures up, their sense of humor is always slightly off, their understanding of him remains surface-level.
But thatâs all normal friend stuff, he thinks.Â
âPenny for your thoughts?âÂ
Namjoon sidles up beside Jungkook, hugging a beer bottle tight to his chest. Itâs the first time heâs drank in a while, and Jungkook resists the urge to laugh at just how drunk he looks.Â
Jungkook takes a long sip of his beer, watching you over the rim of the bottle. Youâre laughing at something Jisoo said, but it doesnât reach your eyes. âItâs nothing.â
âShut up.â Namjoon leans against the wall for stability. âTell me whatâs up.â
âNothingâs up.â
âShouldnât you be out there, making my wife laugh harder than I have?âÂ
Jungkook rolls his eyes. âIâm tired.â
âYou have the energy of a bunny, so I doubt that,â Namjoon snickers. âCâmon, fess up. I never get involved with drama anymore after Haewon. Enlighten me.â
Jungkook considers deflecting again, but what's the point? Namjoon's going to stand here until he cracks. âWe got in a fight. Me and [Y/N].â
âOh shit, for real?â When Jungkook meekly nods, Namjoon takes another swig of beer. âWhat about?â
âI wanted to hang up a mistletoe for the party and she said no.â God, saying it out loud seems so stupid. âI pushed it and then sheâŚâ
âShe what?âÂ
âShe said some mean things, then I said some things. It got messy.â
âThis sounds kinda dumb,â Namjoon jokes, and Jungkook levels him with a piercing glare. He knows itâs dumb, knows this whole thing is stupid, but he can;t shake the feeling that thereâs something unresolved lingering underneath. âYouâll be fine.â
âYeah.â
âThat was not a confident yeah.â
âI mean, I told her we should talk after the party. She said maybe,â Jungkook laughs dryly. âChances of us talking are looking pretty low right now.â
âDude,â Namjoon exhales a breath. âSheâs not going to stay away from you. That girl loves you.â
âI donât knowâŚâ
âYou know where she lives. You have a key, for godâs sake.â
Jungkook does have a key. In his defense, you have one to his place too. Itâs never not been a thingâyouâve been trading apartment keys since college, back when you lived in that shitty studio with the broken heater and he needed to water your plants when you went home for your momâs birthday.
âI think she really wants space this time, though,â he frowns. He doesnât like the idea of it, but itâs part of his fault youâre even in this predicament right now.Â
âYou guys are idiots.â Namjoon stares at him. âWhy do you look so sad about this? Itâs just a little fight, right?â
Jungkook opens his mouth to agree, but he chokes on the words forming in his throat. His eyes find you across the room again. Youâre holding Haewon, swaying gently, and the baby's grabbing at your hair with her tiny fists. You smile down at her, and even from here, he can see the softness in your expression, and how youâve adjusted your hold to support her head.
He doesnât really know why, but his heart seizes.
âYeah. I think so.â
Namjoon hums. âItâs not like, âŚanything more, right?â
Jungkook furrows his brows, tearing his gaze away from you. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âYâknow what I meanâŚâ Namjoon starts doing some weird vague gestures with his hand, and Jungkookâs beer-soaked brain struggles to keep up. âItâs not like that with you two?â
Oh.Â
âNo, no. Itâs not like that with us,â Jungkook denies quickly, almost too quickly. He knows itâs not impractical for someone to suggest. Ever since he was a young boy, heâs been curbing questions regarding your relationship status. It never annoyed him; in fact, it filled him with pride knowing people thought he was worthy of what sunshine you had to offer. âSheâs my best friend.â
âCouldâve fooled me.â
âExcuse me?â
Jungkookâs chest feels tight.Â
But Namjoon doesnât note the way his face goes pale, or the way his fingers flex around his bottle. He continues on, âBro, Iâm not trying to start anything. But Iâve known you since college, and Iâve watched you do this thing where you date someone, it gets serious, and then somehow it always ends. And you know what the common denominator is?â
He really doesnât want Namjoon to say anymore. Doesnât want him to vocalize what might actually be true, but has been something Jungkook has been mashing down for decades of his life. Naked, unmistakable fear courses through him.Â
âHer.â Namjoon points with his beer bottle. âEvery single time, you come back to her. You text her more than your girlfriend, or you cancel dates if she needs you. You measure everyone against her without even realizing youâre doing it.â
Jungkook canât speak, because itâs true. He knows itâs true. Heâs done it countless times, like when it was he and Sanaâs one-year anniversary, but you had the flu, so he dropped everything to take care of you. Or when Chaeyoung got upset with him because he had responded to your text before even giving hers a second glance.Â
He canât help it.Â
âYouâve been dragging her through your relationships for years,â Namjoon says, âAt some point, you need to ask yourself why you keep coming back to her.â
âBut sheâs my best friend!â Jungkook protests petulantly. âWe always show up for each other.â
âYeah, but do best friends look at each other the way youâre looking at her right now?â
Jungkook hadnât even realized heâd been staring again. Youâve handed Haewon back to Dahyun and youâre laughing at something, a hand flying up to cover your mouth in that way you do when you think your laugh is too loud. Itâs not, Jungkook thinks, Itâs never too loud.
âWhat do you want me to say?â Jungkook mumbles, averting his eyes to his scuffed-up shoes.Â
âI feel like you should just be honest with yourself, Kook.â Namjoon claps him on the shoulder. âIâm willing to bet money on the fact that your fight wasnât really about the mistletoe.â
âI donât think so,â Jungkook scoffs. He hopes he looks nonchalant, but his hands are trembling.
Namjoon doesnât utter another word, and for a moment, Jungkook thinks itâs over. Namjoon will let it go and theyâll move on. He shifts weight onto his other foot, taking a swig from his beer.
âJungkook.â Fuck, if the way Namjoonâs looking at him right now is any indication of whatâs to come, heâs so fucked. âYou know sheâs in love with you, right?â
Itâs out in the open, and he canât believe Namjoon just said it, doesnât know where he even got that idea, but he does know that it must be the truth. It has to be, because he would never suggest otherwise. And the notion should be earth-shattering, world-tilting, but itâs not.Â
Maybe Jungkook knew this whole time.Â
âNo-No, sheâs notâweâre notââ
But the more he ruminates on it, he realizes: you canât be. Youâve neverâthereâs never been any indicationâyouâve never said anything or done anything orâ
In all the years heâs known you, youâve never dated someone seriously. Like living together, talk of engagement. Sure, there were a few guys here and there in college, but nothing that stuck. Nothing that lasted more than a month or two. Heâd always figured you were just picky, focused on your career, not interested in settling down.
Was there more to that? Jungkookâs heart jolts in his chest.Â
Oh god. Oh fuck.
How long? How long have you been carrying this? Since you were kids? Since high school? College? How many years has he been obliviously parading girlfriends in front of you, kissing them under mistletoe, talking about his relationships, asking for your advice about girls who werenât you?
His hands are shaking. He sets his beer down on the nearest surface before he drops it.
âI think, maybe, youâve always known.â Namjoonâs voice sounds like itâs coming from far away.Â
All those times he came back to you after dates that didnât go well. All those nights you stayed up listening to him talk about his problems with whatever girl he was seeing. All those moments he chose you over them without even thinking about it because being with you was easy and comfortable and right in a way nothing else ever was.
He can never remember half of those girlsâ names. Canât remember what he saw in them or why he thought any of them were worth it.Â
But he remembers every Christmas with you.
He remembers all of it.Â
Jungkook looks up, searching for you in the crowd, and finds you emerging from the kitchen with Jisoo.Â
Panic claws up his throat. âBut sheâs never said anythingâlike, we neverââ
âIf I were her, I wouldnât say anything.â Namjoon shrugs.Â
Jungkook feels like he can't breathe. âYou donât know what youâre talking about. Youâre justâyouâre guessingââ
âI am assuming, but I know enough. Dahyun has me watching a ton of kdramas, so I know when someoneâs pining.â
His credentials are questionable.Â
âThat'sââ Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt. âFuck. Why wouldnât she tell me?â
âProbably because you introduce her to new girlfriends everyday.â Namjoonâs words are blunt, but his expression is sympathetic. âThink about it. When has she ever had the space to tell you?â
Never. The answer is never. Because heâs always been with someone or getting over someone or talking about someone, and even when he wasnât, he was busy treating your friendship like it was sacred.Â
Jungkook was so busy protecting what you had that he never stopped to think about what you could be.Â
âI didnât know,â Jungkook admits weakly.Â
âItâs fine. You do now.â Namjoon takes a massive gulp of his beer, placing the empty bottle on the nearby table. âBy the way, why did you care so much if she hosted? Why did it matter if it was at her place? You knew Dahyun and I didnât mind.â
Jungkookâs guilt wraps around him like a hug. He does feel guilty about lying, he truly does, but he doesnât have a good answer. Namjoonâs place would have worked fine, baby or not. Jisooâs apartment was an option despite Taehyung's dog allergy. They could have figured something out.
But he had told everyone secretly that you needed to host this year.Â
For a long, long moment, Jungkook is silent. He pushes through the fear, the nerves, the voices in his head telling him otherwise. He tells Namjoon, âBecause Christmas is ours.â
To no oneâs surprise, Namjoon and Dahyun are the first to make their exit. Haewon is already fast asleep on her fatherâs shoulder, snoring peacefully. Then Jisoo leaves, who gives you a long, meaningful look and a whisper of âtext me laterâ that you have no intention of following through on. Taehyung and Jennie linger for a little before they realize they have more pressing matters to attend to (read: their new vibrator they ordered).
Youâre certain Jungkook slipped out sometime in the middle of the exodus. You donât see him leave, but you hear the door close a final time and feel the absence of him.
Wonderful. You can clean up in peace and spend the rest of the night spiraling about Hanaâs words, the talk you never had with Jungkook, and how quickly youâll be able to move countries and change names.
Youâre elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing at a wine glass aggressively, when you hear footsteps behind you.
What the fuck. Did you leave your door unlocked?
Itâs definitely Taehyung. With a gulp, you crane your neck to see behind the doorway.Â
And then you scream.Â
You drop the glass into the sink, whirling around with your wet hands up like youâre going to fight off an intruder with dish soap.
Jungkook jumps, hands flying up in surrender. âOh my god, sorry! Sorry, sorry, Iâm sorryââ
âFucking hell, Jungkook!â Your heart tries to escape from your body. âI thought you left!â
âI was in the bathroom.â His eyes are wide, looking genuinely distressed at having scared you. âI didnât mean toâI thought you knew I was still here?â
Soap suds drip down your arms. Heâs pressed against your bookshelf, trying to camouflage into your books. Itâs ridiculous, but itâs so like you both that it makes you giggle.Â
Itâs a soft one, but he notices it and snorts in response. And then you two erupt into endless laughter, your heart soaring at the familiar sound of his timbre. His chest shakes with each laugh, and tears fall from your eyes.
But after a few seconds, the laughter finally fades, and you two stand there, sizing the other up.Â
âWhat are you still doing here?â you ask, reaching for a dish towel to dry your hands.Â
âI wanted to see if you were open to talking.â
You turn off the running water, pivoting to face him fully.
âI am.â
He takes a deep breath, swallowing thickly. Jungkook does this thing where his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek when heâs struggling to find the right words. Youâve seen him do it countless times.
His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.
âIâm sorry.â Jungkook says. âAbout the fightâŚabout pushing you to hostâŚand the, uh, the mistletoe thing.â He runs his fingers through his hair. âI didnât mean to hurt you. I justâChristmas has always been our thing since we were kids. It was always ours, and I donât know⌠I guess I didnât want that to change.âÂ
With him, things are always stagnant. Theyâre stable, trustworthy, and you know theyâll always be there. Youâre not sure where his childlike wonder wentâall those times he would drag you to unknown places to explore, or made you try new foods even if you knew youâd hate it.Â
But maybe youâre not worth the risk for him.Â
âMe neither,â you agree quietly.Â
You swivel back to face the sink, tears brimming your eyes. Reaching for another glass, you flick on the water, dousing your hands in soap. The water is frigid but you plunge your hands in anyway.Â
âHey,â comes Jungkookâs calm voice.Â
You keep scrubbing.Â
âHey.â
His fingers wrap around your arm, and you let out a sigh.Â
âThatâs it? Thatâs all?âÂ
You canât look at him. If you look at him, youâll break. âWhat else do you want me to say? I forgive you? I do. Jungkook, this is stupid.â
âI donât know. Something. Anything.â His hand lingers on your bare skin. âDonât shut me out. We had one fight and for some reason, it feels like Iâm losing you and I donâtââ He stops, takes a breath. âTalk to me.â
Thereâs so much you could say. You could tell him about the mistletoe tradition and how itâs haunted you. You could tell him about watching him fall in love over and over with people who arenât you. You could tell him about Hana and the grocery store and how you havenât been able to think about anything else since.
But most importantly, you could tell him the truth: youâve been in love with him since you were a child, and every Christmas since you were 15 years old felt like getting stabbed repeatedly.
Jungkookâs eyes are red-rimmed, lips quivering. Heâs still tethered to your arm, unable to let go as if youâll disappear. Youâre disgustingly terrified of this moment, not of losing him, but because heâs never even been yours to lose. Everything could change. You could say the words and watch your friendship shatter. You could tell the truth and have him look at you with pity, or worse, heâll look at you and apologize, say he doesnât feel the same towards you.Â
What if what you need to move on isnât to ignore it, but accept the rejection?
You can do that, you think.Â
You swallow, âJungkookââ
âPlease,â he pleads, âI canât fix it if I donât know whatâs wrong.â
You finally turn to face him, and his hand slides down from your arm but doesnât let go completely. His fingers catch yours, wet and soapy as they are, and hold on.
âI donât even know where to begin,â you admit.Â
âStart anywhere.â His thumb brushes against your knuckles, and you donât even think he realizes heâs doing it. âMaybe⌠start with why you donât like Christmas anymore.â
Thatâs the question, isnât it? Thatâs the thread that, if pulled, will unravel everything.
âDo you⌠remember our mistletoe tradition?â
He furrows his brows. You had just reminisced on it a few days ago, but somehow it feels like a lifetime. âOf course.â
âDo you remember when it all started?â
He looks at you like youâre an apparition. âYeah.â
âWe were just kids⌠but you kissed my cheek and I thought it was the most magical thing in the world. We did it every year, every year until you finally kissed me on the lips.â
Jungkook inhales audibly, nods once, and squeezes your hands tighter.Â
âIt became my favorite day of the year,â you continue, and you sound out of breath. âIt wasnât because of the presents, or the food, or Santa. It was those three seconds under the mistletoe with you. I lived for it. Counted down the days to it. And when we were 15, you got your first girlfriend.â
Understanding starts to dawn on his face, and itâs almost worse than if he didnât get it.
âYou kissed her under the mistletoe that year.â You swallow back the sob that climbs up your throat. âI watched and I stood there and you gave her this real kiss, this romantic kiss, and I realized that all those years⌠they were just a game to you. A tradition.â
He opens his mouth, most likely to object, but you speak over him.Â
âIt just kept happening. There was always someone there, someone who wasnât me. I smiled and pretended I was happy for you while I was watching you fall in love with people who⌠whoâŚâ Now or never, you think. â....who got to have what I wanted.â
Tears begin to blur your vision, muddling Jungkookâs features.Â
âIâve been in love with you for god knows how long, Jungkook. And every Christmas since I was 15 is just a constant, giant, unavoidable reminder that you donât love me the way I love you.â
The tears are falling freely, hot and fast, painting your cheeks.Â
âThatâs why I didnât want to host. Thatâs why I didnât want the mistletoe. Because I canâtââ Your voice breaks. âI canât watch you kiss someone else under it again. I canât do it anymore. Itâs killing me.â
You remove your hands from his, wiping furiously away at the wetness on your face. When you blink, you notice Jungkookâs also crying. Cheeks ruddy and chest heaving, lips trembling. â[Y/N]. I-I⌠how come you never said anything?â
âYouâre my best friend, Koo.â You wrap your arms around yourself, self-soothing the ache thatâs built in your chest. âIf you donât love me like that, I completely understand. I do. Youâve never given me any indication that you feel the same way and thatâs okay, thatâs fine, Iâll get over it eventuallyââ
Jungkookâs face falls, softening. â[Y/N]-â
âI donât want to lose you. I canât. Youâre the most important person in my life and if telling you this means youâre going to look at me differently or feel weird around me orââ
âStop.â he firmly says, and his hands come up to cup your face. His thumbs wipe at your tears and you know you look like a wreck, but heâs looking at you as though you were sent from the heavens above. âJust stop for a second.â
You hiccup, trying to catch your breath.Â
âCan we stand in the doorway?â he asks.Â
You deadpan. âWhat?âÂ
âThe doorway,â he repeats like thatâs supposed to clarify anything for you. He takes one of your hands in his, peeling you away from the counter. âCan we stand in the doorway?â
âIâwhat? Why?âÂ
You blindly follow him, like you always do. Let him lead you out of your kitchen. Your living room is a messâempty glasses and crumpled napkins, remnants of your Christmas party.
Jungkook positions you in the doorway between your living room and hallway. His green sweater brings out his sparkling eyes, and your heart flutters in your chest.Â
âJungkook, can you just reject me quickly so we can move onââ
âLook up.â He smiles.Â
With shaky breath, you crane your neck.Â
Hanging from your doorway is a mistletoe. Thereâs a red ribbon tied around it, dangling back and forth to the tune of your oscillating fan.Â
You snort out a snot bubble, but neither you nor him seem to care too much. âWhen did that even get there?â
âWell, I had to wait till the end of the night,â he remarks sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck that iss now flushed crimson. âI thought you might rip my dick off or something if I did it earlier.â
You sink your fingernails into your palms to keep yourself grounded, to keep yourself from leaping paces ahead. Behind your ribcage, your heart stumbles.Â
Heâs the first to laughâitâs wet and graceless, body shaking in tandem. Youâre laughing too, but also crying.Â
Your heart soars like itâs trying to escape your chest and fly around the room.Â
Jungkook settles down, and something softer crosses his expression. When he speaks next, his voice is steady, sure of himself.Â
âYou think I donât feel the same way?â His voice breaks. âYou thinkâJesus Christ, [Y/N], youâre all I think about. Youâre all I ever thought about.â
âReally?â you whisper, voice so feeble you think he canât possibly have heard it.Â
But he nods.Â
âI wake up, and the first thing I do is check my phone to see if youâve texted me. I go through my entire day remembering things to tell you laterâstupid shit, important shit, all the stuff in between. When something good happens, youâre the first person I want to tell. When something bad happens, you'âre the only person I want to see.â He wipes a stray tear thatâs made its way down his cheek. âYouâre the first person I think of when I wake up and the last person I think of before I fall asleep, and most nights I dream about you too.â
âYouâŚâ you trail off, shake your head. Thereâs no words to describe how you feel, no proper sentence to show how your entire body feels like itâs on fire.Â
âLet me say this because I should have said it years ago. A decade ago. I should have said it every single Christmas instead of being with people who werenât you and pretending that was enough.â
Jungkook takes a step forward. His scent envelops you, makes you feel at home. Like youâre six years old again and anything is possible.Â
âI kissed you under that mistletoe when we were kids because if anyone was going to be my first kiss, it was going to be you. I didnât even really understand what kissing meant. But I knew I wanted it to be you.â
He lets out a breathy, quiet laugh. And it feels like youâre kids again, standing under the mistletoe, pulling into each other like magnets.Â
âI kept doing it every year becauseâbecause those three seconds were mine. They were ours. It didnât matter that I was too young to understand what it meant or why it made my stomach feel weird or why Iâd think about it for weeks afterwards. I just knew that kissing you under the mistletoe was the best part of Christmas⌠the best part of my whole year.â
âYou know, I was never able to understand why my relationships never seemed to work. Why no one ever wanted to stay with me for the long run. And it took me a long time, but Iâve got it all figured out now.â He has to stop to clear his throat, and itâs then, and only then, that you see the tears glistening in his eyes again. âI think⌠I think Iâve been looking for pieces of you in every girl I meet.â Â
Your feet remain frozen to your floor. If you pinch yourself, youâll wake up from this dream, and you want to live in it as long as life will allow.Â
âIâd find a girl who had your hair color, or a similar sense of humor, or the way you scrunch your nose when youâre thinking, and Iâd think âthis is it, this is the one.â But it never was, because they werenât you,â he says. âI would be on dates, and think about what youâd say about the restaurant, or the movie, or the conversation. I could be kissing someone and wonder why it didnât feel the way it felt when I kissed you when we were children.â
He takes another step, hardwood floor creaking beneath his weight.Â
Heâs so close you can almost taste his woodsy scent.Â
âIâm a coward, [Y/N]. I kept dating people, kept trying to make it work with someone else, because I thought if I could just find the right person, Iâd stop being in love with you.â
âKoo,â is all you can manage.
âBut there is no right person for me. Thereâs just you, thereâs only ever been you. Youâre not a piece of the puzzle, [Y/N]. You are the whole fucking puzzle. Every piece, every corner, every goddamn edge. And Iâve been trying to force other pieces to fit for years, but they donât. They canât.â His tears are moving faster than he can stop them, and he lets them pour out of his eyes onto his sweater.Â
âThe only reason I stopped kissing you under the mistletoe was because I was falling in love with you.â Heâs grinning through his tears. The kind of grin youâve been the only person to extract out of him. âI was a stupid kid who was falling in love with their best friend and the first thought I had was: what if you didnât feel the same way? What if I told you and you laughed in my face? And I know Iâm stupid, but I stopped because I needed to tell myself I was over it, that it was a phase, that we were just friends.â
Jungkook takes one final step forward until youâre practically nose-to-nose.Â
His voice is no higher than a whisper. âI never got over it, though. I never stopped loving you.â
Your head is spinning. Jeon Jungkook. Your best friend, your platonic soulmate, your everythingâŚ
âYou⌠you love me?â
âI love you so fucking much,â he confirms. âI love the way you sing off-key during all our car rides together, and the way you cry during commercials with pets. The way you remember everyoneâs birthdays, even if they donât remember yours. I love how you scrunch your nose when youâre concentrating and how you chew your lip when youâre nervous. I love your terrible jokes and your beautiful laugh and how magical everything suddenly feels when youâre around.â
Inevitably, youâre sobbing too. Not in a pretty way, but you donât think it matters anymore. Nothing matters but this.Â
âI love that I was lucky enough to be born the same day as you, that the universe knew before we knew that there was no me without you. I love that I know everything about youâyour favorite color, your biggest fears, how you like your tea. I love that you know me better than anyone else in the world.âÂ
His hands go to cup your face. âSo, yeah, I do love you. And I know I wasted time, but I am telling you now with utmost certainty. If you'll let me, I want to make up for all the time I wasted being too scared to love you the way you deserve.â
Your hands come up to cover his, pressing them harder against your face.Â
âI want you to be mine and I want to be yours, in every way possible, [Y/N].â
And you really, really need to stop crying, but itâs impossible. They well up, like all those emotions youâve been mashing down for decades, ballooning into something too large for your body to handle.Â
âThose are happy tears⌠right?â he chuckles.Â
âYes,â you sob. God, heâs never going to let you live this down. âI love you. I love you so muchââ
âI love you too.â He kisses your forehead, cheeks, the tip of your nose. âI love you, I love you, I love you. I'm going to make sure you never doubt that again.â
You laugh, a watery bubbling sound.Â
You look up at the mistletoe hanging between you two. Itâs a small piece of plastic and ribbon, but somehow it represents years of longing and heartbreak and fear that just needed time to blossom into something ethereal.
âYou still remember the tradition?â Jungkook tucks a stand of hair behind your ear.Â
You couldnât forget even if you tried. âWhen youâre under the mistletoeâŚâ
âYou must kiss the person youâre with,â he finishes.Â
His thumbs linger over your cheekbones, gazing into your eyes. Theyâre still the same from when he was little. Wide-eyed, full of childlike wonder and innocence. His pupils are blown.Â
âCan I kiss you?âÂ
You stupidly smile. You nod just as he gets the last syllable out. Nodding so hard and so frantically itâs almost manic, tears streaming down your face, your hands coming up to grip the collar of his green sweaterâthat goddamn green sweater the color of mistletoe.
âYes,â you breathe, âYes, please, yesââ
He kisses you.Â
And oh.
Oh.Â
You hold your breath, counting the seconds in your head. Itâs longer than three seconds and two milliseconds.Â
Your knees buckle under the weight of his kiss, with his hands cradling your face gently. Your fingers twist tighter in his collar, pulling him closer, closer, never close enough.
The salt of both your tears mixes on your lips, can feel the way his breath stumbles against your mouth. One of his hands slides into your hair, angling your head just so, and you make a sound you didnât know you were capable of making. Youâre pliable in his arms.Â
His tongue outlines your bottom lip, and you grant him access immediately, needing to feel more of him, any part you can grasp to know this is real. Youâre both still cryingâyou can feel fresh tears sliding down your cheeksâbut youâre also smiling, laughing into the kiss like idiots because this is insane.
Jungkookâs tattooed hands slide down to your waist, pulling you close to him until thereâs not an inch to spare between your bodies. Your apartment, the mess of cups and plates scattered around, the snazzy Christmas decorations youâll throw away tomorrowâit all fades away until thereâs just this. Just him.
âI love you,â he murmurs against your mouth, and then heâs kissing you again before you can say it back. âLove you so much, Iâm a fucking loser, Iââ
âShut up,â you giggle. âShut up and kiss me.â
You donât know how long you stand there, kissing under the mistletoe like teenagers who just discovered what kissing is. It could be seconds or hoursâtime feels irrelevant when his mouth is on yours, when his hands are holding you.
At some point, you know itâs not enough. You want more.Â
Finally, you think to yourself.Â
Youâve never wanted someone this bad. Never craved someoneâs brain, heart, and soul like this.Â
Heâs possibly thinking the same thing as you, and if the way he holds you is any indication, youâre the luckiest girl in the world. His hands travel over your waist, until they reach your thighs. In one smooth motion, he picks you up, and your legs wrap around his waist instinctively.
Jungkook is stronger than you though, even though you know he goes to the gym everyday, even though youâve watched him rearrange the furniture in your apartment on a random Tuesday after work. But feeling him hold you up effortlessly while kissing⌠your panties might drop before you even reach the bedroom.Â
You kiss him as he tries to navigate with his eyes closed, stumbling slightly down the hallway, both of you giggling between kisses like drunk teenagers. He nearly crashes into the wall, overcorrecting and spinning you both around.
âSmooth operator, hm?â you tease.Â
âShut up,â he mumbles. âI swear to god you switched where your bedroom was.â And then heâs kissing you again, and you forget about his horrible navigation skills.Â
Miraculously, you make it to your bedroom. Lays you down on your bed, following you down until heâs hovering over you, weight balanced on his forearms on either side of your head. The lamp on your nightstand casts soft shadows across his features. He chews his lip anxiously.Â
âDo you, umââ He stops, tries again. âDo you wanna maybeââ
You canât help but giggle. Your hand comes up to cover your mouth when you see the way his face falls. âKoo. I know youâre not a virgin.â
âOh my god.â He drops his forehead to your neck with a groan, and his face is burning hot against your skin. âI know. I know Iâm not. But itâs you, itâs so different. Iâm nervous.â
Jungkook is experiencedâfar more than you, thatâs for certain. You were never bothered by the difference. You had lost your virginity solely as a means to an end, to just say you did the damn thing so you werenât a complete and total loser. But Jungkook has plenty of notches on his belt, and your heart melts at the thought of you being the one to dismantle him completely.Â
You slide your fingers into his hair, tugging until he lifts his head to look at you. His eyes are dark and vulnerable, full of love it makes you want to cry all over again.
âHey. Itâs just me, Koo.â
âWell, thatâs kinda the problem,â he gruffs, playing with the necklace around your neck. âIt is you. It matters a lot.â
âIt matters to me too,â you rush to agree, cup his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his scarlet cheeks. âWe donât have to do anything you donât want to do. We can justâwe can just lie here. We can talk. We canââ
He kisses you, cutting off your rambling. Slower, assured. âI want to. I really, really want to. I just⌠I want it to be good for you.â
Your fingers trace the constellation of moles on his face, and thereâs just so much of him you want to uncover, so much golden skin and muscle. âIt will be.â
This time, when his lips meet yours, he relaxes into it, earlier nervousness melting away. Your hands slide up under his sweater, feeling the bare skin, the sculpted abdomen youâve sparingly seen. Your fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck, playing with the soft strands there, and he makes a soundâhalf-sigh, half-groanâthat strikes straight through you. His hips shift slightly, pressing against yours, and now itâs your turn to gasp into his mouth.
âStill nervous?â you mutter.Â
âA little,â he says through a moan as you roll your hips to press against his growing length. âWhat if you think I-Iâm, fuck, bad in bed?â
âYou wonât be.â You kiss down his sharp jawline, down the vein that protrudes from the side of his neck.Â
âYou donât know that. I could be really bad at this.â
You laugh, tugging him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist. âJungkook, youâre not going to be bad at sex.â
He nuzzles into your neck, inhaling the scent of gingerbread cookies that still lingers on you even after hours of burning them. âBut what if I am?â
âKoo. I love you. I wouldnât care even if your dick was 2 inches.â
He lifts his head from your neck. âOkay, donât push it.â
Jungkook kisses you, warm tongue swiping against your bottom lip. His calloused hands slide up your red sweater, feeling the black lace bra underneath. His breath stutters at the realization, fondling your breasts in the way heâs always dreamed of.Â
Messily, hungrily, your sweater comes off first, then his, a tangle of fabric and laughter as he fumbles with the back of your bra. Jungkook apologizes against your lips, but you donât care in the slightest, just want more and more and more. He flings your bra across your bedroom, greedily taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking the hardened nub. And youâre so wet, can feel it pooling in your panties, soaking through the fabric. Every roll of his hips, every flick of his tongue sends shocks of lightning through you.Â
âSo fucking pretty,â Jungkook groans, readjusting your body higher on the bed until your head reaches the pillow. He unclasps your legs from around his waist, making room for himself to wiggle down in between them.
You canât stop the familiar swell of nerves racing through your body, even as he kisses down the valley of your breasts, down to your stomach, past your navel. His lips hover over the button of your jeans, delicately undoing. Taking his time as though not to miss a single moment.Â
You weirdly get the urge to cover yourself, to hide under the strength of his burning gaze. What if he compares me to all the other girls? you think. What if Iâm not as beautiful as Sana or Eunji or Hana?
And then Jungkook says, âYouâre so beautiful, baby. Most beautiful girl Iâve ever known.â
Tears threaten to appear again.Â
He tugs your jeans off, his hair tickling your inner thigh as he goes. His lips follow, pressing chaste kisses along your naked skin. The mattress dips as he adjusts himself, wraps his arms around your thighs and tugs your clothed, soaking cunt to his face. You gasp, your walls clenching around nothing. âRelax, baby,â Jungkook bites your inner thigh, soothing it with his tongue. âGonna take care of you.â
âPlease,â you beg, and you donât even know what youâre begging for, but when you meet his eyes you know exactly what. More of him, more of his mouth, his tongue, his lips.Â
He pushes your panties to the side, and without preamble, youâre spreading your legs further.
Immediately, Jungkookâs eyes go to what lies between them.Â
âSo wet, baby,â He lets his pointer finger gather your arousal. âYou always get this wet for your best friend?â
You gasp, eyes trained on his. His voice has gone husky, eyes hooded and dark. He presses into your sensitive nub, and you jolt forward, hands tightly gripping the sheets underneath. âAnswer me.â
âY-yes, Koo. Always wet for you, just for you.â
That seems to be enough for him. He leans forward, dragging your underwear down your legs until theyâre no longer his concern, and then his mouth is on you.Â
âFuck!â You practically scream, body lurching forward, humming violently underneath him. Itâs been a whileâmaybe more than a while, possibly yearsâsince youâve had someone willingly eat you out, and by the way Jungkook does so, he seems enthralled to get a chance to enjoy the taste of you. His tongue strokes through your folds, wet and wide, working its own rhythm that has you withering underneath his grasp. His hands press into your hip bones, stabilizing your movements. He buries his whole face in it, lets himself soak up every last bit of arousal youâve produced. Two minutes of this and youâll be a goner, but you donât want this to end, not now, not ever.Â
âTastes so sweet, baby,â Jungkook moans into your wetness, licking a long stripe from your hole up to your clit. âBeen hiding this from me, hm?â
âI-Itâs yours, Koo. Always has been,â You squeeze your eyes as tight as you can, stars blooming in your vision. He taps your thigh, and you know he wants you to look at him, but you can hardly breathe or think or speak.Â
He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, and your fingers fly to his unkempt hair, tugging and pulling until youâre certain itâll come off his scalp. Without warning, he pushes one finger into you, testing you. He watches as you keen, profanities falling off your lips. Jungkookâs finger crooks into you at an angle you thought only you could reach, and youâre putty in his unrelenting hands. âFuckâoh my god, yes, right there Koo, oh, yesââ
âFeel good, baby?â He gathers his saliva, spitting onto your clit and letting it drip down to his fingers, a second digit entering you. âTalk to me.â
Heâs gentle about it, tentative, as though heâs trying to learn you, teach himself the new side of you heâs unlocked.Â
âM-more,â you keen. âFaster, please.â
And heâs so willing, so ready. Itâs so wet, unlike anything that happens when you touch yourself. His tongue and fingers fuck you through it, squelching sounds echoing against the thin walls of your bedroom, sweat slicking down the valley of your breasts. You feel your walls clench around him once, twice, and your legs tremble in his hold. You can feel it dripping down your inner thigh, onto your sheets, onto his chin.Â
âSo tight around my fingers,â he groans, and you watch as his other hand travels down to his belt buckle, furiously trying to undo it. âSo hard just thinking about beinâ inside you.â
âI-I want that,â you reply breathlessly. âI want you inside me.â
âFuck,â he grunts, working his nimble fingers quicker, tongue vacuum-sealed around your clit, milking you entirely. âI want to feel you cum for me. I want to taste it.â
You nod, bunching your bedsheets into little fists of agony. When you look up, you can see Jungkookâs hair spread across your lower stomach, tattooed biceps straining. His free hand strokes his cock, and a swarm of butterflies release in your stomach at the sight. Youâve made him so desperate that he has to touch himself. You have.Â
And the sight is just too much for you to handle. âAghhâKoo, fuck, Iâm gonnaâIâm gonna cum.â
He doesnât say anything, just lets his tongue continue at the same pressure, same speed, until youâre coming undone all over him. You feel it everywhere, in your chest, in your core, in your toes. You arch off your mattress, legs quivering and locking around his head. It feels like time is a myth, Jungkook fucking you through your orgasm until you almost collapse.Â
You tap him on the head with your foot, falling back onto your pillows tiredly.Â
Jungkook peers up at you, still the same wide-eyed expression on his face, except this time, your arousal is glistening on his face, scarlet lips swollen and wet. He presses a few kisses on your thighs, stomach, before dragging himself up on his biceps to hover you. He kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and you canât help but moan into his mouth. Itâs so dirty, so scandalous, sends a shock through your spine.Â
âI want you to fuck me,â you whisper between kisses.Â
His cheeks turn red.Â
âM-me too. I want to be inside you,â he stutters, kissing down your neck. âBut I might need a second.â
You furrow your brows, suddenly self-conscious. âWhy?âÂ
He kisses your jaw, avoiding eye contact. âBecauseIcamealready.â
âWhat, Koo?â
Jungkook sighs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. âBecause I came already.â
Oh.Â
Your heart wonât be able to handle this much affection tonight. You just know it.Â
You giggle, unable to hide the smile on your lips.Â
âStop,â he groaned into your neck. âDonât laugh, Iâm humiliated.â
âNo, Iâm notââ you laugh, âIâm not laughing at you. Youâre so cute, Koo. I love you.â
He grins toothily. âI love you too.â
And then you laugh again, and he laughs with you, and it feels like your heart is blooming, petals unfurling in your chest.Â
You wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him to you as close as humanly possible. You kiss him and try to make him understandâthrough the press of your lips, the desperate grip of your handsâjust how completely he owns every part of you.Â
You use your weight to roll him over, straddling his buff thighs, letting your soaked cunt linger over his growing length.Â
âHi,â he smiles big and wide, peering up at you like you hold the entire universe in your palms.
âHi,â you repeat, kissing his cheeks, forehead, jawline.Â
Behind you, you reach to grab his length in your hands, trace the veins that protrude. His mouth gapes open, watching as you realize⌠holy fuck.Â
Youâve always been respectful of Jungkookâs boundaries. Never once peeped on him or seen him in his boxers. The farthest you ever got was a pair of grey sweatpants, and even then, it didnât reveal much. There was no way to prepare yourself for this moment.
But as you stroke his cock languidly, you realise one thing for certain: that is not going to fucking fit inside you.
You donât even need to vocalize it, because heâs already saying, âWeâll work with what we can. But I think you can take it, baby.â
Gulping, you nod. You want to take it. Want to feel every inch inside of your gummy walls, want to hear him wither underneath you.Â
Heâs hard again too, you note. You could cry, knowing just how bad he wants this. Wants you.Â
You align his tip to your sopping hole, jaw slack as you gather the juices to hopefully make it easier. And then youâre sinking onto him, inch by inch, curses falling from his lips, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. âO-oh fuck, Koo.â
âKeep going, baby,â he moans, guiding you onto him until your clit meets his pubic bone. âJust like that, all the way.â
A sound rips free from the very core of you, both hands landing on his stomach to steady yourself. For a moment, you just sit there, trying to accommodate his length inside you. Feels so painfully good, stings just right.Â
âYou okay?â He reaches to brush a strand of wet hair from your face.Â
âYeah,â you exhale, rocking your hips gently, back and forth, figure-eights. You can feel him in your stomach, can see the bulge protruding from your body. His eyes lock onto it, bottom lip tucked behind his front teeth. âFeel so full, Koo. Itâs so deep.â
âFuck, baby.â His fingers dig deeper into your hips, directing your movements. A swell of confidence runs through you, and you brace yourself, lifting yourself off his cock to slam back down on it. He all but screams, thighs quaking beneath your weight.
âYouâre a fucking goddess,â he moans, head lolling back against the pillow. âI love you so much, my sweet girl, my best girl, fuck.â
âI love you too, Koo.â Your fingernails scrape down his chest, leaving red marks in your wake.Â
You can see his abdomen muscles rippling with effort as he tries not to come undone too fast, jaw clenched tightly. His tattoos are slick with sweat.Â
Your orgasm sneaks up onto you, but you donât want it to end, donât want to know the feeling of separation from him. Falling forward, you bury your face into his neck, and he wraps his arms around you, fucking up into you.Â
His cock hits just where you need him, and your moans bounce off the walls, your headboard creaking with each thrust he makes to meet your movements. âI-Iâm so close, Koo,â you moan.
âMe too, baby,â he says. His cock plunges greedily into your wetness, and you whimper. âI love you so so much, canât live without you.â
You canât help the tears that stream down your face. Itâs too muchânot just the sex, but that itâs sex with him. Jeon Jungkook, your best friend since birth, since before you knew anything else. You love him so much you donât know how your heart will contain all this. It might burst any second.Â
He feels the tears on his skin, and heâs slowing his thrusts, whispering, âAre you okay, baby? Did I go too fast? Want me toââ
âNo, no. I want you to keep going.â You look into his eyes, and his expression softens. âI justâI love you. I canât believe this is real.â
He kisses you, barely more than your mouths slotting together, and then his thrusts continue, more desperate and sloppy but still full of the same devotion. âI love you,â he murmurs into your mouth. âI-I know Iâve said it so many times tonight, but I love you so fucking much.â
Your warm, wet heat clenches around him. Little moans and whimpers escape you, teetering on the brink of another orgasm. âI know,â he gasps, and heâs crying now too, his whole body shaking. âI know, baby. Me too. Iâve got you.â
You stop moving completely, letting him take over, and the sounds are filthy, but the love that runs between you both is anything but. âMy baby. Mine, youâre mine,â His teeth sinks into your shoulder as he thrusts up into you, wetness dripping onto his cock and the sheets below. His hands cup your ass, slamming you up and down his girth.
âYours,â you cry, clutching him.Â
He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his face is soaked with tears, eyes red and swollen and so full of love it physically hurts to witness. âIâm never letting you go,â he says, crying so hard he can barely get the words out.
âMe too,â you promise, âIâm not going anywhere. Iâm right here.â
âShit, Iâm gonna cum, [Y/N], I canâtââ
Your fingernails dig into his biceps, mouth ripping open to moan out his name along with i love you i love you jungkook please please, and you feel him release inside you, spurts of his cum painting your walls as you tighten around him. You milk him dry until he canât take it anymore, until you feel so full you think your DNA has been adjusted to match his.Â
You all but collapse onto him, staying like that with your hearts thrashing against your ribs, reaching for each other through flesh and bone.
You want to stay here. Right here, in this specific moment, where his arm is around you and his breathing is shallow and you feel like youâre at home.
Itâs a ridiculous thought. Childish, even.
Youâll have to get up soonâyour bladder is already making demands, and reality is waiting just outside this bed. But not yet. Youâre not ready yet.
Jungkook sighs into your hair. âI donât wanna move.â
âMe either.â
âDo you⌠do you want this with me?â His chest rumbles with the question.Â
âWhat do you mean?â
âI just⌠this meant something to you, right? The fact that we had sex?â
âOf course it did.â
You prop yourself onto your shoulders, brushing the hair out of his eyes. They twinkle and glow underneath your low light. He gulps before speaking, âI want us to be together. Or, at least try. I want us to take the risk because youâre worth every goddamn risk.â
Every birthday candle since you were a child was dedicated to him. Every shooting star, every 11:11 on the clock, every stray eyelash, every penny thrown into a fountain. You wished for thisâfor himâso many times you lost count. Wished for him to look at you the way heâs looking at you now, like you hung the moon and painted the stars.
You almost want to pinch yourself. But his hand is warm on your waist, heartbeat steady under your palm, and when you dig your nails slightly into your thigh, you donât wake up to your blaring alarm. This isnât a dream.
âI want that too. I want to wake up next to you and fight about whose turn it is to do the dishes and learn all your weird habits I donât know yet.â
â[Y/N],â He cups your face in his hands. âYou literally know all my weird habits. Even the fact that I collect Captain Underpants original copies."Â
âWell yeah but I want to learn the new ones,â you shrug.Â
He chuckles. âI canât wait.â
Jungkook kisses you again. When he pulls back, heâs smiling that bunny smile thatâs been your undoing since childhood. âYour party tonight was awesome, by the way.â
âIt was all you.â
He smiles. âWeâre really doing this.â
You know heâs not talking about Christmas anymore.Â
You laugh, resting your forehead against his. âHaving second thoughts already?â
âNot even a little.â He pauses, then his eyes go wide. âOh my god. Your Christmas gift!â
He shoots up, still naked, peppering your face with a hundred tiny kisses. Forehead, nose, cheeks, chin, eyelids, everywhere he can reach while you dissolve into giggles.
âKoo, whatââ
But heâs already scrambling off the bed, running to where his bag is discarded by your front door. You hear his feet padding against your floor as he runs back, jumping onto the bed with enough force to make you bounce. Heâs grinning so wide it must hurt, holding something behind his back.
âClose your eyes,â he demands.Â
âJungkookââ
âClose them,â he whines.
You do as he says, and you feel the bed shift as he settles in front of you, feel his warmth as he leans close.
âOkay,â he softly says. âOpen.â
Timidly, you open them.Â
Heâs holding a teddy bear. Your teddy bear. The one he kept in a box with your name on it.
Itâs exactly as you rememberâworn brown fur, one ear more floppy than the other, the tiny red bow around its neck that youâd tied when you were 7. He even kept it clean, maintained.
âOh my god,â you exhale. Tears form in your eyes until theyâre streaming down your face as you stare at this piece of your childhood, this tangible proof that heâs been carrying you with him all along.
His face falls. âOh crap, do you not like it? I thoughtâI mean, I kept it because I thought maybe one day I could give it back to you, but if itâs weird orââ
âNo, no.â Shaking your head frantically, you reach for the bear with trembling hands. âI love it. I fucking love it, Jungkook.â
His smile returns, likeâs 6 years old again and just kissed you for the first time under the mistletoe.
Jungkook nuzzles into your neck, and you both burrow under your comforter, teddy bear clutched between you. His arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you flush against his chest, and youâve never felt safer. Never felt more loved.Â
Itâs quiet for what feels like eternity. His breath syncs with yours, fingers tracing illegible patterns on your hip.Â
âWhat was in that box in your closet, by the way?â you quietly wonder aloud as you stroke the bearâs fur.Â
He pauses. Goes completely still.
âYou saw that?â
âIt has my name on it.â
Heâs quiet for a long moment, and then he presses a kiss to your shoulder.
âEverything I love about you. Thatâs whatâs in there.âÂ
You hug him (and the bear) tighter to you.Â
After about an hour or so of intertwined limbs and lazy kisses, his breathing begins to slow, face buried in your hair. Sleep always comes easy when heâs around, and your eyes hang heavily.Â
âCan we watch the Grinch tomorrow?â The words come out slurred with exhaustion.
In the darkness, you smile, tangling your fingers with his over your stomach.Â
Youâd curled up with that green, bitter creature every year, finding solace in his hatred of the holiday because at least someone understood. At least someone else knew what it felt like to watch everyone around you celebrate something that only brought you pain. Youâd watch him scheme and plot and try desperately to steal Christmas away, and youâd think yes, exactly, take it all. Because if you couldn't have the Christmas you wanted, the one where Jungkook kissed you under the mistletoe and meant it, then what was the point of any of it?Â
The Grinch was safe. The Grinch was yours. The Grinch never asked you to be anything other than bitter and broken and sick of watching other people get their happy endings.
But that girl who needed the Grinch, sheâs gone. She got her happy ending, her Christmas miracle.Â
Plus, the Grinch is overrated.Â
âActually,â you whisper, âIâm thinking we watch Frosty the Snowman.â
perm taglist. @mimi1097 @AlmatiarAU @absolutelyjeons @Sabrinahiddig @yooniepot @ggukivrse @Deluluvalerie @Sugak00kie134340 @Angelxkoo @yange7l @mellyyyyyyx @Senaqsstuff @jjkkkk15 @likecrazy22 @impossiblecopoaffire @readingbee44 @EyesforJungkook @lvnderdreams @vintagemoonsstuff @mauveliz @allysh @jeontylv @neurospicynugget @jxniana @haniiii @bo-rimmy @j0cgr0c @roseda @ggukreqz @dltyum @xxxxx1415 @annyeongbitch7 @nesha227 @Cannotalwaysbenight @Satisfied18 @m4aimm @Bangtansfav-7 @secretspam699 @Seolhyuningg @ot7girl4l @writesvani @xsyruhh @songbyeonkim @jungkookisthetypeto @rustedaffections @rayyrayy10 @dollyunjinz @fancypeacepersona @bangtans-momma
Mission Accomplished
Summary : The three times Bucky almost kissed you and the one time he actually did.Â
Pairing : new avengers! Bucky Barnes x new avenger! reader (she/her)Â
Warnings/tags : Tower Fic! Friends to lovers / teammates to lovers. Forced proximity. Canon-typical violence. Fluff! Mentions of sex, cursing, Mention of drinks. Set after Thunderbolts* (let me know if I missed anything!)
Word count : 6.6k
Note : This is one of my shorter stories! I do really wanna get back into making 1k-3k word ones, and Iâm working on it. Enjoy!
The thing about being over a hundred years old was that you were supposed to be above certain things. Embarrassing things.
Like crushes.
Unfortunately for Bucky Barnes, that was not the case.
Because the former assassin, super soldier, the man who had survived wars, brainwashing, alien invasions, and several decades of unfathomable circumstances had a crush. A soul-crushing, stomach-churning, deeply humiliating crush.
On you.
His teammate.
Which was bad. Very bad. Because teammates were off limits, right? Or was that just a limitation that he had convinced himself to be true, because he was too afraid of your rejection?Â
Anyways.Â
It didnât matter. Either way, he was a one-hundred-something-year-old man, and crushes felt like something that shouldâve stopped sometime around 1943.
Yet here he was, standing in the training room pretending to adjust the straps on his boots while secretly watching you laugh with Yelena across the room.Â
âYou kick like baby goat,â Yelena complained.
âOh please,â you shot back. âYouâre just slow.â
âAm not.â
âUh-huh.â
Bucky looked away immediately when you glanced in his direction, suddenly very invested in the punching bag next to him.
Your laugh was the problem. It was too bright, too warm, too easy. You laughed like the world hadnât tried to kill you at least twelve times this month.
Bucky didnât understand how you did that.
You moved through the compound like sunlight, talking to everyone, tasting Alexeiâs food, boxing John, and playing board games with Bob and Ava in your spare time.
And you were like that with him. too.
That was even more of a problem.
You leaned on his shoulder when you watched movies in the common room. You stole fries off his plate. You called him by his name in that teasing voice that made warmth settle in his chest. Sometimes you bumped your shoulder into his when you walked past, trying to get under his skin.
That's just who you were: flirty.
Not carelessly flirty. Just naturally flirty. You were warm and bright and affectionate with everyone, so Bucky had absolutely no idea if it meant anything.
Which meant if he said something, he could ruin everything. The team, your friendship, worst of all, he would destroy treasured moments when you sat next to him on the couch after missions, falling asleep on his shoulders because you trusted him.Â
So he did the only logical thing.
He buried it deep, deep down where no one could ever find it, where it couldnât embarrass him. Where it couldnât make his chest tighten every time you smiled at him. Where it couldnât make him feel like a dumb twenty-year-old kid again.
So no, Bucky insisted to himself that he did not have crushes.
And no, he was absolutely not staring at you right now while you trained.
Nope. Not at all.
You dropped down onto the mat across the room, finally finished with your routine.Â
The gym was mostly empty now, save for the hum of the lights and the thud of gloves hitting the heavy bag where John was still working out with his headphones on.Â
Bucky leaned against the wall with his arms crossed as you reached your arms over your head, stretching your back with a small groan.
Bucky immediately looked at the ceiling. Very interesting ceiling. Great ceiling.
Then you bent forward to stretch your hamstrings.
Bucky abruptly became extremely interested in the floor.
This was ridiculous. He was a trained assassin. And yet somehow you stretching after a workout had sent his heartbeats into shallow spirals.Â
You straightened up, shaking out your arms before glancing over.
Bucky was staring in your general direction with that distant look he sometimes got.
You grabbed your water bottle and wandered over, nudging his boot lightly with yours. âEarth to Bucky.â
He blinked, snapping back to reality.
Your face was suddenly way too close.
âHey,â you said, tilting your head slightly. âYou good?â
âYeah,â he said immediately.
You squinted at him, amused. âYou looked like you were having an existential crisis.â
âI was⌠thinking.â
âOh, sure,â you said, trying to make him smile. âThat explains everything.â
He huffed out a laugh despite himself.
You leaned back against the wall beside him, bumping your shoulder lightly into his.
It was casual. You did it all the time.
Which unfortunately, did not make it easier for Buckyâs blood pressure. Not that it mattered, supersoldier serum and all.
âYou sparring today or just brooding in the corner?â you asked, taking a sip of water.
âI already sparred.â
âWith who?â
âWalker.â
You winced.
âOof.â You chuckled, âMy condolences.â
âI won.â
âI assumed so,â you looked up at him. âIâm shocked heâs still alive. Did you at least let him keep his dignity?â
Bucky shrugged. âNot really.â
You laughed brightly, the kind of laugh that made his chest feel tight.
Then you looked at him more carefully. âYou sure you're okay though?â
âYeah,â Bucky insisted. âWhy?â
âYou were staring into space like your brain left the building.â
He hesitated.
Because technically⌠You werenât wrong. His brain had left the building the moment you walked into the gym.
âI was just⌠thinking about our schedule,â he said finally, though that was a blatant lie.
You hummed like you believed him (you didnât), but you also didnât push. Instead you nudged him again with your shoulder again. âDangerous hobby.â
âOh yeah?â
âYeah,â you nodded, âEvery time you think too hard you get that little wrinkle right here.â
Before he could react, you reached up and lightly tapped the spot between his eyebrows.
His mind went utterly blank.
âYou look like a grumpy old man,â you added.
âI am a hundred years old,â Bucky gave you a small smile.
âExactly.â
You grinned at him.
He tried very hard not to stare at you smiling like that. âI canât believe youâre calling me old.âÂ
âYouâre⌠vintage,â you said sweetly.
âWow.â
âRelax, Barnes, Vintage is cool.â
You pushed off the wall and started backing toward the door, pointing your water bottle at him.
âDonât think too hard, alright? Wouldnât want smoke coming out of your ears.â
Just like that, you turned to leave the gym.
Bucky remained frozen against the wall for several seconds, then slowly dragged a hand down his face.
This was a problem.
Because despite burying it as deep as humanly possible, his crush on you was getting worse.
And one day, probably very soon, it was going to ruin his life.
â
Just two days later, you and Bucky were assigned to an extraction job.
The mission itself had been supposed to be simple. Which, in fairness, usually meant it was only moderately dangerous instead of catastrophically dangerous.
You were supposed to be sent to a small weapons facility tucked into the side of a mountain. It was just some illegal Hydra supply chain that someone (probably an arms dealer) had started poking around in again. It was nothing fancy and nothing world-ending. It was just data extraction with a sprinkle of reconnaissance.
It was a simple, routine, two-person job.
Bucky was picked first, of course. It was an old Hydra facility. He was familiar enough with the systems and the layouts, so he would do most of the actual data extraction.Â
He just needed someone to watch his six. So naturally, you volunteered.Â
Back at the compound, the rest of the team had watched you leave with varying levels of enthusiasm.
Yelena had leaned against the briefing table, arms crossed. âTry not to die. I hate paperwork.â
Alexei had pat Bucky on the back hard enough to nearly knock him forward. âBring back snacks if there are snacks.â
Ava had just given you a small nod. Bob had waved enthusiastically from the ramp.
John had been the one running point on transport and comms. âIn and out,â heâd said through the headset as the jet dropped you a kilometer out from the facility. âForty-five minutes tops.â
Easy.
Or at least it should have been.
You and Bucky had slipped inside through a maintenance access tunnel, the two of you moving through the corridors like shadows. You managed to dodge the alarms and slip in without any mercs noticing.Â
Youâd reached the server room in under seven minutes.
You nodded toward Bucky. âGo.â
The second Bucky inserted the drive to retrieve the information needed, the mercs found you.
Three of them came around the corner, rifles half-raised, surprise flashing across their faces just a fraction too late.
âI got this,â You cracked your knuckles. âJust get the data.â
You moved first.
The fight was quick, efficient, and extremely one-sided.
You ducked under the first swing, driving your elbow into the guardâs ribs before sweeping his legs out from under him. The second one barely got his weapon up before you twisted it out of his grip and shoved him into the wall.
Bucky stood a few feet away, watching as his fingers flew across the keyboard.
Technically, this part was supposed to be quick. In reality, Bucky was having a problem.
Because watching you fight was⌠distracting.
You moved like you belonged there effortlessly. Your hair had come loose from whatever tie youâd put it in earlier, and now it swung around your face as you spun and ducked and landed a clean kick that sent one of the guards sprawling.
He should have been done by now, and yet he just got past the encryptions.Â
He should have already been helping you with the guards.
Instead, his brain had decided this was a perfect time to admire the way your shoulders moved when you threw a punch.
Which was not helpful at all.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a very responsible voice was reminding him that he was on a mission.
Unfortunately, another part of his brain had noticed the way youâd rolled your sleeves up between punches. And that part of his brain was currently winning.
The computer beeped. Transfer Completed.Â
He unplugged the drive and put it in the inner compartment of his suit.Â
You grabbed the last guard by the collar and shoved him into a crate, knocking him out cold.
Then you straightened your posture, breathing a little harder, and glanced over at Bucky. He was staring. He was not even pretending not to.
âEnjoying the show?â you asked with a playful smile.
Bucky blinked.
Right.
Mission.
Focus.
âUhââ
âYou gonna help next time,â you asked before he could recover, âor just stand there looking pretty?â
His brain short-circuited for half a second as he stepped forwardâŚ
Click.
It was a very small, very unfortunate sound.
Both of you froze. Bucky slowly looked down. His boot had come down directly on a pressure plate hidden in the floor.
For a split second, nothing happened.
Then the entire hallway lit up red and sounded with alarms. A harsh mechanical voice echoed through the facility.
âSECURITY SWEEP INITIATED.â
You stared at the flashing lights, then slowly turned your head toward Bucky.
He had the decency to look slightly embarrassed.
âYou triggered the alarm?â you said.
âIn my defense,â Bucky muttered, already grabbing your arm, âback in my day, the floor wasnât booby-trapped.â
Multiple sets of heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor.
You didnât argue. Instead you pointed upward. âVents!â
Bucky followed your eyesight, already moving.
He jumped first, metal hand grabbing the vent cover and ripping it free with a sharp crack. Then he turned and reached down. âCâmon.â
You stepped into his grip, and he hauled you up beside him just as voices started shouting down the hall.
The two of you put the cover back on and crawled deeper into the vents while the alarm blared below.
Your comm crackled. Johnâs voice came through, slightly distorted. âUh⌠small update.â
You and Bucky paused in the narrow metal tunnel.
âWhat kind of update?â you asked.
There was a short burst of static.
âExtrem weatherâs messing with our radar. Thereâs a blizzard out here,â John said, far too casually, âextractionâs gonna be delayed.â
Fuck.Â
âHow long?â You demanded.Â
âHard to say,â John replied. âCould be thirty minutes. Could be an hour.â
Bucky felt your forehead bump lightly against his shoulder as you sighed.
He, on the other hand, closed his eyes for a second.
Great.
Just great.
Now he was stuck in a metal ventilation shaft. With you. In extremely close proximity.
â
For the first ten minutes after Johnâs announcement, neither of you spoke. Not because you didnât want to, but because the whole base was on high alert.
The vent was barely wide enough for the two of you, a narrow metal tunnel running through the ceiling above the hallway. Dust clung to the grating, and the faint hum of the facilityâs ventilation system vibrated through the metal beneath your elbows.
You were lying on your stomach for whatever reason. Bucky was right behind you, close enough that every time you shifted slightly, your boot brushed his knee.
The red emergency lights from the hallway filtered faintly through the slats below, painting everything in dim, pulsing shadows. Beneath you, you could still hear guards moving through the corridors, shouting to each other as the security sweep continued.
You rested your chin on your forearm and sighed quietly.
âSo,â you said into the silence.
Bucky made a small, noncommittal noise behind you.
âSo,â you repeated, turning your head slightly so you could glance back at him over your shoulder, âyou wanna tell me what that was about?â
Bucky frowned faintly. âWhat?â
âYou stepped directly on the most obvious trap in the building,â you said, rolling your eyes.
âIt wasnât obvious.â
âBucky,â you scolded.Â
âIt wasnât,â he insisted, shaking his head.Â
You raised an eyebrow. Even in the dim light he could see how unimpressed you were by his lie.
âOkay,â he admitted after a moment. âMaybe a little obvious.â
âA little?â
âCâmon,â he sighed, âYouâre exaggerating.â
You shifted slightly in the cramped space so you could face him more fully, propping yourself up on one elbow.
The movement brought you closer, so that your knee bumped his thigh.
Bucky very carefully did not react.
âYouâve been on missions for almost a century,â you said quietly, studying him. âYou donât miss pressure plates.â
âI didnât miss it.â
âYou stepped on it!â
âTechnically that means I found it,â he huffed.
You snorted, staring at him. âThatâs the worst argument Iâve ever heard.â
Bucky shrugged as much as the cramped vent allowed.
You studied him for another moment, eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. âYou were⌠distracted.â
âI donât get distracted.â
âUh-huh.â
He shifted a little behind you, the metal of his arm brushing the side of the vent with a scrape.Â
âI was watching the corridor,â Bucky said, trying to be sterner this time, but failing.Â
Your eyebrows lifted. âSure you were.â
You shifted again, trying to get comfortable. The metal beneath you was cold and unforgiving, and after nearly twenty minutes, your legs had gone completely numb. With a small groan, you pushed yourself up onto your knees.
Unfortunately, the vent was not designed for kneeling.
Your head bumped the metal ceiling with a dull clunk.
âOwââ
Buckyâs human hand shot forward instinctively, grabbing your waist before you could lose your balance in the cramped space. âCareful.â
You caught yourself against the wall of the vent, one hand braced near his shoulder.
And suddenly⌠you were very close.
Not the casual shoulder-bump kind of close you were used to in the hallway. Not movie-night-close on the couch.
This was different.
You were kneeling between his legs in a vent barely wide enough for both of you. Your knee had landed on the metal floor inside both his thighs, and one of your hands had ended up planted against the wall just next to his head.
Buckyâs hand was still firmly around your waist, his metal arm bracing behind him..
For a second, neither of you moved.
The red emergency lights from the hallway below flickered faintly through the grates beneath you, casting dim pulses of color across your face.
Up close, Bucky could see the tiny crease between your eyebrows from where youâd hit your head.
âYou okay?â he asked, genuinely concerned.
âYeah,â you sighed, rubbing the spot. âJust forgot vents werenât built for people.â
Bucky huffed a small laugh.
Your hand was still braced beside him. His metal shoulder was only inches from your chest now, and your knee brushed his thigh every time you shifted your weight.
You didnât move away.
And Bucky was very aware of that.
Your eyes flicked down briefly, to the hand still holding your waist, then back up to his face.
Neither of you commented on it.
âYou were watching me,â you tilted your head gently.
âI was not.â
âYou were, though.â
âI was assessing the situation.â
âOh?â Your mouth curved up faintly. âBy staring?â
âItâs a⌠strategic observation.â
You leaned a little closer without seeming to notice you were doing it.
âStrategic,â you repeated.
âYeah.â
âInteresting strategy.â
Buckyâs grip on your waist loosened, but he didnât fully let go.
You tilted your head slightly, studying him.
You could see the faint scar along his cheeks, the stubble heâd missed shaving that morning, the way his eyes kept flicking between yours like he wasnât sure where to look.
It was⌠kind of adorable.
Your gaze drifted down for half a second.
His mouth.
Then back up again.
Bucky noticed.
His thoughts scattered so frantically he couldnât grasp a single one.
Because you were definitely closer now.
Your knee had shifted again. This time it slid just a little further between his legs as you adjusted your balance.
Neither of you breathed for a moment.
Buckyâs brain was no longer functioning in any recognizable capacity. His heart was beating too loudly for his own comfort, hard enough that he was mildly concerned you could hear it through his flesh.
âYouâre imagining things,â he muttered, going to plan b: gaslight.Â
You didnât answer right away. Instead, you just looked at him.Â
Up close like this, Bucky looked⌠different. The usual guarded calm he wore was gone, replaced with a fragile uncertainty, like he had absolutely no idea what to do with you being this close.
Your eyes drifted down for a second, to his lips, before biting your own as if you were deep in your own thoughts. You tilted your head slightly, like you were trying to figure him out.
âIâŚâ you started, gaze drifting down his body in a quick once-over before you looked back up at him again.ââŚam definitely imagining other things right now.â
His heart stopped.
Wait.
Wait.
Was thatâŚ
Were youâŚ
Was that flirting?
With him?
Because if it was, Bucky was about two seconds away from forgetting that you were both currently inside an enemy facility. His hand tightened on your waist before he could stop himself.
You leaned in close, too close to be casual.
Before he could say anything remotely coherent, or to lean in, too, the comm crackled loudly between you. Johnâs voice blasted through the tiny space. âUmmm⌠guys.â
Both of you froze.
There was a short, painfully obvious pause before John continued, sounding vaguely awkward. âJust a quick reminder that I am⌠still here.â
Your eyes closed for a brief second like you were trying not to laugh.
Another burst of static.
âAnyway,â John went on, âweatherâs cleared up. Extraction ETA ten minutes.â
You smiled, but not your usual bright, friendly smile. This one was⌠sly.Â
âCopyâ ughm,â Bucky coughed, looking away, âcopy that, Walker.â
You shifted your weight, finally sliding back out of Buckyâs space.
Your absence was immediate and noticeable, like someone had opened a window in the cramped vent.
You turned and began crawling forward a few inches before glancing back over your shoulder.
âCâmon, Buck,â you said lightly. âLetâs make our way out.â
Then you turned and continued down the vent.
Bucky let out a quiet, doomed sigh and started crawling after you.
The comm crackled again. John asked, a bit awkwardly this time, ââŚso should I pretend I didnât hear whatever that was?â
â
By the time the jet landed back at the compound, the storm had completely cleared.
The mission had been filed, the drive handed off, and the rest of the team had already scattered to showers, food, or sleep. The adrenaline from the extraction had faded, leaving behind something much more inconvenient.
Tension.
Which was why it was a bad idea that you and Bucky ended up alone in the armory.
The room hummed with fluorescent lights overhead. Metal racks lined the walls, and the workbench between you was scattered with the weapons you'd brought back from the mission.
You set your sidearm on the table with a clink and started disassembling it, movements practiced and calm.
Across from you, Bucky placed his rifle down and began wiping it down with a cloth.
Neither of you spoke, not for a while.
Every small sound felt louder than it should have been. The slide of metal. The click of a magazine being removed. The scrape of a cleaning rod.
Bucky glanced up once.
You were leaning slightly over the table, sleeves rolled up, hair still a little messy from the mission. Your brow was furrowed in concentration as you cleaned the chamber of your pistol.
Bucky looked back down immediately.
Focus.
This was weapon maintenance. Totally normal activity.
His cloth moved across the rifle with unnecessary determination.
The problem was that he wanted to talk about it. But starting that conversation required something Bucky Barnes always lacks when you were around: Courage.
Because if he was wrong, if you were just messing with himâŚÂ
He would never emotionally recover.
Across the table, you finished cleaning your pistol and slid the pieces back together with a click.
Then you leaned your hip against the workbench and watched him.
Bucky was very clearly pretending to be deeply invested in the rifle in his hands.
You smiled faintly. God, he was bad at this. âBuck.â
His head lifted instantly. âYeah?â
You tilted your head slightly. âYouâre polishing the same spot.â
He froze, slowly looking down.
He was.
âI like⌠consistency,â he muttered.
You huffed a laugh.
The sound made his chest tighten again.
There it was. That feeling.
You pushed off the bench and walked around the table. You stopped beside him, leaning against the workbench next to where he stood.
You glanced sideways at him. âYouâve been quiet.â
âIâm usually quiet.â
âNot like this.â
Bucky set the rifle down carefully. His metal fingers tapped once against the table twice.
He could feel your attention on him now, waiting. Fuck, he wanted to ask.
Just say it: Were you flirting with me?
But if you laughed, if you brushed it off, if he had completely misread everything⌠It would ruin the one thing he valued more than anything else: your friendship. The way you leaned on him. The comfort between you.
So he hesitated.
And hesitated.
And hesitated.
Finally he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
ââŚAbout earlier,â he started.
Your eyebrows lifted slightly.
Bucky immediately regretted opening his mouth, because now he had to finish the sentence.
His eyes dropped to the workbench. âYou said something⌠in the vent.â
âWhat about it?â you asked.
Bucky swallowed.
God, he hated this.
âI justâŚâ he rubbed the back of his neck. ââŚwasnât sure if you were serious.â
A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.
âYou mean the part where I said I was imagining things?â
âYeah.â
You tilted your head slightly. âAnd you want clarification.â
Bucky huffed a breath. ââŚyeah.â
âWell,â you said slowly, stepping just a little closer. Close enough now that his shoulder brushed yours.
Bucky went completely still.
Your voice dropped slightly. âI wasnât not imagining things.â
His stomach flipped.
âBut,â you added lightly, âIâm starting to think you might have been imagining things, too.â
Bucky opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
You watched him unravel with obvious amusement before leaning just a little closer.
Your shoulder pressed fully against his now.
âSo,â your voice dropped to almost a whisper. ââŚshould we talk about that?â
âYeah,â he said, almost a whimper.
Neither of you moved right away, but the air shifted between you. The tension that had been building since the ventâ since the gym, honestlyâ was finally acknowledged. You took half a step closer. Bucky mirrored it without even realizing.
Your shoulder brushed his chest now.Â
Up close like this, he was unfairly attractive.
Broad shoulders, messy hair from running his hand through it earlier, that little crease between his brows that you had poked in the gym.
âYou were saying?â you asked.
Bucky huffed a breath that sounded suspiciously like nerves. âYeah⌠I wasââ
But the sentence never finished because you leaned in, close enough that the space between you shrank to almost nothing.
Buckyâs brain immediately abandoned him.
SLAM.
The armory door slammed open.
Both of you jumped backward like someone had fired a gun. Bucky nearly knocked into the workbench. You stumbled a step back, heart racing.
âBarnes!â boomed a familiar voice.
Both of you turned around.
Alexei marched into the armory like he owned the place, completely oblivious to the near-kiss he had just detonated.
âWhere is my Igla?â he demanded loudly.
You blinked. ââŚyour what?â
âMy 9K38 Iglaâ he said impatiently, already walking past you toward the weapon racks. âThe one with red star!â
Bucky dragged a hand down his face. âOh my god.â
Alexei rummaged through the rack for two seconds before lighting up.
âAH!â he exclaimed triumphantly, pulling out a massive soviet missile launcher. âThere she is!â
You stared. âAlexeiââ
âI am going to show Bob how to launch this baby,â he said proudly, slinging it over his shoulder.
Buckyâs head snapped up. âWhat?â
Alexei beamed. âHe asked how it works!â
âThatââ Bucky started.
âThat is a terrible idea,â you finished.
But Alexei was already halfway out the door. âIs fine!â he called back. âWe go outside!â
You and Bucky exchanged a look.
You pushed away from the workbench immediately.
âOkay,â you said quickly, running your fingers through your hair. âI should probably stop him before he blows up grand central.â
âGood plan,â Bucky chuckled.
âCome Bob!â You heard distantly, âIs very easy!â
You sighed and started after him, shaking your head. Halfway out, you paused and looked back at him with a pleasant smile. âGood night, Bucky.â
He held your eyes gently. ââŚnight.â
You turned and jogged down the hallway after Alexei before someone actually launched a missile inside the tower.
He smiled to himself, because however frustrated he may be, at least now he knew. without a single doubtâŚÂ
You wanted him, too.
â
The compound was too quiet in the early morning.
Grey morning light spilled through the tall kitchen windows, painting the countertops in pale gold.
You stood at the coffee machine, staring blankly at it while it brewed.
Truthfully, you had been awake for a while.
Sleeping had⌠not gone well.
Your brain had spent most of the night replaying the same few moments on an extremely unhelpful loop featuring one very important⌠supersoldier.
The coffee machine beeped, snapping you out of your sleepy daze.
You grabbed the mug and turned, and nearly walked directly into a solid wall of muscle.
You startled slightly. âJesusââ
Bucky stood about a foot away from you, hair still messy from sleep, wearing a dark t-shirt and sweatpants like he had just rolled out of bed. He looked mildly amused.
âMorning,â he said.
âMorning,â you replied, smiling back.
He glanced toward the windows. âYouâre up early.â
You shrugged, leaning back against the counter with your mug. âCouldnât really sleep.â
Bucky raised an eyebrow as you took a slow sip of coffee.
âMy thoughtsâŚâ you said casually, ââŚwere preoccupied.â
The second the words left your mouth you watched the realization hit him.
His eyebrows lifted slightly, leaning his hip against the counter across from you, arms folding over his chest. His expression had shifted into⌠confidence.
Which was new, around you.
âYou know,â he said, âyou couldâve come to me.â
You couldnât hold back the tinge of surprise from your face.
His mouth twitched at the corner.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes holding yours as he continued. âI couldâve helped.â
Oh.
Oh that was bold.
âYou seem very confident about that,â you tilted your head, placing your mug on the counter.Â
Bucky shrugged, but his eyes never left yours. âI know I would.â
You hummed thoughtfully, stepping closer.
Buckyâs breath caught. You were standing so close now that your chest almost brushed his.
Slowly, very slowly, you rose onto your tiptoes.
Bucky froze.
Your hand lightly grasped the front of his shirt to steady yourself.
And then, you gently bumped your nose against his. It was an irresistibly playful touch.
Buckyâs brain completely went haywire.
Your voice was barely above a whisper. âLike this kind of help?â
His heart was pounding so hard he was pretty sure the serum was the only reason he was still standing. âYeah.â
Your lips were very, very⌠close.
Buckyâs hand lifted instinctively, hovering near your waist. ThenâŚ
Whoosh.
The kitchen door slid open.
You and Bucky jumped apart like someone had fired a bullet between both of you.
Yelena and Ava walked in mid-conversation.
ââŚIâm telling you that was not regulationââ Yelena stopped when she noticed you both standing on opposite sides of the kitchen looking extremely normal.
Ava glanced between you briefly.
âYouâre both up early,â she said calmly.
âCouldnât sleep,â you said immediately, grabbing your mug again and stepping around the room.
Bucky cleared his throat. âYeah. Same.â
Yelena walked past you toward the fridge, completely oblivious.
And just like that, they suspected absolutely nothing.
Across the kitchen island, Bucky finally risked a glance at you.
You were already looking at him, a smile spread across your face.
Bucky exhaled through his nose, shrugging knowingly.Â
At this rate, one of these almost-kisses was eventually going to succeed, right?Â
â
You didnât see Bucky again until later in the evening.Â
The tower was loud again, equal parts chaotic and alive.
Music drifted faintly from, glasses clinked occasionally from the kitchen, and the familiar murmur of teammates filled the common floor.
You were stretched out on one of the couches, one leg tucked under you, lazily nursing a drink. Bucky sat beside you, leaning back with one arm draped along the back of the couch behind you. His glass rested loosely in his hand, condensation beading along the sides. The TV was on, showing some kind of house/hunting show, but neither you nor Bucky could care less.
Across the room, Alexei and Ava were playing pool.
Alexei leaned dramatically over the table. âWatch this. Is perfect shot.â
Ava crossed her arms. âYou said that last time.â
He shot, and the ball bounced off two cushions and completely missed the pocket.
Ava smiled sarcastically. âImpressive.â
Meanwhile, in the kitchen. Yelena, John, and Bob were sitting around the table playing cards.
Bob frowned at his hand. âIs Go Fish supposed to be this stressful?â
Yelena slapped a card down. âSkill issue.â
You sighed softly and tipped your head back against the couch.
Bucky glanced over. âWhat?â
You gestured vaguely around the room. âWe are never going to get a moment alone in this tower.â
Buckyâs mouth twitched. âProbably not.â
You took a sip of your drink. âThereâs always someone.â
âYeah.â
âAlways.â
Right on cue, Alexei loudly declared, âTHIS TIME will go in pocket.â
The ball clattered across the table. It did not go in the pocket.
Ava smiled, planning her next shot.
You looked at Bucky, but was already looking at you. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
âWe could leave,â he shrugged casually. âTake a walk. Go outside.â
You considered that. Then you shook your head with a small laugh.
âIf we did,â you said, leaning slightly toward him, âsomeone would come barging in before weââ
You stopped.
Bucky tilted his head. âBefore we what?â
Your mouth opened slightly. Then closed again.
Buckyâs eyes glowed with amusement.
âOh no,â he said. âYou donât get to stop there.â
You took another sip of your drink like you hadnât just walked into that trap. âBefore we⌠have our conversation.â
Bucky shook his head. âThatâs not what you were going to say.â
You stared straight ahead, trying not to smile. âShut up, Barnes.â
Up close, he looked far too pleased with himself. The confidence from this morning was back.
âYou look very smug right now,â you muttered.
âAm I?â
âYes.â
âMaybe Iâm just curious.â
âAbout what?â
Bucky lowered his voice slightly. âAbout what happens if we do get a moment alone.â
Your stomach flipped again.
You tried to stay casual, but you could feel the warmth creeping into your face. He leaned back again, stretching his metal arm along the couch behind you.
Across the room, a pool ball cracked loudly against another.
In the kitchen, Bob suddenly exclaimed, âWait, can I ask for four cards at once?â
âWhy would I have four cards, Bob?â John sighed.Â
Right then⌠CRACK!
Alexei slammed his cue stick on the floor triumphantly. âI DID IT!â
Both you and Bucky turned.
The ball had actually gone in the pocket.
Ava clapped slowly. âThis must be a historic moment for you.â
From the kitchen, Yelena yelled, âWe donât care, Papa!â
Bob peeked around the corner. âWhat happened?â
You leaned back into the couch with a sigh. Bucky chuckled.Â
There was no hope, was there? Someoneâs always going to be around the corner, someoneâs gonna always interrupt your almost-kisses, unlessâŚ
âWhat if,â you suggested, âwe finish our conversation⌠here?â
Bucky turned his head toward you.
Your drinks were half-forgotten on the table in front of you. At some point during the last half hour the casual closeness between you had turned into something else.Â
Your thigh rested against his. Not lightly either. You found it comfortable, the warmth of him bleeding through the thin fabric of both your clothes.
Buckyâs metal was still stretched along the back of the couch behind you, but now his fingers occasionally brushed your shoulder.
You heard Alexei bent over the felt like the fate of the world depended on the shot.
âObserve,â he announced dramatically. âPerfect calculation.â
Ava rested her chin on the top of her cue, unimpressed.
In the kitchen, Bob was groaning loudly while Yelena accused John of cheating for the fifth time.
âI am not cheating,â John said.
âYour smiling is suspicious,â Yelena replied flatly.
Still, you had a point: no one looked at the couch.
âHere?â he repeated quietly.
You shifted slightly, turning toward him. Your knee brushed his thigh as you moved, sliding closer without breaking eye contact. âMhm.â
Your shoulder bumped against his chest when you leaned in.
His eyes flicked toward the rest of the room.
Alexei was currently arguing with Ava about angles. Bob slapped a card down dramatically. John threatened to flip the table.
Bucky looked back at you. His thumb brushed lightly over your upper arm where his hand rested behind you.
âYouâre serious?â he murmured.
You tilted your head toward the room again.Â
His eyes followed your glance.
Alexei missed the pocket.
âTHIS TABLE IS BROKEN,â he boomed.
Ava sighed. âWhatever you say, old man.â
Back in the kitchen, Yelena was loudly defending her card strategy.
You leaned closer to Bucky, voice dropping. âTheyâre all⌠busy. I doubt theyâll even notice.â
He looked around again.
Alexei was loudly blaming physics. Bob had stood up in protest. Yelena slapped the table again. Ava sank another ball. John was deep in thought.Â
No one cared about the couch.
Maybe you were one to something.
âWell,â Bucky turned back to you. âThereâs only one way to test your theory.â
You smile, setting your drink down on the table before turning toward him fully.
Your knee slid between his legs as you both shifted into each other, slow and unhurried. Bucky inhaled through his nose when your thigh brushed the inside of his.
Your fingers reached up and curled lightly into the front of his shirt.
For a moment you simply looked at him.
He didnât move. He didnât even breathe.
This was all he wanted all along. And he couldnât believe he was doing it in a room full of people.
You leaned in and pressed your lips to his.
The kiss started softly, almost adorably curious.
Your lips brushed his, like you were testing the waters.
It didnât take long for his human hand to slide around your waist.
Fuck.Â
You tasted better in real life than he could ever imagine, sweet and woody and pleasant.Â
Across the roomâŚÂ
CRACK.
A pool ball dropped cleanly into a pocket.
âYES!â Alexei roared triumphantly.
Ava clapped.
In the kitchen, Bob groaned, âYou definitely stole that card!â
Yelena laughed.
You pulled back first.
A laugh escaped you as you leaned away just enough to see his face. âSee?â
Bucky looked around the room. He was half expecting someone to comment on the two of you having your literal first kiss, but no one was looking in your direction.
ââŚunbelievable,â he breathed.
Your smile widened. âI told youââ
But Bucky wasnât finished.
His hand tightened at your waist and pulled you right back against him.
âHmphh!â He cut you off with a second kiss.Â
This one was deeper, like months of restraint had suddenly snapped loose.
His mouth moved against yours with a hunger that made your stomach flip. Your fingers slid into his hair without thinking, holding him there while his hand pressed more firmly against your side.
Your bodies leaned closer together naturally. Your knee shifted further between his legs.
Bucky exhaled against your mouth, a sound that was almost a moan. Meanwhile, across the roomâ
Alexei missed another shot and groaned. Ava was very close to winning. Bob demanded a recount. Yelena accused John of stealing a card again.
No one noticed.
When Bucky finally pulled back, his breathing had changed slightly.
He looked around the room again, then back at you.
âThey are super soldiers and spies,â he said in disbelief.
You snorted a laugh.
âBut the second theyâre off-duty?â He continued, gesturing at the chaos around you. âSpatial awareness of fuckinâ hamsters.â
You leaned back into the couch, looking extremely pleased with yourself. âThat would be an insult to hamsters.â
Bucky laughed, lacing his fingers around yours.
âBut yâknow what?â you said thoughtfully. âThis is actually very good.â
His eyebrow lifted.
You rubbed small circles on his arm, relieved you finally got to settle things. âWe could probably get away with a lot more.â
He tilted his head. ââŚlike what?â
âOh, I donât know.â You shrugged lightly, completely casual as your gaze drifted toward the tall glass window behind the couch. âYou could probably fuck me against that window,â you said, voice low, âand no one here would even notice.â
Bucky choked on his own, making you giggle a little at how flustered heâs becoming.Â
His voice dropped lower, looking very interested. âYou want me to fuck you against that window?â
âMaybe not that one.â You picked up your drink again, taking a sip before glancing at him over the rim of the glass suggestively. âBut I have a very similar window in my room with a slightly better view of the skyline.â
Bucky stared at you for several seconds.
Then he leaned back against the couch with a deep breath, running a hand over his mouth like he was trying very hard to think with whatâs in his head instead of whatâs in his pants.Â
He was unsuccessful.Â
Across the room Alexei suddenly shouted, âREMATCH!â as Ava celebrated her win.Â
âYeah,â Bucky muttered under his breath, âIâm definitely coming to your room tonight.â
Mission accomplished.Â
âEnd.
giggling and kicking my feet
âââKEEP IT DOWN 18+
Han Dongmin/Taesan x Female!Reader
.áwarnings/tags: established relationship, porn little plot, dom!taesan, tease!reader, groping, parents in house, making out, dirty talk, praising, slight degradation, pet names, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, doggy, creampie
đ¸â đ you tempt taesan too much, and he just canât resist his hot girlfriend.
.áwc: 1.7k
The music was so low it barely filled your room. You were curled up on your bed with Taesan, your boyfriend, the two of you pressed close together. At first, your kisses were soft and innocent, lingering on each otherâs lips because you were missing him too much these past days. But soon, the longing in your chest became too heavy to contain. Your kisses grew more desperate, more hungry, your lips tracing his jaw, his neck. Your hand drifted under his shirt, fingers grazing the warm skin of his abs, memorizing the feel of him after being apart for a week.
And then, your hand slid lower, brushing over the tight bulge straining against his baggy jeans. Taesan froze, pulling back slightly, his voice low and warning. âBabyâŚstop teasing.â his fingers lightly pressing against your wrist. You just whined softly, trailing your hand back up to caress his abs again, pressing your lips to his jaw. âBut I missed you so muchâŚâ
âI knowâŚbut your parents are sleeping. We canât do this now.â he said, voice thick with restraint. You leaned closer, teasing him by brushing the edge of his underwearâs band with your fingers, heart racing, whispering, âI donât careâŚjust a littleâŚâ
âI donât want to disrespect them...â he murmured, biting his lip as his hands slid over your waist, holding you close, but resisting his own desire. You rubbed him through his jeans again, slowy, and you could feel the way his heart pounded beneath your palm. His breathing grew heavier, voice straining as he tried to hold himself together.
âDonâtâŚrub thereâŚâ he warned. You pressed your mouth to his neck, sucking gently, and suddenly his hand shot down to grab your wrist. âBaby, stop. Stop.â His tone was sharp this time, serious enough to make your pout deepen. âWe canât.â he said firmly, though his eyes were already betraying him, dark and restless.
You blinked up at him, lashes fluttering, lips parted just so, gazing at him with wide, innocent eyes. His jaw clenched as he exhaled. âNoâdonât look at me like that. With those fucking eyes.â Slowly, you slipped off his lap, your fingers sliding down to his waistband. His breath hitched. âBabyânoâwhat are you doingâŚâ
Ignoring his weak protest, you tugged his zipper down, pulling the denim just low enough. You bent your head and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against the outline of his dick through his boxers, your eyes never leaving his face. âDonâtâŚdonât do thatâŚâ he rasped, head falling back against the wall. âFuckâŚâ
You kept kissing him there, sweet and teasing, until you felt his restraint finally break. âFuck it.â he growled, hand sliding into your hair to grip the nape of your neck. He yanked you back up to him, crashing his lips against yours with rough, desperate hunger. âYouâre such a fucking tease.â
You giggled softly against his mouth, biting down on your bottom lip as his eyes narrowed, one brow raising at your reaction. âYouâre enjoying this way too much, arenât you?â he muttered, voice low. You nodded without hesitation, pulling him back in for another hungry kiss, your tongue sliding against his. âTake this off.â he said roughly, tugging on the waistband of your shorts.
Your skin prickled under his gaze as you slipped them off, tossing them aside. Now you sat there in just your panties and his oversized shirt, cheeks burning as his eyes roamed over you. He quickly yanked off his own shirt, revealing the lean muscles youâd been caressing earlier. His mouth was on yours again in an instant, desperate and demanding.
His hands slid down to cup your ass, squeezing firmly, pulling you flush against the hard outline straining in his boxers. He leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a soft whisper that sent a shiver straight through you. âBend over for me.â You slipped off his lap in a rush, climbing onto the bed and bending over for him, face pressed into the sheets, ass up in the air.
âGood girl.â he muttered, his large hands spreading over your cheeks, squeezing hard. âSo fucking sexy.â The sharp sting of his palm cracked against your ass, making you yelp into the mattress, only for his touch to soften, caressing where heâd just smacked. The mix of pain and sweetness dragged a whine out of you.
His eyes dropped to your panties, where a dark wet patch had already formed. He groaned low in his throat, rubbing his fingers over your covered slit. âDesperate today, arenât you? Soaking your pantiesâŚâ You whined, wiggling your hips, trying to push yourself back against his touch.
He laughed softly, like he couldnât believe how badly you wanted him. He tugged your panties to the side in one motion, his fingers sliding through your slick folds before rubbing your wetness all over, coating you. You whimpered at the feeling, pushing your hips back for more. Then he slipped two fingers inside without warning, stretching you as he pumped them in and out steadily.
You gasped, gripping the sheets. âShh, baby,â he hushed, leaning over you, voice hot against your ear. âKeep it down, or Iâll stop.â You nodded quickly, biting your lip as he fucked his fingers into you, your muffled moans betraying your struggle to stay quiet. Just as the pleasure built, he pulled his fingers out, making you whine in frustration.
Before you could complain, the sound of his zipper being undone filled the room. His jeans and boxers were shoved down, and his cock sprang free, heavy and hard. Without wasting another second, Taesan lined himself up and pushed into you slowly but deep, stretching you inch by inch until he bottomed out.
Your muffled whine shook through the pillow. âFuckâŚâ he groaned, gripping your hips tighter. âSorry, baby. Couldnât help myself.â His thrusts started slow but deep, each push making you bury your face into the sheets as soft moans spilled out of you. Your fingers twisted in the fabric, knuckles white. âAre you happy now, baby?â he rasped, hips rolling into you. âYeah? This what you wanted?â
You nodded over and over, desperate, your voice breaking with every needy sound that escaped your throat. He chuckled breathlessly, low and wicked. âHorny little girl.â His pace picked up, deeper, harder, his hips slamming against yours. Your moans grew louder without your permission, tumbling out in waves, too much to hold back.
Taesan leaned over you, lips brushing against your ear, voice rough with pleasure. âTold you to be quiet, baby.â His palm pressed firmly over your mouth, muffling your cries the instant he began pounding into you deeper, every thrust perfectly angled to hit that spot again and again. The room filled with the wet slap of skin on skin, your muffled moans, his grunts and groans and the soft music.
âLook at youâmoaning like a slut when your parents are right downstairs.â he growled into your ear. You whimpered beneath his hand, your body arching as his thrusts grew harder, each one making your gummy walls squeeze around him. âFuck, youâre drenching my cock.â he groaned, hips snapping into you, the wet sounds filling the room.
Your moans turned breathless, your body trembling as the heat coiled tighter and tighter inside you. Unable to speak, you reached back, fingers searching for his hand. He caught the hint instantly, lacing your fingers together, holding you tight. âYouâre close, baby?â he panted, slamming deeper.
You nodded desperately, muffled cries vibrating against his palm. âGo on, pretty,â he urged, his voice filled with need. âLet go for meâcum on this dick.â With just a few more thrusts, your body snapped, walls clenching down on him with a silent cry. Pleasure tore through you as your release gushed out, your cunt pulsing around him.
âShit, babyâyouâre so fucking tight.â he cursed, pulling his hand from your mouth just to watch your face twist in bliss. His eyes dropped down, catching the sight of his cock glistening, dripping with your release, and it pushed him over the edge. âNghâfuckâshitâIâm fucking cumming.â he groaned, burying himself deep as his warmth spilled into you.
You whimpered at the sensation, his hips grinding as he thrust through it, pushing his release deeper inside, his hands gripping and squeezing your ass. His chest pressed to your back, his heavy breathing fanning across your ear, both of you trembling as the aftershocks rolled through your bodies.
His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, âLay on your back for me, baby.â You nodded, chest heaving, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling as you turned over. He was still buried inside you, the stretch almost overwhelming, and his gaze softened watching your state. âSo fucking beautiful.â he murmured, leaning down to kiss your cheek.
Your heart melted at the tenderness in his voice, even with his cock still pulsing inside you. When he finally pulled out, you felt the hot spill of his release drip out of you, your hole fluttering around nothing. His eyes darkened as he watched it ooze out, and he let out a strained, âFuuuck, baby.â
He spread it around your folds with his fingers, smearing his cum messily over your swollen slit, before pushing two fingers back inside. You whined at the overstimulation, body twitching under his touch. Hovering over you, he whispered, âYou can take one more for me, yeah?â You nodded, biting down on your lip, and he smiled, eyes glinting. âMy naughty girl.â
His fingers pumped in and out faster, deeper, while his thumb circled your clit. He leaned down to kiss you softly, but soon the kiss turned hungry, your whines and gasps spilling into his mouth as his hand worked you closer and closer. Your nails dug into his bicep, the pleasure overwhelming. âSanniâmâgonna cum!â you cried against his lips. He hummed low in his throat. âMm, let go, baby.â His hand moved faster, your body arching into his touch.
You kissed him hard, muffling your cries as you came again, clenching desperately around his fingers. He slowed them gradually, easing you down, until he finally slipped them out. You lay there breathless, cheeks burning red, chest rising and falling. He pressed another soft kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering. âSorry, baby,â he chuckled, his voice tender. âI ruined your panties.â
a/n: this is inspired by a freaky audio i heard from @highway-143 i know im a gooner guys no need to mention it ââ¸â
đ¸â đ check out my masterlist .á get added in my taglist .á
Š guliexe
You can only reblog this today.
I missed my chance last year. Not gonna let it happen again
Happy Mario Day and Happy birthday to me! đĽ°

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ACTS OF SERVICE | JAKE SIM
summary: completely drunk, fed up and bored with the dramatics of casual relationships and the continuous disappointment of hookupsâyou and your best friend decide the best way to solve this dilemma is being fuck buddies. But that was just a jokeâŚright?
word count: 16.3k
warnings (+18): smut. swearing. party themes. pet names (angel, baby). alcohol. kissing. lots of humor. heavy petting. nipply play. dom!jake. fingering (f. recieving). rough sex (?). unprotected sex. vocal! reader and jake. light teasing. (very) minor brat taming. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. icehockeyplayer!jake and academicoverachiever!reader have slightly different views on relationships. jake is a (nice?) fuckboy. mentions of icehockeyplayer!maki, jay, heeseung and sunghoon. other brief mentions of intak, yuna, jungwon, sohee, chaewon, sunoo and isa. jay is also in a band, very âGreendayâ - âNirvanaâ adjacent.
MINORS DNI!!
A/N: and she lives! been gone for a while (my sincerest apologies) but weâre back!! this one is pretty lengthy, the hiatus may have given me a running mouth (and a long list of future ideas too!) just hoping it hasnât made me rusty.
It started as a joke.Â
Nestled into the corner of a worn leather couch that had definitely seen better days, nursing a mixture of whatever you could find on the messy drinks tableâover the rowdy music that you could practically feel humming in your chest and bouncing off the walls in a way too crowded frat house.Â
Your teeth worried at the rim of your cup, shoes kicking at the array of streamers and confetti on the floor.Â
You were floating in that perfect sweet spot between tipsy and drunk, where everything felt softer around the edgesâyour limbs all loose and warm like honey.Â
Jake was mid-rant beside you, his long legs stretched out, one arm draped across the back of the couch behind your shoulders.Â
He looked frustratingly put together for someone five drinks deepâdark hair slightly mussed in that effortless way that probably took him zero effort, his Dicelis Hockey hoodie pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms that had no business being a bit distracting.Â
The party sign on the wall now hung haphazardly close to floating to the floor, now just reading âHBD SUNGCHâŚâ. The abandoned Cards Against Humanity game sat on the coffee table, half the white cards now decorated with pretzel crumbs and beer ringsâ
â(Y/N)!â Jake snapped his fingers in front of your face. âAre you even listening to me?âÂ
Rude.Â
âIâm listening!â you protested, batting his hand away with a defensive shrug.Â
You were listeningâmostly. You were also wondering when Sunghoon would storm in and lose his mind over whoever massacred his card game with snacks and cheap beer.Â
Jakeâs eyes narrowed skeptically. âOh yeah? Then what I was just talking about?âÂ
âUmmâŚâ You took a tactical sip of your drink, buying a bit of time, âyour latest conquests?â
He groaned, dropping his head back against the couch. âNot just any conquest, angel. I was talking about thee Yuna Shin.âÂ
Your eyebrows shot up. âWait, pauseââ You shifted to face him better, nearly sloshing your drink. âAll-Star cheer captain Yuna Shin?âÂ
A slow, devastating smirk spread across Jakeâs face, âso you werenât listening.âÂ
ââŚsorry?â You flashed him that sheepish smile that usually got you out of things and Jake rolled his eyes, though there was no real heat behind it.Â
âAs I was saying, before I lost you to whatever was going on in that pretty head of yoursâI thought Yuna and I were on the same page.â He gestured with his free hand, frustrated.Â
âNothing serious, yâknow? Just hooking up, blowing off some steam.âÂ
âSomething fun and casual.â You added, and your best friend pointed at you like you just solved a world problem.Â
âExactly. I mean, you get it. You know how insane my schedule is: practice, games, film sessions. Sometimes you just need toââ
âDecompress?â You supplied, fighting a giggle.Â
âRight!â The manâs face lit up with vindication. âBut then,â he paused, leaning in conspirationally, âtwo weeks in, she hits me with it.âÂ
â...What are we.â You both chorused, dissolving into laughter.Â
Jake groaned like he was in physical pain, raking a hand through his hair. âI mean, we talked about this. Day one, cards on the table, and now she wants to put a label on it and make it into this whole...thing.âÂ
âWhy can't we just haveâŚfun?â He asked basically no one but himself after a few beats of silence.Â
Fun.Â
One word. Three letters. Embossed in bold, shiny gold letters across the hardcover of Jake Simâs âRelationship 101 Handbookâ that was his trusted guide to every romantic interaction heâd had since sophomore year of high school.Â
Jake had never been one to take relationships seriouslyâif you would call what he had ârelationshipsâ.Â
Youâd been watching this routine repeat itself in different variants for years now.
Jake didnât do relationshipsânot real ones at least.Â
Labels made him twitchy, commitment gave him hives and the word âgirlfriendâ might as well have been in an ancient lost language for all the meaning it held for him.Â
At least he wasnât cruel about it though. He at least had the courtesy of always being upfront and honest about what he could and couldnât offer.Â
But that didnât stop girls from hoping that their particular combo of pretty face and personality would be the exception to finally make Jake Sim want to âsettle downâ.Â
Spoiler alert: it never was.Â
The pattern repeated itself like clockwork, from the conundrum of summer flings before senior year of high schoolâwhen Jake scored the alluring job of a beach lifeguardâto senior yearâs abundance of girls who wanted to wear his varsity jacketâeach one lasting a few weeks before the inevitable âwhat are weâ conversation sent Jake running for the hills.Â
Now here you were, junior year of college and Jake was still the same: Dicelisâ Division I ice hockey star defensemanâand of course, the list of girls struck by Eros himself were an endless, constantly replenishing supply.Â
Most of them wanted something more: wearing his extra team shirt, going on datesâeven something as simple as cuddling after sexâwrapped up in a bow of commitment, affection and the pretty title of âgirlfriendââall of which were things that lived on Jakeâs hard âno noâ list, scribbled in red marker and underlined twice.Â
This was the third rant this month alone.Â
Jake sighed dramatically, staring at the ceiling like it held answers. âIâm at my witâs end here, (Y/N), I really am.âÂ
You couldnât help but laugh, because the theatrics of his chagrin were quite comical.
âOh you poor thing,â you said, voice dripping with mock sympathy. âSo many beautiful women wanna date you. How do you survive?âÂ
He shot you a look. âDonât be a dick.âÂ
You tilted your head, pouting your lips with insincere disappointment, âaw, but you make it so easy.â
He kicked your foot lightly. âIâm being serious. I mean, you get it right? You do the whole âno-stringsâ thing sometimes.âÂ
You made a noncommittal sound, swirling the contents of your cup. âWell , if you consider drowning in yearbook club projects and philosophy readings âfunâ, then sure. Iâm having a time.â Â
Jakeâs brows furrowed in confusion, âwait, hold up. I thought you were seeing someone?âÂ
He snapped his fingers, trying to summon the memory through his alcohol-clouded brain. âThat guyâIntak! From the menâs basketball team right?âÂ
You deadpanned. âJake, we broke up a month ago. You're late to the party as usual.âÂ
âA month?â He raised a brow. âShit, really? I thought you guys were doing good.âÂ
You rolled your eyes. âOh you know. It was the usual bullshitâspending too much time with my best friend.â You grumbled, already anticipating his reaction.
âApparently you âclearly want to jump my bonesâ and he couldnât handle the competition.âÂ
Right on cue, that insufferable smirk spread across Jakeâs face, slow, inevitable and way too bright.Â
âDonât,â you warned, pointing at him threateningly. âDo not startââÂ
âI mean, geez.â Jake leaned back, radiating false modesty as he stroked his jaw in efforts to conceal his growing smile. âAre they really that intimidated by me?âÂ
âLetâs not get ahead of ourselves now.âÂ
âI canât help it!â His grin was shit-eating and unrepentant. âThis is like the third time this has happened. Maybe fourth? Iâm losing count.âÂ
âTrust me, Iâm well aware.â You sank back into the cushions in defeat, letting your head tip back. âMy exes are a bunch of guys who couldnât handle my best friend being a guy. Itâs exhausting.â
And it really was.
Boyfriends, for you, were complicated in a way they never seemed to be for other people.
You couldnât remember the last time youâd kept one around for longer than two months.
It always started the same: fun, sweet, easy, great sexâand then theyâd notice the Jake shaped figure looming in your orbit.Â
The way heâd text you at random hours. The way you had inside jokes and a language that no one else could decode. How heâd show up at your apartment unannounced, or the way youâd disappear to meet him without explanation.
Somehowâevery single time, âI donât care if you have a guy best friendâ would morph into âbut does he really need to be around this much?â which would spiral into âIâm not comfortable with how close you two areâ and eventually land on a messy breakup with the claims that either the both of you were blind, stupidâor both.Â
Intak had been the final straw.
The breaking point that made you throw your hands up and say fuck it to the whole institution of dating.
After two months of increasingly passive-aggressive comments about Jake, Intak had finally snapped during what was supposed to be a cozy movie night at your apartment.Â
Youâd briefly checked your phone to see what Jake texted you and Intak had paused the movie with an irate, bitter smile.
âYou know what? Iâm done. Iâm not going to keep playing third wheel in my own relationship while youâre clearly in love with someone else.â
âIâm not in love with Jakeââ
âOh, please.â Intak rolled his eyes with a sharp, mean laugh. âYou light up when he texts. You prioritize his schedule over mine. Half the stories you tell start with âJake and I.â Iâve been competing with him since day one and Iâm tired of losing to someone whoâs supposedly âjust a friend.ââÂ
Heâd stood up, furiously grabbing his things. âHereâs some free advice (Y/N): either fuck him and get it out of your system, or admit that youâre emotionally unavailable and stop wasting peopleâs time. But donât pretend youâre capable of actually being in a relationship when youâre clearly already in one.â
And then heâd left.
Youâd sat there, stunned and furious, his words ringing in your ears, unable to shake his absurd accusation.Â
After that ended, (with you telling him exactly where he could shove his pseudo-psychological analysis) you'd tried the casual hookup thing.Â
Just sex, no expectations, no jealous boyfriends getting territorial over your best friend.
But that had its own problems too.
The hookups themselves were usually fine, all tension and excitement and the thrill of something new.Â
But the aftermath? The awkward morning-afters, the forced small talk over bad coffee, the weird dance of pretending last night meant more or less than it actually did.Â
Then there were guys whoâd say they wanted casual but then got weird when you didnât text back immediately, those who treated it like a transaction and made you feel hollowâand others who couldnât find the goddamn clit with a map and a flashlight.
It was exhausting in a completely different way than dating had been, and after a few particularly disappointing encounters, youâd justâŚstopped.
So here you were: very single, very sexually frustrated, listening to your equally single and frustrated best friend complain about the exact same problems from the opposite side.
The universe had a twisted sense of humor, youâd give it that.
You stared at the ceiling above in pensive thought, scrutinizing the crowded half-deflated helium balloons, bobbing lazily like theyâd given up on floating.
âIâm just so tired of all the drama,â you said finally. âWhy canât people justâŚenjoy each other without all the complications? Like itâs not that serious.âÂ
Jake let out a low hum of agreement, stretching his legs out beside yours until your knees almost touched, âright?â
You snorted. âMaybe youâre the problem.âÂ
He turned his head toward you, grinning. âDonât say that. I'm trying to be deep here.âÂ
âYou? Deep? Thatâs generous.âÂ
âWow, rude.â Jake grabbed a pretzel from the decimated snack pile on the table and threw it at you. âHere I am having an existential crisis about the lost art of hookups, and youâre attacking my character.âÂ
You caught the pretzel, popping it into your mouth. âSomeone has to keep your ego in check.âÂ
âMy ego is perfectly sized, thank you.â
âIs that beforeâŚor after inflation?â You pouted with artificial curiosity, and Jake laughedâthat full bodied sound that always made you smile despite yourself.Â
Silence settled between the two of you for a moment, focused on your respective drinks as you lazily people-watched.
Then Jake slowly sat up straighter, his eyes lighting up with a sudden realization. âOkay but seriously thoughâŚâ
You gave him a skeptical side glance.Â
âWhat ifâand hear me outââ
âLiterally nothing good ever starts with âhear me outâ.â You turned to him, suspicious. âWhat are you about to say?âÂ
Jakeâs eyes had that chaotic gleam they got when he was about to suggest something either brilliant or completely idiotic.
 âWhat if the solution to our problem is kind of obvious?âÂ
You blinked at him. âWhat solution? What are you talking about?âÂ
âIâm saying,â Jake gestured vaguely between you both, his movements loose and animated from the alcohol. âWhat if we justâŚdid it?âÂ
Your brain took a moment to process. âDid what?âÂ
âThe whole no-strings thing!â Jake was warming to the idea.
âThink about it. We both want the same thingâsomething fun, uncomplicated, with someone who actually understands. And weâre both sitting here complaining about it whenââ
âWhen what?â You were starting to catch on, a laugh building in your chest.Â
âWhen we could justâŚyâknow.â He waves his hand between you again like saying the actual thing was illegal, ââŚwith each other.âÂ
A shocked laugh burst out of you as you slowly sat up. âOh my god, are you serious right now?âÂ
Jake was grinning now, clearly enjoying your reaction. âWhy not? We already now each other. Thereâd be no games, no messy let downsââÂ
âNo jealous boyfriends,â you added, getting into it now despite yourself. âExactly.â Jake pointed at you enthusiastically.Â
You felt yourself getting pulled into the conspiracy, despite how ridiculous it soundedâlisting benefits with Jake like it was a pitch idea.
There wouldnât be any jealousy, awkward morning-afters, no wondering if theyâd text back and âwhat are weâ conversations because you already knew what you wereâ
âBest friends who are just having fun.â youâd finished, and you found yourself mulling over it with in entertained curiosity.
There was a beat of silence.Â
Jakeâs eyes twinkled with amusement and something elseâsomething that made your stomach flip in a way you were too inebriated to examine.Â
âI meanâŚâ Jake said slowly, âit kind of makes sense?âÂ
âIt really does actually,â you heard yourself agree, your voice almost wondering. âLike weirdly perfect sense.âÂ
You both stared at each other for a long moment, squinting through matching mischievous smirks, the idea suspended in the air between you like something tangible. Â
Then, simultaneously, you both shook your heads and said: âNahâ before breaking into fits of laughter.Â
âOh my god, can you imagine?â Jake wheezed, nearly spilling his drink.
âWeâd be terrible at it.â You agreed, laughing so hard your sides hurt.Â
âWeâd probably get into a fight about whoâs doing it wrongââ
âUhh, youâd definitely be doing it wrong.â You nodded up at him, and Jake threw you a challenging look,âIâll have you know Iâve never had complaints in that department.âÂ
âThat you know of, for all we know Yuna could be speaking bad on your skills right now.â You shot back, and Jake threw another pretzel at you.
âSee? This is exactly why it wouldnât work. You canât even compliment my skills.â
âIâm not going to stroke your ego about your sex life, Sim.âÂ
Jake fought a snicker, âthe word âstroke' in that sentence is very unfortunate timing.âÂ
Your mouth fell agape in comic shock, smacking his arm, âyouâre disgusting.â
âI thought this was a safe space!â He shrugged with mock innocence.Â
âItâs never a safe space for your dirty jokes.â You chided, still laughing.Â
âAnd yet, you still gracefully endure.â Jake settled back into the couch, still grinning like an idiot.
ââŚBut seriously though, for a second there, it almost made sense, right?âÂ
âFor a very brief second.â you admitted with a warning lift of your finger.Â
It was ridiculous. Funny. You even swiftly moved on to a different topic of conversation before you threw back a few more drinks and joined the dancing crowdâforgetting the entire thing completely as the night peeled away.Â
But nowâweeks later, the bold declaration of your official dry spell started to sound extremely over ambitious and the stupid (very stupid) idea had begun to look more like a good suggestion than just an alcohol-fueled joke.Â
You were aggressively multitasking right now: murdering a bowl of cereal at your kitchen counter, tapping away at your computerâall while glaring daggers at your roommate while she hummed in the kitchen like the birds sung her awake this morning.Â
The smile on Chaewonâs face was so radiant you probably didnât need to worry about your electric bill for the next few months. It was the kind of smile no insult could wipe away.
Last night had been peaceful, just catching up on coursework after Sunoo dragged you clubbing three nights in a row.
Youâd finally made a dent in your art history essay, wrapped up on your yearbook duties for the week, and even gotten ahead on your philosophy readings.
Then youâd heard the front door click shut around midnight, and more than one pair of footsteps in the hallwayâalong with Chaewonâs distinctive giggles, followed by the low rumble of a decidedly male voice.
Youâd smirked to yourself, amused. Sheâd definitely overshare at breakfastâshe always did, in excruciating detail you never asked for.
It was funny, right up until her bedroom door clicked shut and youâd been reminded, once again, that your apartment had walls made of paper.
What followed was a very thorough, very enthusiastically salacious reminder of everything you were definitely, frustratingly not having.
Now she was making coffee like she hadnât just disrupted your entire night, and you were taking out your sexual frustration on your innocent breakfast.
âSo,â Chaewon started.Â
âNo.â You shoved another spoonful into your mouth, and her shoulders dropped, âI didn't even say anything yet!âÂ
âWell, whatever you're about to say,â you pointed your spoon at her, âthe answer is no.âÂ
She laughed pouring her coffee with an infuriating amount of grace. âI was just going to say that you seem a little tense this morning. Trouble sleeping?âÂ
You fixed her with your flattest stare. âThe walls are thin and your headboard is loud. Go figure.âÂ
âOh,â Chaewon had the audacity to look pleased, âyeah, Eric is pretty good withââ
âIf you finish that sentence, I will move out.â
âJust saying,â The girl continued, completely undeterred by your threat, âit was mindblowing.â she supplied, staring off into the distance with a reminiscent smile, then she sighed. âI miss his dick, already.âÂ
âOh trust me, the entire apartment complex knows you do.â You muttered, and Chaewon turned to you with a bemused smirk, âcareful babe, your green is showing.âÂ
âIâm not jealous.â You glanced at her with a grimace. âIâd just rather prefer the noise of downtown nightlife over the sounds of a porn rendition next door.âÂ
Your roommate laughed earnestly, âyou could have that too you know? Youâre hot.âÂ
âChae, itâs not that I can't, it's that I won't. Iâm just swamped with work right now.âÂ
Chaewon paused, eyeing you with the kind of suspicious scrutiny that made you look away too quickly, ââŚwhenâs the last time you actually got laid? Like properly laid?âÂ
âIt is way too early for an interrogation right now.â You stabbed your cereal with unnecessary force, each spoonful more violent than the last.
âThatâs not an answer.âÂ
âWell, it's the only one youâre getting.â You returned to your laptop, trying to ignore the nosy figure hovering over you.Â
Maybe sheâd eventually relent if you feigned interest in the laptop you were barely paying attention toâbut Chaewon knew you far too well to ignore your badly structured facade of content.Â
She leaned against the counter, cradling her coffee mug, shifting her expression to something gentler. âIâm serious though, (Y/N). When was the last time you did something for yourself?âÂ
âYouâve been on the Deanâs List for two years, your streak isnât going anywhere any time soon, you should have some fun!âÂ
Fun. There was that word again.Â
âIâŚhave fun.â You protested weakly.Â
âEditing the yearbook forum at 2AM doesn't count as fun.â She elaborated.Â
âIt does if youâre passionate about what you do.â You pointed, with a cheeky grin and an almost-questioning lift of your browsâas if daring your best friendâs disagreement.Â
ââŚGirl.â She set down her mug, fixing you with an unimpressed look.
âYouâre like a soda can ready to explode. You need to blow off some steam.â She sighed insistently, like your voluntary abstinence was her problem.Â
âGo out. Meet someone. Have a meaningless hookup that rocks your world and leaves you useless for days.âÂ
The worst part was that she wasnât wrong.Â
You couldnât even remember the last time youâd felt that kind of rushâthe anticipation, the foreplay, the earth shattering feeling of an orgasm that wasnât from your fingers.
Your vibrator was getting more action that youâd had in months, and even that was starting to feel depressing.
âHm, Iâll think about it.â You muttered.Â
Chaewon smiled and turned knowing. âThatâs all Iâm asking.âÂ
Philosophy 302 felt like the universe was personally mocking you.Â
You slumped in your usual seat near the backâclose enough to hear Professor Sorenson but far enough to avoid being called on unless absolutely necessary.
Your laptop was open to a fresh document, cursor blinking expectantly, but your brain felt like static.Â
âToday,â Sorenson announced, pacing at the front of the lecture hall with the kind of energy that suggested she had far too much coffee, âweâre driving into Socratic philosophy. Specifically his views on desire and jealousy.âÂ
Of course. Of course this was the topic today.Â
You resisted the urge to drop your head onto your desk or peel away from class and risk your perfect attendance.Â
âSocrates believed that jealousy is, at its core, simply desire unmet,â she continued, gesturing expansively.
âIts the gap between what we have and what we want. The tension between reality and longing.âÂ
Someone in the front row raised their handâprobably to ask something pretentious about the Symposiumâbut youâd already tuned out.Â
Jealousy is desire unmet.Â
Okay but really, who needed ancient philosophy to define something you could already feel gnawing at your insides?Â
It had been over a month. Over a month since youâd had any action that didnât involve machinery and your own imagination.
The closest youâd come was three weeks agoâsome cute guy at a club whoâd bought you a drink and kissed you against the bar.Â
It was nice against your own judgment. Flattering even.Â
But Sunoo had been your ride that night and heâd been ready to leave the second Jungwon drunkenly suggested the idea of getting everyone in the place a round of shotsâso you got his number and told yourself youâd text him.Â
You never did.Â
Now here you were listening to a poetic lecture about some guy that lived eons before you, while your body reminded you in increasingly aching ways that you were a living breathing human with needs that were currently being spectacularly ignored.Â
Youâd tried to drown it out. Buried yourself in assignments, spent hours in the editing lab and even deep cleaned your apartment at 1AM last Tuesday.Â
You had spent plenty of âquality timeâ with yourself, but it wasnât enough. It was like trying to satisfy a craving with wrong foodâit filled the space but it didnât quite hit the spot.Â
What you wanted was the earth-shattering, knees-weak sex Chaewon was apparently having.
Youâd made an attempt to settle in the blissful comfort of envied denial, chalking her dramatic retellings as mass hysteriaâbut who the hell were you kidding?Â
You too, wanted to be fucked six ways to Sunday. You needed to feel both wrecked and alive in a way that a class ten in the morning on a Wednesday definitely wasnât providing.Â
âThe question then becomes,â Sorenson said, pulling you momentarily back to reality, âhow do we reconcile our desires with our reality? How do we bridge that gap without losing ourselves to jealousy or desperation?â
Your laptop screen blurred slightly as you stared at it.Â
How do you bridge that gap?Â
Jakeâs face flickered through your mind, unbiddenâthat stupid smile, those dark eyes, the way heâd looked at you on that couch two and a half weeks ago.Â
âWhat if we just did it?âÂ
You had laughed it off. Dismissed it as drunk stupid rambling.Â
But the idea had slowly burrowed into your brain like a splinter, small and persistent. Youâd catch yourself thinking about it at random momentsâin the shower, before bed, during particularly boring lectures like this one.Â
It was insane. Completely insane.Â
ButâŚwas it really?
You shook your head, trying to psychically dislodge the thought. This was stupid and wrong. You were friends. Best friends. You didnât cross that line because some lines existed for a reason.Â
Even if you were currently so horny you could barely think straight.Â
Even if Jake was objectively gorgeous and made zero effort to hide it.Â
And even if the idea of uncomplicated fun with someone you actually knew wouldnât fuck it up sounded exactly like what you needed right now.Â
Stop it, you told yourself firmly.Â
Class continued in the background, but you were too busy trying to convince yourself that Jakeâs drunken suggestion hadnât been slowly, insidiously making more and more sense over the past weeks.Â
Your phone buzzed in your lap.
jake from state charm: bro practice is killing meee Â
jake from state charm: coach has us running drills like weâre training for the olympics Â
jake from state charm: im dying
jake from state charm: pls send food Â
jake from state charm: or a medic Â
Despite everything, you smiled.
you: u are SO dramatic đ
jake from state charm: im SUFFERINGÂ Â
jake from state charm: this is a cry for helpÂ
jake from state charm: also im rlly bored, entertain meeee
you: youâll liveÂ
jake from state charm: ur breaking my heartÂ
you: đť
jake from state charm: bros wining the idgaf war
You snorted softly.Â
jake from state charm: are you free friday?Â
jake from state charm: jays having one of his gigs again
you: whatâs your gpa and answer quick đ¤
jake from state charm: chill, i study hard and party hard âđťđââď¸đ¤đť
jake from state charm: balance is key smarty pants
you: right rightâŚ
jake from state charm: iâll take that as a yes, see you friday ;)
You shook your head, slipping your phone back into your bag, still smiling despite yourself.
This was fine. Everything was fineâyou were fine. You absolutely were not thinking about what Jake looked like under that hockey uniform.
Nope.
Jake was going to lose his fucking mind.
He slammed his locker shut with more force than necessary, the metallic clang echoing through the half empty locker room.Â
Practice had been brutal all weekâthree hours of drills on ice, conditioning, and Coach riding their asses about the upcoming season.
But that wasnât what was making him want to punch something.
âYo, Jake!â Jayâs voice carried from the showers. âYou coming to Giselleâs tonight or what? Sâposed to be a rager.â
âMaybe,â Jake called back half-heartedly, yanking his t-shirt over his head.
He probably wouldnât go.Â
Jake had been to three parties in the last two weeks and theyâd all ended the same way: some girl would approach him, theyâd flirt, sheâd make it clear she was interested, and Jake wouldâŚ
Nothing.
Heâd do absolutely nothing.
Which was weird because Jake never did nothing.
Jake was the guy who hooked up at parties, who had girlsâ numbers saved in his phone, who never spent a weekend alone unless he chose to.
But lately? Nothing. Three weeks of absolutely nothing, and it was starting to make him feel like he was losing his edge.
âDudeâŚyou good?â Maki appeared from around the corner, towel around his waist, eyeing Jake suspiciously. âYouâve been weird lately.â
âIâm fine.â
âThatâs not what your face says. You look constipated.â
âThanks, asshole.â
Maki laughed, grabbing his bag. âSeriously though, whatâs up? You turned down Yujin last weekend. Yujin Ahn. The girl youâve been trying to hook up with in physics class.â
Jake had turned her down. Yujin had been perfectly willing, perfectly attractive, perfectly available. Sheâd been wearing a dress that should have been downright illegal and sheâd made her intentions very clear.
And Jake had made an excuse and left.
Not because he wasnât attracted to her. Not because he didnât want to have fun. But because heâd been down this road too many times now, and he knew exactly how it would end.
âJust not feeling it lately,â Jake muttered, shoving his practice gear into his bag with unnecessary aggression.
âNot feeling it? Bro, youâre likeââ Maki stopped himself, a knowing look crossing his face. âOh. Oh. This is about the crying thing, isnât it?â
Jakeâs jaw tightened. âI donât know what youâre talking about.â
âBullshit. This is totally about the crying thing.â The blonde sat down on the bench, looking far too entertained. âDude, that wasnât your fault. You were upfront with her from the start.â
âDoesnât matter. She still cried. In the middle of the cafeteria.â He deadpanned.Â
âOkay, yeah, that was rough,â Maki admitted with a chuckle. âBut againânot your fault. You told her it was casual.â
Jake had told her.
Heâd been crystal clear about it, just like he always wasâno expectations, no promises, just fun.Â
Yuna nodded as fast as she could manage, said she completely understood and was on the same page before crashing into his lips and pushing him into the sheets.Â
Three weeks later, sheâd asked where they were going and Jake had gently reminded her of their initial conversation, and had triedâtriedâto let her down as softly as possible.Â
Heâd even told her she was amazing, that any guy would be lucky to date her, but he just wasnât that guy.
Yuna gave him that doleful look, managing a weak smile even through watery eyes. She had constantly repeated that she was okay when Jake had askedâbegging her not to cryâand she did anyway.Â
Right there in the cafeteria, mascara running, while half the room paused their lunch break to stare.Â
Evil incarnate was what he was apparently.Â
And before Yuna? There was Amber, whoâd teared up when heâd ended things. And before herâMacy, whoâd actually cried in his chest and told him she thought they had really had something.
By the time heâd made the fifth girl cry, the team would've coined some mortifying nickname, one that would definitely leave the locker room and follow him everywhere, stamped across his forehead for the rest of his days.Â
Jake felt like he wasnât even doing anything wrong.
He didnât ghost them or act like a dick and pretend they meant nothing. He sat them down, explained gently but firmly that this wasnât going to turn into something more, and appreciated the time theyâd spent together.
According to the rest of the team, that made him âthe sweet oneâ. The fuckboy with a conscience. At least he wasnât getting slapped like Heeseung, or screamed at in the quad like Sunghoon last month.
But âsweetâ didnât stop the tears and âniceâ didnât make the breakups hurt lessâand Jake was getting really fucking tired of being the guy who made girls cry, even when heâd done everything inherently ârightâ.
âYouâre too good at letting them down easy,â Sunghoon said, reading his mind.
âThatâs your problem. Youâre so nice about it that they think thereâs hope.â He fished a water bottle out of his locker. âLike maybe if they just try harder, youâll change your mind.â
âI tell them from the startââ
âYeah, but youâre also charming as fuck, bro. Remembering their coffee orders and asking about their classes and actually listening when they talk: thatâs boyfriend behavior.â
âThatâs literally just being a decent human being.â
âRight, but most guys hooking up casually arenât decent human beings. So when you are, they think it means something.â Sunghoon pointed out, shaking his hair dry.Â
Jake scrubbed a hand over his face with an exasperated groan. âSo what, Iâm supposed to be an asshole? Treat them like shit so they donât catch feelings?â
âNo,â Maki said grinning, clearly enjoying this, âheâs saying maybe you need to be more selective. Orââ he snapped his fingers.Â
âOr find someone who actually gets it. Someone who wonât fall for your whole âsweet guyâ routine because they already know all your bullshit.â
Someone who already knew his bullshitâŚand his mind immediately (and traitorously) went to you.Â
Right.
âIâm not talking about this anymore,â Jake said, standing abruptly and yanking his bag onto his shoulder.
âIâm just saying,â Maki continued, following him out, âyouâve been in a weird mood for like three weeks now. Ever since Sungchanâs party at our placeâwhat happened that night anyway?â
Brief fragments of that night came to mind, but one stood out like a sore insistent thumb: that stupid joke about you two being the perfect fuck buddies.
Youâd both laughed it off and went back to normal.Â
Nothing technically happened.
Except everything had shifted anyway, tilted slightly off-axis in a way Jake couldnât quite correct.Â
Because that suggestionâmade half-drunk and mostly jokingâhad been rattling around in his head ever since, getting louder and making more sense as the weeks flew by.
You did get it.
You understood the appeal of something casual and uncomplicated because you wanted the same thing.
You wouldnât develop expectations he couldnât meet because your friendship had already established what you were to each other.
There would be no crying. No uncomfortable conversations where he had to explain that he liked you but not like that. No wondering if he was leading someone on or breaking someoneâs heart.
It would just beâŚeasy. Fun. The way it was supposed to be.
And he couldnât denyâhad never been able to deny, if he was being honest with himselfâthat you were beautiful. Objectively, empirically gorgeous in a way that had nothing to do with your friendship and everything to do with the fact that Jake had working eyes.
Heâd just never let himself think about it too much because you were you, the one person in his life who was uncomplicated and easy and safe from all his usual bullshit.
But lately, heâd been thinking about it. A lot.
About the way you looked when you laughed, head thrown back and completely unselfconscious. How youâd lean against him during movie nights, warm and comfortable in his space.Â
About that night on the couch when youâd been wearing that silly slogan tank top and the chilly September night made him realize that you werenât wearing a bra.
Jake had very carefully kept his eyes on your face because anything else teetered the edge of dangerous.
But he briefly let himself think about how youâd probably kissârough and defiant, the same way you argued with him about.
And what youâd sound like if he got his hands on you. What youâd look like underneath him, that bratty tongue of yours finally lost for words while heâ
An idiot.
He felt like an idiot letting himself think of such things. Getting a hard on from the thought of your best friend was wrongâhe could practically feel the shame burning the hairs on the back of his neck.Â
You were his best friend. Off-limits. The one person he couldnât mess things up with.Â
Even if the idea of fucking you had become impossible to ignore.Â
Sunghoon slapped him on the shoulder with an irritating pitying smile. âYouâre a good dude, Jake. Even if you are currently going through some kind of weird celibate phase.â
âItâs been three weeks, not three years.â
He scoffed. âFor you? Thatâs basically a lifetime.â
Jakeâs eyes went skyward, though a small grin betrayed him.
Yeah. A lifetime.Â
If you mashed together an older brother's basement rehearsals with the scratchy, emotionally manic soundtrack of a âturn of the millenniumâ teen movie, youâd get Jayâs band: The Fallout.Â
Collective was practically packed wall-to-wall with people, the atmosphere slightly thick with neon lights slicing through the gloom of fog and the overwhelming cigarette smokeâwhich was a headache waiting to happen if you stayed long enough.Â
Peeling posters of long forgotten rock bands and stars graced the brick walls, alongside a pristine collection of old Rolling Stone magazines and passionate slogans about how ârock ruledâ or whatever.Â
The people who came to these shindigs were a harmonious blend of heavily opinionated music nerds, students at their third location, and anyone who thought loud music excused questionable hygiene.Â
You attended one of Jayâs gigs back in freshman year, if that was what youâd call it then.
Back then, he only performed at frat parties, which somehow made the obnoxious traditions of those gatherings slightly cooler.Â
Now, he was performing small bar gigs and open mics, pouring himself into each note with the same passion heâd had since he was in high school, performing to no one but the entire neighbourhood from his garageâor his parents (who were clearly held hostage).Â
Heâd once joked to you that you could still get with him before he was untouchableâbe his cool friend to bring on tour to make every body else jealous and youâd scoffed: âYeah sure, because rockstars are so known for their monogamy.âÂ
The Fallout was mid-set, and the crowd was eating it up.
You stood near the back with Chaewon and Sunoo, nursing a second vodka cranberry that was more vodka than cranberry, watching Jay dominate the small stage like he was born with a Les Paul in his hands.Â
Jay was goodâreally good. His fingers flew across the guitar strings with practiced ease, his voice rough and melodic as he leaned into the mic.
He also looked unfairly hot doing it, damp hair casted over his eyes and concentrated intensity, his t-shirt clinging to him in a way that suggested the stage lights were doing their job.
âOkay, I need to know if heâs single immediately,â Chaewon announced over the music. âBecause I am already planning our future together.â
âYou donât even know his last name.â You pointed out, raising a brow.Â
âPark,â Sunoo supplied helpfully. âJay Park. Hockey player, lead guitarist, and according to a few of his exesâŚa lot of trouble.ââ
Chaewonâs eyes practically sparkled. âPerfect. Iâm dressed like a rockstarâs girlfriend already.â She gestured to her outfitâan off-shoulder band tee sheâd artfully cut herself, paired with leather shorts and doc martens. âThis was clearly fate.â
You had to admit, Chaewon wasnât wrong. The girl looked about ready to be splashed across a tabloid magazine, hanging off a rockstar with effortless cool.
You had gone a different directionâa patterned halter top showing more cleavage than you usually went for, paired with a mini skirt and your favorite boots, with eyeliner sharp enough to kill.Â
You looked good. You felt good.
The music was great, bouncing off the walls with just the perfect amount of volume and reverb.
The energy was really infectious and lively, but you were still somehowâŚrestless.
âSo,â Sunoo said, leaning in conspiratorially, âwhen are you going to put yourself out there tonight?â
âNot you too.â You dramatically groaned.
âIâm just saying!â The pretty man said, hands miming passionately.
âYou look hot, the music is good, everyoneâs got liquid courageâthis is literally prime hookup territory.â
âIâm not hooking up with a random stranger at a bar.â
âWhy not?â Chaewon joined in with a whine, fussily shaking her shoulders, âYou need to unclench babe.â
âIâm fine.â
âYouâre repressed.â
âIâmâŚselective.â You supplied with a shrug.Â
âYouâre pent up,â Chaewon corrected. âThereâs a difference. And honestly, babe? Itâs starting to show.â
You shot her a look. âExcuse me?â
âYou stress-cleaned the apartment in the dead of night last week, then you reorganized the entire living room.â She quipped with an accusatory look.
âFinding my scented candles was like finding Waldoâyou totally messed with my entire system.âÂ
You glanced at her like she just asked if it was night, âI was trying to be organized? And I told you to pack away your candles after using them to âcleanse the vibesâ.âÂ
âOkay mom.â Chaewon drawled with an amused smirk, ignoring your simmering glare.Â
Sunoo rolled his eyes, ignoring your lover's spat, âyouâre just channeling your sexual frustration into other activities,â he said sagely. âThatâs classic displacement behavior.â
âYou crash one of Jungwonâs classes and suddenly you're a psychologist.âÂ
Sunoo shrugged, flashing you an expectant look, theatrically sipping his drink, âbut I am wrong though?âÂ
WellâŚno. Irritatingly so.Â
âWeâre just trying to help!â Chaewon protested.
âLook, I know what happened with that guy Sunoo tried to set you up with last timeââ
âDo not bring up Sohee.â
ââbut that was one bad experience! Not every hook up ends with the guy crying mid-coitus because he misses his ex.âÂ
âHe came in about two minutes, then immediately started crying about his ex-girlfriend while literally using my tits as a pillow.â You grimaced at the memory.Â
âI didnât even get to come and I had to play therapist. The worst trade deal in history.âÂ
Sunoo winced with an apologetic smile. âYeah sorry, that wasâŚrough. My bad. But this timeââ
âNope.â You cut him off with a half playful warning. âNo setups. No âI have a friend who would be perfect for you.â JustâŚno.â
âFine, fine.â Sunoo held up his hands in surrender. âBut you could just, I donât know, find someone yourself? Take initiative?â
âI donât need to take initiative. Iâm perfectly content with my current situation.â
âYour current situation is you and your vibrator,â Chaewon deadpanned.
âOh my god, Chaewon!â
âWhat? Itâs true! And while I do support your solo activities, theyâre clearly not cutting it anymore. You need the real thing.â She insisted.
âPreferrably someone hot, very charming and yes, capable of leading a band while looking like angels sculpted him themselves.â
That was directed more so towards herself than you, catching her shifting glance to Jay with that particular look on her face.Â
You guaranteed somewhere in the week youâd be victim to another sleepless night and a TMI recap over your morning breakfast.Â
You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a laugh at the way she dreamily stared at the lead guitarist like he hung the moon. Â
Thankfully, the end of the song saved you from another failed defense against your tag teaming jury, the crowd erupting into applause and cheers as Jay grinned, adjusting the mic.Â
âThank you, thank you!â His voice carried over the sound system, warm and genuine. âYou guys are fucking amazing. This next oneâs a new song weâve been working onâitâs called âBad Decisionsâ which feels appropriate for a Friday night, right?â
The crowd cheered in agreement.
The band launched into the song and you found yourself swaying despite your mood, the bass thrumming through your chest.
âOkay, but Jay is legitimately hot,â You admitted, watching him absolutely shred on guitar. âLike, objectively speaking.â
âRight?â Chaewon was practically drooling. âThe way his arms look when he plays? Criminal. Absolutely criminal.â
âIâm surprised you havenât crawled over to the stage and tackled him.â Sunoo observed with a humored smile.
Chaewon flashed him a chaotic grin, âoh Iâm considering it.âÂ
âGive me a few more drinks and youâll have to hold me back.â She sang with a warning, and you both told her to behave herself amidst laughter.
This was a good way to unwind from the harrowing week you spent with your nose in your books. The Fallout was good, the company was goodâŚbut that relentless thought hadnât gone away.
If anything, it was getting worse.
âI need another drink,â You announced.
âIâll come withââ Chaewon started, and you waved dismissively with a warm scoff, âno, itâs fine. You stay and appreciate Jayâs arms. Iâll be right back.â
You pushed through the crowd toward the bar, weaving between bodies and dodging elbows.
The music was loud enough to rattle your ribcageâand you were grateful for the excuse that it was just the bass that was making your chest do complicated things.
Definitely just the music.Â
Jake spotted Isa Lee the moment he walked into the bar with Heeseung and Sunghoon.
She was standing near the stage with a group of her cheer friends, looking effortlessly beautiful in a casual dress that somehow looked both comfortable and perfectly put together.Â
Her dark hair was down in loose waves, and when she laughed at something her friend said, Jake feltâŚnothing.
Well, not nothing. She was gorgeous, and heâd been trying to catch her at the right time since September.
But that usual spark of interest, the rousing anticipation of a potential hookupâjust wasnât there.
âDude, Isa Lee is totally checking you out,â Heeseung said, nudging Jakeâs shoulder.
âWhat?â
âThree oâclock. Donât make it obvious.â Sunghoon grinned. âSheâs been looking over here since we walked in.â
Jake glanced over casually, and Isa caught his eye with a slow smile, a clear invitation.
âGo talk to her, man,â Heeseung encouraged. âYouâve been wanting to hook up with her for months.â
He had been.
Isa was smartâchem major, very talented cheerleader, genuinely nice from everything heâd heard. She was exactly the kind of girl who should interest him.
Should being the operative word.
âYeah,â Jake said, not moving. âI will. In a minute.â
ââŚWhat are you waiting for?â
Jake didnât have a good answer for that. Or rather, he had an answer, but it was one that would make his friends theatrically concerned and ask a conundrum of questions he didnât want to answer.
He had to break this cycle, somehow.Â
But his two teammates were looking at him expectantly and mildly confused, while Isa was still smiling in his direction.
âFine,â Jake said. âIâm going.â
He crossed the room, smoothly weaving through the crowd until he reached Isaâs group of friends whoâd nudged her persistently with barely concealed grins and giggles.
âHey,â he said, leaning in so she could hear him over the music.
âHey!â Isaâs face lit up. âJake, right? Youâre on the hockey team with the lead guitarist.âÂ
âGuilty. Youâre Isa?â
âThatâs me.â She touched his arm lightly, as she eyed him down. âI didnât know youâd be here tonight.â
âWouldnât miss one of Jayâs shows. Heâs been practicing that new song for weeks.â Jake gestured toward the stage where Jay was currently in the middle of a guitar solo.
âHeâs pretty good, right?â
âHeâs amazing! I love live music.â Isa moved closer, her shoulder brushing his. âDo you play any instruments?â
âYeah, but Jay and I have different musical directions. A band breakup would be waiting to happen if I joined.âÂ
Isa laughed, and Jake found himself going through the motionsâsmirking, leaning in, saying the right things.
It was all easy and familiar. Heâd done this dance a hundred times.
But his heart wasnât really in it.
You lingered at the bar, idly people-watching while you patiently waited for the bartender to remember that pouring drinks was, in fact, his primary jobânot shamelessly flirting with a gaggle of far too inebriated girls clearly trying to snag free drinks.
Your fingers drummed against the sticky wood counter, letting your gaze drift over the crowd before your eyes landed on an awfully familiar tall figure.Â
Jake.
Had he been here the whole time?Â
He stood slightly off to the side, leaning down to hear a girl speaking into his ear.
Jake looked unfairly good under the haze of the colored lighting, shoulders stretched broad beneath a fitted tee layered over a long sleeve, the bottom cuffs shoved carelessly up his forearms.Â
Show off. You scoffed with a slight smile.Â
And of course he was talking to someone.
Jake could strike up a conversation with a brick wall and have it blushing in under five minutes.Â
The girlâyou realizedâwas Isa Lee.Â
That tracked.Â
Isa was one of Jungwonâs all-star cheer teammates.
She was the kind of girl professors adored and campus baristas remembered, all honey warm laughs and the uncanny ability to make you feel like the most interesting person in the room.
She was a real sweetheart, almost offensively so.Â
You watched, faintly amused, as Isaâs hand slowly brushed Jakeâs chest like she was checking its structural integrity.
She then leaned in closer, whispering somethingâŚand there it was: the beam of that smile.
Not enough to look sweet, and just enough to look dangerousâand Jake definitely knew what he was doing.Â
You suppressed a disbelieving laugh.Â
Jake always had that stupidly charming half-smile, but somewhere between sophomore year and that hockey camp before junior year it transformed along with everything.
From the adorable boy next door to what you could only perfectly describe as one of those absurdly pretty guys you noticed at the airport and felt mildly disappointed when your boarding group got called.Â
Back then you found it deeply annoying.Â
Now you just found it entertaining.Â
Isa laughed again, tracing absent patterns on his chest, and you lifted a brow.Â
Bold.Â
Jakeâs hand hovered briefly at Isaâs waist, polite but noncommittal. He was looking down at her, nodding and listening intently.
And then his eyes shifted, finding yours.Â
You didnât look away, simply curving your lips in a mild, impressed half-smile, communicating with your countenance: Busy night?Â
Recognition flashed across his face, followed by a slow grin that made something in your stomach flip against its will.Â
Jake briefly turned back to Isa, saying something that was clearly unreadable. She blinked up at him, mid suggestion before Jake began to step back, to your surprise.Â
He murmured something that made Isaâs face flickerâconfusion? disappointment?âbefore he offered an apologetic smile.Â
And then he turned, making a direct beeline for the bar.Â
You found yourself straightening slightly, ignoring the flicker of something that suspiciously felt like anticipation.Â
âFancy meeting you here,â Jake greeted, sliding in next to you with a growing smile.
You tilted your head. âStalking me, Sim?â
âAlways. Itâs my favorite hobby.â Jake leaned against the bar, throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way he always annoyingly did.Â
He leaned back to take your outfit in properly for the first time. âDamn, (Y/N). Do you always dress like that or did I get lucky tonight?â
You smirked, striking a deliberately exaggerated gesture of throwing your hair back. âYou like? I figured if Chaewon gets to dress like a rockstarâs girlfriend, I might as well make an effort.â
âAn effort,â Jake repeated, his eyes trailing over the strappy top that showed off your shoulders, the mini skirt that made your legs look about a mile long.
âThatâs one way to put it. You look unfair.â
âI know.â Your smile was purely unabashed.Â
That was your usual reaction whenever Jake harmlessly flirted with youâcompletely unaffected by his usual behavior in that way that was so quintessentially you.Â
But right now it strangely felt like you were reading lines off a script, irked by that annoying little buzz in your gut that refused to mind its own business.Â
âWell, I didnât spend two hours getting ready for nothing.â
âTwo hours?!â Jake raised his eyebrows with a grin that was equally amused and shocked.Â
âPerfection takes time, Sim. You wouldnât understand with your three-second hair routine and your basic graphic tee and boring jeans.â You judgmentally eyed his frame.Â
Your feigned scrutiny faltered as your eyes betrayed you, lingering on his perfectly toned arms and the waistband of his jeans teasingly lowâCalvin Klein's mocking you.Â
Why did it take hours for girls to get ready while guys practically slapped on whatever they could find and looked likeâŚthat.Â
Jake laughed with a bashful shrug, and without breaking eye contactâhe casually flicked a subtle hand toward one of the bartenders. âWhat can I say angel? Iâm just naturally blessed like that.âÂ
âNaturally something,â You muttered with a grumble.
The man briefly shifted his attention to the bartender, ordering drinks for the two in a way that you shouldnât have found hot, but did.
Youâd been standing there for seven minutes flagging the bartender like an overzealous fangirlâyour cycling through desperate octaves to try and get their attention and heâd justâŚdone it.Â
The drinks you had so far were definitely to blame. It had to be that.
Alcohol lowered standards, it was basic peer reviewed scienceâand you could pull a journal article about that right now. Â
Sober you would never feel a flutter in her chest over a man simply summoning a bartender over with his index finger all while keeping his undivided attention on her.
Ridiculous. Â
Jake turned back to you, âand FYI, The Smiths?â he pointed at his shirt, âisnât basic, youâre just uncultured like that.âÂ
âSays you and every other performative male yearning for substance,â You said once you had your drinks. âAll youâre missing are some glasses, vintage headphones and a Jane Austen book.âÂ
Your best friend clutched his chest with mock hurt, âyou wound me (Y/N), I keep you company, I buy you a drink and yet you still judge me.âÂ
You threw him a well meaning smile and he couldnât conceal his own any further, shaking his head with a chuckle. Â
You paused, searching the crowd in confusion. âWait what happened to Isa? I saw you two looking cozy.â
The question came out before youâd really thought about it. Not that you cared exactlyâJake could talk to whoever he wanted. He always did.
But youâd noticed the way she was with him earlier, with the kind of body language that usually meant Jake would disappear in an hour or less.Â
And yet here he was at the bar. With you.Â
It was weird and out of pattern. That's all.
âSheâs nice.â
âIncorrect answer.â
âThatâs all I can say.â Jake took a sip of his beer, deflecting. âWhat about you? Having fun?â
âDefine fun.â
âThat bad, huh?â
You shrugged, taking a long sip.
Everything about the night shouldâve been perfect, but there was this restless irritation fizzling in your veins that wouldnât quit, and admitting your night was subpar at best, would require admitting why.Â
You ultimately concluded that youâd rather spare yourself more external efforts from friends to squander your sexual embargo.
It also just weirdly felt more mortifying than irritating to hear Jake have an opinion on your nonexistent sex life.Â
âItâs fine. Musicâs good.âÂ
Jake studied you for a moment, and you could feel him reading between the lines in that way he always didâbut thankfully, he didnât push, simply replying with an understanding nod.
You both fell into a comfortable silence, Jayâs band comfortably filling the space.
The place was still busy, with the frenzied humdrum only a Friday night could bring out, but somehow both of you felt more relaxed standing here at the bar with each other than you had all night.
âJay looks good up there,â You observed, watching the stage. âLike, really good. The whole angsty hot musician thing really works for him.â
Jake glanced at you skeptically. âAre you thirsting over my teammate right now?âÂ
âIâm making a simple observation about his attractiveness.â Your eyes gleamed with mischief. âChaewonâs already decided theyâre soulmates based entirely on the way he plays guitar.â
âThat tracks. Jay has that effect on people.â Jake paused. âPlease tell me youâre not under his spell too.â
âRelax, Chaewon called dibs. Besides, musicians are too high-maintenance for me.â You turned to face him fully, leaning your hip against the bar.
The question bubbled in your chest againâthe nagging curiosity about why Jake was here instead of leaving with Isa.
It wasnât jealousy, you just knew Jake.Â
You knew his patterns and knew that when a girl like Isa showed interest, he usually took the opportunity without much hesitation.Â
So why hadnât he?
âHowâs your night actually going? You looked like you were about to leave with Isa.â
Jake shrugged, suddenly seeming very interested in the typography of his beer label. âJust wasnât feeling it, I guess.â
âReally?â You couldnât keep the surprise out of your tone, âyouâve been trying to hook up with her since September.â
Jake made an amusing noise of frustration, âhow does everyone know that?â He threw his hand up, âhave I been that obvious?â
You pursed your lips with intentional silence, darting your eyes back to the stage.Â
âWow, coming for my throat tonight.â
âYouâre always obvious.â You tilted your head, studying him. âBut seriously, you look like youâd rather be anywhere else.â
Jake considered lyingâyou could see it cross his face, the automatic playful smile he used with everyone elseâbut instead, his shoulders dropped slightly with a sigh.
âHonestly? Iâm just spent,â he admitted. âRather drown myself in hockey practice and physics homework than do that whole dance again.â
Jake took a long swig from his drink. âI donât know. Maybe I need a break from all of it.â
âA break? You?â You looked genuinely surprised. âJake Sim, taking a break from hooking up? Did I slip into an alternate dimension?â
âHa ha. But yeah, maybe. The whole thing isâŚexhausting.â
You were quiet for a moment, and when you spoke again, your voice was softer. âYeah. I get that.â
Something in your tone made Jake look at you more closely. You were staring at your drink, the crease in your eyes an adorable yet clear indication that you too, looked like you wished you could be anywhere else.
â...You want to get out of here?â The words came out before Jake could think about them.
You looked up. âWhat?â
âThis place. The gig. Everything.â Jake gestured vaguely. âYou wanna just leave? Go somewhere quieter?â
âWhat about Chaewon and Sunoo?â
âWhat about Heeseung and Sunghoon? Theyâll survive without us.â Jake bumped your shoulder with his. âCome on. Letâs bail. But only if thereâs alcohol at your place.â
Your smile was slow and considering. âSunoo did leave a few bottles of something.âÂ
âSold.â Jake downed the rest of his beer, setting the bottle on the bar. âLetâs go.â
âYou sure? Youâre not going to regret leaving Isa behind?â
Jake looked at you in a way that made your face unusually warm, âIâm pretty sure.âÂ
âCome on.â Jake laced his fingers through yours, tugging you away from the bar.
You tried desperately to down the rest of your drink as he pulled you toward the exit, nearly spilling it on yourself in the process.
âJake waitâIâm stillââ you protested between gulps, giggling.
âChug faster!â He laughed, âI didnât drag you to all those parties for nothing.âÂ
You managed one final heroic swig before he dragged you through the door, both of you laughing like idiots as the cool night air hit your faces.
When you reached your apartment, Jake immediately gravitated to your speaker with the familiarity of someone whoâd done it a thousand times before, immediately fiddling with the device.
âOh, make yourself comfortable,â you called from the kitchen, voice dripping with sarcasm.
âAlready am!â Jake crashed on the couch, kicking off his shoes and propping his feet up on the coffee table. âWhatâve you got?â
âLetâs seeâŚâ You stared at the haphazard arrangement of bottles left on the counter in a rush to catch an uber. âVodka, rum, some tequila that Sunoo left here, andâoh, he got amaretto.â
âFancy.â
âHe does contain multitudes.â You started grabbing at bottles. âWant me to make something, or are we just doing shots?â
âMake something. Show off your bartending skills.â
âI donât have bartending skills.â
âThen improvise. I believe in you.â
You laughed, pulling out glasses and starting to mix something that looked more complicated than it probably needed to be.Â
âSo,â You said, briefly looking up from your mixing, âhowâs hockey going?âÂ
Jake looked away a bit too quickly as he cleared his throat, shrugging. âHockeyâs been the same. Weâve got a game in a few weeks, so everyoneâs pretending theyâre in the NHL.âÂ
You hummed intently, dangerously pouring something amber into something clear.
Jake watched you for a second, âYou should come to the game.â Â
You made a face, âIâve been to games.âÂ
âNot in months.â He pointed at you accusingly. âFake fan behavior.â Jake clicked his tongue in disappointment.Â
âIâve just beenâŚbusy.â You shrugged, crashing beside him and handing him a drink.Â
The speaker finally came to life after he did enough damageâthe harmony of East High students filling the room with way too much glee and optimism for a mellow evening.Â
âShit, my phoneâs still connected.â You lunged for your phone, frantically disconnecting the music amidst Jakeâs unshakable laughter.Â
âHigh School Musical 3?!â He managed between laughs, shoulders shaking while you rolled your eyes with a flustered groan.Â
âWhatever! Itâs a good movie and a good playlist, Iâm not backing down on that.â You insisted, trying to fight the burn that settled in your cheeks.Â
âAww.â Jake cooed, reaching over to pat your head, âyou are such a dork (Y/N).â Still grinning.
âUhhâŚsays the guy who just ditched a sure thing to hang out with me.â
âWho says youâre not a sure thing?â
The words came out more flirtatious than Jake intended, and your eyebrows shot up nimbly. âCareful, Sim. Keep talking like that and I might actually think you actually like spending time with me.âÂ
âI tolerate you.â Jake corrected. âThereâs a difference.âÂ
âRight, thatâs why you drove forty minutes to watch me tank soccer try outs in junior year.âÂ
âThat was moral support.â He defended.
âYou laughed the entire time.â You said dryly, though you were still smiling.Â
âIâm sorry (Y/N), but you were absolutely hilarious, you were playing an entirely different sport.âÂ
âI only grabbed the ball because the midfielder hurled it right at my face!âÂ
The rest of the night melted into something comfortable and way better than where your night had been going a few hours ago.Â
You had reached the point where you could feel the pleasant buzz of the alcohol in your veins, just the right amount of tipsy that made everything entertaining. Â
You two talked about anything and basically everythingâranging from entertaining moments in your yearbook club and hockey, to harmless gripes about your respective roommates.Â
Jake grumbled about how Sunghoon ran the apartment like being captain didn't leave the threshold of the ice rink, while you mentioned Chaewonâs inability to do basically anything without the TV playing âThat 70s Showâ rerunsâeven if she was fast asleep.Â
But being slightly plastered also invited unwarranted impulsivity and honesty in you that only liquid courage could reinforceâslightly unfettered by your sober self to filter your pensive thoughts.
For the most of the conversation your mind had been embarrassingly elsewhere.
Whenever Jake had a few drinks in him, he always talked animatedlyâhands waving, fingers gesturing wildly at something he was talking about.
It was adorable.
Though now, you werenât hyper fixated on his fingers due to dramaticsâbut because they were nice, and pretty, and long. Your mind couldnât help itself with the thought of his fingers at a place you ached for them be.
It was shameful, youâd admit.
Here he was talking your ear of about something youâd tuned out ten minutes ago, and your cunt practically had its own maddening pulse at though your best friend finger fucking you.
You were so horny it was driving you crazy.
âOkay, Iâm calling it,â Jake announced suddenly, drawing you out of your thoughts. âYouâve been in another world for like the past ten minutes.â
âI was here!"
âReally? Care to repeat what I said?â
You opened your mouth, scrambling for an excuse, and closed it. âSunghoonâŚdid another annoying thing?â
âWow. Riveting summary.â Jake shifted to face you, grinning. âWhatâs going on? And donât say ânothingâ because youâre a terrible liar.â
âIâm an excellent liar, actually.â
âYouâre really not. Remember poker night at mine?â
You groaned with a roll of your eyes. âThat doesnât count.â
âOh, it counts.â He was already grinning at the memory. âYou had a garbage hand and kept licking your lips.â
âMy lips were dry!â
âYour lips are never dry, (Y/N).â He stated with light humor in his tone, and you tried to maintain a neutral expression at that clearly harmless observation.
âYou were panicking.â Jake poked your side, making you squirm. âCome on, spill. Whatâs the deal?â
Diversion was the obvious way out.
You could change the subject, and insist on moving onâbut honestly? You were way too tired and tipsy to thinking about your sexual frustrations alone. And if you couldnât talk to Jake about this stuff, who could you talk to?
âOkay, fine.â You sighed, sitting up a bit straighter, âbut you have to promise not to be weird about it.âÂ
Jakeâs eyebrows shot up, intrigued. âThis already sounds amazing. I canât promise anything.â
âJake.â
âOkay, okay. I promise to be minimally weird. Thatâs the best youâre getting.â
You rolled your eyes but continued. âRemember at the party when we were complaining about hookups and relationships?â
âYou mean two weeks ago when I was having my Yuna crisis?â
âYes, that. Well, Iâve been thinking about what you said,â you shifted in your spot, suddenly hyperaware of his unwavering gaze,ââŚabout wanting something fun without all the complications.âÂ
Jakeâs lips quirked up into something mischievous. âOh? Do tell.â
âDonât make this weird.â
âToo late, already weird. Continue.â
You grabbed a throw pillow, hugging it to your chest. âIâm just saying, you had a point. Everyoneâs either looking for their future partner or treating hookups like sports tryouts. And both options sound exhausting.â
âYouâre not wrong. So what, youâve been sitting here thinking about that?â
âMaybe. Is that so weird?â
âNot at all. Iâve been having the same crisis for three weeks.â Jakeâs tone was light but his eyes still focused on you with unusual intensity.Â
âWhat brought this on? Finally tired of guys getting jealous of your devastatingly handsome best friend?â
You sighed with theatrical awe, âyour humility is truly inspiring.â
âIâm just stating facts.â He grinned. âBut seriously, whatâs up?â
Your fingers picked at the loose threads on the pillow. âI donât know. I guess Iâve just beenâŚfrustrated lately. And not in a âmy assignment is dueâ way.â
âOh?â Jakeâs grin widened. âWhat kind of frustrated are we talking about here?â
âYouâre such a child.â
âYou brought it up!â
âIâm trying to have a serious conversation!â
âAbout being sexually frustrated?â Jake was fully grinning now, clearly enjoying himself. âBy all means, continue. This is fascinating.â
âI hate you.â You threw the pillow at his face, and he caught it, laughing.Â
âNo you donât.â Jake tossed the pillow back.
âBut okay, seriouslyâI get it. The whole âtoo stressed to date but too stressed not toâ thing. Itâs an annoying cycle.â
âExactly!â You gestured emphatically. âLike, I donât have the energy to deal with someone getting clingy or possessive, but I alsoââ You cut yourself off, feeling the warmth blossom in your cheeks.
âBut you also want to get laid?â Jake supplied helpfully.
âOh my god.â
âWhat? Iâm just finishing your sentence!â
âYouâre enjoying this way too much.â
âCan you blame me? Youâre usually so put together and now youâre over here blushing about wanting to have sex. Itâs adorable.â
You glared at him. âI will kick you out.â
âNo you wonât. You need me for emotional support during your dilemma.â Jakeâs grin softened into something more genuine. âBut for real though, I get it. Itâs like⌠you want the fun parts without any of the dramatic parts.â
âRight! Is that too much to ask? Just something simple and uncomplicated?â
âApparently, yes. Because people are terrible at keeping things simple.â
âThe worst.â
You fell quiet, both contemplating the unfairness of modern dating.
Then Jake spoke up, voice casual but carrying an undercurrent of something else, âwe could solve both our problems pretty easily.â
âRemember when I also suggested that weâŚâ He trailed off, letting the allusion of what you two playfully conspired that nightâand your heart skipped.
âYeah. I remember.â
âIâm just saying.â Jake turned to face you fully, one arm draped over the couch back.
âIt makes sense. We both want the same thing and weâre both sitting here whining about it when the solution is right in front of our faces.â
Your mouth went dry. âJakeââ
Jakeâs eyes were dark with the kind of mischief that meant the gears were already turning. âWe already know each other. Thereâs no feelings, no games, no jealousy, no crying in cafeteria hallsââ
You broke into a chuckle at the memory. âOh yeah, that was hilarious.â
âNot my pointâbut see? With you, thereâs none of that. JustâŚfun. Simple. Easy.â He shifted closer, his knee bumping yours.Â
âWeâre both adults. Weâre both frustrated. We trust each other. Whereâs the harm in having a little fun?â
âThe harm is that it could make things weird.â You supplied, with a lift of an eyebrow.Â
You were mostly convincing yourself more than anything, because this was a bad idea.
But the traitorous part of your mind, honest enough to admit that you wanted to be thoroughly, enthusiastically fucked senseless seemed to scrap your sensible thought.
âOr it could make things better.â Jakeâs voice dropped lower. âNo messy baggage, justâŚtwo friends helping each other out.â
You chewed on your lip, and Jake couldnât help but track the movement, his gaze sending a shock straight to your core.
âSo what, we justâŚdo it? Hook up?âÂ
âWhy not?â Jake was warming to the idea all over again.
Your eyes briefly flickered to his slender fingers, absentmindedly brushing against his lips and you wondered what it would feel like to kiss themâall soft, plump and pretty.
âOkay.â
Jake blinked, eyes going wide for a brief second.Â
âButâbutâif we actually did this, there would have to be rules.â
Jakeâs face lit up, and he had to physically school into something nonchalant. âRules. Yes. Iâm great with rules.â
âYou break rules constantly.â You stated, with an unimpressed squint.Â
âHockey rules. These would be different. Important rules.â He sat up straighter, all business now, ârule one: this would just be for fun. No expectations.â
âObviously.â
âRule two: nothing changes. Weâre still best friends first.â
âAgreed.â
âRule three: if it gets weird, we stop. No questions asked.â
âThatâs actually reasonable,â you admitted.
âI have my moments.â Jake was grinning now, clearly pleased with himself.
âAnd rule four,â you added, âwe donât tell anyone. Not because itâs shameful, but because everyone would make it into this huge dramatic thing.â
âMakes sense.â
âAnd rule fiveââ Jakeâs expression turned more sincere. âThis doesnât fuck up what we have. Because youâre too important to lose over something thatâs supposed to be fun.â
Your chest felt tight, shifting to manual breathing. âDo you really think we can pull this off?â
âI think we can.â Jake reached over, softly brushing a thumb over your knuckles. âBut only if you actually want to.â
Did you want to?
God, yes. Jake was right. This could work. You could make this work.
âOkay,â you said, the word coming out more confident than you felt.
Jakeâs eyebrows shot up. âOkay?â
âOkay. Letâs try it.â You nodded, feeling slightly terrified and exhilarated in concert. âBut this would just be a one time thing.â
âYeah, just a one time thing,â Jake rehashed with a dutiful nod.Â
You held his gaze for a second, the space between you abruptly feeling tighter, charged with something chancyâsomething youâd never imagined would exist with Jake.Â
âSoâŚâ you started, suddenly feeling awkward. âDo we just likeâŚnow?â
âI mean, we could?â Jake laughed, hand pushing through his hair. âUnless you want to schedule it? Put it in our calendars? âHook up with best friend, Friday 9PMâ?â
âOh my god, shut up.â You dragged your hands over your face, groaning between giggles.
âIâm just saying, we could be organized about thisââ
Before Jake could get another word out, you fisted your hands in his shirt and dragged his lips to yours.Â
It was impulsive, born from equal parts frustration and avidity and the need to just do something before you overthought yourself out of this entirely.
Jake made a small sound of surprise before kissing you back, his hand sliding into your hair while his other arm wrapped around your waist.
And oh. Oh.
Jakeâs lips were just as soft as youâd expected, moving against yours with a certainty that made your stomach flip.
He tasted like the drinks youâd been sharing and that cologne that was so distinctly him, and it was intoxicating in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol.
Your hands found his shoulders, gripping tight as the kiss turned hungrier and urgent. Jake pulled you closer, eliminating any space between you, and you went willingly, your brain finally, blessedly shutting off.
This was happening. This was really happening.
And it felt right in a way that should probably concern you but currently didnât.
When you finally broke apart for air, both breathing heavily, Jakeâs gaze carried something indecipherable that had never been aimed at you before.Â
âSo,â he said, voice rough. âYour room?â
You laughed, slightly breathless. âWell, weâre literally at my place. Seems efficient.â
âRight.â Jake blinked himself out of a haze. âEfficient.â He stood, pulling you up with him. âLead the way?â
You grabbed his hand, leading him down the short hallway to your room. Your heart was practically beating out of your chest, anticipation and nervousness and want all tangled together in your chest.
This was probably a mistake.
But god, you wanted it anyway.
The door closed with a defining click behind Jake as he leaned against the door, trying to catch his breath and his bearings.
âOkay, so how do you want toââ
His voice died completely when you grabbed the hem of your top and pulled it over your head in one swift, confident motion.
Jakeâs brain short-circuited.
Whatever heâd been about to say evaporated the second your bare skin hit the air.Â
You adorned a black lace bra that was definitely not your usual practical style, and Jakeâs eyes dropped before he could stop them.
Holy shit.
âIf we do this,â you said, seemingly unbothered by his staring, âwe both have to swear itâs just one time and nothing changes. Iâm still the annoying girl who steals your music taste, and youâre stillââ
You cut yourself off when you realized Jake wasnât even listening to a single word. His eyes were locked shamelessly on your chest, his expression somewhere between awe and hunger.
You clapped your hands sharply. âHey! Can you pay attention?â
Jakeâs gaze jerked upward, heat flooding his cheeks. âSorry,â he laughed, the sound stupefied and breathless. âItâs justâyouâre kind ofâI meanâWow.â He signaled vaguely at you, swallowing hard, âman, do I love Victoriaâs Secret.â
Despite yourself, you felt a smile tug at your lips, âgod, you men are so easy.â
âNo, noâthatâs unfair.â Jake leaned closer, defensive but grinning. âIâm still fully dressed while youâve already started stripping. Thatâs cheating.â
âWell?â You crossed your arms beneath your chest, deliberately emphasizing your cleavage as you tilted your chin up. âWhat are you waiting for?â
Jake huffed out a laugh, already reaching for his shirt. âYouâre bossy. Are you always this bossy when you do this?â
In one quick move, he tugged his shirt off and tossed it aside. The fabric hit the floor, and suddenly his body was right there in front of youâall lean muscle and defined lines that you had definitely not been noticing for weeks now.
Youâd seen Jake shirtless more times than you could count, but somehow, here in your small bedroom with the air different between you, it felt like the first time.
âDepends,â you said, reaching out to run your fingers through his messy hair, and his eyes softened, closing briefly with a soft groan.
âIf my timeâs being wasted, I take charge.â
âOh, donât worry.â Jakeâs voice dropped low, conspiratorial, as his hands found your waist. âIâll make it worthwhile.â
You scoffed, arching a brow even as your stomach flipped at the promise in his tone.
âSure.â
âStill doubting me?â His hands were a satisfying contrast to your skin, thumbs tracing idle circles just above your hipsâpulling you closer until you could feel the warmth radiating off him.
âIâve been let down before,â you muttered, though your heart was hammering at the gentle pressure of his touch.
âOkay, fair.â Jake reached over to brush the edge of your jaw before his palm settled warm against your cheek. He leaned in slowly, his lips hovering just above yours teasingly, âbut you just havenât done it with me.â
The cocky murmur had your pulse tripping.Â
Just as Jake tilted forward to close the distance, you darted back, laughing when he immediately followed, chasing your mouth.
âWoah, ease up there, big boy. The rulesââ
âOne time only, nothing changes, yeah, yeah.â His words tumbled out in a rush, impatient and wantingâand before you could object again, Jakeâs mouth crashed into yours.
You practically melted, all your carefully constructed defenses dissolving like sugar in water. Your arms snaked around his neck as he leaned into you with a muffled sound of satisfaction.Â
You were both conjectural at first. Maybe youâd both eventually change your minds and call it quits, probably laugh at this absurd night a few weeks later over watered-down liquor in some crowded house.
But his lips were so softâŚso invitingâand every time you tried to briefly pull away to catch your breath, he was seeking your lips like heâd been starved for way too long, and the only thing satiating him was this.
Jakeâs hand slid from your cheek into your hair, tilting your head just so, while the other pressed firm against the small of your back, bridging any remaining distance.
Heat curled low in your stomach as his tongue brushed yours, teasing, pulling a tiny, involuntary sound from your throat.
The sound made him groan into your mouth, kissing you harder, needier, until the room seemed to shrink around just the two of you.
You barely had time to catch your breath before his grip shiftedâone strong arm hooking under your thighs, the other steady at your back.Â
In a swift, dizzying motion, he lifted you clean off the ground, your legs instinctively locking around his waist.
Jake barely pulled away from your mouth, even as he carried you, the kisses now messy, consuming, teeth grazing your lower lip before he tugged it gently between his.Â
You gasped, a sharp inhale against him, and he swallowed the sound like heâd been waiting for it.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan low in his chestâthe vibration thrumming against your lips, down your throat, charging through you like static.Â
Jakeâs hand slid higher along your back, palm splayed broad and possessive, holding you flush against him as if the closeness still wasnât close enough.
The bed eventually sank under your weight as he leaned over you, the chill of the cotton sheets against your spine a quiet counterpoint to his solid frame.Â
He kissed you harder, tilting his head to deepen it, his tongue sweeping against yours with a deliberate fervor that made your legs tighten around him.
Your breath hitched when his teeth grazed your jaw, trailing marks along the skin as he dragged his mouth along your neckâevery brush of his lips, every nip, sending shivers racing down your spine.
Jake murmured something against your skin, too low and ruined by a groan to catch, but the sound alone had your chest heaving.
Jake felt solid beneath your grip, steady even while you were falling apart, dizzy from the heady mix of stolen breath, and the throbbing ache between your legs.
When his lips returned to yours, it was recklessâyour breathless sighs lost in it, swallowed whole as his hand snuck beneath your back and searched for the clasp of your bra.Â
Jake only pulled away to gauge your reaction, cautious enough to ask, âare you sure want me toââÂ
âNowâs not the time to be considerate,â You interrupted, voice breathless and edged with frustration.
âGeez,â he laughed against your mouth, âyouâre kinda hot when youâre demanding.âÂ
âIâm hot all the time,â you rolled your eyes, ânow take the damn thing off.â That came out whinier than you intended it to be, but he obligedâpulling back just enough to slide the straps down your shoulders, the lace falling away completely.Â
For a moment, he just stared, and you watched his expression shift from playful to something darkerâhungrier.
His throat worked as he swallowed hard.
âFuck,â Jake said, voice rough. âYour tits are perfect.â
You felt a flush of pride and satisfaction despite yourself, âtell me something I donât know.â
âIâm serious.â His hands came up to cup your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made you gasp.Â
âLike, I knew you were attractive, obviously, but this isââ He shook his head, seemingly at a loss for words. âThis is unfair. Youâre unfair.â
âAre you done admiring, or are we actually doing this?â Your voice came out as a breathless moan, your body already arching into his touch for more.
âOh, weâre doing this.â Jakeâs grin turned wicked as he lowered his head, his mouth trailing down your neck. âBut I have to take my time enjoying this.â
âJakeââ
âRelax.â His lips brushed against your collarbone, trailing lower. âI said Iâd make it worthwhile, remember? Trust me.â
You wanted to argue, and then Jakeâs mouth closed over your nipple and your brain short-circuited completely.
âOh fuck,â you breathed, hands flying to his hair, gripping the soft strands between your fingers.
Jake hummed against your skin, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through your entire body.
His tongue circled slowly, deliberately, while his hand worked your other breast with the same focused attention.
Your head fell back into the pillow with a soft broken moan, eyes falling shut as your lips went agape. Â
Okay, maybe him taking his time wasnât the worst idea.
âStill want me to rush?â Jake asked, his voice smug as he switched sides, swirling and sucking on the sensitive bud with satisfied groans.
âShut up,â you managed, between gasps.Â
âThatâs what I thought.â
His hands slid down to your hips, fingers slipping into the waistband of your skirt. He pulled back to throw you a demanding look, âthese need to come off,â he rasped.
You lifted your hips helpfully and without complaint, eager to eliminate any remaining barriers between you.
Jake made quick work of your small bottoms and underwear, stripping them away in one smooth motion, groaning at the sight of your arousal practically sticking to the lacy fabric.
Then he sat back on his heels, just looking at you laid out on your bed, completely bare before him.
âYouâre staring.â You pointed out, trying to sound unaffected even as your skin prickled under his gaze.Â
You moved to close your legs, suddenly too aware of how exposed you were.Â
Jakeâs hands caught your knees before they could come together, gently but firmly pushing them back apart. âI canât help it.â His hands ran up your thighs, spreading them wider. âSuch a pretty pussy.â
âBeing a kiss ass isnât necessaryââ
âItâs not being a kiss ass if itâs true.â His fingers traced idle patterns on your inner thighs, maddeningly close to where you wanted him but not quite there.
âJake, I swear to god, if you donâtââ
Your complaint died in a moan as his fingers finally, finally touched you where you needed him most, practically slipping between your slick folds with ease.
"Youâre soââ his voice died in his throat, eyes fluttering shut for a second as his cock painfully throbbed in the constraint of his jeans, a shuddery breath escaping his lips.Â
âSo fucking wet." Jake groaned, his fingers sliding through her slickness. âIs this all for me?â
A ragged moan tore from your lips as he began to pump them inside you, barely giving you the chance to respondâgrabbing at his shoulders as you tried to anchor yourself.Â
You struggled to form a proper sentence, your hips rocking in time with his fingersâtoo lost on the incredible sensation.
His fingers found your clit, rubbing it in erratic circles and your hand practically flew to his wrist, with a sharp cry.
"Fuck, right there." You moaned, âdonât stop.â
"Are you begging?" He smirked, his eyes gleaming as he watched your expression contort, pleasure rippling through your body. âI wish this could last forever.â
"Donâtâdonât look so smug aboutâoh fuckââ
Jakeâs expression shifted entirely, eyes going dark and predatory in a way that made you clench around his fingers helplessly.Â
Then his pace slowed.Â
The focused attention that had been driving you toward the edge became something torturously gentle and maddeningly unhurried.
âLast warning (Y/N).â His tone irritatingly calm, âBe good for me or I stop and leave you like this.âÂ
One slow, intentional curl of his fingers made you whimper, âand we both know you wonât come nearly as hard with your fingers.â
âOkay, Iâll behaveâIâll be good I swear,â you gasped out, any pretense of your control dissolving as your hips chased the rhythm he was denying you.
âGood.â His smirk was brief but devastating before he returned to a different pace, this time with no intent of stoppingâplunging into until you were a moaning mess.
âThatâs it. Just like that.â He growled, his thumb finding your clit again and rubbing it in torturous circles, sending sparks of pleasure through you. âLook at you.â
Your walls clenched around his fingers, helplessly bucking into his hand, the sound of your whimpers music to Jakeâs ears as he pumped his fingers at a jaw dropping speed.
Your back arched, the coil inside you snapping, and waves of pleasure rolled over you as you came, a strangled cry tearing from your throat.
Jake eventually pulled his fingers out of you when your loud mewls reduced to whimpersâlicking them clean, and the sight alone had you nearly begging him to finger fuck you again.
But he had better plans as the satisfying sight of him stripping met your hazy sight.Â
Your breath caught when Jake finally stripped off his jeans and boxers, your eyes widening slightly despite yourself.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Youâd known, theoretically, that Jake wasâŚproportionate. Tall guy, athlete, the math checked out.Â
But theory and reality were two very different things, and reality was currently standing in front of you.
You clenched around nothing as you stared at his hard cock, the head glistening with pre-cum and wanted nothing more than to feel him inside you, stretching and filling you to the hiltâat least thatâs what youâd hoped.
The last thing you needed was for a pretty cock to be rendered useless.
You were impressed and maybe slightly intimidated, swallowed thickly, a flutter of nervousness mixing with the sheer need for to be in you now.
Jake caught your expression, his expression softening into something gentler. âHey. We donât have toââ
âNo,â you said way too quickly, meeting his eyes. âNo, I want to. I justâŚgive me a second.â
âTake all the time you need.â Jake moved over you, settling himself between your soaked folds, brushing it against your slick making your head spin.Â
âWeâll go slow.â
Slow, Jake thought, every muscle in his body tense with restraint. Right. Slow. He could do slow.
Except he wasnât sure he could. Not when you were spread out beneath him looking like every fantasy heâd been trying not to have for three weeks.Â
âTell me if itâs too much.â
You nodded, before he grabbed this side of your face capturing your lips with his, stealing your air in a consuming, needy manner. Your arms looped around his neck, clinging as his mouth slanted deeper against yours.Â
You could feel him prodding at your center, aligning himself at your dripping entrance before he slowly slid in and both your mouths fell slack against each other as you both gasped at the sensation.Â
The stretch was intense, almost overwhelming, your body struggling to accommodate him. Jake moved incrementally, giving you time to adjust, and you could feel him shaking slightly with the effort of holding back.
âYou okay?â Jakeâs voice was strained and rough.
âYeah,â you breathed. âYeah, keep going.â
Jake pushed in further, still maddeningly slow, and your nails dug into his shoulders with a small cry. It was almost too much, riding that edge between pleasure and pain but then it shiftedâand you thought you were losing your mind.
âHoly shit,â Jake breathed, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. âYou feelâfuck, (Y/N), you feel amazing.â
Your hips rolled experimentally, and Jakeâs control nearly snapped. âShit,â he hissed. â(Y/N), if you do that againââ
You did it again purely uncontrolled, drawing a broken moan from the both of you. âFuck.â Jakeâs hips jerked involuntarily, pulling out slightly before sliding back in, and you gasped.
He started to move then, slowly, setting a gentle rhythm that was meant to ease you into it. Long, measured strokes that had your breath hitching but werenât quite enough.Â
You wanted more.
But you were also acutely aware that you would regret that tomorrow.
Hell, youâd probably regret it in an hour. Walking was going to be interesting. Sitting in class on Monday was going to be a nightmare.
But if you were only doing this once, then you wanted all of it.Â
âJake,â you gasped out.
âYeah?â His voice was breathless, his rhythm steady but clearly controlled.
âStopââ you gripped his shoulders harder. âStop being so gentle.â
Jake stilled, pulling back to look at you. âWhat?â
âIâm notââ your face flushed, but you held his gaze. âIâm not going to break.â You pulled him down, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. âStop playing nice and fuck me properly.â
Jake went completely still for a heartbeat, his pupils blowing wide until his eyes looked almost black, âYou sure?â His voice was rough, dangerous.
âPlease,â you breathed, and that was all the green light he needed.
Jake slipped out of you before snapping into you, and your head tipped back with a broken moan.Â
He set a new paceâstill controlled but no longer careful, his cock dragging along your walls with deliberate and powerful strokesâhitting spots inside you that made you see stars behind your eyelids.Â
Holy fucking shit.
You could feel him everywhereâdeep, so deep you could barely breathe. Your body was stretched impossibly full, pleasure radiating out from your core in waves that made you shake.
It was goodâso goodâbut that careful pace was driving you crazy.
âJake,â you panted, your nails raking down his back. âPleaseâ you struggled to form words, your brain short-circuiting with pleasure. âI wantâI needââ
âTell me.â Jakeâs voice was rough, shockingly controlled despite everything. âTell me what you need.â
Everything, you thought desperately. You needed everything.
âFaster,â you gasped out. âPlease, Jake. Stop treating me like Iâm fragile and justâfuck me.â
He shifted his grip, one hand sliding under your knee as he hooked your leg over his shoulder, opening you further as he slammed into youâover and over again.
âLike that?â Jakeâs voice was rough, commanding.Â
âThat what you wanted?â
âYesâoh godâyesââ the cries practically tumbled out your lips at its own accord, dumbstruck by the punishing pace, all his careful restraint abandoned.Â
Your nails clawed at Jakeâs back, his shoulders, anything you could reach marking his skin as he pounded into your relentlessly, reducing any coherent thoughts to pure overwhelming sensation
âNobodyâs ever made you feel like this, have they? Be honest.â
You shook your head. âSo good, so good, so fucking good.âÂ
The room echoed with desperate sounds of your voice, breathless moans and the obscene sounds of him pistoning into you.
You didnât even notice youâd caught your lip between your teeth, trying to stifle the pathetic sounds, until Jake made a sound of disapproval, thumb dragging your lower lip, freeing it from your bite. Â
âUh-uh, I want to hear you.â He demanded, watching you squirm beneath him with pathetic cries as he pounded into you, clenching around him like a vice.Â
âThatâs it,â Jake growled. âLet me hear you. Want to hear you say my name.â
âJakeâJakeâoh my god, Jakeââ your sounds pitched higher and higher, breaking into breathless pleas. Â
So much for one time, you thought.
âFuck, (Y/N)ââ Jakeâs words dissolved into a groan. âSo, so fucking perfectââ
You shattered, vision going blurry as your second orgasm crashed through you in waves so intense you couldnât breathe or think.Â
You were wrecked, helplessly fluttering around him, distantly aware of screaming his nameâprobably loud enough for the entire floor to hear, but you were beyond caring.
The aftershocks rolled through your body, your mind completely white-static as your legs shaked uncontrollablyâbarely able to remember your own name, let alone form a sober thought.
But JakeâJake was still moving, still buried inside you with no intent of stopping.
How the hell was he still going?Â
âToo much,â you whimpered, trying to push him away even though some deeper part of you absolutely did not want him to stop.Â
âI canâtââ
Jake caught your wrists gently but firmly, pinning them gently above your head with one hand.Â
His other hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he slowed his rhythm just slightly.
âYes you can,â he said, his voice raspy and strained but somehow still demanding. âYou can give me one more.â
Fuck. So close. Jake was so fucking close, and you felt incredible.
âI canât,â you gasped, even as your body betrayed you, already building toward something else despite your protests.
The assailing sensation was intenseâalmost too much but not quite, toeing that perfect line between pleasure and overwhelm.
âYou can,â Jake insisted, his free hand sliding down to grip your hip, holding you steady as he maintained that stupefying pace. âYouâre doing so good, (Y/N). So fucking perfect. Just a little more, baby.â
Jake adjusted his angle slightly, hitting that heavenly spot inside you that made you feel dizzy all over again.
âThatâs it,â Jake groaned, his grip on your wrists tightening slightly. âFeel so fucking good. Youâre taking me so well.â
Your eyes fluttered close, your mouth open in a silent cry as the oversensitivity morphed into something else entirely, your body responding despite your exhausted protests, that familiar coil building again impossibly fast.
âJake,â you gasped out, his name broken and desperate.
âI know. I know, baby.â His voice was wrecked now, losing that controlled edge. âCome with me. Need you toâfuckâneed you to come with me.â His eyebrows drew together, his mouth falling open as his rhythm stuttered.Â
The steady, controlled movements were becoming erratic, punctuated by the gorgeous sounds of his deep groans, catching and transform into higher, breathier whimpers when you clenched around him.
The hand on your hip slid between you again, thumb finding you oversensitive clit, and you nearly screamed.
âEvery sound you makeâgod, itâs the hottest thing Iâve ever heard.â He whimpered breathlessly chasing his own release.
âPlease,â Jake groaned, and you'd never heard him sound so desperate, so undone. âPlease, (Y/N). One more. Give me one more.â
So pretty, your mind supplied hazily. He sounded so fucking pretty when he was losing control.
The combination of his fingers, his words, the way he was looking at you like youâit was too much.
You came apart again, harder this time, your vision whiting out as your whole body arched up into his as pleasure crashed over you in a surge that felt endless.
You felt Jakeâs rhythm stutter, burying himself into you as he finally, finally found his own hit with a groan that sounded like it was torn from his chest.
You felt him pulse inside you, his whole body going rigid before collapsing against you, his face buried in your neck as he came with a sound that was absolutely the prettiest thing ever.Â
âFuck.â His head dropped to your shoulder, his whole body shuddering, still holding your wrists above your head like heâd forgotten to let go.
Consciousness you lost for a brief second, the dark spots clouding your visions before they gradually faded away.Â
Both of you were trembling and gasping for air, your hearts pounding against each other.
Jake lifted his head slightly, his hair a complete disaster and his eyes still unfocused.Â
âYou okay?â
You let out a breathless hazy laugh. âAsk me that question in five minutes.â
Jakeâs laugh was weak but genuine, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before he carefully pulled out, both of you wincing slightly at the sensitivity, before collapsing beside you.Â
You laid there in silence for a moment, both trying to catch your breath.Â
âThatââ you couldnât even find words. âJake, that wasââ
âYeah.â Jake echoed breathlessly.Â
Fucked.Â
Absolutely fucked. In every sense of the word, was what you were. Â
There was no way this would be a one time thing.Â
margin of errorđ
smut: margin of error - after hours (mdni.)
pairing: jake sim x fem!reader
summary: two top university debaters have been competing for first place since freshman year. you work hard for every point to keep your scholarship, while jake seems to win effortlessly. when youâre forced to lead an important research project together, your rivalry gets more complicated â and working side by side might be harder than losing to each other.
wc: 60k (damnâ i'm sorry)
genre: heavy angst, fluff, a bit of smut, very suggestive dialogue | college!au, very slowburn, rivals to lovers, drunk confessions
tags: m/f, academic rivals to lovers, slow burn that actually burns, rich boy trauma (surprise!), forced proximity, competitive sexual tension, âi hate youâ but make it yearning, mutual obsession disguised as rivalry, she works twice as hard - he makes it look easy, high-stakes academia, scholarship stress, power struggle romance, âyou donât trust meâ core, denial x denial, emotionally constipated idiots in love, golden boy complex, rich boy with abandonment issues, identity split (jake vs jaeyun), fratboy persona as coping mechanism, performance vs authenticity, ego built on insecurity, secretly sensitive jake, lowkey needy jake, praise-starved jake, soft dom energy but emotionally fragile, overachiever reader, perfectionism as a coping mechanism, drunk honesty, jake cries while drunk, jealousy but subtle, everyone sees it but them, chaotic friend group, niki cockblocking, intellectual intimacy, slow emotional unraveling, reluctant trust, vulnerability arc, emotional hurt/comfort, earned happy ending, emotional payoff, âweâre better togetherâ, control issues translate to the bedroom, kiss while raining, dorm hook up, very consensual, dry humping, fingering (f rec), praise, suggested brattaming, almost-sex
this fic will also include mentions of the le sserafim and other enhypen members
a/n: hi <3 yes i disappeared for two months. life was stressful, my brain was fried, and i didnât get to any requests â iâm sorry about that. i needed a second to breathe. but!!! i wrote this instead. you all know i donât play about college jake. something about golden boys under too much pressure and a fratboy mask just does something to me đŤ and honestly, i think this might be my favorite thing iâve written. it really feels complete to me right now. also i really wanted to explore expectations, scholarship stress, golden boy syndrome, and what it feels like to perform a version of yourself that everyone loves. so yes. yes, i gave him abandonment issues. yes, i made him cry while drunk. yes, the academic power dynamics mirror in the bedroom. and no i will not apologize 𫡠also this is a really slow burn. like. really slow burn. tension-first, feelings-first, ego-vs-vulnerability slow burn. this was originally intended to have full smut, but the slow burn said no. there still is a smut scene â itâs just a little different from my usual âweâre going to hellâ level of smut, but it fit the pacing better this way. itâs still heated. itâs just very them. SOOO if you like insecure men who pretend theyâre fine or praise-starved golden boys with soft dom energy â welcomeđ
youâre halfway through your rebuttal when jake interrupts. of course he does. sim jaeyun - jake, to everyone who isnât close enough to him - has an instinct for timing that makes him unbearable. he never cuts you off early enough to look rude. he waits until the exact second your argument sounds airtight, then slips in with a âcorrectionâ like heâs doing you a favor. heâs been doing it since freshman year, since the first debate qualifier where he showed up late, apologized in that faint australian accent of his, and then proceeded to dismantle three seniors like it was casual exercise. âyour economic model assumes stabilityâ he says now, voice smooth, measured. âwhich would be impressive if we were discussing a world that actually functions that way.â thereâs a soft ripple of laughter from the audience. you donât look at him. âthe model assumes reasonable policy intervention. if youâd listened instead of preparing your one-liners, youâd know that.â - âoh, i listenedâ he replies lightly. âi just disagree.â jake doesnât raise his voice. he doesnât need to. he stands with that easy posture, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie slightly loosened like this is beneath him but still worth winning. jake is confident. jake is effortless. jake is the version professors love. âyouâre oversimplifyingâ you continue, flipping a page without rushing. âshort-term volatility doesnât invalidate long-term structural reform.â - âand blind faith in structure doesnât prevent collapseâ he counters immediately. âhistoryâs pretty clear on that.â you finally glance at him. heâs already looking at you. thereâs something infuriating about the way he debates - not aggressive, not even arrogant exactly, just assured. like he trusts his brain enough not to panic. you donât have that luxury. you prepare. you outline. you rehearse transitions until theyâre automatic. jake improvises. the moderator signals for final statements. you straighten your notes, pulse steady, and deliver your closing with controlled precision. every statistic placed intentionally, every sentence built to corner his argument. when you finish, you hear a few murmurs of approval. good. jake doesnât check his notes before he begins. he just steps forward, hands loosely clasped, and talks. âmy opponent builds beautiful frameworksâ he says calmly, nodding toward you. âtheyâre detailed, organized, almost airtight. the problem is they assume people act rationally. they assume institutions behave ethically. and if the last decade has taught us anything, itâs that they donât.â he doesnât rush. he doesnât stumble. he adjusts mid-sentence like heâs rearranging thoughts in real time. âand when systems failâ he finishes, glancing at you again, âflexibility matters more than control.â thereâs a beat of silence before applause. you hate that itâs good. the judges deliberate longer than usual. when they return, the head judge smiles politely. âby a margin of three points⌠jake.â three points. thatâs nothing. thatâs everything. he leans slightly toward you as the applause starts. âyou almost had me.â you gather your papers without looking up. âalmost is still losing.â he laughs under his breath. âyouâre terrifying when youâre competitive.â âiâm always competitive.â-âyeahâ he says. âi know.â
backstage is crowded, loud, chaotic. someone bumps your shoulder. you barely notice because jake is suddenly right in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to maintain eye contact. âyou relied too much on theoryâ you say quietly. âyou relied too much on control.â - âyou improvise when youâre cornered.â - âyou overprepare because youâre scared.â your jaw tightens. âscared of what?â he studies you for half a second too long. âbeing wrong.â - âand youâre not?â - âi amâ he says easily. âi just donât mind it.â thatâs a lie. you donât call him on it. someone from the team claps him on the back. âjaeyun, youâre insane.â he winces slightly. âitâs jake.â they blink. âright. sorry.â he waves it off like he doesnât care, but you notice the tension in his jaw before he smooths it away. âyouâd think after two years theyâd learn itâ you mutter and he looks back at you. âdid you just defend me?â - âi hate incompetence.â that makes him grin. âsure.â you check your phone out of habit and freeze. thereâs an email from the department chair flagged urgent. jakeâs phone buzzes at the same time. he glances down, then back up at you, expression shifting from amused to intrigued. âyou got that too?â- âapparently.â he steps closer so you can both read from one screen without fully admitting thatâs what youâre doing. your shoulders almost touch. youâre aware of it. you ignore it. âtop two ranked debaters selected to co-lead the undergraduate policy research initiativeâ he reads aloud. âpublic presentation at the end of the semester. faculty oversight minimal.â you exhale slowly. âyouâre kidding.â he looks delighted. âweâre partners.â - âi donât want to be your partner.â-âand yetâ he says lightly, âfate persists.â you step back first. âthis isnât debate. this is research.â -âiâm aware.â-âyou donât outline.â-âi can outline.â-âyou donât.â - he folds his arms. âyou donât adapt.â- âi adapt.â- âreluctantly.â you stare at each other for a long second. the hallway noise fades into background static. heâs close enough that you can see the faint scar near his eyebrow from some story he once told about rugby at his private school in brisbane. you remember more about him than youâd like. âyouâre not taking this seriouslyâ you say. âi amâ he replies, and for once the teasing edge drops slightly. you answer, âitâs a big opportunity.â- âfor you, maybe.â he says. his eyes sharpen. âfor you too.â you hesitate. he notices. âyou think i donât know?â he says quietly. âyou donât compete for fun.â you donât like how observant he is. âi compete to winâ you reply.âsame.â -ânoâ you say. âyou compete because you enjoy it.â-âand you compete because?â you donât answer. he watches you for a moment longer, then straightens. âwe have the briefing tomorrow at ten.â -âyou read the whole email?â -âobviously.â you hate that he did. âdonât be lateâ you say. he smirks. âiâm never late.â you shake your head. âyouâre impossible.â - âand yetâ he says again, softer this time, âwe work well together.â you donât respond because thatâs the worst part. when you were forced onto the same side last semester, your arguments flowed. you anticipated each other. you hate how natural it felt. he steps around you to leave, then pauses. âyou knowâ he adds casually, âif weâre co-leading this, youâll have to stop looking at me like iâm the enemy.â you meet his gaze evenly. âyou are.â he smiles slowly. âthatâs the problem.â he walks away before you can decide what that means. you stand there a second longer than necessary, staring at the email again. public presentation. faculty evaluation. visibility. itâs the kind of thing that goes on transcripts. the kind that matters. of course itâs him. sim jaeyun - jake - the boy who makes everything look easy. the boy who improvises brilliance. the boy who interrupts you exactly when it hurts most. and now youâre supposed to build something with him. you donât know which is worse - losing to him, or having to work beside him. your phone buzzes again.
unknown number.
jake: donât overthink it. weâll survive.
you stare at the message. you type back before you can stop yourself.
you: speak for yourself.
three dots appear immediately.
jake: oh, i plan to.
youâve known jake since freshman year, which means youâve known him since before he figured out how to win without looking like he was trying. the first week of college, you were already in the library at midnight outlining your coursework when he walked in wearing a hoodie from some brisbane private school, dropped his backpack on the table across from you, and asked if anyone was using the seat next to you. youâd looked up, irritated, because you donât study socially. heâd smiled like he knew that. ârelaxâ heâd said back then, noticing your expression. âiâm not here to copy.â you hadnât replied. you just went back to highlighting. the first ranking list came out six weeks into your first semester. it wasnât supposed to matter that much, but for you it did. your scholarship isnât automatic - itâs conditional. top three in the cohort, minimum. fall below that and the funding gets âre-evaluated.â thatâs the polite wording they use. re-evaluated means meetings. meetings mean explanations. explanations mean risk. and by midterms, he was ranked first in your cohort. you were second. the worst part wasnât that he beat you. it was that you never saw him studying. you saw him at campus parties, leaning against kitchen counters with a drink in his hand. you saw pictures of him at football games, at some rooftop event, at someoneâs birthday dinner. you saw him laughing. and then youâd see the grades posted. first. jake. - second. you. now, two years later, youâre sitting across from him in a glass-walled study room, the email about the research initiative open between you. heâs scrolling through the proposal guidelines while you already have a notepad out. âwe should decide on a topic tonightâ you say, tapping your pen once against the paper. âif weâre presenting at the end of the semester, we need a clear framework.â jake leans back in his chair, arms folded. âitâs been twelve minutes.â - âand?â -âand youâre already planning the presentation.â he adds. âthatâs how planning works.â you say. he studies you for a second, then says, âyou know we donât have to treat this like war.â -âit is warâ you reply evenly. âpublic evaluation. faculty panel. rankings.â he tilts his head slightly. âyou really care about rankings.â -âyou donât?â you question. -âi care about doing it well.â -âthatâs vague.â he smiles faintly. âyou care about beating me.â you donât deny it. âyou make it necessary.âhe laughs quietly and leans forward now, elbows on the table. ânecessary?â -âyouâve been ahead of me since freshman year.â -âby decimal points.â-âit still counts.â he watches you closely, like heâs deciding whether to push further. âyou think i donât notice you chasing me?â -âiâm not chasing you.â -âsure.â you close your notebook with more force than needed âyou donât even try.â that lands. his expression shifts just slightly. âyou think i donât try?â -âi see you at partiesâ you say. âi see you out. i see you doing literally everything except studying.â -âand you assume thatâs all i do.â-âisnât it?â thereâs a pause. not dramatic. just longer than comfortable. âiâm efficientâ he says finally. âthatâs not an answer.â-âitâs the only one youâre getting.â you hold his gaze. thereâs something in his tone that doesnât match the casual posture. itâs faint, but itâs there. defensive.
you change direction. âwe need a policy topic that allows for divided interpretation. something with room for debate.â-âenergy reformâ he suggests immediately. -âthatâs too predictable.â-âpredictable wins.â-ânot if itâs boring.âhe raises an eyebrow. âyouâre worried about boring now?â-âiâm worried about standing out.â he looks amused. âyou always stand out.âyou ignore that. âhousing policy?â -âoverdone.â-âimmigration?â he hesitates, then nods slightly. âthat could work.â you start outlining possible angles. he watches you write for a moment before saying, âyou donât have to prove yourself every five seconds.â-âiâm not,â you stop writing. âand you donât get to say that jakeâ-âwhy not?â -âbecause you donât know what itâs like.â his jaw tightens just slightly. âyou think iâve never had to prove anything?â-âyou donât act like it.â-âand you think acting relaxed means i am?â you open your mouth, then close it again. thatâs not how this conversation was supposed to go. jake leans back again, running a hand through his hair. âyou donât see everything.â -âthen show meâ you say before you can stop yourself. he studies you, something unreadable flickering across his face. âcarefulâ he says lightly, but thereâs no real humor behind it this time. âyou might not like what you see.â your phone buzzes. you glance down. a reminder about tuition deadlines. you lock the screen quickly, but not before he notices. âscholarship stuff?â he asks. -âthatâs none of your business, jayeunâ-âfair.â you gather your papers âweâll meet tomorrow at ten. donât be late.â he smirks slightly. âiâm never late.â - âyou were late the first day of freshman orientationâ you remind him. he shakes his head. âi wasnât late. i walked in after they started talking. thatâs different.â -âyou missed roll call.â -âi made an entranceâ he says, and this time thereâs a flash of that easy grin again. as you head toward the door, he calls after you, âand donât call me jaeyun in front of people.â you pause. âyou donât like it?â -âitâs not for hereâ he says simply. you nod once- whatever thatâs supposed to mean? âfine. jake.â he relaxes slightly at that, like you passed some small test you didnât know you were taking. as you leave the study room, you tell yourself the irritation in your chest is purely academic. purely competitive. purely about rankings and decimal points and research proposals. it totally has nothing to do with the fact that when he said you always stand out, he meant it.
the next day youâre sitting in chaewonâs apartment with a half-melted iced latte in your hand and five pairs of eyes staring at you like youâve just announced youâre transferring schools. âyouâre co-leading it?â yunjin repeats, leaning forward across the coffee table. âwith jake?â - âyesâ you say flatly. âunfortunately.â sakura lets out a low whistle. âthatâs either iconic or catastrophic.â -âitâs catastrophicâ you reply immediately. kazuha tilts her head. âit could be iconic.â -âit wonât be.â
eunchae, whoâs curled up on the floor next to the couch, glances up from her phone. âisnât this kind of what you wanted? a big research opportunity?â -âyesâ you say. ânot with him.â chaewon crosses her arms. âokay, but explain it again. slowly. why do you hate him?â - âi donât hate himâ you correct. âyou absolutely hate himâ yunjin says. you press your lips together. âheâs just⌠exhausting.â -âhow?â sakura asks. âheâs polite. he holds doors. he apologizes when he bumps into people.â -âthatâs performanceâ you argue. -âfor what audience?â kazuha asks calmly. âfor everyoneâ you reply. eunchae snorts softly. âthatâs dramatic.â -âyou didnât see him yesterdayâ you say, sitting up straighter. âhe interrupted my rebuttal again. of course he did. perfect timing. perfect tone. he wins by three points and acts like itâs casual.â -âthatâs because it is casual for himâ yunjin says. chaewon studies you carefully. âyouâre not mad that he wins.â -âyes, i am.â-ânoâ she says. âyouâre mad that he makes it look easy.â you glare at her. she smiles slightly. sakura stretches her legs out on the couch. âokay but letâs be honest. you two have been number one and two since freshman year. this was inevitable.â -âit didnât have to be with himâ you insist. âit literally did,â eunchae says. âthe email said top two.â you drop back against the couch cushions. âhe doesnât take anything seriously.â -âhave you considered,â kazuha says mildly, âthat maybe you donât see everything?â you narrow your eyes at her. âyou sound like him.â yunjin laughs, âoh my god, you do. thatâs exactly what he says.â- âthatâs because itâs trueâ kazuha replies. you shake your head. âyou all see him at parties. thatâs it. heâs always out. always somewhere. meanwhile iâm in the library rewriting notes for the fourth time.â sakura raises an eyebrow. âyou rewrite your notes four times?â -âthatâs not the point.â you argue. chaewon leans forward. âyouâre acting like he personally attacked your gpa.â -âhe kind of doesâ you mutter. eunchae finally sits up properly. âsunghoon says jake barely sleeps during midterms.â you pause âwhat?â she shrugs. âhe mentioned it once. said jake disappears for like three days and no one hears from him.â -âthatâs not trueâ you say automatically. âit is,â eunchae insists. âsunghoon was complaining because they had plans and jake canceled.â you hesitate. that doesnât match the image youâve built. yunjin notices the shift immediately. âsee? you donât know everything.â
before you can respond, thereâs a knock on the door and chaewon calls out, âitâs open!â sunoo walks in first, smiling brightly, followed by jungwon and niki. jungwon drops down next to eunchae without hesitation, greeting her quietly, while niki flops into an empty chair. sunoo looks around at the tension in the room. âwhy does it feel like someone died?â -ânikiâs best friendâ yunjin says sweetly. niki gasps dramatically. âjake?â - âyesâ you say dryly. âspiritually.â sunoo laughs. âwhat did he do now?â -âhe existsâ you reply. sunoo walks over and sits on the armrest of the couch near you. âokay, no, seriously. what happened?â -âhe and i got paired for the research initiativeâ you say. sunooâs eyes light up. âoh. thatâs perfect.â-âitâs not perfect.â -âit is,â he insists. âyou two are literally the same person.â -âwe are not.â -âyouâre both competitive. you both overthink. you both pretend you donât care when you absolutely do.â-âi do not pretendâ . jungwon looks between you and sunoo. âwhy do you guys act like enemies? itâs confusing.â-âbecause we areâ you say. sunoo tilts his head. âbut why?â you open your mouth, then hesitate. the answer sounds less convincing when you try to say it out loud. âhe makes everything look easy.â -âand thatâs a crime?â niki asks. âyes. it is.â everyone laughs except you. sunoo leans closer. âbe honest. do you actually hate him?â-âi donât hate him.â -âdo you dislike him?â-âyes.â-âwhy?â-âbecause he interrupts me.â sunoo blinks. âthatâs it?â-âand he wins.â-âby decimal pointsâ jungwon adds quietly. you glare at him. he raises his hands defensively. sunoo studies you for a long moment before saying, completely serious, âyou guys should just fuck.â the room goes silent. âwhat?â you say. âiâm seriousâ sunoo continues. âthe tension is insane. itâs exhausting. just fuck once and get it over with.â yunjin bursts out laughing. âi was waiting for someone to say it.â -âi was notâ you snap. chaewon looks amused. âheâs not wrong.â -âhe is very wrong.â you insist. sunoo shrugs. âyou glare at each other like divorced parents.â-âthatâs dramatic.â- âyou stand too closeâ sakura adds helpfully.-âi do not.â- âyou doâ eunchae says. âat debates especially.â -âthatâs proximity strategy.â you say. sunoo grins. âsure.â you feel your face heating slightly, which only makes it worse. âthere is no tension.â -âthere is so much tensionâ niki says. âenough that niki and heeseung bet on who will snap firstâ jungwon adds casually. you stare at them. âyouâre betting on us?â - ânot seriouslyâ niki says quickly. âitâs just⌠for fun.â you look at sunoo. âyouâre encouraging this?â - âi just thinkâ sunoo says thoughtfully, âthat youâre both stubborn and bored. and when stubborn people are bored, they create drama.â - âwe are not boredâ you say. -âokayâ he replies lightly. âthen why does it bother you that he parties?â-you freeze for half a second. âit doesnât bother me.â -âit doesâ chaewon says gently. sunoo nods. âyou think heâs not working as hard as you.â -âhe isnâtâ you insist. âyou donât know thatâ jungwon says. -âi do.â- âdo you?â sunoo asks softly.
the room feels quieter now. yunjin breaks the silence. âokay, but regardless, you two leading the research project together is objectively entertaining.â -âi donât want entertainingâ you say. âi want stable.â-âyouâre in collegeâ niki says. ânothing is stable.â sunoo leans back, crossing his arms. âwhenâs your first official meeting?â -âtomorrow morning.â he grins slowly. âcanât wait.â-âyouâre not invited.â-âi donât need to beâ he replies. âiâll hear about it anyway.â eunchae glances at jungwon. âplease donât make this a group event.â- âno promisesâ jungwon says lightly. you stand up abruptly. âyouâre all impossible.â-âand yetâ sunoo says, smiling at you, âyou keep hanging out with us.â you hesitate at that. because despite everything, despite the rivalry and the rankings and the decimal points, this - sitting in a messy apartment arguing about nothing - feels easier than the quiet intensity of that glass study room. âjust donât let it ruin youâ chaewon says gently as you grab your bag. âit wonâtâ you reply. sunoo tilts his head again. âyou sure?â he studies you one last time before saying, âfor what itâs worth, he doesnât hate you.â you pause âi didnât ask.â-âi knowâ sunoo says. you leave before anyone can say anything else, your mind louder than it was when you arrived.
youâre walking across campus with yunjin when your phone buzzes with a message from jake.
jake: study room b. donât be late.
you glance at the screen and scoff. âhe really thinks heâs in charge.âyunjin looks over at you as you both step around a group of freshmen blocking the sidewalk. âwho?â - âjakeâ you reply, slipping your phone back into your bag. âhe booked the room and now heâs acting like i work for him.â yunjin hums thoughtfully. âmaybe he just doesnât trust you to show up.â you give her a look. âiâm always on time.â-âthatâs trueâ she admits with a grin. âyouâre aggressively punctual.â you cross your arms as you walk. âhe texted âdonât be late.â like iâve ever been late to anything.â yunjin laughs softly. âhe likes getting under your skin.â-âheâs not under my skin.â -âsure.â you stop outside the academic building and glance at the time. youâre five minutes early âgoâ yunjin says, nudging you lightly. âi have class in ten. try not to murder him.â-âno promisesâ you reply. she grins and heads down the hallway toward her lecture room while you take the stairs up to the study rooms. as you approach study room b, you can already hear laughter inside. you frown. you push the door open and freeze for half a second. jake is sitting on the table instead of in a chair, sleeves pushed up, laptop open in front of him. niki is sprawled in one of the chairs, leaning back dangerously far, feet propped against the table leg. niki is mid-sentence when he notices you. âoh, lookâ he says, straightening slightly. âsheâs here.â jake glances toward the door and smiles faintly. âyouâre early.â -âiâm on timeâ you correct as you step inside. âyouâre early.â niki looks between the two of you with open amusement. âwow. already fighting. weâre thirty seconds in.â - âweâre not fightingâ you say. jake tilts his head and says âyou sound defensive.â -âiâm not defensive.â -âyou somehow always areâ niki says cheerfully. you set your bag down on the table and look at niki. âwhy are you here?â - âiâm supervisingâ niki replies, completely serious. âsupervising what?â you ask. âwhatever this is.â he gestures loosely between you and jake. jake lets out a quiet laugh and closes his laptop halfway. âignore him.â -âi am not ignoring himâ you say, pulling out your notebook.
âthis is supposed to be a work session.â -âit isâ jake replies calmly. âwe were just⌠warming up.â- âby laughing?â - âyesâ niki says. âitâs something people do.â you shoot him a look. âdo you not have somewhere to be?â niki pretends to check an imaginary watch. âactually, i cleared my schedule for this.â jake shakes his head slightly. âyou donât have a class?â -âi doâ niki admits. âin twenty minutes.â -âthen why are you here?â you ask again. niki leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. âbecause i heart you two got paired, and i wanted to see the tension in real time.â - âthere is no tensionâ you say immediately. jake raises an eyebrow at you. âyou just said that very quickly.â -âthatâs because itâs true.â . niki grins. âyou two look like youâre about to argue over who gets the better chair.â jake slides off the table and gestures toward the chair across from him. âtake it. i donât want it.â you narrow your eyes slightly. âi wasnât asking.â -âsee?â niki says, pointing between you. âthat.â. jake glances at niki with mild amusement. âyouâre exaggerating.â -âno, iâm notâ niki insists. âheâs been pretending he doesnât care all morning.â you turn your attention to jake. âyou donât care?â jake leans back against the table, crossing his arms loosely. âabout what?â -âabout this project.â he looks at you steadily. âi care.â-âit doesnât look like itâ you reply. niki makes a dramatic gasp. âoh, she went there.â jakeâs jaw tightens slightly, though his tone stays even. âweâve been here ten minutes.â -âand you were joking aroundâ you say. -âwith my friendâ he replies. âbefore you got here.â you hold his gaze for a second too long. âwe agreed to take this seriously.â -âi am taking it seriouslyâ jake says. ârelax.â you hate that word. âi am relaxedâ you say, sitting down across from him and opening your notebook. niki watches the exchange like itâs live entertainment. âyou knowâ he says thoughtfully, âif you guys just admitted you get turned on by arguing with each other, this would be easier.â jake rolls his eyes slightly. âyouâre projecting.â - âi told you iâm supervisingâ niki corrects. you ignore him and flip to your outlined topic ideas. âweâre doing immigration policyâ you say, glancing at jake. âunless youâve changed your mind overnight.â -âi havenâtâ jake replies. âeconomic integration versus resource strain.â-âgoodâ you say. âi drafted a preliminary framework.â jake pushes off the table and takes the seat across from you. he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. âletâs see it.â you slide your notebook toward him. he scans it quickly, eyes moving fast. niki shifts in his chair and watches jakeâs expression carefully. jake nods once. âthis is solid.â-âthatâs it?â you ask. âwhat do you want, applause?â he replies lightly. -âi want critique.â -he studies the page again. âyouâre focusing heavily on structural reform. we should balance it with adaptive local policies.â -âthat weakens the central thesisâ you argue. ânoâ jake says calmly. âit strengthens it by showing flexibility.â niki glances between you. âwow. this is intense.â you both ignore him. jake taps one of your bullet points. âif we frame it as binary, the panel will push back.â -âthey always push backâ you reply. âexactly.â he says. you hesitate. heâs not wrong. niki leans back again. âyou two talk like youâre negotiating a peace treaty.â-âweâre building an argumentâ you say.
âit sounds like marriage counselingâ niki says. jake huffs out a small laugh despite himself. âcan you leave?â-âin a minuteâ niki replies cheerfully. you pull your notebook back slightly and look at jake. âif we incorporate adaptive policies, we need stronger case studies.â -âi can handle thatâ jake says. you raise an eyebrow. âcan you?â he meets your gaze evenly. âyes.â niki watches that exchange carefully, then smirks. âyou donât trust him.â - âi trust dataâ you reply. jake tilts his head. âyou just donât trust me.â-âthatâs different.â-âhow?â-âbecause you improvise.â-âand you donâtâ he says. âthatâs why this works.â-you frown slightly. âworks?â-âwe balance each otherâ he says simply. the air shifts just slightly at that. niki notices immediately. âoh my godâ he mutters under his breath. you ignore him again. âwe need to divide tasks.â jake nods. âiâll handle case studies and adaptive frameworks. you refine the structural argument and gather economic data.â-âthatâs reasonableâ you admit.niki claps softly. âlook at that. cooperation.âjake throws him a look. âyouâre insufferable.â-âi learned from the bestâ niki replies, grinning.you close your notebook. âif youâre done supervising, you can go.â niki checks his phone and stands up dramatically. âfine. my class is starting. but before i leave-â he points between you and jake. âtry not to kill each other.â-âwe wonâtâ jake says dryly. niki pauses at the door and looks back at you. âyou know he doesnât actually think this is easy, right?âjake immediately says, âniki.â-âiâm just sayingâ niki continues, ignoring him. âshe assumes things.â you cross your arms. âi donât assume.â -âyou doâ niki says lightly. âboth of you do.â jake stands up slightly. âgo to class.â niki laughs and opens the door. âhave fun, kids.â he leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. silence settles into the room.
you exhale slowly. âheâs dramatic.â jake sits back down and opens his laptop again. âheâs bored.â -âyou find that funny?â -âi doâ he admits. you narrow your eyes. âof course you do.âhe glances at you. âyou donât?â-âno.â-âthatâs unfortunate.â you shake your head and look down at your notes again, trying to refocus. the room feels different now that niki is gone. quieter. smaller. jake clears his throat softly. âyou really think i donât work.â itâs not phrased like a joke this time.you donât look up immediately. âi think you donât look like youâre working.â-âthatâs basically the same thing.â-you finally meet his eyes. âthen what is it?âhe holds your gaze for a moment before answering. âitâs just not as visible.â-âthatâs vagueâ you say. âi knowâ he replies. you study him carefully. he doesnât look defensive now. just tired. âwhy do you care what i think?â you ask quietly. he leans back slightly, considering that. âbecause youâre the only one who competes with me like it matters.â -âit does matter.â -âi knowâ he says. the way he says it makes something tighten in your chest. you break eye contact first and flip to a new page in your notebook. âletâs just work.â he nods once. âokay.â for the next several minutes, you fall into a rhythm. you outline. he types. you debate phrasing. he adjusts it. the arguments sharpen.
the tension doesnât disappear, but it changes shape-less sharp, more focused. for a while, the only sounds in the study room are the quiet tapping of jakeâs keyboard and the soft scratch of your pen moving across paper. the earlier teasing from niki feels distant now. the air has shifted into something focused, almost tense in a different way. jake suddenly stops typing. you look up immediately. âwhy did you stop?â you ask, your pen hovering above the page. jake doesnât answer right away. he narrows his eyes slightly at his screen and scrolls upward. âhold onâ he mutters, leaning closer to his laptop. you straighten in your chair. âwhat?â jake tilts the screen slightly toward you. âdid you download this dataset directly from the initiative portal?â he asks, tapping the trackpad. âyesâ you reply, leaning forward to see better. âitâs the one linked in the official brief.â jake scrolls again, slower this time. âlook at the resource strain percentages from 2018 to 2020â he says, his voice losing its casual edge. you move your chair closer and scan the column. âthey increase graduallyâ you say. âthatâs consistent.â -âtoo consistentâ jake replies, glancing at you briefly before looking back at the screen. âreal-world immigration strain doesnât trend that cleanly. especially not across multiple regions.â you frown. âit could be averaged.â -âit is averagedâ jake says, pointing at the methodology note. âthatâs the issue.â you pull your own laptop toward you and open the public government archive you bookmarked yesterday. âgive me a secondâ you say as you start searching for the original data. jake watches silently while you compare the figures side by side. your stomach drops. âthese donât even matchâ you say quietly, your eyes flicking between the two screens. jake nods once. âi noticed.â
you scroll faster, your jaw tightening. âthe university dataset rounds up in some regionsâ you say slowly. âand rounds down in others.â jake leans back in his chair, folding his arms. âit balances out to reinforce a specific trend.â you shake your head. âno. it canât be intentional.â jake studies your expression. âyou see it too.â you donât respond. instead, you double-check the years again, hoping you misread something. the numbers remain the same. jake exhales slowly. âif we use their version, our argument is skewedâ he says, his tone controlled but firm. âitâs the official datasetâ you reply, closing your laptop halfway. âitâs the provided datasetâ jake corrects. you stand up from your chair and take a few steps toward the glass wall, trying to think.
âyouâre suggesting the university manipulated research data for a student initiative?â you say carefully. -âiâm saying the dataset was curatedâ jake replies as he stands as well, resting his hands on the table. âand not transparently.â you turn back to face him. âthatâs a serious claim.â -âitâs an observable discrepancyâ he counters. you cross your arms. âif we accuse them of manipulating data, we jeopardize the entire project.â jake steps slightly closer to the table. âif we ignore it, we jeopardize our credibility.â-âthatâs dramaticâ you say. -âitâs accurateâ jake replies, his voice sharpening slightly. you shake your head. âyou donât know why it was adjusted.â-âand neither do youâ he responds evenly. âbut youâre assuming bad intentâ you argue. âand youâre assuming good intentâ he fires back. you take a breath, trying to steady yourself. âwe donât need to escalate this. we can adjust our framework so we rely less heavily on those specific figures.â jake studies you for a moment before asking, âso you want to work around it?â-âi want to be strategicâ you say. jake lets out a short breath through his nose. âstrategicâ he repeats, though thereâs frustration underneath the word. âyesâ you insist. âthereâs no reason to challenge faculty-provided material unless absolutely necessary.â jake steps fully away from the table now, running a hand through his hair as he processes that. âyou care more about how this looks than whether itâs accurateâ he says quietly. âthatâs not fairâ you reply immediately, your voice tightening. jake looks directly at you. âit is fair. youâre calculating risk before youâre evaluating integrity.â -âiâm evaluating consequencesâ you correct. âyouâre protecting your rankingâ he says. you feel your pulse spike. âthis affects rankingâ you reply. âpublic evaluation affects scholarship.â jakeâs expression shifts slightly. âso this is about being first again.â -âitâs about staying fundedâ you snap. âyou know that.â jake hesitates for half a second before saying, âyou think i donât have stakes here?â
âyouâll be fine either wayâ you reply, your voice sharper than you intend. âyou always are.â jakeâs jaw tightens. âyou really think that.â - âyou make it look easyâ you say. âyou always have.â he takes a step closer, though not aggressively. âlooking easy doesnât mean it isâ he says, his tone lower now. âthen why not prove that?â you challenge. jake stares at you for a moment before answering. âbecause i donât owe you a performance of my struggle.â the words hit harder than you expect. you fold your arms tighter. âif we call out the discrepancy, it draws attention. attention means scrutiny.â -âand scrutiny isnât bad if weâre rightâ jake replies.âit is if weâre dismissedâ you argue. âweâre undergraduates.â- âso what?â he asks. âif we find inconsistencies, we address them.â -ânot by accusing them outrightâ you insist.jake shakes his head. âyouâre compromising.â-âiâm adaptingâ you reply. âyouâre compromisingâ he repeats, firmer now. âand youâre idealizingâ you shoot back. jake looks away for a second before meeting your gaze again. âif this were reversedâ he says carefully, âand i brought you flawed data and told you to ignore it, youâd destroy me.â-âthatâs differentâ you reply immediately. âhow?â he presses. âbecause youâre my partnerâ you say, then realize how that sounds. jake notices. his expression flickers. âand the university isnât?â he asks quietly. âthatâs not what i meantâ you say quickly. jake studies you, something unreadable in his eyes. âyou trust them more than you trust meâ he says. âthatâs not trueâ you respond, though your voice lacks certainty. jake exhales sharply. âyou think i can afford to challenge this because i went to private school?â he says. âyou think iâve had it easy.â -âyou have connectionsâ you reply. âyou have options.â -âand you think that equals safety?â he asks, his voice tightening. âyou do have a safety net jake.â you insist. jake goes very still at that. âyou donât know anything about my safety netâ he says, his tone controlled but strained. âthen explain itâ you reply. for a moment, it looks like he might. instead, he steps back and shakes his head. âthis isnât about thatâ he says. âit isâ you argue. âbecause you can afford to risk conflict.â-âand you think i want to?â he asks. âyes, apparentlyâ you say. jake laughs once, but thereâs no humor in it. âyou donât know meâ he says. âyeah, maybe i donâtâ you reply. silence stretches between you. jake finally says, âiâm not building our project on altered data.â - âand iâm not tanking our evaluation over something we can strategically navigateâ you reply.
âitâs not a minor thingâ he says. âit can be managedâ you respond. jake looks at you steadily. âyouâre afraid.â you lift your chin. âjake, iâm realistic.â he studies you for a moment longer before saying, ârunning from it wonât fix it.â - âiâm not runningâ you reply as you grab your bag from the chair. jake watches you. âyou areâ he says quietly. you move toward the door. âweâll revisit this tomorrow.â -âyou canât avoid this foreverâ jake says as you reach for the handle. you pause briefly but donât turn around. âwatch meâ you reply before opening the door and stepping into the hallway.
itâs been three days since the study room. three days of short, strictly necessary texts from jake about scheduling. three days of you avoiding any conversation that isnât logistical. three days of replaying that argument in your head and getting more annoyed every time. now youâre sitting cross-legged on chaewonâs bedroom floor while sakura flips through something on her phone and yunjin lies on the bed staring at the ceiling. kazuha is sitting against the wall with a notebook in her lap, and eunchae is leaning back against jungwonâs hoodie like she lives here. âyouâre quieter than usualâ yunjin says, turning her head slightly to look at you. âiâm fineâ you reply, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. chaewon glances at you from her desk chair. âthat means youâre not fine.â -âiâm just busyâ you say. âwith the project?â sakura asks without looking up from her phone. âyes.â yunjin shifts onto her side. âyou and jake still not talking properly?â-âwe are talkingâ you correct. âweâre communicating.â-âthat sounds worseâ sakura says.âitâs efficientâ you reply.chaewon narrows her eyes slightly. âwhat happened?â you hesitate for half a second, then shrug. âwe disagreed about data interpretation.â-âthat sounds academicâ kazuha says calmly. âit wasâ you insist. yunjin sits up slightly. âthatâs not what you look like when itâs academic.â you glare at her. âwhat does that even mean?â -âit means you look like youâre personally offendedâ she replies. âiâm not,â you exhale slowly. âthe dataset they gave us was adjusted.â-âadjusted how?â sakura asks. âinconsistent with public recordsâ you explain. âhe wants to call it out.â-âand you donât?â kazuha asks. âitâs not that simple,â you say quickly. âif we accuse them of manipulating data, that reflects on us.â eunchae tilts her head. âbut if itâs wrong, isnât that worse?â - âitâs not wrong,â you argue. âitâs curated.â-âthat sounds like wrong with extra stepsâ yunjin says. you shoot her a look. âitâs nuanced.â chaewon leans back in her chair. âand you two argued.â - âyesâ you admit. âhow bad?â sakura asks. ânot too badâ you say. âscale of one to dramaticâ yunjin presses. you hesitate. âmaybe⌠a six.â eunchae raises her eyebrows. âthatâs high for you.â-âit wasnât dramatic,â you say defensively. âit was controlled.â-âthatâs your version of dramaticâ sakura mutters.
thereâs a knock on the door and jungwon pokes his head in. âare we interrupting?â âwe?â eunchae repeats. sunoo walks in behind jungwon, smiling like he already knows something. âgroup therapy?â he asks, glancing around. ânoâ you say immediately. sunoo sits on the edge of the bed anyway. âyou look like you need it.â-âi donâtâ you reply. jungwon steps fully inside and sits next to eunchae. âjakeâs been weirdâ he says casually. your head lifts. âweird how?â sunoo glances at jungwon with interest. âoh?â jungwon shrugs. âquieter.â - âthatâs not weirdâ you say. âfor him it isâ jungwon replies. yunjin looks at you slowly. âyour fighting made him quieter, damn.â - âwe debatedâ you correct. sunoo studies you carefully. âabout the data?â you blink. âhow do you know that?â sunoo gives you a look. âbecause i know him.â- âthat doesnât mean you know thisâ you say. âhe mentioned itâ jungwon adds. you straighten. âwhat did he say?â- âthat you think heâs recklessâ jungwon answers honestly. you look away. âand that you think he has it easyâ sunoo says gently. your jaw tightens. âi never said that.â sunoo doesnât argue. he just looks at you like he doesnât need to. eunchae shifts slightly. âokay, new topic before this gets intense.â -âyesâ sakura agrees quickly. eunchae glances at jungwon. âyou should tell them.â jungwon looks mildly amused. âyou can.â eunchae turns to you. âthereâs a party tomorrow night.â you blink. âwhat does that have to do with anything?â- âitâs at heeseungâs placeâ jungwon explains. âsmall thing.â - âsmall?â sunoo repeats with a grin. âthatâs a lie.â- âitâs manageableâ jungwon corrects. eunchae smiles slightly. âhe invited me.â - âand?â you ask.- âand i thought we could all goâ she says. you immediately shake your head. âno.â yunjin groans. âyou didnât even think about it.â - âi donât want to goâ you say. âbecause heâll be there?â sakura asks carefully. âthatâs not whyâ you reply. âthen why?â chaewon presses. âi have work, plus i never partyâ you say. âitâs fridayâ yunjin replies. âi still have work.â-âyouâve been locked in your room for three daysâ sakura says. âyou need air.â- âi go outsideâ you say. âwalking between classes doesnât countâ yunjin replies. sunoo leans back on his hands. âyou two need to stop acting like divorced co-founders.â- âweâre not acting like anythingâ you say sharply. jungwon looks at you calmly. âhe hasnât said anything bad about you.â- âi didnât say he did.â - âyou assumed he wouldâ sunoo says lightly. you cross your arms. âi donât assume.â- âyou doâ chaewon says gently. you look at eunchae. âyouâre going?â- âyesâ she says simply. âand you want all of us to go?â- âyes.â kazuha closes her notebook. âit might actually help.â
âhelp what?â you ask. âbreak the tensionâ she replies. âthere is no tensionâ you say. sunoo laughs quietly. âyouâre very committed to that narrative.â yunjin sits up fully now. âyouâve been spiraling over this argument for days.â -âi have not.â- âyou haveâ sakura says. âit was an academic disagreement.â- âthen why do you look personally offended?â chaewon asks. you open your mouth, then close it again. sunoo glances at jungwon before speaking. âheâs not trying to undermine you.â- âi didnât say he wasâ you reply. âyou kinda didâ jungwon says. you exhale sharply. âhe thinks iâm compromising.â - âand you think heâs recklessâ sunoo replies. you look at him. âhe is.â sunoo shrugs. âsometimes.â- âexactly.â- âbut heâs not carelessâ jungwon says. you hesitate. eunchae leans forward slightly. âjust come tomorrowâ she says gently. âyou donât have to talk to him.â- âthatâs unrealisticâ you reply. âthen donât argueâ sakura says. âhe argues with meâ you counter. âand you argue backâ yunjin says. you fall quiet. chaewon stands up and walks toward you, handing you a bottle of water. âyou donât have to prove anything at a partyâ she says calmly. âiâm not proving anything.â- âyou always try toâ she replies softly. that stings more than you expect. sunoo glances at jungwon again before saying, âheâs going to be there regardless.â- âi knowâ you say. âand if you donât goâ sunoo continues, âyouâre still going to think about it, and itâs really not that deepâ you glare at him. âyouâre very invested in this.â- âi enjoy chaosâ he replies. eunchae nudges jungwon lightly. âtell her.â jungwon sighs slightly. âjake almost didnât want to go.â you look up sharply. âwhy?â jungwon shrugs. âsaid he wasnât in the mood.â your chest tightens for a second before you push it down. âwhy would i care, thatâs not my problem.â-âno one said it wasâ sunoo replies. âit kind of isâ yunjin mutters. you look at her. âhow?â- âwell, youâre both avoiding each other because of some stupid dataâ she says. âiâm not avoiding him.â-Â âyou havenât met outside scheduled sessionsâ sakura points out. âthatâs intentional.â-âexactlyâ yunjin says.
thereâs a long pause. eunchae finally says softly, âjust come. if itâs awful, we leave early.â you look around the room. five faces watching you. not judging. just waiting. âi donât want to talk to him, iâll just work on my part of the project alone.â you say. sunoo laughs. âheâs fun when he drinks.â - âthatâs not reassuringâ you reply. âit should beâ jungwon says. you run a hand through your hair. âfine.â everyone perks up slightly. âiâll goâ you clarify. âbut iâm not staying late.â chaewon smiles faintly. âdeal.â- âand if he starts somethingâ you add, âiâm leaving.â - âhe definetly wonâtâ sunoo says confidently. âyou donât know that.â - âi doâ he replies. you look away, staring at the floor for a second. tomorrow evening. a party. the thought unsettles you more than youâd like. âdonât overthink itâ yunjin says, like she read your mind. âiâm notâ you lie. sunoo stands up, stretching slightly. âthis is going to be fun.â- âyouâre enjoying this too muchâ you tell him. âiâm just saying it will be fun. i promiseâ he replies with a grin.
heeseungâs house is louder than you expected. you hear the music before you even reach the gate, bass thudding through the warm evening air. yunjin walks ahead of you like she belongs here, sakura beside her already laughing at something chaewon said. kazuha is walking calmly at your side, hands tucked into her jacket pockets, while eunchae is texting jungwon. âi can still leaveâ you mutter under your breath. yunjin glances over her shoulder immediately. âno.â - âi didnât say anythingâ you reply. âyou were thinking loudlyâ sakura says, pushing open the gate. the yard is already full. not packed, but crowded enough that you canât slip in unnoticed. there are groups gathered around the patio, Â Â has set up speakers near the sliding doors, and the living room inside is lit with that dim, warm light that makes everything feel softer than it is. you step inside with the others and immediately scan the room out of habit. jake is across the living room near the kitchen island. you notice him because heâs laughing louder than usually. not the controlled, polite debate-team smile. not the half-smirk he uses when heâs about to interrupt you. itâs fuller, easier. heâs leaning back against the counter with a red plastic cup in his hand, sleeves pushed up, head tilted slightly as jay says something animated in front of him. niki is half sitting on the counter, and sunoo is talking with his hands like heâs telling a dramatic story. jake looks relaxed. you look away first. âokayâ chaewon says quietly beside you, following your gaze. âweâre not staring.â-âi wasnâtâ you reply. âi was observing the room.â-âacademically?â sakura asks sweetly. eunchaeâs phone buzzes and she smiles. âjungwonâs in the kitchen.â- âobviouslyâ yunjin mutters. âwhere else would he be?â you take a breath and step further into the house. the music shifts into something louder, and someone near the couch cheers for no clear reason. sunoo is the first to notice your group. he lights up immediately and waves both hands. âthey made it!â jake turns his head at that. your eyes meet for half a second. he raises his cup slightly in acknowledgment. you nod once. thatâs it. no confrontation. just recognition. thankfully.
sunoo pushes off the counter and weaves through the crowd toward you. âyou actually cameâ he says, sounding genuinely impressed. âi said i wouldâ you reply. âi didnât believe youâ he admits cheerfully. âyouâre very supportiveâ you tell him. niki appears behind him a second later. âi give her an hourâ he says, glancing at you. âbefore she leaves.â-âiâm stayingâ you reply. âweâll seeâ niki says. jungwon steps forward next, immediately slipping an arm around eunchaeâs waist. âyou found it okay?â he asks her. âyesâ eunchae says with a small smile. heeseung appears from somewhere near the hallway. âdrinks are in the kitchenâ he announces. âif you donât like whatâs there, thatâs a you problem.â-âthatâs comfortingâ sakura says. you follow the group toward the kitchen. jake is still leaning against the counter when you approach. up close, you notice his eyes are slightly softer than usual and thereâs a faint flush across his cheeks. heâs not drunk. but heâs not entirely sober either. he looks at you and says, âyou made itâ his tone light but steady. âi said i wouldâ you reply. he tilts his head slightly. âi know.â thereâs something about the way he says it that feels layered, but you donât dwell on it. jay claps jake on the shoulder. âwe were betting on whether youâd showâ he says to you. âdo you have a gambling problem?â you ask flatly. âjust friendly speculationâ jay corrects. âshe was comingâ jake says casually, taking another sip from his cup. you glance at him. âyou sound confident.â jake shrugs. âyou donât back out of things.â you donât respond to that as chaewon moves past you to grab a drink from the counter. âwhatâs safe?â she asks heeseung. ânothingâ heeseung replies immediately. yunjin laughs. âthatâs reassuring.â sunoo hands you a cup without asking what you want. âstart lightâ he advises. âiâm not planning to get drunkâ you tell him. âfamous last wordsâ niki says. you take a cautious sip. itâs stronger than you expected. jake notices your expression and smirks slightly. âtoo much?â - âitâs fineâ you say. he studies you for a second longer than necessary before looking away.
the kitchen grows louder as more people filter in. someone turns the music up again. jungwon and eunchae drift slightly toward the living room couch together. jay and heeseung start arguing about something sports-related. you find yourself standing in a loose circle with chaewon, sakura, yunjin, kazuha, sunoo, niki, and jake hovering just slightly off to the side. sunoo looks around at the combined group and claps his hands once. âokay. weâre merging.â- âweâre not countriesâ you reply. âspeak for yourselfâ niki says. âiâm a sovereign state.â-âyouâre barely functionalâ sakura tells him. jake laughs quietly at that. you pretend not to notice how easy it sounds. sunoo gestures between everyone. âthis is good. cross-cultural exchange.â-âwe go to the same universityâ kazuha points out calmly. âstill countsâ sunoo insists. heeseung leans against the fridge and surveys the group. âare we doing something or just standing here like weâre in a debate?â-âwe can do bothâ you say. jake looks at you immediately. âyou would.â you meet his gaze. âyou wouldnât?â he tilts his head. âdepends.â -âon?â you ask. âhow competitive youâre feeling tonightâ he replies. niki groans dramatically. âdonât start.â-âiâm not startingâ you say at the same time jake says, ârelax.â sunoo looks between you both. âyou two talk like youâre in a panel discussion.â-âitâs a habitâ jake says lightly. âbreak itâ yunjin tells him. jake raises an eyebrow at her. âyou first.â she laughs. ânot my rivalry.â -âitâs not a rivalryâ you say automatically.niki points at you. âyou said that very fast.â jake takes another sip of his drink, watching the exchange with mild amusement. he doesnât jump in this time. chaewon nudges you gently. âloosen upâ she murmurs. âi am looseâ you reply. sunoo looks at jake and then back at you. âheâs already ahead of you.â - âiâm not competingâ you say. jake finally steps closer into the circle. âyouâre always competingâ he says casually. âwith you?â you ask. âwith everyoneâ he replies. âthatâs projectionâ you say. niki looks between you. âsee, this is why we needed you here. the energy is unmatched.â heeseung nods. âit was too calm before.â you roll your eyes. âyouâre welcome.â
sunoo suddenly looks inspired. âokay, weâre playing something.â- âwe just got hereâ kazuha says. âexactlyâ sunoo replies. âprime time.â - ânot yetâ jungwon calls from the couch. âgive it ten minutes.â jake glances at you again. âyou planning to stay?â he asks, tone neutral. âfor nowâ you reply. he nods once. âgood, you really need to loosen up a bit.â you study him for a moment. âyou smell like cheap beer.â he doesnât deny it. âa little.â - âalready?â you ask. âitâs been longer than you thinkâ he says. âyou got here early?â you ask. he shrugs. âhelped set up.â you pause at that. you hadnât expected that answer. before you can respond, jay calls jakeâs name from across the room. jake glances over, then back at you. he nods once, then moves away toward jay. you watch him go for half a second before chaewon snaps her fingers in front of your face. âeyes upâ she says. âi wasnât-â you start. âyou wereâ sakura says. you take another sip of your drink and decide not to answer. the group slowly spreads out into smaller conversations, but thereâs an underlying pull that keeps everyone within the same area. jungwon drifts back toward the kitchen with eunchae still at his side. niki climbs onto one of the bar stools. sunoo is narrating something dramatic again. jake returns a few minutes later, cup refilled. he stands slightly closer this time. âyouâre quieter than usualâ he says, looking at you rather than the group. âiâm listeningâ you reply. âto what?â he asks. âeverythingâ you say. he studies you for a moment, then nods slightly like that answer makes sense. across the room, someone cheers loudly. the music shifts again. sunoo suddenly raises his voice. âokay, thatâs enough standing. weâre doing something.â- âwhat?â heeseung asks. âweâre socializing like adults. letâs playing something.â sunoo says. heeseung groans from the armchair. âdefine something.â - ânever have i everâ sunoo declares.âthat sounds threateningâ sakura says. jake drops down onto the rug across from you, legs stretched out, leaning back on his hands. âiâm inâ he says easily, already sounding a little looser than earlier. niki drags a coffee table slightly out of the way to make space. jungwon sits down beside eunchae, automatically pulling her closer. jay flops down next to jake, and chaewon settles cross-legged beside you.
ârulesâ sunoo says, raising his cup. âyou say something youâve never done. anyone who has done it drinks.â-âsimpleâ kazuha says. âand no lyingâ niki adds. jake tilts his head slightly. âwhoâs enforcing that?â-âi amâ niki says. âyou canât even enforce your own bedtimeâ jay tells him. sunoo points dramatically. âiâll start.â he clears his throat like heâs about to present a thesis. ânever have i ever pretended to understand a reading in class.â thereâs immediate movement. heeseung drinks. jay drinks. niki drinks. jake raises his cup without hesitation and takes a sip. you look around, unimpressed. yunjin squints at you. âyouâre not drinking?â- âiâve never pretendedâ you say calmly. jake lets out a soft laugh. âof course you havenât.â - âhave you?â you ask. jake lowers his cup and looks at you. âabsolutely.â you raise an eyebrow. âthat explains a lot.â he smirks slightly. âyou say that like youâve never winged a seminar.â-âi always prepareâ you reply. âobsessivelyâ niki adds. sunoo points at you. âsee, this is what i mean. sheâs terrifying.â -âitâs called competenceâ you correct. jake tips his cup slightly toward you. ârelax, professor.â you narrow your eyes. âiâm not tense.â sunoo claps again. ânext!â jay leans forward. ânever have i ever skipped a lecture to go out.â multiple people drink immediately. jake drinks again without hesitation. you donât move. niki notices and looks at you suspiciously. âyouâve never skipped?â - ânoâ you reply. ânot even once?â sakura asks. âi donât skip lecturesâ you say. jake shakes his head slowly, smiling faintly. âthatâs insane.â he gestures vaguely with his cup. âyou need to live a little.â- âand you all need to attend classâ you shoot back. he laughs, louder this time. âi attend.â- âyou arrive lateâ you say. âthatâs differentâ he insists. âthatâs worseâ you reply. sunoo is watching the two of you like this is premium entertainment. âis this considered academic foreplay?â he mutters. âshut upâ you say automatically. jake nearly chokes on his drink laughing. jungwon clears his throat, amused. âmy turn.â he looks around thoughtfully. ânever have i ever argued with a professor during class.â thereâs a pause. then jake drinks. niki drinks enthusiastically. âyouâve argued?â you ask them. jake wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. âmultiple times.â- âof course you haveâ you say. he leans slightly toward you. âyou havenât?â-âi pick my battlesâ you reply. âyou avoid some of themâ he counters. âthatâs called strategy.â-âthatâs called fear of confrontationâ he says, grinning. you lean back slightly. âyouâre tipsy.â-âand?â he asks. âitâs making you louderâ you reply. âitâs making him honestâ niki says. sunoo whistles softly. âoh, thatâs a line.â jake waves him off. ârelax.â chaewon nudges you. âyouâre still not drinking.â you shrug slightly. âiâm pacing.â niki leans forward suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees. âokayâ he says casually, glancing around the circle. âweâre done pretending this is educational.â sunoo smirks. âit never was.â niki lifts his cup. ânever have i ever hooked up in a university bathroom.â thereâs a brief pause. then jungwon takes a sip without looking up. jay drinks. heeseung drinks. yunjin drinks. jake lifts his cup and drinks too, barely reacting. eunchae rolls her eyes lightly at jungwon. âfreshman year?â jungwon shrugs. âallegedly.â kazuha shakes her head but doesnât look surprised.
jay nudges niki. âyou definitely asked that because you have a story.â- âi always have a storyâ niki replies. sunoo points lazily. âmost likely to hook up somewhere public.â this time, a few people point at niki immediately. niki grins. âprobably.â jake doesnât vote. heâs staring vaguely at the ceiling like heâs half listening. chaewon takes a small sip and shakes her head. âyouâre all predictable.â - âyour turnâ heeseung says, gesturing at her. chaewon considers it for a moment. ânever have i flirted with a ta for a better grade.â thereâs quiet laughter. jay drinks. niki drinks. heeseung drinks slowly. jake doesnât. jake glances at jay. âthatâs embarrassing.â jay shrugs. âit worked once.â-âyouâre admitting that?â sakura asks calmly. jay nods. âproudly.â the game keeps moving without much structure now. people speak when they feel like it. heeseung raises his cup. ânever have i ever pulled an all-nighter and cried about it.â that one hits differently. jungwon drinks.yunjin drinks. you take a small sip this time. jake hesitates, then drinks too. niki notices you drinking again and squints. âyouâre way too sober.â-âi need to drive laterâ you reply. he shrugs and moves on. jay leans forward next. âmost likely to ghost someone after one date.â sakura points at niki immediately. niki raises his cup. âi have standards.â-âyou have attachement issuesâ sunoo corrects. jake laughs under his breath at that and reaches blindly for a refill from a bottle near the table, misjudging slightly before steadying himself. heâs definitely drunk now. jungwon raises an eyebrow at jake. âyou good?â jake nods once. âperfect.â niki smirks. âthat means no.â kazuha looks thoughtful. ânever have i ever thought about dropping my major.â a few people drink. you donât. jake does. he doesnât look at anyone when he does it. the detail lingers quietly in your mind, but you donât acknowledge it. sunoo glances at him briefly, then deliberately looks away like heâs not going to push. eunchae speaks next. âmost likely to burn out before graduation.âa few people point at jay. jay protests weakly.no one points at you this time. jake watches the votes but doesnât say anything. niki suddenly shifts the energy again.
âokay. itâs getting boring again. whoâs the hottest person in this room?â thereâs a collective groan, but no one looks shocked. heeseung immediately gestures vaguely around. âbroad category.â - âpick oneâ niki insists. sakura laughs. âthatâs dangerous.â-âexactlyâ niki replies. jay shrugs. âjungwon.â jungwon blinks. âwhat?â - âyou have good hairâ jay says. jungwon nods thoughtfully. âvalid.â heeseung points at kazuha. kazuha stares at him flatly. âwhy?â-âbecause you look calmâ he replies. âthatâs your standard?â she asks. jake laughs again, softer this time, and lifts his cup lazily. âthis is chaotic.â niki points directly at him. âanswer.â jake looks around the circle slowly, clearly thinking much longer than necessary. jake finally gestures vaguely toward the group. âstatistically impossible to choose.â - âthatâs a cop-outâ niki says. jake shrugs. âiâm diplomatic.â- âyouâre so fucking drunkâ jungwon corrects. jake smiles lazily. âalso true.â the game continues without structure now - people throwing out ânever have i everâ and âmost likely toâ whenever they feel like it.ânever have i ever kissed someone from a rival departmentâ jay says. niki drinks. heeseung drinks. jake drinks again, slower this time. sunoo watches him carefully. niki tosses another one out. ânever have i ever thought about someone here more than once.â that one is looser. casual. everyone drinks, except for you. jake sets his empty cup down and exhales slowly. he leans his head back against the couch and closes his eyes for a second longer than normal. jungwon nudges him lightly. âyouâre done.â jake opens one eye. âiâm fine.â-âyouâre obviously notâ jungwon says calmly. jake sits up slightly, steadying himself with one hand on the floor. âi said iâm fine.â and the second he stands, thereâs a slight delay in his balance. jake corrects himself quickly, brushing it off with a small laugh. âsee?â niki squints at him. âyouâre cut off.â jake waves him off lazily. âyouâre not in charge.â sunoo stands up too, stepping closer subtly in case he needs to catch him. the game dissolves into chaotic commentary after that. people start talking over each other. someone suggests music. jay is trying to explain something loudly to heeseung. jake leans back again, head tilting slightly as he looks at the ceiling. heâs very clearly drunk now.
someone changes the music to something louder, bass heavier. jay starts arguing with heeseung about who has the worst first-year haircut. niki is halfway through telling a story that keeps changing depending on who interrupts him. jake is in the middle of it. heâs sitting on the arm of the couch now, leaning too far back, one foot hooked loosely under the coffee table like thatâs enough to stabilize him. heâs laughing harder than necessary at something sunoo says, head tipping back fully this time. âyouâre enjoying this too muchâ sunoo tells him, amused. jake waves him off loosely. âyouâre dramatic.â- âthatâs my brandâ sunoo replies. jake slides off the couch arm and lands on his feet, slightly off balance. jungwon immediately steadies him by grabbing his sleeve. âiâm fineâ jake says, pulling his arm back with a lazy grin. âstop babysitting.â- âyouâre not fineâ jungwon replies calmly. jake ignores him and points at jay instead. âtell them about the time you tried to impress that philosophy major.â jay groans. âwhy are you like this?â- âbecause itâs funâ jake says. he attempts to reenact something- some exaggerated bow combined with a poorly delivered line. his foot catches slightly on the edge of the rug, and he stumbles forward into niki. niki bursts out laughing. âoh my god. youâre done.â jake straightens immediately, offended. âi am not done.â - âyou tried to bow and almost face-plantedâ niki says. âit was intentionalâ jake insists. âit was tragicâ jay corrects. jake points at jay with unnecessary seriousness. âyouâre jealous.â - âno one is jealous of thatâ jungwon says dryly. jake pushes himself upright and adjusts his shirt like dignity can be recovered that easily. âi need another drinkâ he announces. ânoâ jungwon says immediately. âyesâ jake replies, already moving toward the kitchen. you step forward at the same time jungwon does. jungwon reaches him first and grabs his wrist lightly. âyouâre cut off.â jake looks down at jungwonâs hand like it personally offended him. âyou donât control me.â - âyou can barely walkâ jungwon says evenly. jake rolls his eyes and tries to pull free. he succeeds, but only because jungwon lets go. jake makes it three steps toward the counter before you move into his path. âyou donât need another one, itâs getting hard to watchâ you say calmly. he blinks at you slowly, focusing like itâs taking effort. âyouâre⌠still here.â- âyesâ you reply. âgoodâ he says vaguely. he tries to sidestep you. you shift slightly to block him without making it obvious. âyouâre not drinking moreâ you tell him. he tilts his head. âwhy do you care?â- âi donât,â you say automatically. âi just donât want you embarrassing yourself further.â he squints at you like heâs trying to decode whether that was an insult. jungwon steps up beside you. âsheâs right.â jake exhales dramatically. âyou two are teaming up. thatâs suspicious.â-âyouâre swayingâ jungwon says. jake pauses. then, as if proving the point, he sways. he catches himself on the counter, laughing at his own lack of coordination. âgravity is aggressive.â- âokay, youâre doneâ jungwon repeats.
jake looks at you again. his expression shifts slightly-less performative, more unfocused. âyou didnât drink muchâ he says. you shrug. âiâm driving.â he nods slowly like that makes sense to him. then he reaches for a bottle on the counter. you move first and gently push it out of reach. âno.â he stares at your hand like it betrayed him. âwhy are you mean?â he asks, not angrily-just confused. âiâm not meanâ you reply. âyou areâ he insists softly. jungwon steps closer now, lowering his voice. âokay. thatâs enough.â jake blinks again, then leans back against the counter heavily. for a moment, he looks like heâs just resting. then his head tips forward. âjakeâ jungwon says immediately. jake doesnât respond. you step closer. âjake.â he makes a vague sound but doesnât lift his head. jungwon grabs his shoulders and straightens him carefully. âhey. stay with me.â jake opens his eyes halfway, unfocused. âiâm here.â - âbarelyâ jungwon replies. jake exhales and lets his weight drop slightly forward again. you glance around. the party is still going. no one is paying close attention. jungwon looks at you. âwhen are you leaving?â you hesitate. âsoon. itâs getting too much.â he nods once. âcan you drive?â - âyesâ you say automatically. jungwon exhales. âgood.â you immediately shake your head. âno.â he looks at you. âwhat?â- âiâm not driving him.â-âyou just said youâre leaving.â- âthat doesnât mean iâm responsible for himâ you reply. jungwon lowers his voice. âhe canât stay here like this.â-âniki can deal with itâ you say. ânikiâs already half goneâ jungwon replies. âand heeseung will just film him.â you glance at jake, who is now leaning almost fully into jungwon for support. âi donât even know if he can walk to the carâ you say. âiâll helpâ jungwon says immediately. you hesitate. âheâs not going to wake up properly if we leave him hereâ jungwon continues. âand i donât trust anyone else to get him back safely.â you cross your arms. âjust ask anyone, why me?â jungwon looks at you directly. âbecause youâre sober.â thatâs true. you look at jake again. he mumbles something incoherent and shifts his weight again.âiâll carry him to your carâ jungwon says quietly. you hesitate longer than you should. âiâll call sunghoonâ jungwon adds quickly. âheâs at the dorm. heâll come downstairs and carry him up.â you blink. âsunghoonâs there?â- âyesâ jungwon says. âhe didnât come tonight.â you still hesitate. jungwonâs tone softens. âplease.â you look at him. âwhy are you asking me like this?â- âbecause i donât want him waking up on heeseungâs lawnâ jungwon says honestly. you sigh heavily. âyouâll just drop him off, thatâs itâ jungwon continues. âhe wonât even talk to you. iâll text sunghoon now. heâll be waiting outside.â jake shifts again, almost slipping. and itâs true, jake probably wonât be able to talk. heâs so drunk he can barely get a word out. the ride will likely be quiet anyway, so you decide to give up. âheâs heavier than he looksâ jungwon mutters. you stare at jake for a second longer. then you exhale slowly. âfine.â relief flashes across jungwonâs face. âthank you.â-âheâs so annoyingâ you say quickly. âi knowâ jungwon replies. jake makes a soft, incoherent protest as you both adjust his arms over your shoulders. âdonât let him throw up in your car, but i donât think he will.â jungwon adds under his breath. you glare at him. âthatâs not helpful.â jungwon manages a small smile despite everything. âiâll text sunghoon now.â jakeâs weight settles more fully against you.
jungwon and you practically carry him to the car. jake is heavier than he looks. not in a dramatic way - just dead weight in the way only drunk people can be. jungwon has one of his arms thrown over his shoulder, and youâre holding the other side, trying not to let his shoes drag across the pavement. âheâs not this heavy normallyâ jungwon mutters under his breath. âheâs not normally unconsciousâ you reply. âiâm consciousâ jake mumbles suddenly, lifting his head just enough to protest. âyouâre both⌠dramatic.â jungwon snorts quietly. âsure.â by the time you reach your car, jakeâs head is lolling slightly again. jungwon opens the back door and helps guide him inside. itâs not graceful. jakeâs foot catches on the doorframe, and jungwon has to physically guide his head down so he doesnât knock it against the roof. âsitâ jungwon says firmly as he pushes jake back against the seat. jake blinks up at him, unfocused but indignant, and mutters, âi am sittingâ in a tone that suggests he believes heâs proving something. you stand by the open door for a second, arms crossed, watching as jungwon adjusts jakeâs legs fully into the car and pulls the seatbelt across him. âyouâre not allowed to unbuckle thisâ jungwon warns. jake squints at him and replies, âyouâre not allowed to threaten me in my own vehicleâ which makes jungwon sigh and glance at you. âitâs her carâ jungwon corrects, and jake goes quiet for a beat before mumbling, âoh. that explains a lot.â jungwon straightens and looks at you over the roof of the car. âsunghoonâs at the dormâ he says. âi texted him. heâll meet you outside.â you nod once. âif he throws up-â you begin, but jungwon cuts you off with a firm, âhe wonâtâ though jake chooses that exact moment to murmur, âi mightâ with unsettling honesty. you close the door gently before he can elaborate and walk around to the driverâs seat. the engine hums to life, and for a moment, thereâs only the sound of the air conditioning and jake shifting in the back.
as you pull out of the curb, jake lifts his head just enough to squint at the back of your seat. âyouâre drivingâ he says slowly, like heâs discovering something profound. âyesâ you reply evenly, keeping your eyes on the road. âthatâs suspiciousâ he continues, leaning his head back against the window. âhow is that suspicious?â you ask, unable to stop the small edge of amusement in your voice. âbecause you donât volunteerâ he says, his words slightly tangled but determined. âi didnât volunteerâ you correct him. âyou collapsed.â he makes a weak protest. âi did not collapseâ he insists. âyou were horizontalâ you reply. âthatâs⌠interpretiveâ he mutters, and then goes quiet again. you drive in silence for a few seconds before he speaks again, his voice softer but still muddled. âyou didnât drinkâ he says, almost accusingly. you glance at him through the rearview mirror and see him blinking slowly like heâs trying to focus on you. âi paced,â you answer. he shakes his head slightly, the movement uncoordinated. âand you drank enough for both of us.â he hums thoughtfully, then says, âthatâs efficientâ with misplaced approval. the streetlights pass in steady rhythm, illuminating his face in brief flashes, and you can see the shift happening slowly-less chaotic, more reflective. after a minute, his voice comes again, quieter and more deliberate. âyou donât trust meâ he says, and the tone makes your hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel. âthatâs not itâ you reply automatically. he shakes his head against the glass. âyou think iâm recklessâ he says, and though the words arenât slurred anymore, theyâre heavy. âi think you take risksâ you answer carefully. âthatâs not the same.â he exhales, long and unsteady. âyou think i donât careâ he continues. âi never said thatâ you tell him, but he responds immediately, âyou didâ and thereâs no humor in his voice now. the car feels smaller as he shifts upright, pushing himself forward slightly despite the way his balance wavers. âyou think i have it easyâ he says, and this time his words land cleanly. you hesitate before replying, âthatâs not what i meant.â he lets out a short laugh that sounds more tired than amused. âit always isâ he says. he rubs a hand over his face and stares at his knees. âyou think because i went to private school and because i donât panic before presentations that i donât tryâ he continues, and the vulnerability creeping into his voice makes your chest tighten. âi know you tryâ you say quietly. ânoâ he says, shaking his head. âyou know i win. thatâs different.â the road is almost empty now, and his voice steadies further as if the motion of the car is grounding him. âif iâm not good at this,â he says slowly, âthen what am i?â you glance back at him, startled by the honesty in the question. âyou are good at thisâ you tell him firmly. he swallows and looks out the window. âthatâs the problemâ he replies. âeveryone expects that.â he exhales shakily and continues, âmy parents expect it. my teachers expect it. everyone here expects it. if i drop, if i mess up, itâs not just a bad semester. itâs confirmation.â you donât interrupt him this time. he presses his fingers against his eyes like heâs trying to hold something back. âyou think i can afford to call out the university because i have optionsâ he says, his voice thinner now. âi donât. if i look difficult, if i lose ranking, it follows me. i donât get to just disappear.â you feel the guilt settle heavy in your stomach as he goes on. âi admire youâ he says suddenly, and the simplicity of it catches you off guard. âyou donât improvise. you donât gamble. you build everything carefully, like if you just work hard enough, nothing can surprise you.â
he lets out a breath that wavers halfway through. âyou scare meâ he admits, and you glance back at him again, stunned. âwhy?â you ask softly. he answers without hesitation. âbecause you deserve to be firstâ he says, and his voice cracks on the last word. âand if i beat you, it feels like i stole something.â the confession sits heavy in the car. he drags a hand down his face and laughs weakly at himself. âthis is stupidâ he says. âiâm drunk.â -âyouâre honestâ you correct him gently. he shakes his head again, and this time when he speaks, his voice wavers. âiâm tiredâ he says quietly. âiâm tired of being the one whoâs supposed to just be good at it.â thereâs a small pause, and then his breathing changes. he swipes at his face quickly, embarrassed, but you can see in the mirror that his eyes are wet. âyou donât get to fall apart when youâre the talented one,â he says, barely above a whisper. âyou just get better.â your throat tightens as you pull into the dorm parking lot.
sunghoon is already waiting near the entrance, hands in his pockets, watching your headlights approach. jake exhales shakily from the backseat. âi didnât want you to think i didnât careâ he says softly, his voice steadier now but fragile. âi donât think thatâ you reply, and this time you mean it completely. he looks at the back of your seat like heâs memorizing something and whispers, âi was happy when we got paired.â the words linger in the space between you. âi wanted to work with youâ he adds, and thereâs no competition in his voice anymore, just sincerity. you put the car in park and sit there for a moment, the engine still running. everything feels different now-quieter, heavier, real. âyou donât have it easyâ you say finally, turning slightly in your seat so he can see you. he blinks at you slowly, exhausted, and nods once like thatâs enough. when sunghoon opens the back door and carefully lifts him out, jake doesnât resist. as sunghoon takes his weight, jake glances at you one last time and murmurs, âyou work harder than anyoneâ before his head drops against sunghoonâs shoulder. you watch them disappear into the dorm building, the door closing softly behind them, and for the first time since freshman year, the rivalry doesnât feel like a war.
the next morning jake wakes up aware of two things at once: his head feels like itâs been hollowed out and replaced with concrete, and something about last night went wrong. he stares at the ceiling of the dorm room for a long moment before rolling onto his side and immediately regretting the movement. across the room, niki is already awake, sitting in the desk chair with one leg hooked over the armrest, watching him with poorly concealed amusement. âyou look tragicâ niki remarks casually, spinning the chair once before planting his feet on the ground. jake squints at him and mutters, âlower your voiceâ pressing the heel of his hand to his temple. from the bathroom doorway, sunghoon steps out holding a glass of water and says calmly, âdrink this before you attempt to standâ placing it into jakeâs hand without ceremony. jake takes it and downs half in one go before asking, with visible suspicion, âwhat happened?â niki leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and asks with a grin, âyou seriously donât remember?â jake frowns and shakes his head slightly before stopping himself because it hurts. âi remember the gameâ he says slowly. âi remember jay yelling. thatâs it.â sunghoon crosses his arms and replies in his usual measured tone, âyou didnât come back alone.â jakeâs stomach tightens. âwhat does that mean?â he asks carefully. niki answers first, unable to resist, saying, âit means jungwon called because you were barely functional.â jake blinks and asks, âwho drove me?â sunghoon answers evenly, âyour debate partner.â jake stares at him for a second before repeating, ây/n?â as if confirming something heâs not ready to process. sunghoon nods once. jake runs a hand through his hair and mutters, âthatâs not ideal.â he goes quiet for a moment, then looks up sharply and asks, âdid i do something?â the question comes out more urgent than he intended. âdid i hook up with someone?â niki laughs immediately and says, âthatâs your first assumption?â jake shoots him a look and says firmly, âanswer.â sunghoon responds first, shaking his head. âyou didnât,â he clarifies. jake exhales through his nose, some tension leaving him.
 but sunghoon continues after a brief pause, âbut you did cry.â the word hangs in the air. nikiâs grin drops for a second before he straightens and asks, âwait. actually?â sunghoon nods once and repeats calmly, âyes. in the car.â jake stares at him. ânoâ he says flatly. âi didnât.â sunghoon doesnât argue. he simply says, âjungwon said you were emotional. quiet, but emotional.â niki processes that for a second before letting out a surprised laugh. âyou cried in her car?â he repeats, now fully invested. jake presses his palms to his face and mutters, âstop talking.â niki stands up and walks closer, still grinning. âthis is hugeâ he says. âyou only cry during finals.â jake lowers his hands slowly. âwhat did i say?â he asks sunghoon, ignoring niki. sunghoon shrugs slightly and answers, âi donât know. i saw you crying in her car. thatâs it.â niki folds his arms and studies jake. âso you donât remember anything?â he asks, this time less teasing and more curious. jake shakes his head once, carefully. ânoâ he admits. âi remember getting into a car. thatâs it.â niki whistles softly and says, âthatâs worseâ before adding, âbecause now she knows whatever you said and you donât.â jake glares at him but doesnât deny it. he reaches for his phone with more hesitation than heâd like to show. he opens your chat and stares at your name for a long moment before typing,
jake: did i embarrass myself last night?
niki leans slightly over his shoulder and comments, âthatâs subtleâ and jake nudges him away without looking up, muttering, âback off.â he sends the message and waits, staring at the screen like it might offer him context. when your reply arrives Â
you: you were drunk.
jake exhales softly, but the neutrality unsettles him. he types back,
jake: thatâs not what i asked
and waits again.
across campus, youâre sitting at your desk, notes spread out in front of you, when your phone lights up. you know immediately what itâs about. you read his message and feel the memory of the car ride settle heavy in your chest - the way his voice cracked, the way he said he was tired of being expected to be better.
you: you didnât embarrass yourself
keeping the tone light and detached. on his side, jake reads the message twice before typing again,
jake: did i say anything weird?
he sends it quickly, like he doesnât want to overthink it. you stare at the screen for several seconds before answering. you donât want to humiliate him. you donât want to expose him.
you: you talked about rankings and stress.
thatâs true, just not complete. back in the dorm room, jake reads your response and feels some of the tension in his shoulders ease. stress. thatâs manageable. he types again
jake: i didnât insult you, did i?
you: no.
he nods faintly to himself. niki watches his expression carefully and asks, âwell?â jake locks his phone and replies evenly, âshe said i didnât embarrass myself.â niki raises an eyebrow and says, âthatâs suspiciously generousâ but jake ignores him. he picks up his phone one more time and types,
jake: can we finish the project the day after tomorrow? i feel like i got hit by a truck.
you: sure
jake: and thanks. for driving me.
you: sure, just donât mention it.
jake stares at that final reply for a moment before setting his phone down on the desk. the room falls quiet except for niki moving around behind him. jake leans back against the wall and closes his eyes briefly. he doesnât remember crying. he doesnât remember what he said. he doesnât know how much of himself he exposed. and the fact that you now hold that information - while he doesnât - sits heavier than the hangover pressing behind his eyes.
across campus, you turn your phone face down and stare at your open notebook without really seeing the words. you know exactly what he said. and you know he has no idea that you do. you pack your bags and meet sunoo at the campus cafĂŠ because he insists he âcanât process academic corruption without caffeineâ and even though that sounds dramatic, you donât argue. the place is warm and loud enough to feel private, sunlight filtering through the tall windows while conversations blur into background noise. sunoo is already seated when you arrive, two drinks placed neatly in front of him. as you sit down, he slides one toward you and says, âi ordered your usual. you looked like you were going to overthink something today.â you wrap your hands around the cup and raise an eyebrow at him before replying, âi always overthink something.â sunoo smiles slightly and leans back in his chair. âexactlyâ he says. he studies your face for a moment before shifting the conversation. âsoâ he begins casually, âyou drove him.â you keep your expression neutral as you answer, âyes.â sunoo nods once and asks, lowering his voice slightly, âhow bad was it?â you take a small sip of your drink before responding, âvery drunk.â sunoo exhales through his nose and says, âhe doesnât usually let himself get like that.â you glance at him briefly and reply, âi noticed.â thereâs a small pause before sunoo tilts his head and asks, âdid he text you?â you nod. âhe did.â sunoo watches you carefully and follows with, âand?â you keep your tone even as you answer, âhe doesnât remember much.â sunoo nods slowly and says, âthatâs probably for the best. he hates feeling exposed.â you donât react to that, instead shifting the focus deliberately. you pull your notebook closer and say, âthe dataset isnât just inconsistent. itâs selectively adjusted. the sample breakdown doesnât match the raw counts.â sunoo immediately straightens and opens his laptop as he replies, âjake showed me the comparison sheet yesterday.â you pause slightly and ask, âhe did?â sunoo nods and continues, âyeah. he already mapped out a way to question the methodology without directly accusing anyone.â
you consider that for a moment before saying carefully, âitâs structured well, but itâs risky.â sunoo looks at you and replies evenly, âitâs measured risk. thatâs different.â you fold your hands together on the table and say, âchallenging the dataset could imply bias within the department.â sunoo doesnât hesitate before asking, âdo you think heâs wrong?â you look down briefly before admitting, âno.â sunoo watches you closely and says, âthen whatâs the hesitation?â you glance at your notes and answer, âpresentation matters.â sunoo nods immediately and replies, âof course it does, but youâre good at that.â you look back up at him and say, âthat doesnât eliminate the risk.â sunoo gives you a small, knowing smile and says, âyouâre not afraid of risk. youâre afraid of looking reckless.â you donât deny it, and the silence that follows stretches just long enough to feel intentional. after a moment, sunoo raises his hand slightly as if outlining an argument. âoption oneâ he says, âyou present the data as given. safe. high marks. no friction.â you nod faintly. âoption twoâ he continues, âyou follow jakeâs structure, highlight the inconsistencies, and frame it as critical engagement.â you meet his eyes and say, âoption two could irritate the professor.â sunoo shrugs lightly and replies, âor it could impress him.â you sit back in your chair, considering that. sunoo leans forward slightly and says, âyou trust him academically.â you answer without hesitation, âyes.â sunoo nods once and says, âthen build on his framework. refine it. thatâs what youâre good at.â he pauses before adding quietly, âheâs not reckless.â you look at him sharply, and sunoo continues calmly, âhe thinks more than he shows.â you exhale slowly before nodding once. âokayâ you say. sunoo smiles faintly and asks, âokay?â you clarify, âiâll follow up with him. weâll use his structure, and iâll tighten the language.â sunoo closes his laptop and says lightly, âthat sounds suspiciously like collaboration.â you give him a look and reply, âdonât romanticize it.â sunoo laughs softly and says, âfine. efficiency.â as you gather your notes, he adds, âheâll appreciate that youâre backing his approach.â you pause briefly before answering evenly, âitâs not about appreciation. itâs about accuracy.â sunoo smiles in a way that suggests he doesnât entirely believe you but doesnât argue further.
after sunooâs motivational speech the walk to the study room feels strangely normal, which unsettles you more than if it had felt dramatic. students move through campus in steady streams, doors open and close, conversations overlap in the courtyard, and nothing reflects the quiet shift you feel internally. you push that thought aside as you enter the study building and walk down the narrow hallway toward the reserved room. the fluorescent lights hum faintly overhead, and the familiar scent of dry-erase markers lingers in the air. when you step inside, eunchae is already seated at the table with printed notes spread in front of her, and jungwon is standing near the whiteboard with a marker in his hand, staring at an unfinished outline. eunchae looks up first and says with a small smile, âyouâre earlyâ while jungwon glances at the wall clock and adds without turning fully toward you, âyouâre usually not this early unless somethingâs bothering you.â you place your bag on the chair and reply evenly, âi wanted to go over the dataset section againâ then slide into your seat and open your laptop. jungwon sets the marker down and walks over to the table, folding his arms lightly as he asks, âstill thinking about the imbalance jake pointed out?â you nod once and answer, âyes. the sample distribution doesnât align with the raw counts, and if we present it without addressing that, it weakens the entire argument.â eunchae leans forward slightly and says, âyesterday you sounded hesitant about pushing itâ and you glance briefly at her before clarifying, âi was hesitant about how it was framed, not about whether it was valid.â you scroll to the shared document and reread the section quietly for a moment before beginning to type. jungwon watches the screen and asks, âso what are you changing?â without looking up, you respond, âweâre not accusing anyone of bias. weâre identifying a methodological inconsistency and inviting clarification.â eunchae nods slowly and says, âthat sounds less confrontationalâ and you answer, âitâs not about confrontation. itâs about precision.â jungwon leans closer to the table and observes, âyouâre integrating the alternative distribution model he referencedâ and you confirm, âyes. it strengthens the critique without sounding defensive.â the room grows quieter as you restructure one of the central paragraphs, moving the statistical comparison earlier so the logic builds gradually. eunchae studies the screen and says thoughtfully, âthat reads strongerâ and jungwon adds, âit shows depth without implying misconduct.â you pause, reread the revised paragraph, and then say, âitâs defensible now.â jungwon looks at you carefully and asks, âyouâre comfortable standing behind that?â you meet his gaze and answer, âyes.â thereâs a brief pause before jungwon asks more carefully, âyou and jake didnât argue about this?â you close your laptop halfway and respond calmly, âwe didnât need to.â eunchae glances between the two of you and says quietly, âheâll probably appreciate that youâre not dismissing his pointâ and you reply, keeping your tone steady, âthis isnât about him. itâs about the integrity of the argument.â jungwon gives you a knowing look and says, âsureâ but doesnât press further. you reopen your laptop and read the section from top to bottom one final time before saying, âweâll present it like this.â jungwon nods once and says, âi agreeâ and eunchae follows with, âso do i.â you save the document without adding anything else. you didnât do this to surprise him. you didnât do it to prove anything. you did it because it was correct. as the three of you move on to the next portion of the project, discussing transitions and citation formatting, you realize something subtle but undeniable: choosing to stand beside his reasoning academically doesnât feel like losing ground. it actually feels like the right thing to do.
itâs the next day and you arrive at the study room before him, though not intentionally this time. the hallway smells faintly of dry-erase marker and overused carpet cleaner, and the fluorescent lights hum softly overhead. you set your laptop down and open the revised draft of the policy section, rereading the paragraph you integrated from his framework last night. the structure is solid. risky, but solid. you didnât misjudge him. you just didnât look closely enough. the door opens, and jake steps inside looking noticeably less polished than usual. his hair isnât styled with the same careless precision, and thereâs a slight stiffness in the way he moves, like every sound is sharper than it should be. he drops his bag into the chair across from you and says, âif you scheduled this early as revenge, i respect itâ rubbing a hand briefly over his face. âitâs tenâ you reply calmly, closing the document tab and turning your screen slightly toward him. âthatâs not early.â- âfor someone who feels like they swallowed broken glass, it isâ he mutters, lowering himself into the chair with exaggerated care. you study him for half a second longer than usual before asking, âitâs been two days, did you at least drink water?â he blinks at you, mildly surprised. âthatâs unexpectedly considerate.â - âanswer the questionâ you say, though thereâs less bite behind it. âyesâ he replies, leaning back slightly. âniki forced electrolytes on me like i was a dying victorian child.â you almost smile. âgood.â thereâs a small pause while he opens his laptop. his eyes flick toward you, searching your expression in a way that feels different now that you know what you know. he doesnât remember the car ride. he doesnât remember admitting he was tired. he doesnât remember saying he was happy to work with you. âdid i make a complete idiot of myself?â he asks finally, keeping his tone light but not quite meeting your eyes. ânoâ you answer evenly, and this time itâs fully true. he studies you for a second, as if testing for sarcasm. âthat sounded suspiciously sincere.â - âit wasâ you reply, folding your hands neatly on the table. âyou were drunk. not reckless.â something in his posture shifts slightly at that word. he exhales through his nose and nods once. âthatâs⌠reassuring.â you open the shared document and scroll to the revised methodology section. âi restructured the critiqueâ you say, turning the screen toward him. âi kept your comparative distribution model but moved it earlier so the logic builds before the challenge.â he leans forward to read, closer than necessary, his shoulder nearly brushing yours. âyou integrated it cleanlyâ he says after a moment, scrolling carefully. âyou softened the phrasing.â-âitâs not softenedâ you correct gently. âitâs precise.â he glances at you. âyouâre backing it.â- âyesâ you say simply. he watches you more carefully now. âthatâs risky.â - âitâs defensibleâ you reply. âyou werenât wrong.â the silence that follows is different from your usual standoffs. thereâs no edge to it. no competition. just acknowledgment.
he sits back slightly and tilts his head. âyouâre being unusually agreeable today.â - âiâm being efficientâ you answer, echoing his earlier phrasing deliberately. his mouth curves faintly. âthatâs my line.â- âyou donât own efficiency.â-âdebatableâ he says lightly, though thereâs less challenge in it than usual. you notice heâs still pale around the edges, the fatigue not fully masked. he reaches for his water bottle and winces almost imperceptibly at the movement. âyou donât have to pretend youâre fineâ you say before thinking it through. he pauses, bottle halfway to his mouth. âiâm not pretending.â-âyou are a littleâ you reply quietly. he studies you for a second longer than comfortable. âyouâre observing a lot today.â-âi always observeâ you say. âyeahâ he says, and this time thereâs no teasing in it. âyou do.â he looks back at the document, scrolling slowly. âiâm glad you adjusted itâ he adds after a moment. âi thought you might scrap the whole critique.â-âi considered itâ you admit. âbut the inconsistency is measurable.â-âthatâs not what i meantâ he says softly. you meet his gaze. he doesnât elaborate. instead, he shifts back into familiar territory. âif this tanks our evaluation, iâm blaming you publiclyâ he says with mock  seriousness. âyou can tryâ you reply evenly. âiâll bring charts.â he laughs quietly at that, the sound easier than yesterday but still tired around the edges. âyouâre terrifying.â - âiâve heard that beforeâ you say. âyeahâ he answers, closing his laptop for a moment and leaning back. âyou have.â thereâs something in the way he says it that feels layered, but you donât press. not today. for the rest of the session, you work without arguing. you refine phrasing. he challenges a statistic once, and instead of snapping back, you explain your reasoning fully. he nods and accepts it. when he suggests adjusting a conclusion line, you consider it instead of rejecting it immediately. when you both finally pack up, he hesitates before slinging his bag over his shoulder. âthanksâ he says casually, though his eyes hold yours for a beat longer than the word requires. âfor what?â you ask. âfor not letting me completely self-destruct after the partyâ he replies, attempting a smirk that doesnât quite land. âyou didnâtâ you say calmly. âself-destruct, i mean.â he studies your face one last time, like heâs trying to decide whether to ask something else. then he nods once. âsee you tomorrow.â- âdonât be lateâ you say automatically. he almost smiles. âiâm never late.â this time, it doesnât sound like a challenge. it sounds like a promise.
the cafĂŠ is too crowded for this to be accidental. eunchae insisted it would be âneutral territoryâ which you suspect means she wanted both friend groups in the same room without anyone technically hosting. the long table near the windows is already half occupied when you arrive, voices overlapping in loose conversation. chaewon and sakura are seated side by side, kazuha across from them with her hands folded neatly around her drink. heeseung and jay are arguing about something sports-related near the end of the table while sunoo watches with theatrical disappointment. jungwon is standing, pulling out an extra chair. jake is already there. heâs leaning back slightly in his seat, one arm draped over the backrest, listening to niki complain about a professor with exaggerated betrayal. he looks relaxed. normal. entirely unbothered. you step toward the table and jungwon glances at you immediately. âyouâre lateâ he says, though thereâs no accusation in it. âitâs been three minutesâ you reply, sliding into the empty chair between chaewon and sunoo. jakeâs eyes lift at the sound of your voice. just briefly. then they settle back on niki. sunoo leans closer to you and says quietly, âyou look less homicidal than usual.â - âiâm not homicidalâ you reply, placing your bag carefully at your feet. âthatâs what homicidal people sayâ he answers with satisfaction. across the table, jay gestures dramatically while saying, âall iâm saying is that if attendance isnât graded, itâs optionalâ and heeseung groans loudly in response. jake laughs at that, the sound easy and unforced. you glance at him reflexively. heâs not looking at jay. heâs looking at you. itâs subtle enough that no one else reacts. his gaze shifts away almost immediately when your eyes meet his, and he reaches for his drink as if that had been his intention all along. you look back at sunoo. he doesnât say anything. he just lifts one eyebrow. the conversation shifts topics quickly, as it always does when this many competitive personalities share oxygen. sakura brings up the upcoming presentation schedule, and jungwon immediately says, âwe should do a mock panel before the faculty review.â-âthatâs excessiveâ jay says, leaning back in his chair. âitâs preparationâ you correct automatically. jake glances at you again. this time it lingers a second longer. heeseung notices the shift in tone and grins faintly. âyou two are going to turn this into a military operationâ he says. jake shrugs lightly and replies, âshe already has.â you tilt your head. âyouâre benefiting from it.â - âiâm awareâ he says, and thereâs no teasing in it.
the table grows louder again as niki interrupts with a new story involving a disastrous lab partner, and attention splinters into smaller conversations. you find yourself explaining part of the methodology adjustment to kazuha, tracing imaginary bullet points on the table as you speak. âthe distribution model wasnât wrongâ you clarify. âit was just incomplete.â jake is no longer part of the main conversation. heâs quiet now. when you finish explaining, kazuha nods thoughtfully and says, âthat sounds balanced.â -âit isâ you reply. from across the table, jake says, âitâs better than balancedâ his voice cutting through the noise just enough to reach you. âitâs structured.â you look at him. heâs just stating it. âthat was the pointâ you answer. he nods once, satisfied. niki, who has been half-listening while pretending not to, shifts in his seat and watches jake more carefully now. jake doesnât notice. heâs too busy watching the way you gesture when you explain something, the way your hands move precisely even when youâre not holding notes. eunchae leans forward and asks you, âare you nervous about the faculty panel?â and you shake your head lightly before replying, âno. iâm prepared.â jake smiles faintly at that. but only niki catches it. the conversation splinters again, heeseung dragging jay into a debate about energy reform while sunghoon quietly corrects a statistic under his breath. in the middle of it, you reach for your drink at the same time jake does, your hands brushing lightly against the side of the cup. âsorryâ he says immediately, pulling his hand back. âitâs fineâ you reply, adjusting the cup. he doesnât look away this time. he studies your face like heâs trying to reconcile something. youâre softer today. not less sharp. just⌠less guarded. more considerate. he doesnât know why. niki leans back slowly in his chair, arms crossing as he observes the silent exchange. he waits until your attention shifts back to chaewon before leaning slightly toward jake and saying under his breath, âhyung, youâre staring.â jake blinks, genuinely confused. âiâm notâ he replies automatically. âyou areâ niki says calmly, not accusatory, just factual. âitâs not even subtle.â jake scoffs lightly. âyouâre dramatic.â niki tilts his head. âam i?â jake doesnât answer. he looks back at you instinctively. youâre laughing at something sunoo said, head tilted slightly back, eyes bright in a way he doesnât remember noticing before. niki watches the exact second jake forgets to look away. then he smiles slowly to himself. jake finally tears his gaze away and says, âshut upâ though niki hasnât spoken again. âi didnât say anythingâ niki replies mildly. âyou were thinking itâ jake mutters. âthinking what?â jungwon asks from further down the table. ânothingâ jake answers too quickly. niki lifts his cup and takes a slow sip, eyes still on jake. âsureâ he says softly. jake lasts exactly four more minutes at the table before he pushes his chair back. âiâm getting another drinkâ he says casually, though his cup is still half full. niki glances at it, then at him, but doesnât comment immediately. jake steps away from the table and moves toward the back of the cafĂŠ where the restrooms are tucked past a narrow hallway.
the noise fades slightly as he pushes open the bathroom door and steps inside, bracing his hands briefly against the sink as if steadying something internal rather than physical. a second later, the door swings open again. jake doesnât look up at the mirror when he says, âyouâre predictable.â niki locks the door behind him and leans against it, folding his arms. âyou left mid-conversationâ he replies lightly. âthatâs suspicious.â jake turns on the faucet, letting the water run longer than necessary before splashing some onto his face. âitâs loud out there.â- âitâs always loudâ niki says calmly. âyou donât usually retreat.â jake shuts off the water and looks at his reflection instead of at niki. his expression is composed, but the crease between his brows hasnât fully disappeared since this morning. âyouâre reading into nothing.â-âiâm not readingâ niki replies. âi hate reading.â jake lets out a short breath that almost sounds like a laugh. âyouâre insufferable.â-âand youâre distractedâ niki counters easily. jake finally turns around, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. âiâm not distracted.â-âyouâre staringâ niki says, not unkindly. âand you donât stare at people unless youâre trying to solve something.â jake hesitates for half a second before responding, âsheâs acting different.â nikiâs expression shifts slightly-not surprised, just interested. âdifferent how?â jake looks back at the mirror briefly, as if checking the answer there. âquieterâ he says slowly. ânot quieter in general. just with me.â niki waits. âsheâs not snapping back as fastâ jake continues, running a hand through his hair. âsheâs⌠softer. but not weak. just-â he exhales, frustrated with his own phrasing. âless defensive.â-âand thatâs bothering you?â niki asks. jake frowns faintly. âitâs confusing me.â niki pushes off the door and steps closer, lowering his voice slightly even though theyâre alone. âmaybe sheâs just comfortable.â jake shakes his head immediately. âno. she doesnât get comfortable.â -âthatâs dramaticâ niki says. âyou know what i meanâ jake insists, jaw tightening slightly. âsheâs always braced. even when sheâs calm sheâs braced. today sheâs not.â niki studies him carefully. âyouâre very observant for someone who claims heâs not staring.â jake ignores that. âi donât know what changed.â niki tilts his head. âmaybe you did.â jake lets out a quiet scoff. âi didnât.â -âdidnât what?â niki presses. âdo anythingâ jake replies quickly. âi mean-i was drunk. but she said i didnât embarrass myself.â niki watches him carefully at that. âyou trust that?â-âyesâ jake says without hesitation. âinterestingâ niki murmurs. jake straightens slightly. âwhat is that supposed to mean?â -âit meansâ niki replies evenly, âthat if she says you didnât embarrass yourself, then you probably didnât.â-âthatâs not helpfulâ jake mutters. niki shrugs lightly. âyouâre not upset that sheâs softer. youâre unsettled because you donât know why.â
jake doesnât answer immediately. niki continues, âyou like predictability. especially with her. you know how she reacts. you know the rhythm.â jake looks at him sharply. âi donât care about rhythm.â- âyou absolutely doâ niki replies. âyou debate like itâs choreography.â jake exhales slowly and rubs the back of his neck. âitâs just-â he stops, searching for a word that doesnât feel too revealing. âwhen sheâs competitive, i know where i stand.â - âand now?â niki asks. jake looks down at the tile floor for a second before answering, ânow i donât.â the silence that follows is not heavy. itâs thoughtful. niki studies him with a familiarity that borders on surgical precision. âyouâre not confused about herâ he says quietly. âyouâre confused about yourself.â jake immediately shakes his head. âdonât start.â - âiâm not starting anythingâ niki replies calmly. âiâm just saying- you donât look at people like that unless something shifted.â jakeâs jaw tightens. ânothing shifted.â niki raises an eyebrow. âthen why did you leave the table?â jake doesnât respond right away. he looks at the mirror again, at the faint flush still lingering from earlier embarrassment, at the way his expression is slightly less controlled than usual. âshe was laughingâ he says finally, quieter. niki blinks. âokay?â - âshe doesnât laugh with meâ jake continues, almost to himself. ânot like that.â -âand you wanted her to?â niki asks gently. jake hesitates. thatâs the first real crack. âi donât knowâ he admits. nikiâs expression softens just slightly. âyouâre in troubleâ he says, though thereâs no mockery in it this time. jake rolls his eyes automatically. âshut up.â-âi didnât say anything dramaticâ niki replies. âiâm just making a note.â jake pushes off the counter and moves toward the door. âdonât.â-âdonât what?â niki asks. âturn this into somethingâ jake says firmly. niki opens the door and steps aside to let him pass. âi donât have toâ he says quietly. âyouâre doing that on your own.â
when jake and niki return, the conversation has split into two clusters. jungwon is sketching something on a napkin while explaining a policy framework to heeseung and jay, and at the other end of the table, sunghoon has shifted into the seat beside you while youâre mid-sentence. you donât seem to notice the change in proximity. jake does. sunghoon is leaning slightly toward you, one arm resting casually along the back of your chair as you explain something about the faculty panel timeline. âif we anticipate the critique angleâ youâre saying calmly, tracing an invisible outline on the table, âwe can preempt the statistical pushback before they even raise it.â sunghoon nods once and replies, âthatâs efficient.â - âitâs actually very strategicâ you correct automatically, though thereâs a faint smile in your voice. jake stops just short of his chair. itâs subtle -the pause. barely a second. then he pulls the chair out a little harder than necessary and sits down. niki notices. jake leans back, posture loose, expression neutral. he doesnât interrupt. he doesnât insert himself into the conversation. he just listens. but his gaze keeps flicking toward sunghoonâs arm. sunghoon laughs quietly at something you add and says, âyou think three steps ahead. thatâs terrifying.â- âyeah, sheâs always terrifyingâ jake says lightly from across the table. you glance at him. sunghoon glances at him too. it all feels a bit awkward but jake smiles, easy and controlled. niki watches the exact way jakeâs fingers tighten briefly around his cup. sunghoon shifts slightly closer without realizing it, lowering his voice as he asks you, âare you nervous at all?â-ânoâ you reply. âi donât get nervous.â jakeâs jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. niki leans closer to him and murmurs under his breath, âyou look thrilled.â jake doesnât look at him. âi amâ he replies evenly. âyour eye just twitchedâ niki says mildly. -âit did not.â -niki takes a slow sip of his drink, still watching. âwow, you already hate when someone else gets her attention.â jake finally turns his head slightly. âthatâs not what this is.â-âthen what is it?â niki asks quietly. jake looks back across the table just in time to see sunghoon brush a crumb off your sleeve with absent ease. his grip tightens again. niki hums softly. âthere it is.â jake exhales slowly through his nose. âheâs not-â he stops himself. ânot what?â niki prompts, almost pleasantly. jake shakes his head once. âitâs nothing.â niki smiles faintly. âsure.â across the table, you laugh again -softer this time -and jakeâs gaze drops to the table like heâs recalibrating something internally.
the dorm room smells faintly like instant ramen and laundry detergent that promises too much. jake falls down on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, phone facedown beside him like it personally offended him. niki is sprawled across the desk chair backward, arms folded over the backrest, while sunghoon leans against the wall near the window, quiet but very clearly listening. jake exhales slowly and says, âiâm not spiraling.â niki raises one eyebrow. âyou said that unprompted.â sunghoon glances between them. âspiraling about what?â jake drags a hand down his face. ânothing.â- âthatâs not how this worksâ niki replies calmly. âyou donât get to call a team meeting and then say ânothing.ââ -âi didnât call a team meetingâ jake mutters. âyou walked into the room, sat down dramatically, and sighed like a widowâ niki corrects. âthat counts.â sunghoon suppresses a faint smile. âwhat happened?â jake leans back slightly, staring at the ceiling like the answer might be written there. ây/nâs different.â sunghoon tilts his head. âdifferent how?â jake hesitates before answering. âsheâs not trying to kill me lately.â niki nods slowly. âtragic.â- âiâm seriousâ jake insists, dropping his gaze back to them. âsheâs⌠nicer. not obvious. just-quieter. softer. itâs weird.â sunghoon crosses his arms. âthat doesnât sound bad.â-âitâs confusingâ jake replies immediately. niki watches him carefully. âyou prefer when sheâs sharpening knives?â
---btw go stream enhypenâs âknifeâ---
âat least then i know whatâs happeningâ jake says. âthereâs structure.â sunghoon blinks once. âyou want hostility because itâs predictable.â-âi want consistencyâ jake corrects. niki snorts softly. âyouâre upset because she adjusted her tone.â-âiâm not upsetâ jake says quickly. âi just think iâm overreacting.â-âoverreacting to what?â sunghoon asks evenly. jake hesitates again. âtoday she was explaining the panel strategy to youâ he says, nodding vaguely in sunghoonâs direction. âshe doesnât explain things to me like that.â sunghoon frowns faintly. âyou interrupt her.â-âthatâs not the point.â-âit might beâ niki says. jake ignores him. âit was just⌠easy. she was laughing. relaxed. she doesnât do that with me.â niki studies him for a second longer than comfortable. âyouâre jealous.â jakeâs head snaps toward him. âno.â-âyou areâ niki repeats calmly. âiâm not jealousâ jake says firmly. âit was one conversation.â sunghoon shifts slightly, thoughtful. âyou paused when you saw me sitting next to her.â jake looks at him like heâs been personally betrayed. âyou noticed that?â sunghoon shrugs lightly. âyouâre not subtle.â-âi am extremely subtleâ jake protests. niki lets out a quiet laugh. âyou gripped your cup like it owed you money.â jake groans and drops his head briefly into his hands. âthis is ridiculous.â sunghoonâs voice softens slightly. âyouâve been off since the party.â jake freezes for half a second. niki doesnât look away from him. âthat has nothing to do with thisâ jake says too quickly. âdoesnât it?â niki asks. jake straightens slightly. âi was drunk. i cried. itâs humiliating. thatâs all.â sunghoonâs expression doesnât change. âyou donât cry.â-âapparently i doâ jake mutters. niki tilts his head. âyou also donât usually let her drive you home.â jake glares at him. âi wasnât conscious enough to veto that.â-âthatâs not what i meantâ niki replies evenly. the room grows quieter. sunghoon pushes off the wall and sits down on the edge of his own bed, elbows resting on his thighs. âyou said you were happy you got pairedâ he says carefully. jake looks at him sharply. âhow do you-â -âyou told me, also you talk when youâre drunkâ niki cuts in. jake stares at him. âwhat exactly did i say?â niki shrugs lightly. âenough.â jake exhales slowly, tension settling across his shoulders. âthatâs not romanticâ he says defensively. âi respect her. thatâs it.â - âno one said romanticâ sunghoon replies calmly. jake looks between them. âyouâre both implying it.â -âweâre implying youâre reactingâ niki corrects. jake leans back again, staring at the ceiling. âshe was just nice. one time. thatâs probably it. iâm overanalyzing because itâs different.â sunghoon considers that. âorâ he says quietly, âyouâre not used to her seeing you.â jakeâs eyes flick back to him. âsheâs always seen me.â -ânot like thatâ niki says.
jake swallows once. âlike what?â-âlike youâre humanâ sunghoon answers simply. that lands harder than the teasing did. jake looks away first. âi donât need her to see meâ he says after a moment, though it sounds less certain than he intends. niki leans back in the chair again. âyou absolutely do.â jake exhales sharply. âyouâre both insufferable.â sunghoon shrugs faintly. âyouâre the one whoâs bothered.â-âiâm not botheredâ jake insists. niki smirks slightly. âyouâre threatened by kindness.â -âthatâs not-â jake stops, frustrated. âshe changed the rhythm.â sunghoon blinks. âyou keep using that word.â -âbecause it fitsâ jake snaps lightly. âwhen she argues, i know where to stand. when sheâs calm, i donât.â niki watches him closely. âso figure it out.â jake shakes his head. âitâs not that simple.â-âwhy?â sunghoon asks. jake hesitates. because if sheâs not fighting him-then maybe sheâs not just competing. and thatâs harder to navigate. he rubs a hand over the back of his neck and mutters, âi think i just donât like not knowing where i stand.â nikiâs teasing expression softens slightly. âyou could ask.â jake lets out a short laugh. âand say what? âhi, are you being emotionally strategic or is this genuine?ââ sunghoon smiles faintly. âyouâd phrase it worse.â jake throws a pillow in his direction without real force. âshut up.â niki stands up finally, stretching slightly. âyouâre not overreactingâ he says more quietly now. âyouâre just not in control.â jake looks at him sharply. âthatâs new for youâ niki adds. jake doesnât answer. because that part might be true. the room settles into silence, not uncomfortable, just thoughtful. after a moment, jake mutters, âif this turns into something dramatic, iâm blaming both of you.â niki grins. âitâs already dramatic for you.â
professor kimâs office smells faintly like paper and burnt coffee, the kind thatâs been reheated twice and forgotten on a desk stacked with journals. the walls are lined with framed policy certificates and annotated newspaper clippings, and the bookshelf behind him looks aggressively intellectual. you sit upright in one of the narrow chairs across from his desk, notebook already open on your lap. jake sits beside you, relaxed in posture but noticeably alert in the way his fingers rest lightly against his knee. professor kim adjusts his glasses and looks between the two of you before saying, âso. how is my top-ranked rivalry experiment functioning under forced collaboration?â you answer first, because you always do. âefficientlyâ you reply evenly, folding your hands over your notebook. âweâve refined the methodological critique and adjusted the distribution model to frame it as analytical rather than accusatory.â professor kim nods slowly. âand that was mutual agreement?â -âyesâ you say without hesitation. jake glances at you briefly, then adds, âwe disagree loudly but productively.â professor kim smiles faintly at that. âi expected nothing less.â he leans back slightly in his chair and studies you both. âany major friction?â you consider the question carefully before answering. ânot beyond normal structural debate.â jake tilts his head slightly at your phrasing but doesnât interrupt. professor kim looks toward him now. âand you? how do you feel about the direction?â jake shrugs lightly. âitâs solidâ he says. âshe integrated the critique cleanly.â you glance at him for half a second, surprised at the phrasing. professor kim nods again. âiâve skimmed your shared draft. itâs ambitious.â- âweâre awareâ you reply. âiâd hope soâ he says dryly. âambition without awareness is how departments implode.â
thereâs a small pause while he flips through a printed version of your outline. âthis comparative distribution sectionâ he says, tapping the paper lightly. âwhose initiative?â you open your mouth to answer, but you stop. instead, you say calmly, âjake.., jake mapped the initial inconsistency.â jakeâs head turns toward you immediately. professor kim looks at him with renewed interest. âyou did?â jake hesitates for the briefest fraction of a second before nodding. âyes. the sample allocation didnât align with the raw demographic breakdown.â professor kim hums thoughtfully. âand youâ he says, turning back to you, âchose to support it.â-âyesâ you answer. âthe critique strengthens the argument.â jake is still looking at you. professor kim sets the paper down and folds his hands. âthatâs good leadershipâ he says, directing the comment at you. âbacking your partnerâs risk when itâs substantiated.â jake blinks. you remain composed. âitâs not about backing him. itâs about accuracy.â professor kim smiles faintly. âaccuracy is rarely neutral.â jakeâs jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. professor kim continues, âhave there been any concerns about workload distribution?â you shake your head slightly. âno. jake has been doing great.â the words leave your mouth calmly. directly. jake freezes.professor kim nods approvingly. âthatâs what i like to hear.â jakeâs expression shifts from confusion to something sharper, something that doesnât quite have a name yet. he clears his throat lightly and says, âiâve been doing whatâs necessary.â professor kim raises one eyebrow. âshe said youâre doing great.â jake glances at you again. you donât react. you simply say, âheâs thorough.â jake straightens slightly in his chair. âsheâs the one who restructures everythingâ he says quickly. âi just point things out.â professor kim looks between you both. âthat sounds like division of strengths.â jake nods once. âright. but iâve handled the bulk of the statistical comparison.â you blink at him. professor kim glances at the document again. âjoint authorshipâ he says mildly. âyesâ you reply calmly. jake shifts slightly in his seat. âi mean, she polished it. but the framework-â - âwas yoursâ you finish for him, tone neutral. he looks at you again. professor kim studies the shift in tone with mild amusement. âare we competing in my office?â -ânoâ you answer immediately. jake says at the same time, ânot exactly.â professor kim leans back again, clearly entertained now. âi do enjoy watching this.â jake exhales lightly and runs a hand through his hair. âweâre alignedâ he says. âmostly.â-âmostly?â professor kim echoes. jake glances at you. âshe overprepares.â you raise one eyebrow. âyou understate.â professor kim laughs quietly. âthere it is.â jake shifts again. âiâm just saying, if weâre discussing contributions, itâs not one-sided.â -âno one said thatâ you say confused.
he studies your face carefully, as if looking for something beneath the calm surface. professor kim taps his pen lightly against the desk. âjake.â jake looks up. âwhy are you defensive?â the professor asks casually. jake blinks. âiâm not.â -âyou are slightlyâ professor kim replies. jake straightens. âi just donât want her carrying the narrative that i needed support.â the room goes still for half a second. you look at him fully now. professor kim tilts his head slightly. âno one said that.â jake exhales slowly. âright.â you speak before the silence stretches too long. âyou didnât need supportâ you say calmly. âyou identified the inconsistency before i did.â jakeâs gaze snaps back to you. professor kim looks pleased. âthatâs collaboration.â jakeâs expression softens for a split second-then something else replaces it. he leans forward slightly and says, âbut she adjusted the conclusion angle before i wouldâve.â you blink. professor kim blinks. jake continues, âi wouldâve been more direct.â -âyesâ you reply slowly. âyou would have.â professor kim looks between you both. âis this about tone?â jake nods. âit matters.â you tilt your head slightly. âyouâre arguing with praise.â-âiâm notâ he says quickly. âi just think-â-âyou think what?â professor kim prompts. jake pauses. you watch him carefully. he frowns slightly and says, âif sheâs telling you iâve been doing great, i want it to be precise.â professor kim looks genuinely amused now. âyouâre objecting to positive feedback?â jake rubs the back of his neck. âi donât like vague metrics.â you stare at him. professor kim laughs outright this time. âyou two are impossible.â jake leans back again, posture stiffening slightly. âiâm not competing.â-âyou areâ you say gently. he looks at you sharply. kim sets his pen down. âlet me clarify somethingâ he says calmly. âif either of you underperforms, i will know. if either of you excels, i will also know. i do not require inter-office self-sabotage.â jake blinks. âiâm not sabotagingâ he says quickly. âyou are arguing against being complimentedâ professor kim replies. jake looks at you again. you are watching him with an expression he canât quite read.not amused.not irritated. just⌠concerned. professor kim folds his hands again. âjake.â jake straightens slightly. âyou are ranked first for a reasonâ the professor says calmly. âbut rankings are not personality traits.â jakeâs jaw tightens faintly. âandâ professor kim continues, âneither is composure.â the air in the room shifts subtly. you glance at jake again. he doesnât look at you this time. instead, he nods once and says, âunderstood.â professor kimâs tone lightens slightly. âgood. now, are we done subtly fencing with each other, or would you like to duel in the hallway?â you almost smile. jake huffs out a quiet laugh despite himself. âweâre done.â- âfor todayâ you add. professor kim looks pleased. âthatâs the spirit.â the meeting shifts back into structured discussion after that, but the energy has changed. jake speaks slightly more than usual. he corrects one minor statistical phrasing that doesnât actually need correcting. he clarifies a citation you had already cited. itâs not aggressive. itâs just⌠awkwardly competitive. professor kim notices. so do you.
and when the meeting finally ends and you both step out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you-jake exhales sharply like heâs just run a mile. you turn toward him and say calmly, âwhat was that?â he frowns. âwhat was what?â -âyou arguing against your own praiseâ you reply. he looks away briefly. âi wasnât arguing.â -âyou wereâ you say. he sighs. âi just donât like it when things sound unearned.â you study him carefully. âit wasnât unearnedâ you say quietly. he doesnât answer immediately. he nods once, but he doesnât look convinced. âit sounded like you were compensating.â the words hang there. you straighten slightly. âcompensating?â - âfor-â he gestures vaguely between the two of you. âfor the other night.â you stare at him. âfor driving meâ he clarifies quickly. âfor-whatever i said.â your expression cools almost imperceptibly. âyou think i praised you out of pity.â he winces faintly. âi didnât say that.â he exhales again, frustrated. âi just donât want you adjusting your tone because i had one bad night.â-âone bad nightâ you repeat slowly. he nods. âi donât need that.â you study him carefully now. âyou think i changed how i work with you because you cried in my car.â his jaw tightens. âyou donât have to say it like that.â-âthatâs what happenedâ you reply evenly. he looks away again. thereâs a small pause, then you say quietly, âi didnât praise you because of that.â he doesnât respond immediately. âyou identified the inconsistencyâ you continue. âyou mapped the comparison model. thatâs not charity.â he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly unsettled. âit just felt⌠different.â-âdifferent how?â you ask. âyouâre not usually thatâŚâ he hesitates, searching for a word that wonât make this worse. âpublic about it.â-âiâm not usually asked directlyâ you reply. he nods slightly, but the tension doesnât leave his shoulders. âstill.â -âstill what?â he looks at you finally, and thereâs something raw there -not dramatic, just unsteady. âyou donât have to soften things.â your expression changes at that. âyou think that was soft?â -âit sounded-â he stops himself again. âit sounded careful.â-âi am always carefulâ you say. ânot like thatâ he replies. thereâs a beat of silence.
then you fold your arms lightly. âyouâre upset because i supported you.â-âiâm not upsetâ he insists. âyou are.â he lets out a breath that almost turns into a laugh. âthis is exactly what i mean.â -âwhat do you mean?â-âyouâre dissecting this like itâs a policy flawâ he says. âand youâre reacting like i insulted youâ you counter. he rubs his temple briefly. âi just donât want you treating me differently.â-âiâm notâ you say. âyou areâ he replies immediately. you stare at him for a second longer than necessary. âyouâre the one acting differently.â he opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. because that part is harder to deny. you adjust your bag again and say, âif youâd prefer i withhold credit next time, i can.â his head snaps toward you. âthatâs not what i said.â-âit basically isâ you reply, your voice still controlled but noticeably cooler now. he shakes his head quickly. âno. i just-â he exhales sharply. âforget it.â you watch him carefully. âno. finish the sentence.â he hesitates. then, quieter, he says, âi donât want you feeling responsible for me.â the hallway feels smaller. âi donâtâ you reply. âyou drove me homeâ he says. âbecause jungwon asked me to.â -âyou stayedâ he continues. ânot because of you?â you answer. he swallows once. âyou listened.â you donât deny that. âi donât need you adjusting your behavior because of thatâ he says. your jaw tightens slightly. âyou think iâm adjusting?â- âyes.â-âthen maybe youâre misreading it.â he looks at you sharply. âi supported your argument because it was strongâ you continue. ânot because i felt sorry for you.â -âi didnât say you felt sorry for meâ he mutters. âyou didnât have to.â he exhales slowly, clearly realizing this isnât going the way he intended. âiâm not good at thisâ he says finally. âat what?â you ask. he gestures vaguely again. âthis,â you wait. ânot knowing where i standâ he finishes. the honesty catches you slightly off guard. âyou stand where you always haveâ you reply. âfirst?â he asks lightly, though it doesnât quite sound like a joke. you donât smile, and youâre so confused with what heâs saying. âno, as my partner.â, you say. he blinks. the word hangs heavier than it should.
he shifts again, clearly thrown off balance now. âright.â thereâs an awkward pause. students pass at the end of the hallway, voices echoing faintly, but the space between you feels strangely insulated. he clears his throat. âi have to-â he gestures vaguely toward the stairwell. âi need to grab something from the dorm.â you look at him. âwe were going to review the data update.â- âiâll send comments laterâ he replies quickly. you stare at him for half a second longer. âyouâre so weird.â- âiâm notâ he says and gives you a tight, almost apologetic half-smile. âi just donât want to work right now.â for a moment, it looks like he might stay. then he takes a step backward instead. âiâll text youâ he says, already retreating. you watch him go. he walks down the hallway too quickly to look casual, one hand pushing open the stairwell door with more force than necessary. the door swings shut behind him with a dull echo. you remain standing there for a few seconds. then you exhale slowly. âunbelievableâ you mutter under your breath. maybe heâs right, maybe you do pity him. and somehow, that had turned into something fragile. you adjust your bag on your shoulder and start walking in the opposite direction, irritation simmering just beneath your calm exterior. if he wanted competition, you could give him that, but after the drive it would just feel wrong. youâre already pulling your phone out of your bag as you head toward the library. thereâs no message from him, which you expected, and that annoys you more than if there had been something awkward waiting on the screen. you lock your phone and sit down at a table without hesitating, opening the shared document and scrolling straight to the risk section. you make three edits before your phone buzzes.
jake: iâll review tonight.
you: send comments before midnight. iâm finalizing tomorrow morning. okay.
thatâs it. no explanation. no acknowledgment of the hallway. just logistics. you work for another twenty minutes before another notification appears.
jake: you moved the risk paragraph?
you: yes. it reads stronger after the comparative section.
jake: it sounds like weâre accusing them.
you: we are.
jake: thatâs not subtle.
you: subtlety created the inconsistency.
jake: youâre pushing harder than yesterday.
you: iâm being precise.
jake: whatever
the next morning he walks into the study room exactly on time, and when he sets his bag down beside the chair he says, âmorningâ in a tone that is neutral enough to pass for casual. without looking up from your notebook, you answer, âmorningâ keeping your voice even as you continue scanning the page. he sits across from you and opens his laptop, then glances at you briefly before saying, âi left comments on the framingâ as though announcing something procedural rather than provocative. you nod once and reply, âi sawâ still not lifting your eyes. his fingers hover over the keyboard before he adds, âyou didnât change themâ and you respond, âthey didnât need changingâ in the same steady cadence. leaning back slightly, he studies you and says, âitâs aggressiveâ to which you reply, âno jake, itâs accurateâ finally meeting his gaze. he watches you for a second longer and remarks, âyouâre back to stabbingâ and you answer evenly, âyou apparently prefer that.â a faint, humorless curve touches his mouth as he says, âitâs familiarâ and you conclude, âthen weâre aligned.â he exhales softly and shifts in his seat before saying, âyou donât have to swing that farâ and you counter, âiâm not swinging.â he tilts his head and insists, âyou areâ then adds, âyesterday you were⌠differentâ his pause deliberate. you close your laptop slowly before saying, âand you just leftâ and he responds, âi needed spaceâ while holding your gaze. âyou walked awayâ you reply, your tone precise, and he looks at you directly now as he says, âyou were looking at me like iâd cracked.â you remain calm as you answer, âyou were talking nonsenseâ then clarify, ânot in a bad way.â his jaw tightens before he says, âi donât need you adjusting because of one bad nightâ and you respond, âiâm not adjusting.â he leans forward slightly and says, âyou were softerâ and you reply, âand now iâm notâ before adding, âproblem solved.â frustration flickers across his face as he says, âthatâs not what i meantâ and you answer, âthen clarifyâ but he doesnât. instead, he looks down at his screen and says, âletâs just focus on the data.â- âagreedâ you reply, reopening your laptop.
you work in silence for several minutes, the only sound the steady rhythm of typing, until he finally says without looking up, âyou donât have to pretend it didnât matterâ his voice quieter now. you glance at him and ask, âpretend what didnât matter?â and he answers, âthe night.â you study him briefly before saying, âyou donât even remember itâ and he replies, âi remember enough.â tilting your head slightly, you ask, âdo you?â and after a pause he admits, âi remember feeling stupid.â- âyou werenâtâ you say, and when he looks at you more sharply, he mutters, âstop looking at me like that.â you hold his gaze and ask, âlike what?â and he answers, âlike youâve decided something.â- âi haveâ you say, watching him go still before he asks, âand?â you donât hesitate as you tell him, âyouâre not effortlessâ then add, âyouâre just controlled. like me.â he blinks once and says, âthatâs worseâ a brief silence stretches between you before he says quietly, âyou donât pity meâ and you answer, âno.â he searches your face and asks, âyouâre sureâ and you reply, âyes.â he nods once and says, âthatâs inconvenientâ and although you almost smile, you donât. instead, you reopen your laptop and say, âwe still need to finalize the funding implicationsâ and he nods, returning to his typing as the air between you shifts into something unsettled but no longer hostile. after a while, he breaks the silence again by saying, âyou donât have to go back to competing just because i made it weirdâ and you look up at him before replying, âiâm not competing.â he studies you and insists, âyou areâ and you counter, âiâm working.â his eyes narrow slightly as he says, âyouâre punishing meâ and you ask, âfor what?â he holds your gaze and answers, âfor walking awayâ and you respond evenly, âif i wanted to punish you, youâd know.â he huffs out a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh and says, âthatâs reassuringâ and you reply, âi promise.â another stretch of silence follows before he says more quietly, âi didnât think youâd⌠back me like thatâ and you ask, âin the meeting?â he nods and says, âyeahâ and you answer simply, âyou were right.â he shakes his head slightly and says, âthatâs not whyâ and when you remain silent, waiting, he murmurs, âforget it.â -ânoâ you say firmly, adding, âfinishâ and after hesitating he admits, âit didnât feel strategic.â -âit wasnâtâ you reply, and he looks at you carefully before asking, âthen what was it?â you pause before answering, âit was fairâ and he holds your gaze a second too long before looking away first. the rest of the session remains steady but tense, and when you finally pack up your things, you notice him watching you as he asks, âyouâre not going to say it?â adjusting the strap of your bag, you reply, âsay what?â and he says, âthat youâre still annoyed.â you adjust your bag more firmly on your shoulder and say, âyouâre weirdâ and he responds, âiâm not.â -âyou areâ you insist, and he gives you that tight half-smile before saying, âi just donât feel like working anymore.â you shake your head slightly and tell him, âthatâs not what this isâ and he asks, âthen what is it?â after a brief pause, you answer, âyou donât like not knowing where you standâ and he goes quiet. you hold his gaze and add, âand i donât like being misunderstoodâ and he looks like he might say something else. instead, he nods once and says, âiâll send the revised funding draft tonight.â -âiâll review itâ you reply, and this time you walk out first.
the ranking board goes up at 9:03 a.m., not 9:00 and not 9:05 but 9:03, as if the department enjoys suspense, and by 9:04 the hallway outside the faculty office is packed with bodies pressing forward in anticipation. you did not plan to come this early and you definitely did not plan to stand this close to the board, but eunchae dragged you here under the excuse of âemotional supportâ and now you are wedged between jungwon and chaewon while jay stretches on his toes trying to see over everyoneâs shoulders. from somewhere behind you, sunoo complains, âmove. i canât breathe and i refuse to faint before seeing my academic downfallâ and kazuha answers calmly, âitâs alphabetical. no one is faintingâ while niki mutters, âspeak for yourself.â you do not speak. you do not breathe. you just scan, your eyes moving automatically to the top where the numbers settle into focus.
rank 1: l/n y/n - 4.98.
for half a second your brain refuses to process it, and then eunchae grabs your arm and says, âyou moved upâ already grinning as you blink and reply, âby one decimal.â chaewon leans closer to the board and says, âthatâs not the point. you moved upâ and somewhere behind you jay whistles and adds, âof course she did. unreal.â you do not look at them. you look down one line instead.
rank 2: sim jaeyun - 4.97.
your stomach tightens in a way that feels strangely wrong because he dropped, not dramatically and not catastrophically but by one decimal, and it is enough. âwhoaâ niki says softly, and a subtle shift moves through the crowd, the kind that happens when something unexpected but not explosive occurs as heads turn and whispers travel quickly. you do not turn immediately because you know he is here and you can feel it, standing slightly behind jungwon, close enough to see but far enough not to be at the center of the cluster. jay is the first to say it out loud when he mutters, âthatâs brutalâ though he does not sound entirely sympathetic, and heeseung replies, âitâs one decimal. relaxâ while niki adds lightly, âyeah. itâs not like he dropped to fifth.â you finally turn and find jake looking at the board as if he is analyzing a case study, not reacting and not smiling, just reading. sunghoon glances at him carefully and asks, âyou good?â and jake nods once before replying easily, âyeah. itâs mid-semester. it shifts.â his tone is smooth and controlled and practiced, and you recognize it instantly when he continues, almost amused, âitâs literally nothing. statistical fluctuation.â niki snorts and says, âyou sound like youâre narrating your own declineâ and jake answers lightly, âiâm not declining. i dropped by one decimalâ while jay adds, âand she moved up by one.â jakeâs gaze flicks to you then, brief and measured, and he says, âcongratsâ the word clean with no sarcasm and no edge, and you reply, âthanks.â it should feel like victory. it kinda does, but somehow also does not. eunchae squeezes your shoulder and whispers, âyou did itâ and you nod faintly as the group begins to disperse into smaller clusters, some debating what caused the shift and others laughing it off while the tension dissolves into regular campus noise. jake does not move right away. he stands there a second longer than necessary before shrugging once and saying, âguess iâll try harderâ and itâs a joke and itâs not. niki watches him closely and says, âyou donât have toâ and jake gives him a look before replying, âiâm fine.â you hate how quickly he says it, and before you can overthink it you step closer and say, âitâs one decimalâ and he glances at you and answers, âi know.â you add, âit doesnât define anythingâ and he smiles faintly before replying, âiâm awareâ but there is something too polished about the exchange and too tidy. sunoo leans toward you and murmurs, âthis is awkwardâ and you whisper back, âshut up.â jake runs a hand through his hair, posture relaxed but eyes sharper than usual, and says, âwe still have the funding review next week. that matters moreâ and jungwon nods as jake continues, ârankings fluctuate. the project doesnât.â he is performing calm. you can see it, and everyone else definitely can too.
as the group drifts toward the cafĂŠ while still dissecting the ranking system like it is a sport, with jay arguing that decimals are âpsychological warfareâ and sunoo dramatically claiming he deserves emotional compensation, jake walks beside you not too close and not distant either, just slightly off, and says quietly without looking at you, âyou earned it.â you glance at him and reply, âso did youâ and he huffs a faint laugh before saying, âapparently not enough.â you tell him, âthatâs not how this worksâ and he shrugs as he says, âit is, thoughâ and there is no bitterness in his voice, which makes it worse. when you reach the cafĂŠ, everyone orders something unnecessarily complicated except him. he orders black coffee. niki immediately says, âyou absolutely hate black coffee?â and jake shrugs before replying, âitâs efficientâ and niki counters, âit sounds like punishmentâ while jake smiles slightly and says, âi need to study late tonight.â you watch him take the first sip and he does not flinch, and you hate that you notice that. the conversation shifts to presentation deadlines and midterms and someoneâs lab disaster, and jake laughs at the right moments and contributes normally, he even teases sunoo once, but you keep catching him staring at nothing for half a second too long before snapping back. when jay says, âat least youâre still secondâ jake replies smoothly, âsecond is stableâ and takes another sip of the coffee he obviously does not like, making your stomach twists. for the first time in years, you do not feel triumphant. you feel unsettled. you lean slightly closer to him and say quietly, âitâs temporaryâ and he glances at you with one eyebrow lifting before replying, âso is yours.â you shake your head and say, âthatâs not what i meantâ and he answers, âi knowâ with no hostility, just restraint. eunchae suddenly claps her hands and says, âwe should celebrateâ and everyone groans except sunoo, who says, âyes. i demand cakeâ while jake shakes his head lightly and says, âyes, letâs celebrate her.â jungwon replies, âwe can celebrate you bothâ and jake answers casually, âthereâs nothing to celebrate for meâ and when you look at him sharply he catches it and adds, âiâm jokingâ but you do not think he is.
for years this has been the dynamic. he wins. you chase. you narrow the gap. now the gap has shifted, and instead of relief you feel like something tilted that was not supposed to.
when the group starts planning the weekend in loud overlapping suggestions, jake steps slightly back from the circle, just half a step and subtle enough that most would miss it, but you see it, and for the first time being first does not feel like victory. it feels like distance. then he checks his phone, his expression flattening for half a second before he pushes back his chair and stands. âi have a thingâ he says casually as he slides his phone into his pocket, and niki replies over the rim of his cup, âyou always have a thing.â jake shrugs into his jacket and says, âitâs a busy lifeâ which makes jay roll his eyes and answer, âyouâre second, not unemployed.â jake smirks faintly and says, âexactly. i have standards to maintainâ and you just canât laugh. you watch him grab his bag, tracking the efficiency of the movement, until eunchae looks up and asks, âyouâre leaving?â and he replies, âyeah. iâll see you later.â there is no pause and no glance in your direction this time. he just walks out, the door swinging shut behind him. you sit there for three full seconds before standing and saying, âiâll be backâ and sunoo immediately asks, âare you chasing him?â you answer too quickly with, ânoâ and niki mutters into his coffee, âyes, you areâ but you ignore them and step outside. jake has not gone far. he is standing near the side entrance, staring at his phone like it personally insulted him, and when he hears the door open he looks up and asks, âyou forgot something?â -âyesâ you say, and he waits, one eyebrow lifting slightly as you walk closer and tell him, âyouâre not fine.â he exhales through his nose and says, âi amâ and when you reply, âyouâre notâ he answers flatly, âitâs one decimal. you donât need to manage my emotional stability.â you shake your head and say, âiâm not managing youâ and he counters, âyouâre hovering.â you blink and say, âiâm standingâ and he replies, âsame difference.â crossing your arms, you tell him, âyouâre acting weirdâ and he says, âiâm not.âhe laughs quietly before adding, âthatâs rich.â when you ask, âwhy?â he answers, âbecause you win and then you chase me outside to make sure iâm okayâ and there is something sharper under the humor now as he adds, âitâs unnecessary.â you feel that land but keep your voice steady as you say, âitâs not about winningâ and he replies, âsure.â -âit isnâtâ you insist, and he says your name more quietly, ây/n, i dropped by one decimal. thatâs not a breakdown.â -âi knowâ you say, and he responds, âthen stop looking at me like it is.â you hesitate just long enough for him to notice, and he says, âthatâs what i thought.â your jaw tightens and you tell him, âyouâre allowed to be botheredâ but he answers immediately, âiâm not bothered.â -âbut i know you areâ you press, and he steps back slightly, creating space as he asks, âwhy do you need me to be?â the question catches you off guard and you say, âi donâtâ and he replies, âthen let it go.â you study him, taking in the too-straight posture and the tightness in his jaw before saying quietly, âyou donât have to pretendâ and he laughs again, thinner this time, as he says, âiâm not pretending.â- âyou hate losingâ you say, and he answers, âi didnât lose.â- âyou movedâ you counter, and he shoots back, âso did you. congratulationsâ the word not bitter but not soft either. you swallow and say, âthis wasnât supposed to be like thisâ and he raises an eyebrow as he asks, âlike what?â -âyou behind meâ you admit, and his eyes sharpen as he repeats, âbehind you?â -âthatâs not what i meantâ you say quickly, but he answers, âitâs exactly what you meant.â you stop yourself mid-sentence and then say instead, âit feels offâ and he looks at you for a long second before admitting quietly, âyeah. it kinda does.â
the honesty slips out unintentionally, and you soften without meaning to as you say, âitâs temporary.â he exhales and says, âyou donât know thatâ and you reply, âyouâll move back up.â he gives you a look you cannot quite read and asks, âand if i donât?â- âyou probably willâ you insist. âyou sound very confident in meâ he says, and you answer, âi amâ watching something flicker in his expression before it closes again. âthatâs the problemâ he says, and you frown as you ask, âwhat does that mean?â he answers slowly, âit means you donât need to reassure me.â -âiâm not reassuring youâ you say, and he replies, âyou are.â when you start with, âjake-â he cuts you off more sharply than before and says, âiâm fine. i donât need a motivational speech.â -âitâs not a speechâ you argue. âit feels like oneâ he says. you stare at him and ask, âwhy are you mad at me?â and he answers, âiâm not mad.â -âyouâre snappingâ you say. âiâm not snappingâ he insists and runs a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through as he says, âi donât need you calibrating your tone because i dropped a decimal.â- âiâm not calibrating anythingâ you reply, and he says, âyou are. youâve been different since the party.â -âthat has nothing to do with thisâ you answer, and he counters, âit has everything to do with this.â you go quiet, and he notices as he says, âyou donât get it.â -âthen explainâ you tell him, and after hesitating he says lower, âitâs easier when youâre chasing.â you blink and ask, âwhat?â and he repeats, âitâs easier when iâm aheadâ before adding, âbecause then i know what i am to you.â the words hang between you, and you ask quietly, âand what are you to me?â he looks at you like he did not expect the question and answers, âcompetition.â the word feels wrong in the space between you. âand if youâre not ahead?â you ask, and his jaw tightens as he says, âi donât knowâ the honesty slipping out before he can stop it. you step closer and say, âit doesnât change anythingâ but he answers immediately, âit does.â -âhow?â you press, and he looks away as he says, âyou donât see it.â - âthen tell meâ you say, and he shakes his head once and answers, âno.â- âwhy?â you ask. âbecause i donât want to overreact to something that isnât even realâ he says. âwhat isnât real?â you ask, and he looks at you with something raw flashing across his expression before he gestures vaguely between you and says, âthis. whatever this is.â your pulse stumbles and you say, âwhat? there is no thisâ and he lets out a short laugh as he replies, âexactly.â silence stretches between you until he straightens, control sliding back into place like armor, and says again, âitâs fine. i just need to work harder.â - âthatâs not the solutionâ you say. âit usually isâ he replies. âyou donât need to punish yourselfâ you tell him. âiâm not punishing myselfâ he answers. âyou ordered black coffeeâ you point out. âthatâs not a crimeâ he says. âbut you hate black coffeeâ you remind him, and he almost smiles as he says, âyou care too much.â - âand you deflect too muchâ you reply.
he exhales slowly before saying, âi donât want you feeling responsible for my ranking.â - âi donâtâ you insist. and he studies you carefully before saying, âthen stop trying to fix it.â you freeze and say quietly, âiâm not trying to fix anythingâ and he nods once as he says, âgood.â after a pause he adds more softly, âyou should be happyâ and you stare at him as you say, âi am.â- âare you though?â he asks, and the question hits harder than you expect. you hesitate, and he sees it as he says quietly, âsee?â you look away for the first time and admit, âit just doesnât feel right.â - âwhy?â he asks. âbecause it feels like i stepped forward and you stepped backâ you say, and he nods slowly as he replies, âthatâs how rankings work.â - âthatâs not what i meanâ you say, and he knows it but does not want to say it. after a moment he tells you, âyou donât have to chase meâ and you answer, âiâm not chasing you.â - âyou are right nowâ he says. you exhale sharply and say, âyou leftâ and he replies, âand you followedâ the words sitting heavy between you. you hold his gaze and say again, âi donât pity youâ and he nods as he answers, âi know.â - âthen why are you acting like i do?â you ask, and after hesitating he says almost under his breath, âbecause itâs easier than the alternative.â - âwhat alternative?â you press, and he meets your eyes and for a second almost says it, but then his expression hardens and he says, âitâs nothing.â you feel the wall go up as he steps back and says, âiâll see you tomorrow.â - âjaeyun-â you start, âdonât.â, his voice cuts you sharp. âdonât call me that.â it comes out quick, almost harsh. you catch yourself. âjake.â a beat. âwhatâs going on with you?â- âiâm fineâ and this time it sounds less like reassurance and more like a boundary. âjust-⌠just leave me alone y/nâ he walks away before you can stop him, and you stand there watching him go again.
by the time his dorm room goes quiet, jake tells himself itâs one decimal. he tells himself itâs mid-semester. he tells himself the ranking board is a temporary snapshot and not a verdict. he tells himself a lot of things, because if he doesnât keep repeating them, his brain starts doing what it always does when something slips. it starts forecasting the worst outcome like itâs preparing a case file. the worst outcome is not âsecond placeâ not really. the worst outcome is being seen as someone who can be beaten, someone who can be surpassed, someone who can be caught and left behind, because jake has lived long enough in rooms where praise turns to disappointment the moment you stop being exceptional. he hasnât been allowed to be average. he hasnât been allowed to be âfine.â fine is what people say right before they stop looking at you. he sits on the edge of his bed with his laptop open, the ranking board still there on the screen like itâs nailed to his wall. 4.97. the number should not matter this much. it is a decimal, a rounding error, a meaningless fluctuation in a system that loves to pretend it can quantify human effort. but his body doesnât treat it like a decimal. his body treats it like threat. his chest is tight, his throat feels strange, his eyes burn in a way that makes him blink too hard and stare too long at the screen like he can intimidate it into changing. he isnât crying, he tells himself. heâs just tired. his eyes are just irritated. heâs been staring at the screen too long. âthatâs allâ he adds under his breath, like saying it aloud will make his body believe him, and he still doesnât close the tab, because if he closes it, it becomes real. it becomes something he canât monitor. the overhead light is off. he doesnât remember turning it off. the desk lamp makes the room feel smaller, like a box, and he is used to boxes because boxes are controllable and boxes are predictable and boxes have rules. he can win inside boxes. the problem is that his life keeps getting bigger, the expectations keep expanding, and the rules keep changing without warning, and every time they change, he has to run faster just to keep the same ground.
the door opens without warning, and niki walks in first, tossing his bag onto the desk as he looks around and asks, âwhy is it so dark. are we having a grief ceremonyâ while jake doesnât look up and answers, âthe overhead light is annoying.â sunghoon steps in behind him and shuts the door quietly, taking one look at jake and pausing, because sunghoon doesnât joke first when something is off, but niki does as he says, âif youâre brooding about the ranking, iâm filing a complaint. itâs literally mid-semester.â- âiâm not broodingâ jake replies, and the flatness of his voice is the first tell that he is, which makes niki freeze mid-motion and stare at him as he says, âyouâre sitting in the dark staring at your laptop like it owes you money.â- âiâm studyingâ jake says, and niki counters immediately with, âyouâre not typingâ until jake finally looks up, eyes sharper than they should be for this conversation, and says, âcan you not.â niki pauses, then his gaze flicks to the laptop screen and he says more quietly, âoh. you have the page openâ and jake moves a hand as if to shut it, but he hesitates for half a second too long, and that hesitation is not about the laptop. itâs about the feeling that if he closes it, heâs admitting it matters. sunghoonâs voice is calm when he says, âitâs not about the decimalâ and jakeâs jaw tightens instantly as he replies, âit is.â - âit isnâtâ sunghoon repeats evenly, and jakeâs laugh comes out sharp and short as he says, âyou donât get to tell me what iâm feelingâ while sunghoon answers, âiâm not telling you. iâm noticing.â niki drags his chair around and sits backward in it, arms folded across the backrest, and says, âyou donât react like this to gradesâ watching jake carefully. âiâm not reactingâ jake insists, and niki points out again, like heâs building a case, âyouâre in the darkâ until jakeâs fingers curl at his sides and he says, âcan we drop it.â nikiâs gaze stays on him as he asks, âdid you two fight?â and jakeâs head snaps up as he says, âwhat?â while niki clarifies, âyou and y/n. you left weird. she came back weird. and now youâre sitting here like your soul got audited.â jake looks away immediately, because if he looks at them too long heâll give something away, and he says, âwe didnât fightâ but niki insists, âyou did somethingâ and jake answers, âi didnâtâ until sunghoonâs voice goes quieter and he says, âyou snappedâ and jakeâs shoulders stiffen. nikiâs eyebrows lift slowly as he says, âyou snapped at her?â and jake mutters, âi didnât snapâ the denial sounding like a reflex, like something he learned a long time ago, but sunghoon says, âyou kind of did. outside the cafĂŠâ and jakeâs eyes lift sharply as he asks, âyou heard that?â while sunghoon answers, âyou werenât subtle.â jake swallows, and his throat feels tight again, because he remembers your face when he said it, remembers the way your eyes sharpened and then cooled, remembers the instant you stopped offering softness like it was something you could put away in a drawer and lock, and when he starts with, âshe kept trying to-â he stops, hands clenching because even he can hear how pathetic heâs about to sound. niki prompts, gentler but still persistent, âtrying to whatâ and jake says finally, âfix itâ and when sunghoon asks, âfix whatâ jakeâs mouth goes dry because he doesnât want to say it and he doesnât want to name it because naming it makes it real, but the word slips out anyway, rough and small. âmeâ he says.
nikiâs expression shifts like something in him softens and then hardens in the same breath as he replies, âshe wasnât trying to fix youâ and jake says too fast, âyou werenât thereâ but niki answers, âwe were ten feet awayâ and jake pushes on, voice sharpening as if heâs arguing a point in debate because arguing is easier than admitting he liked it. âshe followed meâ he says. âshe came outside like i was- like i couldnât handle itâ and sunghoonâs eyes stay steady as he replies, âor she came outside because she noticedâ which makes jake laugh once, humorless, as he asks, ânoticed whatâ and sunghoon answers, âthat you were not fine.â jakeâs chest tightens at the phrase, not fine, the worst label, the one that means youâre slipping, and he insists, âi was fineâ but niki doesnât buy it as he says, âyou keep saying that.â jake turns toward the window as if the glass can give him distance and make his body stop reacting, pressing his palm to the back of his neck as he exhales hard and says, âitâs stupidâ but niki answers, âtry usâ and jake stares at the curtain seam, jaw clenched, before admitting quietly, âshe looked at me like she.., i donât know- saw something.â the room goes still, and niki tilts his head and asks, âsaw what?â and jake snaps, sharper than he intended, âi donât know. thatâs the pointâ because he hates not knowing and he hates being uncertain and he hates not being able to categorize a situation, because uncertainty is where failure grows. sunghoon doesnât flinch as he says, âyou donât like being seenâ and jake scoffs, âthatâs not-â but sunghoon continues, calm as a judge, âyou donât. not when you canât control what they seeâ and jakeâs throat tightens because he wants to deny it and laugh it off and make it a joke and escape, but his eyes burn again, and this time the wetness is real, and it makes him furious because he has spent years proving he doesnât break. nikiâs voice drops, less teasing now, as he says, âitâs not about losing firstâ like heâs naming a thing jake refuses to name, and jake swallows hard and answers, âit is.â but niki continues, âitâs about what happens if youâre not first. what it meansâ and jakeâs laugh comes out jagged as he says, âit means iâm secondâ while niki replies, âit means people stop expecting you to be perfect.â
jakeâs jaw tightens like a trap as he says, âpeople never stop expectingâ and the truth slips out before he can guard it. sunghoon watches him and says, âthere it isâ and jake turns back fast, eyes sharp, as he says, âdonât.â but niki doesnât look away as he says, âyou act like you canât afford to slipâ and jakeâs chest tightens harder because he canât. he canât afford it. he has built his entire safety on performance, not emotional safety, actual safety, stability, respect. the kind of doors that open when youâre the best and close when youâre merely good, and being âgoodâ is a cliff edge in his mind. he doesnât tell them that, but his silence does. âit was predictable beforeâ jake says instead, because predictable sounds reasonable and fear sounds pathetic. âit was structuredâ and sunghoon asks, âand now?â and jakeâs voice goes lower as he admits, ânow sheâs first.â nikiâs eyebrows lift as he says, âand youâre second?â and jakeâs fingers flex as he insists, âit shouldnât matterâ but sunghoon answers softly, âyet it doesâ and jake exhales slowly as he says, âi donât like how it changes things.â niki presses, âhow does it change things?â and jake opens his mouth and nothing comes out, because he doesnât know how to explain that the chase was a script he understood, and without the script he doesnât know what heâs supposed to be, and he canât say that without sounding like heâs admitting he needs you to keep him sharp, needs you to keep him defined, needs the tension to keep him from dissolving into whatever he is without competition. âi shouldnât have snappedâ he says instead, because guilt is easier to admit than fear, and niki nods once as he replies, âno. you shouldnât haveâ while jakeâs voice cracks slightly when he says, âshe wasnât even wrong.â sunghoonâs expression softens faintly as he says, âshe was trying to be decentâ and jake looks down, hands clenched again, as he admits, âi made it sound like she was pitying meâ and nikiâs voice is blunt when he says, âbecause you were embarrassed.â jake swallows and says, âi hate that i did thatâ and that is the truth, not the decimal and not the ranking but the fact that you followed him and tried to steady him and he threw it back at you like it was an insult. and he doesnât say that the look on your face keeps replaying. and he doesnât say itâs easier to take a hit from anyone else than to see disappointment in your eyes. because he doesnât know why, he just knows. niki pushes off the chair and stands as he says, âthen fix itâ and jake looks up and tries, âit wasnât that badâ but sunghoonâs voice is quiet and firm when he says, âyouâre in the dark. it was that badâ and jake rubs his face hard before asking, âwhat if she doesnât want to see me.â niki pauses like the question actually surprises him and asks, âsince when do you care about thatâ and jakeâs jaw tightens as he says, âi donât?â but niki lifts an eyebrow and replies, âyou literally just askedâ making jake look away. sunghoonâs voice lands steady as he says, âitâll be alright, she followed you.â and that hits because you did. you didnât have to. jakeâs phone sits on the desk and he hasnât touched it, because he has been sitting here trying to will his nerves into obedience and he canât, and when he admits quietly, âi donât know what to sayâ niki shrugs and says, âstart with âi was an idiotââ which makes jake shoot him a look as he says, âiâm not saying thatâ while sunghoonâs mouth curves faintly as he replies, âbut you were.â jake huffs a breath that almost becomes a laugh and fails, then grabs his jacket like grabbing something physical will stop his thoughts from spinning as he mutters, âiâll be backâ and nikiâs grin is small but real when he says, âlook at that. functional human behaviorâ while jake answers automatically, âshut upâ but the bite isnât there.
he leaves before they can push further, and the hallway outside is loud with dorm life, doors opening and voices echoing and someone arguing on the phone, but jake feels like heâs moving through it underwater. his pulse is too loud. his hands feel too cold. he tells himself this is not a big deal. he tells himself this is basic decency. he tells himself this has nothing to do with anything else, even as the truth he refuses to name stays simple underneath it all. he is terrified of being the kind of person who loses control and then loses respect, and right now he feels dangerously close to that line.
by the time he reaches your dorm building, he slows, not because heâs afraid youâll reject him, because his brain hasnât even allowed that category to form, but because heâs afraid youâll look at him the way you did in the cafĂŠ, like heâs slipping and like heâs not what he pretends to be and like you can see the fear he canât say out loud. he stands outside the entrance for a full ten seconds anyway, then he steps inside, and for the first time all day he doesnât turn around. he doesnât give himself time to reconsider, and by the time he reaches your dorm floor his pulse is loud enough that it annoys him, because itâs just a conversation and itâs just an apology and heâs had harder ones. he knocks once, then again because the first one felt too light, and after movement inside and a brief pause the door opens to you standing there in an oversized sweatshirt with your hair slightly messy like youâve run your hands through it too many times, your eyes blinking when you see him as you say, âjake?â and for half a second he forgets what he rehearsed before managing, âheyâ his voice steadier than he feels as he adds, âcan you step outside for a minute.â you study him like youâre searching his face for tension or sarcasm or something sharp and finding none, and then you say, âyes, sureâ stepping out and closing the door behind you quietly. the hallway feels too narrow, and without thinking he gestures toward the exit and says, âletâs go downstairsâ and you donât question it, you just follow.
outside, the night air hits differently, cooler and softer, and the campus is quieter than it was earlier with most windows lit but distant, streetlights lining the pathway in long golden stretches and casting slow pools of light over the pavement. you both walk a few steps in silence before he stops near the edge of the courtyard and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, then says, âi shouldnât have snapped at youâ and you blink as he keeps his gaze away and adds, âoutside the cafĂŠ. i was being-â he hesitates, âunfair.â you wait, and he exhales slowly before saying, âyou werenât pitying me.â- âno.â you reply quietly. âi know nowâ he says, and thereâs something tight in the way he says it, like the admission costs him, which makes you tilt your head slightly and ask, âthen whyâd you act like i was?â he finally looks at you, and the streetlight above throws soft gold across your face and catches in your eyes in a way that makes them look brighter than usual, almost reflective, and for a second he notices the light more than your expression, the thought strangely specific and unsettling in a way he doesnât have language for. instead of answering directly, he says, âi donât like when things shiftâ and you frown faintly as you ask, âshift how?â and he replies quickly, almost too quickly, âthe ranking. itâs just. different.â- âitâs one decimalâ you say gently. âi knowâ he answers. âyou act like itâs moreâ you say, and he replies immediately, âitâs notâ but you keep watching him and ask, âthen what is it?â and he hesitates, because heâs not going to say fear and heâs not going to say pressure and heâs definitely not going to say that this morning he felt like he was slipping out of the version of himself everyone expects. âitâs just annoyingâ he says finally. âi donât like dropping.â you cross your arms lightly and say, âno one likes droppingâ and he answers, âiâll move back upâ a hint of edge in his tone, pride and defense threaded together as he adds, âitâs not permanent.â - âi didnât say it wasâ you reply, and he looks at you again as the light shifts with a breeze moving through the trees, the reflection in your eyes flickering in a way he finds distracting for reasons he canât explain. you donât look triumphant or smug. you look careful. âiâm not celebrating you losingâ you say quietly. âi knowâ he replies, and you continue, âyou think i feel good about it.â- Â âi donâtâ he says. âyou did earlierâ you counter, and he winces slightly as he admits, âi was being an idiot.â you almost smile and say, âyou said that, not meâ and he huffs out a quiet breath that mightâve been a laugh as he says, âyeah. well. i meant it.â silence settles between you again, but itâs softer now and less sharp, and you glance toward the path stretching across campus where a few students pass in the distance with voices low and indistinct, the air smelling faintly like rain even though it hasnât rained. âyou donât have to pretend youâre not botheredâ you say, and he replies, âiâm not pretending.â - âyou areâ you insist, and he looks at you again, frustration flickering because lately you see through him too easily, and before he can stop himself he says, âi donât get to be bothered.â you blink and ask, âwhatâs that supposed to mean?â and he shrugs like it should be obvious as he says, âit means itâs mid-semester. iâll fix it.â - âthatâs not what i asked.â you reply. he exhales slowly and says, âitâs not a big deal.â - âyeah, you keep saying thatâ you point out. âbecause itâs trueâ he answers.
you step a little closer without thinking, not confrontational, just closer, and you ask quietly, âthen whyâre you hereâ and the question catches him because he didnât expect it. he looks at you. really looks at you this time. and the streetlight glow softens the edges of everything, your expression and the tension in your shoulders and even the night itself, and he says, âbecause i donât like leaving things like that.â - âlike what?â you ask. âunresolvedâ he answers, and you search his face as you say, âyou think weâre unresolved?â and he hesitates before admitting, âmaybe.â you look away for a second, then back at him, and you say, âyouâre not replaceable, you knowâ and he stiffens slightly as he replies, âi didnât say i wasâ but you answer, âyou donât have toâ and he swallows. you step back slightly to give him space again as you say, âi didnât move up because you moved down. those arenât connectedâ and he replies quickly, âi know.â - âyouâre acting like they areâ you say, and he runs a hand through his hair as he admits, âit just feels different.â you nod slowly and say, âyeahâ and when he glances at you and asks, âyeahâ you repeat, âyeah. it doesâ and that surprises him, because he expected you to argue or rationalize, and instead you just agree. âitâs weirdâ you continue. âiâve been chasing you for three yearsâ and he lets out a faint breath as he says, âyou make it sound like a sport.â - âit wasâ you reply. he almost smiles and says, âyouâre competitiveâ and you answer, âso are youâ and he doesnât deny it. the silence between you shifts again, not empty and not tense, just full, and he notices the way the light moves in your eyes when you blink like itâs caught there intentionally, and he doesnât know why that detail sticks or why he catalogues things like that about you, he just does. âyou deserved itâ he says quietly, and you look at him and ask, âwhat?â and he clarifies, âthe move up. you deserved itâ and your expression softens almost imperceptibly as you say, âthanksâ and he nods once. âiâm not going anywhereâ he adds quickly, like he has to reestablish something, and you reply, âi didnât think you wereâ but he says, âi mean academically-â and you raise an eyebrow slightly as you answer, âyeah, i know what you meantâ and he pauses because he doesnât know if you do.
the breeze shifts again, and the campus feels strangely intimate with warm lights and quiet paths and distant familiar buildings, the kind of night that makes everything feel closer than it actually is, and suddenly he says, âyou donât have to catch me.â you blink and ask, âwhat â and he hesitates before shrugging like itâs nothing as he says, âyou donât have to chaseâ and you stare at him for a long moment before saying quietly, âi wasnât chasing because i had toâ and that lands somewhere deep in him even if he canât name where. he nods slowly, and neither of you move and neither of you step closer, but the air feels different now, softer, and neither of you knows exactly why. close enough that he can see the way your breath fogs faintly in the cool air. close enough that the streetlight above you casts gold along the curve of your cheek. close enough that he notices the tiny flicker in your eyes when you blink. he shouldnât notice that. he definitely shouldnât be thinking about it. you say quietly, âyouâre not falling behindâ and he swallows before replying, âi knowâ though the word comes out rougher than he means it to. the campus is quiet around you, the breeze moving gently through the trees, a door shutting somewhere in the distance while the world keeps going, and youâre still looking at him like that. not competitive. not guarded. not sharp. just open. it does something to him, and he doesnât think about it or weigh the consequences or calculate the variables. he just moves. itâs subtle at first, barely a step and barely a shift, and then his hand lifts almost on instinct, his fingers brushing lightly against your jaw like heâs checking if youâre real. you inhale sharply, and he sees the question in your eyes but doesnât answer it. he kisses you. itâs not rushed and not aggressive. itâs almost hesitant for the first half-second, like he expects you to pull away, but you donât. your breath catches warm and startled against his mouth, and thatâs what undoes him. the kiss deepens, not wildly and not recklessly, just enough that it stops being accidental, his hand sliding slightly along your cheek with his thumb brushing your skin while the streetlight glows warm against closed eyes and quiet night air and the world narrows down to warmth and breath and the realization that this feels different. soft. real. you donât move for a second, and then you respond. not aggressively. not desperately. just there. and thatâs what snaps him out of it, because this isnât a theory and this isnât tension and this isnât rivalry. this is you. and he just. fuck. why did he-
he pulls back first. too quickly. like he touched something electric. the distance between you feels enormous now, and you blink up at him with your lips slightly parted and your eyes wide not with anger but confusion as you breathe, âjake.â he steps back like he needs physical space to think and runs a hand through his hair as he exhales sharply and says, âi-â before cutting himself off and adding, âthat wasâŚâ then dragging a hand over his face like heâs trying to erase the last ten seconds as he mutters, âthat was stupid.â the word lands wrong. you swallow and ask, âwhyâd you do that?â and he opens his mouth but nothing coherent forms because he doesnât know. he doesnât know why your eyes looked like that under the streetlights or why the air felt charged or why standing close to you felt like standing on the edge of something he didnât understand. âi donât knowâ he admits finally. you stare at him, not hurt and not furious, just confused, and you repeat softly, âyou donât know?â and he shakes his head once with his jaw tight as he says, âit just happened.â that doesnât help. you look down for a second and then back up at him, and the softness from earlier is gone, not replaced with hostility but with uncertainty, as you say quietly, âi should go back inside.â he nods immediately, too fast, and says, âyeahâ and you hesitate like youâre waiting for him to say something else, but he doesnât, because if he opens his mouth again he might make it worse. you step back, then turn, then walk toward the dorm entrance without looking back, and he watches you go until the door closes behind you. suddenly heâs alone in the courtyard with the streetlights and the quiet and the echo of what he just did, and he drags a hand down his face as he mutters under his breath, âwhat the hell.â he just kissed you. he didnât plan it and didnât think about it and didnât even understand it, and you looked-
âgodâ he mutters to himself as he groans softly and starts walking back toward his dorm faster than necessary. by the time he pushes his own door open, niki looks up from his desk and asks, âwell?â and jake doesnât answer. he walks straight past him and drops onto his bed, covering his face with both hands, and sunghoon glances over and says, âyou look worseâ while jake muffles his voice behind his palms and says, âi messed up.â nikiâs eyebrows lift as he asks, âhow bad?â and jake exhales slowly before admitting, âi fucking kissed her.â silence follows, and then niki says, âyou what?â and jake drags his hands down his face and stares at the ceiling like it personally betrayed him as he mutters, âi donât even know why.â thatâs the worst part, because he canât categorize it and he canât frame it as strategy and he canât explain it as impulse. he just knows that when the light caught in your eyes and you looked at him like that. he stopped thinking, and now he doesnât know what this is or what he just changed.
you barely slept and the morning after feels so wrong. you wake up before your alarm and stare at the ceiling with the memory of his hand against your jaw still warm against your skin. it wasnât aggressive. it wasnât careless. it was deliberate for exactly half a second. and then it wasnât. you sit up slowly and press your palm against your cheek as if you can still feel the imprint of him there. maybe it was impulsive. maybe it meant nothing. maybe it meant something. you donât know. what you do know is that you havenât received a text. not a clarification. not a joke. not even a âsorry about that.â just silence. you tell yourself thatâs fine. you get ready anyway. heâs already in the study room when you arrive. thatâs new. jake barely ever arrives first. heâs sitting at the table with his laptop open and notes spread out with unsettling neatness. when the door opens he glances up. for a split second something flickers across his face. then itâs gone. âmorning.â jake says it like nothing happened. you stop just inside the doorway before replying carefully âmorning.â you wait. he doesnât say anything else. you walk to your seat and sit down slowly placing your bag beside you. the air feels heavier than usual. he doesnât look at you again before saying âwe need to restructure the funding risk section. your phrasing implies direct negligence.â you blink and answer âthatâs because it was negligent.â he counters immediately âit was strategic.â you stare at him. âyou were fine with that phrasing yesterday.â- âi reconsidered.â -âwhen.â -âlast night.â the words land heavier than they should. you hold his gaze. âyou reconsidered the phrasing?â -âyes.â silence. you wait for something more. he doesnât offer it. your pulse tightens slightly and you ask âare we going to talk about it?â he doesnât look up from his screen. âtalk about what?â you stare at him. he knows. âjake.â he finally looks at you with a carefully neutral expression. âwe shouldnât let personal things interfere with the project.â personal things. your stomach drops slightly. âso it was personal.â his jaw tightens. âthatâs not what i meant.â -âthen what did you mean?â he exhales slowly. âi meant it doesnât need to be a thing.â your chest tightens. âit doesnât need to be a thing?â - âit was impulsive. it doesnât have to mean anything.â the words are controlled. too controlled. you search his face for hesitation. there is none. only precision. âokay.â the word leaves your mouth steady. you look down at your notes and donât say anything else. he expected you to push. instead you nod once and open your laptop. âfine. then letâs focus on the project.â he feels the shift instantly. the softness from last night is gone. you are sharp lines and clean sentences again. he tells himself thatâs good. thatâs safer. âwe need to adjust the model.â he leans forward slightly. âyour interpretation overstates causality.â - âmy interpretation is accurate.â -âno, itâs aggressive.â you look at him, and respond âitâs honest.â -âitâs just risky.â the word sits there. you ask before you can stop yourself âso youâre afraid of risk now?â he freezes. you didnât mean it like that. but it lands anyway. âiâm not afraid of anything.â the lie settles between you. you push your chair back slightly. âthen what is this.â - âthis is me doing my job.â -âby rewriting my sections?â you say. âno y/n, by strengthening them.â -âyouâre undermining them.â he leans back and crosses his arms. âif you feel undermined thatâs not my fault.â that hits harder than it should. you stare at him. âyouâre being competitive.â -âwe are competitive.â -ânot like this.â his eyes flash slightly. âlike what.â - âlike youâre trying to win something.â he doesnât answer. because maybe he is. maybe if he wins this argument this structure this academic ground he can reestablish something solid. something defined. something that isnât a memory of your lips and the way you inhaled when he touched you.
he swallows. âyouâre reading into it.â you lean back slowly. âyou kissed me jake.â the words are quiet and direct. he goes still. âyes.â -âand now youâre acting like it didnât happen.â he looks at the ceiling and says âi said it was impulsive.â -âthat doesnât erase it.â -âit doesnât have to define anything either.â the word define catches in his throat. you study him carefully. âdo you regret it?â he hesitates for half a second too long. âno.â the answer is immediate. too immediate. you donât look convinced. he feels heat crawl up his neck. âi just donât think it needs to complicate things.â your expression shifts. âcomplicate?â - âthatâs not what i meant.â - âit sounds like you think iâm a complication.â. that landed. âno.â-âthen what am i?â he stops breathing for a second. because he doesnât know. youâve always been his rival. his equal. his benchmark. his reference point. last night you were something else. he doesnât have a word for that. âi donât know.â the admission is quiet and unpolished. the room falls silent. you look at him differently now. not angry. not victorious. just confused. âthatâs worse.â he nods once. âi know.â neither of you speak for several seconds. the air feels tight again. not electric like last night. fragile.
you close your laptop slowly. âiâm not trying to define it. i just donât want to pretend it didnât matter.â he swallows. it did matter. it mattered so much for him. thatâs the problem. he clears his throat. âitâs not that it didnât matter.â you look up sharply. he meets your eyes for exactly two seconds before looking away. âbut i donât know what it means.â there it is. not regression. not confession. just confusion. raw and exposed. you donât smile. you donât step closer. you wait for him to say something else, watching his face for any sign that he might soften again or elaborate on what he just admitted. he doesnât. instead he straightens in his chair like a switch has flipped somewhere inside him, and the softness that slipped through a second ago disappears as his shoulders square and his posture resets into something controlled. âweâre wasting timeâ jake says as he glances back at the document on his screen, his tone evening out into crisp efficiency. âwe need to finalize the revised model before friday.â you stare at him for a long second, the pivot so abrupt it almost makes you dizzy, before asking quietly, âdid you hear what i said?â without looking at you, he answers, âyesâ and when you press with a tight, âand?â he replies evenly, âand what?â your stomach tightens at the deliberate blankness in his voice. âjake.â you say, letting his name carry the frustration you are trying not to show. he exhales as if you are the one escalating things and says, âi told you it mattered. i just donât know what it means. that doesnât have to turn into a thesisâ and the phrasing stings in a way you canât quite hide. âyouâre shutting down againâ you tell him, leaning forward slightly as if proximity might force him to stay present. he shakes his head once and replies, âiâm focusingâ and he finally looks at you directly, his expression composed to the point of detachment as he says, âjust forget it.â the emphasis lands harder than the words themselves, and you blink at the subtle separation in that sentence, at the way he frames this as something individual rather than shared. âwhy are you acting like this?â you ask, and this time there is no accusation in your voice, only confusion. âiâm not acting like anythingâ he answers calmly, too calmly. you donât let him redirect. âyou kissed meâ you remind him, your voice steady despite the heat rising in your chest. âi know thatâ he says without hesitation. âand now youâre dissecting budget modelsâ you continue, watching for any crack in his composure. âbecause we have a budget model dueâ he replies, holding your gaze without flinching. the eye contact stretches, and it feels as though he is building a wall in real time, stacking controlled sentence after controlled sentence until there is no space left for anything messy. âi donât get youâ you admit finally, the words slipping out before you can filter them. something flickers across his face at that-irritation, maybe, or something more defensive-and he responds, âyou donât have to.â the words colder than he intends. you sit back slowly, absorbing the chill in that statement, and say, ârightâ because you refuse to let him see how much that landed. silence settles between you, thick and uncomfortable, the earlier fragility hardening into something structured and rigid, as if he is forcing everything back into a labeled box marked safe.
you close your laptop with deliberate care and tell him evenly, âi donât think this meetingâs going to work.â his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly before he asks, âwhy?â and you answer, âbecause youâre not here.â he gestures faintly toward himself and says, âiâm right here?â but you shake your head and reply, âno, youâre notâ and this time he looks away first. you stand and slide your bag over your shoulder, adding, âweâll review the edits laterâ and he nods once without lifting his eyes from the screen as he says, âsure.â you hesitate for half a second, waiting for something-an apology, an explanation, anything-but he doesnât look up. you turn toward the door. âheyâ he says suddenly, and the word stops you mid-step. you pause without fully turning around, and he keeps his eyes on the laptop as he says, âsee you tonight.â you frown slightly and ask, âtonight?â and he clarifies in a tone that aims for casual, âarcade night. youâre still coming, right?â the normalcy of it feels surreal, as if nothing fractured and nothing shifted and you didnât kiss him under streetlights less than a day ago. you swallow and answer, âyeah.â - âcoolâ he says, scrolling through the document like this is just another scheduling detail, before adding, âdonât be late.â there is a brief pause, and then he says, âbyeâ the word light and almost detached. you stand there a moment longer than necessary, hoping he might finally look up and undo some of the distance he just created, but he doesnât. so you leave. the door shuts softly behind you, and the quiet that follows feels louder than any argument would have. jake doesnât move for several seconds after youâre gone.
the cursor blinks on his screen, steady and indifferent. then he exhales slowly and drops his head into his hands, the composure slipping now that there is no one left to witness it. he hates that you said you donât get him. he hates that he doesnât get himself either. he knows what âyou donât have toâ sounded like. he knows it was colder than he meant it to be. but pushing feels safer than falling, and if he keeps everything inside clean lines and deadlines and due dates, then maybe he wonât have to confront the fact that when he kissed you, it didnât feel impulsive at all. it felt inevitable. you walk back to your dorm slower than you mean to. you tell yourself youâre annoyed. confused. frustrated with how impossible he is. thatâs easier to hold onto than the other thing - the way your lips still feel warm, like the memory hasnât fully faded. it was impulsive. he said so. it doesnât have to mean anything. he said that too. so why are you replaying it? why do you keep remembering the way his hand felt against your jaw, careful and steady? the way he hesitated for half a second, like he was giving you time to pull away? you didnât. thatâs what bothers you. you didnât pull away. you leaned into it. and now heâs built the distance back up like the kiss was a mistake he needs to contain, and you hate that you want him to undo it. you hate that you want him to look at you the way he did under the streetlights instead of the way he did this morning - guarded, precise, unreachable. maybe it didnât define anything. but it changed something.
you almost donât go, and that hesitation lingers while you stand in front of your mirror adjusting your jacket for no real reason other than needing something to fix. the kiss has been sitting under your skin all day, not painful and not pleasant, just present, and the way he acted that morning didnât help. you hear his voice again in your head saying âit doesnât have to mean anythingâ and your jaw tightens at the memory because if it didnât mean anything then why did it feel like that. but itâs okay, because tonightâs about having fun and before you can overthink it again you grab your phone and head out. the arcade is loud before you even step inside. neon lights flicker against the glass windows and reflect in sharp colors across the pavement, and music pulses through the doors in rhythmic bursts mixed with electronic beeps and the metallic clatter of tokens. when you walk in the air smells like soda syrup and electricity, and heâs already there. of course he is. jake is standing near the basketball game with jay and jungwon, his sleeves pushed up slightly as he laughs at something jay just said, and the neon blue light above the machine cuts across his face and sharpens his features. for half a second he looks up and sees you. the laugh falters just slightly before he smooths it over. you walk toward them before you can second-guess it. from across the room sunoo calls out dramatically âfinally i was about to file a missing persons reportâ and you reply as you approach âi was on time.â sunoo gestures at the clock above the prize counter and says âacademically socially questionableâ which makes eunchae rush toward you and hook her arm through yours while whispering âyou look goodâ as she scans your face like sheâs searching for emotional clues. you deadpan âi always look goodâ and jake lets out a soft snort that you feel more than hear. when you glance at him his posture is relaxed and his expression neutral but his eyes are sharper than usual, watching you in a way that feels measured.
jay claps his hands once and calls out âteams losers buy drinksâ and kazuha responds calmly âdefine losersâ while heeseung answers âlowest combined scoreâ and yunjin warns âyouâre not pairing strategically.â sunghoon suggests âpair randomly more entertainingâ and your stomach tightens faintly even though you canât explain why. niki claps once and announces ânames in a cupâ and within seconds chaos takes over as jay grabs paper napkins, sunoo insists on drawing twice because he âdoesnât trust fateâ and sakura laughs while chaewon tries to restore order. you stand still while jake stands across from you and neither of you mention the obvious. niki begins pulling names and reads them aloud as the group reacts. âjay and yunjinâ earns exaggerated groans. âheeseung and kazuhaâ draws a confident nod from heeseung. âjungwon and sunooâ makes sunoo protest loudly that he deserves a better fate. âchaewon and sakuraâ prompts sakura to bow theatrically. then niki pulls another slip and pauses before saying âsunghoon and y/nâ and you blink as sunghoon smiles faintly and says âguess weâre winning.â laughter ripples through the group, and when niki reads the final pairing âjake and eunchaeâ you feel the shift before you even look at him. itâs subtle. not anger. not irritation. just recalibration. jay grins and says âcuteâ while yunjin adds âstrategicâ and jake replies smoothly âi carry well.â eunchae elbows him and says âyouâre not carrying meâ which makes you laugh faintly without meaning to. his eyes flick toward you and then toward sunghoon who is now standing slightly closer to you as he leans toward the game list. the proximity is subtle but jake notices and doesnât react outwardly.
jungwon calls out âfirst gameâ and jay declares âair hockey classicâ and the machines light up in sharp red and blue neon that reflects across the polished floor. the arcade hums around you with laughter and flashing screens, loud enough that conversation feels close and almost intimate. you and sunghoon take your positions across from jay and yunjin while jake stands just behind eunchaeâs shoulder watching. you donât intend to be aware of that but you are. the puck flies fast once the game starts and you move instinctively, competitive focus settling over you naturally. when you block a shot sunghoon says quietly âniceâ and you smirk and reply âobviously.â from the sidelines jakeâs jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. itâs ridiculous and he knows it. sunghoon isnât doing anything inappropriate and you arenât doing anything different, but watching you laugh at something sunghoon says and lean slightly toward him while explaining a move feels different tonight and he doesnât like that even though he doesnât understand why. eunchae nudges his side and whispers âfocusâ and he answers âi amâ even though he isnât. heâs watching the way the neon light catches in your hair when you move and the way your hand brushes sunghoonâs when you both reach for the puck at the same time. itâs nothing. itâs normal. and yet it doesnât feel neutral. the game ends with your team winning by two points and jay groans âunrealâ while you say smoothly âyouâre welcomeâ and sunghoon adds with a grin âtold you.â jake claps once slowly and says lightly âimpressiveâ and the tone is easy and the smile is perfect but niki notices the slight tension in his jaw.
âbasketball nextâ niki announces quickly and the group shifts toward the next machine. you move with them and jake adjusts his position so that he ends up near you without quite stepping beside you. in a casual tone he says ânice reflexesâ and you glance at him and answer âthank youâ there is a pause that stretches just a second too long before you add âsunghoonâs not bad tooâ because it feels strange not to acknowledge your teammate. jake nods once and replies âheâs consistentâ and the word carries an odd weight you canât immediately name. you study him for half a second before asking quietly âyou okay?â and he responds immediately âiâm fineâ and this time you look away first. because whatever is happening behind his eyes tonight, he isnât letting you near it. the group migrates toward the basketball machines in a loud, shifting cluster, and the arcade swallows you back into its bright chaos.
neon reflections skate across the floor, laughter bounces off the walls, and the air is warm with the smell of syrupy soda and that faint metallic bite of tokens and electronics. jay is already declaring, âlosers buy drinks, and iâm not buying anythingâ while yunjin argues, âthat rule is authoritarian!â and jungwon is busy counting out tokens like heâs distributing rations. niki squeezes past you with a grin thatâs too knowing and says, âbasketball is where egos go to dieâ and sunoo immediately gasps and replies, âmy ego is immortal nikiâ and chaewon deadpans, âthatâs a medical concern.â you find yourself smiling despite the tension stuck in your throat, and you focus on the game list taped to nikiâs phone like it can keep you from thinking about the streetlight glow and the kiss youâre all pretending didnât happen. jake stands a few feet away, shoulder angled casually toward the machine, but his attention keeps flicking in your direction in a way thatâs brief enough to deny and frequent enough to feel. âokayâ heeseung announces, pointing at the row of machines. âweâre doing two rounds. highest score each team gets the points.â kazuha adjusts her sleeves with calm concentration and says, âiâve seen people take this too seriouslyâ and sakura laughs and replies, âwe are peopleâ and jay immediately says, âiâm notâ which makes eunchae snort. you and sunghoon end up at the machine nearest the entrance while jake and eunchae take the one beside you, and the proximity is not close enough to be intimate but close enough that you can hear jakeâs laugh when eunchae says something sharp and close enough that you can hear the rhythm of the balls hitting the rim and the low mechanical voice announcing time.
the arcade is loud but youâre hyperaware of him anyway, and you know you shouldnât be noticing the way his sleeves are pushed up again or the way he rolls his shoulders before the timer starts like this is something that matters. you definitely shouldnât be noticing the way his voice drops slightly when he teases eunchae. you tell yourself itâs just habit. the game starts and you shoot automatically, muscle memory taking over, but your focus is fractured because every time the ball leaves your hands you hear his machine next to yours, the sharp rhythm of his shots nearly synchronized with yours. you glance sideways once and catch him not looking at the hoop but at you, just for a second, before he looks away like he wasnât. your stomach flips in a way that has nothing to do with competition. beside you sunghoon murmurs lightly âfocusâ and you answer âi amâ though your voice sounds thinner than usual. the timer buzzes and the group cheers, someone groans dramatically about losing and jay shouts âlosers buy drinks, rememberâ while arguing that sparkling water should not count as a loss expense. you barely register the score but jake does, and you can tell by the way his mouth curves faintly when he sees his number, not smug but quietly relieved. itâs subtle yet you see the way he straightens slightly like heâs reclaimed something small and necessary, and you donât know why that bothers you. the group moves toward the drink counter in a loud chaotic cluster arguing about who owes what, and you drift with them until the crowd presses tighter than expected. sunghoonâs hand lands lightly at your waist to move you out of the way of someone rushing past, quick and casual and nothing more, but you feel jake go still before you even look at him. when you finally glance up heâs watching, not angry and not dramatic, just attentive, his jaw tightening slightly before he looks away and says something to jungwon that you donât catch. niki catches it though, and you see him clock the moment and smirk faintly before nudging jake with his elbow while jake mutters something under his breath and shakes his head. you tell yourself it shouldnât matter and yet it does.
at the counter plastic cups line up in a row beside a cluster of half-empty bottles someone definitely wasnât supposed to bring, the sharp scent of alcohol mixing with sugar in the air. eunchae points at the bright blue soda just before someone tops it off with something clear and says âthat one looks illegalâ while squinting at it dramatically, then takes a bold sip anyway and immediately coughs and laughs at the burn. sunoo insists on something pink purely for aesthetic reasons and carefully pours a generous splash of vodka into it while declaring it âbalancedâ even though it very clearly isnât, and after taking a long sip he winces, shrugs, and keeps drinking. sunghoon leans against the counter with a dark drink in hand, swirling it lazily before taking slow confident sips that are just frequent enough to matter. niki, who claimed he wasnât going to drink much, is already halfway through his second cup and noticeably louder than usual as he argues about nothing in particular with exaggerated seriousness. even eunchae, after insisting she only wanted âa tasteâ refills her cup with far less hesitation the second time.
you reach for a cup someone has mixed, something fizzy and deceptively sweet, at the same time jake does. his other hand already holds a drink and the ice clinks softly as he shifts it. your fingers brush, barely contact but it feels like electricity amplified by the faint warmth spreading through your system from the alcohol. you both freeze for half a second as the noise around you dulls and laughter grows brighter and more chaotic in the background, and the memory of streetlights and his hand at your jaw rushes back sharper than it has any right to. he pulls his hand back first though his movements are a fraction slower than usual and says lightly âyou can take itâ his tone normal, too normal, but thereâs the faintest flush high on his cheeks that wasnât there earlier. you pick up the cup slowly and reply âthanksâ then take a sip to steady yourself. it tastes stronger than you expected but you swallow anyway. lowering your voice, though sunoo is attempting karaoke in the corner loudly enough that no one would hear you anyway, you ask âare we just going to keep pretendingâ your words slightly softer around the edges from the alcohol. jake takes a sip of his drink before answering as if he needs the extra second and replies âpretending whatâ with less sharpness than usual. âthat it didnât happenâ you clarify while tightening your fingers slightly around your cup. youâre warm now, not just from the room but from the steady buzz settling into your limbs. he exhales slowly, the sound heavier than before, and says âwe talked about thisâ his gaze lingering on you a beat too long. you shake your head, the movement looser than you intended, and answer âno, you shut it downâ your words not slurred but more honest than you might have been earlier.
across the room niki bursts into loud laughter at something that absolutely isnât that funny and nearly spills his drink as sunghoon steadies him with an amused shake of his head, though sunghoon himself is smiling more than usual with alcohol softening the sharpness of his expression. jakeâs jaw tightens as he says âweâre not doing this hereâ though he doesnât step away immediately and his fingers flex slightly around his cup. âwhy not?â you press, taking another sip without thinking as the sweetness now masks the burn. he glances over your shoulder at the group where eunchae is dramatically explaining something with wild hand gestures, pink-cheeked and giggling, while sunoo clings to her arm and insists the floor is âtilting emotionally.â
âbecause this isnât the placeâ jake replies, his voice quieter and less guarded than earlier. you let out a breath that feels warmer than it should and tell him âitâs never the place with youâ and even tipsy you see it land. his composure slips just slightly. the alcohol has softened his edges and heâs not as controlled as he thinks he is. instead of stepping closer he steps back but only half a step and says âi donât want to make it bigger than it isâ though the words lack their usual certainty. you study him with your head tilted faintly, courage fueled by the steady buzz in your veins, and ask softly âor smaller.â for a moment he doesnât answer. the neon light above flickers across his eyes and thereâs a faint flush along his neck now that definitely isnât just from the room. he lifts his drink, takes another swallow like heâs buying time, then lowers it and admits âi donât knowâ and this time the honesty isnât pried out of him. it just slips free. there it is again, confusion rather than denial or rejection, and it would be easier if he said it meant nothing or easier if he said it meant everything but this middle ground feels unbearable. the group calls your name from across the arcade and jay waves while yelling about a two-player shooter game, and jake glances toward them before looking back at you and saying quietly âyouâre overthinking it.â you hold his gaze and reply âobviously, i have toâ because you donât kiss people impulsively and you donât lose focus like that and you leaned into it. he swallows before adding suddenly âi donât regret it,â which makes your heart stutter, but then he finishes with âi just donât know what it wasâ and you hate that it sounds honest. you nod slowly and say âokayâ though it isnât okay, and you walk back toward the group before the silence thickens.
the next game blurs into laughter and competition, niki teasing jake about something, sunghoon standing close again, eunchae dragging you into a racing seat while you feel jakeâs attention like a current under your skin every time you laugh or someone stands too near or you donât look at him. at one point you glance up and find him already looking at you, not competitive and not sharp, just searching, and you look away first because if you donât you might do something reckless. later when the group is distracted arguing about who lost overall and who owes drinks next time you find yourself standing slightly apart near the edge of the arcade while jake stands across the room with neon lights cutting across his profile as he laughs at something heeseung says. he looks fine and composed like nothing has changed but you know better because you felt the hesitation in his hands and heard the crack in his voice when he said he didnât regret it and saw the way he went still when sunghoon touched your waist. youâre tired of guessing and tired of replaying one kiss and one half conversation in your head like a case study. you want data and certainty and to know whether what you felt under the streetlights was real or just adrenaline and proximity and unresolved tension. you watch him laugh again and think with a slow steady clarity that scares you more than the kiss itself that you need to know.
the arcade is louder than it was an hour ago, or maybe you are simply more aware of it now. flashing neon lights bleed across the floor in restless colors while music pulses near the rhythm machines. jay is arguing about lap times like it is a moral issue, sunoo is dramatically losing to a claw machine and blaming capitalism, and eunchae is laughing too loudly at something heeseung just said. jake is standing near the racing games with one hand resting casually on the back of a seat while nodding at whatever jungwon is explaining. he looks normal. too normal. like nothing happened under the streetlights. like nothing happened at the drink counter. like you did not just spend the last hour trying not to think about his lips. you watch him as he laughs at something, the sound easy and controlled, and then his eyes flick up and land on you. there is no smile this time, only recognition and something unsettled beneath it. you do not think. you move. you cross the arcade floor without planning your steps, the noise fading in strange patches as you walk straight toward him. he notices immediately and his posture shifts slightly as he asks lightly but alertly âwhat?â you stop in front of him and say âcome outside.â he frowns faintly and asks âwhat? why?â - âjust comeâ you tell him, not giving him space to argue before turning toward the exit and pushing the door open into the cool night air.
a thin curtain of rain greets you immediately, droplets catching in the streetlights as they fall. he follows. the door shuts behind you and the sudden quiet feels almost shocking after the chaos inside, softened further by the steady patter of rain against pavement and rooftops. the campus is dimly lit with streetlights stretching in soft gold lines across the wet pavement, reflections rippling in shallow puddles, and the faint breeze moves through the trees carrying the distant hum of traffic beyond the gates along with the clean scent of rain. water beads along your jacket and dampens his hair within seconds. he stops a few feet from you, rain slipping from his lashes, and asks again âwhatâs going on?â you turn to face him, rain cooling your skin, your heart racing harder now not from nerves but from certainty. you do not know what this means. you do not know what he means. you just know you are tired of not knowing. âi have to do somethingâ you tell him over the soft hiss of rainfall. he narrows his eyes slightly, rain tracing down the line of his jaw, and says âthat sounds ominous.â -âitâs notâ you reply, blinking water from your lashes. âthen what is it?â he presses as thunder rumbles faintly in the distance. you take one step closer, shoes splashing lightly against the soaked pavement, and say âfor research purposes.â he stares at you through the rain and says âwhat?â you do not explain. you reach for him, your fingers catching the front of his rain-damp jacket as you pull him down toward you before your brain can retreat, and you kiss him.
it is deliberate. raindrops cling between you, cool against warm skin. you do not melt into it and you do not hesitate. you kiss him like you are testing a theory, your mouth pressing firmly against his while your other hand steadies at his shoulder, damp fabric beneath your palm. youâre not trying to be romantic. youâre trying to be certain. for a heartbeat he freezes, rain sliding down both your faces. then his hands move. one settles at your waist automatically, warm and grounding even through the chill of soaked clothes, while the other hovers near your side before gripping slightly as if confirming you are real. you deepen the kiss just slightly, rain falling steadily around you, not because you cannot help it but because you need to know. when you pull back first your breathing is uneven and his hands linger a second longer before dropping, droplets falling from his fingertips. the space between you feels charged despite the cold rain soaking through.
he looks at you, water glistening on his skin, and laughs quietly âwell, youâre tipsy.â you blink because you did not expect him to put it back on you. âjake, youâre literally the one with a drinking problem.â rain runs down the side of your neck as you swallow. âhm, that was differentâŚâ you admit, your voice softer beneath the rainfall. his brow lifts faintly as he asks âdifferent how?â a drop slides from his hair down his temple. you search your own reaction. it was not panic. it was not adrenaline. it was not accidental. it felt steady. âi think i liked itâ you say, the words dissolving into the rain-cooled night air between you. his expression changes, not smug and not teasing, just softer, rain catching on his lashes, and he answers without hesitation âi liked it too.â there is no deflection this time and no attempt to minimize it, just truth carried through the steady patter around you. âyou did?â you ask quietly, rain dripping from your chin. âyes.â he replies, and the way he says it makes your chest tighten in a way that is not confusion anymore.
he steps forward slowly, shoes splashing in a shallow puddle, lifting his hand in a way that gives you space to pull away if you want to. you do not. his thumb brushes lightly along your rain-cooled jaw and rests there the way it did the first night, but now there is no uncertainty in his touch, only warmth against the chill. âthis isnât researchâ he says softly, rain sliding between your faces, before leaning in to kiss you again. this time it is not measured or experimental. it is intentional. his mouth moves against yours slowly as rain falls steadily over you both, as if he is choosing every second of it. his other hand slides around your waist to pull you closer, damp fabric clinging between you, not urgently and not possessively, just enough that the distance disappears. you feel the difference immediately. rain soaks your hair and trickles down your spine but you barely notice. this is not testing. this is wanting. your hands move to his shoulders without thinking and grip lightly, water slick beneath your fingers, as the kiss deepens, warm and undeniable despite the cold rain surrounding you.
when he pulls back his forehead rests against yours, rain tapping softly against your skin, and you are both breathing harder, mingling with the rhythm of the storm. âsoâŚâ he murmurs, voice low beneath the rainfall. âso-â you echo, rainwater slipping between your joined brows. a faint smile curves at the corner of his mouth before he says âcome back with me.â your heart skips as thunder rolls faintly overhead and you ask âto your dorm?â he nods slightly, droplets falling from his chin, and replies âniki and sunghoon arenât leaving anytime soon. theyâll stay.â he does not push. he just waits. you donât say yes immediately, but you donât say no either. you just look at him. the neon glow from the arcade sign flickers faintly against his rain-damp face while the campus beyond feels softer and quieter beneath the steady downpour, warmer somehow now that the noise from inside is muffled by the rain. it feels like the world has narrowed to this small patch of wet pavement and falling water. after a moment you ask âyouâre sure?â and he nods once, rain dripping from his hair, before answering âyeah.â thereâs something steadier in him now, less defensive and less sharp than he was earlier. you swallow, tasting rain on your lips, and finally say âokay.â
the walk to his dorm is quiet. not awkward exactly, but charged. your hands brush once by accident and neither of you comment on it. the silence between you feels thick, full of things you donât have names for yet. when you reach his building he opens the door and gestures for you to go inside. the hallway lights are dimmer than the arcadeâs chaos and everything feels calmer, more private. youâre suddenly aware of how close youâre standing to him again as he stops just inside his room. and suddenly itâs quiet. no neon. no friends. no noise to hide behind. just him. just you. for a second neither of you move and the air feels thicker here, heavier without distraction. he looks at you carefully and says softly âyou didnât really answer me.â you tilt your head slightly and ask âabout whatâ even though you already know. he steps a fraction closer and clarifies âwhether this was still research.â instead of replying you step closer, closing the remaining distance between you. that is your answer. his eyes drop to your mouth for a split second and that is all it takes. you grab his shirt this time, not careful and not analytical, and pull him down toward you. the kiss isnât measured anymore. itâs hungry. he responds instantly like he was waiting for permission to stop holding back, his hands sliding to your waist and pulling you flush against him, not gentle and not rough, just decisive. your back hits the door softly but you donât care. your fingers tangle into his hair and he exhales sharply against your mouth, the sound sending heat straight through you. this isnât testing. this isnât curiosity. this is wanting.
his mouth moves slower now, deeper and more deliberate, and one hand drifts up your side with fingertips pressing through fabric as if he is memorizing you. you tilt your head to give him better access without thinking and your pulse feels like itâs everywhere. he pulls back just enough to breathe and his lips brush yours when he says quietly âso this isnât research?â you swallow and admit âno.â his thumb slides along your jaw and down the line of your throat, not pushing, just feeling, and the tension between you snaps fully. you kiss him again before he can think. your hands slide under the hem of his shirt and your fingertips brush warm skin, and he inhales sharply not from surprise but from the way your touch lingers. his grip on your waist tightens and there is nothing careful about it now. you donât feel confused.
you feel heat pooling low in your stomach and spreading slowly and deliberately. he shifts and guides you backward without breaking the kiss until your legs hit the edge of his bed. he pauses there, not because heâs unsure but because heâs checking you. your eyes meet and you nod once. thatâs all he needs. he kisses you again, slower and deeper, and this time there is no pretending that either of you donât want this. when he finally pulls back you are both breathing harder and the room feels smaller and warmer. your hands are still in his shirt and his are still at your waist. neither of you step away. thatâs when it hits you. not a romantic revelation and not a safety epiphany but something sharper. you want him. not as a rival. not as a variable. not as a distraction. you want him. and that realization is terrifying because wanting means losing control. he brushes his nose lightly against yours and asks again in a lower voice âyou really sure?â your mouth having gone completely dry. so you gave a simple yet frantic nod. well, you tried to, because the second your head moved a mere inch, he dove in.
he was so eager that, at first, it was less of a kiss and more of him aggressively pushing his mouth onto yours. he quickly resolved this, parting his lips as to interlock with yours. already caging you against the wall, he grabbed both your wrists and held them beside your head. the action made you gasp, giving jake the opportunity to slip his tongue in. your tongue battled with his for a moment, but you put up a weak fight, as your mind was going completely blank, and let him take over. jake was moving his lips away from yours, in attempt to come up for air, when you lightly bit his bottom lip and pulled it. he moaned, seemingly forgetting the need to breathe as he went back to your lips, intensifying the kiss, and not daring to pull away again. you whimpered into the kiss, the sounds going straight to his cock. as your noises grew, jakeâs erection continued to throb in an unbearable pain. he pressed his pelvis against yours, at first moving to slowly rub it up and down. the friction made you moan, weakening his self control even more. the light grinding began to grow more aggressive, more pathetic as he was now dry humping you in entirety. he moved his hands to your hips, keeping them in place as he began to absolutely rut into you. he needed you to feel him, needed you to know how unbearably hard you made him. jake moved his lips to placed open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and neck, sensually moving his tongue over the skin as he lightly sucked. your mind was hazy, only being able to focus on the ache in your core, and the hard bulge which was repeatedly being rubbed against you. jake whined out of breath as he got off using you, burying his face in your neck. it sounded pornographic as he whimpered in rhythm with his grinding.
he was so shamelessly needy in trying to rut into you like a dog, and it made your panties dampen even more. slowly, you grabbed one of his hands and lead it to your abdomen, sliding your hands down under the waistband of the shorts until his hand was right over your clothed mound. jake moaned at the feeling of getting to touch you over your soaking underwear. âyouâre so wetâ jake said more to himself than to you. âyeah, i was just in the rainâ you teased. you were about to say something else, when you gasped from the feeling of jakeâs hand going underneath your panties, keeping his hand still over your folds. âsmartassâ he snickered. he looked at you, his eyes softening as he asked, âis this okay?â-âyes, jake. i need youâ. he groaned, restricting himself from taking you right there. he wanted to make this last for as long as possible. âtell me whereâ you didnât say anything, just pushing your hand against his into your core, trying to get his hand impossibly closer. he wanted to tease you, but decided to give in, slowly sliding his finger into your entrance. he wanted to make you beg for it, but decided heâd have that kind of fun with you later. for a second neither of you register the sudden violent vibration against the desk. your breath is uneven and the air between you is still thick and charged, his body close enough that you can feel the heat of him through your clothes. the vibration stops and for half a heartbeat the world feels suspended again. then it starts ringing. sharp. insistent. impossible to ignore. jake freezes and you do too. the sound slices through everything that was building, everything that felt dangerously close to tipping past the point of return. across the room the screen of jakeâs phone lights up.
niki.
jake exhales sharply through his nose and mutters âare you fucking kidding meâ under his breath while his jaw tightens. the phone keeps ringing. you shift slightly, suddenly hyperaware of how close you are to the bed, to him, to what you were just doing. your pulse hasnât slowed yet but your mind is catching up fast. reality rushes in all at once. the phone stops, then immediately starts again. jake pulls his hands back like heâs been burned and steps away from you, running a hand roughly through his hair, irritation already surfacing. âof courseâ he says quietly, more to himself than to you. he grabs the phone on the third ring and answers without greeting, saying flatly âwhat.â on the other end nikiâs voice is loud and suspicious even through the speaker as he asks âwhere are you?â jake closes his eyes for a second before replying âdorm.â niki repeats âdorm?â and adds âsince when? weâre closing out. you still owe drinks.â jake glances at you while you fix your shirt and avoid his eyes. âsince like five minutes agoâ he says tightly. there is a pause before niki hums slowly and says âyou sound weird.â jakeâs jaw flexes as he replies âiâm not.â niki presses âyou sure? because jay says-â and jake cuts him off with âiâll be there in a bit.â niki asks casually âalone?â and jakeâs silence lasts half a second too long. you feel it. âiâll be there.â he repeats, sharper now, before hanging up. the room falls quiet again but it is not the same quiet.
the heat is still there but now it is tangled with awareness and with the undeniable realization of what you were about to do. jake tosses the phone onto the desk a little harder than necessary and mutters âthat was unnecessary.â you look at him and say âwhatâs up with you?â he answers immediately ânothing.â and when you raise an eyebrow he exhales and adds âhe doesnât need to know where i am every second.â silence stretches between you. your breathing has steadied but your thoughts have not. you start with âthat wasâŚâ and then stop. jake looks at you and waits. you search for something safer to say and finish with âwe were drunk.â the explanation hangs in the air like a lifeline. jake hesitates before saying âyeah. we were.â it is convenient. easy. a way to shrink what just happened into something temporary. you nod slowly and begin âit probably wouldnât have-â but he cuts you off quietly with âyeah. probably not.â the words feel strange. too final. he steps back another inch and the space between you widens. you feel colder immediately. âi should goâ you say. he nods and replies âiâll walk you.â you shake your head slightly and say âyou donât have to.â he answers simply âitâs fine.â the walk back is quieter than the one here. there is no teasing and no tension, just silence. your shoulder brushes his once and neither of you react. when you reach your dorm building you both stop automatically under the faint glow of the campus lights. âsoâ you say. âsoâ he echoes. neither of you mention the way his hands felt or the way you pulled him closer or the way neither of you hesitated. âgoodnightâ you say. âgoodnightâ he replies. you turn first and as you step inside you do not look back. jake stands there for a few seconds after the door closes, then drags a hand slowly down his face and mutters to himself âwe were drunk.â but he remembers everything. every second. you both do. and that is the problem.
you donât fall asleep so much as drift in and out of consciousness, and every time you close your eyes the same images replay in precise merciless detail. you see the arcade door shutting behind you, the campus lights looking softer than usual, and the way his hand slid to your waist without hesitation. sometime around three in the morning a single thought settles heavily in your chest: you werenât that drunk. you turn onto your side and pull the blanket higher even though youâre not cold. you replay it again, slower this time, dissecting it the way you would a problem set. you kissed him first. not impulsively and not by accident. you grabbed his jacket and pulled him down. you said it was for research. you deepened it. you went back with him. you said yes. you remember the exact tone of your own voice when you said it. steady. certain. that certainty unsettles you the most. your phone lights up on the nightstand and the glow cuts through the dark. you roll over to check it, your pulse quickening in spite of yourself, only to see the group chat lighting up the screen. jay is complaining about sunoo stealing his hoodie. niki sends a blurry photo of jungwon asleep on the bus ride back. eunchae is spamming emojis. there is no private notification. you stare at the screen longer than necessary. he hasnât texted. you donât know if you feel relieved or disappointed. you flip the phone face down and tell yourself you donât care. but fuck, you absolutely do.
morning feels too bright. you sit at your desk with your laptop open and a document you havenât actually read in ten minutes, your eyes skimming the same paragraph while your mind loops something entirely different. you hear his voice in your head asking âyou sure?â and you remember that you hadnât hesitated. you lean back in your chair and press your fingers to your temples. that is the second realization. if you had felt unsure you would have stopped it. if you had regretted it you would have pulled away. you didnât. a knock hits your door and doesnât wait for permission before eunchae walks in like she owns the space. she takes one look at your face and narrows her eyes before saying âyou look like you either committed a crime or didnât sleep.â without looking at her you reply âboth are dramatic assumptions.â she closes the door and crosses her arms. âyou left earlyâ she says. you answer âso did jakeâ and her eyebrows rise slowly. âohâ she says, then repeats more softly as she steps closer âoh- why did you leave with jake?â -âwe didnât leave togetherâ you say, keeping your gaze on your laptop. she tilts her head and asks âdid you go somewhere after?â silence answers for you. eunchae gasps loudly and exclaims âoh my god.â you wince and say quickly âitâs not a big deal.â she points at you and says âthat is exactly what someone says before itâs absolutely a big deal.â you close your laptop and explain âwe were drunk.â she studies you and asks carefully âwere you though?â you hesitate half a second too long and her eyes widen. âyou werenât.â she says, sounding almost impressed. you look away and admit quietly âno.â she drops onto your bed dramatically and asks âdid you hook up?â you answer âkinda, i mean we were about to but niki called him.â she presses a pillow over her face and muffles a scream while you fight a small reluctant smile. lowering the pillow she demands âdid you like it.â you hesitate and try to analyze your reaction like it is a statistic. it wasnât awkward and it wasnât forced and it wasnât fueled by blurred judgment. it felt deliberate. âyesâ you say finally. eunchae drops the pillow and repeats âyou liked it.â you respond âi said yes.â she studies you and asks âdo you regret it?â
that question makes you pause longer. you replay not the intensity but the quieter parts, the way he paused to look at you, the way he asked if you were sure, the way he didnât push. you shake your head and answer ânot reallyâ that part is clear. you donât regret it. you just donât understand it. eunchae softens and asks âthen whatâs the problem.â you lean back in your chair and say slowly âthe problem is that i donât know what it means.â she shrugs lightly and says âmaybe it doesnât have to mean anything.â you look at her sharply and say âthatâs worse.â she blinks and asks âwhy?â you answer âbecause if it means nothing then it was just convenient.â you hate how that word feels in your mouth. âdid it feel convenient?â eunchae asks. you think about the way your pulse spiked when he looked at you, the way your body reacted before your mind caught up, the way you didnât want to stop. ânoâ you admit. she leans forward and says âthen it wasnât.â you stare at your desk and add quietly âbut he said we were drunk.â she points out âand you didnât?â you press your lips together because you did. you let that explanation settle because it was easier than dissecting the alternative. you think about the way you stepped back first, the way you said you should go, the way you didnât text. âi donât knowâ you admit, and that is the honest answer. you donât know what he is thinking and that is what unsettles you.
the rest of the morning drifts by in a strange half focus. you answer messages and attend class and contribute to discussions. you donât see him anywhere, not in the hallway and not across campus. the absence feels louder than his presence would have. you catch yourself glancing at your phone twice during lecture. there is nothing. no text. you donât send one either. you tell yourself you are giving him space and being rational, but the truth is simpler. you donât want to be the first one to act like it mattered. because what if he didnât think it did. that thought lingers uncomfortably. you donât regret it, but you donât know if he does, and for the first time since the kiss that uncertainty bothers you more than the heat of it ever did.
jake didnât sleep either. he lays on his back staring at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head like he could physically hold his thoughts in place. every time he closed his eyes he saw flashes of it, the wall, your hands gripping his shirt, his hands in your shorts, the way you said yes without blinking. he wasnât that drunk, and that is the part that annoys him most. if he had been, this would be easier. across the room niki shifts in his bed and groans into his pillow before muttering thickly with sleep âyou left early.â jake doesnât answer. sunghoon rolls onto his side and squints at him before adding âyou didnât answer his calls either.â jake finally exhales and says âi was busy.â niki lifts his head slowly and repeats suspiciously âbusy. at the dorm.â jake grabs his hoodie off the chair and answers âyeah.â niki immediately asks âwith whoâ and jake shoots him a warning look as he says âdonât.â niki sits up fully with a grin spreading across his face and exclaims âoh my god.â sunghoon rubs his face, awake enough now to be entertained, and says matter-of-factly âyou went back with her?â itâs not really question. jake pulls the hoodie over his head and replies âyeah.â niki leans forward eagerly and asks âand..?â jake shrugs and says ânothing.â niki stares at him like he just insulted his intelligence and repeats ânothing?â jake repeats firmly ânothing.â sunghoon studies him for a second before asking calmly âthen why do you look like that.â jake frowns and asks âlike what.â niki answers helpfully âlike someone unplugged you mid-download.â jake throws a pillow at him and niki catches it, laughing as he asks âso what happened.â jake runs a hand through his hair and walks toward the sink, deliberately avoiding eye contact, and says âwe talked.â niki gasps dramatically and repeats âyou talked.â sunghoon adds dryly âshocking.â jake splashes water on his face and says âwe were drunk.â there is a brief pause before niki replies slowly âyou werenât that drunk.â jake freezes for half a second before continuing to dry his face and mutters âyou donât know that.â niki immediately counters âi do. you were calculating claw machine angles. thatâs not drunk behavior.â sunghoon snorts quietly at that. jake throws the towel back onto the counter and says âit doesnât matter.â niki leans forward and asks directly âdid you kiss her?â jake doesnât answer and nikiâs eyes widen as he says âyou did.â sunghoon raises an eyebrow and asks âoh- even more than thatâ jake exhales sharply and says âwhy are you like this.â niki replies cheerfully âbecause youâre being vague.â
sunghoon tilts his head slightly and asks âdid you want to leave?â jakeâs jaw tightens and he says âwe got interrupted.â niki blinks and asks âby who.â jake shoots him a look and nikiâs mouth drops open as he says âme?â sunghoon stares at niki for a full second before saying flatly ânumber one cockblocker.â niki gasps in outrage and protests âi did not knowâ jake groans and rubs his forehead as he says âcan we not.â niki points at him and says âi interrupted something.â jake snaps back âyou didnât interrupt anything.â niki immediately counters âthen why are you annoyed at me?â jake opens his mouth and then closes it again. sunghoon watches him carefully and asks âdid you want it to stop?â the room grows quieter. jake doesnât look at either of them and instead stares at the floor before finally answering âobviously not.â niki leans back slowly and says âdamn.â sunghoonâs expression shifts, no longer teasing but observant, as he responds âokay.â jake runs a hand through his hair again and says in frustration âitâs not a thing.â niki says evenly âyou say that like youâre trying to convince yourself.â jake glares at him and says âshe just left.â sunghoonâs eyes sharpen slightly as he asks âleft how.â jake replies more flatly now âshe said we were drunk. and then she left.â niki tilts his head and prompts âand..?â jake answers âand thatâs it.â silence settles for a moment. sunghoon leans back against the wall and suggests lightly âmaybe she just didnât want it to be awkward.â jake shrugs and says âor maybe she regretted it.â the admission is quiet and not dramatic. nikiâs grin fades slightly as he asks âdid she look like she regretted it.â jake thinks about it. you didnât look unsure and you didnât look nervous, but you stepped back first and said you should go and you didnât text. âi donât knowâ he admits. sunghoon studies him and says âyouâre overthinking.â jake huffs and replies âyou think so?â niki smirks and says âyou are.â jake grabs his phone off the desk and sees no notifications from you. he doesnât open your chat and he doesnât type anything. he locks the screen and tosses it back down before saying again âit doesnât matter.â niki exchanges a look with sunghoon and sunghoon says lightly âsure.â jake pushes past them toward the door and says âiâm going to class.â as he leaves, niki mutters just loud enough âaannddd heâs gone.â sunghoon replies calmly âfinally.â
for the next days you didnât really plan on avoiding him, and thatâs the problem. if it were intentional it would feel strategic, controlled, rational. instead it just happens. you take a slightly different path across campus in the morning without consciously deciding to. you slow down near the library steps longer than necessary. you pretend to check your phone when you normally wouldnât. you tell yourself itâs coincidence. it isnât. by the time you reach the lecture hall your pulse is higher than it should be for an eight a.m. class. heâs already there. of course he is. jake is sitting two rows down from his usual seat with his laptop open, posture relaxed in a way that looks effortless but isnât. heâs talking to jay about something academic and nodding along with a neutral expression. he doesnât look up when you enter. you donât look at him either. you choose a seat on the opposite side of the room. itâs not dramatic and itâs not obvious. there are plenty of seats. no one would think twice about it. except you know. you always sit closer. the room fills slowly with low conversation and the shuffle of backpacks. eunchae slides into the seat beside you and immediately glances across the room before leaning toward you to whisper âheâs here.â you murmur back âi can see that.â she studies your face and asks quietly âare we pretending.â you answer simply âyes.â she nods once and says âcool.â you open your laptop and force your attention to the screen while the cursor blinks in the corner of a document you arenât reading. you feel his gaze before you see it. it lands briefly, just long enough to confirm youâre here. you donât look up. you know if you do it will turn into something. on the other side of the room jake closes his laptop halfway and leans back in his chair. he didnât expect you to sit that far away. he tells himself it doesnât matter. there are empty seats between you. itâs normal. itâs fine. he avoids looking at you for a full minute. then he does. you arenât looking at him. youâre leaning slightly toward eunchae, saying something quiet with a thoughtful expression. you look normal. not flustered. not tense. just normal. his jaw tightens faintly. maybe you are fine.
the professor walks in and the room settles. the lecture begins. you take notes and when you ask a question midway through your voice is steady and analytical as always. the professor nods approvingly. jake listens. you donât stumble and you donât hesitate and you donât even glance in his direction. later he answers a question, tone confident and sharp. you donât look at him then either. now it feels intentional. halfway through class the professor announces a short paired discussion exercise and says âturn to someone near you.â you freeze. there are several people around you. none of them are him. jake glances sideways automatically. and you turn to eunchae without looking across the room. he then does the same. the discussion lasts maybe ten minutes but it feels longer. you can hear his voice from across the room, calm and controlled and articulate. it sounds exactly like it always has. that unsettles you. you thought something would feel different. but externally nothing has changed. internally your pulse spikes every time you hear him laugh at something someone says. you wonder if heâs thinking about it. you wonder if heâs relieved. you wonder if he regrets it. when the professor calls the room back to order you donât look at him once. as soon as class ends you close your laptop quickly and slide it into your bag before the room fully dissolves into movement. eunchae stands slowly and watches you with thinly veiled curiosity before asking quietly, âyouâre not even going to look.â you reply, âthereâs nothing to look at.â
across the room jake packs his things more slowly than usual and watches you stand. you donât glance over. you just walk toward the exit with eunchae beside you. he stays seated for a few extra seconds until sunghoon nudges his shoulder and says âyouâre staring.â jake replies immediately âiâm not.â sunghoon answers calmly âyou are.â jake grabs his bag and mutters âshe seems fine.â jake walks out of the lecture hall a few steps behind you, not close enough to look intentional but close enough to notice. youâre laughing at something eunchae says and you look completely unbothered. his chest tightens faintly. he doesnât know what he expected. maybe a glance. maybe a pause. maybe some sign. you donât give him one. at the doors you push them open and step into the hallway without slowing. for half a second your shoulders almost brush. almost. you shift slightly to the right and he shifts slightly to the left. itâs subtle but deliberate. the distance between you feels louder than any argument would have. neither of you speak. neither of you stop. you walk in opposite directions.
the hallway spills out into the central quad and the quad is alive with noise. music thumps from somewhere near the fountain. student clubs line the grass with folding tables and banners. someone is handing out free iced coffee while someone else shouts about exchange programs. eunchae tugs at your sleeve and says âoh wait, this is today.â you glance around and ask âthe campus fair?â she nods and replies âyeah. we forgot.â you scan the crowd and quickly spot the rest of the group gathered near one of the booths. jay is mid-argument about something academic. sunoo is holding two drinks he clearly did not pay for. kazuha and sakura are reading flyers like they are evaluating them professionally. heeseung stands near them and looks up with an easy smile when he sees you. âheyâ he says. you step into the the group âhiâ and the noise forces everyone to stand a little closer than usual because it is crowded and people brush past constantly. heeseung leans slightly toward you and asks âdid you understand that last example in lecture?â you reply âyeah. it was just misapplied.â he nods and says âthatâs what i thought.â someone squeezes past abruptly behind you and heeseungâs hand lands lightly at your waist to steady you so you do not stumble forward. it is automatic and his hand drops almost immediately. you barely register it because you are used to physical proximity in crowded spaces. across the quad jake does register it. he did not mean to look. he just heard your laugh and that is what pulled his attention. you look normal and relaxed and you are talking easily. then he sees heeseungâs hand at your waist. it is nothing. just a reflex. just balance. but jakeâs shoulders go rigid for a second. he tells himself it is nothing because it is. heeseung is not leaning in and he is not flirting and he is not hovering. he is just there. you laugh at something jay says and heeseung leans closer to say something near your ear so you can hear him over the music. jakeâs jaw tightens before he even realizes it has. âstopâ niki says quietly beside him. jake glances at him and asks âwhat.â niki tilts his head and says âyouâre doing that thing.â jake replies âiâm not doing anything.â niki gives him a look and says âyou are.â
jake looks back at the group just as someone bumps into you again from the side and heeseungâs hand briefly rests at your waist to guide you a step forward so you are not shoved into the table. and jake inhales slowly through his nose. sunghoon steps up on his other side and says quietly âokay, youâre overthinking.â jake replies âiâm not.â sunghoon answers calmly âyou are.â jake runs a hand through his hair, eyes still fixed on the group, and mutters âhe keeps touching her.â sunghoon looks over. heeseungâs hand has already dropped. âheâs steadying herâ sunghoon says evenly. âitâs crowded.â jake does not respond because he knows that. he knows it is crowded and harmless and that heeseung is not doing anything wrong. that does not stop the tight feeling in his chest. niki studies his expression and says âyou didnât care about physical stuff like that before.â jake exhales sharply and replies âi still donât care.â sunghoon looks at him for a long second and says âyou do.â jakeâs jaw sets. across the quad you glance up instinctively and for a second your eyes meet his. he looks away first, not dramatically but slightly too fast. your stomach tightens and you turn back to the group, though your awareness has shifted. you feel him watching. the conversation moves on and someone suggests grabbing food from one of the trucks. the group begins breaking into smaller clusters. heeseung walks ahead with jay and jungwon while you hang back for a second. jake does not approach you and he does not insert himself. he simply stands where he is. that almost makes it worse. niki nudges him lightly and asks âyou going to stand there all day.â jake shrugs and says âitâs fine.â sunghoon folds his arms and comments âyouâre acting like sheâs going to disappear.â jake answers more sharply than he means to âiâm not.â sunghoon studies him quietly and says âwhatâs up with you? you didnât react like this before.â jake swallows. before what. before the kiss. before the dorm. before the interruption. before you stepped back. he looks at you again. you are smiling at something sunoo just said and you look completely unaware of the way he is dissecting every movement. he feels stupid because heeseung did not do anything and you did not do anything and this reaction feels disproportionate. niki leans closer and says quietly âyou think she regretted it.â jakeâs head snaps toward him and he says âi didnât say that.â niki replies âbut you do.â you really do look normal, maybe too normal. âi donât know, she seems fine to meâ he adds. sunghoon nods slightly and replies âmaybe she is.â that lands wrong. jake exhales slowly while the fair continues around them with music swelling and people laughing and the group shifting further toward the food trucks. he does not move immediately. he stands there for a second longer than necessary, watching you and trying to convince himself he does not care.
niki watches him for another second before saying âokay, this is stupidâ and then starts walking toward the group. sunghoon follows without comment. jake stands still for half a second longer before he follows too. he is not rushed and not tense. he is simply composed. by the time they reach the rest of you his expression is neutral again, polished. jay is mid-story about something absurd that happened in lab and gesturing wildly. sunoo is holding two drinks and insisting he did not steal them while kazuha quietly points out that he absolutely did. you glance up when jake steps into the circle. your eyes meet for a second. he does not smile. he just nods once in a casual controlled way. you nod back just as casually. he stands slightly to the side of the group, not next to you and not far either. heeseung says something to jungwon and laughs easily. it is normal. there is no visible tension. jake does not react. he listens and waits for an opening in the conversation. when one appears he takes it. âsoâ he says lightly while looking at jay âdid you even finish the data corrections or were you too busy flirting with the ta.â jay scoffs and says âi finished.â jake tilts his head slightly and replies âdid you? because your logic in the second section didnât track.â the shift is subtle but you feel it immediately. that tone. sharper. competitive. jay rolls his eyes and says âyouâre impossible.â jake shrugs and replies âjust saying.â then he looks at you briefly and adds âyou caught that too, right.â there it is. not aggressive and not accusatory but pointed. you blink once before answering evenly âyes. it was a bit inconsistent.â jay throws his hands up and says âtraitors.â the group laughs and jakeâs mouth curves faintly. he is back on familiar ground now. competence. precision. control. you watch him carefully. he is acting normal but there is a tightness around his shoulders. he does not look at you longer than necessary and he does not brush your arm accidentally. he does not stand close. he keeps a slight distance like he is recalibrating. sunghoon notices. niki definitely notices. Â the conversation drifts to the upcoming research panel and heeseung mentions it casually. âyou should both sign up,â he says while looking between you and jake. âyouâd probably destroy it.â jakeâs smile tightens slightly before he replies âweâll see.â you glance at him but he does not meet your eyes. instead he says âitâs competitive.â you answer before you can stop yourself âyou like competitive.â he looks at you then for a beat too long and says quietly âyeah. i do.â something in the way he says it makes your stomach tighten. the group starts moving toward the food trucks.
jake walks ahead this time, not next to you and not waiting. he falls into step with jay and jungwon instead, talking and analyzing and debating something minor like it matters. he looks fine. that is what it looks like. fine. you slow slightly without meaning to and eunchae notices immediately. she leans closer and says âheâs doing the thing.â you ask âwhat thing?â she answers âthe âi donât careâ thing.â you swallow. he really does look like he does not care. like last night did not shift anything. like you imagined the tension. across the quad jake keeps talking but his focus is not fully on the conversation. he is aware of where you are. he is aware that you are not beside him. he is aware that you did not try to close the distance. a thought settles more firmly in his mind: she did not actually want me. if you had, you would not be acting this normal. you would not be this unaffected. so he does what he always does when something feels unstable. he sharpens. he becomes precise. he picks apart jayâs argument and corrects jungwonâs phrasing and debates minor details with unnecessary intensity. control feels safer. control feels familiar. control does not leave. niki drifts up beside him and says quietly âyouâre overcompensating.â jake exhales slowly and says âitâs not a thing.â niki studies him and asks âthen why are you acting like it was.â jake does not answer because he does not have one. sunghoon watches him for another second before saying evenly âjust donât be weird.â jake replies automatically âiâm not being weird.â niki, sounding almost bored now, says again âyou are.â jake doesnât argue this time. he just looks away with his jaw set and starts walking toward the library. the rest of you drift in that direction too. someone mentions reviewing notes before the research panel deadline. someone else complains about being tired.
somehow everyone still ends up in the same study room an hour later. you take your usual seat near the center of the table. jake does not sit beside you. he chooses the chair directly across instead. Â laptops open. papers spread. the low hum of academic focus settles in. jay is mid-rant about formatting guidelines. sunoo is pretending to understand citations. kazuha is quietly correcting something on jungwonâs screen. you start first. âif we adjust the threshold earlier in the modelâ you say while angling your laptop slightly so the others can see âthe margin stabilizes without needing a secondary correction.â jay leans in and says âthatâs cleaner.â kazuha nods once and adds âit reads stronger.â jake looks at the screen and does not speak for a second. then he says calmly and evenly âthat doesnât work.â you blink and reply âit does.â he tilts his head slightly and says âonly if the secondary variable is already aligned.â you answer âit is.â he holds your gaze and says âyou didnât show that.â there is no teasing in his voice and no smirk and no warmth. just correction. you sit up straighter and say âitâs implied.â jake continues to hold your gaze and replies âimplied isnât enough.â the room shifts almost imperceptibly. jay glances between you. sunoo goes very quiet. you feel the difference. this is not your usual academic sparring. this does not feel playful. âi can clarify itâ you say evenly. jake nods once and responds âyeah, you should.â it is not loud and not aggressive but it lands harder than it should. you add the clarification without looking at him. across the table he does not look away. niki leans back slowly and watches jake with narrowed eyes. sunghoon finally says in a casual but pointed tone âenough, jake.â jake shrugs and replies âitâs for the panel.â but niki answers âcome on man, it was fine.â it was not about the panel. it was about control and precision and something that happened against a dorm wall that he cannot categorize. you close your laptop a little too sharply and say âiâll adjust the whole section later.â kazuha adds gently âyou donât have to rewrite it.â you reply âi want to.â jakeâs fingers pause over his keyboard for half a second. he did not mean to push it that far. he just wanted something he cannot quite define. the room settles into a strained quiet until jay eventually breaks it by asking sunoo about something irrelevant. conversation resumes but softer and thinner. you keep your eyes on your screen for the rest of the time youâre there.
the days after that study session pass quietly. not dramatically. just⌠thinner. you donât see him much, or maybe you do, but only in passing-across lecture halls, at the edge of the quad, through the reflection of library windows. you donât sit next to him anymore. he doesnât sit next to you either. no one comments on it, but everyone notices. the group chat stays active with memes, complaints, and scheduling. he replies normally, and so do you. you donât text him privately. he doesnât text you either. and that silence sits heavier than it should. you tell yourself itâs fine. you tell yourself itâs easier this way. you tell yourself you donât miss the way he used to argue with you like it was a sport. you absolutely do. today, though, you donât have the option of avoidance. you have to meet him. the project deadline is close enough that pretending doesnât work anymore. you stare at the calendar reminder for a second longer than necessary before grabbing your bag. you donât want to go, not because youâre scared, but because you donât know which version of him youâre getting- the competitive one, the sharp one, the quiet one, or the one who was ready to fuck you like it wasnât theory anymore.
heâs already in the study room when you walk in. of course he is. laptop open, notes spread neatly, posture straight-controlled. he looks up when the door clicks shut, and your eyes meet for half a second before he nods and says, âhey.â you answer, âhiâ and take the seat across from him, not beside but across. the distance feels intentional even though neither of you comments on it. silence stretches while you open your laptop until he breaks it by saying evenly, âi reworked the introduction. it was too repetitive.â you nod and reply, âokay.â he turns his screen slightly so you can see, and you lean forward just enough to read it. itâs good-precise, structured, cold. âitâs cleanerâ you say, and he nods once and replies, âyeah.â thatâs it. no teasing, no smug comment, no competitive spark-just agreement. you scroll through your section and say, âi clarified the model alignment.â he responds, âi saw.â you glance up and find heâs already looking at you, so you look back down as he adds, âgood.â something about the word feels smaller than it should. you both work in silence for a few minutes, the clicking of keyboards louder than usual. at some point, you say, âwe should probably tighten the transition hereâ and he doesnât argue but just nods and says, âyeah.â you blink, almost missing the way he used to challenge everything you said, almost missing the way youâd argue back without hesitation. now everything feels careful, measured, like youâre both avoiding stepping on something fragile.
he scrolls through your section again, slower this time, then says, âthis part could be stronger.â itâs not sharp, but itâs still a correction. you straighten slightly and ask, âhow?â he replies, âit reads safe. youâre usually more direct.â that lands. you look at him properly for the first time since you walked in and ask, âwhat does that mean?â he shrugs lightly and says, âit just feels⌠restrained.â you hold his gaze and reply quietly, âyouâve been restrained too.â the words sit between you, and he looks away first this time. âiâm just focusedâ he says. âso am iâ you answer. silence settles again, thicker now. he rubs a hand over the back of his neck. you notice the tension there, and he notices you noticing, so you look down at your screen again. across the table, something shifts in him. youâre not fighting him. youâre not pushing back. youâre not smiling sarcastically. youâre just calm, detached. youâre fine. youâre fine. sheâs fine. you donât care. you donât want-no. he swallows and looks at his screen again before saying, âletâs just finish this section.â you nod, and you both work for another ten minutes without speaking. when you finally close your laptop, itâs almost abrupt. âi have to goâ you say. he looks up quickly and responds, âoh.â itâs small, but itâs there. âweâre almost doneâŚâ he adds. âi knowâ you reply as you stand. you hesitate for half a second. he could say something. he doesnât. âsee youâ you say. âyeahâ he answers. you walk out, and the door clicks shut behind you. he stays seated, staring at the empty chair across from him. it wasnât better. it wasnât worse. it was just⌠distant. he leans back slowly. youâre fine. youâre fine without me. weâre both fine. you donât care. i donât want- no. thatâs not it. but he doesnât know what it is. you donât either.
the hallway outside the study room feels colder than it should. you adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder and walk faster than necessary, like distance will make something settle. you replay the entire hour in your head: the way he didnât argue, the way he did argue, the way he called you restrained, the way he wouldnât look at you for too long. it wasnât hostile. it wasnât warm either. it was careful. and careful feels wrong. so wrong for some reason. you step outside into the evening air and spot sunoo sitting on the low stone wall near the entrance, scrolling through his phone with dramatic concentration. he looks up when he hears your footsteps and says, âyou look like you just finished a breakup.â you stop and reply, âthatâs aggressive.â he shrugs and says, âbut you doâ you hesitate before walking over and sitting beside him. âhow was it?â he asks casually. âproductive,..â you reply automatically. he gives you a look, and you correct yourself by saying, âawkward.â- âahâ he responds. you stare straight ahead at the quad, watching people cross between buildings in the soft evening light. âheâs being weirdâ you say finally. sunoo tilts his head and asks, âweird how?â- âdifferentâ you answer. âtoo controlled. or too distant. or both.â sunoo hums thoughtfully and says, âheâs been quiet.â you glance at him and ask, âwith everyone?â - ânot exactlyâ he replies. âjust⌠sharper. like heâs trying too hard not to be.â you frown slightly because that makes uncomfortable sense. âhe keeps correcting meâ you admit. âthatâs not newâ sunoo says. âno,â you reply, shaking your head slightly. âit is. itâs not the same.â sunoo studies you more carefully now and asks, âdid something happen?â you look away. you could lie. you donât. âwe kinda kissedâ you say quietly. sunooâs entire posture straightens as he says, âyou what.â - âit wasnât plannedâ you explain. âwhen?â he presses. âafter the arcade.â his mouth opens slightly as he asks, âand?â - âand nothingâ you say too quickly. he narrows his eyes and says, âthatâs not how that works.â - âwe were really drunkâ you reply. âwere you?â he asks. you pause. sunooâs expression softens immediately as he says, âoh.â you exhale slowly and explain, âhe said we were drunk. i agreed. and then heâs just⌠been like this.â- âlike what?â sunoo asks. âlike it didnât matterâ you answer. sunoo considers that before saying, âhe doesnât look like it didnât matter.â you blink and ask, âwhat does that mean?â - âhe looks like heâs overthinkingâ sunoo replies. ânot indifferent.â you look down at your hands. âhe feels distantâ you say quietly. sunoo nudges your shoulder lightly and says, âmaybe heâs confused.â- âgreat, so am iâ you admit. that hangs there. you replay the way jake looked at you tonight across the table, the way he paused when you stood up, the way he said, âoh.â it wasnât nothing. but it wasnât enough either. âi donât know what he wantsâ you admit. sunoo smiles faintly and says, âthat makes two of you.â you let out a small breath that almost feels like a laugh. the quad lights flicker on one by one as the sun lowers. you donât feel angry. you feel unsettled. because something shifted.
the days after that study session donât explode. they settle, which is somehow worse. you donât fight. you donât flirt. you donât fix anything. you just exist in the same spaces slightly apart. in lectures, he sits two seats away now. not directly across. not beside. just⌠offset, like neither of you are claiming anything. you catch him looking at you once in the reflection of the classroom window. he looks away before you can be sure. you stop checking after that. itâs easier. you tell yourself that. this morning feels heavier than usual. the sky is dull and overcast, the air cool enough that you pull your sleeves over your hands as you walk toward the building. the reminder about todayâs discussion still lingers in the back of your mind. the professor mentioned it last week: cold-calling, open floor analysis. jake thrives in those settings. he always has. you donât know why that thought tightens something in your chest. when you step into the lecture hall, heâs already there. that focused, controlled stillness he wears like armor. he looks up when you enter, just briefly. his eyes pause on you half a second longer than neutral, then he looks back down. you sit three seats to the side this time. not too far. not close. just enough to keep things unspoken. the room fills gradually. sunoo slides into the seat behind you and whispers, âyou look stressed.â- âiâm notâ you reply. he mutters, âyou say that like youâre auditioning for somethingâ clearly mocking jakeâs tone. you canât really laugh at that. across the aisle, jake closes his laptop for a second and rolls his shoulders back, like heâs bracing for something. you notice the movement. you shouldnât. but you do. he looks tired. not visibly. not dramatically. just⌠tight.
the professor walks in exactly on time, placing her bag on the desk with the kind of calm precision that signals today will not be passive. she scans the room and says, âi hope you reviewed the reading. weâre doing discussion differently today.â a ripple of quiet moves through the hall. she writes a question on the board. itâs layered, the kind of question that invites complexity but punishes overcomplication. you read it once. twice. your brain starts mapping an answer. before anyone else speaks, jake does. his voice is steady. confident. âit hinges on structural misalignment within the modelâs assumptionsâ he begins, leaning back slightly in his chair like this is familiar territory. you donât look at him immediately. you focus on the board. but you hear the shift in his tone. measured. calculated. heâs in control. he continues, dissecting the framework piece by piece. itâs articulate. logical. thorough. maybe too thorough. the professor tilts her head slightly. you notice that too. he keeps going, layering complexity on top of complexity, pulling threads from earlier readings and weaving them into something ambitious. the room is quiet. listening. he finishes with, âso the instability isnât accidental. itâs embedded.â silence lingers for a second. the professor nods slowly and says, âthatâs an interesting angle, but thatâs not what i asked.â the words land softly but clearly. you look up now. jakeâs expression doesnât change immediately. âi understood the questionâ he replies calmly. his tone is still composed, but thereâs something under it. thin. tight. the professorâs gaze sharpens just slightly as she says, âthen answer it.â the room goes still. you feel your pulse pick up. he adjusts in his seat and says, âi did.â- âno,â she replies evenly. âyou reframed it.â thatâs when you see it. the smallest crack. his jaw tightens. he inhales. across the aisle, sunoo goes very quiet. you look at jake fully now. not because you want to. because you feel it happening. he straightens slightly, leaning forward this time, and says, âthe reframing is necessary. the premise is flawed without it.â the professor folds her arms lightly and replies, âyouâre avoiding the constraint.â the air shifts. this isnât playful debate. this is precision meeting resistance. jake doesnât back down. âyou canât isolate the variable without addressing-â- âthatâs not what i askedâ she repeats. silence. the kind that presses against your ears.
you watch him calculate. you see him choosing. he could pivot. he doesnât. âthen the question is incompleteâ he says. a few people glance at each other. itâs subtle. but itâs there. the professorâs expression doesnât change, but her voice lowers slightly as she says, âor you are.â that lands. the room holds its breath. you feel something twist in your chest. he doesnât look at you. he stares at the front of the room, posture rigid now. and for the first time in a long time, he looks⌠cornered. he opens his mouth to answer again. and you know, before he says anything, that this is where control starts slipping. the room is still. you can hear the faint hum of the projector above the board. you can feel everyone waiting. he leans forward slightly, his voice sharper now as he says, âthe constraint ignores structural dependency. if you isolate it without reframing-â- âthat wasnât the taskâ the professor interrupts. itâs not harsh. itâs worse than harsh. itâs calm. and final. a flicker passes over his face, too quick for most people to catch. you catch it. he shifts in his chair. you can see the choice happening, pivot or push. he pushes. âthe dependency mattersâ he insists. âyou canât evaluate the output without-â - âyouâre overcomplicating itâ she says evenly. âjust answer the question.â silence presses down again, heavier this time. you donât look at him, but you feel him unraveling. he exhales through his nose, barely audible, his fingers tapping once against the edge of his desk. he answers again, shorter this time, more direct, but itâs off, just slightly, not disastrous but not right. the professor pauses, then says, âthatâs incorrect.â the words settle into the room like dust. no one moves. you donât either. your eyes stay on your notebook, but your focus is gone. you know that tone. you know what that means. itâs not humiliation. itâs precision correction. but for him, itâs exposure. he doesnât respond immediately. he just sits there, still, then evenly says, âi donât think it is.â itâs quiet, but defensive now. the professor tilts her head and replies, âit is, jake. itâs wrong.â thereâs no anger in her voice, just certainty. a few people glance toward him. no one says anything. he doesnât look at you, not once, and that makes something twist tighter in your chest because you know he feels it. he hates being wrong publicly. he hates losing footing. he hates slipping. you tell yourself to stay out of it. he doesnât need you. he wonât want you. heâll think youâre- no, you canât.
you hesitate.
your fingers press against the edge of your desk. the pause stretches too long. he inhales again, sharper this time. âi see what youâre sayingâ he says finally, though his tone makes it clear he doesnât. âbut that interpretation assumes-â - âit doesnât,â she replies calmly. âit assumes clarity.â the word clarity lingers. you look up now, really look at him. his jaw is set. his shoulders tight. heâs not going to pivot. heâs going to dig. and if he digs, this turns into something else. you shouldnât step in. you know that. heâll hate it. heâll feel exposed.
you hesitate again.
one second. two. the silence becomes unbearable, and then you say, steady and careful, âi think what heâs pointing toward is the instability in the output curve.â your voice cuts through the room softly, not loud, not abrupt, just enough. you donât look at him when you continue. âif you isolate the variable without reframing the dependency, the margin collapses. but if you assume the constraint holds, then the output stabilizes.â you keep your tone neutral, clinical. you donât frame it as correction. you frame it as translation. the professor turns toward you and asks, âand does the constraint hold?â- âyes,â you reply evenly. âbecause the instability heâs describing only appears under secondary alignment failure, which wasnât part of the original condition.â silence again, but this time itâs different. the professor nods once and says, âexactly.â the word lands cleanly. the room exhales. you donât. you keep your eyes on the front of the room. you donât look at him. you donât need to. you can feel it. across the aisle, he doesnât move, not immediately. then you hear it, the faint scrape of his pen against the desk, controlled, measured.
the professor moves on. discussion resumes. other students speak. the tension diffuses, but not for you and not for him, because you know what just happened. you stepped in. you reframed. you fixed it. you gave him an out. and he didnât look at you. he still doesnât. he writes something down too hard. the pen scratches louder than it should. you focus on your notes, but you feel the air shift between you. you saw that. you hesitated. you stepped in anyway. he didnât need any help. no. he swallows. he keeps his eyes on the board. iâm fine. you donât care. you didnât want to- no. thatâs not it. the professor calls on someone else. the room moves forward. but something in him has already slipped. discussion moves forward. other students offer comments. the tension in the room thins slightly, though it never fully disappears. you keep your focus forward. you donât look at him. you donât need to. you can feel him recalibrating, writing too hard, too straight, too still. a few minutes later, the professor circles back. âas y/n pointed outâ she says, glancing in your direction, âthe instability only manifests under secondary misalignment. thatâs why isolating the variable works within the original constraint.â the word she hangs in the air longer than necessary. a couple students nod. jay murmurs something like, âthat makes sense.â and thatâs it. but for jake, itâs the second hit. you donât move. you donât react. but across the aisle, something in him shifts. he straightens slightly in his chair, too abruptly. the professor continues, âwhich is also why reframing the premise isnât required in this case.â reframing. his word. his word used to dismiss the necessity of his answer. you feel it before you hear it, the change in his breathing. then his voice cuts in. âthat depends on how rigidly you interpret the premise.â itâs controlled, but thinner now. the professor pauses. âit depends on the questionâ she replies. âthe question was incompleteâ he says. there it is. not loud. not explosive. just sharper than it needs to be. a few heads turn. the professor studies him for a second and says, âit wasnât.â silence again. he doesnât let it go. âyou restricted it.â he says. âand you expanded it,â she counters calmly. âbeyond the scope.â the room is still. you can feel sunoo behind you tense. you donât turn around. you keep your eyes forward. jake exhales sharply through his nose and says, âthatâs not the same thing.â- âit isâ she replies. âand if you canât operate within constraint, youâll keep missing the point.â that lands harder than the first correction. missing the point.
you see it happen in real time. his posture shifts. his fingers curl around his pen. he doesnât look at you. not once. he looks at the board, then at the professor, then down at his notes. and then he closes his notebook too hard. the sound cuts through the room. no one speaks. he stands up. not dramatically. not with a slam. just sudden. âi need a minuteâ he says. his tone is flat, controlled, but his jaw is tight. the professor doesnât stop him. no one does. he grabs his bag, walks toward the door, and he doesnât look at you. not when he passes your row. not when the door opens. not when it shuts behind him. the room exhales after he leaves. the professor waits a second, then says, âall right.â discussion resumes, but itâs softer, thinner. you stare at the empty space where he was sitting. your chest feels tight. not because he was wrong. not because you were right. because he looked like he was unraveling. and he wouldnât let you see it. you donât take notes for the rest of the class. you donât hear the rest of what the professor says. you register words. you donât process them. your pen moves once or twice across the page out of habit, but the lines are useless, half-formed sentences that donât connect to anything. the seat he vacated feels louder than the discussion that resumes. he didnât look at you. not once. you replay that detail over and over like it matters more than everything else. when class finally ends, chairs scrape against the floor in staggered rhythm. conversations spark up in low, cautious tones, like everyone is aware something just shifted but no one wants to be the first to name it. sunoo appears at your side almost immediately. he doesnât say anything at first. he just stands there. you close your notebook slowly. âthat wasâŚâ he starts.- âyeahâ you answer before he finishes. you both look toward the door. heâs not there. of course heâs not. jay approaches next, more careful than usual. âis he okay?â sunoo asks. you donât know how to answer that. âheâll cool off,â jay says quickly, as if trying to reassure himself more than you. âhe just hates being wrong.â you nod once. but it wasnât just about being wrong.  sunghoon joins the small circle now, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. âhe shouldnât have pushed itâ he says. âyeah,â you say quietly. âhe shouldnât have.â thereâs no satisfaction in your voice. no triumph. the hallway outside fills quickly as everyone filters out. you take your time packing up, even though thereâs no reason to. you could leave. you could pretend it wasnât personal. you could let him sit in whatever that was. but the thought of him spiraling alone irritates you more than it should. âheâll be outsideâ sunghoon says, almost like he read your mind. you glance at him. sunghoon shrugs slightly and adds, âhe doesnât go far.â you hesitate. then you stand. you donât announce that youâre going after him. you just do.
the hallway air feels cooler than the classroom did. students move around you in clusters, unaware of the tightness sitting in your chest. you scan the corridor. he isnât there. you walk farther down, past the vending machines, past the stairwell, and then you see him at the end of the hallway near the windows, standing still, hands on his hips, looking out over the quad like the world personally offended him. you slow your steps. for a second, you consider turning around. you donât. you walk up beside him, not too close, not far either. he doesnât look at you. âi didnât need helpâ he says. you hadnât spoken yet. âi didnât say you didâ you reply evenly. he lets out a quiet, humorless breath. âyou stepped in.â thereâs no gratitude in it. just tension. âyou were about to argue in circlesâ you say calmly. âshe wasnât going to let you.â - âi had itâ he insists. âyou didnât.â the words come out sharper than you intended. he turns his head slightly now, not enough to fully face you but enough. âyou think i canât handle it?â he asks. âthatâs not what i said.â- âitâs is.â- âi clarified,â you reply. âthatâs all.â his jaw tightens. âright.â the single word drips with something you donât recognize. you exhale slowly. âwhy are you acting like iâm trying to put you down?â he finally looks at you fully now, and thereâs something raw in his expression, not anger, not exactly, wounded pride. âyou arenâtâ he says. âbut jake, thatâs not how youâre acting.â he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. âyou made it worse.â you blink. âhow?â - âyou translated meâ he says. âlike i couldnât say it right.â the accusation stings more than it should. âi was trying to help.â - âi donât need your helpâ- âi know.â silence stretches again.
students pass behind you, unaware of the charged air between you. he looks away first. âiâm not incompetentâ he says quietly. you stare at him. âi never said you were.â- âbut you hesitatedâ he says. that stops you. you hesitate again now. he continues, voice low. âyou waited y/n.â because you did. you waited. because you knew he wouldnât want you to step in. because you knew heâd take it personally. because you were trying to decide if helping him would hurt him more. âthat doesnât mean i think youâre incompetentâ you say. âit means you thought i couldnât recoverâ he counters. you swallow. âyou were pushing,â you say carefully. âand she wasnât going to bend.â he laughs softly, but thereâs no humor in it. âso you have to step in?â -âyes.â he nods once, slow. âi donât want you to do that.â the words feel loaded. âdo what?â you ask. âfix it.â - âi wasnât fixing youâ you say. âi was just finishing your thought.â - âthatâs worse.â you stare at him. âwhy?â you ask. âbecause it makes it look like i needed you to.â you donât know how to respond to that because the truth is you donât care how it looked. you cared that he was digging himself deeper. âi didnât do it for them,â you say quietly. âi did it because you were about to make it worse for yourself.â he looks at you again. something flickers in his expression, confusion, hurt, maybe even something softer. then it shutters closed. âi donât need your savingâ he says. âi wasnât saving you.â - âthen why do you care?â he asks suddenly. the question lands harder than anything else. you inhale. âbecause i do.â the words leave your mouth before you filter them. the hallway noise fades for a second. he stares at you, not defensive now, not sharp, just still. âi donât want you to careâ he says quietly. and thatâs what cracks something inside you. âyou donât get to decide thatâ you reply. his jaw tightens again. he steps back slightly, like the proximity is too much. âdrop itâ he says. âiâm not trying to fight you.â you answer. - âi know.â - âthen stop acting like iâm the problem.â he looks at you for a long second, then away. âiâm notâ he says. but he is. and you both know it. you donât say anything else because youâre not going to beg him to tell you whatâs wrong. you turn and start walking back down the hallway. he doesnât stop you. doesnât call your name. doesnât move.
a few days later the rehearsal room is mostly empty when you walk in. a standard seminar space with stackable chairs pushed against the walls and a long rectangular table cutting the center in half like a line neither of you are supposed to cross. the projector is already on, the first slide washed-out blue against the whiteboard. itâs early evening. the light outside the tall windows has turned that flat, colorless gray that makes everything look less defined. the fluorescent lights buzz overhead. the air smells faintly like dry erase marker and old ventilation. jake is already at the front. his laptop is open, sleeves pushed up, clicking through the slides slowly and deliberately, not reviewing, inspecting. a neat stack of printed notes sits beside him, edges aligned so precisely it looks intentional. he doesnât look rushed. he looks braced. when the door shuts behind you, he glances up just once and gives a small nod without smiling before turning back to the screen, as if the slide matters more than the timing of you walking in. you take the seat across from him without thinking about it, not beside, across. you set your bag down and open your laptop. the room hums with the projector, the trackpad, your breathing. it should feel routine. it doesnât. it feels like something is being held in place carefully and deliberately, and neither of you are testing how much pressure it can take. he clicks back to the first slide again, the one you have already run through twice. starting over will not fix what he is trying to fix. you begin anyway, delivering the same opening sentence in the same measured tone, the one you can summon even when your stomach feels too tight. three lines in, he shifts in his chair. you wait for the interruption. it does not come. that almost throws you more than if it had. you keep going through the dependency chain, the constraint behavior, the margin stabilization under the original premise. you gesture once to the graph without looking at him. you can feel his attention like weight, not casual, not analytical, heavy.
you finish the slide and click to the next one. he says nothing. you click again. still nothing. it is not that he agrees. it is that he is holding himself back. you can almost see it, the restraint, the effort not to correct you, not to adjust phrasing, not to sharpen something just to feel in control again. you reach the end of your section without being stopped. your hand lowers, the clicker still in it. you turn. jake is watching the screen, his jaw tight. not angry. contained. that is worse. you set the clicker down carefully. the sound is too loud in the quiet. âso, what now?â you ask in a neutral tone. he blinks once, like he forgot you were there and is recalibrating. ânow we run it togetherâ jake replies. âokayâ you say. he stands. you meet him at the front, not close enough that your shoulders touch, but close enough that you hear the subtle change in his breathing when you step into his space. he has always been good at presenting. he speaks like nerves do not exist, like words are tools and he owns the entire workshop. today it sounds the same, until you listen for what is not there. half a beat too fast in the middle of a sentence. a breath pulled in sharper than necessary when he transitions to the section he was challenged on in class. a pause, small, almost invisible.no one else would catch it. you do. you watch his hands instead of the slide. his fingers flex once at his side, then still. he gets through the section that tripped him up earlier, his voice steady, his pacing controlled, his precision intact. but something underneath it is bracing. when he finishes, he glances at you, brief and almost involuntary, then looks away immediately, like eye contact would confirm something he is not ready to name. âyour turnâ jake says, and you pick up from his slide, matching his tone automatically. for a moment, it almost feels normal. coordinated. familiar. then you reach the line he edited earlier. âwhen the constraint collapses-â you say, and the phrasing feels wrong in your mouth, not incorrect, just not yours. jakeâs gaze lifts immediately, but you keep going. you can feel him listening, not for clarity, not for argument, but for deviation, for control. you finish the slide and let the silence sit until he nods once and says, âgood.â it does not feel like approval. it feels like a checkbox.
you set the clicker down and ask, âare we done?â he glances at his notes and replies, âwe should run it again.â you lift your shoulders slightly and ask, âwhy?â jake answers, âtiming matters.â you reply, âweâre on time.â he says, âi want it clean.â you answer, âit was clean.â he meets your eyes and adds, âit can be cleaner.â you hold his gaze without raising your voice and ask, âwhy are you like this right now?â his jaw tightens slightly before he replies, âlike what?â you gesture vaguely at the slides, the edits, the way he is hovering over every sentence, and say, âlike youâre sanding everything down until it doesnât sound like meâ. he answers âitâs supposed to sound like the projectâ. you reply evenly, âit is the project and iâm part of itâ. he says âi knowâ too fast, and you study him before asking, âdo you?â his eyes flick away and he reaches for his notebook instead, saying, âwe need to tighten the conclusion.â you do not move. he flips a page like the paper can shield him and adds, âif we shorten the final section, we can emphasize the model alignmentâ still refusing to look at you. you watch him retreat into structure in real time and say, âjake.â he stops flipping pages but keeps his eyes down and answers, âwhat?â you ask quietly, âare you okay?â the question lands heavy. he does not look up when he says, âyeah. iâm fine.â there it is. you do not argue. you just nod and say, âokay.â the word shifts something. he glances up then, quick and searching, like he expected resistance, but you give him none. you sit back down and open your laptop. the room feels too large. he keeps writing, too deliberately.
you scroll to the final slide and notice something has changed. you point at the screen and say, âthis isnât what i wrote.â he finally looks up and says, âitâs better.â you reply, âitâs just different.â he holds your gaze and says, âdifferent isnât always bad.â you let out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh and answer, âitâs not just different...â his expression hardens as he asks, âwhat do you want me to say?â the bluntness catches you and you respond, âwhat?â he gestures at the room and says, âyou keep looking at me like iâm doing something. iâm rehearsing.â you stare at him and reply, âyouâre not just rehearsing.â his eyes sharpen as he asks, âthen what am i doing?â you hesitate because the real answer is not about slides and say, âyouâre controlling.â his jaw flexes and he replies, âiâm preparing.â you say more softly, âno. youâre controlling.â silence settles between you. the projector hum feels louder. he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated not at you but at himself, and starts, âcan we just-â before stopping. you do not help him. you do not fill the silence. you let the unfinished sentence sit between you. he swallows, and for a second his expression slips, not anger, not pride, something thinner, before he blinks it away and says steadily, âletâs run the conclusion.â you nod slowly and say, âokay.â you stand, pick up the clicker, and move back into the projector light. he joins you but not fully. he stays just outside the brightest edge, like he does not want to be entirely exposed. you start the conclusion, your voice steady. he does not interrupt. you reach the line you softened, the one about implications, about how the model behaves in real conditions, about what it suggests beyond the data, and you deliver it the way you wrote it. jake shifts, not an interruption, a recoil. you keep going.
when you finish, you turn to him and ask, âany issues?â he opens his mouth, then closes it. his eyes flick to your face, then away. âno. keep goingâ jake says, too flat. you do not move. âyou didnât like that partâ you say quietly. his shoulders stiffen. âitâs fineâ he replies. âapparently itâs notâ you answer. his eyes lift sharply and he snaps, âstop psychoanalyzing me.â you freeze. âiâm notâ you say. âyou areâ jake says, his jaw tightening. âyou keep asking if iâm okay like iâm-â he cuts himself off. the room goes still. you keep your voice low and say, âi didnât say anything.â- âyou donât have toâ he replies. silence stretches between you. you take a slow breath and say, âyouâre acting different.â - âso are youâ jake says. that lands harder. âhow?â you ask. he hesitates just enough. âyouâre distantâ he says. you blink once, slow, and keep your face neutral, like that will stop your throat from tightening. âyouâve been distantâ you reply. âiâm hereâ he says. âso am iâ you answer. he exhales through his nose, frustrated and cornered, and asks, âthen why does it feel like youâre not?â the question is not sharp. it is tired. you look at him carefully and say, âmaybe because you keep treating everything like itâs fragile.â his eyes narrow. âiâm not,â he says. âiâm trying not to let it slipâ - âwhat?â you ask. he does not answer. instead he says, âweâre wasting time.â you nod once and say, âwe are.â he glances at you, startled, like he expected resistance. you do not give it. you sit down and open your laptop.
he stays standing too long, like he is deciding whether to say something else. he does not. he sits back harder than necessary, posture rigid. outside, the campus darkens. streetlights flick on. the window reflects both of you in faint blue, two silhouettes separated by a table stacked with notes. you make a small edit to the conclusion. he watches your cursor move, then looks away quickly. silence again. he flips to the next slide. you have run it three times. he adjusts a bullet point, then another. you do not look at the screen. you look at him. he feels it. âtiming was offâ jake says without turning. âit wasnâtâ you reply. âit wasâ he says. âby how much?â you ask. âthree secondsâ he answers. you blink and ask, âthree seconds?â- âyesâ jake says. you stare at him. he is serious, the cursor hovering over the timeline like it personally offended him. âthatâs what weâre doing. three secondsâ you say quietly. âit adds upâ he replies. âwe wonât run longâ you say. âwe mightâ he counters. âthatâs not the same thingâ you reply. âit mattersâ he says. âitâs three secondsâ you answer. âitâs disciplineâ jake says. that word lands wrong. your shoulders stiffen. âdiscipline?â you repeat. âyesâ he says. âsince when is this about discipline?â you ask. âit always isâ he replies. âdonât bullshit me,â you say evenly. âitâs about control.â his head snaps toward you. âitâs about structure y/nâ he says. âyouâre hiding in itâ you answer. the air shifts. his jaw tightens. âiâm not hidingâ jake says. âyou areâ you reply. âiâm making sure we donât failâ he says. âwe wonâtâ you answer. âyou donât know thatâ he says. âi know youâ you say. the words leave before you can filter them. he goes still. âi know you,â you repeat, softer now. âyou donât need to grind this down to prove youâre in control.â something cracks, not loud but visible. âi donât get to lose control.â jake says. the admission is quiet. too honest. you stare at him. âwhatâs that supposed to mean?â you ask. he swallows. ânothingâ he says. that is a lie. you both know it. he looks away first. ârun it againâ he says. you do not move. ânoâ you reply. he blinks. âno?â he asks. âitâs goodâ you say. âwe donât settle for goodâ he replies. âmaybe you donâtâ you answer. that lands. he studies you like he is trying to see what changed. âare you pulling back?â jake asks quietly. you hold his gaze before answering, âiâm adjusting.â - âto what?â he presses. you hesitate, then say, âto you.â that lands, and his expression shifts, subtle but real. âthatâs not an answerâ jake says. âit is,â you reply. âyouâve been on edge. iâm not going to keep pushing if youâre going to treat everything like a threat.â silence stretches, his jaw tightening before he says, âletâs just finish.â back to structure. back to safety. âyouâre not tightening the timing,â you say. âyouâre suffocating it.â he doesnât answer immediately, his jaw flexing once before he says, ârun it again.â now the presentation argument feels connected to the emotional one. you donât move.
âjake,â you say. âwhat?â he replies. âyouâre obsessing,â you tell him. âiâm preparing.â he answers. âno. youâre obsessing.â you say quietly. his fingers tap once against the trackpad, controlled and sharp. âyouâre rushing the emphasisâ he says. âiâm notâ you reply. âyou areâ he insists. âiâve presented beforeâ you say. âso have iâ jake answers. âand?â you press. âand we donât hedgeâ he says. âiâm not hedgingâ you counter. âyou areâ he replies. âby breathing?â you ask. âby softening the lineâ he says. you stare at him. âyouâre hearing what you want to hearâ you say. he closes the laptop halfway, then opens it again. âyou didnât emphasize the model alignmentâ jake says. âyouâre looking for problemsâ you answer. âiâm fixing themâ he replies. âthere werenât anyâ you say. âthere were.â he insists. silence presses in. you set the clicker down slowly and ask, âwhy are you acting like i did something wrong?â the question is calm. that makes it worse. he doesnât look up. âiâm notâ he says. âyou areâ you reply. âiâm correctingâ he says. âyouâre dissecting.â you counter. âthatâs the pointâ he replies. âno. thatâs not the pointâ you say, your voice dropping slightly. he leans back. âyouâve been differentâ jake says. your grip tightens aroung the clicker until the plastic edge bites your finger. âwhat?â you ask. âsince heeseungâs partyâ he says. you keep your face neutral. âin what way?â you ask. âyou donât argue anymoreâ he replies. âi doâ you say. âbarely. you just agreeâ he says. âiâm choosing when to pushâ you answer. âyou never used toâ he replies. âyou never used to nitpick three secondsâ you say. his jaw flexes. âyouâve been carefulâ he says. âcareful how?â you ask. âlike youâre afraid to pushâ he replies. âafraid of what?â you ask. âyou tell meâ he says. the accusation under it is unmistakable now. âyouâve been sharpâ you say. âno, iâve been focusedâ he replies. âyouâve been distantâ you say. âyou haveâ he answers. âyou pulled back firstâ you say. ânoâ he replies. âyesâ you insist. he exhales, frustrated. âyou frozeâ jake says. you go still. âi didnâtâ you reply. âyou didâ he says. âi was thinkingâ you answer. âit didnât look like thinkingâ he replies. thatâs the first real hit. you hold his gaze. âyou donât get to rewrite itâ you say. he runs a hand through his hair, this time not controlled. âyou hesitatedâ he says. âand you donât?â you ask. he goes quiet. âthatâs not the pointâ jake says. âit is if youâre bringing it upâ you reply. âiâm not bringing it upâ he says. âyou just didâ you answer. the room feels smaller now. âyouâve been different since that nightâ jake says again, lower. âyou keep saying thatâ you reply. âbecause itâs trueâ he says. âhow?â you ask. âyou look at me like youâre calculating somethingâ he replies. âmaybe i amâ you say. âwhy?â he asks.
you could say it. you donât. instead you say, âbecause you fucking cried in my car.â there it is. he stills completely. âand then you acted like nothing happenedâ you continue. his throat shifts. âi didnât act like nothing happenedâ he says. âyou didâ you reply. âi just didnât turn it into somethingâ he says. âit already was somethingâ you answer. âfor youâ he says. âfor both of usâ you reply. he looks away. âyouâve been careful with me. like iâm breakableâ jake says. you stare at him. âthatâs not trueâ you say. âyes, it isâ he replies. âyou think i see you as fragile?â you ask. âyes,â he answers. the answer is immediate. no defense. no delay. it hits. âyouâre always stepping inâ he says. âbecause you were spiralingâ you reply. âi wasnâtâ he says. âyou wereâ you answer. he pushes his chair back slightly. âi had itâ jake says. âand youâve been punishing me for it ever sinceâ you say. that lands. âiâm not punishing youâ he insists. silence again. heavy now. the fluorescent lights hum. outside, the sky is fully dark. âyou donât get to decide how i see youâ you say finally. he looks at you. âand you donât get to decide i needed saving,â jake replies. neither of you moves. âi donât need you to manage meâ he says. itâs not loud. but it cracks. âi wasnât managing youâ you reply. âit felt like you wereâ he says. you step closer without thinking. âit felt like you were pretending nothing matteredâ you say. his breath catches. âit does matterâ he replies. âthen stop acting like it doesnâtâ you say. the words hang there. he looks at you, really looks at you, and for a split second the control drops. not anger. not pride. fear. then itâs gone. âyouâve been weirdâ jake says, and you immediately reply, âstop saying it like that.â he tilts his head slightly and asks, âlike what?â you answer, âlike everything changed because of me.â he says simply, âit did.â you go still. âwhat?â you ask. âyou changedâ he says. âso did youâ you counter. âbecause you did firstâ he insists. âjakeâ you say, your voice sharpening. âyou fucking cried in my car.â he flinches, small and real, and you continue, quieter now, âand then you kissed me, and then you acted like it was just-â - âjust what?â he cuts in. âcircumstantialâ you finish. âwe were drunkâ jake says. âthatâs not the pointâ you reply. âthen what is?â he asks. âyou pulled away afterwardsâ you say. âso did youâ he answers. âi didnâtâ you insist. âyou frozeâ he says. âi hesitatedâ you correct. jakeâs jaw tightens as he answers, âsame fucking thingâ. âno,â you say, your voice tightening. âi hesitated because i was trying to figure out if you were going to regret it.â that lands. he goes completely still. âi never said i wouldâ jake says. âyou didnât have toâ you answer. silence stretches. âi donât regret things,â jake says quietly. you look at him. âand thatâs not even what this is aboutâ he adds quickly, like he exposed too much. you say, âyouâve been acting like i embarrassed you.â - âyou didnât,â he replies. âyou translated meâ he adds. âbecause you were digging yourself deeperâ you answer. âthat wasnât your jobâ he says. âmaybe i wanted it to beâ you reply. the words hang heavier than you meant them to. his eyes lift slowly. âyou donât have to fix meâ jake says. âi wasnât fixing youâ you reply. âit felt like itâ he says. âit felt like you were self-destructingâ you answer. he inhales sharply at that. âi really donât need you babysitting meâ jake says. âiâm not babysitting you. whatâs up with you? why are you acting like this?â you reply.
his jaw tightens. âi donât like feeling like i needed youâ he says. there it is. no anger. just stripped. you donât move. âi never thought you needed meâ you say quietly. âbut you hesitatedâ he says. âand youâve been acting like that meant somethingâ you reply. âit didâ he says. he looks at you fully now. âit felt like you were deciding whether i was worth stepping in forâ he says. the room goes quiet. âwhat? thatâs not what i was doingâ you say. âit looked like itâ he replies. you swallow. âyou think i was evaluating you?â you ask. âyesâ he answers immediately. you shake your head once. âthatâs insaneâ you say. âitâs fucking obviousâ he replies. âto who?â you ask. âto meâ he says, and looks away the second he says it. you exhale slowly. âin classâ he says. âthatâs what youâre talking about?â you reply. he doesnât answer. âi paused because i knew youâd hate itâ you say. his eyes snap up. âso you knew?â he says. âyesâ you reply. âi knew youâd take it personally. i waited to see if you could turn it around.â- âand you decided i couldnâtâ he says. ânoâ you answer, leaning forward slightly. âi decided you were going to keep arguing and make it worse.â - âthatâs basically the same thingâ he says. âitâs notâ you reply. his gaze drops to your hands on the table. âyou donât get itâ jake says. âthen explain itâ you answer. he hesitates. you donât rescue him. he exhales, frustrated. âwhen you look at me like that-â he starts. âlike what?â you ask. âlike youâre measuringâ he says. the word lands heavy. âi wasnât measuring youâ you reply. âyou were,â he insists. âyou do it when youâre trying to figure out if something is worth the riskâ you go quiet, because thatâs not entirely wrong. his voice drops. âyou looked at me like i was a calculationâ jake says. the fluorescent lights hum. you stare at him. âi wasnât calculating youâ you say. âbe for real y/n.â he replies. silence again. thinner now. âyou think i donât know when iâm spiraling?â he says quietly. âi think you donât always see itâ you answer. his jaw tightens. âi donât need you watching for itâ he says. âi wasnât watchingâ you reply. âi was-â you stop. he catches the silence. âyou were what?â jake asks.
you hold his gaze. âi was trying not to lose you in front of everyoneâ you say. that one lands harder than anything else. he goes completely still. the control drops for half a second, then snaps back. âi wasnât lost,â he says. his voice sharpens. âstop deciding that for meâ - âstop pretending you werenâtâ you reply. silence. heavy. electric. then, quieter, âi donât need you to translate meâ jake says. âi knowâ you reply. âi donât need you to save meâ he says. âi wasnât saving youâ you answer. âi donât need you choosing when iâm worth stepping in forâ he says. that one almost breaks something. you stare at him. âi never once thought you werenât worth itâ you say. he looks at you, actually looks, and for a second the anger falls away. âi just didnât want you deciding i couldnât handle itâ he says. the admission is small. raw. sober. you step closer without meaning to. âi didnât think you couldnât handle itâ you say. âthen why did you hesitate?â he asks. your voice drops. âbecause i didnât know if youâd hate me for itâ you answer. it hangs between you. neither of you moves. the projector flickers faintly. his breathing shifts. you can see the spiral building under his composure now. and he hates that you can see it. his mouth tightens like heâs biting back something sharper. you lean forward slightly. âyou want to know what i was thinking during that pause?â - âi already doâ jake mutters. âyou donât,â you say, not looking away. âi was thinking youâd rather argue yourself into a corner than let someone help you.â he flinches. small. real. âi was thinking youâd rather look stubborn than look vulnerable,â you continue, quieter now. âand i was trying to decide if stepping in would make you hate me more than being corrected would.â silence. his fingers curl against the edge of the notebook. âdonât.â jake says. âdonât what?â - âtalk like you know me.â -âthen stop making me fucking guess.â that lands. he looks away sharply. his thumb presses hard into the edge of the table. âit was humiliating.â jake says, almost under his breath. everything stills. not about you. not about the kiss. about class. about being wrong. about losing control. âi knowâ you say. his jaw tightens. âyou made it worse.â - âhow?â you ask. âbecause you were right,â jake says, the bitterness in it clean. âand she said it like-â he begins, then cuts himself off. you wait. he doesnât finish. instead he says, âit made me look like i couldnât do it.â you answer, âyou were already being corrected.â - âbut i wasnât done.â he replies. âyou were diggingâ you say. his eyes lift, hard now, and he says, âyou think you saved me.â - âi donât think that.â you answer. âbut you didâ he insists. âi clarifiedâ you reply. âyou always clarify,â jake says, clipped. âyou always have the right words. you always-â he stops. âalways what, jake?â you ask, your voice comes out too calm. he rubs a hand over his mouth. âi donât know, you just you donât get itâ jake says. âthen explain itâ you tell him. he exhales sharply. âwhen you stepped in,â jake says slowly, âeveryone stopped looking at the model and started looking at you.â the words land heavier than you expected. âand i hated that i needed that.â you go still. âi didnât think you needed itâ you say quietly. he looks at you sharply. âyou did. thatâs  why you hesitated.â you frown slightly. âi hesitated because i knew youâd take it personally,â you say. ânot because i thought you couldnât handle it.â he doesnât answer.
and thatâs when it clicks. it wasnât about whether he could handle it. it was about the fact that you saw the moment he couldnât. you swallow. âi wasnât deciding if you were capable,â you say carefully. âi was deciding if youâd rather fall on your own than let me stand next to you,â that hits. he looks away. âand youâve been punishing me for that ever since.â you say. âi havenâtâ jake insists. âyou haveâ you answer. he stands suddenly, not violent, just too fast, and the chair scrapes loudly. âyou looked at me like i was fragile.â jake says. âyou looked at me differently.â you hold his gaze. âi did,â you admit. that surprises him. âbecause i saw you differently,â you continue. the room goes quiet. ânot worse,â you add. âjust⌠real.â he swallows. âyouâve been careful around me since that night in your car y/n.â he says again. âwe both know thatâ he adds quietly. âbecause you started acting like i shouldnât have seen thatâ you reply. âi didnât say thatâ he answers. âyou didnât have toâ you say. silence stretches thin. âi donât even remember what i saidâ jake admits quietly. âi just remember feeling-â he stops. âlike what?â you ask. âexposed.â he says, the word almost swallowed. you step closer before you can stop yourself. âjake, maybe you were,â you tell him. his breath shifts. âbut youâre acting like that was a weakness.â you add. âi donât get to be weak.â jake says. that line lands harder than anything else tonight. you stare at him. âyou do with meâ you say. he looks at you like he doesnât know what to do with that. for a second, just one, the control drops. then it snaps back into place. he turns abruptly and walks to the front, clicks to the next slide, and says, âwe need to run it clean.â back to structure. back to safety. you watch his back. itâs almost painful how fast he hides. âthis is so ridiculous,â you say before you stand too. âfineâ. you move beside him, not close enough to touch, and start the conclusion again. your voice is calm. measured. he interrupts once. âpause,â jake says. you stop. âsay it again,â he adds. âwhy?â you ask. âthe emphasis matters,â he replies. you repeat it. he nods. no comment. no warmth. just control. you finish the last slide. the clicker lowers. he flips his notes even though there is nothing left to flip. you wait. he almost speaks. his mouth parts, then closes. he looks back at the screen instead. you swallow. âweâre done for tonight.â you say. âyeahâ jake replies. he doesnât look at you. you pack your laptop. the zipper sounds too loud. you pause at the door. he almost says your name. he doesnât. you leave. behind you, the projector hums for a few seconds longer before it shuts off, and the dark that replaces it feels heavier than the light ever did.
the classroom is already half full when you walk in, and the low murmur of voices and soft clacking of laptops make it look like any other day, which is the strangest part because the world looks normal even when you do not. you pause in the doorway long enough to take in the rows, the projector cart at the front, the professorâs bag slung over the chair near the desk, and then you move toward your usual area without letting yourself look for jake too obviously. he is already there, seated near the front with his laptop open and his notes laid out like he is about to sit an exam instead of do a preview presentation, posture straight, shoulders set, head angled down as he scrolls through the slide deck with careful, precise movements. the glow from the screen lights the underside of his jaw, his sleeve cuffs are pushed up, and his watch catches the overhead light when his wrist shifts. he looks composed, too composed, like if he holds still enough nothing can touch him. you pick a seat one chair away from him, not far enough to be obvious, not close enough to invite conversation, the space between you stupidly small and still deliberate. you set your bag down, unzip it quietly, slide your notebook onto the table, and hesitate on the zipper pull for half a second before forcing your fingers to move again because your body keeps trying to pause on moments that do not deserve attention. you open your laptop and the screen wakes with a soft chime that feels louder than it should.
jake does not look up, does not greet you, does not shift away either. his hand goes to his notes, and you watch without meaning to as he straightens the stack by tapping the bottom edge against the table once. twice. aligning the paper perfectly before tapping the corner and smoothing the top page like he is flattening invisible creases. you swallow and glance down at your own materials. you do not need to check yours. you know the slides, the points, the flow. last night proved you know the flow even under pressure, even with him pressing and pressing and pressing. your brain can still recite the conclusion in exact order without looking at a screen, but your body is still carrying that conversation like a bruise you keep touching accidentally. the professor walks in and sets a coffee on the desk, a few heads turn, the room shifts into quieter readiness, someone laughs in the back row and it fades quickly, chairs scrape, a phone vibrates then stops. jake clicks to the first slide, then back, then forward again. it is small, almost nothing, and you still notice it. he is checking the deck like it might change if he looks away. his jaw tightens subtly while he scrolls down the slide list on the left panel, pausing on the model alignment slide for a beat too long before the cursor moves away. he clicks to the conclusion slide, then back to the intro, then back to the middle as if tracing the path he is supposed to follow. you keep your eyes on your screen but remain aware of him in your peripheral vision like a heat source, present and constant. you adjust your chair slightly, the metal legs squeak, you wince internally and force your shoulders down. jakeâs fingers stop for a moment and he turns his head just enough to glance at you, not inviting, not pushing away, neutral and almost blank like he is confirming you are there. you keep your face flat and your posture calm as if last night did not happen, as if the air between you is not still carrying unfinished words. he looks away first. you exhale slowly through your nose. your own hands begin aligning your notebook with the edge of the table, tapping your pen once before stopping when you realize you are mirroring him. you do not want to mirror him. you want to be normal. you scroll through the slide deck to give your fingers something to do. the text looks familiar, the graphs look familiar, the structure is solid. jake checks the slides again and you hear his trackpad click twice.
then you hear something else, quiet and under his breath, almost to himself, âif we frame it as variance, itâs cleaner.â jake murmurs without looking up. the words land like a small confession even though they are about nothing. you keep your eyes on your screen but your throat tightens because he is rehearsing beside you and it is proof he is nervous even if his face refuses to show it. he taps his notes again, straightening them like the paper might anchor him. you realize you have been bouncing your knee and force it still. stillness feels like control. you can do control. you can do contained. you glance up at the front of the room where the professor is setting up the schedule, students flipping through notes, someone whispering and laughing quietly. the normalcy makes your stomach roll faintly. jake reaches into his bag and pulls out a second set of printed pages, lays them on top of the first stack with deliberate care, lines them up again, edges perfectly aligned, turns the remote over in his hand, and sets it down exactly parallel to the laptop. he is organizing his environment like it can organize his head. you have seen him do that before during finals week. you have seen him do it when he is stressed. you did not realize how familiar the sight would feel. you close your laptop halfway and open it again, regretting the motion because it feels like you are copying him, then type an irrelevant placeholder line into the notes section just to give your fingers direction. jake glances at the clock, the second hand ticking, then back at the slides, lips pressing together then relaxing, fingers flexing once like he is shaking tension out of them. you wonder if he slept and hate that you wonder, hate that you care. he is not shaking, not visibly anxious, just too still, too precise, too prepared. it looks like discipline. it feels like fear.
the professor clears their throat and says, âalright, youâre preview presentations are coming up. weâll do the preview run-throughs today. keep it tight, treat it as practice, and remember youâre here to improve, not to impress.â a few students nod, someone sighs quietly, a couple exchange looks. jakeâs posture does not change but his fingers tighten on the remote. you inhale and count your breath. in. out. in. out. you glance sideways. his eyes are on the screen but his lashes lower for a second as if resetting himself before his gaze sharpens again. he leans closer and whispers the line again, quieter, âif we frame it as varianceâŚâ then stops mid-thought, jaw tightening as he swallows. you watch that swallow like it is louder than anything else in the room. your fingers curl lightly around your pen. you remember him in your car, voice cracking, words tumbling out, and now he is back to structure like it is the only thing keeping him upright. you shift slightly, shoulder almost brushing his, but you keep your distance. contained. not hostile. not warm. jake finally speaks to you, voice low and directed without looking over. âyou have your part memorized, right?â jake asks quietly. you blink once and answer evenly, âyeah.â he nods once and replies, âgood.â the word is flat, neutral. you almost respond but do not. the professor calls the first group, niki and sunghoon, to present and the room shifts again as students stand and gather materials. you feel jakeâs knee bounce once under the table before he presses his foot flat again. the professor glances at the time and says casually, âyou two will be after them.â jakeâs chin dips in acknowledgment and you nod as well, the simple fact of being next making your shoulders settle lower and your stomach roll faintly as your fingers align your notebook perfectly with the table edge. jake checks the slides one more time, clicking through the intro, the framework, the model alignment slide, the conclusion, then stopping and staring at the screen for too long while the professor laughs at something up front and someone drops a pen that clatters and rolls. jake does not move. then very quietly, like the words are meant only for himself, he mutters, âdonât fuck it up.â it takes you half a beat to realize he is not talking to you. your breath catches and you cover it by clearing your throat and adjusting your laptop. you do not look at him. you do not speak.
the group before you finishes to polite, scattered applause, and the professor nods while offering a few notes about clarity and pacing that you barely hear because you are already aware of jake standing before the professor even calls your names, aware of the way he slides his laptop into position and gathers the remote in one smooth motion like muscle memory. ânext,â the professor says, glancing down at the list before looking up, âjake and y/nâ and jake is already moving. you follow a second later, your pulse steady but present, not frantic, not slow, just there, stepping up beside him not too close and not too far as the projector light washes the front of the room in pale blue, flattening everything into clean lines and shadowed edges that make him look sharper somehow, more defined. he does not look at you, he looks at the class, and he begins evenly, âgood afternoon,â his voice calm, not too loud, not hesitant, just controlled. it is a good voice, measured and polished, the one he uses when he is certain, and something in your chest loosens slightly as he moves through the introduction without a hitch, the framing tight, his pacing deliberate but not rushed, glancing down at his notes once briefly before looking back up as if he only needed to confirm something minor. his hands are steady, the remote does not shake, and when he transitions to the problem statement he does it cleanly, saying, âwhat we noticed was that the inconsistency wasnât random. it followed a pattern tied directly to the third sample set,â while gesturing lightly toward the slide. you see the professor nod once, subtle but approving, and jake does not overplay it or linger on it, he simply continues, the structure audible in his delivery, introduction, context, data framing, everything in the order you rehearsed. he does not check the slides twice now, he trusts them or at least looks like he does, and your fingers rest lightly around the clicker you will use when it is your section while you keep your face neutral and attentive, tracking him in ways no one else is. the cadence of his breathing, the rhythm of his pauses, the slight shift of his shoulders with each new section. he moves into the methodology and explains with precision, âthis approach allowed us to isolate variance without overcorrecting the baseline. instead of adjusting for outliers immediately, we mapped the deviation across three cycles to see if the instability sustained.â it is good, more than good, and he sounds prepared and composed, like someone who did not spend the night before arguing about humiliation and hesitation and whether he is allowed to be weak. the class listens with quiet engagement, a few people typing notes, one student looking up more intently when he mentions the third cycle, the professor scribbling something on the printed rubric. you become aware of your own body beside him, your weight evenly distributed, your hands still, your breathing unconsciously matching his rhythm. the professor nods again, someone in the second row tilts their head in interest, and the room relaxes into the rhythm of it. you are supposed to be tense, waiting for something to go wrong, but there is nothing wrong as he clicks forward, does not overexplain, does not repeat himself, does not spiral, exactly as composed as he wanted to be.
jake clicks to the next slide mid-sentence, not by much, just a fraction too early, the graph flashing up before his words fully land. he does not stop. â-which is why we prioritized consistency,â jake finishes smoothly, but you hear the half-beat misalignment between thought and movement as he shifts his weight slightly and tightens his fingers around the remote. you notice the way his shoulders lift a little higher than before as he keeps going. âthis model holds under external fluctuation,â he says, the sentence solid and confident, but he says holds twice, the second time softer, like he is correcting himself without wanting anyone to notice. no one does. a student in the second row keeps typing. the professor watches with the same neutral attentiveness as before. jake inhales too quickly and moves into the comparison section, skipping the bridge line you both practiced until it felt automatic. he just jumps. âand when we tested alternative structures,â he says, voice a shade faster now, âthe deviation flattened in ways that looked stable but werenât.â it is not how you phrased it together. it is not wrong. it is just rushed. his jaw tightens, the muscle flexing once near his ear before settling, and he gestures at the slide, the motion sharper than before, less fluid, his hand cutting through the air instead of guiding it. he is still making sense, still articulate, but the rhythm is off. you feel it like a skipped stair. he swallows and keeps talking. âwhat this shows is that structural discipline matters,â he says, and the word discipline lands heavier than it needs to, like he is gripping it, holding onto it. he presses the remote again too early. the slide shifts before he finishes the sentence, a flicker of light crossing his face as the projector changes, and he pauses for half a second, not enough for anyone else to register, but to you it stretches. you feel your body react before your brain does, your fingers tightening around the clicker, your weight shifting forward as if you are already leaning into something. jake starts again. âwhat this demonstrates is-â he says, then stops. the silence is microscopic, but it is there. his eyes flick briefly toward the left side of the screen, to the slide list, checking where he is, and then almost involuntarily his gaze shifts sideways to you. it is not a request. it is not a plea. it is a reflex, and it disappears just as quickly. he looks forward again. âthis demonstrates that the framework absorbs variance instead of amplifying it,â he repeats, faster now. he did not need to repeat the beginning. he is buying time. his breathing has changed, the inhale slightly higher in his chest, the exhale a little too controlled. the class does not move. the professor does not react. no one is uncomfortable. but you are, because you can see the exact moment where control turns into strain. he is speaking too fast now, not dramatically, just enough that the pauses between sentences are shrinking. he is compressing, stacking, not letting the air settle. he gestures again, and this time his fingers flex mid-motion like he almost lost grip of the rhythm. your pulse ticks up. you know this pattern. he does not spiral outward. he spirals inward. he tightens until something gives. he clicks again and the slide changes. he is ahead of himself now, not lost, not confused, just running slightly faster than the structure he built.
you feel the decision forming in your chest. you could wait. you could let him correct it himself. you could give him space. but the space is shrinking. âand this consistency-â jake says, then stops again, his jaw tightening when the word does not land cleanly. it is small. it is nothing to everyone else. but you see it, the almost, the place where he might overcorrect and start explaining too much, the place where he might try to prove something instead of just say it. his thumb presses harder into the remote, and you realize you are already moving, not visibly, not dramatically, but internally stepping forward before your body does. jakeâs voice tightens just slightly on the word âconsistency,â and you feel it before you understand it. it isnât wrong. it isnât bad. itâs just off. the rhythm he had at the beginning, the calm, measured flow, has narrowed into something sharper, more compressed. he is speaking like he is outrunning something invisible. you donât let yourself think about last night. you donât let yourself think about hesitation. you donât let yourself calculate whether he will take this personally. you just move. âbuilding on what jake just explained,â you say smoothly, your tone steady and even, not louder than his, not softer, and you donât look at him, you look at the professor, gesturing lightly toward the slide as if this was always your cue. your heart is beating faster than it should, but your voice doesnât betray it. âthe reason we prioritized consistency is because the model doesnât collapse when pressure increases,â you continue, keeping your phrasing aligned with his rather than replacing it. âit adjusts without losing its shape.â you keep it simple, not dense, not layered, not corrective. you arenât fixing him. youâre finishing the line. you feel the room settle, not because anything dramatic happened but because the rhythm evens out again. the professor nods once. a classmate types something. someone shifts in their chair. no one reacts. you donât glance at jake to check if heâs okay. you donât soften your tone. you donât give him an out. you finish the thought and then, without pausing long enough to own the space, you turn slightly toward him and say, âand thatâs where the comparison becomes important.â you give it back not physically or ceremonially but by stepping half a pace back and letting the air return to him.
jake registers it immediately. he knows you just stepped in. he knows you didnât have to. he knows you didnât make it obvious. for half a second his mind blanks, not because he forgot what to say but because something in his chest shifts in a way he didnât expect. she didnât hesitate. that is the first thing that lands. she didnât wait to see if i would recover. she didnât measure whether i was worth stepping in for. she just did it. his throat feels tight, but not from panic this time. from something else. he nods once, subtle and almost imperceptible, and picks up the thread. âright,â he says, his voice steady again, the word coming easier than he expects. âexactly.â he continues without overexplaining, without stacking, without forcing, and his breathing evens out. the strangest part is that itâs easier now. he doesnât feel exposed. he doesnât feel corrected. he feels backed. the thought unsettles him, but he keeps talking. you focus on the screen so you donât focus on him. you can feel the shift even without looking. your pulse is still a little high, but your hands are steady. you donât feel embarrassed. you donât feel triumphant. you donât feel like you won anything. you just feel aligned. you didnât hesitate, and that matters more than you expected. jake moves into the next slide, this time clicking at the right moment. his tone regains its earlier control, but itâs softer at the edges now, not weaker, just less rigid. he finishes the comparison section cleanly, with no repeats and no compression. he feels the difference too. he doesnât know why it feels different. he expected stepping in to feel like exposure, like proof that he couldnât hold it together. instead it felt seamless, like you trusted him to keep going. his chest tightens again, but not from anxiety, from recognition. you didnât look at him when you did it. you didnât make eye contact to check if he was falling apart. you didnât lower your voice like he was fragile. you didnât translate him. you continued him. that is the part that sticks. he keeps speaking, but part of his brain replays the moment in real time. she didnât hesitate. you let him carry the next section. you donât hover. you donât prepare a second intervention. you stand beside him like a partner, not a guardrail. when your section comes, you step forward naturally, not rushed and not apologetic. you deliver your part with the same steady tone. you donât overperform. you donât compete. you just speak. when you finish, you donât look at him for approval. you just wait. jake watches you as you talk. he doesnât mean to. he tells himself he is listening for timing, for structure, for transitions. but he is watching the way you stand, the way your shoulders are relaxed, the way your voice doesnât waver. she didnât hesitate. the thought keeps looping. it collides with the memory of him saying, âyou hesitatedâ with him accusing, with him insisting you weighed him, and now you didnât.
the presentation winds down. you finish the conclusion together, alternating lines the way you practiced. the last slide fades in at exactly the right moment. there is no awkward silence and no stumble, just a clean end. âthank you,â jake says, and this time his voice is fully even. the professor nods and says, âgood structure. tighten the comparative phrasing slightly, but overall, strong.â strong. jake nods once in acknowledgment. you both step back to your seats. your legs feel slightly lighter than before. you donât look at him immediately. you sit, open your laptop, and pretend to review the professorâs notes while your heartbeat catches up. you didnât save him. you didnât correct him. you didnât fix him. you just stood beside him, and somehow that feels bigger. jake sits down next to you with one seat between you again. he keeps his eyes on the screen in front of him, but his thoughts are louder now. she didnât hesitate. she didnât look embarrassed. she didnât translate me. she stayed with it. he swallows. he doesnât look at you. he doesnât know what to do with the shift in his chest. it isnât relief exactly. it isnât gratitude. it isnât pride. itâs something more unsettling, because if you didnât hesitate, if you didnât weigh him, then maybe he was wrong, and that thought lands heavier than the stumble ever did.
class resumes like nothing happened. the next group stands, the projector shifts decks, someone clears their throat, chairs scrape, and the room resets into ordinary noise so quickly it almost feels absurd how fast the moment dissolves into routine. you sit one seat away from jake again, and the space between you feels smaller now, not because it changed but because something did. you type a single line into your notes so you do not just sit there replaying the last ten minutes, your fingers moving automatically while your brain stays half at the front of the room, half at that half-second where he almost lost it. you didnât hesitate. the thought settles somewhere under your ribs, quiet but firm. beside you, jake closes his laptop more slowly than usual, not dramatically, just deliberate, aligning his printed notes again and tapping the edges together until they are perfectly straight. he does not look at you, but he is aware of you, too aware. she didnât make it obvious. that is the part that keeps replaying in his head. she didnât look at me first. she didnât lower her voice. she didnât step in like i was fragile. she just continued. the professor dismisses class, and the room fills with the sound of bags zipping, chairs dragging back, conversations picking up immediately like they were waiting for permission. you slide your laptop into your bag and stand. jake stands at the same time. for a second you are too close, your arms nearly brushing as you both adjust your bags, and you step slightly to the side, creating space without making it look intentional. you start walking toward the door and he falls into step beside you. neither of you rush and neither of you slow down. the hallway is louder than the classroom was, voices echoing, lockers closing, footsteps layering over each other, and you focus on the floor tiles ahead of you, counting the pattern without meaning to.
jake breaks the silence first. âthat workedâ jake says, his tone neutral and controlled, not proud and not dismissive, just factual. you nod once and answer, âyeahâ keeping your voice steady, not sharp and not soft, as you both keep walking. there is a pause while a few students pass you laughing about something unrelated, the world moving as if nothing shifted. jake adjusts the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder and glances at you briefly before looking away again. âyou didnât have to.â jake says, without elaborating, without saying thank you, without saying he needed that, just leaving the sentence there. you keep your eyes ahead as you respond, âi knowâ and the words land between you. you didnât have to, but you did. jake swallows. she just  knew. that part unsettles him more than anything. she knew she didnât have to and she did it anyway, not to win, not to prove something, not to translate me, just to keep it steady. you reach the steps outside the building, the afternoon light softer now, the sky edged with early evening gray as students scatter across the quad. you stop at the top of the stairs and say, âso, iâll look over the comparative phrasing tonight,â adjusting your bag strap. he nods once and replies, âi will too.â it is not competitive. it is not defensive. it just is. there is nothing else to add, no apology, no rehashing last night, just the air between you changed in a way neither of you are naming. you start down the steps and jake turns in the opposite direction at the bottom. for half a second he almost looks back. he doesnât. you walk toward your dorm with your hands tucked into your sleeves, your thoughts quieter than they have been in days. he walks toward his with his jaw set, his mind replaying one thing over and over. she didnât hesitate.
the dorm room is loud in the way it always is at night, not chaotic and not quiet, just layered. sunghoon is half-lying across his bed with one arm behind his head and his phone balanced on his chest, scrolling with the distracted focus of someone pretending to relax. niki is sitting cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table with a controller in his hand, swearing softly at the screen every few seconds. the overhead light is off and only the desk lamp and the tv glow fill the room in uneven patches of yellow and blue. jake closes the door behind him a little harder than he means to. neither of them look up immediately. âhowâd it go?â niki asks after a second without taking his eyes off the game. âyou were there.â jake answers, dropping his bag beside his desk chair and keeping his tone even, flat, controlled. âstill, how did you feel?â niki shrugs. âfine.â jakeâs tone is steady. sunghoon shifts slightly and glances over at him. âpreview done?â sunghoon asks. âyeahâ jake replies without elaborating as he pulls his laptop out of his bag and sets it on the desk without opening it. he does not need to check the slides again. he knows them. he knows every line. he just stands there for a moment longer than necessary. niki snorts at something on the screen and says, âshe jumped inâ jakeâs shoulders tighten almost imperceptibly as he replies automatically, still facing his desk, âshe didnât jump in.â niki pauses the game and looks over. âshe did,â niki says casually. âmid-comparison.â jake exhales through his nose. âit was a transition.â sunghoon lifts an eyebrow slightly. âyou lost the bridge.â jake turns around at that and leans back against the edge of his desk. âi didnât lose it,â he says, a little sharper than he intends. âi skipped it.â - âsame differenceâ niki shrugs. âitâs not.â jake answers too fast. niki studies him for a second and sets the controller down on the table. ârelax,â niki says. âit wasnât a big deal.â jake does not answer because that is the problem. it was not a big deal. no one noticed. the professor did not blink. the class did not react. he didnât even think niki would notice. and yet... sunghoon shifts upright now, more attentive. âyou didnât look pissed, you looked relieved,â sunghoon says calmly. jakeâs jaw tightens. âi wasnât.â- âyou wereâ niki replies lightly, not mocking, just stating. jake pushes off the desk and moves toward the small kitchenette area, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge even though he is not thirsty. âyouâre reading into itâ he says as he unscrews the cap. âno,â sunghoon says evenly. âweâre not.â jake takes a sip he does not need and can feel the shape of that half-second in his chest even now, the slide flipping too early, the breath catching, the split-second where he thought not now. he swallows and screws the cap back on. âit was fineâ he says. niki leans back on his hands. âweâre not saying it wasnât.â jakeâs fingers tighten slightly around the bottle. âshe didnât make it obvious,â sunghoon adds. that lands. jakeâs gaze flicks up for a second. no one in the room is smiling. no one is teasing. they are just observing. âshe doesnât usually hold backâ niki says. jake lets out a quiet scoff. âshe just- she didnât hold back.â- âshe did,â sunghoon replies, voice steady. âyou know she did.â there is a pause. jake feels irritation flare up, quick and sharp. âyouâre making it sound like i needed saving.â no one answers immediately and that silence is worse. niki shrugs slightly. âyou didnât look mad,â he says. âthatâs all weâre saying.â jake feels his stomach drop in a way that has nothing to do with embarrassment. he runs a hand through his hair and pushes it back harder than necessary. âbecause i wasnât.â - âexactly.â sunghoon says. jakeâs eyes narrow slightly. âwhatâs that supposed to mean?â- âit means,â sunghoon replies calmly, âyou donât usually let stuff slide.â jakeâs mind jumps automatically to defense. âit wasnât worth fighting.â- Â âor,â niki says, âyou didnât want to.â jake feels something shift under that and does not respond immediately.
he crosses the room and sits down on the edge of his bed instead, elbows resting on his knees while the tv light flickers across his hands. âiâm not competing with her right nowâ he says finally, the words feeling strange in his mouth. niki raises an eyebrow. âthatâs new.â jakeâs jaw tightens again. âweâre working together.â - âyouâve been working together all semester,â sunghoon says. that is not the same jake wants to say. before it was tension. before it was edge. before it was something sharp that kept him alert. but now he does not finish the thought. niki picks the controller back up but does not unpause the game. âyouâre not mad she helpedâŚâ he says again, quieter this time. jakeâs head lifts. âthatâs not-â he stops because he is not and that realization annoys him more than if he were. he looks down at his hands as the memory flashes in his mind without permission, the way her voice cut in steady and smooth, âbuilding on what jake just explainedâŚâ not correcting, continuing. he felt the panic ease immediately. he did not have to recover alone. he shakes the thought away. âit doesnât matterâ he says. sunghoon watches him carefully. âif it didnât matter, you wouldnât be thinking about it.â jake looks up sharply. âiâm not.â - âalrightâ niki says lightly, and there is something knowing in it. the room feels smaller suddenly, the air heavier. jake pushes himself upright. âiâm going outâ he says. niki glances at the clock. ânow?â - âyeah.â sunghoon does not argue. he just nods once. âdonât overthink itâ sunghoon says casually. jake huffs a quiet breath that is not quite a laugh. âiâm not.â but the moment he steps into the hallway and the dorm room door clicks shut behind him, the noise drops away and the quiet is louder than it should be.
he walks without a destination at first, down the stairs and out the front door. the night air is cooler than he expected and it hits his face and sharpens everything. he shoves his hands into his pockets. she didnât make it obvious. she didnât hesitate. he exhales slowly. she likes control. thatâs all. thatâs why she did it. not because she- but she did not look at me when she did it. she did not frame it like a correction. she did not make it about her. she just stood beside me. he feels the edge of something uncomfortable press against his ribs and he quickens his pace. this does not mean anything. it was a presentation. it was timing. it was discipline. that word echoes in his head. discipline. structure. control. he walks faster. the campus is mostly quiet now, streetlights humming faintly overhead, the pavement damp from earlier rain and reflecting the yellow glow in broken lines. his sneakers hit the pavement in a steady rhythm, each step measured and deliberate. walking usually helps. it gives his thoughts structure, direction, momentum. tonight they refuse to line up. she didnât make it obvious. the sentence keeps circling. he exhales through his nose and adjusts his pace, faster now, like speed might outrun it. it was a presentation. people interrupt. transitions get skipped. it happens. he has done worse before and recovered cleaner. this was not even a mistake. it was a minor slip. the professor did not react. the class did not react. it was fine. he repeats it internally, controlled, like he is rewriting a narrative. it was fine. but his chest tightens anyway because he remembers the half-second, the slide shifting too early, the silence microscopic but there, the split-second thought that hit before he could stop it. not now. he had felt it, the edge of exposure, the possibility of looking sloppy, of looking unprepared, of looking second. his jaw tightens at the memory. and then your voice, steady. âbuilding on what jake just explainedâŚâ he slows slightly without realizing it. she did not rush. she did not sound sharp. she did not emphasize the correction. she did not even look at me. she just continued. he replays the moment again. the panic had eased instantly, not vanished but softened. he had not had to fight the room back. he had not had to reclaim control aggressively. she had adjusted the rhythm and given it back to me. his steps falter slightly before he corrects them. that does not mean anything. it was teamwork. we are partners. of course she stepped in. he clenches his jaw. she always steps in. she is competitive. she likes control. that is all. but something about that explanation feels thinner now because you did not look competitive. you did not look satisfied. you did not look like you had scored a point. she just looked steady. he hates that word. steady implies intention.
he reaches the edge of the quad and slows, hands deep in his jacket pockets now, the pavement damp from earlier rain and reflecting the yellow streetlight in broken streaks. he tells himself this is distraction. he has been off since the ranking dropped, since the stupid decimal shift. that is what this is. pressure. nothing else. but the ranking does not explain the relief. that is the problem. he had felt it, clear and undeniable. relief. not embarrassment. not anger. relief. his breathing shifts again. he stops walking for a second, staring out across the empty lawn. relief means he did not want to fight it alone. relief means- he cuts the thought off. no. it just means she timed it well. it means she is good at reading the room. it means she is strategic. he nods once to himself like that settles it. then why did it feel different? the question lands without permission and he does not like it because it did not feel like strategy. it felt- he swallows and does not finish the word. he pushes off again, walking faster. he is overthinking. niki got into his head. that is all. âyou looked relieved.â he huffs under his breath. he was not relieved. he was just- he does not have a clean word for it. the memory shifts slightly in his mind, your hand moving toward the clicker, your tone steady, the way you did not frame it as correction, the way you did not soften it either. she treated it like it was normal, like i was still in control. he slows again because that is the part that does not fit. you did not translate him. you did not fix him. you did not protect him loudly. she adjusted beside me. he exhales slowly, his breath visible in the cool air. that should not matter. but it does, and he does not know why. he stands there for a second too long, staring at nothing. something shifted, and he does not like that he cannot name it. he pushes himself back into motion again, jaw tight. it does not mean anything. it was just a presentation. but the thought follows him anyway, stubborn and quiet. it felt better standing beside her. it follows him like it has weight, like it is something physical he cannot shake off, and he hates that immediately.
jake keeps walking anyway because walking is what he does when something does not fit, because movement makes things make sense, because movement turns chaos into sequence. but the thought does not fall into sequence and does not belong to any category he trusts. it was one preview. a half-second slip. he recovered. it was fine. so why is it still in his chest? he exhales through his nose, jaw tightening, and forces his pace faster across the damp pavement while the streetlights above hum faintly, their glow breaking into reflected fragments on the wet ground. a couple of students cross the quad in the distance laughing about something that has nothing to do with him, and he does not listen because he does not need to, their voices fading behind him like static. he tries to dismiss it again. jake digs his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and keeps walking as if the pressure of fabric against his knuckles will anchor him. he can still feel the plastic remote in his palm even though it is not there anymore. he can still feel the moment the slide flipped too early, the flicker of light across his face, the micro-pause that only he and you would have noticed, and only you did notice. that is part of it. it hits him again, sharp and inconvenient: she noticed. he does not like that his brain uses you like that, like it is automatic now, like your existence is a reference point in his head, and he pushes it away. of course she noticed, she always notices, she always tracks, she always pays attention to details other people miss, and that is what makes her good, what makes her annoying, what makes her dangerous.
his pace slows without him meaning it to and he corrects it immediately, walking faster again, because he hates losing control of his own body and hates the way his thoughts are dragging him sideways. it was not the normal satisfaction of a clean recovery. it was not even about being right. it had been something else, and he hates that he cannot name it. he reaches the edge of the quad and slows near the steps, staring out across the open grass, the campus at night looking almost staged like it was designed to feel calm, path lamps glowing at regular intervals, trees swaying lightly in the wind, air smelling faintly like rain and cold stone. he stands still for a second too long. something shifted, and he does not like that he cannot name it. he pushes himself back into motion again, jaw tight. it does not mean anything. it was just a presentation. but the thought follows him anyway, stubborn and quiet. it felt better standing beside her. his mind flicks to the ranking board without his permission. midterm day. the decimal. down by one. yours up. he remembers the heat in his neck - and the way you werenât smiling. you werenât celebrating. you were watching him. jake remembers walking up like it did not matter. he told himself it didnât matter. one decimal. a stupid fucking decimal. yours up. his down. and you werenât smiling. you were watching him. you were not celebrating his slip. you were just looking at him differently. not smug, not victorious. softer. but he hated it. hated it because it felt like pity. hated it because pity is for people who lose. hated it because he could not afford to be someone who loses. he had played it off, joked, smiled, acted like the decimal did not matter, but he had felt it like a bruise. and then later, when the campu had emptied, when the noise had faded, when it was just him and you and the air between you still carrying that weird tension, he had done something he still could not explain. he had not meant to- except he had. and that contradiction is the part that makes his stomach tighten now. he had leaned in. he had closed the space. he remembers the moment with brutal clarity, not because it was romantic but because it was the first time in a long time he did something without running it through strategy first. he leaned in. he could have stopped. he didnât. no hesitation. no strategy. it didnât feel like rivalry. it felt inevitable. the word lands in his head again and he hates it. inevitable implies a pattern. inevitable implies it started earlier. inevitable implies he did not choose it, except he did.
he stands still again near a lamppost staring down at the wet ground, his reflection broken in the puddles into pieces distorted by light, and he flexes his fingers inside his pockets like he is trying to wake them up. he is not supposed to feel inevitable about anything except success. he moves again, taking the long path around the quad as if distance will untangle his thoughts. arcade night flashes next, not the games or the laughter or the noise but the walk back, the way the air cooled after the arcade heat, the way the night felt quieter than it should have been with so many people around, the way you kept glancing at him like you were checking something you did not want to admit you were checking. then the door closing. the shift. the quiet that fell like a heavy blanket. he remembers the dorm hallway light harsh and yellow, the way his pulse was too fast, the way his head felt slightly fogged, the way he kept telling himself it was just alcohol, just tension, just the night, and then the feeling that followed, not drunk chaos, not blurred impulse, deliberate. that word again. deliberate is worse than inevitable because deliberate implies choice. he remembers how close it got and does not let his mind linger on physical details. your breath changing, his hand not pulling away, you not pulling away, the moment where everything could have stopped and did not. not because you could not, but because neither of you wanted to. he swallows, throat tight, and turns his head sharply like he can shake the memory out physically, walking faster now, the rhythm of his steps turning almost aggressive. he does not like that those memories do not feel messy. he does not like that they feel chosen. chosen means he let you in. chosen means he lost control. chosen means he wanted something that was not strategic. he hates that the thought makes him feel exposed even though no one is here. the campus path curves toward the library, the building dark except for a few lit windows on the lower floor, probably students studying late, silhouettes moving inside, and he feels a familiar tightening in his chest. an old pressure that has always driven him. be exceptional. donât be second. donât let anyone see you struggle. and that pressure is comforting because it is predictable. but now another thread is weaving into it, something he did not ask for. you. he thinks about your face during the preview presentation, the way you did not look at him before you spoke, the way you did not soften your voice, the way you did not announce that you were helping, and the way you did not even make it about him. you just continued.
he cannot stop replaying the way the relief hit his body before his brain could argue it away. he can still feel it, the tension in his shoulders loosening, the breath coming easier, the rhythm returning. and relief is a word he hates because relief implies need, need implies weakness, weakness implies second place. he stops again near the steps of the library and stares at the railing like it has answers, hearing his own breathing, the faint buzz of the streetlights, a distant door opening somewhere and then closing. proximity. that is all. you are working together, of course it feels different. it is stress, midterms, rankings, the project, it is tension, rivalry turning sideways. it is habit. iâm is used to her being there. used to pushing against her. but the explanations do not stick and slide off the truth like water off glass, because if it were just rivalry, relief would not feel like safety. because if it were just tension, it would not feel steady. because if it were just ego, he would not care that you stepped in without making him look weak. the problem is not that you helped. the problem is that he wanted you to. that thought lands and it does not land softly, it lands like a weight. he does not move, not even a step, not even a shift of his shoulders. his hands stay in his pockets, his jaw locks, his breathing slows, not because he is calming down but because his body has gone into a weird still mode where it is bracing for impact. he waits for a counterargument, waits for the defensive voice that always shows up with a clean answer. and nothing comes, because his brain is running images without permission now. not explicit and not romantic. just devastatingly simple. you not smiling when he dropped that decimal. you watching him instead of celebrating. you stepping in during the preview. you walking away after he snapped. not because you did not care, but because he made it impossible to stay close without getting cut. he has been telling himself you pulled back because you regretted something. telling himself you froze because you did not want it, telling himself your distance was rejection. but what if it was self-protection? what if she withdrew because i hurt her? what if she did not hesitate today because she never hesitated about me in the first place? his chest tightens again, not with panic exactly but with fear. because if that is true then he has been wrong. and if you werenât his enemy, then who was he fighting? he stands there still as the thoughts stack up like blocks he cannot rearrange. i donât want to beat her. the sentence forms slowly in his head and it feels like it breaks something just by existing. i donât want to beat you. i wants you beside me. that is worse- because wanting someone beside him implies partnership, partnership implies trust, trust implies vulnerability, vulnerability implies losing control. he swallows again but his throat stays tight. i donât want to lose her. the thought comes next, sudden and blunt. like it was not filtered through his ego at all. he goes even stiller as if that is possible, his brain stalling. why? the word is almost angry. it canât be-
shit.
he exhales slowly, breath fogging in the cold air, and stares out across the empty quad again, path lights humming, grass dark, the campus a still image. for the first time since freshman year he is not thinking about rankings, not thinking about decimals, not thinking about being first. he is thinking about you walking away. and that possibility, quiet and simple and not dramatic, feels worse than losing. he does not move. he does not reach for his phone. he does not text. he does not call. he does not fix it. he just stands there in the middle of the night with the streetlights humming overhead and the awareness sitting in his chest like something irreversible.
the campus looks ordinary in the morning light, students moving between buildings in loose clusters with coffee cups and backpacks and low conversation, everything predictable, structured, familiar. you spot him at the long wooden table outside the economics building before he sees you, already there with his laptop open, notes spread beside it, a pen balanced neatly across the margin of a printed draft. you slow down slightly without meaning to and approach. he glances up when your bag touches the bench. âmorningâ he says, without a smirk, without a dry remark about punctuality. âmorningâ you reply, and your eyes drift to the screen automatically. slide 14. you pause. âthatâs differentâ you say. he nods once. âyeahâ he answers, offering no explanation, and when you wait he turns the laptop slightly toward you. âi adjusted the transition after the model comparison.â he says, just that, no performance, no claim of credit, no subtle implication that he caught something you didnât. you blink. âyou adjusted it?â you ask. âit was clunky,â he says simply. âthe shift into limitations felt abrupt.â you stare at the new wording. he split the bridge into two steps, tightened the language, removed one of your longer sentences. it reads better. you hate that it reads better. âyou didnât have toâ you tell him. he shrugs lightly. âit flows cleaner this wayâ he replies, no edge, no satisfaction. you sit down slowly, aware of the strange absence in the air, like a missing note in a chord youâve gotten used to hearing, and you open your laptop. ârun it from the top?â you ask. he nods. you begin with your section, moving through the regression framing controlled and precise, leaving space deliberately in your explanation, a minor phrasing vulnerability, a statistic that could be challenged if someone wanted to. he usually would. you reach the end of the segment. silence. you glance up. heâs listening, chin resting lightly against his knuckles, eyes steady, not calculating, not waiting to interject. âthatâs it?â you ask before you can stop yourself. he tilts his head slightly. âyeah?â he says. âyouâre not going to push back?â you press. a small pause. âif i disagree, i willâ he answers, no sarcasm in it. you feel your shoulders tense. âthatâs not what i meantâ you say. he studies you for half a second longer than necessary. âi know,â he replies, then gestures toward the next slide. âcontinue.â you do, but your rhythm is off, prepared for interruption, for debate, for the sharp back-and-forth thatâs become instinct. without it your words feel slightly unanchored. you finish again. he nods once. âgoodâ he says. you stare at him. âthatâs all?â you ask. âdo you want me to argue?â he asks, no challenge in his tone, just a question. you hesitate. ânoâ you answer. he accepts that immediately and leans forward to adjust the font size on one of your bullet points. âitâll read better from the backâ he says, his hand hovering over your section not possessive, not dismissive, just precise. you watch him make the change. he doesnât narrate it, doesnât draw attention, doesnât look at you afterward for approval. he just continues. âyou want to run the q&a simulation?â he asks. âyesâ you reply. you switch roles. he presents now, structured, controlled, smooth. when he reaches the variance explanation you instinctively lean forward, ready to cut in, ready to refine his wording before it slips. it doesnât. he tightens the phrasing himself. you blink. he finishes the segment. âthoughts?â he asks. you open your mouth automatically, almost say something sharp out of habit, but instead you say, âitâs clear.â he nods once, polite grin, no subtle victory, no teasing comment about how generous that was of you, and he just clicks to the next slide. the air feels strangely neutral, not hostile, not warm, just even. you didnât realize how much the friction structured things until it disappeared.
you try again. âin the second example,â you say carefully, âyouâre assuming the panel will accept the sampling frame without challenge.â he considers that. âthey wonât,â he replies. âbut iâm not going to escalate it unless they do first.â you blink. âyouâre not?â you ask. âno,â he answers and folds his hands loosely in front of him. âitâs cleaner if we donât force the tensionâ he says, and the sentence sits between you. cleaner. you donât know why that word unsettles you. youâve always associated him with controlled chaos, sharp improvisation, strategic provocation. now he sounds deliberate, measured. something shifts under your ribs, not panic, not irritation, just displacement. the rivalry had a rhythm. push. counter. refine. correct. you knew your place in that rhythm. if he steps out of it, youâre not sure where you stand. ârun it again.â you say a little too quickly. he nods. this time you listen more than you speak, tracking his phrasing, his tone, the way he transitions between sections. thereâs no defensiveness in his voice, no subtle competitiveness woven into his inflection. he doesnât perform the debate. he performs the work. you notice the small things: he references your model without framing it as separate from his, he says âour projectionâ instead of âyour estimate,â he adjusts one of his own sentences mid-delivery when it sounds too sharp. you didnât even ask him to. he just does. and when he finishes, he closes the laptop halfway. âthat was solidâ he says. you stare at him. âyouâre so calmâ you observe. a beat passes. âwhy wouldnât i be?â he replies. heâs right, why wouldnât heâ itâs not like he had the biggest breakdown since ever last night.
students pass behind you, someone laughs too loudly, a door slams somewhere in the building, the world continuing. you look at him again, trying to locate the edge youâre used to. itâs not gone. itâs just quieter. you fold your arms lightly. âwhy are you not trying to win this rehearsal?â you ask. he meets your eyes evenly. âiâm just trying to get it right.â he answers immediately, uncomplicated. you donât know what to do with that. you look away first. he doesnât. you feel it, the absence of competition as pressure, not dramatic, not loud, just different. you close your laptop slowly. âsame time tomorrow?â you ask. âyeah, sureâ he replies. he gathers his notes, stacks them neatly, and slides them back into his bag without flourish, without careless stuffing. youâre still holding your laptop half-open when footsteps cut across the concrete behind you, too fast and too coordinated to be random, and you already know itâs going to be someone you canât ignore. jayâs voice hits first, bright and shameless. âoh my god,â jay says as he, jungwon and kazuha slow down beside the table, âlook at you two. studying in daylight. i feel like iâm interrupting a very serious documentary.â you blink once and set your laptop lid down a little harder than necessary because you were about to leave and now youâre not. and you hate that the timing makes you look like you were lingering. jake doesnât seem bothered, which is worse. he just shifts his bag strap onto his shoulder and looks up at jay with the expression he uses when someone is talking too much and heâs deciding whether itâs worth responding. âweâre doneâ jake says evenly, and thereâs no bite in it. jay grins like thatâs an invitation. âyeah, sureâ jay replies, dragging the word out as he drops into the seat opposite you anyway. jungwon doesnât sit, but he leans against the edge of the table with his hands in his pockets, scanning the open screen like heâs clocking the slide deck without meaning to, while kazuha sets her bag down on the bench with a quiet thud, polite but unapologetic, as if this table has always been communal property. you shift your weight slightly, adjusting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder, and you can feel how your body is already preparing for the old rhythm. someone jokes. jake deflects. you sharpen. he counters.
the conversation snaps into place like a familiar mechanism. jayâs eyes flick from you to jake and back with exaggerated curiosity. âso,â jay says, tapping the table once, âare you guys in a truce era or are we still doing the whole academic enemies thing because i miss the tension. it was entertaining.â heat rises faintly up your neck at the word tension, not because itâs new but because itâs not accurate anymore, not in the way people mean when they say it. you keep your face neutral and say, âweâre just workingâ because thatâs safe and factual and boring enough to end the subject. jake doesnât contradict you, which is the first sign something is off in a way you donât have language for. he just reaches down and nudges his bag with his foot, pushing it closer to the bench like heâs anchoring it. jungwon tilts his head and asks, âpreview went fine?â and you open your mouth to answer out of habit, but jake answers first, calm and concise. âit was fineâ jake says, and itâs not dismissive. itâs not cocky. itâs just a statement. jay makes a face like heâs offended by how uninteresting that is. âjake saying âfineâ is terrifying,â jay says, pointing at him like heâs presenting evidence, âbecause that means heâs either lying or about to win something.â you expect jake to smirk or toss something sharp back, because thatâs what he usually does when jay turns him into a caricature, but jake only lifts one shoulder in a small shrug. âweâre not winning,â jake says. âweâre presenting.â the words are mild, but they land with an odd firmness, and you watch jay blink like heâs recalibrating.
kazuha slides into the seat beside jay, crossing one leg over the other, and looks at you with a small smile. âyou look tired,â kazuha observes lightly, like itâs casual and not a diagnosis. you hate that sheâs right, and you hate that your first instinct is to deny it, so instead you adjust your grip on your bag strap and say, âiâm fineâ because thatâs what you always say when you donât want to explain anything. jay makes a sympathetic noise thatâs mostly fake. âweâre all fine,â jay says dramatically, âweâre just slowly dying inside as midterms approach again.â you feel jakeâs gaze flick toward jay for half a second at the mention of midterms, then away, so fast you almost miss it, and you donât know why that tiny movement sticks in your mind. jayâs eyes drop to jakeâs bag, then to the corner of the printed draft peeking out of it, then back to jakeâs face with obvious delight. âwait,â jay says, leaning forward, âhold on. jake has paper.â he says it like heâs caught a rare animal in the wild. âjake has printed paper.â jungwon lets out a quiet laugh through his nose, and kazuhaâs eyebrows lift. jay turns his head toward you like youâre supposed to confirm it. âhe doesnât even look like he studies,â jay declares, voice loud enough that a couple of passing students glance over, âhe just shows up and wins. itâs sick.â you glance at jake automatically, expecting him to laugh it off, to smooth it over, to keep the persona intact. jake doesnât laugh. jake doesnât even smile. he just says, âi do jay.â three words. flat. final. itâs not defensive the way it would be if he said it too quickly. itâs not performative either. he says it like itâs a fact that doesnât require debate, like heâs done pretending the myth is convenient.
the silence that follows is small but real. jayâs grin falters just enough to show surprise, and jungwonâs gaze sharpens with quiet interest like heâs watching a crack form in glass. your fingers tighten around your bag strap, then loosen when you realize youâre gripping it too hard. jay recovers first, because jay always does, and he laughs. âokay, damn,â jay says, âsorry, didnât know i was touching a nerve.â jakeâs eyes stay on jay, steady and unamused, but not hostile. âyou werenâtâ jake replies, and something about the calmness of it makes the air feel different. you swallow, your throat suddenly dry, and you canât decide if the discomfort is because jake just corrected the narrative out loud or because a part of you feels exposed, like your old assumptions are standing in the sunlight. more footsteps approach, familiar and quick, and you donât have to turn to know who it is because nikiâs voice carries like he was built for interruptions. âwhy do you look like someone just insulted your entire bloodline?â niki asks as he drifts toward the table, and sunghoon follows half a step behind him, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable in the way that means heâs clocking everything. nikiâs eyes flick over the group, then land on jake, and his mouth twists into a grin. âwhatâs up man-â niki says, dragging the word out. jay points at jake like heâs proud. âi said he doesnât look like he studies,â jay admits, âbecause itâs true.â nikiâs grin widens, but thereâs something sharper under it than joke, like heâs enjoying the chance to poke at the myth because he knows exactly how false it is. âyou should see him during midterms,â niki says, tone teasing but edged, as he drops into the chair closest to jake like he owns the place, âman goes ghost.â he says it like itâs funny, like itâs casual, like itâs not also a confession that jakeâs calm is curated. jay laughs too loudly. âghost?â jay repeats. âjake?â niki nods like heâs confirming a fact everyone should already know. âyeah,â niki says, glancing at you briefly and then back to jake, âlike youâll text him and heâll reply three business days later with one word, and then youâll realize heâs been in the library basement pretending he doesnât need oxygen.â sunghoon makes a quiet sound that could be agreement or warning, then adds, âhe forgets food exists,â in that same calm voice he uses when heâs stating something obvious, and you feel your chest tighten again because theyâre saying it like a joke, but jake isnât smiling, and neither are you. jake exhales slowly, his gaze dropping to the table for half a second like heâs counting his reactions. he doesnât deny it. he doesnât deflect it. he doesnât snap at niki to shut up. he just says, âyouâre exaggeratingâ and itâs the closest thing to a protest he offers. nikiâs eyes brighten like heâs been given permission to push. âam i?â niki asks innocently, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and sunghoonâs gaze flicks to jake in a silent check-in. jakeâs jaw tightens once, barely, then relaxes.
âweâre leavingâ jake says again, not to the group but to the situation, and itâs not angry. itâs controlled. itâs him trying to reclaim the exit he was going to have before jay arrived. you shift again, adjusting your stance like youâre preparing to follow him, and you realize with a jolt that youâve been aligning yourself with him instinctively, physically, without deciding to. your stomach twists at the realization, and you force your expression back into neutral. jay is still grinning, oblivious to the subtle tension because heâs not the one living inside it. âwait,â jay says, âso youâre telling me jake is actually human?â niki laughs. âbarely,â niki answers, and sunghoonâs mouth twitches like he almost smiles. kazuha looks at jake with softer curiosity now, like sheâs seeing him from a new angle. âyou really study?â kazuha asks, and itâs not mocking, itâs just genuinely surprised. jake meets her gaze briefly. âyes,â jake says, and then, because he doesnât seem to know what to do with that kind of attention, he adds, âi just donât like to talk about it.â the sentence is plain, but it lands harder than anything else heâs said today, and you feel it hit somewhere low in your chest like a weight shifting. you remember the times he disappeared during midterms. the gaps where he wasnât at group meetups. the way he always showed up afterward looking normal again, like heâd simply been out having fun. you remember how easy it was to assume the reason for his absence was comfort. privilege. safety. a faint sting settles behind your ribs. jay misses the complexity and barrels forward. âokay,â jay says, âbut like you still make it look easy.â nikiâs grin fades slightly, not fully, but enough that you notice the shift. âlooking easy doesnât mean it isâ niki says, still casual, still teasing, but the edge is sharper now, like heâs warning jay without turning it into a confrontation. sunghoon doesnât say anything, but his gaze holds steady on jay for a second too long, and jay finally lifts his hands like heâs backing off. âalright, alright,â jay says, laughing, âi get it, you guys are sensitive about your golden boy.â jakeâs eyes flick up at that, quick and cold, and for a second you see the edge you were trying to locate earlier, the one you know. itâs there. itâs just been kept on a leash today. he doesnât snap, though.
he just slings his bag higher on his shoulder and says, âokay, weâre done.â like heâs closing the conversation with the same precision he stacks paper. you should feel relief, but you donât. your mind keeps snagging on the same points. jake is not effortless. jake is not careless. jake is not coasting. jake is private. privacy doesnât fit neatly into your rivalry logic. you can compete with arrogance. you can compete with talent. you can compete with ego. but you canât compete with someone you donât fully understand. and the thought unsettles you more than it should. niki stands and stretches, bumping jakeâs shoulder lightly with his own as niki passes. âdonât forget to eatâ niki says, half-joking, and jakeâs mouth tightens like heâs refusing to react to the softness hidden inside the tease. âi will.â jake replies, and you donât know if he means it, but you do know he didnât roll his eyes. he didnât joke. he didnât brush it off. he just accepted it. jungwon checks his phone and says, âweâre grabbing coffee,â and kazuha nods, already pulling her bag strap up. jay points at you. âyou coming?â he asks. you open your mouth to say you have class because you always have an excuse ready, because leaving is easier than sitting in discomfort, but you hesitate, and the hesitation is physical before itâs mental. your fingers shift on your bag strap. your weight rocks back on your heels. âi have classâ you say finally, because itâs true and because you need the escape. jay groans dramatically and waves you off. âof course you doâ he says, already turning away as the group begins to drift. kazuha gives you a small smile and jungwon nods once, and then theyâre walking off, their conversation fading into normal campus noise like nothing happened. but something did.
the table feels emptier even though you and jake are still standing there. you look down at the closed lid of your laptop like it can give you structure, like it can give you the familiar certainty you like living inside. jake doesnât move right away. he adjusts the strap on his bag again, fingers tightening once on the fabric, then releasing. you watch the motion and realize youâre tracking him the way you track data points, like youâre trying to find a pattern that explains him cleanly. you hate that your first instinct is to soften toward him. not in a romantic way. not in a sweet way. in a pity-adjacent way you donât trust, because pity is a trap. pity changes the power dynamic. pity makes you careless. pity makes you misread people. and yet the idea of him going ghost during midterms, of him disappearing not because he doesnât care but because he cares too much, presses uncomfortably against your old assumptions, and a quiet heat rises behind your eyes like irritation that has nowhere to go. you clear your throat, not because you need to but because you need sound. jake glances at you. âwhat?â he asks, neutral. you almost say, ânothing.â you almost say, you couldâve told people. you almost say, i didnât know. instead you say the safest thing you can find. âare you really going to eat?â a beat passes. then jakeâs mouth twitches, almost a smile, but it doesnât fully form. âyes,â jake replies, his tone still calm but much softer at the edges. âiâm not trying to die before presentation day.â you huff a quiet breath that could count as a laugh if you let it. âgood,â you say. jake studies you for half a second, like heâs trying to read why you said it that way, and you feel that familiar pressure building in your chest. the pressure of being seen not as a competitor but as a person who cares enough to ask. he looks away first, as if he doesnât want to sit in that recognition. âsame time tomorrow?â jake says, not a question. âyeahâ you answer. he starts to walk, then slows, matching your pace without commenting on it, and you hate how natural it feels for your steps to align. you walk toward the building together, not touching, not close enough for anyone to comment, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him when the wind shifts. jake stops at the entrance of your lecture hall and nods once. âsee youâ he says. âyeahâ you reply. you turn toward the door, and you feel his gaze on your back for a second longer than necessary, not intense, not possessive, just present. you donât look back. you tell yourself you donât need to. but your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag anyway as you walk inside. you thought he was effortless. now youâre not sure what he is. but you know this in a way you donât like admitting. itâs harder to compete with someone you canât reduce. itâs harder to feel victorious when you start noticing what it costs them.
the week before midterms always does something to campus, like the air gets thinner and everyone pretends theyâre fine while quietly unraveling. you tell yourself youâre not going to a party. you tell yourself you have too much to do, too much to lose, too many reasons to stay in your dorm with a highlighter and a spreadsheet. you tell yourself you donât need loud music and sweaty rooms and cheap alcohol to cope with pressure. you tell yourself all of that right up until eunchae is standing in your doorway with her arms crossed and a look that says sheâs not leaving until you move. âyouâre coming,â eunchae says, and she says it like itâs a fact, not a suggestion, while chaewon leans against the wall behind her with that calm, unimpressed expression she gets when sheâs already planned your entire evening for you. sakura is sitting on the edge of your bed scrolling through her phone like she owns your room, and yunjin is already halfway into a jacket, grinning like sheâs about to have the fun of her semester. kazuha, quietly lethal as always, offers you a hair tie like sheâs bribing you into compliance. âyouâve been staring at the same page for an hourâ chaewon points out, and her tone is too gentle to argue with. âthatâs called focusâ you reply automatically, but eunchae cuts in immediately, rolling her eyes. âthatâs called spiralingâ eunchae says, and she doesnât even sound mean, just certain, like sheâs observed you long enough to know the difference. you open your mouth to protest again, but yunjin steps closer and bumps your shoulder with hers, warm and insistent. âitâs one night,â yunjin says, and her grin turns softer for half a second. âyouâre not gonna lose your scholarship because you danced for forty-five minutes.â sakura looks up and adds, âalso, weâre not letting you sit here and stress-cry aloneâ and the fact that she says it so casually makes your stomach tighten. like youâve been caught doing something you didnât want anyone to name. you hate that it lands, and you hate that theyâre right, and you hate that your chest loosens a fraction anyway like your bodyâs already giving in before your pride does, so you stand up with a sharp exhale and grab your jacket, muttering, âif i fail my midterm because of you, iâm haunting all of you.â eunchae beams like sheâs won something. âdeal.â eunchae says, already turning toward the hallway, and kazuha slips her arm through yours in a quiet, grounding way that makes you feel less like youâre being dragged and more like youâre being escorted.
the party is on campus, in one of those apartments that somehow always ends up being the center of whatever social event happens before everyone collapses into exam mode. you can hear it before you even reach the door, bass vibrating through the walls like a heartbeat that doesnât belong to you. the hallway smells like perfume, cheap cologne and something sugary. someone you donât recognize stumbles past laughing too loudly, nearly knocking into you until sakura shifts smoothly and blocks you with her shoulder like sheâs been doing this her whole life. âbreathe, itâll be fun.â kazuha murmurs near your ear, and you do, because her voice is calm enough to make your nervous system listen even when your brain doesnât want to. eunchae knocks once and then doesnât wait, pushing the door open with the confidence of someone who has never questioned whether she belongs somewhere. warm air rushes out immediately, heavy with sweat, alcohol and heat from too many bodies in one space, and the sound hits you like a wall: music, laughter, someone yelling over the song, glass clinking somewhere in the kitchen. chaewon steps in first like sheâs unbothered, sakura follows with a smile thatâs too practiced, yunjin looks delighted, and you hover half a step behind them for a second longer than you should, because you already want to leave and you havenât even fully entered. eunchae turns back and catches your wrist lightly, tugging you in with a grin. âwelcome back to being a personâ eunchae says, and it makes your face heat because you donât know whether to laugh or be annoyed, so you do neither and let her pull you inside.
you clock the room fast because thatâs what you do when youâre uncomfortable: you inventory. a cluster of people near the couch, someone perched on the armrest with a red cup, a couple making out in the corner like they forgot walls exist, a line forming toward the kitchen where the drinks are. you recognize heeseung immediately because heâs tall and loud and somehow always looks like heâs having the best time even when heâs doing nothing. heâs leaning near the counter with a grin while sunoo stands beside him, laughing with his whole face like the world isnât currently built to stress him out. jungwon is there too, shoulders relaxed, eyes sharp like heâs watching everything at once, and jay is mid-story, hands moving dramatically as he talks, the kind of person who can turn midterm dread into a joke if he tries hard enough. then you see niki, and heâs already got that gleam in his eye that means heâs about to cause problems purely for entertainment, and heâs standing in a loose circle near the kitchen island like heâs holding court. and then jake is there. you spot him before you can pretend you didnât. heâs leaning against the edge of the counter like he belongs there. one hand holding a shot glass, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly messier than usual like he didnât bother making it perfect. the light in the kitchen makes everything look warmer than it should, and it catches the line of his jaw when he tilts his head back to laugh at something heeseung says. he looks easy. he always looks easy. thatâs what makes him infuriating, and itâs what makes a part of you go tight with something you refuse to name. heeseung nudges him with his elbow and says something you canât hear over the music, and jakeâs mouth curves into that lazy, controlled grin that used to feel like a weapon when it was aimed at you in class. niki lifts his shot glass like heâs toasting the concept of poor choices, and jake mirrors him without hesitation, like the motion is automatic. heeseung claps his hands once and calls out, âokay, okay, pre-midterm therapy shotsâ and his voice cuts through the noise just enough to carry. jake tips his head slightly and says something back with a calm confidence you canât hear, and the fact that you canât hear it makes you want to move closer. listen. and also makes you want to turn around and leave immediately.
eunchae notices your stillness because eunchae notices everything, and she leans in close enough that her hair brushes your cheek. âdonât,â eunchae says softly, and she doesnât even have to specify what she means, because you know. donât glare. donât overthink. donât turn this into a war in your head. you swallow and force your shoulders to relax. you let kazuha tug you toward the living room like itâs no big deal, like your pulse didnât just spike. sakura says something cheerful to someone passing by, chaewon accepts a drink with a polite nod, yunjin laughs at a joke that barely registers in your ears. and you try to make yourself match their energy because you donât want to be the person who ruins the night with your tension. but your eyes flick back to the kitchen anyway, because youâre not made of stone, and because jake is still there, tipping a shot back with heeseung and niki like heâs immune to consequences. like midterms arenât going to chew everyone up next week. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks up-just briefly-and for a second you think heâs looking at you. your stomach tightens. then he turns to heeseung again like nothing happened. like he didnât just shift your entire nervous system with one glance youâre not even sure was real. and you hate that youâre standing here calculating him while pretending you came to relax.
you take a drink from the cup kazuha presses into your hand, the plastic warm from someone elseâs grip, and you tell yourself this is fine. itâs just a party. itâs just noise. itâs just one night before midterms start to swallow the campus whole. and yet, when another round of cheers erupts from the kitchen and you hear heeseung shout, âagain!â you find your gaze drifting back like it has its own gravity, because jake is laughing at him again, head tipped slightly, eyes bright, and niki is already pouring another set of shots like heâs committing to the bit. the music is louder in the kitchen. of course it is. it always is, because thatâs where the shots are, where the counters are sticky and the floor vibrates slightly from too many people shifting their weight at once. eunchae is the one who pulls you closer without asking, because she lives for this exact chaos, and chaewon follows with the calm composure of someone who can drink and still remember formulas the next morning. sakura slips into the circle smoothly, smiling at heeseung like sheâs amused before he even says anything, and yunjin is already hyping someone up about midterm âsurvival shots,â while kazuha stays half a step beside you, steady and quiet. you donât intend to end up next to jake. you just do. heeseung is laughing mid-sentence, one hand thrown over nikiâs shoulder, the other pointing dramatically at jake like heâs narrating some grand victory, and jake is leaning back against the counter with a shot glass in his hand. he looks easy. he always looks easy. it makes your jaw tighten before you can stop it.
niki finishes pouring and slides a glass toward jake. âpre-midterm cleanseâ niki declares with a grin thatâs already too sharp to be innocent. heeseung claps jake on the back. âjaeyun,â heeseung says loudly, proud and teasing at the same time, âi heard you killed that preview, dude. professor kim mentioned it in office hours. said it was âimpressive.ââ jaeyun. the word lands wrong. not for the room. the room just laughs. someone whistles. sunoo leans in with an exaggerated âof course he didâ and jake goes still, small and brief, half a second you wouldnât see if you werenât watching him. his fingers tighten around the shot glass. his jaw locks. then he says, flat and immediate, âdonât.â heeseung blinks. âwhat?â he asks, and jake doesnât smile as he tells him, âyou know i hate that.â heeseung laughs like itâs a joke. âhate what? itâs your name,â he says, and jakeâs eyes flick up for just a second, not defensive, not embarrassed, just sharp. ânot here.â jake says. the music swells again and someone shouts from the living room, and the moment almost gets swallowed whole. heeseung lifts both hands in surrender. âalright, alright. jakeâ he corrects lightly, still grinning, but youâre still watching, because that wasnât embarrassment, and it wasnât annoyance. jake lifts the shot glass and tips it back without breaking eye contact with the counter before setting it down harder than necessary, the sound clicking sharp against the granite. niki notices, of course he does, and he mutters under his breath, âdamn, touchyâ not loud enough to escalate it. because jaeyun doesnât belong here. jaeyun belongs to professors mentioning him in office hours. to expectations. to quiet admiration. to something polished and impressive and untouchable. jake belongs in kitchens that smell like tequila and lime, and the fact that he separates the two so instinctively makes something shift in you. heeseung pours another round. âokay, redemption shot for over-praising!â heeseung laughs, and jake doesnât protest as he reaches for the glass again. you step closer without meaning to and tell him, âmaybe slow downâ leaning in just enough so the music doesnât swallow your voice. jake glances at you and asks, âwhy?â and thereâs something steady about him, not sloppy, not even that tipsy yet, just a little looser than usual. you fold your arms lightly and say, âwe have rehearsal tomorrowâ and jake tilts his head slightly as he answers, âand?â you reply evenly, âand iâm not covering for you if you show up hungover.â the words are simple, but the air changes as niki goes quiet and jake doesnât look away. âi didnât ask you to.â jake says, calm and controlled, but with an edge under it, and you answer, âyou donât have to.â that lands harder because you both know what it means. you stepped in before. you adjusted. you smoothed it out. you made it seamless. jake sets the second shot down untouched this time and says, âyou donât get to manage me.â not raising his voice, not sneering, just stating it like a boundary. your jaw tightens as you reply, âiâm not managing you. iâm being realisticâ and jake asks, âabout what?â with something sharper in it now. you say, âabout the fact that this project doesnât just affect youâ while the music pulses through the cabinets and someone shouts your name from the doorway and you donât look.
jake studies you like youâre an equation heâs not sure he wants to solve and says, âof course iâll show upâ and you reply before you can stop yourself, âthatâs not what iâm worried aboutâ making his eyes narrow slightly as he asks, âthen what are you worried about?â you donât say what youâre actually thinking. you say, âthat you think this doesnât matter,â and jake lets out a quiet, humorless breath as he says, âit matters.â you tell him, âthen act like it.â and thatâs when it snaps, not loud, not explosive, just clean, as jake says low, âi donât need you to supervise me.â. you shoot back, âand i donât need you to pretend youâre invincible,â thereâs a flicker in his expression at that, not anger, something else, as he asks, âyou think this is pretending?â you donât hesitate when you tell him, âyou always try to make it look easyâ and the words hang between you.
the room stays loud around you. people laughing, someone bumping into heeseung and apologizing, yunjin dragging sakura toward the living room, chaewon saying something dry to jungwon that makes him grin, but the space between you goes quiet. jake holds your gaze and then says, very quietly, almost too quiet for the room heâs standing in, âjaeyun doesnât get to screw up.â it isnât dramatic. he doesnât look at anyone else. he doesnât elaborate. he says it like itâs obvious, like itâs fact, and you donât respond because suddenly you understand. not fully, not perfectly, but enough.
jaeyun is the version people brag about in office hours. jaeyun is the one professors mention by name. jaeyun is the golden one. jaeyun doesnât drink too much. doesnât hesitate in presentations. doesnât need help. doesnât misstep. jake does. and jake hates when the two get confused.
he picks up the untouched shot and slides it back toward niki instead. ânot that one,â jake says flatly, and niki raises an eyebrow but doesnât comment, just sliding the extra shot back toward the bottle with a little clink like heâs filing it away for later. you should step away and you should let the moment dissolve, but jake is standing there, jaw tight, gaze fixed somewhere between the counter and the floor like heâs forcing his thoughts into a straight line, and you canât not say it when you tell him, âdonât do thisâ your voice low enough that it shouldnât carry even though the way his attention snaps up makes it feel louder anyway. his eyes flick to yours as he asks, âdo what?â you fold your arms lightly because if you donât put your hands somewhere youâll fidget and if you fidget youâll look like you care too much, replying evenly, âdrink like you donât have consequences. rehersal is tomorrow.â his mouth twitches like heâs about to make a joke, but he doesnât, instead exhaling slowly through his nose and saying, âiâm not getting wastedâ and you point out, âyouâre doing shotsâ only for him to answer, âso is everyone elseâ and when you tell him, âthatâs not an argumentâ his gaze sharpens as he says, âitâs not supposed to be.â irritation flares, quick and familiar, and it would be so easy to slip into the old rhythm, but youâre not trying to win right now and youâre trying to keep tomorrow from collapsing, so you say, âjake. we have rehearsal. we have the dataset response. we have q&a framing. if you show up hungover, iâm not doing this alone.â and something flashes in his expression fast enough that anyone else would miss it, not anger but offense at the idea underneath it, as his shoulders square like heâs bracing and he says, controlled, âyouâre not doing it alone y/n.â while you lift your chin and tell him, âthen act like it.â his eyes narrow and for a second itâs like the room blurs and itâs just you and him and the edge between you that always seems to sharpen when you least expect it as he replies, âi am acting like it.â and you say, âyou were literally about to take another shotâ and he looks at the counter and back at you and says, âbecause weâre at a party,â and when you press, âand?â, he answers, calm but strained anyway, âand i can handle it.â and you say before you can stop yourself, âi donât care about that.â he pauses, a small, dangerous pause, and then asks too evenly, âwhat is it about then?â you donât answer immediately because the truth sitting behind your teeth is messy. because you saw him flinch when heeseung said jaeyun. you saw him go still like someone had grabbed him by the throat with expectations. you donât know what to do with the fact that it made you want to step closer instead of away, so you pick the cleanest version and say, âitâs about tomorrow. iâm not risking this because you want to âlet looseâ tonight,â and he gives a short laugh that doesnât match his eyes as he says, âyou think this is me letting loose?â and you blink and ask, âwhat else would it be?â.
his jaw flexes and he looks like heâs about to say something and stops himself, the silence filling up with all the things you both keep circling without naming. he asks, louder than you expect and definitely louder than the music, âyou think i donât care about tomorrow?â as it cuts through the room like someone yanked a cord and the kitchen doesnât go silent but it shifts, people pausing mid-laugh, mid-sip, mid-sentence, heeseungâs grin faltering, jayâs eyebrows lifting, jungwon straightening slightly, and even sunooâs smile dropping into something curious while your stomach drops. not because of the words but because of the volume. but because jake doesnât do loud unless heâs cornered. heeseung leans across the island sensing tension like a shark sensing blood and grinning like he lives for drama that isnât his. âyo, are you guys arguing about regression models right now?â and jay laughs and says, âplease tell me you areâ while jungwonâs gaze flicks between you and jake, calm but alert. niki stays beside jake watching him with that sharp, almost-too-aware expression he gets when he knows exactly where the line is and is waiting to see who crosses it. you keep your expression steady even though your pulse jumps as you reply, âthatâs not what i said.â and he steps half a pace closer, not aggressively but enough that you feel it, saying sharper than the first, âstop supervising me.â and thatâs the one that gets everyoneâs attention because now it isnât just a disagreement. itâs personal. heeseungâs eyes widening slightly like heâs just realized he walked into something real, jayâs mouth opening like heâs about to make a joke and then shutting, jungwonâs gaze staying fixed on jake, measuring. niki moves, not dramatically and not like heâs body-blocking, just a casual step closer to jakeâs side with his shoulder brushing jakeâs like heâs inserting himself into the orbit before the gravity gets too strong. niki says lightly with a warning under it like a leash tightening, âokay. donât be weird,â while jake doesnât look at niki and keeps his eyes on you as he continues, still loud enough to carry and still controlled enough to not sound drunk, âyouâve been acting like iâm irresponsible. like iâm going to blow this up.â you inhale slowly to ground yourself and repeat, âyouâre doing shotsâ because itâs the only factual thing you can cling to without falling into whatever this is becoming, and he shoots back, âand youâre acting like iâm not going to show up.â
you say, already regretting the wording because fix is the wrong word and fix is the trigger word and fix makes it sound like you think heâs broken, âiâm acting like i donât want to have to fix itâ and jakeâs eyes flash as he says, âthere it is. that.â and when you ask, âwhat?â he says, âthat tone. like youâre already planning to cover for meâ while niki taps jakeâs shoulder once as a quiet signal and murmurs, âbroâ trying to pull him back without making it obvious, but jake doesnât move. heat rises behind your ribs as you say, steady, âbecause i have. i have covered for you. you donât get to act like thatâs not trueâ. niki steps between you, âokay, okay, time-out. this is a kitchen. not a therapy circle,â and jay snorts, relieved at the escape route, adding, âyeah, take your academic trauma somewhere else.â
the tension doesnât dissolve, it just gets pushed aside like furniture, and niki uses the moment, leaning in closer to jakeâs ear with concern masked as annoyance as he says, âyouâre getting heated. chill.â while jake replies automatically, âiâm fineâ even though the words donât match the stiffness in his shoulders, and niki mutters, âyouâre not,â before straightening and raising his voice just enough to sound casual as he says, âcome on. breathe. youâre gonna start arguing about dataset framing in the tequila zoneâ drawing a couple laughs as jake exhales through his nose and, like his body finally remembers the room is full of eyes, lets niki steer him backward, not because heâs weak but because heâs choosing control. before jake turns away fully, he looks at you again. the music is loud enough to blur edges, the kitchen lights too bright, and when someone bumps into the counter behind you tequila sloshes dangerously close to the rim of a plastic cup, the party keeps moving like nothing just cracked open in the middle of it. youâre still standing exactly where the argument stalled, and he studies you for a second. not long enough for anyone else to clock it but long enough for you to feel it land. his jaw tight, not angry, not defensive, just braced, and you donât even know what you wouldâve said if niki hadnât stepped in. you donât know what you were about to accuse him of. jakeâs mouth moves before he can stop it as he says, âyou really think i donât care?â not shouted but loud enough to cut through a dip in the music. nikiâs hand tightens on jakeâs shoulder as he says under his breath, âdonât.â while jake doesnât look at him and keeps his eyes on you. and then, softer, so soft it barely survives the bass vibrating through the cabinets, jake adds, âyou think iâd care this much if it wasnât you?â
 it isnât performative or dramatic, sounding almost irritated, almost exasperated, like heâs frustrated you donât already know. no one reacts because no one heard, and the world doesnât pause. but you do, because the sentence doesnât feel like a joke or ego or rivalry. it feels like something that slipped past his filter. jakeâs expression shifts a fraction, not regret, not exactly, more like awareness, like he realizes the line crossed some invisible boundary heâs been pretending isnât there. niki doesnât push it, only leaning in again as he says low, âokay. thatâs enough.â you stare at jake trying to translate it into something safe, because it could mean he cares about the project because you care and it could mean he cares about being seen by you. it could mean-
but before you can answer or even breathe properly, sunoo shouts from the living room, âjake! come drink like a normal person!â and niki tightens his grip on jakeâs shoulder as he says louder with his grin back in place like armor, âyeah. come on, romeo. stop fighting in the kitchenâ and jake turns toward the noise and then back to you one last time, not regretful and not taking it back, just aware, before letting niki pull him away into the living room where bodies and music and laughter swallow him like nothing happened. but something did. youâre left standing in the kitchen with your drink untouched in your hand, the plastic cup warm against your fingers, the bass vibrating through your bones, and the sentence replaying in your head like a glitch you canât close out of. across the room jake is on the couch with niki leaning in close to his ear and saying something that makes jake run a hand through his hair like heâs trying to reset, and he looks up and your eyes meet for a second, and you donât know what to do with the fact that he doesnât look away first, so you look down at your cup and back up. but heâs still there, still watching, not competitive and not amused and not careless, just steady. like that sentence didnât belong to the party noise. like it belongs to something else. something youâre not ready to name. and you hate it because you canât tell whether it was nothing or whether it was the first real thing heâs said to you all semester.
the rehearsal room is too bright, not warm-bright, not late-afternoon gold, just fluorescent and unforgiving, the kind of light that makes everything look sharper than it feels, and you get there early, telling yourself itâs because you want one uninterrupted run-through before the final presentation, because timing matters, because transitions matter, because if you shave three seconds off slide seven the conclusion lands cleaner. it totally has nothing to do with not wanting to walk in at the same time. the room is empty when you unlock it, the projector humming faintly as it warms up, and you set your bag down, plug in your laptop, pull up the deck, click through slide one. slide two. slide three. your reflection flickering briefly across the white screen before the first title loads, and you stare at it longer than necessary because the party sentence replays anyway.
you think iâd care this much if it wasnât you?
itâs not even the full sentence every time. sometimes itâs just care this much- then again if it wasnât you- you swallow as the door opens. not turning immediately because you hear him first. the soft click of the handle, the measured steps across the floor. no rush, no hesitation. he drops his bag in the chair near the back wall and says, âmorning,â in a tone that is completely normal. you click to slide four and reply, âmorning,â just as normal, and thatâs the problem. he moves to stand beside you instead of across from you, close enough that you can feel the residual cold from outside clinging to his jacket but not close enough to touch. without looking at him you ask, âdo you want to start from the methodology or the intro?â and he answers easily, âintro. timing felt slightly off last timeâ slight, not wrong, not flawed, just slight. you nod once and begin, moving through the introduction smoothly, pacing measured, voice even. he doesnât interrupt, doesnât adjust your wording, doesnât correct emphasis. and when you finish the opening section and glance at him out of habit he nods once and says, âgoodâ thatâs it. no âtighten the transitionâ, no âslow down on that statisticâ, no raised eyebrow, no subtle challenge, just good. you move into the framework section and he takes over on cue. clean, no stumble, no hesitation, no improvisation. efficient. too efficient. you wait for him to cut you off when you overlap slightly on slide six, but he doesnât. when you reach the conclusion the room feels wrong, you click to black and silence fills the space where debate should have been.
he checks his watch and says, âthree minutes underâ and you answer, âthatâs fineâ and he nods and says, âthatâs goodâ and you hate how agreeable that sounds. you cross your arms without meaning to and say, âyou didnât interrupt once.â he looks at you with mild curiosity and replies, âyou didnât need interruptingâ and you answer, âthatâs not the pointâ he tilts his head slightly and asks, âwhat is the point then?â you open your mouth. then close it. you look back at the blank screen instead of at him as the fluorescent lights hum. and after a moment he says, âyou adjusted slide eight. the transition is cleaner,â and you respond, âi know.â - âi noticedâ he adds, and when you look at him and say, âokayâ itâs just another calm acknowledgment. no spark, no competition, no ego. smooth. too smooth. and that unsettles you more than last night did. you pick up the remote just to have something in your hand and say, âthis feels weird.â and he replies, âi think the presentation looks fineâ and you say, âi know.â he studies you a second longer than necessary and asks, âyou want to focus on delivery?â and you answer, âthatâs not what it isâ he asks again, neutral, controlled, open, âwhat is it y/n?â and the sentence from last night presses against the back of your throat. because he said it like it meant something and now heâs standing here like it didnât. you turn fully toward him and ask, âwhat did you mean?â no build-up, no softening, just direct. jake doesnât pretend not to understand, doesnât ask you to clarify, doesnât deflect to slides. just meets your eyes and says, âyou knowâ and you hold his gaze as you tell him, âdonât do that.â and when he asks, âdo what?â you gesture vaguely between you and say, âthat. answering without answering. avoiding.â his expression stays steady as he says, âiâm not avoiding itâ and you reply, âit feels like youâre actingâ after a pause he says evenly, âiâm not.â and the phrasing lands heavier than it should because heâs right. heâs not acting different. heâs acting normal. and thatâs whatâs wrong. you almost pivot, almost reach for the laptop, almost say this is stupid, almost redirect to slide transitions. old instinct telling you to hide in structure, hide in competence, hide in measurable things. but you donât. you stay where you are as the silence stretches and the projector fan hums quietly behind you. jake waits. not impatient, not pushing, just there. and thatâs worse, because now you have to decide whether youâre going to say it or pretend you didnât hear it at all. and you donât pretend, not this time.
âyou donât get to say something like that and then act normal.â you tell him, the words steadier than you feel. jake doesnât look surprised when he replies, âi told you iâm not acting.â you shake your head and insist, âjake, you said it like it meant somethingâ, and he holds your gaze as he says, âit did.â you hesitate, then push forward. âthen why are we standing here like we didnât just-â you stop yourself before finishing and amend, âwhy are we standing here like this is just rehearsal?â jake answers evenly, âbecause we have a presentation in a week.â - âthatâs not what i meanâ you reply. and when he says, âi knowâ without softening, it only sharpens your frustration. âyou said it,â you continue. âyou wouldnât care if it wasnât me.â - âyesâ jake says. you take a step closer and tell him, âthen donât stand there like you didnât.â jake responds, âiâm not saying i didnâtâ and you counter immediately, âyou are acting like it didnât shift anything.â he studies you, then says, âiâm just not turning it into something chaotic.â - âit already is chaoticâ you argue. jake corrects you quietly. âitâs chaotic for you.â you look away, jaw tight, and say, âyou act like none of this costs you anything.â he stills and asks, âcosts me what?â - âenergy. focus. whatever it is,â you answer, gesturing between you. âyou act like you can compartmentalize it and move on.â and after a brief pause, jake says, âwhen you look at me like iâm effortless, it makes me feel invisible.â you frown and respond, âthatâs not what iâm doing.â- âi didnât say it was intentionalâ he replies. âinvisible how?â you ask. jake inhales and answers, âlike i donât have to try.â-âthatâs not fairâ you say. âwhy?â he asks. âbecause i never said you donât try.â jake answers quietly, âyou donât have to.â you open your mouth, then shift your wording. âyou make it look easy.â- âthat doesnât mean it isâ he says. âi know thatâ you insist. jake meets your eyes and asks, âdo you?â you hold his gaze for a second too long, because you donât. not really. you know he studies. you know he prepares. you know he isnât coasting on instinct. but youâve always framed his control as natural, like composure is something he was born with instead of something he built. you think about the way he never looks rushed, the way he never looks unsure, the way youâve used that steadiness against him in arguments like it proved he was less affected.
you swallow. âi-â you start, but the word stalls before it can turn into defense. he watches you closely, not accusing, not smug. just waiting. and for the first time it occurs to you that maybe youâve mistaken his restraint for indifference, and the realization doesnât settle gently- it shifts something, sharp and destabilizing, and you inhale slowly as it rearranges the ground under your feet. âand the kiss?â you ask, not softening it or circling it, and the words hang between you like something thrown too hard to retrieve. jake doesnât blink or laugh or reach for a safer angle. he just says, ânot strategy.â clean and final. you stare at him. ânot-â you begin, then stop, because your mind is still trying to file it under something controlled, something tactical, and you swallow before asking nothing at all. jake adds evenly, âi donât kiss people iâm competing with.â as if that should settle it. your chest tightens. you demand, sharper than intended, âwhat are you even saying?â he holds your gaze and replies, âyou think iâd complicate this if you didnât matter?â the calm certainty of it lands harder than raised volume ever could, and you struggle to categorize his expression-no smirk, no defensiveness, nothing easy to dismiss. he watches you think and says, with the faintest edge, âyouâre thinking too hard.â- âiâm not,â you answer automatically and force yourself back to something concrete. âyou said it didnât mean anything.â he corrects you without flinching. âi said we were drunk.â- âi wish i knew what you were thinking.â you reply, quieter now. jake nods once. âi know.â you press further. âand the night at your dorm. the-â your voice falters, but he doesnât make you finish. âthat wasnât nothing either,â jake says simply. your pulse jumps. he continues, measured, âi didnât want to reduce it toâŚthat.â- âto what?â you ask. âto a mistake.â he answers. you swallow and say, âbut you acted like you did. after.â his jaw tightens slightly as he admits, âbecause it was easier.â- âfor who?â you challenge. âfor both of us.â jake replies immediately. the truth of it stings, and you try to steady yourself. âso what,â you say, âyouâre saying it wasnât to throw me off?â his eyes narrow, in quiet offense. âyou think iâd need that?â you freeze, realizing the implication. jake holds your gaze and says, level and deliberate, âi donât do things like that to win. not with you.â heat rises behind your eyes, but you keep your voice even. âthen what was it?â he doesnât look away. âit was me not stopping,â jake says. your breath catches. after a beat, he adds, quieter, âand it was me letting you see that.â the room feels too bright as you try to process it.
you just stand there, stunned, as he meets your gaze steadily, like heâs been waiting for you to understand. and something in you finally stops fighting for an explanation that keeps you safe. he watches you and repeats, softer but no less certain, âyou think iâd complicate this if you didnât matter to me?â because the truth is too clear to ignore. he didnât lose control. he chose exposure. he chose- oh.
OH.
of course. of course thatâs what it was. of course thatâs why the silence after the phone rang felt like grief. of course thatâs why the âwe were drunkâ excuse tasted wrong in your mouth even as you used it. of course thatâs why the smoothness today feels worse than any argument. because he wasnât treating it like nothing. he was treating it like something he didnât know how to hold. and he still came back, he still showed up, he still stood beside you.
your throat goes dry. you almost laugh, not because itâs funny, but because itâs absurd how long youâve both been circling the same obvious truth like it was dangerous. you almost say something sharp, almost turn it into a joke, almost protect yourself with cleverness. you donât. you just stand there, stunned, your heart beating too hard in a room that is too bright, looking at him like heâs a new variable you didnât account for, and he looks back like heâs been accounting for you the entire time. jake steps closer, not quickly, not like heâs trying to corner you, just one measured step that makes the air shift, and your body reacts before your pride does. you step back automatically, heel catching the leg of a chair as you steady yourself with one hand on the table, fingers splayed against the cold surface, that sharp flare of panic igniting under your ribs. not because you donât want him but because you do. because wanting him has already proven it can turn your brain into static. because you remember the dorm hallway and the dim lights and the way you let yourself slip before pretending you hadnât.
jake stops immediately he doesnât follow, doesnât close the space you created, just pauses like heâs reading the step back instead of taking it personally. that restraint hits harder than anything else. ây/n,â jake says, low. a careful test to see if youâre still here. you swallow. âi donât want it to be like that againâ you say before you can polish it. his brow lifts. âlike what?â jake asks. âyou know,â you reply, hating the wavering edge in your voice. âcomplicated. messy. the next day. the pretending.â jake holds your gaze, steady. âit wonât be.â jake says. you let out a short breath. âyou canât promise that.â - âi canâ jake answers, certainty flipping your stomach. you search his face for the catch and find none. âhow?â you ask. his jaw tightens slightly. âiâm not confusedâ jake says, and the sentence lands like a firm hand at the back of your neck. âyouâre saying you were confused before?â you press. âno,â jake replies, shaking his head once. âiâm saying iâm not going to act like i am.â your throat tightens. âi kissed you because i wanted to.â jake says, simple and clear, and the words hit your chest like weight. he watches your face. âthat day,â jake continues, âafter the midterms. when i apologized. i wasnât trying to fix anything. i wasnât trying to make you forgive me. i wanted to kiss you.â- âjake-â you start, but he keeps going. âyou asked me if it was still research in my dorm,â jake says. âand i told you it wasnât,â you whisper, âi meant what i said. and i didnât just mean it then.â silence swells. âi kissed you because i wanted to.â jake repeats quietly. âand iâm not going to pretend it was an accident. not the cafĂŠ. not the dorm.â you reply as your fingers curl against the table. âand the arcade?â jake asks, careful. heat creeps up your neck. âi wasnât drunk,â you admit. ânot enough to not know what i was doing.â jake waits. âand what were you doing?â jake asks softly. you force yourself not to retreat. âi kissed you because i needed to knowâ you say. âknow what?â jake presses. âif it was real,â you answer, the word too big and too honest. âor if it was just me being stupid.â - âyouâre not stupid-â jake says immediately. âthatâs not the point,â you reply, breathless. he steps closer again, slower this time, giving you the chance to move. you donât. âthe cafĂŠ kiss wasnât an accident,â you say. âi told myself it was.â jakeâs jaw tightens. âand the arcade was me trying to see if it felt the same.â his eyes flicker. âand?â jake asks, lower. âit did.â you answer. the room feels suspended. âi wasnât sure what it was⌠feelings, you know?â you admit, sharp and terrifying in their simplicity. âiâve had them. i just didnât want them.â jakeâs expression shifts, something loosening. âyeah,â jake says quietly.
he steps close enough now that you feel his warmth, not touching, just there. âiâm sure,â jake says. âabout you. about this. and iâm not going to make you guess. not anymore.â you stare at him, stunned by the simplicity, your fear not gone but reshaped into something smaller, something survivable. because heâs cutting off the pretending and the uncertainty right here. with certainty, with choice, with you standing in a room thatâs too bright and finally not pretending you donât want whatâs in front of you. heâs close enough now that you can feel the warmth of him. not touching, just there. âyou donât have to overthink this,â jake says quietly, not teasing, not challenging, just steady. you swallow and answer, âthatâs a big askâ and a faint, almost private smile touches the corner of his mouth before jake replies, âi knowâ. the silence stretches between you but it isnât sharp anymore, it isnât defensive. itâs something thicker, waiting. his hand lifts slightly-not reaching yet, just hovering like heâs giving you one last exit he wonât take and never has. your heart pounding hard enough youâre sure he can hear it. âfor once,â you say, breath uneven but voice sure, âi donât want to fight this anymore.â and his eyes soften. not weak, not gentle, just certain. jake answers, âthen donât.â without closing the distance, without forcing it, simply waiting, and this time you donât step back.
the air feels heavier now. thicker in your lungs. you can feel his warmth without touching him, like your body already knows what it wants before your brain catches up. jakeâs eyes drop to your mouth again. slower this time. deliberate. your breath shifts first. then his follows. you step into him. his hand comes up carefully. his fingers brush along your jaw, then slide to the back of your neck. his touch is controlled, grounded. like heâs steadying both of you. you donât give him time to reconsider. you kiss him. it starts soft- it doesnât stay that way. his lips move against yours with quiet certainty that makes your knees feel weaker than they should. he exhales into your mouth, warm and unguarded. your hands slide up his chest automatically. your fingers curl into his shirt like you need something solid. he pulls you closer firmly. your bodies line up. thereâs no space left between you. you feel his breathing against your own. you feel the tension in his shoulders where heâs trying to stay composed and failing. the kiss deepens. your mouth parts and he follows. slower now. more deliberate. his hand tightens at your waist. his other hand slides into your hair. his fingers thread gently but possessively at the base of your skull. it isnât frantic like the dorm. it isnât restrained either. itâs hungry in a quieter way. your pulse spikes when his tongue brushes yours, enough to make your breath hitch. he makes a low sound in his throat. it goes straight through you. you tilt your head and press closer. the control slips a little. the kiss turns deeper. warmer. slower and more consuming at once.
his hands slide from your waist to your hips. he holds you there like heâs afraid youâll disappear if he lets go. you break for air. he doesnât move far. his forehead rests against yours. his breathing is uneven. his lips hover close. he kisses you again. not your mouth this time. the corner of it. slow. then along your jaw. your pulse jumps when his mouth trails lower. he presses kisses beneath your ear. then down your neck. âjake-â you breathe. thereâs no real protest in it, just surprise. his lips curve faintly against your skin. âyou remember,â jake murmurs near your collarbone, kisses inbetween his voice, low and rough, âhow that night ended?â your fingers tighten in his hair. âi remember a phone call-â you manage. he huffs softly against your neck. âi remember you pulling me down like youâd already decided,â jake says quietly and kisses your neck again âi remember you telling me it wasnât research,â heat floods your chest. he presses another slow kiss to your skin. âand i remember not finishing it.â the words land low and clear. his hand slides slightly higher at your waist and he reminds you how close you are. âso,â jake says, lifting his head enough to look up at you, eyes darker but steady, âshould we finish what we started in my dorm?â your face burns. you push lightly at his chest, while grinning at him. âjake.â you warn, but youâre smiling. he raises a brow. âwhat?â jake asks. âyouâre unbelievable.â- âyou were pretty committed,â jake replies smoothly. âagainst the wall. on the-â you press your palm to his mouth before he can finish. âpresentation first.â he kisses your palm lightly before lowering your hand. his grin widens. âyouâre ruthless.â- âfocused.â you correct softly. you glare at him, but itâs playful. he leans in once more and brushes his lips against yours. shorter this time. lighter. a promise instead of a culmination. âfine,â jake says, stepping back half a pace. âslides.â you inhale slowly and steady your breathing as he moves beside you again. close. not touching. your shoulders brush. neither of you pulls away. you click to the next slide. he leans closer to look at the screen. his voice is lower now and a bit awkward. âslide seven transition still needs tightening,â jake says. you glance at him sideways. âprove it.â he smirks. the room feels different now. not too bright. not too quiet, just charged.
presentation day arrives a week later with sunlight too bright to ignore. the campus feels sharper this morning. colder almost. the air is crisp in a way that makes everything feel like it matters more. youâre already in the rehearsal room when jake walks in. not because youâre anxious. just because you like the quiet before everything starts. the projector hums softly. slides are open. your laptop glows against the dimmer walls. you hear him before you see him. measured steps. no rush. the door closes behind him. you donât turn immediately. âyouâre earlyâ jake says. you click to the title slide without looking up. âso are you.â a beat passes. then warmth at your side. his hand slides lightly to your waist. he leans in and presses a slow kiss to your temple like itâs something heâs been doing for months instead of six days. your pulse still jumps. âmorning,â jake murmurs against your hair. you try not to smile. âmorning.â he lingers half a second longer than necessary before stepping back. thereâs no awkward checking of boundaries. itâs just easy. you glance at him. heâs wearing a button-down you havenât seen before. sleeves rolled once at the forearm. hair slightly messy in a way that looks accidental but isnât. âyou changed the shirtâ you say. jake glances down. âitâs presentation day.â - âyou had a perfectly good one yesterday.â he raises a brow. âthis oneâs better.â- âfor who?â you ask. âfor meâ jake replies. you narrow your eyes. he steps closer without asking. his fingers brush the edge of your collar. he adjusts it carefully. âyouâre crooked,â jake says. âi am not.â you roll your eyes but let him fix it. he then teps back and scans you like heâs reviewing a final draft. âbetter.â jake says. âyouâre insufferable.â- âyouâre welcome.â
the door opens again. niki walks in mid-yawn and stops. he looks at you. then at jake. then back at you. ââŚwow.â niki says slowly. you stiffen slightly. jake doesnât. âwhat?â jake asks mildly. niki gestures between you. âyou two are-â- ârehearsing,â you interrupt. niki squints. sunghoon appears behind him, already dressed like heâs heading into a boardroom. he clocks it immediately. âfinally.â sunghoon says under his breath. your cheeks warm. jake doesnât deny it. he just picks up the remote. ârun-through?â he asks you calmly. like nothing has shifted. like everything has. you nod. sunghoon watches for another second and then smirks. âdonât let it make you sloppyâ sunghoon says. âit wonât,â jake replies. âit makes us efficient,â he adds. niki makes a face. âgross.â but you both ignore him as the room settles. slides advance. you begin. your voice is steady. jake transitions seamlessly. it feels familiar but different. thereâs no edge now. no attempt to outpace each other. when you pause, he fills the space smoothly. when he emphasizes a point, you support it instead of challenging it. it feels less like a duel. more like rhythm. after a few minutes jake cuts in gently. âslide eight transition.â you glance at him. he smirks slightly. you narrow your eyes. âstill think itâs weak?â- âhardlyâ jake says. you step closer so your shoulder brushes his. âhow hard?â you whisper. niki groans. âplease do not flirt over regression analysis.â jake leans in and lowers his voice so only you hear it. ânot now,â you glance at him. âfocus.â he smiles faintly. âi am.â you try not to think about last night. the way his voice sounded when he said your name. the way he held you like he had nowhere else to be than on top of him. you swallow. jake notices immediately. âyouâre pacingâ jake says quietly. âiâm not,â you cross your arms. âiâm preparing.â -âare you nervous?â -âiâm not.â he steps closer again.âyou donât need to be,â jake says. you look at him. he doesnât look nervous. of course he doesnât. âare you?â you ask. he shrugs lightly. ânot really.â- âthatâs suspicious.â a corner of his mouth lifts. he leans closer. âlast night helpedâ jake murmurs near your ear. heat shoots up your neck. you elbow him lightly. âjake.â- âwhat?â he asks innocently. âwe are about to present.â- âiâm aware.â you try to glare but fail. he straightens.
down the hall the auditorium door opens. your names are called. itâs time. jake looks at you. not competitive. not challenging. just steady. âyou ready?â jake asks. you inhale. the nerves are still there. but theyâre different now. âyeah,â you say. he holds your gaze for half a second longer and nods once. âletâs go.â he doesnât grab your hand. not yet. but as you walk toward the stage together, your shoulders brush.
the lights on stage are warmer than the rehearsal room but just as exposing. you step forward when your name is called. the clicker feels steady in your hand. you donât look at jake when you begin because you know heâs exactly where he needs to be. âgood morning,â you say, your voice carrying clearly across the auditorium, and the introduction unfolds smoothly as you outline the core question, the scope, and the limitations of the institutional dataset without rushing, your pacing deliberate and controlled. when you reach the final line of your opening, you glance at him briefly and jake steps in seamlessly. he doesnât shift the tone. he builds on it. his explanation of the methodology is concise and precise as he walks the audience through the regression model without overcomplicating it. he gestures toward the slide and highlights only what matters. the transition between you feels natural, not stiff with rehearsal. you step slightly aside to give him space. when he finishes, you move back in without hesitation and guide the audience into the comparative analysis. on slide seven your mind blanks for half a second. the statistic you intend to cite slips just out of reach. jake fills the space smoothly. âas reflected in the secondary regression output,â jake says, supplying the number without breaking rhythm. you nod once. âexactly,â you continue, reclaiming the flow as if the pause never happened, and the presentation keeps moving. you reach the section where the supplementary dataset appears on screen and a subtle shift ripples through the room because it isnât part of the original brief. you explain the expansion clearly. âwhile the university-provided dataset offered strong internal validity, it lacked longitudinal depth beyond the institutional sample,â you say. jake continues without missing a beat. âwe integrated an external dataset to test whether the observed pattern held under broader conditions,â jake explains. you advance the slide and the comparative visualization appears. âit strengthened the predictive consistency.â you conclude. the presentation moves toward the final section and you and jake stand closer now, not alternating distance but occupying the space together. the conclusion lands cleanly. you summarize the implications and jake reinforces them. the final sentence is delivered in alignment, not overlapping and not forced. you both stop speaking at the same time. applause follows, stronger than you expected.
the q&a begins. a judge leans forward. âyou chose to incorporate an external dataset that was not included in the original materials. why take that risk?â the judge asks. you answer first. âwe wanted to test whether the trend we identified was institution-specific or structurally consistent,â you say. jake adds, ârelying solely on the provided data would have limited the robustness of the conclusion.â you continue, âthe supplementary dataset allowed us to evaluate predictive stability across a broader sample.â the judge nods slowly. âand youâre confident in the reliability of the external source?â she asks. âyes,â jake replies calmly. âitâs peer-validated and publicly archived. we verified the methodology before integration.â the judge leans back. âambitious,â she says. âbut well defended.â when the final question ends, the moderator thanks you and you thank the panel. as you walk off stage, the noise of the auditorium softens behind you. your hand brushes jakeâs at your side and this time neither of you pulls away immediately. âyou recovered slide seven,â you say quietly. âyou set it up,â jake replies. you glance at him and he looks back. the competition isnât gone. it just feels different now. and for the first time all semester, you know exactly why.
the hallway outside the auditorium feels strangely quiet once the doors close behind you, the applause fading and voices blurring into background static so that for a second itâs just the two of you under harsh overhead lights with adrenaline still buzzing through your veins. your hands warm and your pulse unsettled as jake exhales slowly and rolls his shoulders like heâs releasing something heâs been holding for weeks. âyou were annoyingly good,â you say before you can stop yourself, and jake glances at you with calm amusement before replying, âyou werenât badâ which makes you narrow your eyes and repeat, ânot bad?â and he tilts his head slightly and corrects, âimpressive. if weâre being honestâ and you fight a smile and fail because the energy between you feels lighter now, not tense or sharp, just charged differently.
from inside the auditorium you hear sunghoon begin his introduction and you turn toward the sound automatically and say, âtheyâre startingâ and jake follows your gaze and answers, âyeahâ and you lean back against the wall for a moment, letting the adrenaline settle enough to think clearly before adding casually, âthey still have to presentâŚâ and jake looks at you and asks, âand?â but you donât answer right away, instead pushing off the wall and stepping closer, not rushed or dramatic, just enough to shift the air as you continue lightly, âand that means weâre technically free for the next hourâ and his expression changes almost imperceptibly. his eyes sharpening as he says quietly, âoh-â while you pretend to consider something important and then tell him, âyou did well. better than i expectedâ and he raises a brow and replies, âthatâs concerningâ and you continue evenly, âyou should be rewarded,â. and when he asks, âfor the presentation?â you correct him, âfor being composed. itâs rare.â and he steps closer so you can feel his heat again. his gaze locked on your eyes and asks, âand what exactly does that reward look like?â. you glance toward the auditorium doors before answering, âyour dormâs closeâ and the silence that follows is charged rather than awkward as jakeâs jaw tightens slightly and he mutters, âyouâre for real?â and you reply, âit would be efficientâ he lets out a short laugh and says, âyou realize iâm going to remember thisâ and you answer, âi hope so â and for a second neither of you moves until his hand finds your waist and pulls you half a step closer, natural and unhurried, and you donât resist as he looks down at you and says softly, âyou were so nervous,â and you answer, âi wasnât.â and he insists, âyou were,â and you donât argue as his thumb brushes lightly against your side and he adds, âyou didnât need to be.â and you admit, âyou filled my gapâ and he smirks faintly and says, âi always will.â which makes your stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with adrenaline. applause breaks out again from inside and you tilt your head and say, âtheyâre going to be good,â and jake replies, âprobablyâ and you add, âbut not better,â and he studies you and observes, âyouâre still competitive?â and you respond, âiâm still winning.â and he leans closer and asks quietly, âare you?â and you meet his gaze and answer, âyes.â after a long second he slides his hand more firmly around your waist and pulls you fully in before pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek, affectionate and certain, and you let your hand settle against his chest as he steps back and his hand lingers a moment longer before you say lightly, âwalk faster,â. he raises a brow, âis that an order?â and you answer evenly, âitâs a suggestionâ. he steps in just enough to shift your breathing before murmuring, âcareful. youâre being very brave for someone whoâs about to be alone with me.â and you tilt your head slightly and reply, âthen donât let me win.â which makes his grin slow and deliberate as he says, âyou know i donât lose,â then adds smoothly, âafter you.â you turn toward the exit with sunlight spilling through the windows as you pick up your pace, hearing his footsteps behind you, unhurried and certain. you reach the doors first because you like the head start, but he reaches you a second later. he always closes the gap.
DONâT FORGET TO INTERACT AND LMK IF YOU LIKED IT THX- taglist â let me know if youâd like to be removed or added for future fics ⥠@yazziiyy @jaehyunluvsnct127 @mid0risims @moonxjake @mortallynumberonecoffee @heavejae @marigold55 @meowieshibal @heartsski @psjelee @evxnsbae @jjongsies @hii01mii @nshmriki @en-chantedtomeetyou @inspiredchaos @aheewonenthusiast @heesuengswife @allinitformofusand @yourgirlyoi @moonlitmyg @marghe-22 @aeryyr @pinkmaciej @slut4riki @vampjaeyun2 @tmtxtf-library @yoiiaoki
"Two Worlds, One War"
pairing: peter pevensie x f! telmarine princess!reader
synopsis: princess!reader (Ella), heir of the Telmarines, alongside brother!caspian, are left to protect their people after the death of their fatherâwith their Uncle now ruling as King of the Telmarines in Narnia. their world flips upside down when their Uncle learns his wife has given birth to a son, and reader comes to discover more of her mother's past⌠a magic she was taught to fear. (plot follows the second narnia movie!)
warning(s): slow-burn trope, angst, heartbreak, betrayal, sword fighting, mentions of blood
status: ongoing
last update: october 8th, 2025
chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
chapter 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
no strings attached | sjy
ĘÉ summary - one petty decision to fuck another guy turns into jake sim at your apartment at 2 am, reminding you who you belong to you while heâs in between your legs. he says itâs just sex. you both know itâs a power playâand youâve never been very good at saying no to him. ĘÉ tags - 18+ MDNI, f!reader, friends with benefits, dom!jake, sub!reader jealous!jake, possessive!jake, toxic!jake, unequal power dynamics, penetrative sex (p in v) protected sex, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), fingering, degradation, cock slapping, jake is ACTUALLY an asshole ĘÉ w.c - 7k
The buzz of your phone was an insistent, ugly vibration against your thigh, pulling you from a shallow, restless sleep. Youâd muted notifications hours ago, but heâd somehow gotten past that, the call vibrating through. You knew without looking. Only one person called you at 2:17 AM.
You let it ring out, staring at the shifting shadows on your ceiling. The ghost of Maxâs cologne still lingered in the air, a clean, piney scent that was nothing like Jakeâs.
The phone buzzed again, a single text lighting up the screen.
jake: open up.
A cold knot tightened in your stomach. You hadnât given him your new apartment number. He must have asked someone. He always found a way. You lay there, paralyzed, the silence after the buzz feeling heavier than the noise itself. Another text.
jake: i know ur awake y/n i can see your light in the window
You got up, your body moving on autopilot, drawn to the window like a moth to a flame. Peering through the slats of the blinds, you saw him. Leaning against his car across the street, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of the streetlamp. Even from here, in the middle of the night, he looked effortlessly cool. Jeans, a dark hoodie, hands in his pockets. He wasnât looking at his phone. He was looking directly at your window, as if he could feel your eyes on him.
The memory of the party hours earlier was a fresh bruise. The guyâMax, an art history major from one of your electivesâhad been sweet and persistent in a way that wasnât demanding. Heâd listened to you ramble about anything and everything. Heâd made you laugh, a real laugh that didnât feel like it was curving around the hollow Jake had carved inside you. And when the music swelled and someone shouted âkiss already!â to the pair of you standing a little too close by the keg stand, youâd done it. Youâd leaned in and kissed Max. It was soft, exploratory. Nice, even. The room had cheered, a distant, fuzzy sound. Youâd pulled back, seen the genuine, dazed smile on Maxâs face, and feltâŚ
Nothing. If anything, just a numb curiosity.
What would it be like to want someone who actually wanted you back?
You hadnât seen Jake thereâof course, youâd scanned the crowd instinctively, a Pavlovian response, and you hadnât found his sunshine-bright smile or heard his easy laugh. He was probably elsewhere, likely with a girl draped over him, his fingers tracing patterns on her back the same way he did on yours. The assumption had given you a perverse sense of freedom, and youâd left with Max, his hand warm in yours.
The sex had been⌠fine. Careful and considerate. Heâd asked âis this okay?â so many times it started to bore you. Youâd moaned, youâd arched, youâd performed the part of a woman being pleasured, all while your mind was a thousand miles away, trapped in another bedroom with another boy. Jake never asked. Jake took, and you gave. The lack of question felt like its own dark, twisted form of intimacy. After Max fell asleep, youâd slipped out to the living room, scrolling through Instagram with a morbid fascination until you saw it: a story posted just an hour ago. A girl filming Jake as he tapped his head to the music from the driverâs seat of his car. Her caption: midnight adventures with my favorite person <3. He was smiling that wide, brilliant smile, the one that made everyone feel like they were the only one in the room. Your smile. The one youâd stupidly thought you had some claim to.
Thatâs when youâd muted your phone, and the numbness had finally cracked, letting in a seeping despair.
And now he was here.
You didnât text backâyou simply walked to your apartment door and unlocked it, leaving it open a crack before retreating to the center of your living room, arms wrapped around yourself. You heard the soft creak of the buildingâs main door, then footsteps, sure and familiar, coming down the hall. He pushed your door open and stepped inside, closing it softly behind him.
He didnât look angry. He looked calm.
That was always more terrifying.
âHey,â he said, his voice a low rasp. He shrugged off his hoodie, tossing it onto your armchair. Underneath, he wore a thin white t-shirt that clung to the planes of his chest. He looked around, his gaze a lazy sweep of the room. It lingered on the two empty wine glasses on the coffee table. On the throw blanket crumpled on the floor instead of neatly folded over the couch. On you, standing there in just your sleep shorts and a tank top, no bra.
âYouâre out late,â you said, your voice surprisingly steady.
âSo were you.â He finally looked at you, and his eyes werenât bright now. They were a flat, dark brown. âHeard you had quite the night.â
You shrugged, the motion feeling jerky. âJust went to a party.â
âYeah. Saw the Instagram stories.â He took a step closer. The room felt smaller. âLooked like you were having fun.â
âI was.â The lie tasted bitter.
He hummed, a non-committal sound, then walked past you, not touching you, towards your kitchenette. He opened the fridge, took out a water bottle, and drank deeply, droplets of water dripping down as his throat worked. You watched him, tracing the lines of his profile, the habit so ingrained it was muscle memory.
Fuck, you were so pathetic.
âWho was he?â Jake asked, still facing the fridge.
âDoes it matter?â
He turned then, leaning against the counter. âJust curious. You donât usually⌠you know. Mingle.â
The casual dismissal sent a spike of hot anger through you. âMaybe I feel like mingling these days.â
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. It didnât reach his eyes. âGood for you.â He pushed off the counter and started wandering your apartment again, a predator inspecting new territory. It made you nervous, especially when he paused by the ajar bathroom door and his body went very, very still.
You followed his line of sight.
His gaze was fixed, unblinking, on the small plastic trash bin just inside your bathroom. The lid was askew. And poking out from beneath a crumpled tissue, unmistakable in the harsh, clinical light from the vanity, were two pale, rolled rings of used condoms.
You held your breath.
Jakeâs back was to you, his shoulders rigid beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. He didnât say a word. He just stared.
Then, slowly, he turned his head just enough to look at you over his shoulder. His expression was blank, utterly wiped clean of that practiced, sunny charm. It was a face youâd never seen before: stripped bare, raw, and terrifyingly quiet.
âYou fucked him,â he said. It was a flat, dead statement of fact. âTwice.â
You couldnât speak. Your throat had sealed shut.
He turned fully, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, his arms crossing over his chest. The posture should have looked relaxed, but right now, it just looked like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will. âHere. In your room.â Again, it wasnât a question.
âItâs none of your business, Jake,â you finally managed, the words a weak whisper.
His laugh was a short, sharp exhale through his nose. Humorless. âNone of my business.â He pushed off the doorframe and took a single step toward you. Just one. âYou let some random fucking art history nerd put his dick in you in the same place I fuck you, and itâs none of my business?â
The crudeness of the sentence, the venom in his usually warm voice, made you flinch. âWeâre not even together, Jake, you made that very clear. Weâre just friends, I can kiss whoever I want.â you scoffed, mimicking his voice. âThose were your words. So I canâI can sleep with whoever I want, too.â
He was in front of you then, so fast you didnât see him move. He didnât touch youâno, he just loomed, eyes searching your face, looking for somethingâweakness, remorse, triumphâfuck, you didnât know.
âYou kissed him at the party,â he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rasp that crawled over your skin. âI saw. I was there.â
Your heart stuttered. âYou were?â
âYeah.â A muscle ticked in his jaw. âMaybe you wouldâve noticed if you werenât too busy eating his goddamn face,â he grit out.
âIt didnât mean anything,â you heard yourself say, the sad truth tumbling out before you could stop it.
Something flickered in his dark eyes at thatâa savage, hungry satisfaction. âNo,â he agreed softly. âIt couldnât have. Because you donât want him.â He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing your ear. His breath was hot. âYou want me. Youâve always wanted me. Isnât that right, baby? Since high school, when youâd stare at me in class and think I didnât notice?â
Tears, hot and shaming, welled in your eyes. You blinked furiously, refusing to let them fall. âFuck you, Jake.â
He finally touched you then. A single, firm finger under your chin, tilting your face up to his. His touch was electric and horrible. âThatâs the idea,â he murmured, his thumb stroking your jawline, a mockery of tenderness. âBut first, youâre going to get rid of every trace of him.â
He released you and walked to the bathroom. You heard the lid of the trash can snap open, the rustle of the plastic liner being yanked out. He walked past you, holding the offending bag away from his body like it was contaminated, and tossed it out your front door into the hallway. He left the door wide open.
âThe glasses,â he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
You stood frozen.
âNow,â he snapped, the word cracking like a whip.
You moved robotically, picking up the two wine glasses from the coffee table. Your hands were trembling. You carried them to the kitchen sink.
âNot the sink,â he said. He was right behind you again, a constant, oppressive presence. âThe trash. I want them gone.â
âTheyâre just glasses, Jake,â you whispered, a last, feeble attempt at resistance.
He reached around you, his chest pressing against your back. His hand closed over yours on the stem of one glass. His grip was hard, forcing your fingers. Together, you lifted it. Then he guided your hand, with a deliberate, punishing force, to slam the glass down onto the edge of the metal trash can.
Crack.
The glass shattered, shards scattering across the linoleum and into the bin. The sound was violent and loud, and you gasped, jumping at the noise. He didnât flinch. He took the other glass from your numb hand and repeated the action.
Crack.
âThere,â he said, his voice back to that eerie calm. âNow itâs gone.â
He turned you around to face him.
âWas it good, at least?â he asked suddenly, catching you off guard.
âJakeââ
âWas. It. Good.â Each word was a chip of ice.
You swallowed, your throat dry. âIt was fine.â
âFine,â he repeated, mocking your tone. âYou let some random guy fuck you twice in my bed, and it was fine?â
âItâs not your bed,â you whispered, the protest weak.
He ignored it. He took another step closer, and you had to tilt your head up to look at him. The proximity was a drug, a punishment. Your body recognized his, yearned for his, even as your mind screamed in revulsion. âDid he make you come?â he asked, his voice dropping to a husky, intimate register that was meant for your ears alone, even as the words were weapons.
âI told you, Jake, itâs none of your businessââ
âDid he?â Jake insisted, his hand coming up to cup your jaw. His thumb stroked over your cheekbone, a gesture that had once felt like worship. âDid he get you wet? Did you scream for him? Or were you just lying there, thinking of me?â
The accuracy of the last guess was a physical blow. You flinched, and his grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know he could. âStop it.â
âWhy? You wanted to mingle. Iâm just⌠mingling. Catching up.â His thumb drifted down, tracing the line of your lips. You didnât open your mouth. âTell me. I want to know what my good friend gets up to when Iâm not around.â
You willed the tears not to fall. âHe was nice. He was⌠gentle.â
Jakeâs smile was a cruel, beautiful thing. âGentle.â He said the word like it was a disease, then scoffed. âYou donât like gentle, baby. You like it when I fuck you so hard you forget your own name. You like it when I donât ask. You like it when it hurts a little the next day, because it means I was there. No?â
Every word was a lash, and every lash was true. The tears spilled over, tracking warm paths down your cheeks. He watched them fall, his dark eyes following their trajectory with a detached fascination.
âYouâre crying,â he observed softly. âWhy are you crying, baby? You got what you wanted. You got someone to pay attention to you. Wasnât that the point?â
âYouâre an asshole,â you choked out.
âYeah,â he agreed, his thumb catching a tear and lifting it this mouth to taste. âBut Iâm your asshole. And youâŚâ He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. His breath was warm. ââŚare mine.â
Then his mouth was on yours.
It was hard and desperate and punishing, all teeth and possession. He didnât ask for entry; he took it, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, tasting you, erasing the traces of anyone else. You made a sound against his lips, a muffled sob of protest that he swallowed whole. Your hands came up, pressing against his chest, but the push was feeble, the muscle memory of wanting him overriding the moral imperative to shove him away.
He kissed you like he was trying to consume you, to drag you back into the dark orbit where only the two of you existed. One of his hands fisted in the hair at the nape of your neck, angling your head back to give him deeper access. The other slid down your back, over the thin fabric of your tank top, and gripped your ass, pulling you flush against him. You could feel him, already hard, pressing against your stomach through his jeans.
The heat of him, the familiar scent short-circuited your anger, your hurt, your resolve. Your body melted into the kiss, your lips moving against his, your own tongue meeting his in a frantic, familiar dance. You hated yourself even as you moaned into his mouth.
He broke the kiss as suddenly as heâd started it, leaving you gasping for air. Your lips felt swollen, bruised. His were slick, his eyes blazing with a fury that had finally found its outlet.
âSee?â he breathed, his forehead resting against yours. âThis is what you need.â
He didnât wait for an agreement. He walked you backward, his arms strong around you, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your bed. He pushed you down, and you fell onto the mattress, bouncing once. He stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly, then pulled his white t-shirt over his head in one swift motion and tossed it aside.
In the dim light, his torso was a landscape of lean muscle and smooth skin you knew by heart. Youâd mapped every dip and plane with your lips, your fingers. The sight of it now, after the night youâd had, was a visceral punch.
âTake it off,â he commanded, nodding at your tank top. You hesitated for a second, the last shred of dignity shivering inside you. His eyes narrowed. âNow.â
Your hands trembled as you grabbed the hem of your tank top and pulled it over your head. The cool night air pebbled your nipples. You lay there, exposed, as his gaze raked over you, hot and possessive, lingering on your breasts, then dipping lower, to your sleep shorts.
âThose too.â
You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and panties and pushed them down your legs, kicking them off the side of the bed. You were completely naked now, sprawled before him, completely vulnerable.
He undid his jeans, the sound of the zipper loud. Then he pushed them and his boxers down just enough to free his erection. He was already fully hard, thick and flushed. He didnât touch himself. He just looked at you, and then at the bed beneath you.
âThis where you let him fuck you?â he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
You nodded, a tiny, miserable movement.
He climbed onto the bed, crawling over you on his hands and knees, caging you in. Still, he didnât touch you yet, only hovered, his face inches from yours. âYou smell like him,â he whispered, his nose skimming the column of your throat. âThat cheap crap. Itâs all over you.â
âI showered,â you whispered back, your voice trembling.
âNot well enough.â He dipped his head lower, his lips and tongue tracing a hot, wet path from your collarbone down to your breast. He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak, and you cried out, a sharp sound that was torn from your chest. He soothed the sting with his tongue, then gave the same treatment to the other breast, his hand coming up to knead and pinch the one heâd just abandoned.
He was marking you, erasing Maxâ touch, Maxâs mouth, with his own. The thought should have revolted you, but in its place, a dark, shameful thrill shot through your core. You were getting wet, your body betraying you utterly. And he could feel it, you knew. He always knew.
His mouth moved lower, over the quivering plane of your stomach. He pressed open-mouthed kisses along your hip bones, his faint stubble scratching your sensitive skin. He was taking his time, a deliberate, torturous pace. He was making you wait. Making you remember who was in control.
Then he settled between your thighs. He didnât push them apart. He just looked at you, his gaze heavy and intent. âOpen for me.â
You did, letting your knees fall apart. The cool air hit your damp folds, and you shuddered.
He didnât use his fingers first. He lowered his head and dragged his tongue through your slit, a long, slow, flat stroke from your entrance all the way up to your clit.
You jolted, a gasp ripping from your throat. It was so much more intense than earlier with MaxâJakeâs mouth on you was practiced, a skilled, merciless instrument of pleasure. He knew exactly how you liked it: the pressure, the rhythm, the spots that made you see stars. And he used that knowledge now not to please you, but to dominate you, to prove a point. He licked you like he was starved for you, his tongue circling your clit before sucking it gently into his mouth. You whimpered, your hands fisting in the sheets. He hummed against you, the vibration shooting straight to your core. One of his hands came up to hold your hip down, pinning you to the mattress as you began to squirm.
âJakeâoh, fâpleaseââ
He ignored your broken plea. He added a finger, sliding it inside you without preamble. You were wet, so wet for him, and he growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your entire body. âFucking dripping,â he muttered against your flesh, his breath hot. âAll for me. You were thinking about me when he was inside you, werenât you? Pretending it was me.â
He curled his finger, finding that spot inside you that made you see stars, and at the same time, he fastened his mouth back on your clit, sucking intently. It was too much, too soon, too expertly applied, and pleasure coiled tight and sudden in your belly, a white-hot spring ready to snap. You were panting, your back arching off the bed. âFuck, JakeâI think Iâm gonnaââ
âNo,â he said, pulling his mouth and hand away abruptly.
The sudden absence was a physical agony. You cried out, a sound of pure frustration, your body trembling on the precipice. You were so close. Heâd brought you there deliberately, just to deny you.
Your hips bucked, seeking the pressure that had vanished. A ragged, frustrated sob tore from your throat. âJake, please.â
He ignored you, withdrawing from between your thighs. He loomed over you on his knees, his erection standing thick and angry against his stomach. He was still fully clothed from the waist down, the denim of his jeans rough against your inner thighs.
âYou want to come?â His voice was low, rough. It wasnât the smooth, charming tone he used with everyone elseâthis was the Jake only you ever saw. âBeg for it.â
You shook your head, tears of frustration and humiliation mixing on your cheeks. You wouldnât. You couldnât give him that.
He smirked, a cruel twist of his lips. âSuit yourself.â He reached down and wrapped his hand around himself, giving his length a slow, deliberate stroke. Your eyes were glued to the movement, to the way the head flushed darker under his touch. He was watching you watch him, his dark eyes hooded. âCanât believe youâand fuckingâwhat, Max, was it?â He spat the name like it was garbage. âWhy the fuck were you smiling at him, huh? You looked so fucking happy with his hands on your waist.â
His words were a lash. You squeezed your eyes shut.
âOpen your eyes,â he snapped. âKeep looking at me. Look at what you do to me.â
You obeyed, despite yourself.
âI stood there,â he continued, his hand still moving on himself, a lazy, taunting rhythm. âAnd I thought, âsheâs never smiled at me like that.â Not once. Youâre always so⌠fucking tense around me, Y/N. Itâs always like youâre waiting for me to break you. But with him?â He leaned forward, bracing one hand by your head. âYou were so relaxed. You were so normal.â he gritted out the words. âShit, it pissed me the fuck off.â
The confession startled you. He was jealous? Of Max? Of the normalcy? The idea was so foreign it short-circuited your shame. Heâd always been the one who got to be chill, who got to kiss others, who got to post intimate pictures with other girls. Youâd never crossed that unspoken line before. Youâd never given him a reason to feel anything but amused, casual ownership. This rage, this raw feeling was so new.
And it was terrifyingly intoxicating.
âSo I left,â he said, his breath hot on your face. âI took that dumb bitch home, let her suck my dick in the car thinking about you, and then I came here. To my bed. To my girl. And what do I find?â His free hand came up, not to caress, but to grip your chin, forcing your head to turn towards the open bathroom door. âProof you let that other motherfucker inside whatâs mine.â
âYou donât own me,â you whispered, the protest automatic, weak.
âThe fuck I donât,â he growled. His grip on your chin tightened. âYouâve always been mine. Youâre in my fucking system. You think a nice little guy is gonna scrub that out?â He released your chin, and before you could react, his hand that had been stroking himself came up.
He slapped his erection against your cheek. It left a damp, hot stripe on your skin, and you balked, gasping.
He did it again on the other cheek, a little harder. A soft, stinging pat. âYou let him put his mouth here?â he asked, slapping his length against your closed lips.
You kept them sealed, trembling.
âOpen,â he commanded, his voice dropping to a deadly calm.
When you didnât immediately comply, he used his thumb to pry your lips apart, pressing against your teeth. The moment there was a gap, he pushed the head of his cock past your lips, resting it on your tongue. The taste of him flooded your senses.
âSuck,â he ordered, his hands moving to fist in your hair, not gently. He didnât thrust. He just held himself there, a heavy, demanding weight on your tongue. âShow me how much better you are for me than for him.â
Your tongue flattened, swirling around the broad head. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked, drawing him deeper.
A low, gratified groan rumbled from his chest. âThere you go. Knew you missed it, baby.â He began to move then, shallow thrusts that bumped the back of your throat. âCâmon take it. All of it.â
He wasnât gentle, or nice. He fucked your mouth with the same possessive aggression that heâd done everything tonight. His grip on your hair was firm, controlling the pace, the depth. He watched you, his eyes dark and intense, tracking the tears that leaked from the corners of your eyes as he pushed deeper, as you gagged softly.
âRelax your throat,â he instructed, his voice thick with arousal. âYou know how. Youâve done it a hundred times.â
You tried, swallowing around him, letting your muscles ease. He rewarded you with a deeper slide, his pubic bone brushing your nose. He held himself there for a moment, buried to the hilt in your mouth, and you breathed through your nose, your eyes streaming. The feeling of being used so thoroughly for his pleasure, sparked more arousal low in your belly. It was so messed up, it was so wrong. And yet, it was the most alive youâd felt all night.
He pulled back slowly, slick with your saliva. âGood girl,â he murmured, looking down at you with heavy-lidded eyes. âLook at you. My pretty little cockslut. You think Max deserves this? You think he deserves to fuck this sweet mouth?â He thrust harder on the last word, making you choke slightly. âNo. This is mine. Always has been.â
He picked up the pace, his hips pistoning, using your mouth with a single-minded focus. His grip in your hair was unrelenting, holding you in place for his use. Drool leaked from the corners of your mouth, mixing with his precum, creating a messy, wet sound with every thrust. The obscenity of it, the sheer degradation, should have made you sick, but a treacherous heat continued to pool low in your core. You were an object for his pleasure, and in some twisted recess of your soul, that felt like your purpose.
He was talking, his words filthy and relentless, punctuated by the wet slap of his skin against your lips. âThatâs itâhah, take it all. God, youâre so fucking good at this, baby⌠you were made for thisâhnâmade for my dickâŚâ
His free hand came down to squeeze your tits, pinching a nipple hard between his fingers. The sharp pain made you moan around him, the vibration drawing a ragged curse from his lips.
âYou like that, you fucking slut?â he panted, his rhythm becoming less controlled, more frantic. âYou like me using your mouth after you let someone else touch you? Huh? You think this makes us even?â
You couldnât answer. You could only take him, your throat working, your jaw aching. You looked up at him through wet lashes. His expression was one of intense concentration, his brows drawn together, lips parted. He was close. You could feel the tension coiling in his thighs, the way his thrusts became shallower, more urgent.
One of his hands left your hair and cupped your jaw, his thumb pressing into your cheek, making your mouth stretch wider around him. âY/N.â
You dragged your watery gaze up to his. He was flushed, sweating lightly at his temples.
âIâm gonna come,â he stated roughly. âAnd youâre not swallowing it. Iâm not wasting it down your throat tonight.â
He pulled out of your mouth entirely with a wet pop. You gasped for air, your lips feeling bruised and stretched. He was breathing heavily, his fist pumping his length rapidly. He shifted his position, kneeling over your chest.
âArch your back,â he ordered. âPush your tits together.â
Dazed, you obeyed, lifting your hips slightly to press your breasts together, creating a valley between them. He didnât wait. He positioned himself at the top of the cleavage youâd made.
âThis is where it belongs,â he gritted out.
His strokes quickened. You watched, hypnotized, as his muscles coiled, as his abdomen tensed. You knew the signs. You knew him. The air grew thick with the sounds of his ragged breathing and the slick friction of his hand.
âTouch them,â he commanded, his voice strained. âPlay with your fucking tits for me, Y/N. Now.â
Your hands rose obediently. You cupped your own tits, your thumbs brushing over your stiff, aching nipples. A weak, broken moan escaped you at the contact. You were so sensitive, so desperate for any touch.
âYeah,â he hissed, watching your hands on yourself. âJust like that. Make âem all pretty for me.â
You squeezed and kneaded your own flesh, a pathetic, erotic display performed under his command. It was degrading. It was unbearably hot. Your hips shifted on the mattress, your own need a throbbing, ignored pulse between your legs.
Jakeâs strokes became shorter, harder. âFuckâfuck, Iâm gonnaââ
His body tensed, a tremor running through him. A low, guttural groan ripped from his chest. And then he came.
The first hot stripe landed across your left collarbone. You flinched at the sudden heat. The second splashed directly onto your right nipple. The third, and fourth, painted a messy, possessive pattern across the swell of your breasts and your sternum. He kept pumping himself through it, his release pulsing out in thick, warm spurts that coated your skin.
You lay utterly still, breathing heavily, feeling the cum seep into your skin.
He finally stilled, his body slumping slightly. He looked down at his work, at your cum-splattered chest, and a slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face. It wasnât his usual sunny smile. It was dark and triumphant.
âThere,â he breathed, his voice hoarse. âThatâs better.â
He leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of your head. He dipped his head and licked a broad stripe through the mess on your sternum, his tongue rough and hot. His eyes, which had softened momentarily with release, hardened again with renewed purpose.
âBut thatâs not enough, is it?â he whispered, his breath ghosting over your wet skin. âHe was inside you. In my pussy.â
The crude ownership of the word sent a jolt through you.
âI can still smell him on the sheets,â Jake continued, his nose wrinkling in distaste as he glanced at the bed beneath you. âI can feel him in the air.â he scorned. Youâd never seen him this worked up before. âFucking loser. Bet he came in two pumps.â He moved off you, kneeling between your legs again. He pushed your thighs apart, wider this time, his gaze fixed on your core, which was glistening with your own arousal, a betrayal your body couldnât hide. He ran a single, teasing finger through your folds, collecting your wetness, and then brought it to his mouth, sucking it clean with a loud, deliberate sound. Then he positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging your entrance. He didnât push in. He just rested it there. âYou wanna know the difference between me and Max?â
You were trembling, a mess of conflicting sensationsâthe cooling cum on your chest, the ache between your legs, the humiliation, the desperate, clawing need. You shook your head helplessly.
Jake leaned forward, his body covering yours, his mouth at your ear. His voice was low, dripping with a cruel certainty. âMax could never fill you up like this.â
Then he pushed inside of you.
He was bigger than Max. He filled you more completely, stretching you in a way that was both familiar and breathtaking. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. He didnât move for a moment, just stayed buried to the hilt, letting you feel every inch of him. Letting you feel the difference.
âThis is what you need,â he grunted, his face buried in the crook of your neck. âNot someâboy who asks for your permission. You need to be fucked. You need to be reminded who this tight little cunt belongs to.â
Then he began to move.
It wasnât making love, or even passionate sex. It was fucking, pure and simple.
He set a brutal pace. His hips pistoned forward relentlessly, pulling his thick cock almost all the way out until just the swollen head caught on your fluttering entrance, then slamming back in with a force that jarred your entire body. The bedframe rattled beneath you, the wooden slats creaking in protest as the headboard thumped rhythmically against the wallâthud, thud, thud. Each thrust forced a raw sound from your throat: a sharp gasp as he filled you again, a desperate moan when his girth stretched your sensitive walls, a broken sob when the tip battered that deep, aching spot inside you that made white lights explode behind your closed eyes.
Sweat beaded his skin, dripping onto your chest as he hovered over you, muscles flexing with every drive. Your pussy clenched around him involuntarily, still pulsing from your release, the slick mix of your cum and his pre-cum easing the way even as the friction built that sharp, almost painful pleasure anew. He grunted with effort, his balls slapping wetly against your ass on every plunge. Without warning, he shifted his weight, grabbing your right leg and hooking it high over his muscled arm. The position splayed you open wider, your thigh pressed against his side as he leaned in, changing the angle just enough to sink even deeper. You arched off the mattress, your back bowing as the intensity overwhelmed you, vision blurring, breaths hitching into nothing but frantic whimpers.
Words tumbled from your lips in an incoherent rush. âYeahâoh god, right thereâfuck, Jakeâharderâhngh, donât stopââ you mewled, your free leg trembled, toes curling against the sheets, while your hands clutched at his arms, nails biting into his biceps to keep yourself steady. âJakeâhnghâoh myâGod, pleaseââ
âPlease what?â he gritted out, his own breathing ragged. Sweat gleamed on his chest, dripping onto yours. âPlease go harder? Please fill this tight little cunt until you canât think straight? Please fuck all that attitude out and make you beg for my cum?â
Before you could form a coherent answer, he leaned down, his weight pressing you deeper into the mattress. His mouth crashed against yours in a searing kiss, all teeth and tongue, devouring your cries like they were his due. He tasted of the vodka from the party earlier, his slightly stubble scraping your chin as he angled his head. You moaned into him, the sound muffled as his lips sealed over yours, his free hand tangling in your hair to hold you in place.
His hips never faltered, pistoning forward with that relentless force, thick shaft dragging along your inner walls. Every withdrawal pulled a whine from you, your pussy clenching greedily around the retreating length, only to be slammed back full when he buried himself to the hilt. The new angle let him grind against that swollen bundle of nerves inside, sparks igniting with each brutal stroke. Your clit throbbed untouched, the pressure building from the sheer girth of him splitting you open.
The world narrowed and narrowed and narrowed until it was just him. The distant sound of cars outside faded, the crumpled condoms in the bedside trash forgotten, even the vague memory of the girl in his car dissolved into irrelevance. Max's face flickered once in your mind, a meaningless shadow compared to the man railing into you now, but it vanished under the onslaught. There was only Jake: the musky scent of his sweat filling your lungs, the muscles of his arms caging you in, the unyielding press of his body as he fucked you. He broke the kiss with a growl, nipping at your lower lip hard enough to bleed, his voice a rough whisper against your mouth. âSay it. Tell me what you need from a real man. Not that limp-dicked loser who couldn't even make you wet.â
Your response dissolved into another cry as he angled his hips sharper, the head of his cock battering that deep spot relentlessly. The bed creaked louder under the assault. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red trails that only spurred him on. You were climbing again, the denied orgasm from before combining with the stimulation now to create a feeling that was unbearable. Your inner muscles were fluttering around him, clutching desperately.
âIâm gonna come,â you sobbed, breaking the kiss. âJake, Iâm gonna come, please.â
âLook at me,â he demanded.
You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze. His pupils were blown wide. âCome,â he ordered, his voice a guttural rasp.
It pushed you over the edge.
Your orgasm shuddered through you, convulsive, a wave of pure, mind-numbing pleasure that ripped a scream from your throat. You clenched around him, milking his length, your vision tunneling. He fucked you through it mercilessly, his rhythm stuttering but never stopping, drawing out the sensations until they were bordering on painful. As your contractions began to subside, you felt his own control fray.
His thrusts became erratic, harder, deeper again. A low moan ripped from his chest. âFuck, fuckâY/N, fuckâŚâ He buried his face in your neck, his body going rigid as he emptied himself inside you with a final, shuddering thrust.
Instead of pulling out, he pushed you down further onto the bed, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, his heart hammering against your chest. You were both covered in sweat, breathing in ragged, syncopated gasps.
But eventually, he was the first to move. He rolled off you, onto his back, staring up at your ceiling. You lay on your side, facing away from him, drawing your knees up to your chest. The physical release had left you hollowed out, empty. You couldnât stop the tears from starting again, silent this time, soaking into your pillow.
You heard him get up. The soft pad of his feet on the floor. The sound of the bathroom faucet running. He was cleaning up. You didnât move.
He came back to the bed, but he didnât lie down. He sat on the edge, his back to you. You could see the taut lines of his shoulders in the dim light.
âYou canât do that again,â he said quietly. His voice was tired and flat, drained of any earlier fury.
You didnât answer.
âI mean it.â He looked over his shoulder at you. His profile was sharp, beautiful, and closed off. You thought, briefly, about how in love you were with him. âThis thing we have⌠it only works if itâs just us. You know that.â
âYou were with someone else, though,â you said, your voice thick with tears. âYou literally said it, Jake.â
He was silent for a beat. âThatâs different.â
âHow?â You pushed yourself up on one elbow, the sheet pooling around your waist. âHow is it different, Jake? Tell me. Because you get to kiss whoever you want, fuck whoever you want, and I just get to sit here and wait for you to remember I exist?â
He turned fully to face you. In the shadows, his expression was unreadable. âBecause youâre you. And theyâre justâŚâ He ran his hands through his hair, then swore. âThey donât matter, okay?â
It was the closest heâd ever come to admitting there was a hierarchy, and it was the most gut-wrenching thing heâd ever said.
âThatâs not fair,â you whispered.
âLife isnât fair, Y/N,â he said, standing up. He found his boxers and jeans and pulled them on. He picked up his t-shirt. âDonât see him again.â
It was an order.
âOr what?â you challenged, a last spark of defiance.
He finished zipping his jeans and looked at you. The streetlight caught his eyes, and for a fraction of a second, you saw something vulnerable and desperate flash in their depths. Then it was gone, shuttered behind his regular, cool-guy facade. âOr this ends.â
He said it like it was the worst threat in the world. (For you, it might well have been.)
He walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. He didnât look back. âLock up after I leave.â
Then he was gone, pulling the door shut softly behind him.
mona stop writing evil men !!!!! đˇđ¸. đ˛ đŹđŞđˇđ˝ đźđ˝đ¸đš
Š 2026 heedimples. this work belongs to @heedimples. do not repost, modify, translate or plagiarize it in any way on any platforms.
Snow Globe
Summary : You were looking for a strictly casual hookup during your first ever Olympic Games. Bucky Barnes, though, ruined that plan.Â
Pairing : Ice Hockey Player! Bucky Barnes x Snowboarder! reader (she/her)
Warnings/tags : WINTER OLYMPICS AU, cursing, nudity, Olympic Village shenanigans, sexual content (intimate moments are detailed and sex strongly implied), references to STIs (not contracted by Bucky or reader), Olympic Village Hookup, Hookups to Lovers, reader is from Madripoor, I think this might be a He Falls She Falls Harder (Let me know if I missed anything!)
Word count : 11.5k
Note : Iâm back after a busy week, and very much watching the Winter Olympics every day. That is how this fic was born. Enjoy!
Your first Winter Olympics did not feel real, though it shouldâve felt big. It shouldâve felt like a grand gesture, perhaps a love letter to all long days and sleepless nights that got you this far. Instead, it felt like stepping into a snow globe someone else had shaken.
The air was much thinner here, in this elevation. It burned your lungs, unlike the heavy, salt-thick air of home. Back in Madripoor, humidity clung to you like a second skin. Here, the cold pierced clean through the down jackets and straight to your spine.
On the first day, you watched delegations arrive in coordinated waves.
The Americans came in a flood of navy and red, laughing loudly, arms slung over each otherâs shoulders like they were already immortalized in a documentary. Canada followed in a rush of maple-leafed pride. Smaller European nations moved like sleek, efficient machines, used to the attention.Â
Most of them had teammates, countrymen to support them from the inside, people who understood what it felt like to be hereâ in the biggest stage in your sport.Â
You⌠didnât.Â
After all, Madripoor only sent one athlete.
Which made you the centre of attention. You even spent the entire media day answering questions from reporters that didnât hide their curiosity.
âWinter sports arenât exactly common there, right?â One asked. Your answer was âitâs literally on the equator.â Another asked âYou trained where?â When you said you used a specialised indoor facility to best replicate the conditions here when you donât have time to travel.
You learned, very quickly, that you were nothing but a novelty to most.
â
The Olympic Village was a world of its own.Â
The buildings were stacked high with flags draped from balconies. Hallways were always humming at all hours, with laughter ricocheting off concrete walls at midnight. Sometimes, you got annoyed at the music thumping faintly from rooms that never seemed to sleep.
But still, when you shut your door, it was⌠isolating.
Your room was clean and sleek with white furniture and white bedding, with a pale wood desk, same as everyone elseâs. But theirs were filled with teammates. Yours held a single suitcase and a snowboard bag propped against the wall like a reminder of why you were here.
Even your coach insisted the rest of the team stayed two doors down. He was a precise man, always structured, always measured.Â
He discussed weather conditions and amplitude and risk management. He did not ask if you were lonely. He did not sit cross-legged on your bed and tell you it was okay to feel small in a place this big.
He was just professional. Always professional. Which was why he insisted that he and your manager slept in a different room, to keep you away from any âdistractions.â
The other snowboarders, especially the halfpipe girls, did try to keep you company, though.
Theyâd known you for years through X Games circuits, and even added you to the group chat before youâd even unpacked: Halfpipe Girlies đĽđ
It was chaos. Most nights you saw many videos of team dance-offs on there, photos of overflowing cafeteria trays asking you to join in (you did), and selfies with national flags draped around shoulders. They sent many pictures of crowded lounges where entire delegations sprawled across couches like they owned the place.
USA floor is insane right now, one of them sent. Team Canada is crashing the party and they brought speakers.
As if right on cue, you heard a Celine Dion song blasting from the balconies. Â
Can a couple of the big air girls and me join? We can bring hot chocolate? Typed a girl from South Korea.Â
Yes ofc!!! Someone responded quickly.
The next message sent into the group chat specifically tagged you. WHERE ARE YOU. ISN'T THIS YOUR FIRST OLYMPICS?
You typed back: In my room :( got early training tomorrow.
Which was true. But not the whole truth.
The whole truth was that walking into those spaces alone felt harder than staying put. They were all so lovely, but as the night went on, they would all peel away eventuallyâ back to their roommates, their teammates, their inside jokes in languages you didnât speak.
You would go back to being alone.
â
The next night, as snow fell thick outside your window, coating the world in soft white, you laid flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, phone resting on your stomach. The radiator hissed faintly. Somewhere down the hall, someone laughed loud and carefree.
Your phone buzzed.
And buzzed.
And buzzed again.
You know what it was about. After all, in the last 24 hours, the group chat had taken a turn.
Okay but REAL talk, someone texted in, yâall HAVE to download the apps.
Ik! the village is literally hookup central đ
Update: Half the hockey teams are on there
I matched with the Latvia captain yesterday đ
You huffed out a laugh despite yourself. Another message popped up, and you were tagged in it, donât tell me the entire Madripoor delegation is behaving.
Cultural exchange is important đ, another added cheekily.
You stared at the screen longer than you meant to.
You were here for glory, right? To prove that a girl from a humid island could fly twenty feet above frozen walls and land with her head high. Not to fuck around and find out.Â
But you were also young and alone.
And are you imagining things, or are the walls starting to close in�
Fuck it.Â
You rolled onto your side and opened the app store before you could talk yourself out of it. You downloaded the dating app, feeling slightly humiliated and entirely impulsive.
When you opened it, you set up your profile. You put in your name and chose your pictures carefully.
You chose a beach shot from home, with sun bleeding into the ocean, your hair wild from wind. Then a cafĂŠ selfie from Switzerland last season. A candid of you laughing, head thrown back.
Snowboarding didnât show up until photo six; mid air with your knees tucked.
The bio field blinked expectantly as you tried to type a clever line.Â
You typed. Deleted. Typed again.
Finally, you settled with something straightforward: Hookup only. Here for a good time, not a long time.
Ugh. You physically cringed.
It sounded way too detached. Not at all like you. But hey, you just wanted to have a little fun, right?
You hit save before your nerves could override you.
Then you got down to business and started swiping.
Among many people staying near the village, you saw other athletes as well, as expected. A downhill skier posing shirtless in a mirror. A speed skater flexing with a protein shake. A snowboarder you recognized immediatelyâ hard pass. You didnât need any immediate distractions.
You swiped left.
Again.Â
And again.
After a solid twenty minutes, your thumb moved lazily, almost numb. Until it didnât.
James B.Â
That was the next profile on your phone.Â
Hmm. He looked cute. Tall, dark-haired, and handsome. So⌠exactly your type.Â
His profile picture was dimly lit but clear enough, showing hair falling into steel blue eyes. He had a stubble along his strong jaw. He looked like trouble in the most controlled way.
You tapped.
James Bucky Barnes. 6â0.
Bio: Olympic Village. Donât waste my time.
Your pulse picked up, even as you snorted at the caption. After all, that was exactly what youâre looking for.Â
There was a second photo of him on the ice, helmet off, sweat-damp hair pushed back. Another with teammates in red, white, and blueâ a team USA hockey athlete. The next one was a candid shot in a farm somewhere in an unfamiliar countryside.Â
He didnât look like the mirror-selfie types.
He looked⌠solid.
You told yourself it didnât matter. It was just an app. Just a distraction. Besides, there was no guarantee heâd be attracted to you, too.Â
So you swiped right.Â
For half a second, nothing happened.
Then the screen flashed.
Itâs a Match!
Oh.Â
Oh, fuck.
Your thumb hovered across the screen for exactly three minutes before you sucked it up and typed. Gotta pull the bandage off quickly, right?
You: Donât waste your time, huh?
You hit send before you could overanalyze the text. The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
James: Yep.
Then, before you could think of another witty message, he double texted.Â
James: What building and floor you on? You still down for hooking up?
Your stomach dipped a little. Of course he was direct. There was no small talk. No pretending this was anything else.
You glanced around your room as if someone might be watching. No one was, of course, just your lone Madripoor flag draped over a chair:Â
You: Building B, Floor 6.
You hesitated, then added:Â
And yeah. Iâm still down.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
James: Huh
The bubbles paused long enough to make your chest tighten.
James: Iâm in the same building, on the same floor.Â
Shit.Â
James: Iâm in a blue hoodie, in front of the machine on the far left of the corridor.
You stared at the screen, the world suddenly felt very small. Of course he was only twenty steps away. The Olympic gods had a sense of humour.Â
James: You free now?
You could say no. You should say no.
You had training at seven. You didnât know this guy. This was reckless.
StillâŚ
You: Yeah. Give me two minutes.Â
You threw your phone onto the bed and immediately groaned into your hands.
âWhat are you doing,â you scolded yourself, but you were already pulling on a hoodie.
You glanced down at yourself.
Your legs were bare, only sleep shorts on. Hair loose over your shoulders, still slightly damp from your shower. You hadnât dressed for anyone, and you hadnât expected to.
You slid your feet into your slippers, the plush lining warm against your toes, and paused at the door.
With a deep breath stepped into the hallway.
The carpet swallowed the sound of your footsteps as lights cast a golden glow down the corridor. The air smelled faintly of detergent and sweet from the vending machines.
And then you saw him.
Far left of the corridor, just like he said.
Blue hoodie, back against the vending machine, finishing a Snickers as he was waiting for you. One ankle was crossed casually over the other, hands tucked into the front pocket.
He looked up when your door clicked shut. And his eyes found you immediately.
The casual lean shifted subtly. His shoulders straightened just a fractionâ so you could tell he was a bit nervous, too. His gaze dragged slowly, from your face down to your legs and back up again.
For a second you both just⌠stared.
Because photos hadnât done him justice. Like, at all.
He was unfairly handsome in, long lashes, tired eyes, a crooked mouth like he smiled more with one side.
Pretty, but dangerously so. Like youâd absolutely make bad decisions around him.
You cleared your throat and stepped closer. ââŚJames?â
He flinched a little, like youâd surprised him.
Then he rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. âUhâ yeah. Thatâs technically my name.â A small smile. âBuckyâs fine.â
Bucky. It suited him way better.
âOkay,â you said softly. âBucky.â
The way you said it made his ears go pink. Cute.
âYou look even prettier in person,â he managed to say, voice rougher than you thought it wouldâve sounded over text. âDidnât know that was possible.â
Heat rushed straight to your cheeks.
As you stepped up closer, you noticed the details. He was broader than the photos suggested, taller than youâd imagined. His dark hair was slightly messy, like heâd run a hand through it one too many times. You forced yourself to keep walking, closing the last few feet between you.
âYou donât waste time, huh?â you teased.
âDidnât plan to tonight,â he shrugged.Â
His eyes lingered on the way your hoodie pooled against your collarbones. The way your slippers looked comically soft against the sterile hallway.
âI donât realise there were any hockey guys on this floorâ you teased lightly. âI thought this was reserved for freestyles.â
The corner of his mouth curved up. âI live two floors down,â he admitted. âNo vending machines on my floor.â
You were close enough now to see the faint flush on his cheeks from the cold outside. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him.
âStill down?â he asked quietly, as if afraid of a rejection now.Â
Your pulse hammered, but your voice stayed steady. âYeah.â
His eyes darkened just slightly.
âYour room,â he said, nodding toward your door, âor mine?â
â
Your room.
Of course the answer was always gonna be your room.
You had no roommates, no teammates wandering in unannounced. No shared space to negotiate.
You grabbed his hand and tugged him toward your door before either of you could overthink it. He followed wordlessly.
Inside, your room felt smaller with him in it, warmer.Â
He stepped in and glanced around, taking in the single suitcase, the neatly folded Madripoor jacket draped over the bathroom door, your snowboard bag propped carefully against the wall.
âNo way,â he said, lifting his eyebrows up. âMadripoor? Iâve heard about you.â
You huffed a small laugh, shutting the door behind him. âYeah?â
âYeah. Not exactly known for winter sports.â
âWow,â you rolled your eyes, knowing he didnât mean any harm. âOriginal.â
He grinned.
You didnât give either of you more time to talk. You stepped forward, fisted your hands into the front of his blue hoodie, and pulled him down to you.
The kiss hit hot and immediate.
He made a low sound in his throat that surprised but pleased, and his hands came to your waist instinctively, fingers pressing into the fabric of your hoodie.
His mouth was warm, firm, confident. He wasnât clumsy in the slightest.Â
You backed him toward the door for half a second, then turned and pushed him further into the room until the backs of his knees hit the edge of your bed.
Between kisses, he shifted just enough to look at you.
âSaw your profile photo,â he murmured, fingers sliding under the hem of your hoodie. He pulled it slowly over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him before leaning down to press his mouth to the curve of your neck. âSnowboard cross?â
âNoâ mmmphââ you sucked in a breath as his teeth grazed a sensitive spot just below your collarbone. âHalfpipe.â
He hummed against your skin, clearly pleased with the reaction heâd gotten.
âFair,â he said, lips trailing lower, hands mapping the lines of your waist. âExplains the balance.â
You laughed softly, a little breathless, and stepped back just long enough to tug at the hem of his hoodie.
âArms up,â you ordered lightly.
He obeyed without hesitation. The hoodie came off, and for a split second, you just stared.
Ainât you glad you swiped right?Â
He had a strong core, arms thick with muscle earned from years of contact and controlled aggression.
âYouâre built like a fridge,â you said honestly, eyes sweeping over him. âIn a good way.â
He snorted, amused. âComes with the job,â he shrugged simply, reaching down to undo his belt.Â
You watched, heart racing, as he stripped the rest of his clothes away without ceremony. This was the most efficient a hook up has ever been, the most⌠unselfconscious.
And then⌠you swallowed.
Um. Wow.
He caught the look on your face and smirked, reaching into the pocket of his discarded sweats and pulling out a condom.
He came prepared.
You stepped out of your shorts slowly, letting them fall to the floor before pushing him gently back onto the bed. The look on his face as he took your bare skin in was as devilish as yours.Â
âGoalie?â you asked innocently as you climbed over him, bracketing his hips with your thighs.
He laughed, hands coming to rest on your waist.
âDefenseman,â he corrected, eyes dragging over you openly now. âI hit other guys for a living.â
âThat checks out,â you laughed, leaning down to kiss him again.
He rolled just enough to reach the bedside table, tearing the foil open with practiced ease before settling back, hands guiding you closer.
His gaze flicked up to yours, briefly serious now. âYou clean?â he asked.
âOf course,â you answered without hesitation.
His jaw tightened slightly in approval. Then his hands slid up your back, fingers splaying wide, pulling you flush against him as his mouth found yours again, slower this time, deeper, less about proving something and more about learning what you liked in a man.Â
â
Much later, after the little fun you both had, the room felt⌠warmer.Â
The radiator hummed against the wall, snow drifting past your window in lazy spirals. The bed creaked faintly as Bucky shifted beside you, staring up at the ceiling like heâd just skated overtime and couldnât quite believe the scoreboard.
You turned onto your side, watching him.
He looked completely undone. His hair was mussed, lips slightly swollen. He had a dazed little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth like he was trying not to grin too hard and failing miserably.
Then he actually started laughing.
You couldnât help it, you started giggling too.
âWhat?â you asked, nudging his arm with your knee. âWhy are you laughing?â
He shook his head, dragging a hand down his face like he needed to reset himself.
âThat,â he said, still smiling at the ceiling, âwas my first ever Olympic hookup.â
You blinked. âNo way.â
âSwear.â He turned his head toward you, blue eyes bright and a little stunned. âThis is my first games. Youâre my first⌠that.â
You burst out laughing, flopping onto your back beside him. âYouâre kidding.â
âIâm not.â
âWell,â you said, grinning at the ceiling now too, âme too.â
That got him to prop himself up on one elbow instantly. âWait. Really?â
âMmhmm.â
He stared at you for a long second like he was recalibrating everything he thought he knew.
âYouâŚ?â he said slowly. âYou seem really good at it.â
You gasped, mock offended. âOh my god.â
âI mean it!â he insisted, laughing now. âYou justââ he made a vague gesture with both hands. ââtook control.â
You rolled your eyes, but you could feel your cheeks warming.
âMaybe I just didnât want to waste your time,â you teased.
He groaned softly, falling back against the pillow again, smiling to himself like heâd just discovered something he hadnât known he was looking for.
For a moment, you just lay there side by side, shoulders brushing. It felt strange how comfortable it was.
You eventually slipped off the bed, wobbling across the room in your slippers, hoping your legs would reset by morning. The cold air made you shiver a little as you knelt by your suitcase and dug through the side pocket.
Bucky pushed himself up slightly to watch you. âWhat are you doing?â
âHang on.â
You pulled out the small pouch filled with pins. Being the only athlete from Madripoor had meant your Olympic committee had gone overboard with dozens of little enamel flags and sunbursts and tropical designs for you to trade.
You picked one carefully and walked back over.
âWant one?â you said, holding it out.
He sat up fully this time, âNo way.â
He took it from your hand like it was precious.
The Madripoor flag caught the light in bright colors, bold lines. It was tiny but mighty, a symbol of a country that didnât belong in winter but showed up anyway.
âYouâre the only one here from there, right?â he asked quietly.
âYeah.â
âI⌠thanks.â
You shrugged, suddenly shy under his gaze. âThey gave me a lot of pins.â
He reached down to his pile of clothes on the floor and fished through his jacket pocket. âHold on.â
He came back with a Team USA pin, sleek and shiny, red and white stripes curving behind the bold letters.
He held it out to you with a little grin. âFair trade.â
You accepted it, smiling. âYou know I already got one from one of the girls, right?â
His eyes narrowed playfully. âYeah, but this oneâs special.â
âYeah? Whyâs that?â You raised an eyebrow.
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. âBecause itâs mine.â
You snorted, but your smile widened. âSmooth.â You pinned it carefully to the inside of your jacket that hung on the bathroom door, pressing it flat against the fabric.
He watched you do it.
He stood after a minute, pulling on his hoodie and sweats again, not rushing to leave, just⌠settling back into himself.
At the door, he paused. âIâll keep in touch,â he said.
You crossed your arms, leaning against the desk. âYou better.â
He smiled at that. âHalfpipe, right?â
âYeah.â
âIâll be watching.â
Your heart did something annoyingly soft at that.
He opened the door, then hesitated, glancing back at you one more time. âYouâre cool, you know,â he added.
You rolled your eyes to hide how much that pleased you. âGo away, Barnes.â
He laughed quietly and slipped into the hallway. The door clicked shut.
And for the first time since arriving at the Olympics, you didnât feel lonely at all.
â
The Olympic Village only got wilder as the days went on.
It was like someone had shaken the entire mountain and let a few thousand elite athletes loose with too much adrenaline and not enough supervision. Music thumped through walls at all hours. Elevators opened to people fixing their hair and pretending they hadnât just sprinted down six flights of stairs. The halfpipe group chat was feral beyond repair.
Iâm never looking at Team Sweden the same.
Why are figure skaters secretly the most freaky?
Must be their training regimen.
Youâd laugh at the messages, curled up in your bed with your training schedule open beside you, and your phone lighting up with Buckyâs name more often than not, while his team jacket was folded neatly on the foot of your desk. He left it there. âAccidentally.â
Yeah, sure.Â
It started becoming routine.
Youâd train. Heâd practice. Youâd both pretend you were going to be social that night.
And then one of you would text.
Bucky : You alive?
You : Barely. Quali was brutal.
Five minutes later he was outside your door with two vending machine hot chocolates and a grin, inviting him in as he peels your clothes away, drinks forgotten.
The night after, you met him in the rec room, surrounded by half of Team USA. His friends pretended not to notice when Bucky slipped away mid-conversation.
By the end of the week, it became⌠assumed.
The conversation that made it official happened a bit later.
You were in his room this time, his roommates out to get food for the night. He made up some bullshit excuse about being tired to spend the night with you, alone.Â
You sat cross-legged near the foot of the bed while he leaned back against the headboard, scrolling through something on his phone.
He snorted.
âWhat?â you asked.
âWalkerâs not playing tomorrow.â
You frowned. âIs he injured?â
Bucky barked out a laugh. âNot exactly.â
He tossed his phone onto the nightstand and rubbed a hand over his face, half amused, half exasperated.
âHe picked up an STI.â
Your eyes widened. âNo.â
âYeah. Team docâs got him under lockdown.â He shook his head, âthe teams calling it horny jail.â
You burst out laughing.
âNo way.â
âWay.â He grinned. âCoach is pissed. He warned us not to go to that party in building D.â
You fell back onto the mattress, still giggling. âThatâs brutal.â
âItâs stupid,â Bucky corrected, but there was something thoughtful underneath the humor.
The noise of the Village hummed faintly through the walls. Somewhere down the hall, someone whooped loudly.
You rolled onto your side to look at him. âYou couldâve been at that party.â
âYeah,â he said.
âYou werenât?â
âNo.â
He looked at you for a long moment, a bit more serious now, not joking.
âYou hooking up with anyone else?â he asked, and you took that as a safety question. It wasnât accusatory at all.
You shook your head slowly. âAre you?â
âNo.â
There were options for both of you, that much was obvious. Youâd seen the way people looked at him in the cafeteria. Heâd definitely noticed the way other guys lingered a little too long near you as they asked, âwhat sport do you play?â
âItâs not like Iâd be mad,â you said quietly. âWe didnâtâlike⌠say anything.â
âI know.â
âBut I- Iâm clean.â
âMe too,â he exhaled, gaze drifting to the ceiling before coming back to you.
âMaybe itâs just easier like this,â he admitted.
You understood exactly what he meant.
No awkward introductions. No wondering if someone was going to ghost you after. No worrying about health or drama. No ending up in horny jail.
You smiled faintly, agreeing with him. âItâs just efficient, isnât it?â
âExactly.â
You pushed yourself up onto your elbows. âSo what are you saying, Barnes?â
He studied you for a second, like he was weighing whether to make it sound casual or not.
âIâm saying,â he began, slower now, âwe stick with each other while weâre here.â
You raised an eyebrow. âExclusive hookup?â you teased.
He groaned. âSounds terrible when you say it like that.â
You laughed.
âBut, it would work,â he continued. âWeâre both here to compete. We trust each other. We know weâre clean.â His lips curved up slightly. âAnd, you know⌠itâs not exactly a hardship.â
You rolled your eyes playfully, but warmth bloomed low in your chest.
âItâs not like weâd be mad if the other didnât,â you said carefully.
âNo,â he agreed. âItâs just⌠easier.â
But there was something else there. Something neither of you said out loud.
Perhaps, you started to like each other.Â
You reached out your hand.
âOkay,â you said.
He looked down at it, confused for half a second.
âDeal,â you clarified.
A smile spread across his face. He took your hand and shook it solemnly like you were signing a contract. âDeal.â
From that night on, it was a thing.
The parties still raged. The rumors still swirled. The group chat still detonated every evening with scandal and chaos. The halfpipe girls teased you relentlessly for âmysteriously disappearing.â He got chirped by his teammates every time he checked his phone and smiled.
But you didnât waver.
You trained. He played. You texted between sessions. Sometimes it was flirty. Sometimes it was just, Howâd practice go? or You eat yet?
It stopped being just about nights.
It became coffee runs and walks after dinner. Him showing up at the halfpipe during your practice just to watch, hands shoved into his jacket, pretending he didnât look proud when you landed clean.
Soon enough, if someone asked where you were, the answer was usually, âWith that Barnes guy.â If someone asked him where he disappeared to after practice, the guys would just groan knowingly.
It wasnât dramatic. It wasnât possessive. You didnât label it anything. You started recognizing his knock on your door before he even texted. Heâd show up with tea or protein bars or some ridiculous story about practice. Youâd steal his hoodie and pretend you werenât keeping it on purpose.
Youâd wish each other luck before competitions. Sit close in the cafeteria.Â
You told yourselves it was practical, safe, and convenient.
But you werenât stupid, you noticed the way he watched you train when he thought you couldnât see him. He noticed the way you checked the hockey schedule before planning your own nights.
That wasnât just convenient.
That was fondness.
â
It was almost midnight when your phone lit up.
You were already in bed, lights off, semifinal schedule replaying in your head like a loop you couldnât shut down. The ceiling above you felt too close.Â
Your phone buzzed again.
Bucky: You awake?
You didnât even try to hide your smile.
You: Yeah. Whatâs up?
The typing bubble appeared instantly.
Bucky: Canât sleep.
Bucky: Germany guys next door are throwing a full-blown rave with half my team.
As if summoned, a faint bass thudded through your floor. A guy shouted something unintelligible as laughter erupted.
You could picture it perfectly now, hockey players crammed into a room not built for that many bodies, someone definitely dancing on a chair.
You: Youâre missing out.
Bucky: Hard pass. I need to get my beauty sleep. I donât get this pretty with no effort.Â
You laughed softly into your pillow as another message came through.
Bucky: I also think Iâm more nervous about your semis than you are.
That made your chest go warm. You stared at the screen for a second before offering something stupid.
You: You can sleep at mine?
The typing bubble blinked. Stopped. Blinked again.
Bucky: You have semis tomorrow.
You rolled onto your back, phone above your face.
You: Yes.
Bucky: So maybe inviting a 200-pound defenseman who's gonna keep you up all night in your tiny bed is not ideal.
You smiled.
You: I didnât say weâre having sex tonight, did I?
There was a long pause.
Bucky: Weâre not?
You snorted.
You: Behave, Bucky.Â
You: Just come by and sleep. Weâll be fine.
The bubble appeared again.
Bucky: You sure? I donât want to mess with your focus.
You sighed. He was struggling to get some shut eye and frustrated by his floorâs lack of awarenessâ he didnât have to be this⌠sweet.
You: You wonât.
Ten minutes later, there was a knock at your door.
You slipped out of bed and padded across the room in your socks. When you opened the door, he was there in gray sweats and a loose t-shirt, hair slightly messy, eyes tired but lighting up the second he saw you.
The bass from down the hall echoed faintly behind him.
âYouâre a hero,â he murmured.
âDonât get used to it,â you smiled.Â
He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. The noise dulled instantly, replaced by the hum of your radiator.
For a moment, he just stood there, looking at you like he was trying to memorize something.
âYou okay?â he asked softly.
âYeah.â
âYou sure?â
âYeah,â you repeated. âYou?â
He shrugged. âJust couldnât shut my brain off.â
You understood that. You climbed back into bed and lifted the blanket. He hesitated for half a second, then slid in carefully.
The bed was small. You both lay flat on your backs at first, shoulders barely touching.
âSee?â you whispered into the dark. âVery professional.â
âHmmm,â he agreed solemnly.
But then you felt him shift slightly, turning onto his side.
âYou nervous?â he asked quietly.
âA little,â you admitted.
He let out a deep breath. âYouâre going to crush it.â
The certainty in his voice made your chest loosen. âYou sound very sure.â
He shrugged, the music down the hall fading into background noise.
Without really thinking about it, you turned onto your side too. The space between you disappeared. Your knee brushed his thigh. His arm hovered awkwardly for a second before resting lightly at your waist.
After a moment, his hand shifted slightly, fingers spreading gently against your back like he was checking if this was still allowed.
You didnât move away. Instead, you scooted a fraction closer.
âThought we were behaving,â he whispered.
âWe are,â you said. âThis is just⌠cuddling.â
He huffed a quiet laugh against your hair.
The mattress dipped as he adjusted, sliding his arm fully around you this time, pulling you carefully into his chest. You fit there surprisingly well, your forehead tucked under his chin, your hand resting against his ribs.
He pressed his lips gently to the top of your head. His thumb started tracing absentminded circles against your back, a soothing, repetitive motion.Â
âI like this,â he said quietly.
âSleeping?â
âYeah,â he paused, only a little, âWith you.â
You tucked your face back against his chest to hide the smile you couldnât suppress.
âDonât get attached,â you teased softly.
âToo late.â
Your heart skipped a beat.
Outside, the music finally died down. His breathing evened out first this time.
You lay there a little longer, listening to it, feeling the And wrapped up in his arms, in a bed too small for two, you drifted off knowing that when you stepped onto the halfpipe tomorrow⌠Heâd be there.
â
The rest of the Games were⌠fine.
Neither of you got a storybook ending, but you didnât tragically embarrass yourself, either.Â
You landed your first two runs in finals clean, high amplitude, solid grabs. On the third, you pushed just a little. A bit more rotation. A touch more risk. If you wanted a chance, you had to at least attempt those triple corks and high-rotation switch tricks you trained so damn hard to do.Â
But you scuffed it.
It wasnât a catastrophic fall, not even a yard sale across the pipe. But it was just enough of a hand drag and sketchy landing to drop you to fifth.
The commentators called it âimpressive for a first Olympic Gamesâ in a tone that feels like a consolation prize.
You sat in the snow at the bottom of the halfpipe for a few seconds longer than you meant to, helmet still on, staring at the scoreboard.Â
When the scores were finalized and your name stayed in fifth, you didnât cry.
You nodded at your coach. You did the interviews. You said the right things â âproud of the progression, grateful for the experience, excited for whatâs next.â
You meant some of it.
Fifth in your first Olympic Games from a snow-less, tiny, tropical country on the equator. It was objectively historic.
But you still felt like missing something you could almost taste.
â
He was waiting when you got back to the Village.
He was outside the building, hand shoved into his Team USA jacket, breath fogging in the cold. You saw him in the stands earlier, so he mustâve not been able to pass through the crowd to see you.Â
And if you were honest, you almost didnât see him at first. You were still half inside your own head, before he stepped forward to meet you halfway.Â
âYou okay?â he asked.
You shrugged.
That was the worst part; you werenât devastated. You werenât shattered. You were just⌠disappointed in a manageable way.Â
âI couldâve done better,â you shook your head.
He shook his head immediately. âYou⌠shit, you scared the hell out of me on that last run,â he muttered into your hair.Â
You huffed a small laugh. âYou hate watching me.â
âI hate watching you launch yourself into the sky,â he corrected. âBut it doesnât mean I hate that you do.â
You stayed there a second longer than pride would usually allow.
â
By the time you and Bucky made it back to the Village, the sun had dipped behind the mountains and the air had gone sharp and blue with evening cold. He kept one hand at the small of your back the whole walk, comforting enough to feel cosy.Â
Inside, the hallway was louder than usual. Someone down the corridor was blasting music. A group in matching jackets hurried past.
You unlocked your door.
The room felt different now.
Your helmet hit the desk with a dull thud. You toed off your boots and stood there for a second, staring at your snowboard bag propped against the wall like it had been waiting for this outcome.
Bucky shut the door behind you.
âYou wanna talk about it?â he asked.
You shrugged, pulling at the zipper of your jacket. âThereâs not much to say.â
He didnât push.
You knelt by the snowboard bag and unzipped it, fingers moving automatically. You wiped the base down with a cloth from your kit, checking edges out of habit even though youâd done it a hundred times before.
He crouched down across from you without being asked.
âYou heading out tomorrow?â he asked.
You shook your head. âNo. Iâm staying a couple more days. Media obligation and all that.â
He nodded, hiding his small smile of knowing heâd get you for another couple more days.Â
âCoach wants the gear packed for transport tomorrow though,â you added. âTheyâre shipping everything back in bulk.â
âGot it,â he said simply.
You started disassembling your bindings, hands steady even if your brain felt fuzzy.
He watched for a second, then reached for the tool kit beside you. âShow me.â
You glanced up. âYou donât have to helpââ
âI know,â he insisted, and that determined look in his eyes was familiar. He was not backing down.Â
You handed him the screwdriver.
He followed your instructions carefully, brow furrowed in concentration like it was a play diagram instead of hardware.
âLefty loosey?â he confirmed.
âOther left,â you muttered.
He huffed a small laugh. âFine motor skills arenât my brand.â
Despite yourself, you smiled.
âYou know,â he said after a minute, not looking up, âmost people donât go that big on a last run.â
âI shouldâve played it safe,â you said automatically.
He stopped adjusting the binding and looked at you.
âWould you have been happy with fourth if youâd gone smaller?â
You hesitated. âNo.â
âExactly.â
Oh.Â
You looked away first, reaching for your gloves.
âGoggles need to go in the hard case,â you said, voice steadier now.
âGot it.â
He worked methodically, packing each piece where you directed. Helmet wrapped in your thermal layer. Competition bib folded flat. Wax kit zipped into the side pouch.
It felt strangely intimate, more than any of the nights his lips were dragging across your skin.Â
This⌠was different.
This was him kneeling on the carpet of your tiny Olympic Village room, helping you close out something youâd spent four years building toward.
When everything was finally packed, the bag looked too neat. He zipped it shut slowly.
âThere,â he said.
You stared at it for a long second.
âFifth in the world,â he added.
You huffed softly. âThatâs not how they announce it.â
âMaybe they should.â
You leaned back on your hands and laughed. When you thought about it like thatâ that only four people in the world were better than you⌠it did make you feel better.Â
You let him sit next to you on the bed as he pulled you down with him until you were tucked against his side. The mattress dipped under the combined weight.
You expected him to make a joke.
He didnât.
He just slid an arm around your waist and pulled you in close.
Your head rested on his chest. His heartbeat was steady. You traced a lazy line along his ribs with your fingertip. âYou staying the night?â you asked quietly.
âIf you want.â
You shifted slightly so you could look up at him. âI do.â
He didnât say anything cheesy. Instead, he just pressed a kiss to your forehead.
You kicked your slippers off and wriggled under the blanket, tugging him down with you. He followed easily, body folding around yours.
His arm slid under your neck, the other settling securely at your waist. You fit against him like youâd practiced.
âYou okay now?â he asked into your hair.
You thought about it.
Fifth place was a disappointment. You hated that the gear was leaving without you, and you were restless in waiting another four years for another chance at this stage.Â
But Bucky was there.Â
âYeah,â you said finally. âI think so.â
â
A couple nights later, you were in the stands for his bronze medal match.
Youâd never understood hockey beyond puck goes in net = good, but you learned fast.
More importantly, you learned how to spot Bucky instantly by the number on his back and the way he moved.
You screamed when he slammed someone into the boards. You stood when he blocked a shot. You nearly threw up when it went into overtime.
Then⌠they lost on a rebound in front of the net.Â
Silver wouldâve meant something.Â
Bronze wouldâve meant something.
Them coming fourth now meant nothing.
You waited until the handshake line was done. Until the team gathered around the coaches. Until the cameras drifted toward the celebrating side.
He didnât notice you at first when he came out of the tunnel.
âHey, Buck.â
He looked up.
The second he saw you, his shoulders dropped just a fraction. âHey,â he said, like he hadnât just left everything on the ice.
You didnât try to spin it. âThat sucked.â
He let out a humorless laugh. âYeah.â
You stepped into him the same way he had with you a couple nights before.
His arms wrapped around you instantly. âYou played well,â you said into his chest.
âDoesnât matter.â
âIt does.â
He was quiet for a second.
âI shouldâve cleared that rebound,â he sighed.
You pulled back just enough to look up at him. âYou donât get to âshouldâveâ me after what you said about my scuffed landing.â
He blinked. Then the corner of his mouth twitched, forehead dropping to yours for a brief second in the middle of a crowded corridor, his team patting his back as they passed. âThanks for coming,â he said.
âOf course.â
â
He excused himself for team duties, but it wasnât long before you found him outside after the media scrum, after the forced smiles and the âproud of the boysâ soundbites. His hair was still damp from the shower, scarf loose around his neck like heâd given up halfway through fixing it.
âTheyâre going out,â he said when he saw you. âTo a bar in town.â
âAre you going?â
He shook his head once. âI donât feel like it.â
âThatâs okay,â you said gently, squeezing his arm.
His eyes flicked up at that.
You didnât talk about the or the missed coverage after that. You just walked with him back to his building.
His room was empty when he unlocked it.
âSam with the rest of the team tonight?" you asked about his roommate
âYeah,â he said. âAnd heâll be loud when he comes back.â
You stepped inside anyway, and the door clicked shut.
For a second, you just looked at each other.
It didnât take long for him to grab your face and kiss you. It was urgent, like he needed to prove some things in this world were still under his control.Â
Your hands fisted into the front of his shirt as you peeled layers away, pulling him closer as his palms slid to your waist. He pulled clothes out of the way as best he could without breaking the kiss, breath uneven, fingers already working at your sweats.
âWe donât have long,â he whispered against your mouth, voice rough.
You almost laughed. âYou always say that.â
âThis time I mean it.â
You blinked up at him. âWhat?â
âWe donât have long,â he breathed out, pressing his forehead to your, âBefore my teammates come back. Before someone decides to grab something they forgot. BeforeâŚâ He exhaled, eyes flicking over your face. âBefore this ends.â
The last part slipped out more fragile than he meant it to.
Right.
You didnât know what to say, so you kissed him.
It wasnât frantic, unlike that first night. It was deeper, even a little desperate around the edges.
He kissed you back like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. His hands slid from your waist up your back, fingers spreading wide like he was grounding himself.
His fingers tangled in your hair. Yours hooked into the waistband of his sweats. You walked him backward until the backs of his knees hit his bed.
âYouâre soâŚâ he started, then stopped, like he couldnât find the right word.
âWhat?â you whispered.
He shook his head and pulled shirt over your head instead, hands lingering at your skin afterward like he didnât want to let go.
âYou make this place feel different,â he admitted.
Your eyebrows softened as you pushed him gently back against the pillows, climbing over him. He pulled you down into another kiss that was slower than anything youâd shared before.Â
When he rolled you gently beneath him to hover over you, it wasnât about taking control. It was about feeling close to you. His forehead rested against yours as your breathing synced.
âDonât disappear on me after this,â he said.
You blinked up at him. âIâŚâ
Before you finished, he tugged his shirt over his head, mouth tracing along your jaw, down your neck, slower than usual, like he was deliberately taking his time.
And boy⌠did he take his time on you that night.Â
And when you finally ended up tangled in sheets and breathless laughter and skin-to-skin warmth, it felt less like a hookup and more like a promise neither of you had agreed to make.
You were half-draped over him, your head resting just below his collarbone. His breathing was slower now, as his fingers traced idle patterns along your shoulder, down your arm and across your waist.
âYou know,â he said carefully, eyes on the ceiling, âI think I adored you a little bit from the start.â
Your brain short-circuited, lifting your head slightly. âYou⌠what?â
He glanced down at you, almost sheepish now. But he didnât take it back.
âAdored you,â he repeated, softer. âWhen you walked down that hallway the first night, you were nervous but pretending not to be.â His thumb brushed along your side. âI have adored you every night since.â
You just stared at him.
Oh.
Right.
That.
Youâd wanted just a hookup. You were supposed to leave the Winter Olympic Village with a couple good stories and no complications.
So how exactly had you ended up here?
Naked in a hockey playerâs bed while he admitted he adored you like this was normal?
You didnât realize youâd gone quiet until his hand froze.
He shifted slightly beneath you. âHey.â
You blinked back into focus.
âIf that freaked you out, you can tell me,â he said carefully. âI didnât mean toâ I justââ
You pushed yourself up on one elbow.
âYou didnât scare me.â
His brows knit together. âThen why do you look like I just handed you a ring?â
Before you could respondâ
The door burst open.
âYo, Barnes! You sure you donât want toââ
Sam Wilson stopped dead in the doorway and took in the sight of you in Buckyâs bed, sheets twisted around your waist, Bucky half-propped up behind you.
âWHOOOAAA.â
Bucky moved at lightning speed.
He yanked the blanket up over you so fast it nearly smacked you in the face and grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be his dirty sock, and hurled it at Sam.
âGet the fuck out!â Bucky barked.
Sam dodged easily, laughing so hard he had to grab the doorframe for balance.
âOh my god,â he called over his shoulder to whoever was lingering in the hallway, probably Steve. âThey look like they're there talking about some sappy shit!â
The door slammed shut.
You and Bucky stared at each other for half a second. And then you both burst out laughing.
He fell back against the pillow, dragging you with him, blanket still clutched protectively around you like you might evaporate out of embarrassment.
âIâm so sorry,â he muttered. You were still giggling when he tucked his chin against your temple.
âItâs okay,â you shrugged, âthis was fun.â
âThis is fun,â Bucky corrected.
You hesitated for a second. He wasnât asking to define it, and you werenât sure how this would work if you triedâŚÂ but whatâs wrong with enjoying the last few days, right?
You leaned up, kissing his cheek and agreed. âIt is.â
â
Those last few days before the closing ceremony felt strangely⌠weightless. Like someone had lifted a backpack you didnât realize youâd been carrying for years.
For the first time in months you had nowhere you had to be.
No 6 a.m. lifts, no course inspection, no âthree more reps.â Not even a mobility routine before bed.Â
You just had⌠time.Â
You still woke up early out of habit, heart jumping like you were late for a competition.
Then you remembered that your schedule was clear, save for a couple of media hits about your âhistoric participationâ and âwhat it means for winter sports in non-traditional climates,â which was journalist code for wow, youâre from the equator, thatâs craaaazy. You couldâve been surfing, dude.Â
You did the interviews in your team jacket, smiling politely, saying stuff like, âYes, I trained abroad a lot.â
âYes, we have indoor facilities.â
âYes, hopefully more kids back home will try winter sports now.â
âYes, fifth place is huge for us.â
You meant that last one more each day.
Especially when the gold medalist in your event ran into you in your elevator and bumped your shoulder.
âYouâre gonna be unstoppable in four years,â she said casually, like it was obvious. âYour amplitudeâs insane.â
You blinked. She was close to a legend in your sport, and you have seen her around, but she had always seemed so untouchable. âOh. Uhâ thanks.â
âIâm not kidding,â she added, âWeâre all scared of you already.â
And then she just walked away to her floor like she hadnât detonated your brain.
Bucky nearly choked on his drink when you told him.
âSee?â he said, smug. âIâve been saying that.â
âYouâre biased,â you rolled your eyes.
âBut Iâm right,â he countered.
You kicked him under the table. He kicked you back.
It was stupid and easy and normal with him.Â
After that, the days just⌠melted together.
Youâd wander the compounds with no destination.
Sometimes with the halfpipe girls your age, raiding pantries and sneaking into other buildings just to see what the vibes were.
Sometimes Bucky was there with your friends, too, just ⌠blending in.
Which was ridiculous, because he was a giant compared to most of you. But still, heâd sit there listening to them argue about edge angles like it was fascinating.
At one point one of the girls leaned over and stage-whispered, âHeâs weirdly boyfriend-coded.â
You choked on your drink. He went pink all the way to his ears.
Sometimes, though, it was just you and him.
Those were your favorite.
Youâd sit in the stands watching random sports you didnât understand at all.
Curling. Speed skating. Luge.
âWhy are they sweeping?â heâd whisper.
âI donât know.â
âShould we clap?â
âProbably.â
Youâd clap late and awkwardly together and start laughing.
Sometimes you were technically a plus one to his team bonding activities.Â
Heâd show up at your door like it was a given. âCâmon. The boys are having a movie night.â
âAm I invited?â
Heâd just stare at you. âOf course.â
And then youâd end up wedged between him and one of his teammates on a too-small couch while they argued about some play from practice.
Heâd casually drape an arm behind you, leaving the door open if you wanted to lean. You always leaned.
Nobody made a big deal of it. Neither did you. It was all very⌠unspoken.
You stole his hoodies constantly. He carried your gloves in his pockets without comment.
Once, you fell asleep on his shoulder during a curling match and woke up with his jacket draped over you and his chin resting lightly on your head like thatâs where it belonged.
It was disgustingly cute, the kind of cute youâd roll your eyes at if it were happening to someone else. Which was exactly the problem.
Because every time you were walking back to the building at night, every time he looked at you like he was about to say something importantâŚ
Heâd start by saying âSo⌠what happens to us after thisââ
And youâd immediately cut in.
âDid you see that wipeout earlier?â Or, âOh my god I forgot I have to email my coach.â Or, âWe should get food.â
Deflect. Deflect. Deflect.
Not because you didnât care, and maybe because you cared too much. Maybe, talking about after felt like touching a bruise. Like if you looked at it too hard, it would end faster.
It was easier to stay here.
So you just⌠didnât have the conversation.
And he, weirdly, let you. Heâd just nod. âYeah, okay,â like he understood you were buying time.
â
Then, the night before the closing ceremony, you were alone for once.
Girls were out somewhere. Buckyâs teammates were having a boys night out, and insisted he just had to be there.Â
You were in your room, half-packing, half-scrolling, lying sideways across the bed when your email notifications pinged.
Subject: Guest Credentials â Confirmation
You opened it.
You still have one unused guest pass available for X Games Aspen â SuperPipe. Please assign before travel.
The first person you thought about was⌠Bucky.Â
Oh.Â
â
The closing ceremony was much more relaxing than the opening ceremony.
Music was everywhere, fireworks already in the sky. Flags were wrapped around shoulders instead of marching in neat lines, and when everything was done, athletes were trading jackets, pins, and hats.
It was loud and messy and nothing like the lonely white room youâd cried in three weeks ago. And somehow, you couldnât walk three steps.
âWait, are you the Madripoor snowboarder?â
âCan we get a picture?â
âOh my god, please tell me you still have pins left!â
You kept laughing, a little overwhelmed, a little breathless. âYeah, yeah, of course- IâŚhold onââ
Your lanyard kept getting lighter as you handed out enamel flags. A Brazilian skater draped their countryâs scarf around your shoulders for a selfie, saying you were in this together. A group of curlers insisted on teaching you their handshake. Two skiers asked you to sign their bib like you were famous or something.
It was sweet. It was surreal. It was exactly the kind of attention youâd pretended you didnât want your whole life.
Still, every time you smiled for a photo, your eyes were already scanning over their shoulders, looking for a certain defenseman that you needed to say goodbye to.Â
Where is he?
You spotted flashes of Team USA men's national ice hockey team jackets across the stadium floor like little beacons.
Every time you thought you saw him, someone stopped you again for "just one more pic.â
You tried to be present. You really did.
But your heart was doing that dumb, impatient thing. Because if you didnât find him now⌠you wouldnât be able to say what you really wanted to say.Â
âSorry! Sorry⌠excuse meââ you muttered, slipping sideways through a group of French biathletes.
You stood on your toes to see⌠there!
You could place that broad shoulder and stupidly familiar way he stood anywhere.Â
But of course, some random skier had already grabbed him for a selfie.
You watched him smile politely, leaning down for the photo.
But his eyes kept flicking over the crowd, searching, the same way youâd been. Your heart basically melted on the spot.
You started moving at the exact same time he tried to step away, and immediately got stopped by two Canadian skaters.
You tried to wave your hand and get his attention when a pair of snowboard girls tackled you into a group hug. âWHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL NIGHT?â
âI⌠I needâ hold onââ You wiggled free, half laughing, half desperate.
You both spotted each other at the same time.
And then it got fucking stupid, because now you were both trying to walk fast without looking like you were running, Which just absolutely just looked like running.
You almost crashed into a speed skater. He apologized to a photographer and kept going. It felt like one of those slow-motion movie scenes except neither of you were cool enough to look graceful about it.
By the time you reached each other, you were both a little breathless, smiling like idiots, like you couldnât quite believe the other one was actually there.
âHiââ
âHiââ
And then neither of you said anything.
Which was ridiculous, because you had rehearsed approximately twelve speeches while fighting through the crowd.
But now he was just⌠there. Close enough that you could see the fresh tiny scar near his eyebrow. Close enough that the noise of the stadium sort of faded into mush.
He looked a little flushed, a little out of breath, like heâd jogged the last stretch.
âYouââ he started, then huffed a soft laugh. âIâve been trying to get to you for like ten minutes.â
âMe too,â you said immediately..Â
You both just stood there smiling like absolute idiots.
And then⌠panic hit. Because this was it, right?
You swallowed.
âHeyâ so⌠okay-â you started.
He immediately straightened. âYeah?â
You spoke lower at first, careful, like stepping onto ice. âIâve kind of been⌠avoiding this conversation.â
His eyes widened just a bit. âAh.â
âNot in a bad way!â you rushed. âJustâ the last few weeks have been a whirlwind and everythingâs been so⌠snow globe-y.â
âSnow globe-y?â he repeated, smiling though not quite understanding what you meant.
âYeah. Snowglobe-y. Like everythingâs been shaken up and magical and weird and not real?â you gestured wildly. âAnd I didnât want it to just⌠end without saying something.â
He went very still.
And that triggered something in your brain. Before you knew it, words were accelerating out of your mouth before you could filter through them.
âIâm leaving tonight,â you started âand youâre leaving tomorrow. AndI donât want this to just end like some random Olympic fling story I tell in four years like âhaha remember that hockey guyâ because youâre not just some hockey guy and this wasnât justâ thatâ and Iââ
âHey,â he said softly.
You kept spiraling.
âAnd we donât even know each other that long and maybe this is crazy and maybe Iâm being dramatic but snow globe! Right, remember that! I felt like we got shaken together and itâs magic and fake at the same time and I donât want to lose you when the snow settlesââ
His hands came up to your shoulders, squeezing gently.
âBreathe,â he said, smiling.
You inhaled.
âAgain.â
You did. Your brain slowed from 200 mph to maybe 60.
âThere you go,â he murmured.
God. Why was he like this?
âIâm leaving tonight,â you said, voice smaller now.
âYeah,â he nodded.
âAnd I donât want this to be it.â
His eyes widened, as if he was waiting for the conversation all along.Â
Before you could chicken out, you yanked a lanyard from your jacket pocket and shoved the laminated badge into his chest. âHere.â
He caught it on instinct and looked down to the card that said: Visitor pass.
He frowned. âWhatâs this?â
âIâve got X Games Aspen in three weeks,â you rushed. âI have one guest access left.â
He looked back up, and your throat tightened. âItâs yours. If you want it. Come see me.â
He just stared at you.
So you kept rambling, because apparently silence was illegal.
âBecause I⌠I havenât known you long, but everything I know about you so far, I love, so I justâ Iâd like a chance to actually get to know you. Like normal life know you.â Your voice wobbled. âI want to see if this could⌠go somewhere.â
For half a second, he just stared at you.
Then he laughed softly, disbelieving, like youâd just said the wildest imaginable. âYouâre unbelievable,.â
Your stomach dropped. âIn a bad wayâŚ?â
He hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you close.Â
Oh.
âI adore you,â he said, gently. âOf course Iâll go. Iâd get on a plane tomorrow if you asked.â
Your heart felt like it would burst. âYeah?â you whispered.
âYeah.â
You didnât even remember deciding to move, but you just grabbed the front of his jacket and yanked him down.
He kissed you mid-laugh, right there in the middle of the stadium floor, in front of thousands of athletes and even more cameras. In front of very nosy press who lost their minds.
Someone whooped, another yelled, âGET IT!â
A snowboarder friend of yours screamed your name like youâd won gold.
You didnât care.
His hands slid warm and certain around your waist. Yours tangled in his hair as fireworks burst overhead like the sky was celebrating with you.
When you finally pulled back, both of you grinning like fools, he rested his forehead against yours.
âHookups only, huh?â he murmured.
You laughed, dizzy. âShut up.â
And then you kissed him again anyway.
â
Four years laterâŚÂ
You were both wearing your medals when you left the Olympic Village for the last time this year.
The security volunteer at the exit had said, âCongratulations,â with this dazed sort of awe, glancing from your credential to the gold resting against your chest, then to Buckyâs, and doing a visible double take.
Four years ago, youâd walked out of the Village with a snow globe feeling in your chest and a defenseman you werenât sure youâd ever see again. This time, you walked out with your fingers threaded through his, both of you laughing at nothing and everything, the mountain air clean around you.
âAre we gonna be one of those insufferable double gold couples?â you asked as you crossed the plaza toward the hotel transport.
âYes,â he said immediately. âBut we earned it.â
You closed your eyes, thinking about how you got yours four days ago.
You had imagined winning Olympic gold a thousand different ways.
In most versions, you were alone at the bottom of the halfpipe with your helmet off, tears freezing on your cheeks, Madripoor flag wrapped around your shoulders. You wouldâve been the first person from the tiny island to do so.Â
You had not imagined looking up into the stands and locking eyes with your boyfriend of four years, the team USA captain, already crying harder than you.
But here you were.
And just earlier today, you were in the stands when he captained Team USA through a brutal overtime final and played nearly thirty minutes. He blocked a shot with his ankle and refused to leave the ice.
When the klaxon sounded, you shouted and tapped the glass. Heâd won gold.Â
And to think, this all started because four years ago, he had kept his promise and gone to Aspen.
You still remembered spotting him at the bottom of the pipe, looking wildly out of place among energy drink banners. Heâd flown in on a two-day break, half-delirious from travel, just to stand there and watch you drop in. It didnât help that heâd been in the front row with a sign that said: HOOKUPS ONLY?
Youâd nearly crashed laughing.
You won silver that weekend, though he hugged you like you won gold.Â
After a couple of visits here and there, you both realized that you liked who you were when you were around each otherâ and that you loved him as a person outside that snow globe. So when you decided to close the relationship long-distance, it wasnât easy.
But it was worth it.
He got drafted by the New York Rangers two months later. You got the call when you were training in your residence in Laax, and you shouted at the phone, feeling very pleased for your boyfriend.
You watched most of his games on your laptop at 2 a.m., wrapped in one of his hoodies. He watched your World Cup stops between practices, texting you sweet little nothings, telling you he was proud.Â
You flew in a couple of times to watch him in Madison Square Garden after a podium, shouting profanities when someone on the opposite team picked a fight with Bucky and lost. He flew to one of your games once, straight from a playoff exit, still exhausted. You lost that one, but he held your hand through it anyway.
And then, two years in, the trade that changed it all happened.
âSweetheart,â he called you from the car. âDonât freak out,â heâd started.
You sighed. âWhy would you start a sentence like that?â
âI think,â he breathed out from the other line, âthat weâre moving in together.â
You furrowed your eyebrows. You had been talking about this, about what it would look like and how it would work, but you just didnât know how to make that happen⌠yet. There were too many moving pieces. âWhat?â
âIâve been traded to Colorado.â
Youâd gone very quiet.
Being traded to the Colorado Avalanche meant that he would be living in Denver, where Aspen was a short flight away at best, and maybe three hours away by car at most.Â
You were already splitting your training time between Laax and Aspen with your new coach anyway, that yes, Bucky was right. It was finally feasible for you both to be moving in together, and youâd been living together ever since.
It was great.
Mornings always started with coffee and two different training schedules stuck to the same fridge. You left for the mountain as he left for the rink. You came home smelling like snow; he came home smelling like ice and sweat and tape.
You even hosted holiday dinners together. Once, his mom even asked why there wasnât a ring on your finger yet, and your answer was always the same: you both had fallen in love with each other so quickly, you wanted the time to take things slow.Â
â
And then the rule changed.
For years, NHL players didnât go to the Olympics. Youâd accepted that your Olympic dreams and his would never fully overlap.
Then the new agreement came through.
NHL players were eligible again.
Youâd been in the kitchen when he got the call confirming he was in the roster.Â
You cried immediately.
â
Now, four years after that first chaotic Games, you were walking into your hotel as two Olympic gold medalists.
He stopped outside the room door, looking at you in a way that felt almost⌠nervous.
âYou good, honey?â You asked, only a little worried.Â
He nodded, swiping the keycard. The door clicked open. âAfter you, champ.â
As you entered, he closed the hotel room door behind him.
You were still laughing, thinking about the way the bus driver had congratulated you twice when you turned toward the bed and stopped.
There was a snow globe sitting right in the centre of the white duvet. It was perfectly placed
âBuck,â You frowned slightly, thinking that the last people who stayed here mustâve left it there. âWhatâs that?â
He didnât answer.
You stepped closer, picked it up and shook it before you could think any better of it. Inside was a tiny halfpipe facing a tiny ice hockey net, two miniature figures standing between them under suspended white glitter.
Your throat tightened before you even turned it slowly.
In gold cursive letters, the text said: Will you marry me?
The air left your lungs in a rush.
Behind you, you heard him swallow. âOkay,â he started.
Oh.
You turned around.
He was already reaching into his pocket, already dropping to one knee with a determination that screamed he had rehearsed this at least fifty times in the mirror.
He pulled out the ring, and your brain stopped working.
âIââ he began, voice immediately rougher than usual. âIâ we won gold,â he said. âWeâre supposed to say that that was the best moment of our lives.â He shook his head slightly. âBut you were the best thing in my life long before that.â
Your eyes filled instantly.
âSo⌠I donât care what it takes,â he rushed, a little breathless now, like the words were tumbling out in the wrong order. âI donât care where we live or how many flights we take or what the next four years look like, as long as itâs with you.â
Your heart beat so quickly you were sure it was gonna escape your chest.
âI donât want another gold, another Stanley Cup, another anything without knowing youâreââ
He didnât get to finish, because you tackled him full force.
He didnât even get to say that he would make a million snow globes for you, like he rehearsed. He didnât even get to say he loved you when you were long distance and exhausted and living in different time zones. He didnât even get to say that he loved you before either of you ever won anything.
He didnât need to. You knew.Â
The medals clanked as you launched yourself at him, knocking him completely off balance. He yelped, a very undignified sound for the captain, and fell backward onto the hotel carpet with you on top of him. The ring box nearly flew out of his hand.
You were laughing and crying at the same time, breathless.
âItâs not even a question!â you blurted, grabbing his face with both hands. âOf course Iâll marry you. Duh.â
He stared up at you, stunned, still half-flat on the floor.
âYeah?â he breathed.
You laughed harder, forehead dropping to his.
âObviously, you idiot! Yes!â
He let out a sound that was half laugh, half a sigh, like heâd been holding his breath for months.
âYou justââ he started, still dazed. âYou just body-checked me during your own proposal.â
âYou body check people all the time,â you shot back between giggles. âYou can take it.â
He started laughing again, as you were both still tangled on the carpet, medals digging into your ribs, his knee bent awkwardly under you, the ring box miraculously still clutched in his hand.
âOkay,â he said, trying to compose himself. âOkay. Stay still.â
He pushed himself up slightly and slid the ring onto your finger with hands that were still shaking.
It fit perfectly.
You both just stared at it for a second. Then at each other.
And then you dissolved into giggles again, collapsing back onto the floor in a mess of limbs and ridiculous happiness.
After all these years, you were certain you didnât waste his time.Â
âend.
Reblog for General Bucky taglist pt 1:
@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant
 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault @average-vibe
@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @boy--wonder--187 @scariusaquarius
@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida
@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22
@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire
@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko
@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat
@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot
@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess
@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol
Reblog for General Bucky taglist pt 2:
@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst @wingstoyourdreams @lori19
@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23 @fan4astic
@yesshewrites1 @thewiselionessss @sangsterizada @jaderabbitt @softpiaÂ
@hopeofwinter @nevereclipse @tellybearryyyy @buckybarneswife125
@imaginecrushes @phoenixes-and-wizards @rowanthomasknapp @daystarpoet @thefandomplace
@biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @herejustforbuckybarnes @kitasownworld @shortandb1tchy @roxyym
@badl4nder @natalia42069 @silverdoragon @juliet-is-the-sun12 @nightlight486
@buckmybarnes @folkloreofyennefer @buckmjz @lonelyghosts-stuff @wildcherryspark
@ozwriterchick @imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @rlphunter
@yn-stories-are-my-life @ahrahrahraha
(sorry if I forgot to tag you! Please send me a message!)

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ot5 cortis x fem reader â written
you somehow showed up at their fan meet/sign and their reaction to the fact.
3/4 valentines special, secret relationship, idol cortis, non-idol you | 5 paragraphs per member, fluff.
martin is an eye candy at a fansign, fans loves the attention that he gives; and he doesnât mind giving the same attention that they want, unfortunately for them, youâre somehow here and now his attention is fully focused to you.
when you showed your face to his, you could see an immediate surprise despite him covering it well; âitâs not often i see a pretty lady coming up to me.â thatâs the first thing he said the moment you came to the seat, and your gaze squinted at him as a smile formed on your lips.
he has said that line this day alot, but this is the only time he actually meant it. âso, do you got a name or may i call you my girl?â the shameless flirt came out of his mouth as you rolled your eyes, âyou can call me (name), martin.â you corrected and gave him what it seemed like to be a paper.
âjob application, position : my valentineâ he lets out a involuntary ugly chuckle that your eyes widened and let out your own laugh at it as he signed the position, trying to keep a lowkey profile but looking at you. âwell then, thank you for your time, martin.â
âaww, going already?â he feigned hurt, and you pointed at your watch doing the âtimeâ gesture and gently signaled at the bodyguard behind him who was staring at the two of you blankly. âaww alright then, bye (name).â he said and motioned; âsee you later.â winking as he does so.
the moment you showed up to the fan meet stage, james had a one second pause while you were smiling uncontrollably; âhey james,â your usage of his stage name made his eye slightly squint it was quite funny when youâre used to call him yu, or yufan.
he shook your hand, âhey,â he gave a smile to you, as the two of you sat down at your respective seats, âso.. iâm (name),â you introduced yourself and he held back the chuckle that wouldâve came out, playing along to the role âthatâs a pretty name, can i call you (nickname)?â
âsure, as long as i can call you yufan.â you replied with a wink that he couldnât even control the smile that was gonna come up. âcall me anything you want, really.â his note was too friendly to help the bodyguard behind him that raised her eyebrow.
âsooo, i got you something.â you took out a gift bag, that he took, peeking in it and saw the photobooth picture that the two of you took just yesterday, and thatâs where the blood ran to his cheek before putting the gift bag down hiding his face using the palm of his hands.
you canât even control your giggle and just let it out, when he looked at you; but before he could talk, âtime is running out.â a reminder came to him from the bodyguard, as james opened the hands covering him and stood up with you; you gave a quick, âthank yu.â and his eyes looking at you and made the left one twitched as you let out a small âpfftâ.
juhoon spotted you way before you came up to him, the way your smile stood alone in the line as you looked at him was something he could never miss or not recognize. and during the signing with other fans, he was just counting the time it will end to where you finally come up.
and when the time that you did came up, your smile completely distracted his mind and he couldnât help but to bring out one too out of pure habit. it felt like interacting with your crush on your way to class, but this time itâs just his girlfriend who has to act like she was a fan.
âjju,â your mumble of his nickname caught his attention as you pulled a bracelet out, matching ones that is. âhere,â you took his hand and wore it on him. âcute ainât it?â you smiled and did a comparison side by side; he couldnât help but notice the words on it tho.
the pink rubber adorned hearts band had the words #(name)jju written across it, and the sweet smile youâre used to came up from his realization, âit is.â he nodded and you made a half heart as he completed the other, your hand then held his hand.
but juhoonâs expression made you realized if the hand stayed longer, eventually someone will get curious; so you let go before someone other than the manager being suspicious of you. juhoonâs face when you got up got visibly slightly disappointed but he waved you as he mouthed to call him back.
he was looking at the table when you sat down, in a way, seonghyeon was sort of tired, so when your hand gently patted his arm, his eyes gazed up to you and widened momentarily, and in an instant; his whole emotion changed. âhii hyeon, are you okay?â your lips tugged to your cheek and your head tilted.
âmm,â he muttered the confirmation, and before he could ask on why are you here; your voice cuts him off, âiâm (name), you can call me (nickname).â your introduction finally made him realized that heâs still in the fansign event. âalright (nickname),â the nickname too familiar with him moved smoothly.
âyouâre so pretty by the way.â the compliment gave you butterflies in your stomach as you giggled, before coughing and held the composure. âmight be, but iâm not as pretty as you,â you responded and he leaned back to the seat as his shoulders moved looking at the roofâs platform.
âhyeonn,â you called, and his posture came back as he tilts his head to the side âhmm?ââ âhere,â you gave him a small box where he opened to see a small plushie thatâs a replica of you and him holding hands; and he folded once more, holding his hand to cover the smile that formed too hard on his face.
âiâll cherish it forever,â the statement isnât something that he would lie about, as he took the plushie to a secure place in the gift boxes, on top of everything; where he can see it most. âthank you for going out of your way to come here, (nickname).â you gently kicked his feet below the table and winked, âalways.â
keonho sulked the moment you came, not because you did, no, but because you gave the other members the opportunity to talk to them first before he did (not that itâs your fault); so when you came to his sight, he looked away to mess with you and you flicked his hand, âkeon,â his eyes looked at you firstly and his head followed.
âare you jealous or something?â your voice was a teasing whisper as he took the album from you, signing it before talking back in a way where only youâd listen, âyou didnât go to me first,â and your eyes sized him up as she points at the obvious line where it must be in order.
âand i did not know we were close for you to be jealous.â and he looked up to you as he gave the album back to you, before you put your hand to offer, âlet me show you a magic trick.â as you said that, he lended his hand as you counted down, his eyes focused on the hand.
âone two.. three!â on the table was a certificate paper as you pointed at it, and he blinked before reading the certificate, âcutest boyfriend awardâ and the once sulky expression turned into a happy smirk as he held the cheap custom certificate on his hand.
âalthough if you donât want it,â you slowly took your hand to grab the certificate until he grabbed it, âhey!â you chuckled at his sudden small outburst as he secured it to a safe place, the out of time signal from the bodyguard sent you a small heart sign to him as he sent one back and waved you goodbye, knowing youâd see eachother again right after this anyways.
wet the bed â sjy
â soft people fucks the loudest.
content tags: established relationship, sub!jake&reader, jay cameo, explicit content (smut) unprotected sex, multiple sex position: 69, doggy style, mating press. squirting, overstimulation. lots of whining and moaning, they fuck like rabbits :) MDNI. WC:2.4k
note: this is a request from an anon, hope u like it!
Who the fuck decided that two soft, submissive people in bed are automatically boring?
"Too vanilla,"Â they say with wrinkled noses and half-laughs, like they know what happens when the lights go out.
You and Jake have been together for nearly five yearsâsince the final months of high school, when you stumbled into something that felt a little too gentle to be real, too safe to be intense. Most people around you just donât get it. They whisper that your relationship is sweet, sure, but stale. Predictable. Lifeless, even.
But they donât know a damn thing.
They donât know that you and Jake donât need dominance or power games to melt each other down into quivering pieces. You donât play roles. You donât lead or follow. You move, he moves. You're both responsive, both hungry, both gentle in ways that burn just as deep. Itâs not about who takes controlâit's about how far youâre both willing to unravel for each other.
If those assholes could see what actually happens behind closed doors, they'd choke on their smug assumptions.Â
"Nghhâbaby..." Jake's voice is slurred, barely even speech anymore. His face is buried between your legs, the heat of his breath searing against you, tongue dragging slow as he works you over.
 And fuck, you are gone, head thrown back, hips twitching, thighs trembling around his ears.
The only soundtrack is the obscene wetness of his mouth on you, your choked moans, and the blaring growl of an electric guitar seeping through the wall, his room mate, Jayâs latest desperate attempt to drown out the symphony of you and Jake destroying each other.
It doesnât work.
Your ears are ringing. Your vision blurs every time your spine arches off the mattress. Your legs are shaking so hard they barely stay hooked around his shoulders. Your body is covered in bruises and teeth marks. Jakeâs arms are clawed raw, red streaks down to his elbows from where you grabbed and dug in, helpless under the waves he pulled from you again and again and again.
Youâve lost count of how many times heâs made you come, how many times youâve done the same to him. It's a haze. A loop. An exchange of pleasure until your bones feel hollow.
You barely catch your breath before his fingers are inside you again, curling just right, his mouth crashing into yours, swallowing your moans as you clench around him and cum hard enough to see stars. Your hand slips between you, wrapping around him, stroking with messy urgency until he gasps into your mouth and spills across your stomach.Â
Then comes the slow grind of hips in missionary, Jake above you, eyes glassy, sweat dripping down his temple. He pushes in deep, moaning into your throat while you clutch at his back, legs locked around his waist, and both of you fall together again.Â
Vanilla, their ass.
The aftershocks havenât even stopped vibrating through your bones when Jake rolls off of you, chest heaving, lips parted. He sprawls across the sheets, flushed and trembling.
Without a word, you swing a leg over him, straddling his face. He groans like a man starved as your thighs settle against the sides of his head, and your gaze lowers to his cock. thick, flushed, and still rock hard despite having cum four fucking times already.
You lean down, tongue flicking out to tease the head, your breath warm over his slick skin. His hips twitch instantly, a soft, choked whine escaping from under you.
âF-fuck,â he gasps, voice muffled between your thighs.
You take him into your mouth slowly, savoring the weight of him, the way his whole body tenses beneath you. At the same time, you feel his tongue drag through your folds.
You moan around his cock, the vibration making him jerk. You grind back against his mouth, and he groans right into your cunt, tongue sliding in and curling upward. He hardens it, fucking you with it, slow and deep, as your hips begin to roll.
Itâs a filthy rhythmâyour mouth stretching around him, sucking harder, faster, your spit dripping down his shaft while he licks and licks and licks, tongue relentless, hands gripping your ass as he pulls you tighter against his face. Your thighs clamp down on instinct, not letting him breathe, not letting him stop.
You feel the familiar pulse in your core and the slight twitch of his cock against your tongue, heâs close, again. You squeeze him tighter with your lips, hollow your cheeks, and the sound he makes is damn near ruined. His whine hits a high pitch, hips jerking once, twice and then he spills into your mouth. You swallow it greedily.
Jake latches onto your clit now, sucking, and you are barely holding on, every nerve burning. Your whole body is tensed, arms braced against his thighs, cunt pulsing uncontrollably around his tongue. Your thighs clamp even tighter, grinding down until he canât even moan, just hums and licks and loses himself.
Jake loves itâloves how wet you get, how you suffocate him with your thighs like itâs nothing, how your pussy clenches around his tongue. He loves the little tremble in your legs, the broken cries you try to stifle, the taste of your arousal dripping down his chin.
"Jake, fuck! I'm gonna cum!" you squeal, your voice shaking, one hand fisting around his softening cock, feeling it twitch, swell, harden again.
Your hips grind down one last time, helpless, chasing that final drag of his tongue as your orgasm hits. You cry out, body shaking above him, pussy spasming around his mouth. Your forehead presses to his thigh, gasping, and you barely manage to keep sucking him as your world shatters again.
Jake lets out a high whine, hips twitching upward into your mouth. Heâs still so fucking hard, again. You can feel it, thick and throbbing between your lips.
He moves again as another orgasm crashes into the both of you.
Another orgasm.
And another.
And another.
You lose count. Time folds. The two of you are always going at it like rabbits, bodies slick and tangled, pleasure drawn out like it might never end. At some point youâre flat on your back again, back arched off the wet bed, sheets soaked with sweat and everything else, Jakeâs mouth between your legs for what feels like the hundredth time.
Youâre delirious, you feel like you are floating.
He pulls back, lips shiny, chin drenched. You barely get the chance to breathe before heâs kneeling between your thighs, jerking himself off with quick, rough strokes. His eyes are locked on your chest, on the rise and fall of your breath, on your wrecked body twitching with aftershocks. He grits his teeth, then pulls his cock free, aiming it at you.
You're hypnotized.
By the way it twitches. By the way his jaw clenches. By the way his abs tighten and he throws his head back with a broken moan as hot ropes of cum spill across your chest, painting your skin with another climax that somehow hits just as hard as the first.
And still, he's not done.
Jake leans forward, one hand smearing the mess across your breasts, mouth crashing into yours with wild hunger. His cock presses against your thigh, still hard and leaking.
"You want more?" he pants against your lips, voice hoarse, almost disbelieving at how far you both keep falling.
You nod, eyes wide, lips parted. Jake flips you over in one smooth motion, pushing you onto your hands and knees, body trembling beneath him. His hands grip your hips, pushing inside again, deep, slow, a stretch that feels impossibly full despite how soaked you are.
You both moan at once. And then he starts to move, hips snapping into you, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the room, drowning out even Jayâs music, which is now thundering through the walls in one last futile attempt to ignore whatâs happening just a few feet away.
âAhh, fuck, Jake, baby!â you cry out, fingers clawing at the twisted sheets as the rhythm builds.
Jake groans behind you, bracing himself with both hands on yours, pinning you to the mattress as he drives deeper, rougher. You love this positionâGod, how you love it. He finds every spot, angles his hips just right until youâre gasping, sobbing into the mattress.
âWeâre so fucking good together,â Jake pants into your ear, his voice shaking with need, âFuck.â His lips find your neck, kissing everywhere he can reach, hot, sloppy, open-mouthed, desperate to mark.
You tilt your head back blindly, catching his mouth in a messy kiss over your shoulder, tongues tangling, moans swallowed between breathless gasps as he starts to thrust harder, deeper, your bodies slamming together.
Youâre clenching around him so hard, you can feel every ridge, every twitch of his cock. The orgasm hits, your breath catching, head lolling forward as heat floods you from the inside out. "Fuck!"
Jake keeps going through it, keeps thrusting through your high, refusing it to end. Your hips instinctively push back against him, your eyes roll back, jaw slack, pleasure crackling through every nerve.
âF-fuck, Iâshit,â Jake chokes out, repositioning behind you with a sharp slap to your ass that makes your whole body jolt. He watches it jiggle with a low groan, hips snapping forward again and again. Every thrust knocks the breath from your lungs, and your arms finally give out.
You collapse forward, face buried in the soaked mattress, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth, your body slack and trembling. Completely, utterly fucked out.
âB-b-baby,â Jake stammers, leaning over you again, his chest slick and warm against your back.
You feel his arms slide beneath you, one curling tightly around your waist, the other slipping under your body to knead your breast in slow, circular motions. Heâs still thrusting, slower now, but no less intense. You feel every inch, every grind of his hips, his cock dragging against your overstimulated walls as he pants against your ear.
âYou can take another one for me?â he whines, voice cracking into a whisper. âP-please? Prettyâpretty please?âÂ
You moan weakly, unable to find words, only nodding as your fingers twitch into the sheets. Youâre half-asleep, fucked so deep into the mattress your limbs barely move but Jakeâs still moving, still inside you.
âDonât s-sleep, nghh, baby, fuck,â he breathes, nuzzling into your nape, teeth grazing the sweat-slick skin there before sinking in gently, biting down as his hips start to pick up again.
The pleasure's too much now, tangled with pain and pressure until your body doesnât know the difference. You're a trembling mess, whimpering, twitching, your muscles weak from everything he's already wrung out of you.
You don't know how he's still strong enough to shift your limp body, but suddenly you're on your back, legs pushed up and pinned high beside your shoulders. His hands curl behind your knees, holding you wide open as he sinks into you again with no warning.
He grunts as he slides home, balls-deep, moaning loudly, eyes locked onto your face, drinking every twitch, every gasp, every flutter of your lashes. His hips start pounding again, relentless, slapping into your soaked cunt with wet, brutal rhythm.
Your mouth falls open, lips slack, eyes half-lidded. You can't even speak.
âBaby! L-love youâahhh!â Jake cries out. One of his hands slips down, thumb pressing to your clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles.
You twitch violently beneath him, chest heaving, body barely holding together.
Even with your consciousness slippingâyour mind half-blacked out from pleasure and fatigueâyou feel it again. That same heat blooming low in your belly. Your legs are burning in the mating press, your lungs clawing for air, your head spinning.
âJ-Jake, w-wait!â you sob, shaking your head from side to side, voice cracked, but his thrusts only get harder, his thumb moving faster, and ruthless.
âDonât stop, donât stopâjust one more,â he begs, almost delirious.
âFUCK!â you scream, fingers twisting the sheets, your body shaking as it hits you. âFuckfuckfuck!â you shriek as your entire core contracts violently. Your back arches. Your vision whites out. You feel the gush of hot liquid pulsing from your cunt, soaking the sheets, his pelvis, everything.
Jake groans loud and deep. But he doesn't stop. He keeps moving, keeps rubbing, his thumb grinding your clit as you cry out and shake under him. Your legs jerk in his grip, body trying to retreat, but he doesnât let go.
Your voice cracksâ"No! No more!"âbut it's lost in the noise. Â
âO-one more, baby, please,â he moans as he leans over you again, his body trembling, lips brushing your ear.
Your scream rises again as his cock drags through your soaked walls, now slick with your release. Youâre squeezing him so tight heâs nearly frozen in place. His eyes roll back, mouth dropping open.
âJesus Christ, people! Tone it down!â Jay roars from the other side of the wall, banging his fist hard against it, rattling the drywall. His voice is muffled, furious, but distant and irrelevant.
Jake doesnât even blink. Heâs too far gone. His hands tighten around your thighs as he slams forward, again and again, slick friction loud and obscene, the slap of your bodies echoing through the room.
âLast one,â he gasps. âFuuuuck, baby, fuckâ!â
You scream again, nails digging into his wrists as your body explodes for the final timeâanother hot gush forced from your cunt, a violent surge that splashes his abdomen and thighs. Jake throws his head back and howls, the tension in his spine snapping as you clamp down so hard around his cock it punches the orgasm straight out of him.
He cums inside you, trembling, moaning, his voice broken and high as he spills deep, cock twitching wildly, over and over. His whole body quakes as he presses into you, emptying himself in ragged pulses that stretch on and on.
By the time it ends, you're both shaking. The room is thick with heat and the sharp, musky scent of sex, every surface damp with sweat, slick, and release.
Jake pulls out slowly, carefully, and even that soft withdrawal makes you both moan. The two of you are oversensitive.Â
Jake collapses beside you, arms immediately wrapping around your waist, pulling you in close. His face buries in the crook of your neck, lips pressing the faintest kiss to your skin.
You curl into him instinctively, legs tangled, your body heavy and sore but warm in the aftermath, without another word, you both drift underânaked, tangled in each otherâs arms, unconscious on a mattress youâve completely wet the bed in.
