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Preview: It was always her in his eyes. A girl that nobody could top over. But years past and the feelings he felt towards MC felt like a shadow of someone else's. A void he could not fill till he realised that MC is never the one for him. It has always been you. Now, he stands at The Exit, standing in the same shoes as you once were.
Warnings: Caleb x nonmc!, Heart crushing angst. Story based on reader's and Caleb's POV. This is gonna be a lengthy read. Reader yearns, Caleb yearns, everyone yearns.
Notes: An angst bomb requested by @arahiraaai featuring Caleb! She wanted the song The Exit by Conan Gray to be featured for this piece! Thanks for your request and I realised that I never actually wrote this storyline before although Caleb x MC's dynamic is clearly asking for it. Hope you like this, my lovely!
February brought upon the end of spring season. Winter trees that had blossomed in full bloom throughout the months are starting to wither away, bringing about the start of the a new season. Flowers that lined the brick pathway however, were still standing tall and proud, bearing petals of variable colours and are seemingly not afraid of wilting. Or that was what you chose to believe.
Clad in your high school uniform, you sat cross legged on a wooden bench set within your school's garden ---mostly used for herb gardening for the cafeteria's usage--- as you waited for your classmate's arrival. "Y/N!" A shout of your name got you tilting your head up, catching the sun's gentle rays shining upon the brunette jogging over to you.
Bedraggled hair accompanied with a wide charming smile, that is Caleb alright. He had his bag lazily swung over his one shoulder and his sweater fitted over his broad shoulders. "Why are you sitting out here? It's still cold out!" He exclaimed, eyeing you as if you're an alien. "Here. Take this." Without much thought, he removed his jacket and leaned down, layering it over your shoulders gently. "Don't want you catching a cold now, do we?"
His closeness got you blushing, averting your gaze as you muttered a silent thank you under your breath as he draped his oversized jacket over you. It smelled like him, the waft of muskiness with a blend of apple sweetness to the ends of the note. He was using the deodorant that you had purchased for him afterall. The key giveaway being the apple scented notes. "Caleb!" A familiar voice called out and you turned to face the source.
MC stood in a distance, waving her arms like she is flagging down a plane towards Caleb and you can see the way he reacted to her. Just like how a crush would; eyes widening and teeth showing and tail wagging. He looked more excited to see her than you. She approached, greeting you with a smile too as she casually asked, the question clearly directed to Caleb. "Are you ready to go?"
Your eyes darted in between Caleb and her, in a slight state of shock. Did Caleb not told her about the promises made between the two of you? Where he had promised to walk you home everyday? You could not blame her when she had only moved here. "Y/N, you would not mind right? If she tagged along? She is my neighbour afterall." His question got you even more flabbergasted but how could you say no. So you agreed to it.
A squeal of excitement followed and you stood up, trailing next to Caleb as you hear the both of them chattered away. MC had only moved here a few months back, but you had noticed, the way that they had instantly knocked off, seemingly having endless interesting topics to talk about. Before her, it has only ever been you and Caleb. The inseparable duo that your classmates had claimed. Not that you minded the tag name either.
But now, perspectives had shifted, roles had been turned around and you are like the newcomer now instead of her. Whispers and rumours had started to float around, of Caleb possibly having a crush on MC. It does not take a genius to notice that, how he would always ask her about homework, hang around her during recess times and now, walk her home. All of which were activities that were reserved solely for you.
Your footsteps slowed, a huge contrast towards your heartbeat that was speeding up. Caleb has never seen you the way you had seen him and you were about to slap yourself for how stupid it seemed. All of the activities that he had done with her held meaning while towards you, it is only restricted to 'because that is what friends do for one another'. You released a shaky breath and looked up, watching Caleb walking so closely next to MC, arms dangled by his sides and his laughter that had brightened her atmosphere.
At that moment a sense of inferiority enveloped you and it made you wanted to disappear into his sweater even more as you wrapped it tighter around your small figure. Just like that, you felt like you were just the one tagging along on the journey home.
Now it's November. It has been two years since you had last diminished the hesitation of Caleb liking you. You sat in the cafeteria, staring out at the clouds that hung low outside of the huge panes of windows. The coffee that sat in front of you half-empty, settling within the coolness of the weather. Caleb sat next to you, fiddling with the necklace that MC had purchased for him. "Thanks for staying back with me, y/n."
"It's okay, it's not like I've got anything to do out of the DAA anyways." You lied blatantly, facing him to catch his gaze and you could see it. The reflection of you within his amethyst orbs. His hand dropped the necklace and he stared back, a small smile grazed over his lips. You tore your gaze away out of abashment, but also knowing if you stayed still for a moment more, you may have blurted out your crush to him. "You should get going."
"What about you?" He asked, bending himself lower to get a better look at your face. "What are you going to do when I am back in Linkon?" His tone held genuine concern, but it only resonated as pity towards you. You do not seek for that from him nor do you feel that you are worthy of it. "Y/n, why don't you---"
You pushed yourself off of the metal bench, hands steadying yourself against the table. "Stop worrying about me, Caleb." You sighed, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose. "I am no longer the same girl from high school. I can take care of myself." Your sudden outburst got the man blinking his eyes a couple of times, taken aback.
He only has good intentions afterall, wanting to invite you to join in as a form of gratitude. You remembered the way your heart sank when you found out the reason for his extension was to bring MC around Sky Haven. Given the start of their new relationship, it is no doubt that they are now in a honeymoon phase. Although you had foresee this happening ever since high school, you held onto your emotions, patiently awaiting for him.
Perchance, he may acknowledge that you had always been loving him from the sidelines, supporting him both emotionally and physically. Joining the DAA was the sole decision you made to hopefully get closer to him when you heard that MC was going for the Hunter's Association. But your plan to close the distance had only been ruined by their distance. For the distance is what makes their hearts grew fonder.
You had thought of it, spamming through sleepless nights just watching the ceiling and wondering if you should just tell him about how long you had loved him for. Yet, your results always ended up with a no. Because you could not bear to lose him, especially when you had already lost his affection. Naive you were simply holding onto a chance for a relationship that you could never afford.
A faint beep was heard and footsteps thudded inwards. You already knew she was here judging by how loud the bench screeched across the tiled floor and Caleb anxiously calling out her name. Sitting yourself back down, you flashed his girlfriend a smile ---small enough for it to be passed as being polite--- and sipped onto the remnants of your instant coffee. The taste even bitter than what you had first tasted.
Caleb hurtled back over to you and landed his hand on top of your head, nearly getting you choking onto your coffee. "I know you would not want to be the third wheel, but the least I can do is actually thank you for spending time with me, aite?" He patted your head, ruffling your hair twice in a gentle manner. A gesture like that in front of his girlfriend? He must have been out of his mind. But seeing MC bearing a set of wide eyes, she may have just been mimicking yours.
The gentle touch was all it takes to set you back to square one, your heart blossoming once again like the first spring that came about. Reminding you of the moments when you had first met Caleb. But you could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, once his hand left the top of your head, you watched his figure rejoicing with his girlfriend. "Let's go, pips." He even addressed her with such an odd nickname, how typical of him.
His girlfriend quickly regained composure and smiled delightfully at him. Though she did not take much offense to what Caleb had done as she knew that the both of you had always been good friends long before she came. She slung her arms around his and leaned in to press a light kiss against his shoulder blade. An affectionate move to her but it seemed like a sense of possessiveness to you. Oddly enough, it did not come off to be that much of an eye sore to you already.
As they were walking towards the exit, MC turned, glancing at you for a fragment of a second and she noticed. The tears that pooled at the edge of your eyes and the longing look that you held as Caleb leaves. Your mind was too muddled, not even realising that MC had seen through your facade. Their footsteps receeded out of the cafeteria in sync. Thus, so did your yearning for him, when you found out that you had been stuck loving a version of him that would only be exclusive to your memories. That it is time for you to erase those memories.
After the holidays, Caleb realised that you had not been attending any of your classes. And it took him through the span of two days to notice it before he decides to call you. But it went straight to voicemail. He checked the dorm list to find your name crossed out. Checked the class systems to notice that your name is no longer registered. It was like you had vanished into thin air. Even worse, he does not even know what was the reason behind it.
Asking the others were not fruitful either as you were the last one left behind at the dorms. However, Gideon seemed unfazed when he was asked where you had went. Almost as if he predicted this to happen. "Do you know something I don't?" Caleb plopped himself down onto the bed of his dorm mate's, palms facing up and an inquisitive look hung on his face.
Gideon rotated in his chair and bent down, pulling open a cabinet and fishing out what looked to be an envelope. Pristine white and uncrumpled. "Not as thorough as you searching through the database. Y/N stopped by my house a couple of days ago and asked me to hand you this letter." He eyed it briefly and reached it out towards Caleb. "It seems like there's something else inside too."
Amethyst orbs scanned the letter. The black ink stuck out like a sore thumb against the white envelope. No doubt it was your writing, written in the adorable cursive block-like fonts he used to tease you endlessly about. And the way your E is always written like an inverted 3. He used to call you a mathematics nerd because of that too.
"Did she said anything when she gave you the letter?" He took the letter, weighing it in his huge palms to find something clinking inside of it. You never wrote letters to him, other than the occasional passing post-it-notes across the table in high school to converse with him. He does not have a good feeling about this.
Gideon's eyebrows are closely knitted, ruminating and trying to picture the scenario again in his head. "She asked me to hand it to you and when I asked her about why couldn't she hand it to you herself, she---" He propped his hand against his knuckle and thought about it. But every passing second of his pause makes Caleb's stare turn into a glare. He did not understand a letter handover could agitate him so much.
Maybe it was because you had left without a trace. Maybe it was because he was expecting to see you back in the DAA again once he is back from his holiday so he could share about his experiences during the summer holidays with MC. But why had he expected you to be around, when he already had MC? Something is not adding up to himself. "Spill it Gideon." A borderline command got the cropped hair lad sitting straight in his seat.
"Okay, chill! I was thinking man!" He raised his hands up in defeat and continued. "She just said that some things are better left unsaid...?" Shrugging his shoulders, that was the best his memory could muster. "But, I definitely remember she does not look good."
"Like?" Caleb pressed, leaning forward to hear more of what Gideon has to offer. It boggled Caleb that Gideon was the one to be able to see you for the last time before he could.
Gideon is back to thinking mode. "She just seemed...done I guess." Y/N looking like she was done when she handed the letter to Gideon, which was addressed to Caleb is a sign clear as day. It hung like a question mark at the back of his mind, but with Caleb being his stubborn self, he chose not to entertain it. Not yet. Not now. "Speaking of which, it's been a day or two since I've seen her around. What happened to her anyways? Why did you have to search for her records in the school's system?"
So Gideon was not predicting this to happen, which puts him on the same boat as Caleb and there goes a dead lead. But, the letter in his hand could be the only answer he needs. "I was just looking for her." Optimally, Caleb did not disclose anything to Gideon as he was already subconsciously upset at the fact you left him hanging at a bunch of question marks he could not answer. "Thanks Gideon." Standing up, the brunette sauntered out of the room with what remained of you in his grip.
Back in his room, Caleb laid down onto the bed and instead of tearing open the letter immediately, he pulled out his phone and dialed your number again. In hopes that maybe after a few hours you may finally pick up. The line rang, then a sudden pause. Voicemail directly. He tried it maybe another 10 more times and when it came to no avail, he tossed his phone aside and held the letter up in front of his face.
Caleb had never been afraid of the dark, but shrouded in the darkness of his room now, his thoughts began to wonder and he felt uneasy. The letter in his hand beckoning to his curiosity, speaking in tongues that directly touches the deepest part of his heart. Right when he was about to open up the flap, his phone lit up and deftly turned on his side to pick it up. Only to find that MC had texted him about the cleaning instructions for the necklace.
He had asked for cleaning instructions for the necklace a few hours back ---before he starts going on a manhunt for you--- as he does not want it to be tarnished in rust. Suddenly, he was no longer interested in the cleaning manual that his girlfriend had sent over. He sighed, rolling onto his back again and flipped open the flap of your letter.
A clink and a thud, something metallic fell out of the envelope and hit the ground. He sat up and leaned down to retrieve it off of the floor but his hand hovered mid-air. The necklace that sat on the floor is identical to the one he is proudly wearing now. The gleam of silver refracting the sunlight coming in through the slither of his curtains. It was uncanny, that you had purchased the same necklace as MC did.
Confused, Caleb took out the letter that came inside the envelope, all arranged and labelled neatly with numbers at the bottom right of the pages. One may think that this was typed out on Microsoft Words and printed out. But labelling has always been a y/n's specialty. He eyed the necklace on the ground and picked it up, holding it within his palms and he started to read through the letter.
Hi Caleb,
If you're reading this letter, you might have figured out about my disappearance. Firstly, I would like to apologise. For not telling about this upfront. Do not take this personally as I think that it is time we should both part from one another.
I know you might be wondering why. If you look into the envelope, there will be an identical necklace to the one that you are currently wearing. I bought it for you a few years back, before you and MC became official.
I am sorry again for not being able to give that necklace to you. It is mainly because I could not find the courage to. Not when I watch you by the sidelines all the time, being so happy around MC. I was happy for you but it could only take that long before it starts taking a toll on me.
I remembered you asking me why did I joined the DAA with you and although I mentioned that it is my first choice to be a jet fighter just like you, I lied. I joined the DAA because of you. Because I know you always take pride in being an extrovert, but I know the times you would struggle when you feel like someone does not want to hang out with you. I could not sleep just thinking about you bashing yourself up because maybe a Tom does not like you for your big chunky shoulders.
I joined the DAA because I knew MC was going to join the hunter's association despite you had warned her of the risks for her career path. I remembered the times when you would confide in me whenever you have an argument with her. There are certainly times I wish that I could ask you to call off the relationship as I think you deserve better.
But I could not be a bitch. Not when I see you being so genuinely happy around her. The first time she asked to walk home with us, it was the first time I ever felt the weighing feeling of a longing heart. You talked to her as if you had known her longer than me and it was also the start of my loneliness.
That is why I would always refrain from hanging out with you guys. I know you meant well, but I could not get past how you are around her. It makes me feel weird, a feeling I was too young to comprehend. However, as time passes, I eventually figured out that I was in love with you Caleb.
You were my beginning and I have to genuinely thank you for those times when you had always stayed by my side, made me felt special, made me believe in the idea of us. But if I continued staying by your side, I know that you shall be the end of me. That I will always love you while I am slowly losing myself to jealousy and admiration. That I shall end up being someone I never want to be. And I do not want you to witness that side of me.
So with this letter I am going to wish you for all the best in your relationship with MC. I know that she is probably a keeper for you although I may not agree so at times. But as your long time friend, of course I would wish only the best for you. And I am sure you can do it without me. Although we may not blossom into anything else, I know that you will always hold a special place in my heart.
I hope you will honour my decision and wishes through this letter by living your life well with MC. Do not look for me. Just know that I will be fine by my own and it is the best for me to be by myself for now. I love you Caleb, always did and always will. Goodbye.
From,
Y/N.
Caleb's fists clenched, paper crumpling within his grip. His eyes felt heavy, lids closing and face burning. Till a single droplet rolled down his cheek. He is crying. Caleb is sad. Knowing that he has lost his best friend y/n without even getting the chance to say goodbye to her. It was too late now, for time had left his side, and he has no way to reach out to her and to say goodbye to her.
The next few days were quiescent for Caleb. His phone calls with MC had gotten shorter and he caught himself daydreaming through the calls, imagining MC's voice to be less chirpy. To have a softer and gentler tone, and with a slower pace of talking, just like how you had always do it to him. He would find himself wincing uncontrollably when MC says certain words differently than you. "Leb? You listening?" Her voice prompted in the background, snapping him out of his deep reverie.
"Yeah, yeah I am." He muttered, plucking at the dead skin above his nail to keep his mind occupied. "You were saying?" Caleb was sure that she was talking about an upcoming exam for the end of the semester and how she was stressed about the physical exams. "About the end term exams right?"
"Caleb..." His name got trailed off, disappointment clear on the other end of the call. "I finished that topic 20 minutes ago. Were you even listening to me?" No. But poor Caleb could not admit the truth. "What is wrong with you? You had been so out of it recently... Is there something bothering you Leb?" It is only a matter of time before Caleb can be truthful with her, but not now. Not when his wounds are fresh.
"I was just worried about the aviation exam." He lied through the cracks of his teeth and he hated how seamless it was for him to do so. Lying was never one of his best traits but he would rather shoulder his own feelings for now. "Don't worry about me alright?"
He could hear someone holler in the background and rustling ensued. "I gotta go now Leb, Tara is here and it's girls night out!" She exclaimed excitedly and the line went dead after she shouted a casual line of, "I love you!"
For once, the line was caught at the base of his chest. He never hesitated in returning the line to MC but it felt different now. It sat at the bottom of his chest, like an ebullient flame, burning his heart and throat. For once, Caleb had doubted his feelings for MC and wondered back to the days when it was only the two of you, where favours are exchanged and how he would nonchalantly say that he loves you for shouldering the favour.
The comparison had started even before he could comprehend. The first time he had said those three words to MC was as a form of return of the sentence. She said it first and perhaps during then, Caleb returned it as to not make situations awkward. But with you, it had always came naturally. You did not have to ask for it nor to wish for it. It was more towards unexpected instead. Or at least the blush on your cheeks suggested that.
Then the image turned, fast forwarding to the day MC confessed how much Caleb had meant to her and how she would like to see their relationship bloom towards a more intimate stage. The first thing that popped into his mind was 'what about y/n?' but it was cut off with the seal of her lips on his.
The reveal of their relationship to y/n can be described as underwhelming. The way her eyes widened slightly but was quickly set back to its relaxed position. How she nodded and shielded her face with the use of slanted shadows, muttering a soft congratulations to them before she said that she has to buy a cream puff from the cafeteria. The same dessert that Caleb would get for y/n only when she is down. But then, y/n had never needed to go to the cafeteria by herself. And that day, she went there herself.
Caleb wished that he could slap himself now. The signs had been so obvious and you had been ---time and time again--- so forgiving. He could only feel the dull ache in his chest as he stared blankly at his phone. What he is feeling now is no mistake for the constant hollowness he had felt when he was with MC. A hollow that a naive Caleb thought could be filled if he got a girlfriend in highschool. Blame his raging hormones for that and even now too, he is back to square one.
The silver dangling from his neck caught the seam of light and he glanced over, picking up the rectangular shaped metal in his hand and sighed. He had switched out the necklace for the one you gave him as it is the only thing he had left of you. The necklace constantly echoed the warning from your letter, holding him back from setting off on a manhunt for you. "I'm sorry I did not realise it sooner, y/n." Your name a whisper to him and he kissed the necklace, eyelash fluttering and wishing upon a fallen star.
The winds are stronger today and you pulled your coat closer to your body, your hair batting against your cheeks as a cruel reminder of autumn's touch. Finally settling within an alcove of a building, you turned around to see that it was a coffee shop and decided to seek shelter within it temporarily. The door opened up with a soft jingle and the aroma of coffee beans consumed your nose. Nothing felt warmer than the smell of hot coffee amidst the harsh cold winds.
You quickly pulled out your phone and sent your location, a quick press to your recent and a swoosh sound indicated your sent message. The coffee shop was cosy, as if built with the aesthetic of autumn in mind, it comprises of mostly warm earthy colours with the occasional gold linings for the counters. A female around her mid twenties greeted you, a small gold plaque on the right side of her shirt marks her name 'Braily' in italic.
"Good morning, what can I get for you?" Her smile was kind, pearly whites on full display as she awaited for your response while you briefly scanned through the menu on the ordering table. Seeing your hesitation, she chimed in, pointing at a drink at the menu. "How about an apple latte? It is much more fragrant than the usual cinnamon and also adds a hint of sweetness. It is our autumn special."
You looked up, eyes catching her slate grey orbs. And you smiled in return, relieved that a decision was given to you. "Sure, sounds good." You nodded and returned her smile. A few taps on her screen and a few more pastry recommendations from Braily, you are pretty much set for your order. "Oh yeah, can I perhaps get a cup of strawberry milkshake as well?"
Her fingers paused mid way and she tilted her head over to catch your gaze, a flint of worry caught within her irises but she did not mentioned anything further, perhaps thinking that you are not going to enjoy all of these pastries and drinks alone. "Sure, I will add that in for you miss. That should be a total of 30."
Once the payment was settled, you held onto the small beeper and searched for a seat near the window. So that you can enjoy the sight of the browning trees and the howling winds, causing ruckus for other passerbys. It is a good way to pass time as you await for the arrival of your plus one.
Another soft jingle was heard after a couple of minutes but you paid no mind to it, too engrossed on the game you are playing on your phone. Heavy footsteps clomped behind you, chatters ensued and you heard the employees greeting the newcomer into the coffee shop. "Y/n?" The voice octave is a pitch lower than what you are accustomed to but it ran a cold tingle down the back of your spine.
Clicking your phone off, you snapped your head to your right and you are faced with the guy that you had never wished to meet again. Caleb. He stood in front of you, in a simple tee under his black leather DAA jacket. He held disbelief in his stare, looking down at you with an unexplainable expression. Or maybe you had lost your touch in being able to read him like an open book. "Y/n." He called your name again and you regained your composure, taking in a deep breath.
Caleb knew that you would be too shocked to say anything so he glanced over at the seat opposite you and he invited himself to sit himself down. Facing you directly, he leaned his elbows against the table and tried to talk to you again. But you interrupted. "It's been a while." You gulped, trying your best to steady your voice. "Caleb." The way you pronounced his name was acrid tasting; unpleasant and certainly held no fond memories. "Why are you here?"
"I should ask you that." His eyes narrowed slightly, not able to grasp your thoughts when you lacked expressions for him to read. "Where have you been?"
His questions are almost detestable, it reminded you of the feeling you had when you left the DAA. The fear of parting with him, the nights you would spend doubting about your choices when you moved back to Greensprings and the pain you had to endure when you knew it was the best decision. Yet, on the bright side, it made you less sensitive, more sure of your own needs and wants and it also made you more independent. "As what I had mentioned in my letter, away from you Caleb."
His brows knitted together, your one-worded sentence not what he had expected but again, he was not wishing that he would meet the same girl that was once head over heels for him. But your distance is only suggesting him to view it from another angle. Maybe lesser questions and more explanations would help. "I respected your decision, I did not search for you." He sighed, shoulders slumped as he spoke. "But maybe I shouldn't have believed in that letter and gave up my one chance to make things right with you."
You looked at him, more like through him as you were allowing your mind to bring you through memory lane. "It's not your fault. I chose to leave afterall." Your response was much calmer, there was no edge to your voice and Caleb knew this was the right way to continue.
So he did. "I made a mistake, y/n." Lips barely moving, cosmic irises caught yours immediately. "After that letter, I realised that I was always in love with you but I dated MC to fulfill a twisted vision of my feelings towards you." Perplex raced across your face. "Because I was a coward as I did not want to lose you as a friend too."
You could feel the knot in the deep part of your heart unravelling, a question that was finally answered. Caleb was staring at you, eyes held years of yearning for you, wanting a response that he knew he could never turn to anyone for, nor to distract himself with. It could only be answered by you. Caleb was met with no tears, no sniffles, no sigh of relief, but only silence.
The silence between the both of you got drowned out by the soft chatters and calm lofi music playing in the background. The wind outside had almost slowed down to give you guys more space to exchange whispers. "You had already lost me the day you chose MC."
The pang that hit Caleb was subtle, quiet but impactful. A metaphorical punch straight through the gut of his. Hands clasped on the table, Caleb's gaze dropped, guilt engulfing him normally ramrod straight posture. "I thought you would see me the way you had always seen me." You continued, gaze faltering too, studying the hems of your coat. "Before MC even existed in your life."
He gulped, saliva burning like hot lava down his throat. A few bats of his eyelashes and he tried to connect his eyes back to yours. "I can't let you walk away again, y/n. Not this time." His hand reached out, palm slid across the round table to at least get a hold of you. You flinched backwards. "Y/n." Your name whispered again as his voice cracked at the end.
A jingle of a bell in the background indicated an arrival of another stranger, a forgotten figure between the two. Caleb's eyes still trained on you, your lips now pressed into a thin line, trying to contain your emotions. Footsteps anchored next to your seat and you caught sight of those fancy dress shoes. The owner's voice a melody of comfort to your ears. "Cutie---" Trailed off for a short second and ensued, now questioning. "Is he bothering you?"
You trailed your eyes up, dress pants, white button up and topped with those familiar checkered cardigan. Your beloved boyfriend has finally arrived. His pink-blue orbs was staring daggers into Caleb's nebulic ones. Ready to spit flames if you gave him the green light. "Raf." You were quick to speak, hand subconsciously raised up to hold his hand. Caleb caught your motion and hereby was introduced to the dynamic immediately.
Tension stayed, with Rafayel's eyes narrowed, darting in between your expressions and the guy who felt guilty to be there. "Who is he?" His tone was gentle. As he was never the type to raise his voice towards you. But Rafayel's demeanour; tightened grip and taut chest demanded answers. It's new to you, seeing how worked up your boyfriend could be. But it also meant the world to you. A world where Caleb no longer belongs. A world where you constantly have to doubt if you were ever one's first choice.
"He..." A slight glance towards Caleb, you could tell he was in a mixed state of disbelief and acceptance. His eyes caught yours for a brief moment but you were quick to avert, eyes going back to your boyfriend's worried expressions. "He was an old friend."
The chair's scrape was louder than what Caleb had intended to but he could not bring himself to cringe at his own mistake. Distraught bloomed in his heart. Acceptance catching on quick when he knew that he could no longer be a part in your life. It makes his speech earlier seemingly redundant. He stood up, height towering over Rafayel's but he kept a few steps behind, not wanting to cross the boyfriend who is ready to stick a fork up his chin.
"I used to be in love with y/n." Caleb's voice was clear, expression now rigid as he stared dead straight into Rafayel's eyes. You quietly gasped at Caleb's statement, Rafayel's shoulder slacked. Your boyfriend sighed, relaxed his stance and rubbed his thumb against the back of your hand to soothe you. He too, could see the passion in the other man's eye. But Rafayel is protective, not defensive. "I just wanted to seek for closure with her."
"I can tell from the way you looked at her." Your boyfriend's voice came from the depths of acknowledgement, no sense of threat to be detected. "I always wondered who was the guy she had told me about that left her walking around with half of a soul." Caleb's single brow lifted, requesting for more and your boyfriend provided. "But I think you've gotten your closure." Rafayel looked down at you for confirmation. "Right?"
You refused to lift your head, nodding silently in return and Rafayel snaked his arm around your waist as a gesture to reaffirm you of his presence. "It is time for you to let someone else love her as a whole." A silent establishment of dominance of territory, wrapped in respect and elegance. That was the reason why you had fell for Rafayel. He was never afraid to fight for you, to stand up in what he thinks is best for your interest. You were never second option.
Caleb only watched as you raised from your seat, the necklace around his neck starting to weigh heavier by every ticking second. What Rafayel said was the ultimatum but the lack of response coming from you was the deciding factor for Caleb. If he really loved you, he would let you go. At the same time, he could only watch you through his blurring peripheral vision as you walked past the street, being in your beloved's warm grip, smiling widely as you exit out of Caleb's heart.
This took me forever to write it but I hope that your request is fulfilled! @arahiraaai thanks for the request babes <3
synopsis ; you finally get your big break but sylus doesn't show up for opening night.
word count ; 12k words
author's note ; this idea has been in my drafts for so long...anyways this is my food for y'all since i won't be here this weekend! enjoy! also a big ty to @cheezeandkrackers for helping me with this <33
content warning ; angst w/ comfort! mentions of depression, death. lmk if i missed anything!
The weight on your back is indescribable. It physically forces your shoulders down, your back hunched as you keep your forehead pressed against the painted wood of the vanity. The bright lights of the dressing room pierced your eyes. A dull ache formed in the front of your head and you aren’t sure how well you are going to perform tonight. A quiet groan falls from your lips, a subtle marker of your exhaustion and depletion over the past month of performing.
Not to mention that your mind has been rather preoccupied with the empty void that haunts you in the audience. Your thoughts always move back to him, wondering if he’s okay and has been keeping with his schedule. It pains you to still care for him when you damn well that he has most likely not even thought about you at all.
You miss him but he hasn’t even bothered to show up to any of your shows. He’s probably busy with work, anyways. He’s always busy with work. Maybe it was a good thing you left his home — a place you used to consider your own home — while his job kept him…occupied. At least the resentment that built up in your heart had the chance to dissipate, even if it was a minuscule amount.
It didn’t help either that Sylus hasn’t even bothered to call or text. Not even a whisper of his voice in your ear before you step out onto the stage. He was your biggest supporter, or so you thought. But in the days that followed your argument — the same one that left you a crying mess in your old apartment, knees hugged to your chest, wondering why your boyfriend couldn’t attend a single show — you felt indifference take control of your body, causing you to go numb.
Your back straightens as soon as there is a knock on the door. Tremors overtake your hands. The familiar shake of anxiety and pre-show jitters. You have performed the show with flawless execution for its month long run. Eight shows a week with one day off — Monday, to be exact — and you are finally starting to feel the ache in your bones and head from the constant exposure of the stage lights and same demanding screeches of powerful dialogue that shakes the audience to their core.
Your character’s anguish masks your own. What was that saying again? That life imitates art? You tried to ignore that feeling, that the words on the page didn’t reflect the same torment that you feel towards your relationship with Sylus. That the married couple in the play are not indicative of your relationship with Sylus and that the two of you can somehow find a way out of the fog.
The door creaks open. Your gaze flits to the stage manger’s reflection, their black clothing and headset catching your attention. They don’t even have to say a word. You simply nod and watch as the door closes behind them, leaving you behind in the deafening silence. Your ears ring. The dull ache behind your eyes grows in size but you ignore the feeling, pushing through as you bring yourself back up to your feet.
A slow exhale leaves your mouth. You close your eyes, trying to settle your nerves.
Breathe in. Hold. Open your eyes. Exhale.
Dark bags hang under your eyes. The sunken in look from your lack of sleep and constant worry over a man who simply hasn’t bothered to support you. Sylus has claimed that Onychinus and his work has kept him away from seeing you on stage. Well, that’s what he told you when you first came home after opening night. After that, it’s been complete silence on his end. It’s not like you made an effort to reach out either, but you truly do not believe that it should be you to be the one to mend the bullet hole that ripped your heart in half.
You know that you are bound to face him sometime soon. At least it won’t have an effect on your ability to act like a tired and worn out wife who wishes to have a better life for herself. It’s not like he’ll be sitting in the seat you have reserved for him every showing. The empty seat pushes you towards desperation, towards a place of agony that only a woman in pain could feel.
You breathe in one last time. Your lungs burn as you hold in the breath. You exhale. Slow and timid. Your nails dig into the palms of your hand, rough enough to draw blood. A quick turn on your heel, feet carrying you towards the door. You push through with tears brimming your eyes and a new found determination lit up in your heart to make this the best performance of the play’s run — even if it is the last show.
Excitement bubbles throughout your body. A smile has been etched into your face ever since you woke up that morning. Despite the bed being empty beside you, you are determined to make today a great day because, you guessed it: it’s your opening night!
The play that you have dedicated so many endless nights and weekends to is finally here. The play has been a blessing to you. While Sylus worked and dealt with business deals for Onychinus, you were ready to take that shot in the dark and audition for the show. Turns out, they loved the devastation that you brought to the character. The raw authenticity of heartbreak and resignation showed through the tremor in your voice, the way your hands shook on stage as if you were truly the one contemplating divorcing your husband.
You would never do that, though. You love Sylus with your entire being. There is no way in hell that you are letting him go.
Your phone vibrates on the side table. You reach for it without looking, fingers curling around the device as you bring it to your face. Sylus’s name graces the screen. There is a flutter in your heart at the sight. You quickly openly up the messages and toss your hair out of your eyes, the smile on your face faltering once you read his words.
Work has me busy today. I’ll see you later tonight.
That’s okay. You know that he’ll be at the Orpheum Theater when the doors open. If anything, your boyfriend will be the first one through the doors with an extravagant bouquet of flowers in his arms, subtly bragging to all of those with ears that his lovely partner is in the play — and as the lead no less!
I hope work goes well! I can’t wait to see you tonight! I saved you the best seat in the house! I love you!
Your fingers dance across the screen at lightning speeds, a small chuckle bubbling on the inside of your chest. The phone is tossed to the side and you spread yourself across the king sized bed, arms and legs spread out as far as you can reach. An excited squeal leaves your body. You kick and punch the air as your laughter fills the room. A surge of anticipation — the kind that leaves the tips of your fingers tingling from excitement and joy and happiness.
Sylus is finally going to be able to see you perform. He is finally going to watch you in something that isn’t humiliating, like that smoothie commercial you booked where you were dressed up like a pomegranate, and you can feel the anticipation blossom inside of your body.
The thought itself excites you! For Sylus to see you on stage. It has you smiling throughout dress rehearsal, all throughout an interview the theater scheduled with you and your co-star, and you even found yourself smiling right as the theater doors opened.
The familiar buzz of excitement fills the theater. The audience slowly pours into the theater. A low hum is heard in the air. Quiet and indistinct conversations heard as the nicely dressed people make their way towards their assigned seats, the red material of the chairs calling their names, beckoning for them to move forward and closer to the stage.
The ensemble cast giggles and talk amongst themselves as you and your co-lead take your place on stage behind the deep red curtain. The two of you sit on a couch, one that looks like it has seen better days. Your knee bounces up and down. The remnants of your anxiety showcased in the erratic movement trapped in your legs.
“Nervous?” The man beside you asks.
You stiffly nod, forcing a smile across your face while you play with the hem of your costume’s skirt. The rest of the ensemble cast remain tucked away in the wings, watching as the curtain trembles, ready to be lifted for the first show of the play’s runs — and your career. Just to the side, you notice as the house lights breathe. One moment it’s bright, the next it’s dark, signaling the beginning of the show.
You close your eyes one last time, slowly inhaling as much air as you possibly can. The slight tension in your muscles slowly vanishes. The quiet creak of the curtain being raised forces you to open your eyes, back straightening as you and your scene partner ready yourselves for the beginning of the play.
The director wants you to stare straight ahead, to peer into the spotlight that illuminates your bodies. You force your gaze away, though, and allow yourself to look in the direction of Sylus’ reserved seat.
The director was so excited when you came to her with the news of your boyfriend requesting the best seat in the house. You had talked him out of sitting in a box seat for your first performance, claiming that box seats are for the rich who do not truly care for art. If Sylus wants to be a true connoisseur, then he needs to sit in the center of the theater, to sit among other people and to allow himself to be fully immersed in the story’s plot.
You frequently spoke of Sylus to the rest of the crew of ensemble. Let’s be real: you told anyone who was willing to listen about your relationship with Sylus. Every single person who works on the play built an image of him inside of their minds, ready to meet the man who has their leading lady so deep in love that she can barely focus whenever he sends a message. Sylus had become someone that the cast and crew were looking forward to meet and invite into the life of the theater — even the owner of the theater wished to meet him to try and secure new funds for their next play.
The curtains raise and the sly smile is wiped off of your face. The character’s persona is draped across your body, your mind making that switch into taking on the character’s life. Your eyes remain fixed on the seat. The one place in the theater where the sound and view is the best.
Your body goes cold. The air in your lungs is yanked free from your body. It is as if you have just been body slammed into a cement wall. A quiet ring forms in your ears. The terrifying sound of disappointment and whiplash deafens you even as your co-star speaks out his opening lines.
The chair is empty.
Tears brim your eyes and your force your gaze away from the sight, blinking away the tears as you take your cue to stand and address the crowd. You’re stuck, though. The words remain trapped on your tongue, the bitter taste of being letdown and frustration spreading across your mouth. An iron ball forms in your throat. You’re unable to force it away, to swallow the weight that forms in your neck.
“I’ve been married to Dean for five years.” Your voice shakes as if you are the character herself, bearing your soul to the audience to see under the lights of the stage. “And in those five years, he has let me down five times.”
The rest of the show goes as smooth as the last few dress rehearsals. You push through the stabbing pain in your heart, ignoring the way your body feels like it is being ripped open from the inside out. The ache in your throat grows but you force it away whenever you have to speak, forcing the words out of your mouth. It is only when you exit off into the wings of the stage that you allow yourself to crumble, your face breaking as you try to hide your tears. The makeup artists desperately try to save your makeup, helping talk you through the warfare that has formed inside of your heart.
It was only a matter of minutes before you were pushed back onto the stage again, forcing a smile onto your face as you pretend to be happy in a loveless marriage. You ignored the empty space in the audience. The seat you had reserved for him. With every turn and flick of the head, you are always so tempted to stare at the space. You force your mind to stay on task, to proclaim the lines that have been bestowed upon you but all you want to do is go home — not to his — and cry into your pillow until your body gives out.
Where the hell is he? What excuse can Sylus give to you that can make up for the fact that he isn’t here in the audience. What could he possibly say that can dispel the tremor in your heart, the burning ache that has tightened around your throat. Is he truly preoccupied with work?
Or has he found a comfort in the hunter he met when Onychinus’ path crossed the Hunter Associations?
The play continues and you numb the feeling of sadness that formed in your heart. While your voice remains bright and vibrant, showcasing the character’s emotionality and the devastation that she feels, you remain calm and collected under the mask. You trick the audience into think that you, the actress, take your job so seriously. That you are a professional who isn’t on the verge of having a breakdown onto the stage.
You sit on stage right. Your eyes try not to stare at the empty seat but the temptation of pain and angst is just unbearable. Slowly but surely, your eyes move inch by inch — moving mere millimeters — towards the space. An older couple sits on the left side of the chair while on the right is a burly man who looks as if he is about to pop out of his tailored suit. You suck in a breath while your scene partner recites his lines with ease, walking across the stage while you remain isolated on the couch.
“All I wanted was for the party to go well,” you say in response, picking at the fabric of your skirt.
“Nobody cares about the damn party,” he exhales loudly. You glance at the actor, replacing his face with Sylus’. You watch as he moves around the fake kitchen, slamming the cabinets shut and tossing the silverware across the countertop. He turns around and you swear you see the red shade of your partner’s eyes in him. A sharp inhale has you clutching your chest, turning away from the man. “Nobody cares about you, quite frankly. Always trying too hard but it will never be enough.”
“Dean, please,” you choke back the tears.
“When will it be enough for you?” The actor’s eyes meet your glossy ones. His fingers curl around the edge of the fake countertop, knuckles white.
Your bottom lip trembles. You slowly push yourself up to your feet, a sudden lightness overtaking your body as the lights begin to dim on the other sections of the stage. You face the audience. A single tear runs down your cheek, the ticking time bomb of your own cache of despair ready to explode.
“I don’t love you anymore.”
The words make your ears ring. Although they fell from your lips, it feels so surreal to even speak them aloud. To even say the damned phrase when your heart is in shambles. The feeling of falling out love is overwhelming. While you still hold onto the hope that your worst fears won’t come true, they still scratch at the back of your mind. Slowly countering the defenses that you have established to protect yourself.
That’s when the tears begin to fall. You allow yourself to breakdown and sob for all to see. You try to fight when away, furiously wiping your eyes and capturing the tears on your fingers. The once perfect and thick makeup begins to streak. The black mascara runs down your face, your fingers now black.
It was supposed to be an emotionless speech. One about your character finding peace and solace in her husband’s disinterest. That she has finally broken free from the spell that the man had placed on her. His final words being the straw that breaks the camel’s back. The accumulation of your stress and frustration have into fruition, taking the form of salty tears that land at your feet.
You can feel the character’s pain. When you first read the script, you were curious as to how horrible a man could be to the woman he claims to love. You wondered why he would step out on his wife, to find comfort in a younger and prettier woman. Why he would berate the woman who has remained so loyal and faithful then turn around and convince her that it was her fault for not keeping him interested.
You’ve seen her before. Just in passing, a fleeting moment in Sylus’ garage where their loud laughter suddenly faded as soon as you entered the room, tired from that day of rehearsals. Sylus introduced you. His ruby eyes remained on her, though, his lips curling up into a ghost of a smile. It made your body go cold. You remembered her smile, how it was so infectious it made you want to grin despite her closeness with your partner.
She’s younger too. Of course, she is. Just a couple years but still…her youthful spirit has yet to be crushed like yours. She wore pretty clothes and her perfume was intoxicating; spiced vanilla with an underlying scent of everything that you are not.
Is that the case with Sylus? Is he not interested in you anymore? Has that hunter from the Association finally turn his head away from you?
You collapse to the ground, legs unstable and feeling like jelly. Sobs take over your body. The familiar sharpness returns to your heart. It turns rotten.
You listen to the audience’s cries from the stage as you remained hunched over, your tears soaking into the floor beneath you. The crowd remains quiet as you cry and choked out the words. You covered your face and muttered quiet apologies to yourself, continuing with the speech. You sniffle and wipe the snot away from your nose while you speak on the devastating nature about loving a man who simply doesn’t care.
Silence falls over the auditorium. No one dares to move while you slowly recover, your arms and hands shielding your face from the blinding lights. The silence causes you to shiver. Slowly, you look up from your hands, staring into the darkness of the auditorium. In the front row, you can see the glossy sheen to the audience’s eyes.
The stage lights go black. You feel your tears stop. The lights no longer warm your skin. The audience’s applause fade and you are left alone as the stage crew and ensemble gather around you. They lift you to your feet and praise your performance. Even the director is astonished with your work, commenting that the tears added a hefty gravity to the scene that they never could have imagined.
You smile at them but quickly excuse yourself to your dressing room. The door closes with a quiet click of the turning lock. The lights remain off, the light from the outside world spread across the floor. Your back remains pressed against the door. Deep and heavy breaths cause your head to go dizzy. You push away from the door and rip the costume off of your body, tossing the fabric to the side as you gather your belongings and post-show clothes. Quickly putting them on, you sneak out of the dressing room and slip free from the back stage door, just barely missing the crowd that rushes to see you.
His face is not among those in the crowd. Another knife to the heart. Another notch in the grievances that you are about to file against your partner.
You tear your gaze away, tears streaking down your cheeks as the shrieks and cheers from the audience pierce your ears. You don’t look back, though, and instead push forward as fast as you can, finding your nearby car.
The drive to the N109 Zone is silent. You focus on the road, barely paying attention to the turning street lights and stop signs. You recklessly brake at the last second and swerve in and out of the lanes, just barely missing cars that you are about to collide with.
Danger and fury runs through your veins. Instead of the familiar heat of frustration, your anger is ice cold. Indifferent. Intolerant of how Sylus has fallen away from your grip these last few months.
Maybe you should have seen this coming. All of the signs are there, right?
While you were off parading as a different person, your boyfriend became acquainted with his new connection at the Hunter’s Association. She was the one who took your place by his side when rehearsals ran late. She was the one who took your spot on the back of his motorcycle. She was the one who took his attention away from you.
You shove away your emotions, forcing your feet to carry you inside of Sylus’ skyscraper. The elevator quietly dings with every passing floor, the nausea inside of your stomach becoming overwhelming. The doors slide open and you step out, looking around.
The lights are turned off. The click of your shoes is faintly heard as you move deeper into the main living space. The sound of a woman’s laughter causes you to stumble. You hold onto the wall for support, placing your bag onto the floor.
A chill overtakes your body. Goosebumps form on your skin. The hair on your arms and back of your neck stand up. You sulk closer towards the sound, listening to Sylus as he chuckles at a joke she said.
You peer at the two of them from the corner, remaining as hidden as you can. They sit beside each other on the living room couch, a feast of takeout food laid out before them. The smell causes you to drool. The lights are off, the only light source coming from lit candles — which are yours, by the way — that are scattered throughout the room. They sit close to one another, their arms brushing against each other as they laugh and share food, leaning in to whisper something into their ear as if they aren’t the only ones inside of the Onychinus skyscraper. Sylus faces you while she faces away. You stare at her back, the long and black hair that cascades down her back. She wears stealth clothes, ones that you recognize from the Hunter’s Association’s ads that play all over Linkon City. You go still, unable to move as you sneakily watch.
“Are you sure that it’s okay that I’m here?” she asks. Her voice is as sweet as honey.
“Of course,” his voice is as husky as you remembered it to be, “there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
A tender smile is spread across Sylus’ face. You want to slap it off and scream in his face. You want to yell and scream, to hit him and make him feel the same exact emotional torment that he has put you through.
You slowly draw in a breath. The heat from the anger you once felt is gone. Ice takes over your body, freezing your heart. You can’t even feel the beats. The air is drawn out from your lungs. They burn, the only hint you have to let you know that you are still alive.
Is this how your character felt? Is this what complete and utter betrayal look like? Is this how it feels to watch as the love of your life slips free from your fingers, dropping into the palm of a woman who probably doesn’t even know who the true Sylus is. Would it be ignorant of you to think that nobody will know him like you did? Would it be ignorant to think that this new reality you find yourself in is one that you do not wish to be a part of anymore?
This is how your relationship dies. With the smell of spiced vanilla and two bodies close together under the dim candlelight.
Tears run down your cheeks. You don’t have the energy to stop them from falling. Turning on your heel, you walk away, heading in the direction of your shared bedroom with Sylus. Your footsteps are no longer quiet or sneaky. You walk with the confidence of a determined woman. The determination to leave this place — and the man you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with — behind.
You shove the door open with more force than you intended. The wood slams into the wall, the sound echoing across the floor. You swear you can hear Sylus and her’s laughter die as soon as you step foot into the bedroom. You don’t really care, though, and head towards the closet. Your fingers curl around the handle of a suitcase. You toss it onto the bed, the case splitting open, empty and ready to be used.
Whatever you come across, you toss it into the suitcase. You don’t even bother to fold the clothes, allowing them to knot together as the pile grows higher and higher. White noise fills your head. There’s ringing in your ear. You don’t even hear Sylus when he walks into the bedroom, too tunnel visioned to notice him. You turn around, a pair of slippers in your hands. You collide with Sylus’ hard chest, the man resting his hands on his hips as you barely look up at him.
“I asked you what you’re doing.” There’s annoyance in his voice. Irritation, even.
You don’t even look up at him, stepping around his frame as you toss the slippers into the suitcase. There’s movement in the doorway. The figure is gone before you can catch it. Eh. Whatever. You’re leaving anyways. It simply is not your problem anymore.
“I’m talking to you,” Sylus says. He groans and watches as you brush past him again. He snatches your wrist in his hand, his fingers hot against your skin. You try not to wince or flinch. The single look he gets of your face makes him pause. The streaked and ruined makeup. The way your fingers are covered in the remnants of red lip stick and black mascara from your efforts to wipe your face clean. It makes his heart ache at the sight, the man wanting to reach for you and bring you into his embrace just like he has always done when you needed him to be there. Oh, the irony. “What’s wrong? Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving,” you breathe the words out, “I don’t belong here anymore.”
“Leaving?” He’s baffled, a light scoff leaving his mouth. He waits for you to show him a sign — any sign — that this is some kind of overreaction. That you are waiting for him to stop you before you can step foot out of the base’s doors.
You keep moving, though. Your movements are robotic at best. There is no emotion on your face as you continue to shove your belongings into the suitcase. He watches, as still as the period after a brutal and deadly battle. You continue to move, packing away the life that you had built together, purposefully leaving behind the items and clothes that he happily bought for you.
“What’s going on?” Sylus asks, bewildered. “Did I miss something?”
“No,” you shake your head, venom prominent in your voice. “You wanted to be here, remember? There’s no other place you would rather be.”
The way you throw his words — words that were never meant for you, by the way — right back into his face make Sylus pause. His red eyes scan your face, trying to silently peel back the layers of your mind to see what it is that he has done wrong. His lips pucker, eyes narrowing. So you know that his Hunter friend is here. Did you misinterpret the situation? Did you think that there were traces of romance and affection in his actions?
“Talk to me,” Sylus says, his eyes fixating on you. “Tell me what happened.”
“You didn’t show up,” you say.
You casually shrug as if this is common information, as if Sylus abandoning you is now a common occurrence. Wasn’t it you who decided to act? To give yourself away for months for an audience of people who don’t even know who you are? He follows you as you walk to the bathroom. The cabinets are opened up and you pluck your hair care products and skincare regimen into your hands, walking back out just to dump them into your bag.
“What didn’t I show up for?” He asks, truly confused as to why you are suddenly holding this grudge against him.
“My play, Sylus,” the words are as bitter as your voice, “you missed my play. Not like you would care anyways since you’d rather be here with her instead of supporting your fucking girlfriend—”
“So you’re jealous,” Sylus comments, “that’s what this is about?”
“Jealous?” you turn around and stare at him as if you were just struck by a bolt of lightning. Your body feels as if it was. A tingling sensation spreads across your skin and you are sure that if you were to touch him, he would explode from the electricity of your fury. “You think I’m leaving over jealousy?”
“Isn’t that what this is about?” he shakes his head, already ready to dismiss this whole argument.
“You missed opening night, Sylus.”
“No,” the white haired man shakes his head, taking a step closer to you, “I didn’t. That’s next week.”
“It was tonight.”
His body goes cold. He opens his mouth to say something, red eyes piercing into yours. You swear you can see the vibrancy and color fade when he finally realizes. You wait a couple more seconds for him to speak but he says nothing. You scoff.
“I got a standing ovation, by the way,” you comment as you step towards the bag. You zip it up, using as much effort as you can to close the stuffed bag. “The director called me a visionary. Said my performance of a wife scorned felt real.”
“Babe…”
“Who knew that my boyfriend ditching me for some woman he met a few months ago would be the perfect motivation to have a breakdown on stage? Not me,” you laugh. Actually laugh. It’s both bitter and angry, the sound ready to snap like your emotions. The bag is zipped shut and you push it onto the ground, lifting the handle.
“I didn’t ditch you,” Sylus tries to reason. It only makes you laugh.
“Didn’t you?” you are quick to counter, an expert on keeping him accountable. “I thought you were dead at some point. Your empty seat made me think that one of your business deals went wrong. So I rushed home as fast as I could to come see you but you,” you let out a bitter laugh. One that is filled with anger and resentment. “You just had to be with her. So yes, Sylus. You fucking ditched me.”
You turn and stare at him, your gaze sharp enough to kill. Sylus easily meets your gaze, allowing the blade of your fury to rest along his neck. His expression softens, the weight of his guilt finally resting upon his shoulders. He only wishes that you would gift him the weight of your anger so that he may hold it for you, even if it means giving you just one minute of peace where the sins of his actions don’t poison your blood.
“I…” you begin but fall quiet. Your fists ball at your sides, nails digging into your palm. The pain grounds you, the stinting feeling of torn flesh rooting you into the earth. “I needed you tonight, Sylus, and you weren’t there. Ever since I was cast, you drifted away. You found comfort in another—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” His red eyes burn into yours, his own anger and passion coming into play. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. I have not found comfort in another woman.”
“Do you really believe that?” you whisper. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that you paid more attention to her than me?”
“Yes! Because it’s the truth!” Sylus raises his voice, his emotions getting the best of him.
The man has fought so hard to remain in control. Control of his life, the world around him, his emotions. Sylus has always managed his own expectations — and disappointments — by controlling those around him. He used people and tossed them to the side when he no longer needed them. He would never do such a thing to you. He can’t even fathom how you can believe that when he has done everything in his power to keep you happy.
It’s his fault, though. Sylus’ wishful thinking of you being happy, of living your life on the stage, was not in vain. He wanted to try and clean up Onychinus’ problems before your show’s time came. Sure, he got distracted by an interesting woman, but he never would have dreamed of tossing you to the side in favor of her. At least, that’s what he thinks. The poor man doesn’t even realize that the woman he has replaced you with has already gotten a hold of his heart. The one thing he swore that nobody else — other than you — would touch.
“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.
“I’m not the one who made up an elaborate plot in her head about something that isn’t true!” Sylus says, waving his hands around.
“Isn’t it?” you ask, trying to keep your voice and body as steady as possible. “You were here. With her. I was there where you weren’t. You claim that you feel nothing for her but when I came home…you looked at her like you once looked at me.”
Your words are like a knife in his heart. It causes him to exhale, the air being knocked free from his chest. His eyes gloss over, your accusations growing more and more true as you build your case against him.
“When I first got the role, you were excited for me. You even said that you couldn’t wait to see me on stage,” you laugh again but this time it’s softer. Sadder. The acceptance of your crucified relationship finally settling in your stomach. “I believed you when you said that I was going to be great. That I was going to fulfill my dreams and that you were happy to watch. I want to believe you now but all I can see is a man I used to love. All I see is an honest man who has turned into a liar right in front of my eyes.”
Silence hangs between you. Your breathing is slow, controlled. Sylus’ is erratic. He takes a step forward but you draw back, placing more distance between the two of you. You look him up and down once, taking in his appearance.
He wears a nice button down dress shirt. It’s white, a color that he rarely ever wears but you noticed that he puts on a whole lot more when she’s around. His pants are the fancy tailored ones and his shoes are shined so well that you swear you can see your reflection in. Your gaze flickers to his hands. He isn’t wearing the ring you got him, the one you bought to match the one he slid on your finger. A promise that the two of you will be together forever…it has vanished from his fingers. It makes you want to cry all over again. How could he have not seen the signs?
“Why didn’t you show up?” you ask.
“What?” Sylus breathes out.
“Why didn’t you show up?” you ask him again, doubling down.
“I didn’t think that it was today,” he begins but he quickly shuts up when you shake your head.
“No,” your eyes darken. “What was the reason for not being here tonight like you said?”
“Did I say that?”
“Sylus!” you yell his name, the word echoing across the top floor of his skyscraper. “Stop! Why weren’t you there?!”
“She needed me.” The answer leaves him before he can stop it. He whispers the short sentence. Oh, how he regrets even saying it in the first place. “She needed someone.”
“I needed someone too,” your voice cracks under the pressure. The tears begin to fall from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks in hot and salty streams. “I needed my boyfriend to share this night with me. To celebrate my accomplishment.”
“It’s not like that,” Sylus dares to step forward, swallowing the lump in his throat, “she needed help with a job—”
“Does nobody else work at that damn fucking Association?! Why does she need my boyfriend to help her?!” you yell, silencing him. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath to try and steady your nerves. “I’m done, Sylus. I’m leaving, okay? Don’t even bother trying to talk to me again.”
You grab the handle of your suitcase, tearing your gaze off of him. The more you look at him, the angrier you get, and that is the last thing you need. You take a step towards the door. His voice stops you.
“Don’t go,” Sylus says, resting his hand on your shoulder, “please don’t leave me.”
“You already left me, Sylus,” you say with a resigned sigh. “And take your damn hand off of me. You don’t get to touch me anymore.”
“Let’s talk it through,” he says, “please?”
Sylus reaches out for you again. He grabs your wrist, drawing you back towards him. What he didn’t anticipate, though, is the way you swing your hand towards him, your palm connecting with his cheek. A stinging sensation spreads across his face. A red imprint begins to form on his face, the lines of your fingers etched into his skin. You don’t even feel guilty about it.
“You haven’t even said sorry,” your voice cracks, the palm of your hand stinging. Tears flow from your eyes. The drops fall to the ground after they roll off your cheeks. You don’t bother to catch them or to wipe them away. You let them fall. “No apology for missing my opening night. No apology for choosing her over me…it’s cruel, Sylus. You’re cruel. We’re done. Don’t come near me.”
The couch is uncomfortable. It has been since last week when your co-star broke it during rehearsal. He thought that jumping on it would be a good idea — as if it ever is — and now here you are, sitting on a spring that pokes directly into the place where the sun doesn’t shine.
You crack your neck and knuckles, exhaling all of the air that’s in your lungs. You don’t even pay attention to your fellow actor. There’s too much on the line, especially since it’s the last show of the play’s run in Linkon. After this…you have no idea what you’re going to do. What you do know, though, is that you’re finally going to find the happiness that you deserve.
Especially since the stage is now forever stained from your one-sided breakup with Sylus.
The creak of the curtains forces you to look up. The blinding lights are familiar now. The stinging sensation makes itself at home behind your eyes while you blink, waiting for your cue. You slowly stand. Your eyes adjust to the bright lights, the people in the crowd now coming into view. Sylus’ empty seat — one that you asked to remain reserved for him, for what reason, you’ll never know — is just to the side. You stare at it whenever you need the emotional push, to throw yourself into your sorrows for the crowd to watch. Your soul laid bare on the stage while your tears burn down your cheeks, hands outstretched towards the crowd as if they can save you from drowning in your depression.
The seat isn’t empty though. You blink a couple of times, wondering if it was just the trick of the light or if someone actually dared to sit in the spot.
It’s Sylus.
His red eyes meet yours through the darkness and just for a moment — a second so brief you barely catch it — it feels as if it is just the two of you inside of the theater. It feels as if there is no crowd, no audience watching as you freeze on stage. It is just you and him. Nobody else.
You swallow the iron lump that has formed in your throat. The pressure is immeasurable, the mass dragging along your esophagus. It makes you want to throw up, to cry and throw yourself on the ground. To let the wooden stage swallow you whole so you can disappear from life without even having to say a word or lift a finger.
“I’ve been married to Dean for five years.” Your voice is stronger this time. More resolute. There is no shake in it just the emotionless motivations of a she-devil, of a woman scorned…of an emotionally battered woman who is too tired to show how she is truly feeling. “And in those five years, he has let me down five times. This is the story of how Dean and I fell in and out of love.”
You force your gaze away from Sylus, turning around as the play continues as if this isn’t happening. You settle yourself as you cross the stage, linking your arm with your co-star’s, forcing a smile onto your face.
Admittedly, you are distracted. Sylus’ white hair and red eyes always catch your attention. Hell, it’s how you noticed him in the first place when you showed up to some random auction. You were bored out of your mind and was just ditched — ironic, right? — by your date who left you to pay the bill at the restaurant. You wandered around the N109 Zone, finding your way into a fancy art exhibit where a silent auction was taking place. The auction was dimly lit but Sylus still managed to stand out like the devil in the night, his appearance subconsciously luring you closer and closer until you stood beside him in front of a painting that depicted a war torn field. Dragon bones were laid out in the middle of the painting and hanging in the sky is a bright star, one that burns as brightly as he once said you did.
You shake your head, forcing the memory out of your head as soon as it even formed. The world of the story moves all around you while you remain stagnant on the stage unable to move as the character of Dean makes a move on another woman right in front of you. The actors on stage stop mid-movement. A spotlight is turned on, the light directed at you. You stare directly at it, gaze slipping to your ex-partner.
“This was the first time Dean betrayed me. It was five years ago. He took me to some party on his campus. Told me that he needed to talk to his friends and that I should wait for him out front. Little did I know, he had his tongue shoved down another woman’s throat. His friend felt bad for me. He texted me a picture of it. It didn’t make the pain hurt any less. That was the alcohol’s job.”
The crowd laughs. Sylus doesn’t. His gaze remains on you and you alone. He follows your shadowy figure as you cross the stage, walking off as this so called Dean and his first affair have their time to shine. A look of detestment flashes across his face at the sight. Dean and his temporary lover, if you could even call it that, fall onto the couch, their movements exaggerated.
Is this what you thought he was doing with her? Could you really think of him as a man who would ever betray you like that?
Dean and the woman kiss. Sylus shudders. He closes his eyes, just for a brief moment, before he hears your voice again. His eyes open immediately after, watching as you stand in the middle of the stage while the set is changed behind you.
“I broke up with him. I was the fool, though, for thinking that he could change. I took him back not even a month later. The bed was cold without him…I missed his warmth and the way he held me in his arms.” Your eyes move back to Sylus. He sucks in a breath, hanging onto every word. “I missed the security he gave me. The sweet kisses as he vowed to me that he would never be swayed again. I was just a kid in love, could you blame me?”
His heart lurches inside of his chest. As the play continues to unfold in front of his eyes, the more and more Sylus sees himself in Dean, the villain of the story. He can’t even begin to imagine why your character would put herself through all of that pain and suffering, of watching the man you dedicated your life to slip free from your grasp. To sit and stare as he plays mind games right in front of you, claiming that what she said is ludacris and that he would never do such a thing.
And to think that he said the same to you.
Sylus sinks into his seat. Roses sit at his feet, a bouquet made special just for you. He labored over it for hours, wondering if you would even accept the roses — or any flower for that matter! Would you accept him? Let him apologize and say sorry for the things he didn’t even say. His heart feels like it is about to fly out of his chest, ready to crumble under the pressure of you and your judgment. Whatever you decide to give him, whatever you decide to yell or scream at him…he knows that he deserves it. He deserves it all.
The play goes on. Sylus is completely enamored by your acting, the way you are able to show a bright smile to the new “friends” Dean introduces to you all while looking like you are ready to fall apart at a moment’s notice. He is infatuated with the way you lay your soul onto the stage for all to see. The way you treat him and everyone else with a casualness an old friend would have. It makes him feel welcome despite feeling an immense amount of dread overtake his body the more and more he sees how the men in your character’s life continue to let her down over and over again.
Sylus can’t believe that he allowed himself to treat you this way. He can’t believe how easy it was to lie about work, to offer his time to some measley Hunter that could barely remember what his favorite wine is or if he prefers a rifle to a pistol. He can’t believe that he allowed himself to create distance between the two of you, that he didn’t pick up on the silent cues you gave him when you tried to bring him back into bed for five more minutes of cuddles, the way you tried your best to stay up for him after a long day of rehearsal knowing that those ten minutes of conversation were enough to keep you invested in your relationship.
Sylus is mad at himslf for being the maker of his own destruction. That he is the only person responsible for pushing you away.
“Love is like a drop into the misty depths where either a bed of clouds or rocks wait for you at the bottom,” you begin, capturing his attention all over again. “It is a leap of faith. A shot in the dark that the person you have let into your life is the one who is supposed to make you happy.”
You take your time in walking across the stage. The play has reached it’s ending. Dean’s relationship with your character has evolved into a loveless marriage. Three years together. Three years of time wasted. You can’t help but relate to it, the feeling of your own time being robbed from you. It angers you more than it should.
“I wish there was a warning sign,” you look down at your feet, the tears already forming in your eyes, “because when I hit the bottom, it felt worse than what I imagined death to feel like.”
You raise your head. Your eyes meet Sylus’ in the crowd. His lips are parted ever so slightly, the man sitting on the edge of his seat. You just wished he looked like this a month ago and not now. It counts as something, you suppose.
“I used to think that Dean loved me. I used to think that there was a piece inside of me who always saw the good in him…that he wasn’t a man who used people at his disposal just because he felt like it. You know, I have stayed up so many nights wondering why he would do this to me. So many nights lost when I could have been asleep and on the nights I did sleep, the dreams were filled of a life without him. I berated myself for dreaming of such things…that only a horrible person could ever dream of a life away from the one who made them the happiest. Does that make me horrible?”
Sylus wants to answer. He wants to be the one to reach out and bring you into his arms, to keep you in his life for as long as he can. He wants to be the one to dry your tears, to be the man you deserve to have in your life. He can’t help but wonder if you, too, had dreams about leaving him while you laid in bed beside him…in his arms.
“Honey!” your co-star cries out. You remain stagnant in the middle of the stage, unable to look away from Sylus. “Clean this up! If I have to do damage control over your outburst at the party, then I refuse to be the one to clean.”
“I just wanted the party to go well.” Tears begin to roll down your cheeks, the lines forever burned on your tongue.
“Nobody cares about the damn party,” the actor slams the cabient.
The wood rattles. You close your eyes, the audience feeling the same fear as your character. The actor quickly rushes to your side, grabbing your jaw with his hand. He yanks it towards him, his face dangerously close to yours. Sylus quietly gasps with other audience members.
“Nobody cares about you, quite frankly. Always trying too hard but it will never be enough.”
“Dean, please!” you recite the lines with desperation in your voice.
“When will it be enough for you?”
“I don’t love you anymore!”
The words echo throughout the theater. The actor who plays Dean slowly exits the stage. The lights begin to dim, a single spotlight focused on you. The characters from the show line up behind you, their bodies barely visible as cries begin to overtake your body. Your hands clutch the area over your heart, the sounds of your sobs and cries filling the theater. The people in the audience begin to cry with you, gently patting away the tears with a pocketed handkerchief.
“I just wanted to be loved!” you cry out, your voice both pained and desperate. “I just wanted to be someone worthy of love! To be someone worthy of being treated like a first choice, not the second. I let him consume me. I let his desire and lust control my life and scrutinized myself for being the reason he didn’t love me anymore. I don’t even know who I am anymore!”
Your cries grow louder and louder. Sylus tears up himself, unable to bring himself to look away as you crumble to your knees.
“Why me?! Why did you have to choose me?” You yell, looking up to the audience. Sylus sits in the wake of your gaze, trapped. “Why did you have to be the one who ripped my heart to shreds? I don’t understand! Please! Why am I not worthy of your love? Why am I the one who has to suffer for your mistakes? It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”
Your voice cracks, the scream of your anguish chilling Sylus to his core. He sits back into his seat, all of the air drained from his body, breathless as you slowly rise to your feet, the tears never ending. Your eyes find his again, the tremor in your body easing.
“I hate myself because of you.” The sentence slices through Sylus’ chest. “I hate myself for loving you…for making up excuses time and time again on why you are so cruel to me. I hate myself for allowing you to hurt me. I hate myself for not leaving earlier. I wish…I wish that I could bring myself to hate you, but I can’t. I don’t think I ever will.” You pause. You take a shuddered breath and close your eyes, allowing the warmth of the spotlight to envelop you like a hug. “Maybe we are right for each other. We are the only people I know who are miserable…who love to live in misery and wallow in our sorrows. Is it bad to say that I want more? That I need more?”
You laugh. It’s bitter. A reflection of how you feel on the inside. Unfortunate, but true.
“Maybe I’m not one of those people. Maybe I’m not built to live a happy life. Is it ironic that I now realize that I don’t want to be the third person in our marriage? That I want to be treated better than you have ever treated me. Is it bad to admit that I wish the old you would come back to me? The same one that held me when my dog died. The same one that was there for me when I graduated from college…” you go quiet, staring into the distance. “My aunt used to tell me that hindsight is a privlege to have. She used to tell me that in the real world, not many people are able to get a second chance like I have. She held my hands the night your affair was exposed.”
You hold your hands out in front of you, staring at the palms. Makeup and tears stain your skin. A reminder of the true storm that destroys your mind. A frown overtakes your face.
“She held me close,” your voice lowers but the microphone picks it up, loudening your whispers, “and told me that the next time I have the chance to run, I should take it. That I will regret not rushing towards happiness that I deserve and that the road will only get tougher and tougher the longer I put it off…Hey Dean? Do you remember that joke you always said? The one that used to make me laugh till I was breathless? You said it recently and…I found myself unwilling to play along anymore. I don’t love you anymore, Dean…I don’t know if I will ever again.”
Sylus has never known what it felt like to be nervous. Ever since he was born, he has never felt what people describe to be “erratic butterflies” that flutter in your stomach. He has heard many accounts from people — especially those who was succumbed to bullets from his guns — about fear and anxiety. The emotions are so foreign to him. Even when the two of you began to date, Sylus knew that you were the one for him. That it was going to be you and him against the world. He never felt those fluttering butterflies in his stomach until now.
He waits outside of the backstage door. People from the audience stand outside alongside fans. He keeps his distance, wanting you to have your moment before he eventually destroys it. The man glances down at the roses. Nausea begins to overtake his senses. He tries to steel his nerves, to make the sensation go away and leave him alone. It doesn’t, though. He deserves it.
The metal doors swing open and people cheer and yell out your name. You exit with a bright smile on your face, waving to them as flashes of lights pop off. He sighs, shaking his head as he turns on his heel, ready to walk away. Sylus isn’t even sure if he is ready to face you yet. How could he? You poked a hole into his lies, exposing him. He wasn’t even aware of what he was doing to you…the way his words and indifference slowly killed you while you were making something for yourself.
“Sylus.”
A shock of life flashes in his stomach. The butterflies are dead, the man turning around to look down at you. You stand in front of him with crossed arms and a scowl, annoyance written all over your face. You raise an eyebrow, glancing down at the flowers.
“These are for you,” Sylus extends the flowers in your direction, hoping to whatever god is out there that you’ll take them. You don’t. You just stare at the red petals, the white baby’s breath scattered into the mix. “You…you were phenomenal tonight. Truly…you made me cry. I didn’t think it was possible for me to.”
“Why are you here?” you ask, cutting straight to the point. It takes Sylus aback. The butterflies come back.
“I wanted to…” his voice trails off. He clears his throat, trying to dispel some of the awkwardness that remains in his body. “We need to talk.”
“Do we?” you counter.
“Yes,” Sylus’ lips press into a thin line, amused. “There are things I have to say to you.”
“What if I don’t want to hear it?”
“Then I’ll leave,” he says. He means it, too. “I will leave you alone for the rest of your life if you want me to. I know that I have been an asshole and you have every right to be angry with me…at least let me drive you home. It’s snowing. You shouldn’t be walking out on your own.”
“Fine.”
Sylus’ eyes widen ever so slightly, his surprise on full display for you to see. Your roll your eyes at the sight, taking the flowers from him. Your gaze drops down to his ring finger. The black ring you got him sits there, the spot no longer vacant like it was before. And yet…you feel nothing.
You follow Sylus as he walks you towards his car. He stands close to you, shielding you from the harsh wind as snow flakes fall onto your flowers. You barely have a grip on them. The flowers are ready to fly away with the wind at any given moment, to be lost in the city of Linkon. Sylus wouldn’t blame you for letting them go. He knows that the flowers are a shot in the dark, a poor attempt to see that smile on your face because, well, you always smiled whenever he brought you flowers after a long day of work. Seeing your grin was like a shot of espresso that revitalized him after business deals gone wrong.
Oh, how he misses that smile.
He opens up the passenger side door. You let out an exasperated huff. He assumes that you rolled your eyes at him, too. You smack the flowers into his chest, slowly lowering yourself into the seat. Once your foot is inside, Sylus places the roses — which you immediately toss into the basckseat — and closes the door behind you, jogging to the other side of the car and gets inside. The car comes to life and heat from the vents help melt some of the icy tension in your body.
“Feel okay?” Sylus asks. You hum in response.
The man drives the car away from the theater, putting as much distance between the two of you and the damned place as possible. The drive is quiet, a song about heartbreak plays over the radio. You don’t pay attention. Instead, you stare outside of the car window, watching as Sylus drives through the empty streets. Snowflakes hit the foggy window. You tap your finger against them, letting the heat from your body melt the icy designs.
Sylus watches you from the corner of his eye. The butterflies have returned to his stomach. He ignores the feeling and clears his throat, the car coming to a slow stop at the red light.
“Can I take you somewhere?” Sylus asks. It’s another shot in the dark. One that he hopes you’ll take.
“Fine,” you mutter under your breath, keeping your gaze fixed out of the window.
Sylus nods once and turns left, heading away from the city and towards the river. You barely pay attention, opting to stare out at the snowy landscape. The lights of the city slowly disappear, the car taking you up the side of the city where there’s a lookout of the city. Minutes pass and the car finds itself in a parking spot, the tall man slipping free from the car. He moves to your side and opens up the door, offering you his hand. You ignore it and shove your hands into your jacket pockets, stepping away from him and towards a bench that overlooks Linkon City.
You sit down and Sylus takes his spot beside you. The silence from the car is replaced with the quiet sound of the wind, snowflakes flying past your face. You hug your arms close to your body, slightly shivering. Sylus is quick to wrap a scarf around your neck, the warmth from his hands lingering in the fabric. You contain an eye roll, quietly thanking him before the silence takes over once again.
“Sylus,” you exhale his name, steam from your breath evaportating in front of your eyes, “now is the time to talk.”
“I miss you.” He stares straight ahead, just barely seeing the look of shock — or is it disgust — on your face. “I also want to say…I’m sorry.”
“Is that all?” you ask.
“No,” he shakes his head, finally turning to look at you. “I want you to know that I heard you loud and clear. I heard you a month ago when you left and…I heard you during the play. I’m sorry for pushing you away. I…I don’t know what else to say or how to make things better between us but I miss you. I missed you the moment I let you step through that door. I never should have.”
The silence is less ugly now. At least you can breathe again, the cold air keeping you wide awake and alert. It even helped alleviate the strain behind your eyes. Dark gray clouds hang low in the sky. If you were to ask Sylus, he would bring one down to earth for you.
“I told her to never contact me again. I gave her information to someone else in Onychinus that she can turn to when she needs help,” he continues, answering the questions that pop into your mind. “I want you. Not her. I should have made that very clear and prioritized you.”
“No shit,” you mutter, looking down at your bare hands.
“Do you hate me?” he asks. You hesitate to respond.
A piece of skin pokes up beside your nail. You glare at it, a scowl overtaking your face. With the tips of your nails, you slowly peel it back. Your finger stings but the ice cold air numbs the pain almost instantly. Sylus sighs and places a hand on top of yours, stopping you from doing it any further. You turn to look up at him, to yell at him to let go and to not touch you, but as soon as your eyes meet his red ones: you’re a goner.
“You hurt me,” you whisper, voice cracking.
“I know,” he nods. He swallows the lump that formed in his throat. “And I know that there is nothing I can do or say to erase that pain. You have every right to be mad at me. Hell, I’m angry at myself for not seeing it any sooner.”
“Okay.” You nod, unsure of what else to say.
“I want you back in my life,” he quietly pleads. Sylus’ voice feels small. You have never seen him like this before. It’s…confusing. “I…I haven’t been sleeping well. Not since you left. Is it selfish of me to ask you to come back?”
“Yes,” you immediately respond.
Sylus bites back a frown, tearing his gaze away from you and towards the snowy Linkon skyline. Your eyes move to the line of his nose. The way the corner of his lips tug downward into a frown no matter how hard he tries to keep it away. You finally notice the bags under his eyes, the way his posture is slouched instead of its perfect state. You divert your gaze, gnawing at the inside of your cheek.
“I haven’t been sleeping well either,” you reply. Sylus’ head snaps to look back at you.
“Really?” he asks. You nod.
“It’s more of a…how can I sleep knowing that the man I was in love with chose everyone else over me kind of thing,” you say. You ignore the way Sylus’ expression breaks, the way his guily presents itself across his face. “I miss you, Sylus, but…”
“I know,” he finishes your sentence for you. He reaches out and gently moves your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. You tilt your face to look at him. He lowers his voice, “I promise to be better. Just…give me another chance. Please.”
“I don’t know,” you shake your head, holding back the tears. “Can I trust you?”
“Yes,” he gushes.
“How will I know that you’re mine and not…theirs?” The question barely comes out as a whisper and yet it is all Sylus can hear. “I don’t know if I can go through that heartbreak again.”
“You won’t have to,” he takes your hands in his and pull them to his chest. Right where his heart sits, to be exact.
Your eyes meet his and you can see the gloss over them, the way he is holding back every urge to cry and show his vulnerability. You know that this is hard for him. To show his emotions in a way that is not anger or through death. You finally take off the final mask that Sylus wears. His soul is on a silver platter for you to take. For you to keep and protect until the end of time.
“I love you. There is nothing else that I know to be more true than the fact that I am in love with you and thet I have been so fucking blind to just how happy you make me,” Sylus says. You hang onto every word, subconsciously leaning towards him. “I regret every single choice I have made in the last months. If I could go back and do it all over it again: I would. It’s what you said in the play…hindsight is a privlege. It is a privlege that we have. That we can take for ourselves.”
“Sylus…”
“You can trust me,” he continues, “you know you can. It’ll be just the two of us. I promise.”
The wind whips around your bodies. One of Sylus’ hands leave yours, finding its way to your cheek. You lean into the warmth, closing your eyes as the memories flood back to you.
Everything went sour in a matter of months. Before that, the two of you were rock solid. You were happy. The two of you share memories that nobody else will have access to. You remember all of the countless nights you stayed up waiting for him, sleep ready to take you over just as he walked through the bedroom door. You remember all of the times he brought you flowers and kissed your cheek, claiming that you are the most beautiful woman in the world. You remember all of the times Sylus held you when you cried. He has been there for you through thick and thin…is that something you’re willing to give up?
“I’ll come back,” you open your eyes. A smile begins to form on his face. It fades when you begin to speak again, “but we need to take things slow, okay? One day at a time.”
“One day at a time,” Sylus repeats. His eyes drop down to your lips, his eye glowing at the sight. Your hands flatten against his chest, feeling his unsteady heartbeat before they slip up and around his neck. The man pulls you closer, his touch light and gentle. “May I kiss you? Please?”
He asks as if he’s been starving for years. You nod, fingers slipping into his white hair, his lips connecting with yours in a slow and tender kiss. You sigh into his lips, hungry for more. The man gives it to you but he gently takes your left hand away from his neck, bringing it down to your laps.
“Sy,” you whine, earning a smile from him.
A cold sensation slips up your ring finger. You gasp, surprised by its presence. You look down and see a dark silver band wrapped around your finger with a black rock sitting in the middle. It looks similar to the ring you bought Sylus. The same one that he’s wearing right now.
“What…”
“This is my vow to you,” Sylus gently places his finger under your chin, tilting it back up so that you look at him. “My vow that my heart belongs to you and you alone. I know things will take time between us but…I need you to know that this,” he taps the top of the ring, sending chills down your spine, “is what my future looks like with you.”
“Do you mean it?” you ask, mouth suddenly dry. He nods.
“I meant every single word. I’m yours. Completely and utterly yours.”
as always ; likes, comments, & reblogs are greatly appreciated! be sure to support your favorite writers! <3
SYN. arguments with your boyfriend, how you move past it
(𝕰𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋) . maknae line x fem!reader ✶ 5.2K angst, fluff, mention of pads in jungwon’s lol, idol x idol. + violence in ni-ki’s (not from him)
note . idk if yall can tell but i love the trope where the reader gets hurt after an argument and the man feels awful i just eat it up every time (음악 주세요!)
💐 TAGLIST + REQS OPEN!
kim sunoo
argument: you looked amazing. your hair was put up in a pretty updo and your makeup was neatly glowing on your excited face. after what felt like years, you and sunoo were going on an actual date.
for the past few months, sunoo has been absolutely swamped. work has been hard, demanding him for longer hours and overnight work trips. and although you did mind in a way, you were never going to turn your back on your boyfriend.
your support meant the world to him; everything you did for him never went unnoticed. you made bento boxes for him every day-- sometimes even packing him more than one in case they called him in for longer, you visited him during your breaks at work to see him at least once. you hated seeing him so overworked, but that’s what the job called for. unfortunately there was nothing you could do about that.
but after going so long with no big romantic gestures, sunoo finally asked you out on a fancy date.
he even asked you at your doorstep with a sign and a big bouquet of white flowers, even after coming back from a long day at work. his efforts warmed your heart, and to say you were excited was an understatement.
sunoo had initially planned to arrive early to watch you do your makeup and be all over you and your floor length red dress, but his boss had called him for a quick go-over for a presentation for a big client of his coming soon.
“i’m so sorry i couldn’t pick you up like the gentleman i wanted to be, baby.” you could practically feel his pout over the phone. “don’t worry sun, the reservation’s in a couple hours. you have time! i’ll be here sitting pretty and waiting for you.”
“you’re my dream girl, y/n. love you more than anything-- i’m so sorry again.” and that was that. sure, you were a little bummed your boyfriend got pulled into work on the one day he requested to leave early, but at least you could see him at the actual dinner! you had a little more of your makeup routine to finish anyways.
you weren’t too worried until the time of your reservation was approaching. you haven’t heard from sunoo since your last phone call where he had to leave due to his boss coming into the room.
hey babe should i order an uber to the place and meet u there or something?
delivered, 6:45pm
deciding not to wait for a response, you decided to order a ride to the restaurant instead. your reservation was set for 7:30, and booking it was not easy. your boss happened to know the owner, so you did have an easier way in, but you had to book the reservation months in advance in order for the two of you to take off early enough.
“hi, table for two? under kim?” you stood in front of the receptionist, awkwardly clutching your purse to your front. the girl in front of you looked around you, expecting your date to pop up out of nowhere. honestly, it was quite clear that you were too. “is the other party arriving later?” you nodded quickly, explaining that your boyfriend was just getting off work.
after she led you to your table, you were very adamant on not getting the menu until after sunoo showed up. you two loved deciding what to get together, it was like your little thing that helped you two learn more about each others tastes even after how long you two have been together.
so there you sat, alone in one of the nicest restaurants in the city, checking your phone persistently. waiting for anything-- anything-- from your boyfriend.
you done soon? i’m at the restaurant. waiting 4 u!!
delivered, 7:34pm
bro everyones looking at me 😭 pls hurry i miss u
delivered, 7:59pm
hi can i get any update? proof of life? literally anything?
delivered, 8:26pm
after around thirty to forty minutes of no sign of sunoo, the waitress came around to give you some appetizers. “on the house, you look too gorgeous not to eat. enjoy!” despite the compliment, that soured your mood even more. getting things “on the house” because not only did the staff feel bad for you, but the chef did too.
you sighed, a full hour and a half passed and you were almost done with your main dish with tension in your brows. ‘it wasn’t easy for me to take off work either,’ you thought. ‘nothing’s easy for me either. why am i chasing him to make sure life is easy for him when… i’m going through my own shit?’
suddenly you hear what should’ve been a relieving sound of your boyfriend’s sweet voice alerting the receptionist that he was your other party. his voice only angered you even more; how was he so calm after standing you up for almost two hours? he walked up to your table as if he had all the time in the world on his hands. his dark grey suit and slicked back hair suited him in more ways than one, but all you could think of was how unfair all this was.
“did you finally remember you had a girlfriend?” you could see his calm exterior twitch a bit.
“come on, babe. don’t be like that. you know work is hard.” at that, you roughly set down your utensils in anger.
“did you ever think to realize that maybe work is hard for me too?” his eyebrows raised for a second, before returning back to his usual calm. “to be honest? no. no, i didn’t.”
you couldn’t help but scoff. “of course you didn’t, because everything has to revolve around you, right?” he closed his eyes in agitation. “y/n what are you talking abo-”
“everything has to be done for you so that you can have the easy life. like how i make ten meals for you because i see you-- what, three times out of the week? or like how i slip that hard-to-find gum in your bag because you get migraines if you don’t eat those specific ones? or like making a reservation for a fancy and very exclusive restaurant that you asked me to go to?”
“i’m here now, can we just move on and have a good time? especially if this place was as hard to get as you were saying earlier.” you were slightly shocked at his ignorance.
“you think you’re gonna get a slap on the wrist for standing me up on our first date in months? what, all cause you had work?” his eyes bounced between yours, not knowing what to say. “fuck you, kim sunoo. i already booked a fucking uber home cause you decided to make me second priority again. you enjoy this place-- you know, cause it was ‘“so hard to get into”’ like i was saying earlier?”
he couldn’t do anything but watch as you pushed back from the table and walked out. he immediately felt embarrassed as he looked at the empty seat in front of him. was this how you felt? god, he felt awful.
solution: sunoo arrived at your shared apartment a lot later than you had expected. you haven’t spoken to him since you left the restaurant, the location sharing app that you were so adamant on him getting alerted him when you had arrived home. for some reason, that really made the gravity of the situation really settle in.
he wallowed alone in the restaurant for a bit, opting out of eating anything. it didn’t feel right without you there… he just wanted you. he even stopped by that 24 hour flower shop to get you your favorite ones-- he just wanted to hold anything that reminded him of you.
he walked into the dark bedroom to see your silhouette hidden under the covers. he could tell you weren’t sleeping; your stature was too stiff to be in deep sleep. sunoo knew you like the back of his hand, and he knew you knew that too.
“hey…” he sighed deeply, resting the flowers on your nightstand.
“i know you’re awake y/n.” he carefully sat on the tiny sliver of space on the edge of the bed. his hip rested slightly against your lower back so he didn’t overstep.
“you were right… at the dinner? if that’s even what i should call it… i have been making you my second priority.” he heard your breath hitch slightly. “and i haven’t been acknowledging your efforts as much as i should’ve.”
there was pure silence between you two for a minute, as if sunoo was thinking of what to say next. you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.
“i never realized how tough my needs must be for you. you’re a hardworking woman-- that, i never let myself forget. you never give me the chance to think twice about that, you know? you’re always five steps ahead when it comes to doing everything. it’s almost like it’s easy for you… i think that’s why i don’t think to realize that work is hard for you too.”
you could tell that sunoo has lost his composure now, dumping whatever he was thinking outloud for only the two of you to hear. you could also hear his initial nervousness calm down the more he spoke out his feelings.
“i never realized how much you moved your schedule around for me-- and just so you could talk to me for at least five minutes in the day? you’re really something, y/nie…” he chuckled to himself, thinking about the last time you brought him his very contrasting sweet drink compared to your hot green tea.
“and how you show me off to your co-workers so proudly, saying things like ‘“that’s my boyfriend--’” sometimes you even your husband!” he was fully smiling at this point, you could hear it in his tone.
you suddenly turned around to face the boy. somehow, the action alone left him stunned, but after a few blinks, his smile widened once more.
“you are the most compassionate, hardworking, and dependable person that i know, y/n. and you deserve to get spoiled rotten for all that you do.” his smile fell a little. “you deserve to be with a man who doesn’t stand you up on a date that he asked you to.”
you sat up quickly, brows furrowed. “i deserve you, kim sunoo. no matter how fucked up this situation is, i wouldn’t dream of being with anyone other than you, okay?”
“…i just want you to put me first sometimes, sun. is that really such a hard ask?” he shook his head aggressively, shifting closer to cup your face. “nothing is too much to ask, baby. you tell me what you want and i’ll do it. you want me to cut my hours down? i’ll get in touch with hr. you want me to transfer to a less busy company? i’ll start applying. you want me to quit my job? i’ll start drafting up my two weeks.”
“i want to go on a real date with my boyfriend, sunoo. and i want to enjoy it with you this time.” his eyes bounced between yours, really taking in what you said. suddenly, he reached for the bouquet of flowers laying on your nightstand.
“l/n y/n. will you please go on a second-but-technically-first date with me? i promise i will make you my first priority. i owe you that much…” he nervously watched as you pretended to think, before smiling softly at the cute boy.
“i think it’s a yes, kim sunoo. but if you stand me up again i will make you so sorry you won’t even kno--” he cut you off by pressing his lips against yours, smiling at the way you leaned in instantly.
“i promise on my life, y/n,” he mumbled against your mouth. “i’d rather lose my job than lose you.”
yang jungwon
argument: jungwon always had a bit of a habit at times. his overly-logical ways of thinking could sometimes overtake him, especially when faced with your overly-emotional tendencies that you grace him with. in all honesty, you welcomed it. his levelheadedness provided a kind of calm to the storm you were always used to. “yin and yang,” as the two of you would say.
however, his logical thinking provided both pros and cons to your relationship.
it was around one in the morning, and you were hurriedly typing emails to your professors after seeing so many of your grades dropping.
it had been a rough couple of weeks for you: your boss at your internship treated you like you were equivalent to the dirt on her shoe, someone hit your car in the university parking garage while you were parked, and your exam results came back and let’s just say all the studying you did had no purpose.
it’s not uncommon for you to be this unlucky, and it’s not uncommon for you to feel like it’s the end of the world everytime. but that’s you, and you couldn’t really control that. you’re a feeler with a big heart, and if you say the world is ending because the grade in your required course for your degree dropped to a 74%… then the world is ending! it never felt dramatic to you.
you were bawling your eyes out while jungwon sat on call with you. he was tired, yawning and sighing every five seconds. he was on his way to your dorm to spend some time with you after practice, but you called him before he got there so that he could provide you with some peace of mind.
“i tried so hard, won. i feel like the world just hates me, you know? why does everything always happen to me?” you hear jungwon sigh for the nth time.
“yeah, but the world doesn’t revolve around you, y/n. your problems are so small compared to other people in the world.” you feel guilt creep into your chest at his words.
“like you’re complaining about class and shit, but there are people who can’t even afford class. and you complain about your internship-- well some people would die for an internship. your car got hit? at least you got a car.” your eyebrows furrowed at your boyfriends exasperated tone.
“… i understand that, but does that apply to you when you complain about your hard days at work?” you hear a scoff coming from his end of the line. “that’s different.”
you sat up and wiped your tears. “how the fuck is it different, jungwon? with your logic, complaining about being a successful idol just means you’re ungrateful right? some people would die to be an idol.”
he was silent for a second, clearly surprised at your unusual confidence. you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.
“y/n, you know the shit i go through when it comes to this job. realistically speaking, my problems are just fucking bigger than yours. i go through things that you can’t even comprehend-- and you know what? if roles were reversed and you were an idol instead of me, you would be ten times more lost than you are out in the real world. especially since you don’t have much going on in your head.”
silence overtook the air as you sat, stunned to silence. to make things worse, you hear jungwon mutter “probably crying right now too…” and for some reason, that was what did it for you.
“tell your driver to turn the car back to your own dorms. i’ll handle my shit myself.”
“y/n--” you cut the call before he could say anything else.
after jungwon got home, he texted you about his safe arrival before sighing and throwing his phone on his bed. he didn’t even have the energy to check if you responded because he just “knew you would.”
see, his logical thinking gave him the ability to provide solutions for difficult situations. it gave him the ability to calm you down when you needed it most. it gave him the ability to debate articulately and coherently.
it also gave him a big ego. and a big ego comes with making his girlfriend feel stupid during arguments.
he stops himself sometimes-- like that one time when you two were arguing about how pads worked. he was so adamant that they “stuck to the woman,” that he started pulling out bullshit to at least sound logical. he hated that you (a girl) were practically laughing at his very false claim, but he quickly realized that he (a boy) has never even opened a pad before and accepted defeat.
you could tell that his ego was high due to his “always being right” mindset, especially from things like that pad argument. you never really minded it much since he understood your boundaries to an extent. times like these where he just had to make you feel stupid to make himself feel better? that was when your usual emotional exterior turned cold.
after his long shower, he picked his phone up from the bed while he rubbed his towel against his hair.
hey, just got home
seen, 1:46 am
that was almost thirty minutes ago. his eyebrow quirked at your lack of response.
i know i was harsh in the car but i was just really tired
seen, 2:21 am
he sighed, rubbing his hand over his face in annoyance.
ykw y/n, goodnight
talk to me when stop being a fucking baby
delivered, 2:25 am
solution: the next morning, jungwon’s chest ached for a reason he wasn’t able to come to terms with yet. it was nine in the morning and you had class at eight, but when he turned to use his phone, his notification box was empty.
unfortunately for him and his tight schedule, he couldn't see you at all. and even more unfortunate for him, reading those last texts from him solidified your stubbornness... 'when you stop being a baby?' you truly felt your blood boil. your egos ended up getting the best of you two, and the silent treatment kept on for two more days.
but after three days of no you, he just couldn't take it anymore.
his apologies started off small. you woke up early like you always did so you could attend your early morning class, but this time, you were greeted with a bag of breakfast outside your door. one tiny note stuck on top reading: "have a good breakfast, pls don’t skip"
after your classes ended and you got ready for your internship, you arrived to your mini cubicle to see your favorite flowers dropped off at your desk. nothing more than a simple heart on a tiny note.
after your shift was over, you went to hang out with your friends for a much needed debrief. you were the first to get to the coffee shop that you were practically a regular at, so you opted to order with your friends when they arrived. your initial plan failed however, as the barista hand-delivered you your favorite things.
"y/n? some guy ordered your usual over the phone. someone named yang or something? let me know if you don’t know him and i’ll block the guy." you quickly reassured her that he was just your boyfriend most likely checking your location in his free time.
you finally made it back home after your packed day, holding all the gifts you got from your boyfriend that day. you were grateful of course, but you couldn’t help but wonder… still no jungwon? all you wanted was an apology from him in person.
you were about to make your way to the shower until you heard a feint knock on your door. to no surprise, jungwon stood leaning against the door frame with a bag from the convenience store.
“hey y/n…”
“hi won...” there was silence between you both, until he suddenly dropped the bag and pulled you for a tight hug. you stood for a minute, processing the quick affection, before returning the hug with equal amount of force.
“i’m so sorry y/n,” you heard him mutter against the crook of your neck. “i missed you so much…” you stayed silent, feeling your eyes begin to water at his touch. he pulled back just enough to see your face, his expression morphing into concern.
“oh, my baby…” you covered your face with your hands as you cried. he kissed your temple and pulled you back into a hug.
“i was so awful, wasn’t i? being tired doesn’t give me an excuse to be an asshole.” he pulled back to gently pull your hands away from your face.
“i want you to come to me when you’re frustrated. i want you to come to me when you need help. i want you to stay emotional, baby.” he cupped your face to thumb away the stray tears that slipped. “that’s you, and i love everything that makes you, you, y/n. understand?” you nodded.
“of course you understand, my smart girl.” he smiled and pulled you into a gentle kiss. it was clear you both missed each other as you both sighed into it.
“and just for the record,” he mumbled against your lips, “i’m the baby out of the two of us.” you laughed against him, pulling him into the apartment fully.
“don’t you ever forget that, yang jungwon.” it’s safe to say you guys definitely made up for lost time.
nishimura riki
argument: as two idols both constantly working towards a comeback, finding time for each other with your busy schedules was definitely… difficult.
yes, idol relationships were very inconvenient, but it wasn’t like you and riki planned to like eachother after working on a choreography together; he just happend to be everything you wanted, and vice versa. you two always made sure to talk in some way despite your equally busy schedules. it certainly helped that you two were under the same company as well. you were both pretty good at keeping each other close, for the most part.
recently, however, riki has been slipping away from you.
it started off small: no usual good morning texts, no check-ins in between breaks, no late night calls after practice. you were equally just as swamped, so you weren’t gonna hold it over his head for not giving you the attention you wanted.
then, during the times that he could talk, he started to get short tempered. you sent him a meme during your break, typing a short “reminded me of u,” under it. he replied back hours later, angry at you for “making him feel bad.”
you were usually open minded when it came to this stuff because you of all people knew what it was like to be stressed with schedules, but it got to the point where it started to affect your performance.
after you ran into riki and sunghoon on your way to the hybe cafe, a feeling of what should’ve been excitement was instead replaced with hurt. he didn’t even tell you that he dyed his hair-- he always told you when he dyed his hair.
and from there, your mind was always wandering. did you do something? it seemed like everything you said aggravated him in some way. you never wanted to be the insecure girlfriend, but could you even help it? your members even noticed your change in pace.
the next day, you decided that you were tired of his sudden switch in attitude and texted him to meet.
can i come over tn riki we rlly need to talk
riki <3 liked your message, 6:44 am
you hadn’t heard from him all day and it was driving you insane. was this just a tactic to keep him on your mind all day? what could you have done to make him purposely ignore you or be dry for weeks?
you stood at his door and brushed off your pants in a lame attempt at making yourself look presentable. coming to riki’s place has never made you this nervous before.
when he opened the door, you were greeted with a bored looking riki leaning against the door frame. when he realized you weren’t going to say anything, he moved out of the way silently signaling you to come inside.
“what was it you wanted talk about?” you couldn’t tell if he was tired or if he just didn’t care. you hesitated at first, but you grabbed his hand and pulled him to the couch. surprisingly he obliged, sitting on the cushions as you sat next to him.
“you know riki, i never wanted to be the insecure girlfriend. especially since we’re both in such an intense industry--” he sighed and leaned forward to rub his hands against his face in annoyance. “so i wanted to preface that i’m always here for you, okay? i never wanted to be a burden, i just wanna know what’s going on.”
“well, you are being a burden, y/n.” your expression merged into shock. “excuse me?” he stood up in front of you.
“you expect me to be there for you 24/7 when i’m going through my own shit and i’m tired of it.” your eyebrows furrowed, and suddenly your concern turned into anger.
“when the fuck have i given you that impression, riki?”
“always! you send me morning texts expecting a paragraph, you send me corny messages expecting a reaction, you do things and expect something in return everytime! it’s too much pressure, y/n… i’m so busy i don’t even have time to breathe-- let alone watch all of the stupid shit you send me.”
you feel your eyes start to water as hurt laced over your features. “all i was saying was that i’m your girlfriend, riki. you can’t just push me away when things get hard. it’s my job to help you--”
“you’re just being fucking clingy, y/n, how is that helping me?” pressure built in your palms.
“god, when have i been clingy? i let you ghost me for god knows how long because you can’t figure your shit out.” you stood up now, so close your chest was almost pressing against his.
“do you even love me anymore?” he groaned into his hands, craning his neck backwards. “there you go, making me feel bad again. of course i love you, y/n. my god…”
“… so why did you get so mean?”
he went silent. your broken voice penetrated him in a way that never has before, and although you couldn’t see it due to your vision blurring, his shoulders fell immediately at your soft tone.
you sniffled, quickly wiping away your stray tears as you began to gather your things. “where are you going, y/n?” he said quietly.
“home.” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “it’s too late, you shouldn’t.” you turned to him, anger filling your swollen eyes at his sudden switch in behavior.
“don’t act like you give a fuck, riki. you haven’t cared about me at all in these past few weeks. all i asked of you was to just tell me what’s going on because it seems to me that you don’t fucking care about me anymore. you dyed your hair for god’s sake! and i found out by chance?” you were fully crying at this point, and your boyfriend stood silent.
“i’m not gonna stay here and take the bullshit you’re giving me right now. i thought you knew me better than that.” and with that, you stormed out of his dorm with a loud bang of his front door, leaving him in an empty room thick with tension from his own doing.
solution: after you left, riki took a seat on the couch and stared off, wallowing in his thoughts. your words rang in his head like a mantra: “so why did you get so mean?” why did he get so mean?
he groaned, rubbing his face into his hands. after some time, he heard a door down the hallway creak open.
“hey man, everything alright? is y/n still here?” riki took his face out of his hands to see jake standing with concern in his features. “uh no. no she uh-- she left.” jake nodded slowly.
“do you wanna talk about it?”
so from there, jake joined the younger boy on the couch to hear about the events. he was just so exhausted; he hasn’t slept in weeks. you didn’t do anything but be yourself, but everything just seemed to piss him off. he felt guilt creep into him as he recounted what happened.
after about thirty minutes the ring of his phone broke the discussion, your name flashing on his screen. he took the call immediately with the intention of apologizing.
he automatically knew something wasn’t right, though. when he called out your name, an older woman answered instead.
“hello, is this this riki?”
“yes? who is this? where’s y/n?” riki responded, glancing at a confused jake.
“i’m the owner of the convenience store on myeongdong… i was given permission to use this young lady’s phone to call you? she was attacked outside my store.”
riki felt his whole world fall apart. he immediately ran to his room to pull on a hoodie and get his belongings, jake questioning him as he haphazardly put his shoes on.
“what-- what happened, is she okay?”
“i’m not entirely sure, but i came outside to take some trash out and saw her pinned to the ground by an older man. he looked like he was banging her head against the ground.” riki started to feel nauseous. “he was drunk, so i scared him off. i recognized her cause her songs always play in the shop, so i thought it was best to bring her inside. the cops and ambulance are on their way… she’s been asking for you.”
“o- - okay i’m on my way, please keep her phone charged and-- and yes she’s an idol-- please keep her safe.” his voice broke at the last sentence.
after hanging up, jake immediately ran up to him in panic, pulling his shoes on as well.
“y/n got attacked outside of some convenience store. i-- i have to go get her--”
“i’m taking you.”
riki didn’t even try to fight back. the chances of this happening was so rare… it was like the universe was punishing him for treating you like this.
by the time they arrived, the scene was littered with ambulances, police officers, even news outlets. there were drapes surrounding the area provided by the company that riki ultimately pushed past to get to you. his eyes watered immediately at the sight of your disheveled state.
you were sitting on the ledge of the truck, a blanket wrapped around your body. your eye was black and your head was wrapped with a thick white bandage.
“sir, you can’t be he--”
“riki?” you said weakly. he practically ran to you, gently cupping your face in his hands.
“i’m so sorry,” he whispered. “i’m so sorry, baby. i’ll listen to you forever. i’ll make you feel the most loved you’ve ever felt in your life. i’ll never push you away again-- i’ll do anything you want me to just please, never leave at night again.”
your eyes were closed due to the pulsing in your head, but you could hear him sobbing quietly. you faintly hear jake calling your manager and accessing with the emt’s. ‘thank god he didn’t come alone,’ you thought. in his shaken state, it wouldn’t have been good for him.
“it’s not your fault,” you whispered, opening your eyes slightly to see him crying harder and shaking his head. “no-- it is. i shouldn’t have let you leave so late. i shouldn’t have treated you like that. i don’t even know what came over me, y/n. i shouldn’t have been so mean. i sh--”
“riki.” he looked up from the ground to meet your eyes.
“i promise you, this isn’t your fault, okay?“ you wiped his tears as he leaned into your touch. “i trust you, ki. if you say you’re gonna make me feel loved, then you will. and you have. i just wish i could’ve told you that without a black eye and a concussion.”
he let out a weak laugh at your poor attempt at humor, looking into your eyes with so much love. he adored you more than anything, and he almost got a taste of what it was like to lose you. he leaned his forehead against yours as gently as he could.
“i was gonna call you to apologize,” he whispered. you closed your eyes again, smiling softly at his confession.
“i was on my way back to yours myself…”
kissing your bandage, he smiled against the fabric. “we might be perfect for each other, you big loser. never do this to me again, my love.”
“oh, you too nishimura… you are far from off the hook, blondie. just wait until my face stops hurting, and you’re cooked.”
a/n: sorry if that was beyond ass it’s midterm season
Another day, another night when the stars have aligned in yang jungwon’s favour and he’s receding out the door with the happiest smile on his face as his hyung and he make his way to visit your shared apartment. It has only been a month since the boys have been visiting you and your best friend, but it was safe to say that a month was enough to make jungwon realize how his feelings for you developed to love, all thanks to the abnormal way his heart kept ringing in his ears everytime his eyes met yours.
It was obvious to everyone except for you, by the way his pupils dilated and dimples poked out, and he had the softest expression on his face everytime he adoringly kept staring at you. From the way he would lose himself everytime his eyes traced yours, and a permanent shy smile would be plastered on his face just at the thought of you, both jay and your best friend knew what you began meaning to this lover boy.
Jay had figured out jungwon’s not-so-secret feelings about you since the beginning of time. He obviously noticed the way his imaginary kitten ears would perk up everytime jay spoke about visiting you two, and how despite the busiest of schedules, jungwon was ready with every excuse to tag along with jay only to catch glimpses of your angel face yet again that he loved so much. The way jungwon would hum so lovingly and spend extra minutes fixing his hair before going to meet you, and asked Jay a million times if he looked good, it was evident to not only him but everyone in the dorm how their leadernim was inevitably falling in love with the girl he called his beloved “noona.”
After fifteen minutes of the longest car ride that felt like eternity to reach your doorstep, the boys finally hop in as they prepare to greet their two favourite girls a merry good evening. However, as soon as the door flings open, an immediate question is sparked by the impatient boy directed to your best friend.
“Where’s noona?!” He asks in a suppressed desperate tone, eyes scanning the whole living room for a familiar beautiful figure.
“*sighs*..atleast pretend like I’m here jungwon.” She rolls her eyes as she proceeds to hug jay, and points to the direction of your bedroom, answering in a teasing tone with eyebrows furrowed.
“She just fell asleep by the way.”
As soon as jungwon hears her say so, not even a second pass by till he makes his way towards your room with an excited chuckle. Finally, the long agonised moments of not seeing the face he loved the most was going to be over.
To say that he missed you would be an understatement, because he started missing you even when you were together, just by thinking about the time you’d be apart. To him, you were safety draped in the most beautiful human form, the epitome of peace and perfection, the one person he knew he wanted to be with till the rest of his life.
Taking steps towards you, he gasps as he takes in your resting beauty. Your sleeping face with your loose waves covering the sides of your face, your long black eyelashes and plush lips- the sight that felt to him like it was torn from a Greek painting of a goddess. Struck by your presence that never failed to pull strings inside his heart and make heat rise to his cheeks, jungwon sits down on the stool beside you on the bed, smiling fondly at you and brushing his fingers with your hand ever so politely in a daze.
“You’re so pretty noona.” He exclaims astonishingly under his breath, linking your fingers together and thinking back on all the precious moments with you where he found himself falling for you. The first time you started hanging out where you’d be awkward and shy, the first time you guys snuck out without your best friends and had an ice cream party at midnight, the first piggy back ride he gave you when you clumsily injured your knee at the gaming arcade and you two laughed all the way home like silly little dorks. The times he looked into your eyes and saw tenderness and love, the times your shoulders brushed as you gossiped together and he felt electrocuted by your sweet scent and unforgettable presence. The times his entire world blurred out when you smiled at him, the corners of your mouth crinkling from your excitement as you told him about all the things you’re fond of. And ofcourse..how could he forget the time you hugged him for the first time and ran to him to greet him as tightly as you could because you missed him? That’s the moment he felt for the first time that you were the one he wanted to come home to for the rest of his life.
his eyes soften and he breathes deeply, now intertwining both of your hands together, careful not to get caught and wake you up. He scans your face carefully and, as his eyes lower down to your neck and exposed shoulder, he feels a tinge in his throat as he remembers the day he first felt want and craving for you. A foreign selfish and needy desire to have you bounded close to him all the time.
It was the night you and him were watching a movie in your living room, all cozily under one blanket and enjoying the peaceful moments of bliss together. However, the mind blowing scene only came when you were abruptly reaching out to get the popcorn and accidentally tripped on the floor to land straight on jungwon’s lap.
your foreheads bonked together and your lower body landed on his lap where he was sitting, your chests pressed together and your hands gripping his shoulder for support, while he draped his hands around your waist from reflex. For the first time, your faces were only centimetres away and he could see the way your pupils dilated, the intimacy of the moment being triggered by the fanning of eachother’s hasty breaths on your cheeks. When you were that close to eachother, to the point where your scent was burning in his lungs and the heat of your body was flushed straight against him, he knew he wanted to kiss you right then and there and claim you as his forever. But only he knows how hard it was for him to hold back and not make it obvious, how deeply his soul, body and mind all longed for yours.
“..j-jungwon?” You whisper, half opening your puffy eyes and trying to look clearly at the smiling figure before you. Hearing your sudden sleepy voice, the boy immediately jolts to stand and let’s go of your hand abruptly to not make it awkward.
“Uhm noona are you..awake?” He stutters while asking you, lowering his head down to look more carefully at you, who seemed to have extreme trouble opening your glued shut eyelids.
Before he could react further, your half awake state, still being in the land of dreams and being cold, pulls the hoodie of the boy before you by the shoulder and you lace your hands around his neck, making him stumble and fall to the bed with you. You weren’t still able to process reality, and so seeing someone so dear close to you, you drop him beside you before beginning to crawl towards his warm figure, placing your leg on top of his and putting your arm securely over his torso.
jungwon initially freezes for a solid minute. To be laying on the bed with you, where you’re cuddling him and your bodies are so tightly pressed to one another, this felt surreal. You even buried your face on his chest, muffling something he couldn’t understand, before falling asleep innocently again. He contemplates what he should do for a while, before helplessly surrendering to your cuteness in the next mere seconds.
he places his chin on top of your head, stroking your hair and closing his eyes to take in the thrilling and peaceful sensation of this heaven-like moment. He holds back a smile under his breath to not startle you, and checks cautiously for a while to make sure you’re fully asleep again. When you are, he places his hand on your lower back and kisses the top of your head from foaming admiration and love.
He could honestly lay there with you snuggling you forever. And it was true that he kept praying to every deity that somehow time would stop and you’d be buried in his embrace forever like this. So he could hold you, love you, and feel like you belong to him the way that he dreamed of. But deep down, his conscience still haunted him because he feared you were only pulling him this close because you were dizzy from the sleep and nothing else.
“Noona you’re too beautiful.”
“Too beautiful to not be mine.” jungwon gasps, kissing your forehead and moving his face away from you to be able to get a view of yours. Tempted by the way you looked so gorgeous bare faced and overwhelmed by his feelings for you, he steals a small peck on your lips before getting up in flash speed and preparing to leave. He knew he couldn’t trust himself further if he let his greedy heart get more taste of you, unknowingly like this while you were asleep.
jungwon pulls the blanket over you gently, tucking you in and giving you a heart warming smile and memorising every nook and cranny of your sleeping face. He finally realized that he couldn’t hold back the truth from you any longer, and he made up his mind to confess his feelings for you tomorrow during all of your long awaited trip.
“Just wait for me a little longer noona. I promise, I’ll love you harder tomorrow and every other day to come.”
———————
Meanwhile, the next day you and your best friend were packing your bags for the big occasion. It was your get away to Jay’s vacation home, all 4 of you, to spend the break of their 6 month anniversary. But suddenly, your best friend comes close to you wide eyed with a smirk on her face, potentially sniffing the oversized tshirt that you’ve been wearing since yesterday evening.
“Hold on..! YOU SMELL SO FAMILIAR.” She raises her eyebrow curiously, racking her brain to remember the smell of the neighbourly perfume stuck to your cloth.
“WAIT. YOU SMELL LIKE JUNGWON OH MY GOD.” She dramatically exclaims, putting her palm over her mouth and making shocked and internally happy expressions.
You however, were in a frenzy as you couldn’t remember the exact details of the day before, considering how tired you were and basically slept 18 hours like a passed out corpse.
“What are you even saying? Are you dumb? Why would I smell like jungwon when he wasn’t even here since day before yesterday.” You roll your eyes and brush off her interested remark.
“WAIT WHAT?! what do you mean he wasn’t here? Jungwon and jay visited us yesterday and he even went into your room while you were asleep! AND PLEASE, now it all makes sense why he came out with blazing red cheeks and immediately dashed out the door.. *squeals*”
… “ I knew you guys did something huh. Come on, I always shipped you two and you know it so how couldn’t you tell me?!” She makes all sort of expressions from shock to excitement to teasing glares to curious ones, elbowing you on the stomach while laughing out loud from the happiness of her ship sailing.
You drop your curler instantly from your hand.
Oh no.
Holy crap.
You didn’t just let yang jungwon know how you truly felt about him.
—————-
The whole car ride was so awkward and tension filled, awkward because your friends kept pushing jungwon towards you until you practically had to rest your leg on his thigh from how crammed the space was, and tension filled because everytime you looked at him, you blushed like a high schooler in love for the first time and immediately looked away from embarrassment. Luckily, he was nice enough to not bring it up to you and pretended like nothing happened.
The entire first day since after you reach the place goes by super hectic. Unpacking, washing up, touring the nearby views and making dinner preparations altogether. Until finally at night, you all sit by the living room mat and find some time to drink and chat together.
“Let’s play a game.” Jay suggests, proposing to make the situation interesting for all of you.
“Okay then!! Truth and dare sounds great?” You ask, immediately earning consensual nods from the whole bunch.
A few rounds go by with silly questions and goofy dares but soon enough, you see an unidentified mischievous glare exchanged between jay and his girlfriend. The next turn somehow, the bottle turns to you and you’re forced to choose a dare.
“Wow y/n!!” Jay grins at you. “Pick a dare or else we will forever establish you as a scaredy cat I’m telling you.”
“Fine fine. I’ll go with a dare.” You roll your eyes and sigh, not knowing how the heavens are gonna rain down on you with the next statement to come.
“Kiss jungwon.”
“………………”
“I’m sorry..WHAT?” You look at him wide eyed, eyeballs almost popping out from shock as jungwon chokes on his drink beside you, just hearing so.
“He said to kiss jungwon. Come on. Do it y/n.” Your bestie adds fuel to the fire, as an utterly sadistic expression clouds her face.
“..uhm…you okay with it..?” You ask jungwon timidly, afraid that you were gonna make him uncomfortable but most of all, you were falling apart from the erratic way your heart was ringing inside your ears so abnormally just from the thought alone.
And if it was possible for someone’s heart to blow up all at once while still being alive, that’s what exactly happened to you when you saw him give you a tiny, shy nod.
The temptation and the tension in the situation was making you feel extremely light headed and nervous at the same time, but the more you looked at jungwon’s face before you, the more you realized how much you wanted to give him a kiss. His angel face, with his divine beauty and captivating pair of eyes were too damn hard to ever resist.
Slowly, you inch towards him before placing your thigh on his lap and cupping his cheek, brushing your hot fingers with his soft skin. You glance at him mindlessly, staring into his beautiful dark brown eyes before feeling your panting breaths collide. In a second, you tilt your face sideways before tracing his defined jaw with your finger and placing a gentle kiss on the mole right there.
“Here.”
“Here it is. My favourite place to kiss you.” You confess endearingly, making contact with his eyes again and feeling his breath hitch and eyes flicker with a spark you had never seen before.
his entire world collapses the moment he feels your lips touch his skin and stares at you looking at him the way he always looked at you. The way you looked at him like he was your whole entire world.
“Ahem ahem.” The couple behind you witnessing the whole steamy scene coughs. “Shall we continue the game or will you continue being all over eachother?” They tease, snapping you two back to reality as you tear away from eachother from shyness.
But today fate was either on your favour or totally not, because the next immediate round, the bottle lands on jungwon and they dare him to pay you back as a sweet revenge.
“Since she kissed you first, now it’s your turn to return the kiss leadernim.” Jay coughs playfully, budging him on the shoulder and waiting for the climax of their long awaited romance movie.
You don’t even have the time to process cause in an second, you feel your cheeks burn from the intense and intimate way jungwon was staring at you. The shy expression was long gone and now he looks more like a man, his eyes portraying a hazy need and jawline tense. He scoots in closer to you, pulling you by the waist close to him before confessing with his raspy voice.
“And my favourite place to kiss you is here noona.” He strokes your lips with his thumb before crashing his lips down to yours in a steamy collide.
he moves his mouth inside yours passionately, parting his lips and tilting his face completely, giving himself the full control to explore your sweet mouth as deeply as he can. You encase your hands around his neck and pull him close, the soft and wet feel of his lips and the sweet taste of his saliva making you feel dizzy. Butterflies and tornados were pooling inside your stomach, and you feel shivers down your spine the moment you feel his tongue slide inside your mouth and his fingers tracing your bare skin underneath your cloth and brushing your naked waist.
you whimper helplessly the minute you feel his hands travel upwards and stroke your stomach, gripping you possessively as if he was trying to burn imprints of his love on your flesh. You belong to him and him alone and he was doing everything he needed to remind you with his body that you were in fact, his and his alone.
He breaks away from the kiss momentarily, brushing your noses together affectionately before switching to his dominant side and beginning to trail wet kisses down your collarbone and shoulder, pressing his soft mouth on your skin to make the chilling sensation linger on your supple flesh a little more than needed.
“I waited for this moment so much noona.” He cups your face and presses a mild peck on your lips again.
“I have been dying to let you know I love you so much.”
Your audience was long gone and you two were alone but ofcourse you were too absorbed in eachother to notice that.
“Sure took you long enough huh.” You chuckle, lifting his loose bangs from his eyes to expose more of his attractive forehead.
Even though from the way you kissed him back so passionately, it was clear that the feeling was reciprocated but still seeing your mutual expression, jungwon felt flustered and incredibly happy. You were in love with him all this while too, but he didn’t know that or anticipate that so now that his wildest dreams were coming true, he could feel himself elevate slowly to cloud 9.
“I love you too, yang jungwon.”
“All this while…I was waiting for you to confess to me so I could let you know how badly your love was reciprocated.”
“Perhaps….”
“I love you far more than I originally planned. Our first kiss made me realize that.” You smile shyly, playing with his cheeks and supposedly trying to poke his adorable dimple.
“Well that’s impossible. Cause first, I love you the most. And by the way..this is our second kiss noona.” Jungwon laughs at you with rosy cheeks, looking at you fondly like he won the most treasured prize on earth.
“No way-“
“Well I might have accidentally stolen a kiss from you yesterday when you were sleeping.” He declares smugly, sweeping you off your feet and carrying you all bridal style towards your now shared bedroom.
Placing you on the bed with care, he climbs on top of you, beginning to kiss your forehead before proceeding to bring his promising lips downwards to your entire face- nose, cheeks, eyelids, chin-
But a loud thud and scream interrupt your moment as you see the couple infront of your door squeal in an excited voice seeing you guys get all mushy and romantic on bed.
“Woooooooooooah jungwon ah. You’ve finally become a man huh.” Jay winks, laughing his head off as he grabs the juice can from the fridge.
“Hyung leave!!!!!” Jungwon scoffs, hurriedly getting off from the bed all embarrassed, and slamming the door shut before yelling back.
“And for your record this is the second time I uh…shared a bed with her.”
“but NOT in the way you’re thinking about. So….. Just. LEAVE.” The shy boy finishes, before shutting the door and locking it this time to avoid further interruptions.
You laugh at the cute conversation and raise your hands towards him walking closer to you, gesturing your lover boy to come back into your arms like you both longed for.
“Wanna change the way you’re sharing a bed with me this time?” You wink at him mischievously, provoking him and you could swear you saw his invisible kitty tail perk up and freeze from your not-so-innocent invitation.
As a response,he joins you inside your arms soon, reconnecting his lips hastily with yours again and, he lets his hands slide underneath, exploring more of your sweet skin and claiming them as his bit by bit.
“You might want to watch what you say noona.” He utters in a raspy low voice as he begins to pin your wrists above your head and drags his mouth to your neck. Kissing and sucking all the sensitive places of your neck and reaching beneath, making you feel the hot shivers you never knew you could feel before.
This night was indeed gonna be the best night you would ever experience and ofcourse, tomorrow awaited another lovely day with jungwon as your boyfriend. Laughing, smiling and loving him and creating memories with your small and happy family for the next entire week and a lifetime to come.
Yang jungwon.
Indeed he was the love you wanted to love for the rest of your life.
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➜ summary: you don't really like jungwon. too bad, he likes you.
pairing: yjw x f!reader, wc: 13k words , genre: highschool, fluff, w: rude jokes, cussing
Yang Jungwon. Some claimed he was the greatest being to grace the earth since Albert Einstein. Others (okay, just you) thought he was stuck-up, snobby, and a walking narcissist.
Unfortunately, you fell squarely into the latter category. Fortunately, you were also the president, vice-president, and sole member of his anti-fan club. Uncontested views? Check. Lifelong grudge? Check. Emotional maturity? Debatable.
You couldn’t even remember exactly when your vendetta against him began. Maybe it was that time in fourth grade when he beat you in the spelling bee because you messed up the word “friendship.” Who knew there was an ‘i’ in friendship? (Jungwon did. Of course he did.)
Or maybe—and this one still haunts your dreams—it was that fateful night at your first senior party. The lights were dim, the music was loud, and Jungwon spun the bottle. It landed on you. Everyone screamed. He looked you dead in the eye, let out a low chuckle, and said:
“I can’t take her first kiss like this.”
Cue the chorus of laughter that still echoes in your ears during your quiet poops.
So no. You didn’t like Jungwon. At all. Obviously.
You glanced up at the boys near the front of the classroom. They were crowded around the class skeleton, draping a hoodie over its shoulders and pretending it was a hot girl. You blinked once, then sighed long and hard. This was your peer group. Children. Absolute children. To your left, a group of girls giggled behind manicured hands, their eyes glued to their phones. You didn’t have to look twice to know they were texting their college boyfriends, acting like seventeen wasn’t a whole year away from knowing how taxes worked.
Maybe you did, in fact, relate to that one viral Jaden Smith video. The one where he claimed his peers were all stupid and that he preferred to talk about the political and economic state of the world. Maybe you too wanted to host a philosophical podcast at lunch instead of watching Park Jongseong from the neighbouring class pretend the skeleton had an OnlyFans.
But the truth was: you were still in high school. Still surrounded by greasy cafeteria fries, half-hearted gossip, and teenage delusion. You had your own brand of immaturity—though you’d never admit it. You were far too busy judging everyone else to notice your own. Just like any other high schooler.
You turned back to Heeseung, who was slumped dramatically on his desk, face buried in his arms like the world had ended overnight.
“Hee,” you whispered—not exactly a whisper, more like a stage-whisper with yelling ambitions.
He groaned without lifting his head. “Didn’t get any sleep last night. Don’t bother me.”
“You son of a—this is important!”
“Now what,” he mumbled, “could possibly be more important than my beauty sleep?”
“It’s really not my fault you stayed up all night playing that wretched game of—”
“I was this close to Diamond again!” Heeseung sat up with a jolt, eyes wide and bloodshot with the weight of regret. He turned to you, serious as a man whose world had crumbled. “That stupid, no-good Park Sunghoon lost it for all of us.”
You scoffed. “Sure. Blame Sunghoon.”
Your eye roll was practically a full-body movement. Heeseung looked like he was about to launch into a passionate monologue about teamwork and betrayal, but just as he opened his mouth—
The classroom door creaked open.
And in walked the bane of your existence.
Well, not walked exactly. He sauntered in, with the kind of swagger reserved for people who peaked at seventeen. His hand went up lazily in greeting, a wave aimed toward the back of the class.
“Ni-ki!” he called out, voice way too loud for eight in the morning, like he was the only person who existed in this entire room.
You rolled your eyes so hard you could see your own brain. Could he not tell that other people were trying to have a breakdown in peace? Rude.
“Did you wake me up just to stare at Yang Jungwon?” Heeseung muttered..
“No. I actually wanted to ask if you were coming over after school. My mom misses you.”
Heeseung grinned as he stretched, cracking his neck like he was preparing for battle. “I guess even she prefers me over you.”
“I’ll kill you in your sleep.”
“And your mom will kill you for even thinking about laying hands on her precious son-in-law.”
“We’re not getting married, Lee.”
“I hope not. I’m trying to have good-looking children.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Aw, come on. You love me.”
You rolled your eyes again, but this time, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips before you could stop it.
Heeseung shifted, burying his face back into his arms like he was preparing for hibernation, then turned his head just slightly to glance at you.
“Y’know I was kidding, right?” he murmured.
“Huh?”
“You’re pretty,” he said, simple as breathing. “Before you start overthinking in there—” he lazily pointed to your forehead, “—I figured I’d clarify.”
You rolled your eyes, heat threatening to creep up your neck. “Yes, Heeseung. I know you’re joking.”
“Good,” he mumbled, eyes already closing again. “Because if anyone tells you otherwise, they’re stupid.”
And with a dramatic sigh and a yawn, he slipped right back into sleep.
You liked Heeseung. Like… liked liked him.
Maybe it was because he was the only guy friend you had who didn’t make you want to choke yourself with a charging cable. Or maybe it was the way he always knew how far to go with his jokes—never pushing too hard, never making you feel like the punchline. He just got you. Like he had some internal manual titled How to Handle You Without Ruining Everything. He was just… right.
You thought he was handsome. Kind. Genuinely funny. And yet, he never really seemed interested in dating anyone. Which was objectively bizarre, considering how many girls trailed after him.
But he’d just smile, ruffle their hair like an older brother, and say, “I’m sorry, I’m not really looking for anything right now. But thank you for being honest.” Then he’d say something so sweet—so emotionally intelligent—it almost cancelled out the heartbreak.
But it wasn’t like you were in love with the guy. That would be insane. It was just a silly little crush. Something that should’ve faded after a few weeks. Only… it had been six months.
You shrugged to yourself. It’s not like you’d ever act on it. Heeseung was eyeing some fancy art school in Seoul, while you were hoping for SNU, fingers crossed for a spot in English Language and Literature. You were both headed in opposite directions, and you’d made peace with that.
-
Jungwon wasn’t exactly sure when it started. All he knew was that you had been staring at him for the past few minutes. And not the accidental kind, either. The kind that lingered.
At first, he thought maybe there was something on his face. Food, maybe. Ink? But no—he had checked. Twice. Then he thought you might be staring past him. But there was literally nothing behind him except a dead plant and Ni-ki trying to balance a pen on his nose.
So what was it?
He wasn’t trying to be narcissistic. God, no. Contrary to popular belief, he hated that reputation. He was just curious. Mildly intrigued. Intellectually invested, even. Then you stood up and walked out of the room, presumably to the toilet. And before he could stop himself, Jungwon was at your desk. Sitting in your seat.
He faced the direction you’d been looking, squinting slightly. His eyes landed on his own desk. Then his own chair. Then himself, reflected in the window across from where you sat.
Oh.
Interesting.
His gaze drifted downward. He didn’t mean to snoop. He really didn’t. But there, scribbled hastily at the top of your notebook, was a line repeated over and over in varying levels of despairing handwriting:
“You’ll only get hurt. Don’t fall for him. You’ll only get hurt. Don’t fall for him.”
His eyebrows slowly crept up his forehead.
Okay. Wow. That was a lot. Intense, even. Dramatic. A little poetic, if he was being honest.
And then—just to make things worse—his eyes fell on the side pocket of your pencil case. A doodle of a heart. Literally. A heart. With... a J scribbled next to it. Could've been anyone. But this was high school. It was always obvious.
He sat back, blinking in disbelief.
You liked him.
You liked him.
Holy shit.
He stood abruptly, knocking your chair back an inch. He didn’t mean to see all of that. God, he really didn’t. He ran a hand through his hair and muttered a quiet curse under his breath.
And just as he turned to walk away, he heard footsteps behind him. You. Coming back.
Panicked, he grabbed the first thing he saw—your eraser—and pretended to inspect it like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. You walked in just in time to see Jungwon squinting down at your strawberry-scented eraser like it held the secrets to the universe.
“What the hell are you doing?” you asked, blinking.
He looked up, face neutral, maybe a little smug. “Didn’t know you were so into cryptic love notes,” he said, voice maddeningly calm.
You froze. “Huh?”
He pointed casually at your notebook, then raised a brow. “You’re being kind of obvious, you know.”
“Obvious about what?” you snapped, walking back to your seat, already feeling that familiar sense of dread pooling in your stomach.
“Nothing,” he said, smile just barely twitching at the corners. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
And with that, he walked off with your eraser in hand.
-
For the rest of class, you could feel it, eyes burning into the back of your skull like laser beams. Yang Jungwon, for some reason only the gods could explain, wouldn’t stop staring at you.
You turned your head slightly, catching him in the act. His gaze snapped up, caught red-handed. You narrowed your eyes and offered him the most vicious glare you could muster, like you were trying to kill him with pure facial expression alone.
“Stop staring!"
-
After class, Heeseung shot out of his seat like a rocket, clutching his stomach and mumbling something about the milk he drank that morning definitely being expired.
“I swear to God, if I die like this—” he was already halfway out the door.
You snorted, laughing as you packed up your books, slinging your bag over one shoulder while checking your phone. Sunghoon, Jay, and Jake had already texted the group chat, promising to save you and Heeseung a seat at the cafeteria. You were halfway to freedom.
Until an arm blocked your exit.
“What do you want?”
He tilted his head at you, that same smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Y’know, I was wondering why you were playing this whole... thing. The game. The attitude. The icy act. And now I know.”
You blinked. “Know what?”
He grinned wider, like he was about to drop the world’s most obvious truth bomb. “Still playing dumb?”
“What?”
“Come on.” He nudged your shoulder lightly with his own. “Be honest.”
You stared at him, bewildered. “What are you talking about?”
Jungwon rolled his eyes, as if you were the one being dramatic. “Dude. It’s obvious. Just give it up.”
You blinked. Once. Twice. “What—are you on drugs?”
“No—! I—” He looked personally offended by the question, then let out a long-suffering sigh. “I know you like me.”
Silence.
You looked at Jungwon. Then at the floor. Then back at Jungwon.
And then, you burst out laughing.
“You think—” you gasped between giggles, “you think I like you?”
Another wave of uncontrollable laughter ripped through you. You clutched your side, barely able to breathe.
Jungwon blinked, watching you spiral, visibly unsure if he should be flattered or insulted.
By minute two of your personal stand-up comedy routine, his smile had disappeared completely. His arms crossed. His brows furrowed. The tips of his ears turned the faintest shade of pink.
“Okay,” he said, arms still crossed, watching you as your laughter finally died down into breathless wheezing. “You done?”
You wiped your eyes, still catching your breath. “I mean—seriously, Jungwon. Me? Like you? Be so serious right now.”
He stared at you like you were the one being delusional. “I am being serious.”
“You stare at me in class,” he said, casually following you. “A lot.”
You turned on your heel. “What? I glare at you in class.”
“Staring is staring,” he shrugged. “Even with murderous intent.”
“That doesn’t count—”
“You always roll your eyes at me”
“That’s because you deserve it.”
He stepped closer. “You laugh at my jokes.”
“They’re not even funny, it’s like pitiful laughter” you snapped.
“But you still laugh.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
Jungwon’s eyes glinted like he’d just scored a point in a very dumb game only he was playing. “You let me copy your notes.”
“That’s because you’d fail if I didn’t!”
“You scold me when I forget my umbrella, and you told Jay I shouldn’t drink soda after 10 p.m. because ‘some people are still growing.’”
“That was a general health comment I made once at a party!”
“Sure it was,” he said smugly.
You stared at him, half in disbelief, half… okay, maybe just a tiny bit panicked. Not because he was right. He wasn’t. Obviously. But because somehow, he had compiled a semi-coherent case of you being suspiciously human around him.
“Jungwon,” you said slowly, carefully, like explaining to a child. “I do not like you.”
He squinted at you, like you were a glitch in his very confident reality.
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I would rather set myself on fire.”
“And I would bring the marshmallows. But that doesn’t change the fact that you like me.”
-
You poked your chicken like it was the one who had personally accused you of emotional damage.
“The chicken’s already dead,” Jay said casually.
You looked up and scowled at him. He raised his hands in mock defence.
“Damn. The things I get for just saying stuff.”
“She looks on edge… Should we tell her the bad news now or later?” Jake whispered.
You turned your glare to him. “What bad news?”
“Nothing!” Jake’s voice shot up an octave. His eyes darted away.
You were terrifying when you were pissed. Like, hella terrifying. Only two people could handle you in that state: Heeseung and your mother.
“Sim Jaeyun, I will tear you up.”
Jake folded instantly. “The rumor! The one about you liking Jungwon and how he rejected you!”
You froze.
“What?!”
You looked at Jake, then at the rest of your friends who were now all suddenly very interested in the contents of their trays.
“Who started this rumour?”
“A few upperclassmen overheard your little... conversation,” Jake said, wincing.
“That conversation happened ten minutes ago.” you yelped.
Jay shrugged, grimacing. “You know how this school is. Gossip moves fast.”
“So it’s true?” Sunghoon asked, brows raised.
“Ew no!” you snapped, gagging.
Your friends blinked at you in unison.
“The rumor… it’s kinda spreading through the school really fast,” Jake said carefully. “I tried to stop it.”
“Oh really?” you deadpanned. “What did you do?”
He glanced up, sheepish. “I said, ‘oh really?’”
You stared at him. “That’s your damage control?”
“I don’t know! I was just curious if it was true!”
You rubbed your temples. “Don’t you think you guys would know if it was true?”
Jake opened his mouth, but Heeseung beat him to it. “You rarely tell us anything about that secret crush you’re harboring. We just assumed it was him.”
That made you pause. Your head shot up. “What?”
“Oh, cut the crap,” Sunghoon said, leaning back in his seat. “We know you’re in love with someone.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Oh please,” Jay chimed in. “You’re always scribbling those cringe girly things in your textbooks.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I do not.”
“You literally wrote ‘love is a knife’ next to a drawing of a bleeding heart,” Sunghoon said.
“That was an artistic expression!”
“Was it?” Heeseung said through a mouthful of rice.
Jake nodded. “Also, you wrote ‘you’ll only get hurt, don’t fall for him’ like ten times on your English test paper.”
You clutched your tray like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth. “Can we not dissect my mental breakdowns over lunch?!”
The table went quiet for two seconds. Then Jay asked, “So if it’s not Jungwon, then who is it?”
You blinked. Trying not to look over at Heeseung. Then stood up.
“Where are you going?” Jay called.
“To find out who started this rumor,” you said, already storming off.
The noise around you, the clatter of trays, the conversations, the squeak of sneakers on tile—faded into white noise. Your eyes were locked onto one person, and one person only: Yang Jungwon.
He sat at a table near the windows with Ni-ki and Sunoo, laughing at something on Ni-ki’s phone, chopsticks mid-air as he reached for a piece of meat. He didn’t even see you coming.
But he looked up just as your shadow fell over the table.
And the moment his eyes met yours?
It was done.
His expression shifted. Mouth slightly parted. Shock flashing across his face for just a split second before it was replaced by that annoyingly calm, infuriatingly confident smirk. Like he knew.
The entire cafeteria quieted. Forks paused midair. Conversations stopped mid-word. Every single person turned to look. It was like the first ten seconds of a movie scene, right before someone makes a very public mistake.
You didn’t care.
You reached down, grabbed the front of his uniform, and yanked his tie upward, forcing him to stand.
Jungwon stood slowly, the smirk never leaving his face. Your fists were tight in his tie. His face was close now and every pair of eyes in the room was on the two of you.
“We need to talk.”
-
“Well, whatever happened to ‘hello’?” Jungwon said, his voice laced with amusement as you dragged him out of the cafeteria.
You stopped just outside the doors, where the hallway was quiet and empty except for the vending machine humming in the corner. You turned to face him, still gripping his tie, though you finally let go with a dramatic flick of your wrist.
“Did you start that rumor?” you snapped.
Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “What rumor?”
“Don’t play dumb.”
He blinked. “You’re going to have to be more specific. There are a lot of rumors about me. I’m very mysterious.”
You let out a breath through your nose. “The one where I like you. You absolute—” You cut yourself off before your vocabulary got too colorful. “Did you spread it?”
“You think I started that rumor?” he asked, grinning as he leaned a shoulder casually against the wall. “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know!” you snapped. “Maybe because your ego’s the size of the entire school—”
He held up a hand. “Think about it. Why would I spread the idea that you like me?” He looked at you, head tilted.
You hated that he had a point.
You stared at him, lips pressed into a thin line. “Look. I don’t like you.”
“Mmm,” he said, pretending to ponder. “Sure.”
“I don’t.”
“Oh, no, totally. You glare at me because you’re overwhelmed with love.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t even like you like that—”
“I know, I know,” Jungwon said, clearly enjoying himself. “It’s okay to be scared of your feelings. Happens to the best of—”
“For God’s sake, I like Heeseung!” you snapped, voice loud and sharp enough to slice through the air like a blade.
Silence.
Jungwon went completely still, the smirk wiped off his face so fast it was like it had never been there to begin with. He stared at you.
“I—” you tried.
But the words got stuck somewhere in your throat.
You looked at him. He looked at you.
And in that quiet hallway, you felt the air around you shift. Not because of what you’d said about him but because of what you’d accidentally admitted about someone else.
Your hand flew up, clamping over your mouth.
Too late.
You said it.
Jungwon blinked once, but didn’t speak. He just stood there, his tie slightly wrinkled, hair a little messy from when you’d grabbed him earlier, like the entire moment had punched a hole in whatever game the two of you had been playing.
You stormed off, heart pounding, fingers raking through your hair like they could somehow untangle the mess you’d just made.
“Whoa, you good?”
You looked up and nearly ran straight into Heeseung.
Perfect.
Just perfect.
He looked at you, one brow raised, concern etched across his features. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
You opened your mouth, but your voice came out weird and high-pitched. “I’m fine.”
“Really?” he asked. “I saw you drag Jungwon outside. Thought you were gonna kill him.”
You forced a nod, your heart now beating even faster. Like it was trying to launch itself straight out of your ribcage. “Yeah. Totally fine.”
You tried to brush past him. “Anyway, I should get back to—”
“Wait.” He stepped in front of you gently, blocking your path. “You sure you're okay?”
“I said I’m—” You turned away, flustered, and ran a hand through your hair again, this time tugging a little at the roots. “God. This day is just—stupid.”
“You don’t get like this,” he said. “Not unless something actually gets to you. So are you sure you’re okay?”
You stilled before nodding again.
He watched you for another moment, like he was trying to read between the lines.
“Then… can I ask something?”
You hesitated. “Uh—sure?”
He didn’t look away from you. Didn’t even blink.
“This guy…” Heeseung said quietly. “The one you’ve been writing about. If it’s not Jungwon… then is it someone I know?”
Your brain short-circuited.
“What?” you asked, like maybe if you pretended not to hear him, this wouldn’t be happening.
But Heeseung just looked at you. Really looked at you. And in that second, you could see it—he knew. Of course he did.
He wasn’t dumb. He noticed things. The way your voice shifted when you talked to him. The way you hovered around his desk longer than necessary. The way you went quiet every time he joked about dating someone. The way you scribbled the same damn line in your notebook like your brain couldn’t let it go.
And now he was standing there, trying to be kind about it. He was trying to let you down easy. Just like how he did with those random girls.
He even smiled, just a little, just enough to soften the edges of what was coming. “Is it–”
“It’s me.”
Your head snapped toward the voice.
Jungwon.
“She likes me,” he repeated, like he was confirming a fact. “Didn’t you hear the rumor?”
Heeseung blinked, all the softness in his expression flickering into confusion. “Yeah, I heard. But… isn’t it an unfounded rumor?”
Jungwon pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “Well, it’s founded now.”
He looked at Heeseung, then at you. “She likes me.”
The way Jungwon looked at you. And for a second, you understood. And for the first time since this whole disaster started… he was trying to help you. So you nodded.
It was barely a movement, just a small dip of your chin. But Jungwon caught it. And something softened in his expression.
Tears pricked at your eyes, not from anything anyone had said, but from the rejection that hadn’t even come. From the moment you realized Heeseung had been preparing to let you down gently, and you’d beat him to it with a lie.
You turned your gaze toward Jungwon, voice quiet and raw.
“I lied before,” you said. “I like Jungwon.”
That caught Heeseung off guard. He blinked, his brows drawing together. “Hm?”
You couldn’t look at him anymore.
“We just… finished having a little chat, y’know?” Jungwon stepped in smoothly, voice light. “And we decided to give things a try.”
You didn’t speak.
You couldn’t.
Because now you were standing in a lie of your own making, held up only by Jungwon’s unexpected kindness. And somewhere deep down, it hurt more than if Heeseung had just said no.
You couldn’t look up at Heeseung.
You wanted to. You wanted to explain, to laugh it off, to make the world rewind ten minutes—but you couldn’t. You could only look at Jungwon. The boy you hated. The boy who annoyed you more than anyone else on Earth.
But right now?
He was your only hope.
And then you felt it.
His hand, slowly sliding into yours, warm and solid. His other arm came around your shoulder, holding you just enough to make it look real.
You looked up at him, your back fully turned to Heeseung now, and mouthed, “Get me out of here.”
Jungwon’s fingers tightened around yours.
And for the first time since you'd met him, you saw something completely unfamiliar in his face. Just a quiet seriousness in the way he nodded. Like he understood. Like he knew exactly how badly this was hurting you.
He cleared his throat and looked back at Heeseung.
“Sorry, bro,” Jungwon said. “If it’s okay with you… I really need to tell her something in private. We haven’t really fine-tuned the specifics of our new relationship, so…”
He let the words trail off with a shrug, like this was nothing.
Heeseung blinked, then nodded slowly.
“Yeah. Sure,” he said, and his voice was quieter now. Then, even softer, “You’re okay?”
“Mhm,” you managed, your voice barely there. “I am.”
“Good.”
You just let Jungwon lead you down the hall, your fingers still laced in his.
You were still crying, your face buried in the front of your mortal enemy’s uniform, and your fists clenched weakly into the fabric like you didn’t know where else to hold on. Your body trembled from the sobs you couldn’t seem to swallow, and it was humiliating in the kind of way that burned. But you couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe you were falling apart like this in front of him.
And yet, there was Jungwon.
He didn’t say much. He didn’t tease, didn’t laugh, didn’t pull away like he normally would’ve if this had happened on any other day in any other world. He just stood there, arm wrapped around your shoulders, hand patting your back with the kind of clumsy way that said he had absolutely no idea what he was doing but he was doing it anyway. Slowly, his palm flattened, movements gentler, slower, as if he finally knew how to comfort you. His fingers brushed circles along your spine, and for some reason, it didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel like it was him.
You hiccupped between sobs, your voice muffled against his shirt. “I hate this.”
“I know,” he said softly, and you hated how kind his voice sounded.
“I hate you,” you added, almost out of reflex, the words heavy and desperate and stupid.
That made him snort, and you felt the faintest rise of his chest with it. “You’re the one sobbing into me, not the other way around.”
You weakly punched his chest with the side of your fist, not even enough force to matter. “Shut up.”
Eventually, the tears stopped.
Not all at once, but slowly. Like your body had run out of grief for the moment and was now just tired. The shaking eased. Your breathing slowed. The front of Jungwon’s shirt was slightly damp where your face had been, and the realization of that sent a fresh wave of embarrassment crawling up your spine.
You pulled back just enough to wipe at your eyes with the sleeves of your uniform, not looking at him. His arm was still around your shoulder, though he loosened it a little like he wasn’t sure if it was still needed. He didn’t say anything right away. He gave you space to gather yourself.
Then you cleared your throat, “How bout that weather…”
“You really don’t like talking about your feelings.”
“Not to you.” You said.
“Right…” He nodded.
Then he was quiet again, like he was letting you bask in the silence.
“You know,” he said slowly, resting his chin on his hand, “now it’s starting to make a little more sense.”
“What is?” you asked, wary.
He shrugged. “Y’know… the way you brighten up when Heeseung walks into the classroom—”
You narrowed your eyes. “Are you actively trying to push me down a slippery slope right now?”
“No but if it helps,” he added, “I think you handled it way better than I would’ve.”
-
You didn’t really speak to Jungwon for the rest of the day.
Not because you were mad at him. Not even because things were awkward. You just figured he’d already done enough for you. The least you could do was give him some space. Let him sit at his desk, laugh at whatever Ni-ki was whispering beside him, and pretend today had been normal.
But it was hard.
It was hard not to think about it when Lee Heeseung was sitting directly in front of you…existing.
You stared at the back of his head, trying to focus on anything else. The clock ticking too slow. The corner of your worksheet. The pen cap between your fingers. Anything.
And then it happened.
Another wave of emotion.
You felt it build in your chest rising fast, sharp and hot, wrapping around your lungs until it was hard to breathe. A quiet whimper slipped out before you could stop it. You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide, panic rising.
Heeseung started to turn in his seat, halfway twisting to check on you. “Hey, are you—?”
You stood up abruptly.
Didn’t answer. Didn’t look at him. Just walked fast, unsteady, as you made your way across the classroom. Jungwon was at the back, hunched over his notebook, laughing at something Ni-ki had drawn in the margins.
You stopped beside his desk, eyes already glassy. He turned, mid-laugh, only to freeze when he saw your face. The smile fell. His eyes darted to your hands, then your face again, immediately reading the panic.
His chair scraped back as he stood.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, voice lower now.
You swallowed hard. “I felt emotion.”
He blinked. “That’s… great?”
“Negative emotion,” you clarified, your voice barely holding steady.
“Oh.”
He didn’t say anything else. Just stepped around his chair and gently took your wrist, guiding you away from the rows of desks, past curious glances and hushed whispers. You felt Ni-ki’s eyes follow you as Jungwon pulled you toward the door.
“Come on,” he murmured.
And you followed.
Because even though he was the last person you ever imagined seeking comfort from…
He was the only one who actually knew what to do with you.
Jungwon didn’t say a word as he led you up the stairs, his grip on your wrist light but steady.
You just followed…past the classroom door, past curious stares, past whatever thoughts were trying to claw their way into your head. Up one flight of stairs, then another. The world narrowed to the sound of your footsteps and the quiet hum of the building.
When he pushed open the rooftop door, the breeze hit you first. You stepped out slowly, blinking at the sudden wash of sunlight, and Jungwon finally let go of your wrist. He walked ahead a few steps, then turned and sat on the short concrete ledge that wrapped around the rooftop’s edge. His shoulders relaxed, his usual energy fading into something quieter as he glanced toward the sky. For once, he didn’t fill the silence with teasing.
You stood there for a second, arms crossed over your chest, not sure if the tightness in your throat was going to come back or not.
Then you let out a breath and walked over to sit beside him.
He didn’t look at you. Just kept his eyes on the sky, one leg bouncing slightly against the ledge, like he was giving you space to start first—if you wanted to.
“I didn’t mean to cry,” you said eventually.
“Well…you’re processing all of this in just one day so I figured…you wouldn’t be too…okay.”
You turned to look at him. He was still facing forward, but there was something in the set of his jaw, the way his hands were folded loosely in his lap that told you he wasn’t brushing this off. He was listening.
After a moment, he tilted his head and finally looked at you.
“I get why you didn’t tell him,” he said. “Heeseung.”
Your shoulders tensed. “Do you?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “You didn’t want to ruin the thing you had. You liked the version of him that didn’t know. It was safer.”
You blinked.
He wasn’t wrong.
You looked down at your hands. “Is that stupid?”
“No,” he said. “You’re a good person.”
You didn’t know what to say to that. You weren’t used to Jungwon being serious. You weren’t used to anyone being this gentle with you when you were messy and falling apart. You opened your mouth to say something but your voice didn’t come out.
Instead, you just sat there, next to the boy you hated. The boy who pretended to be your 2 minute boyfriend for the sake of your dignity.
The wind picked up slightly, tousling your hair as you stared down at your hands, the silence between you and Jungwon finally feeling a little less heavy.
You didn’t expect it when he said, “Do you want a hug?”
You looked up, surprised. “What?”
He shifted a little, clearly second-guessing himself now that the words were out. “You know. Like—just if it helps. People do that. In sad movies and stuff.”
You gave him a look. “Are you insane? Why would I hug you?”
“Well… I’m sorry for offering one! I thought girls liked it—I watched a movie—”
“If I hug you, will you shut up?” you cut in, glaring.
“No. Now I don’t want to hug you anymore,” Jungwon said, crossing his arms.
“Oh please. You’re such a child.”
“Oh, I’m the child?” he scoffed. “Just accept the warm embrace of an acquaintance trying to help you.”
“Gross.”
“Oh, real mature,” he snapped.
“I’ll have you know I am mature,” you replied, poking a finger into his arm.
“Oh really?” he shot back. “Crying over someone and then not being brave enough to hug your mortal enemy who’s been helping you sounds super mature.”
Your eyes narrowed. “I am mature.”
“Prove it.”
“I will!”
“Go ahead, then!”
You stepped forward, arms raised like a dare. “Look. I’ll hug you right now!”
And just as you lunged forward—arms out, dramatically wrapping around Jungwon in the most half-committed, competitive embrace of all time—
“HEY!”
You both froze mid-hug, heads turning slowly toward the rooftop door where the school security guard was now standing, arms crossed and judgment fully loaded.
Jungwon's arms were still halfway around you. Your face was about three inches from his shoulder. Neither of you moved.
“You two!” the guard shouted. “You think I don’t see you?! This is a school, not a honeymoon!”
You jumped back so fast you nearly tripped over your own feet.
“Wait—no—we weren’t—!” you yelped.
“We don’t even like each other like that!” Jungwon added quickly, already putting space between you two like it would erase the entire situation.
The guard squinted. “Uh-huh. Down the stairs. Now.”
“But we didn’t even—”
“Go!”
-
You opened the door to your house and stepped inside, already dreading what fresh embarrassment awaited you. Kicking your shoes off at the door, you called out automatically, “I’m home!”
From the kitchen came your mom’s voice, loud and cheerful: “Did Heeseung come today?”
Your soul left your body.
“No,” you called back, grimacing. “I… brought another friend though.”
The word friend felt foreign and uncomfortable in your mouth. It sounded wrong.
Behind you, Jungwon stepped in, hands in his pockets, looking around curiously like he was touring a museum. His eyes skimmed over the hallway, the furniture, the wall of framed photos—until one in particular made him pause.
“Cute,” he said, pointing at a picture hung slightly crooked on the wall.
You turned your head.
It was you. Age six. Dressed in mismatched pajamas, standing in the backyard with a watermelon slice in both hands and two missing front teeth.
You groaned, already regretting everything about this.
Jungwon turned to you, grinning like he’d just discovered a secret.
“Don’t.”
“But it’s so cute.”
“I will push you down the stairs.”
Then your mom appeared in the hallway, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Oh! Is this him?” she beamed.
You didn’t even have time to introduce him before Jungwon stepped forward with a charming smile and said, “Hi Auntie, I’m Jungwon. It’s really nice to meet you.”
Instead, your mom smiled like she’d just met her future son-in-law and said, “Jungwon? The Yang Jungwon? My daughter talks about you all the time.”
Jungwon smirked, “She does? Good things, I hope.”
Your mom paused, visibly digging through memories.
“Well,” she said, thoughtfully, “he doesn’t look anything like you described.”
Your stomach dropped. “Mom.”
Jungwon tilted his head, curious. “Oh? How did she describe me?”
Your mom smiled warmly, like this was the most innocent conversation in the world. “Do you know that green monster? It’s this cartoon she used to love? What’s it called… Shrill…Shr…Shrek?”
Jungwon’s smile froze.
“Shrek?”
Your mom nodded, completely sincere. “Yes! But I don’t see it. You’re very handsome.”
Jungwon turned to you, eyebrows raised. “You think I look like Shrek?”
You stared at the ceiling, wishing for divine intervention. “Well. Are you forgetting that I hate you or–”
“Sweetheart,” your mom interjected, “we do not hate.”
You sighed. “You didn’t let me finish. I meant to say I don’t hate him anymore.”
Jungwon blinked. “Anymore?”
Your mom raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t it just yesterday that you said you wanted to boil him alive?”
You gave her a look. “A day can change someone’s opinion.”
Your mom ignored you, looking over to Jungwon and beamed. “Would you like some oranges?”
You stood up immediately. “He’s probably busy, I’m walking him out.”
“Stay for dinner!” she called.
“She’s gonna kill me,” Jungwon whispered.
“Not on my watch,” your mom said, standing in front of the doorway like a tiny but terrifying general. “Stay for dinner. This is a demand.”
Jungwon blinked. “Okay.”
He nodded obediently, already kicking his shoes off. You stared at him, betrayed by the switch up. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at you.
You glared. You knew he was enjoying this.
-
Ten minutes later, you were upstairs, towel in hand, trying to mentally detach yourself from the fact that Jungwon was in your kitchen. With your mom. Bonding.
You could still hear them through the floor vents.
The occasional “Oh, she did what?” from Jungwon that made you slam your door shut just a little louder than necessary.
Downstairs, Jungwon stood at the counter beside your mom, sleeves rolled up as he helped slice vegetables for dinner. It was strangely peaceful.
“She’s stubborn,” your mom said as she chopped green onions with practiced precision. “She gets it from her father.”
“Oh yeah,” Jungwon replied with a smirk. “She once refused to do group work unless we let her pick the team name.”
“She picked the name, didn’t she?”
“Friends 4ever. With the number four.’”
Your mom laughed.
“She’s a little difficult, you know,” she added, softer now. “Strong-willed. Always arguing.”
“She’s kind of like that at school, too,” he said. “Always trying to win every conversation. Gets dramatic about almost everything. Complains about anything.”
“But I guess…” he continued, glancing toward the stairs without meaning to, “she’s also the first person to offer you her charger when your phone’s dying. Or send you the notes even when you didn’t ask. She’ll grumble the whole time, but she’ll do it. Even if she claims she hates you.”
He paused. “She’s kind of… sweet. When no one’s watching.”
Your mom didn’t say anything, just quietly slid another cutting board toward him.
“And,” Jungwon said after a moment, his eyes flicking back to the tomatoes he was slicing, “she’s… really something.”
Your mom didn’t respond, just kept chopping, quiet and patient.
He kept going, almost like he was talking to himself now.
“She does this thing when she’s mad—flips her hair, real dramatic. It’s actually kind of funny. Like she’s about to fight someone. As if anyone could take her seriously.”
Your mom chuckled softly.
“And when she’s nervous,” Jungwon added, “she bites her finger. Not like the finer but just the nail. Like she doesn’t know she’s doing it which is probably why her nails are so brittle and short all the time.”
There was a small pause.
“And she has this smile,” he said, voice softer now, the rhythm of his chopping slowing. “It’s kinda crooked. Only shows on one side at first. And it only shows up when she thinks no one’s looking.”
He let out a quiet chuckle and shook his head.
“It’s cute.”
He didn’t even realize he’d said it.
Your mom didn’t say anything.
She just looked at him.
And for a split second, Jungwon realized he may have said a little too much.
But your mom just gave a small nod and turned back to her vegetables. She didn’t say anything, not then. Not about the way he’d talked about you. Not about the little smile that had curled at the corner of his mouth without him noticing.
She just let it sit there.
Like maybe, just maybe, she knew.
Because whether he realized it or not…
Jungwon liked you.
-
Dinner was a mistake.
Not because the food wasn’t good, your mom had gone all out, as usual, and Jungwon, the absolute traitor, had already complimented the soup three separate times.
No. The mistake was sitting down across from both of them like you were the guest of those roasts celebrities did.
“She used to cry if her rice was touching the sauce so we had to separate it far apart,” your mom said, setting a bowl in front of Jungwon.
“I did not,” you muttered, stabbing a piece of tofu.
“You definitely did,” your mom confirmed.
“That explains so much,” Jungwon said, barely holding in a laugh.
You rolled your eyes. “I was five.”
“She was five and dramatic,” your mom added, sitting down beside you.
“She’s still dramatic,” Jungwon said under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.
You glared at him across the table. “I can literally throw this bowl at your head.”
“She says that, but she won’t,” he smirked. “Too soft.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I am not soft.”
“Oh really?” he grinned, leaning over the table slightly. “Say it again without pouting.”
“I’m not—!”
But before you could finish, he reached forward and pinched both of your cheeks at once, squishing your face together.
“You’re adorable,” he said in the most irritatingly smug voice you’d ever heard.
“Yang Jung–” You burst into laughter, batting his hands away while trying to keep a straight face. “Get off me!”
He sat back, grinning, while you glared at him through the tail end of your laughter.
And then it hit you, your mom had gone silent.
You both turned at the same time.
She was watching the two of you with her chin in her hand, smiling.
“What?” you and Jungwon said in unison.
She didn’t answer. Just smiled.
After helping your mom with the dishes, Jungwon stood by the door, sliding his shoes back on with the same efficiency he did everything else.
You hovered near the entryway, arms crossed lightly over your chest. The words were already building in your throat, but when they finally came out, they sounded more like a mumble.
“Thanks… for today.”
He looked up mid–shoelace knot, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re surprisingly fun to hang out with,” you added, slightly louder, refusing to make eye contact.
“Oh really now?” Jungwon grinned.
“I’m not repeating it.”
“Didn’t say you had to,” he said, pulling the knot tight and standing up with a sigh.
He glanced down at you, smile softer now. “Not gonna lie… I had fun today too.”
You nodded. “It was… a little dramatic. But fun. Even though half the day was me crying.”
“You’re taking today better than anyone would’ve,” he said.
“Well, yeah. Because I’m strong.” You smiled, baring your teeth just a little like it was part joke, part fact.
“You are,” he said without missing a beat. “You did really good today.”
You blinked. Your smile faded, just slightly, the air around you going a little still.
Because he wasn’t joking.
He wasn’t teasing, or playing, or waiting to say something sarcastic afterward.
And for some reason, that made your chest ache in a way that was hard to explain.
You nodded, looking down at your socks. “Right. Thanks.”
“It’s fine,” he said, rocking on his heels. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
“Friends?” you echoed. A slow, skeptical smile crept onto your face. “I’m friends with Yang Jungwon?”
He smirked. “Surprise, surprise. Turns out I’m actually real fun and a decent guy. The things you find out when your first love breaks your heart.”
Your smile dropped instantly into a frown.
He winced. “Too soon?”
“You think?” you deadpanned.
Jungwon laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, fair. Poor timing.”
You shook your head, the edge of a reluctant smile tugging at your lips again despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Still your friend, though,” he said, nudging your shoulder lightly with his own.
-
The next few days were… funny.
Suddenly, all eyes were on you and Jungwon. Whispered questions trailed behind you in the hallways. Side glances turned into straight-up stares. Were the two of you really dating? Was it serious? Were you holding hands after school or just walking next to each other by accident?
You didn’t bother answering. Neither did Jungwon.
Let them wonder.
And maybe that was the problem. Because you weren’t exactly doing anything to make it look less real.
You hung out with him more now. A lot more. Every lunch break, after eating with your usual group, you’d pick up your tray and walk over to his table like it was muscle memory. You’d sit beside him, sometimes across, depending on the day. And it never felt weird.
In fact, it felt... easy.
Your friends didn’t say much. They’d just exchange glances or smile knowingly as you wandered off with your tray, all of them clearly under the impression that the two of you were trying to date. Trying to “work it out.”
And you let them think that.
Maybe because correcting them would mean explaining how stupid your first heartbreak (if you could even call it that) felt.
And if you thought about it too hard, about how Jungwon always saved you a seat without asking, or how he passed you the parts of his lunch you liked without a word, or how he said things like "you look tired today" in a voice that made you feel seen.
You were sure you didn’t have any feelings for Jungwon. None. Whatsoever. The idea was laughable, really. Besides, you were still emotionally recuperating from your extremely inconvenient, mildly soul-crushing crush on Heeseung. It had been a whole month since the incident. You were healing. You were doing so much better now. You could even look at Heeseung and have a full conversation without tearing your eyelids off or biting your tongue in half. That was progress. Real, mature, adult-level progress.
And okay, so maybe you hung out with Jungwon a lot. And maybe he texted you dumb TikToks at 2 a.m. and maybe you always answered. And maybe you knew his favorite bubble tea order by heart now and maybe he always ate the cherry tomato from your lunch when you didn’t want it. But that didn’t mean anything.
-
Lunch was loud as usual, someone shouting across the cafeteria, trays clattering, a wave of laughter erupting from one of the far tables. You tuned most of it out as you made your way to the back, tray in hand, moving on autopilot.
You didn’t even ask if you could sit next to him anymore. You just did.
Jungwon was already mid-conversation with Ni-ki, hands moving as he animatedly reenacted something ridiculous like Sunoo falling down the stairs again. You set your tray down next to his, plopped into the seat, and sighed.
“Aw man, I forgot my banana milk.”
You didn’t expect anyone to answer. You hadn’t even meant to say it out loud.
But without missing a beat, Jungwon reached into the side pocket of his backpack, pulled out a packet of banana milk, and slid it across the table toward you, all while still talking to Ni-ki.
“Oh, yay!” You mumbled.
He just nodded like it was nothing, like this was routine, like he hadn’t just read your mind.
You opened the straw, eyes still on him, quietly puzzled.
Then he reached for the pair of disposable chopsticks sitting on your tray. Snapped them clean in one quick motion. Rubbed them together, precisely three times, just the way you did when you thought they felt too splintery.
Again, he didn’t say anything. Just broke the chopsticks and placed them neatly back on your tray before going back to his story.
And you were still sitting there, watching him.
Then came the final hit: your tonkatsu.
You hadn’t even started eating yet. Just poking at the rice absentmindedly, eyes wandering around the cafeteria while you waited for your brain to feel like food. But Jungwon, with his fork already halfway through his own meal, glanced at your tray and casually reached over with your knife cutting up your tonkatsu into neat little pieces before you even realized it.
He didn’t even look.
He just did it.
All while telling Ni-ki about how someone had nearly set the chem lab on fire.
You sat there, twiddling your thumbs, watching him work through your tray like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like it was muscle memory. Like it was natural.
And that was the moment it hit you.
He knew you.
Not just the surface-level stuff. Not just your favorite color or your star sign or your Instagram handle.
He knew how you liked your chopsticks. Knew your go-to drink without asking. Knew when you weren’t feeling hungry enough to start on your food, but still wanted it ready.
You didn’t even know when he started paying attention.
But he had.
You stared at him.
He looked up mid-sentence and blinked. “What?”
You shook your head quickly. “Nothing.”
-
It wasn’t supposed to turn into a routine.
But it did.
Ever since that one dinner at your house, Jungwon had started coming over. At first, once. Then again. Then twice a week. Now, it was just expected. Part of the schedule.
Your mom adored him. Naturally.
And somehow, your dad, who was barely home before 9 p.m. most days, knew him too. Not in the passing, handshake-and-small-talk kind of way. No. He knew him. Asked him about his classes. Invited him to stay for dessert. Offered him beer once. Jungwon declined politely, of course, but still. You weren’t sure your dad even knew your blood type, and yet he knew Jungwon’s college plans.
He was a crowd favorite in your house.
And he made himself at home like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He knew where everything went now. The moment you stepped into the entryway after school, he’d lean down, take your coat off your shoulders without being asked, and hang it by the door while placing his shoes neatly on the rack. Then he’d stroll into the kitchen to greet your mom with the same cheery “Hi, Auntie!” like he lived there.
He’d wait for you to finish showering..
And by the time you came out, hair damp, wrapped in your towel robe, your favorite show would already be playing on the living room TV. He’d set a hot cup of tea in front of the couch, carefully positioned at your usual spot. He never drank it himself. Just made it for you. Every time.
You never had to ask.
Then he’d return to the kitchen to help your mom with dinner, sleeves rolled up, chopping and washing and stirring like he belonged in that apron. You could hear them from the living room. Talking. Giggling over some ridiculous story he’d tell about you at school. How you tripped over your own shoelaces in front of the vending machine. How you pretended to be allergic to gym just to avoid running.
Your mom loved it. Ate it all up.
And then came dinner.
He’d set the table without being asked. Laid out all your favorite dishes in front of your seat. Your favorite part of the chicken already on your plate—deboned. The kimchi snipped into bite-sized pieces with the kitchen scissors, just the way you liked it.
You sat down, glanced at your plate, and everything was already done.
He didn’t even sit until you did.
And you never asked him to do any of it.
He just did.
Like he'd been watching and learning you this whole time.
And it was easy, so, so easy to pretend it was normal.
But every now and then, while sipping your tea and watching him laugh with your family like he was part of it, you’d get this strange feeling in your chest.
Dinner was normal. Jungwon was helping your dad refill side dishes, your mom was happily recounting a story from her work, and you were comfortably tucked into the rhythm of your usual meal. For a while, everything felt good.
Until, mid-bite, your mom looked up and said, “By the way, sweetheart… how’s Heeseung?”
You froze.
It wasn’t even a pointed question. Just a casual thought, dropped innocently into the center of the table like it wasn’t going to crack everything open.
She laughed a little, smiling to herself. “I still remember how the two of you kept saying you’d marry each other when you grew up. Now I rarely see him.” She sighed, fond and wistful. “Kids grow up so fast, huh, dear?”
Your dad chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Ah, well. He’s a smart boy. Probably busy studying.”
You nodded, careful to keep your voice light. “Yeah. I’ll ask him to come over with the others next time they’re free.”
“Oh, please do,” your mom said. “I miss them.”
You nodded again, forcing a smile, trying to say all the right things because that’s what you did.
But then your eyes drifted across the table.
To Jungwon.
He was quietly playing with a piece of chicken on his plate. Not eating. Not listening.
Just moving it around like it didn’t matter.
Like he didn’t want to be there.
And it bothered you.
“Won,” you said softly, “you okay?”
He looked up quickly, blinking like you’d snapped him out of something. His expression didn’t falter, not even for a second. A smile appeared right on cue—bright, easy.
“Yeah,” he said, voice smooth. “I’m good!”
Then, without missing a beat, he popped the chicken into his mouth and turned to your dad with a question about soccer, like the moment had never happened.
Like he hadn’t just gone completely silent.
Like the name Heeseung hadn’t changed the entire air around him.
You stared for a moment longer, something tight curling in your stomach.
He was acting normal.
And that was the most unconvincing part of all.
-
You were laying on your stomach, sprawled across your bed like roadkill, head buried halfway into your pillow and the corners of your math textbook stabbing your ribs. The numbers blurred in and out of focus. Functions, graphs, equations, you were pretty sure none of this was going to help you in your actual future unless you somehow grew up to become a calculator.
“This is actual torture,” you groaned.
Jungwon, who had been spinning gently in your roller chair like he lived there, snorted. “Oh, c’mon. There’s literally two more questions.”
“That’s two more than I want to do,” you grumbled.
He rolled over beside you and reached out to poke your side, right where he knew you were ticklish. You flinched with a squeak, kicking your leg back without looking.
“Fine!” you whined dramatically, lifting your head just enough to glare at the textbook. “But I genuinely think they should’ve used math for death row instead of the guillotine.”
Jungwon just laughed and started reading out the next question aloud, voice low and casual. He mumbled through the word problem, pausing here and there as he tried to figure it out, assuming you were listening.
But you weren’t.
Not really.
Because at some point, your eyes had drifted toward him and they hadn’t moved since.
You watched the way his lips moved around, soft and easy, every syllable deliberate. You noticed the way his eyebrows furrowed when he got stuck, how his eyes went wider when something clicked. How he bit his lip when he was trying to remember a formula. How he licked the corner of his mouth absentmindedly when he was really thinking.
You blinked.
And then blinked again.
Because suddenly you were no longer hearing anything he was saying.
Instead, all you could think about was how close he was. How warm his voice was. How much you wanted to lean forward and—
Your heart stuttered. You blinked hard and sat up a little too quickly, grabbing your pencil like it was some sort of emotional grounding stick.
Did you just—?
Were you actually just thinking about kissing Jungwon? Yang Jungwon.
You stared at your textbook in horror, the numbers looking even worse now.
You were in trouble.
“Okay, seriously,” Jungwon sighed, dragging his chair closer. “You’re just not listening at this point.”
“I am listening,” you lied, gripping your pencil tightly.
“You’ve been stuck on the same question for more than five minutes.”
You blinked at him, heart still racing from your earlier thoughts. “Well, maybe if math was as interesting as, I don’t know, literally anything else—”
“Okay, that’s it,” he muttered, rolling his chair right up to your bedside and leaning over your textbook. “Come here. I’m showing you.”
Before you could protest, he was right there, sliding the textbook toward both of you, one hand pressed casually beside your arm, the other using his pen to point at the equation. His voice was low, focused.
“So here, this part,” he said, tapping the numbers, “you just need to factor this term and then move it to the other side.”
You tried to follow.
You really did.
But your brain had fully abandoned you. All you could focus on was how close he was. The warm brush of his arm against yours. The subtle scent of his shampoo—something citrusy and soft. His lips moved just inches from your face, forming words you couldn’t process. His eyelashes flicked downward, dark and long, as he concentrated.
And then he paused, glancing up when he noticed your lack of response.
“Are you even—”
He turned to look at you.
And you were already looking at him.
The movement brought your faces dangerously close, just an inch between your mouths. Close enough to feel his breath catch. Close enough to notice the way his lips parted slightly in surprise. Close enough that if either of you tilted just a little, you’d be kissing.
Everything around you faded, the ticking of your clock, the noise outside, the textbook lying open and ignored between you.
He didn’t move.
Neither did you.
The space between you was impossibly small—an inch, maybe less. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. Your heart thudded so loudly you were convinced he could hear it. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Neither were you.
Jungwon’s eyes dropped briefly to your mouth.
Your breath hitched.
And then, softly, gently his hand came up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered at your jaw, featherlight.
“Would it be stupid if I kissed you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Your throat tightened.You shook your head.
He leaned in the tiniest bit, like the air between you was magnetic, like maybe you were already meeting halfway—
Knock knock knock
“My love, I cut some oranges!”
You both flinched, violently.
You practically fell off the bed. Jungwon shot back in his chair so fast it nearly rolled into the wall.
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Then your mom’s voice called again, cheerful and oblivious: “Should I bring them in?”
“No!” you and Jungwon shouted at the same time.
Another beat of silence.
“…Okay, then,” she replied, still chipper, her footsteps padding back down the hallway.
You stared at the floor, heart hammering, trying to remember how to breathe.
Jungwon cleared his throat.
You still couldn’t look at him.
He still wasn’t looking at you.
Neither of you spoke.
You just turned back to the math textbook.
But suddenly, you couldn’t remember what the question was anymore.
Jungwon was the first to move.
Fast.
Too fast.
He stood up abruptly, muttering something about homework and his mom probably texting him. He was already grabbing his bag, already rolling his sleeves back down, already not looking at you.
You blinked.
He didn’t even say goodbye.
Just a quick, “See you tomorrow,” tossed over his shoulder like it meant nothing. Like you weren’t both still sitting in the ruins of something that almost happened.
And then the door shut behind him.
-
The next day at school, neither of you said a word.
You saw him across the courtyard that morning, maybe thirty feet away. Normally, you would’ve walked beside him, bumped shoulders, made some snarky comment about his bed hair. But today?
You turned the other way.
By the time Math class rolled around, your nerves were already shot.
You walked into the classroom a few minutes early, automatically glancing toward his seat.
Empty.
Good.
You sat down, keeping your eyes locked on your desk. Your stomach felt weird.
Jungwon came in two minutes later, quietly slipping into his seat like a ghost. Not a single glance in your direction. Not even the usual eye-roll or quiet hey.
You didn't look at him either.
Not once.
And then the teacher began going through the homework questions.
“Alright,” she said, tapping her marker against the whiteboard. “Now for question eight. Let’s go over this together. Anyone want to walk me through it?”
Your eyes dropped to your open textbook.
There it was.
Question eight.
The one he was explaining. The one you weren’t listening to. The one you didn’t hear a single word of because you were too busy staring at his mouth and imagining something that never happened.
“I need to go to the bathroom!”
“I need to go to the bathroom!”
Both of you said it at the exact same time.
The entire class turned.
Even the teacher paused, marker still in hand, eyebrows rising slowly.
You didn’t dare look at him. Not directly. But out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jungwon frozen mid-shuffle, eyes slightly wide, caught in the same panic as you.
A beat of silence passed.
“...Is there something wrong with the school water?” your teacher asked dryly.
No one laughed.
No one said anything.
You both stood there like two idiots sharing one brain cell, equally horrified that you’d spoken in sync, equally determined not to explain why.
“Fine,” your teacher sighed after a moment and then waved her hand. “Go.”
You didn’t wait.
The next thing you knew, you both bolted out of the room like you were fleeing a crime scene.
You kept walking. He kept walking. Until finally, both of you turned a corner—empty corridor, cold tile, no witnesses.
“We need to talk.”
Jungwon was the first to speak, voice quiet but steady.
You shifted your weight, eyes flicking away. “About what?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You know what.”
You crossed your arms. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“I do,” he said, firmer this time. “I don’t know about you, but you’ve become a routine to me. So I can’t possibly pretend nothing’s wrong. Because it’ll feel weird if I can’t… do things for you. If I can’t be next to you.”
You blinked, throat tightening. “Jungwon—school barely started.”
“And we didn’t even go into class together.”
His voice cracked just slightly at the end.
You finally looked at him.
He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t even pushing. He just looked... lost. Like he didn’t know where to put any of this.
“I didn’t know if I should say hi,” he added quietly. “I didn’t know if I should sit next to you. If I should look at you. And that’s the part that freaked me out the most.”
“Look,” Jungwon said, his voice lower now, more careful. “We can pretend it didn’t happen last night.”
You blinked at him, heart stalling.
“Like we didn’t almost kiss,” he added, like saying it out loud might make it less real. “If it makes you feel better.”
You stayed quiet.
Not because you didn’t have anything to say.
But because you didn’t know how to say it. Because the word almost hit harder than it should’ve. Because it hadn’t happened but it almost did. And that almost felt like a confession in its own right.
Jungwon rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s fine. I mean—it was late. We were tired. You were upset. It’s probably better we didn’t—”
“Don’t,” you said suddenly.
He froze. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t try to explain it away like it didn’t mean anything.”
He looked at you then. Really looked. And for a second, neither of you breathed.
“I’m not saying it meant something,” you added quickly, heart pounding now. “I’m just saying… don’t pretend like it didn’t almost…happen..”
Jungwon swallowed hard. Nodded once. “Then…should we talk about it?”
You were about to nod–
“Hey,” Heeseung’s voice called out, casual and bright, like he hadn’t just stepped straight into the middle of something fragile. “You ready to head to the next class?”
You jolted upright. Your body moved before your mind could catch up. The sudden intrusion cracked the moment like glass underfoot. Jungwon stiffened beside you, his eyes flicking to Heeseung, then back to you.
He didn’t say anything.
Didn’t smile.
Didn’t offer even a quiet “see you later.”
Something in him shifted. A flicker of hesitation. A wall going up too fast to stop. You weren’t sure what it was, not exactly but it made your stomach twist, cold and tight. He just looked at you, a beat too long, like he was deciding whether or not to say something. And then he didn’t. He turned and walked away.
But just before he rounded the corner, he looked back.
That one glance hit harder than anything else he could’ve done. You met his eyes. For half a second, neither of you blinked.
Then you shook your head.
And you followed Heeseung.
He didn’t seem to notice at first. Just walked next to you, casual as always, your shoulder brushing his in the way it used to feel comforting. Today it felt like pressure.
It was silent for a while. Then, gently, Heeseung asked, “Are you okay?”
Your throat tightened. The honest answer formed before you could lie.
“No,” you said, quiet and shaky.
He stopped walking. Turned to face you fully, brows furrowed now. “Does this have something to do with… Jungwon?”
You didn’t answer immediately. You couldn’t. There was a sharp sting in your chest. A lump in your throat you couldn’t seem to swallow down. Because it wasn’t just the almost-kiss or the silence or the way he couldn’t look at you in class. It was the fact that you didn’t want to pretend anymore. And it was terrifying.
You nodded.
Just once.
And suddenly the hallway felt too long, and your next class felt impossibly far away, and your heart… didn’t know what to do with itself anymore.
-
Jungwon shouldn’t have looked back.
He knew it the second he did, that one glance over his shoulder felt like walking into the very thing he was trying to leave behind. But he looked anyway.
And there you were. Standing beside Heeseung. Nodding. Following.
Not him.
Jungwon’s jaw clenched. He turned back around quickly, the hallway ahead of him blurring around the edges. He didn’t know what he’d been hoping to see. That you’d hesitate? That you’d stop? That maybe you’d chase him?
But you didn’t.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to breathe through the pressure that had started building in his chest. It was stupid. All of it. You weren’t even dating. The fake thing had never meant to go this far.
Except.
He was ready.
Or at least, he had been right up until Heeseung showed up and you nodded like he was the one you wanted to follow. Like he was still the center of your universe, even after everything. And now Jungwon wasn’t sure if he was more mad at himself… or at the situation.
Because if he hadn’t hesitated last night…
If he’d just kissed you…
Would you still have walked away?
-
You stopped walking.
Just like that, your feet rooted themselves to the floor.
“I like him,” you murmured, so low it felt more like an admission to yourself than anyone else.
Heeseung turned back instantly, confused. “What?”
Your eyes were fixed on the floor now. You didn’t move, didn’t blink. Your voice was steadier the second time, but your heart pounded so loud you could barely hear yourself speak.
“I like Jungwon.”
Heeseung stared at you. There was no shock in his expression, not really.
“Yeah,” he said gently, nodding once. “I know. I thought we cleared that up.”
You shook your head. “No. Heeseung, you don’t get it.”
You looked up, finally meeting his eyes.
“I really like him.”
The words were soft.
“I was pretending at first—like it was funny, like it was just to get past the whole thing with you, or the rumor, or whatever. And I told myself it didn’t mean anything. I kept saying it didn’t. But now…” You paused, your voice catching in your throat.
“Now I don’t think I’m pretending anymore,” you whispered. “I think I actually… really do like him.”
The hallway was quiet.
So quiet, it almost scared you.
Heeseung didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, letting the weight of your words settle between you. And then, very softly, he exhaled.
You looked down, your throat tight.
“He probably needs to hear it, too.”
You hesitated. “What if—”
“If you keep thinking about what ifs instead of doing something about it,” he interrupted gently, but firmly, “then nothing’s ever going to come out of it.”
“You’ve been brave for other people before,” he added, watching you closely. “Try being brave for yourself this time.”
That broke something in you.
Your heart clenched, your feet already itching to move. Because he was right. Because this wasn’t about timing anymore, it was about trying.
You met his eyes.
And then you ran.
Your shoes hit the floor hard as you bolted down the corridor, barely registering the blur of students and teachers around you. You didn’t know what you were going to say. You didn’t have a speech. You just knew you had to find him.
You checked his next class first, flinging the door open with more force than necessary. A few students looked up. The teacher hadn’t arrived yet. But Jungwon wasn’t there.
“Have you seen Jungwon?” you asked, eyes wide, voice tight. The girl closest to the door shook her head, confused, and that was all you needed to be gone again.
You searched the cafeteria—empty. The courtyard—quiet. The stairwell, the science wing, even the vending machines by the old lockers. Nowhere.
He wasn’t anywhere.
Finally, you reached the rooftop. Your last hope.
You pushed open the door so hard it banged against the wall with a clang that echoed across the open space.
But no one answered.
The wind rushed past your ears as you stepped forward slowly, chest heaving.
The rooftop was empty.
You stood alone on the rooftop, surrounded by silence and cold metal railings, your breath forming quick clouds in the crisp afternoon air. Your fingers curled tightly into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you tried to swallow down the frustration bubbling in your chest.
"God," you muttered under your breath, voice cracking at the edges. Your hand shot up, dragging through your hair with shaky frustration. The wind whipped around you, rustling your sleeves and your thoughts and every shaky breath you couldn’t get under control.
Without thinking, you turned toward the nearest thing, an old dented metal trash can by the wall and kicked it as hard as you could.
And then—
“...Woah, woah, woah, you okay?”
Your body froze mid-breath. Your heart stopped, then slammed against your ribs with dizzying force.
Slowly, you turned.
And there he was.
Jungwon.
Standing in the doorway like he’d just stumbled into the middle of your breakdown. His hand still rested on the handle, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes wide. He looked caught, unsure, surprised. Like he wasn’t sure if he should take a step closer or stay exactly where he was.
Your eyes locked.
Neither of you moved.
Your hands hung at your sides, fingers twitching with adrenaline. His brows were slightly furrowed, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
And something inside you snapped.
Your feet hit the ground hard as you ran toward him, closing the distance in seconds. His eyes widened again, but he didn’t move. He didn’t flinch.
You reached up, grabbing the front of his hoodie with both hands and pulled him down to you. Your breath was uneven. His eyes searched yours for only a second before you leaned in, closing the space, and kissed him.
Then he kissed you back.
His hands came up one finding your waist, the other cupping the side of your face, his thumb brushing just beneath your jaw. His grip was gentle, but grounding. Like he’d been holding back for far too long. Like this was the thing that had been waiting between you for weeks, quietly demanding to be acknowledged.
“Damn,” he said. “So you like me.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him.
“What?”
His lips curved.
Your face twisted in mock offense, eyes narrowing as you pulled back slightly to look at him properly. “Oh, you wanna play that game?”
His grin widened, cocky and boyish.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve had a crush on me even before I did,” you said, crossing your arms even as your smile betrayed you.
Jungwon blinked, deadpan. “You’re not wrong.”
His expression contorted for half a second, like admitting it physically hurt, then melted into something a little sheepish, a little too real.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
“Obvious to who, exactly?”
He exhaled like it was the most dramatic moment of his life. “Who do you think I’ve been venting to about you for the past month?”
You paused.
Your smile faded into something wary. “Wait. Who?”
He looked at you.
You blinked, slowly putting two and two together.
Then your eyes widened in horror.
“No. No way.”
“She’s the only one who listened without judging me!”
“You’ve been telling my mom?! About your feelings?! For me?!”
And then it all made sense.
-
It was the night before.
Your mom was finishing up some dishes in the kitchen, and you’d just excused yourself to the bathroom, disappearing down the hallway.
Jungwon stayed where he was, sitting politely on the couch in the living room, hands clasped, trying not to look too out of place in a home that had started to feel painfully too familiar. He glanced toward the hallway once, then back at the TV that was playing some cooking show on mute. He didn’t expect your mom to come sit next to him.
But she did.
Not with her usual teasing smile or nosy aunt energy, this time, it was softer. Almost… concerned.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked suddenly, her voice gentle. “When I brought Heeseung up earlier?”
Jungwon blinked. “What?”
She smiled kindly, her eyes scanning his face. “You got quiet. I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”
“Oh. No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “No! Never. I just… it wasn’t that.”
She looked at him knowingly. “You know… it doesn’t take a scientist to figure out that you like my daughter.”
Jungwon let out a quiet groan, dropping his face into his hands. “Is it that obvious?”
“Very,” she said with a laugh. “But the good thing is…my daughter is completely oblivious.”
He exhaled a helpless little laugh, dragging his hands down his face. “I don’t know how to make it more obvious if I tried, Auntie. I swear, I’ve done everything short of confessing.”
“Telling her wouldn’t kill you,” she teased, nudging his arm.
He gave her a small, sheepish smile. “I just… I figured she’s still got feelings for Heeseung.”
Your mom shook her head, eyes twinkling like she’d been waiting for this exact moment. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
“Am I?”
She turned toward him fully, folding her arms, her voice more certain now. “Do you really think I don’t know my own daughter? I’ve seen her with her friends. She’s never been like this with anyone.”
Jungwon raised his eyebrows slightly. “Like what?”
“Comfortable. Herself. She looks at you like you’re the only person in the world,” she said, matter-of-fact. “She lets her walls down around you. You don’t know how rare that is.”
Jungwon blinked. His throat tightened a little.
“And let me ask you something,” she said, leaning in like she was telling a secret. “Do you really think she wakes up at five in the morning to go grocery shopping with me just for fun?”
He frowned. “What?”
Your mom grinned. “She goes with me just to pick up ingredients for your favorite dishes and she prioritizes sleep more than anything in this world.”
“She does?”
“Every time you come over. You think it’s a coincidence we always happen to have your favorites? No, Jungwon. She picks them out.”
Jungwon stared at her, completely still.
“Oh.”
Your mom reached over and patted his hand gently, smiling. “You’re in deeper than you think, sweetheart.”
-
“Remember that day at your place… when I stayed for dinner the first time?”
You opened your eyes, looking up at him. “Yeah?”
“She told me,” Jungwon went on, his eyes crinkling, “that you wake up early to go grocery shopping with her before school. Just so you could cook the things I like for dinner.”
You blinked. Heat rushed to your cheeks.
“Honestly, I was still trying to figure out how to tell you I liked you,” he said, laughing softly, “while your mom was out here practically planning our wedding.”
Your mouth fell open slightly, words stuck in your throat.
He looked down at you. His gaze was steady, open, entirely unreadable in the way that meant it was everything all at once. “I’ve liked you since the beginning,” he said quietly, and this time he didn’t laugh. “Even when you said you hated me. Even when you swore you’d never like me back.”
“Wait,” you said slowly, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve been crushing on me… this whole time?”
Jungwon tilted his head.
“Since the spelling bee,” he said, laughing.
You choked. “Fourth grade?!”
“Friendship,” he mimicked, grinning like the devil himself. “F–R–E–N–D–S–H–I–P.”
“You’re evil,” you said flatly, staring at him like you were trying to set him on fire with your mind.
“While we’re reminiscing,” Jungwon said, his voice tilting cocky again. “I guess I did end up taking your first kiss after all.”
You blinked.
And suddenly, the rooftop wasn’t cold anymore.
Your mind flashed back, months ago, during that stupid party, during that even stupider game of spin the bottle. You remembered the way the bottle had landed on you. The way he’d chuckled. The way he’d leaned in only to pause, shake his head, and say, “I can’t take her first kiss like this.”
Now, you looked at him again. Really looked.
“You could’ve just done it then,” you said, softer now. “Gotten it over with.”
He shrugged, almost shy. “Felt like it’d be unfair if your first kiss happened in some stupid spin-the-bottle game. In front of all those idiots.”
You searched his face, your voice barely above a whisper. “How are you so sure that was my first kiss?”
“Because,” he said quietly, “I knew you’d be mine.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Oh, come on,” he said, laughing softly. “You really think I’ve kissed someone?”
“Uh—yeah?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Do I look like I kiss random people at parties?”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. He looked at you, all teasing faded now.
“I was saving it,” he said simply, like it wasn’t the most heart-stopping thing he’d ever confessed. “For someone special.”
And suddenly you weren’t breathing.
He looked back at you like it was obvious.
You reached for his hoodie again, your fingers twisting into the fabric without even thinking. “You’re an idiot,” you whispered.
His eyes crinkled, you tugged on the strings of his hoodie. Pulled him closer. Close enough to see the flutter in his lashes. Close enough that his breath hitched when your noses brushed.
And then you kissed him again.
His arms tightened around your waist immediately, pulling you in, deeper this time. It was slow and certain and everything that had been waiting between you for weeks—months, really. The rooftop wind curled around the two of you, but it didn’t matter. He was warm.
And then—
“Are you kidding me?! You two again?!”
You froze.
Jungwon jerked back so fast you almost stumbled.
You turned slowly, lips still tingling, and there he was—again.
The same security guard from the last time. Hands on his hips. Brow raised.
“Now I know for sure you’re kissing,” he said, squinting at both of you. “Don’t even try that hug excuse again.”
“We weren’t—” you started.
“It was windy,” Jungwon said quickly, brushing his hair out of his face. “And she almost fell—”
“Into your mouth?” the guard snapped.
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
Jungwon cleared his throat.
“Uh. We’re dating,” he finally said, sheepish, a little proud. “Officially. So.”
The guard narrowed his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Congratulations. Now get off the rooftop before I call your principal.”
“Yes, sir,” you both muttered in unison, scrambling for your bags.
As you walked down the stairs side by side, shoulder bumping into his, you could feel your face burning. But when you looked up at Jungwon, he was smiling like it had all been worth it.
“We should’ve made out in the library,” he whispered.
“You’re the worst,” you muttered, shoving him lightly.
genre: university au, reader is three years older than jungwon
word count: 3.7k
warnings: small age gap, swearing, suggestive but nothing explicit
note: running out the door as I post this ahhhh forgive any typos please and enjoy this jungwon he is a MENACEEE
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
God, there really was nothing worse than a fucking Tuesday.
For most everyone around you, Monday is the most dreaded day of the week. You understand to some extent. After all, the end of the weekend is always reason enough to mourn.
But in your second year of graduate school with nothing but three quarters of a master’s degree and a rather concerning caffeine addiction to your name, the second day of the week will always leave a bitter taste in your mouth.
If it weren’t for the back-to-back classes packed into your schedule, it would surely be the fact that Friday is still so painfully out of reach.
In your mind, the only good thing about Tuesdays is the fact that they end.
Sliding your overstuffed tote bag an inch further up your shoulder, you squint towards the dying rays of sunlight just starting to settle on the horizon. It’s almost seven, which means you’re thankfully, finally, done for the day.
The only thing between you, a warm meal, and the bed you’ve been missing since this morning is a quick twenty minute car ride back to your apartment from campus.
Digging around in your bag for the set of car keys you can never find, you wince at the way the strap digs into your shoulder.
Your movements are so automatic at this point, feet carrying you to the ridiculously distant parking lot practically of their own volition. The only way you survive Tuesdays is by relying on routine. You don’t have to think about how much you’re dreading what comes next if you just let your brain switch to autopilot.
Besides, your mind is already occupied. You can picture it now. The sigh of relief as you finally change into pajamas. Wash the day off your skin in a steaming hot shower. Curl up in your blankets with this awful, terrible Tuesday nothing but a distant memory.
Wrapped up in your fantasy, you almost don’t notice it until it’s too late.
It, of course, being the annoyingly broad-shouldered silhouette leaning against the passenger side of your car door like he owns it. Eyes still turned towards the screen of his phone, he hasn’t seen you yet. You could make a break for it if you really wanted to.
But the thought of prolonging this day any further is enough to have you swallowing your anxiety and washing it down with an exaggerated roll of your eyes.
You just survived six nonstop classes, after all. Full of discussions and assignments and lectures that leave your brain feeling like mush. All of the small, petty, patronizing jabs from your peers that are so entrenched in the competition of academia they hardly see you as a person anymore. Just an obstacle on their own path to success.
You can handle Jungwon.
Eyes tracing him with the skittishness of a stray cat, you approach slowly, feet dragging.
He’s dressed like most undergraduates. A simple black t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. Hair just the right amount of perfectly mussed. It’s efficient, comfortable. Practical for the remnants of late summer heat that still cling to the air. You’re not sure why it looks so different on him. How he makes it look so damn good.
You watch, a silent observer, as he lets out a breathy laugh at whatever lights up his phone screen. You pretend not to be curious about what exactly sparked his amusement.
With Jungwon, disinterest is almost always the best option. Even a shred of your attention is usually enough to have him trailing your shadow like a lost puppy for days.
When the sound of your footsteps becomes louder than the muted audio of whatever’s playing on his phone, he finally lifts his head.
Eyes matching yours, Jungwon makes no effort to be subtle as he lets them fall from your face to your feet, scanning every inch of you on the way down.
After a day like this, you can’t imagine you look anything but haggard. The heat in Jungown’s eyes says otherwise.
When his gaze finally meets your own again, there’s no hint of shame. Just a sparkle that’s far too innocent for his true intentions.
“Hi,” he greets, lips pulling into an easy smile. Like you were expecting him. Like you haven’t asked him a million times not to bother you.
Pushing himself up from where he leans against your passenger door, he reaches for you. At first, you think he’s well and truly lost his mind and is trying to pull you in for a hug.
Instead, Jungown’s fingers slide beneath the strap of your tote bag, pressure firm but insistent as he slides it off your shoulder and into his own grip.
“Jesus,” he winces. Doing a couple of mock bicep curls that you pretend not to watch with rapt attention, he turns to you. “What do you have in this thing? A pile of bricks?”
Ignoring the way the startlingly defined muscles of his arm flex beneath that damn black shirt, your lips pull thin.
“What are you doing here?”
Jungwon just glances around. At this hour, most commuting students have gone home for the night. The parking lot is sparse. The empty space leaves you feeling laid bare in a way that makes you want to squirm.
“In the parking lot?” He still has that damn smile on his lips. Easygoing in a way that only irritates you more after your shitshow of a day. “Waiting for my favorite girl.” He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Glancing down, he adds, “and her crazy heavy bag.” He puts his eyes back on you. “Seriously, I should get you in the gym with me if you’re gonna haul this thing around. I mean, it’s—”
“I thought I told you to stop following me around.” You cross your arms over your chest. “And I know I told you not to call me that.”
“Why?” Ignoring the first part of your interruption, Jungwon protests, “You are my favorite.”
Eyes rolling towards the darkening sky, you kiss your dreams of a peaceful evening goodbye. “Don’t let your Biology 320 groupies hear you say that.”
His brows furrow in confusion. “Who?”
“You know.” You wave your hand dismissively. “Jenna or Jennie or whatever her name is and all of her friends. They’re obsessed with you. God knows why,” you mutter under your breath. “All those keg stands must have scrambled her prefrontal cortex or something.”
Jungwon just frowns. “I’m sorry. Who?”
“Ugh,” you groan. You really don’t have time for this. Your feet hurt almost as much as your brain, and the last thing you want to do right now is entertain some overzealous undergrad. “You know. Jennifer. The gymnast. She’s in your biology lecture and she’s always asking about you and looking for you and talking about you.”
Jungwon’s grin takes over his face slowly. It’s menacing, like he’s just discovered something you haven’t. “Yeah.” Once again, he leans back against your car door. Your tote bag still dangles from his hands. His lips pull into a smirk, far too self-satisfied for your liking. “I know. But how do you?”
Fucking Tuesdays. You fell right into his trap, and you have nothing but your own overly fried brain to blame.
Scrambling for what’s left of your dignity, you force an air of nonchalance. Scoffing dismissively, you advise, “Don’t let it get to your head. Lord knows it’s big enough already. The poor girl practically worships you. Everyone knows.”
“Mmm,” he hums, entirely unconvinced. He bites the edge of his lip, and you try your best not to follow the movement with your eyes. “Sounds like someone’s been bit by a little green monster.” The distance between your bodies is still generous, but his words singe your skin like he’s whispering in your ear. “You don’t have to be so jealous, baby.” Tilting his head to the side, he considers. “Although it does look pretty cute on you.”
Cheeks flaming, you grit your teeth. “I’m not jealous.”
“You are.” Jungwon grins. “But it’s okay. Like I said, it’s cute. Besides, you don’t have anything to worry about. I already told you you’re my favorite. Jenna or Jennie or ‘whatever her name is,’” he repeats your earlier bluff, “doesn’t even make the list.”
You roll your eyes. “Don’t let her hear you say that.”
“Why not?” Jungwon shrugs. You hate the way it only pulls the fabric of his black shirt tighter against his shoulders. “I’d tell her myself if someone—” He levels you with a pointed look— “didn’t beg me to be so hush hush about all of this.”
“All of what?” Your hands open in exasperation. “How many times do I have to tell you, Jungwon? There is no ‘all of this’ to be hush hush about.”
Jungwon’s grin only grows. “I like it when you say my name.”
Voice just on the wrong side of too loud, you all but shout, “Yeah, well, I like it when you leave me alone!”
For a moment, Jungwon says nothing. The smile drops from his face; the teasing sparkle disappears from his eyes. Around you, the last rays of sunlight dip beneath the horizon. This parking lot suddenly feels like a liminal space, suspended somewhere between reality and something far more forbidden.
Then, serious as death, barely a whisper, he shakes his head, “You don’t.”
“I do—”
“You know my biology lecture.”
“What?” Your brow furrows.
“My biology lecture,” he insists. “I’m taking Biology 320, like you said earlier. You know my course name and level and everything.”
Bringing an open palm to your forehead, you sigh in exasperation. “Yeah, because in another one of these ridiculous conversations, you told me—”
But Jungwon isn’t having any of it. “And you remembered,” he argues. “Just like you remembered the name of that girl I’ve never mentioned once and my birthday and the fact that I’m good friends with Jake.”
You scoff. “Don’t act like that’s some obscure thing. You two are practically attached at the hip.”
Again, Jungwon pauses for a minute. Lets your words die in the air. His eyes are on you again, but this time they’re searching. Like he’s looking for something you desperately want to hide.
When he speaks again, there’s nothing teasing in his voice. Just a simple, direct question.
“Does it bother you that much?”
You know he’s not talking about Jake, but it doesn’t matter. Playing dumb is your only defense at this point. “Why would your friendship with some random undergrad bother me?”
“There it is again.” Jungwon laughs, but there’s no humor in it.
“There’s what again?”
“You said undergrad.” Jungwon spits the label back at you like it’s full of venom. Like it tastes terrible on his tongue. “You’re always bringing it up, always mocking my age. Does it really bother you that much that I’m younger than you?”
You cross your arms over your chest. Scrambling, you’re trying to rebuild walls he’s insistent on knocking down. “Why would your age have literally any effect on my life at all?”
“Because.” Jungwon’s gaze is piercing. Direct. He knows what you’re doing, and he has no intention of letting you get away with it. “You think it doesn’t suit your image.”
“Jungwon,” you enunciate slowly. As if he needs you to spell it out for him. As if he’s beneath you. “We’re not friends. I barely even know you. Nothing about you or your age has any impact on me or my image.”
This time, he doesn’t take the bait. Jungwon’s words are calm, concise. Even if there’s that unmistakable edge. He’s annoyed.
“I know that’s what you want people to think. Miss perfect.In her second year of grad school about to get her master’s with her perfect GPA and her perfect friends and her perfect life. So grown up and mature and put together already, even though she’s only twenty-four.”
You want to protest at the nickname, but he won’t let you get a word in sideways.
“You’re embarrassed by me. You hate the fact that I’m just another stupid, immature undergrad. You think I’m some twenty-one year old kid with no ambition or direction or intellect to match your own. And worst of all, you hate the fact that despite all of that, you like me anyway.”
Again, you try to argue, but he won’t let up any space.
“You might be embarrassed by me, noona, but you’re humiliated by your own feelings.”
The name settles deep in your gut, swirls in way that makes you want to hide. You can feel the way heat builds on your cheeks.
He’s getting to you. You have to get out.
“Jungwon—”
But Jungwon is used to your denial and your meager attempts at escape. If you won’t admit it point blank, he’ll just shift his attack. Once he starts probing, your weak spots are embarrassingly easy to find.
After all, he didn’t miss the way you squirmed at the word noona either.
“You know I’d treat you right.” He’s practically begging now, and it always throws you off guard. Just how honest he is. How earnest. You hide your intentions behind insults and masked indifference while he just lays his at your feet. “I’d be so good to you.”
You can’t keep up with the sudden one-eighty. He’s not angry or annoyed now. Just pleading. Your lack of response is of little consequence. Jungwon just pushed on.
“I’d open your car door and carry your bag and bring you an extra coffee every Tuesday because I know it’s your worst day. You could complain about your thesis and your advisor and I’d look up all the words I don’t understand yet.”
“Jungwon,” you finally manage. Your brows pinch together. Your annoyance from before is melting away, replaced by something that feels more like defeat.
Everything he’s saying, all of his consideration, it’s sweet. Unfailingly so. It’s so fucking sweet, and it’s the perfect picutre of chivalry as defined by a twenty-one-year-old.
He came in guns ablaze, but at your silence, even Jungwon feels a tinge of sudden insecurity. You can’t tell if he’s talking to your or himself when he asks, “Why won’t you just say yes? It really is just me, huh?” He sighs, shaking his head. “I mean, I know you went out with Heeseung last month, so it’s not like you’ve sworn off men entirely—”
“Jungwon,” you try to placate, pulling him from his thoughts. His eyes return to you. “It’s not that. I mean, you’re…” You trail off, searching for the words. “You’re sweet. I just… I know three years might not seem like that much to you, but I’m finishing up my master’s and you’re still in your third year of undergrad—”
It’s unmistakable, the way his eyes harden. The way the edge creeps back into his voice.
“Don’t do that.”
You’re lost again, unsure what provoked him. “Do what?”
Jungwon scoffs. “Don’t patronize me like I’m some fucking kid. I’m sweet?” His eyes are darker now, dangerous. “Yeah, I’m real fucking sweet. But I’m a real person, too. I know you see me as some kicked puppy that follows you around, and I can admit that’s partly my fault.” His jaw works around a swallow, line of his shoulders hardening. “But if you’re still stuck on my age because you think I’m not a man yet or you think I can’t take care of you, I can think of several ways I could correct that assumption.”
You really can’t keep up with him.
“Take care of me?” You scoff. “With what? The ten fifty an hour you make at your part time job?”
For a moment, Jungwon is quiet. Still. Too still. Another gleam enters his eyes. One with that same dark edge. It’s like he’s teasing you again, but something is decidedly different this time. “I wasn’t talking about money, sweetheart.” Considering, he adds, “Although, I’d do what I could in that regard, too, of course.”
If he’s a kicked puppy, then you’re a mouse. One walking all but willingly into every trap he lays.
“If you’re not talking about money, then wh—”
In one fell swoop, Jungwon sets your tote bag down. With its newfound freedom, his hand makes quick work of reaching out, looping around your waist and settling against the small of your back before pulling you in closer to him as he leans back against your car.
The small gasp of surprise that leaves your lips as you stumble forward is barely audible. Jungwon’s eyes darken like he wants to swallow it.
“I’m saying—” And now it’s his turn to enunciate slowly. As if he’s now the one leading you across uncharted waters. His hand stays in neutral territory, but his palm splays wide, taking up as much space on your lower back it can. It’s controlled. Possessive. The pressure is light, but it commands the shreds of your attention that aren’t already preoccupied by his face, his voice. “—that you wouldn’t have to worry about being satisfied. I’d take care of it.” His eyes dart to your lips. “Of you.”
To that, you have nothing to say. The insinuation is obvious, and it has you squirming like a schoolgirl.
Jungwon doesn’t mind. He revels in it. This relinquishment of power that he now holds.
He presses on. “All your snobby, high nosed colleagues that have something to say about you spending time with an undergrad would shut up real quick, baby. I promise.”
“Jungwon—” You can’t decide if you’re warning him or spurring him on.
He’s whispering now. So close you feel his words against your skin. “One look at you, cheeks flushed, hair messy, lips swollen.” His eyes trace your features like he’s imagining it, too. “They would have to eat their words.”
“Jungwon.” This dance is new to you, and your feet as still stumbling as you struggle to keep up. His name is all you have left.
“You deserve it. Someone that makes you feel good.” His words only incite the flames brewing in your stomach. Make them burn brighter. And then, just as quickly, he’s dousing it. Replacing burning heat with something that feels less like fire and more like afternoon sunlight streaming through an open window.
“Someone who doesn’t care what bullshit those idiots in your department say behind your back.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “They’re just jealous ‘cause you’re smarter than them, anyway.”
“I—”
Jungwon shakes his head.
“Don’t say anything now.” Reluctantly, he lets his palm slide from your back, falling back to his side. Immediately, you notice the absence of its warmth. Its pressure. You can’t decide if you miss it, but something in your chest feels like longing. “I know you’re exhausted from today. So just… just think about it. It doesn’t have to be anything crazy. Just one date.”
“Jungwon—”
“Ah,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “What did I say? Not tonight.”
Reaching down, he picks up your tote bag once again. Opening it, he rummages around for a moment before retrieving your car keys. He makes quick work of unlocking the doors. You can’t decide if his presumptiveness makes you simmer with annoyance or something far worse.
Opening your passenger door, he sets your bag on the seat, laying your keys on the center console.
He closes the door, turning back to you.
“You should go,” he says, like he isn’t the entire reason you’re still here. Like your wellbeing is something he wants to concern himself with. LIke your mind won’t be spinning in the deepest hours of the night because of him. “It’s late, and you’ve got an early class tomorrow.”
A million arguments die on your lips. It’s pointless, anyway. It is late. You are exhausted, and you do have an early class tomorrow, and you should be getting home as soon as you can. With nothing but a slight nod, you turn to walk to the driver’s seat.
At your side, Jungwon whispers your name one last time. You’ve barely made it two feet, and the distance is already eating at him. Gently, he reaches out to wrap his long fingers around your wrist.
Spinning you back to look at him, he pulls you in one last time. This time, his hands settle on your shoulders, wrapping around them in a hug that feels better than it has any right to.
Nose pressed against his shoulder, you smell the faint remnants of laundry detergent and something so distinctly Jungwon it makes your heart ache, just a little.
He leans back slightly, just enough to match your gaze.
His voice is a whisper fluttering through the hair that frames your face. “I want to kiss you,” he breathes. When your eyes widen, he’s quick to clarify, “Just on the forehead!”
“Don’t push it.” Your lips draw into a thin line, tone flat. But like most everything you do, Jungwon sees right through it.
He just laughs, a light, airy sound that has your heart squeezing in your chest. And then he lets you go, arms falling back to his sides.
“Goodnight, ___,” he smiles. As if he hasn’t just dragged you through a vicious cycle of every thought you’ve been keeping under lock and key. As if this is nothing but a normal ending to your Tuesday evening.
Still, you can’t help but echo, “Goodnight, Jungwon.”
And later, finally tucked between your pillows and your comforter, skin clean, and pajamas on, you’ll reach for your headphones on your nightstand, only to find it empty.
Frowning, you’ll remember that in your haste to get in this exact position, you left them in your bag. With a groan, you’ll extract yourself from the comfort of your bed and quietly pad your way to the hook by your front door where you left it hanging.
Rummaging around for a moment, the first things your fingers close around won’t be your headphones.
No, instead, it will be a small, handwritten note.
Thinking of you, it reads. Sleep well, pretty girl. I know you already have it saved, but here it is again. Call me.
And beneath it, a string of ten digits. Turning the note between your fingers, you can only sigh. Because once again, Jungwon looked at the facade you constructed and saw right through it. Through you.
The contact in your phone saved under his name is evidence enough.
Summary: Zayne and Caleb apologized to you, but can sorry really fix what they did to you in your past life? & what happens when Emcie finally tries to talk to you?
Pairing: Zayne x fem!reader (non-mc) x Caleb
!warnings! Heavy angst, Zayne and Caleb are their own warning atp, you are not Mc, mentions of past life, reincarnation, scars, mentions of removing a heart, all that jazz
Pt 1
A/n: I’m actually so surprised that pt 1 blew up like it did! I’m so glad! It’s gotten really positive feedback and that makes me really happy, thanks guys!
❄️ 🍎
The silence was worse than any answer they could’ve given.
You could have lived with the rage. With denial. Even with lies. But the way they stood there—frozen, ashamed, unable to deny it—felt like the sharpest betrayal all over again.
Your throat burned. “That’s what I thought.”
You stepped back, your hand sliding from your scar as if you couldn’t bear to touch it anymore. It still seared, angry, alive. A reminder that you had been nothing more than a sacrifice to them.
Zayne lurched forward on his knees, reaching for you before catching himself. His hands trembled where they hovered uselessly in the air. “Please don’t—don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Your voice cracked, sharp as glass. “Like I finally see through your motive?”
His face crumpled, shoulders curling inward. Caleb stood rigid, jaw clenched so hard you thought he might break his own teeth. But even he flinched when you turned your gaze on him.
“You held me down,” you whispered. The words cut you as much as they cut him. “You—” Your voice wavered, shaking with fury and grief. “You didn’t even give me the choice. You pinned me while I begged—while I fought. And you dare to stand there and say you’d do anything for me now?”
Caleb’s breath came ragged, like he’d been gutted. His lips parted, but no sound came. He had no excuse. No answer. Only silence.
You shook your head, laughing bitterly through the tears spilling hot down your cheeks. “You want me to forgive you. Gods, you want me to believe you’ve changed, that you’d protect me now. But the second she needs saving again, you wouldn’t hesitate, would you? You’d carve me open all over again if it meant keeping her alive.”
Zayne scrambled up from the floor, eyes wide, panic etched into every line of his face. “No! Never again, I swear to you—I swear on my life, on hers, on everything—”
“Don’t,” you cut him off, your voice breaking. “Don’t swear on her. You already proved what her life means compared to mine.”
The green in his eyes dulled, as if you’d ripped the very air from his lungs. He reached for you again, desperate, reckless, but you stepped back sharply. The movement was instinctive, like recoiling from fire. His hand froze midair before falling uselessly to his side.
Caleb’s fists tightened at his sides, his whole frame shaking, but he stayed where he was, as if he knew if he took even one step toward you, you might never come back.
You turned from them, unable to stand the sight of their faces—those familiar faces that had once meant safety, laughter, home. Now they were strangers to you, just with memories.
“Get out.”
The words were soft, almost a whisper, but they sliced through the air like a blade.
Neither of them moved. Zayne’s breath hitched audibly. Caleb’s violet eyes burned, as if he wanted to argue, to refuse. But you couldn’t bear their hesitation, their presence pressing in around you like a noose tightening around your throat.
“I said get out!” The scream tore through you, raw and ragged, your whole body shaking with it.
Zayne flinched as though you’d struck him. Caleb looked like someone had cut his heart out in front of him, but he still obeyed—slowly, heavily—his footsteps dragging like they weighed a thousand pounds.
Zayne lingered, eyes pleading, broken, his lips trembling around words he didn’t dare speak. You turned your back on him, your shoulders rigid, because if you looked at him one more second you might shatter completely.
At last, the door shut.
You collapsed against the wall, sliding down until your knees hit the floor. The scar pulsed under your palm, each beat reminding you of the truth that would never change:
They hadn’t chosen you.
They never would.
And gods help you—because some twisted, traitorous part of you still wanted to forgive them.
.
.
The silence of your quarters clung to you long after they were gone. It was suffocating, the kind of silence that wasn’t empty but full—full of memories, of voices whispering in your head, of the phantom press of hands holding you down.
You cried until you were empty — numb to everything other than the pulsing of your scar.
When you crossed paths with Zayne or Caleb in the corridors, you didn’t stop. You didn’t look. You didn’t give them even a fragment of the warmth that used to belong to them. And it gutted them. You could see it—the way Zayne would slow as if to reach for you, then falter when you passed without a word. The way Caleb’s jaw tightened, his violet eyes storm-dark, every muscle in his body coiled with words he didn’t dare say.
But you couldn’t let them close. Not again. Not when the scar on your chest pulsed every time they came near, as if it remembered the moment they chose someone else over you.
And then Emcie appeared.
She didn’t mean to. She didn’t even know. She was just herself—bright and alive and whole because of what you had given her. Or rather, what they had taken from you.
You saw her one evening, leaning against Caleb in the ramen shop that you guys used to frequent, her laughter lighting up the room. Zayne sat beside her, green eyes soft, his smile small but real in a way it hadn’t been since you pushed them both from your quarters. For a moment, it was like looking into the past—into their past, one that had never belonged to you the way you’d thought it did.
Your stomach twisted, bile rising.
Because no matter what Zayne and Caleb had confessed, no matter the guilt that burned in their eyes when they looked at you… around Emcie, they still glowed. As if she was the sun, and they had never learned how to live in the dark.
And gods, it hurt.
You stood outside, watching them from outside through the window, unnoticed, nails digging into your palms until you nearly drew blood. The scar over your heart throbbed so hard you swore it might split open.
Maybe it was unfair. Maybe it was cruel to resent her for being alive when none of it had been her choice. But seeing her smile at them—seeing them smile back—was like having the knife twisted again and again.
You turned and fled before anyone could see.
.
.
Your silence couldn’t hold forever. You were bound to break.
It broke in the worst possible way.
You had tried so carefully to avoid her, but Emcie found you anyway. She was kind like that—too kind, too radiant, too alive for you to look at without feeling your scar blaze like fire.
You were in the med bay, gathering supplies for a routine mission, when her voice reached you.
“Hey.”
You froze, spine stiffening before you turned. Emcie stood in the doorway, her soft smile hesitant. She didn’t glow with the effortless confidence she usually carried. She looked… unsure. Vulnerable.
“Can we talk?” she asked quietly.
Your chest tightened. “About what?”
Her eyes flickered to the scar peeking from the collar of your uniform. Her smile faltered. “About… everything.”
You nearly laughed. Bitter, sharp. “Everything is a lot.”
“I know.” She stepped closer, her hands twisting in front of her. “I—I don’t remember the last life the way they do. Not the details. But I remember feelings. You were important to me. And sometimes when I’m around you, I…” She trailed off, voice breaking. “I feel like my heart doesn’t belong to me. Like it belongs to you.”
The air left your lungs in a rush.
Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I didn’t ask for it, I swear I didn’t. If I’d known—if I’d known what they—” Her voice fractured. “I never would’ve taken it.”
Your fingers curled so tightly around the edge of the table your knuckles went white. “But you did. You lived. I didn’t.”
Emcie flinched like you’d slapped her.
And that was when the door slid open again.
“Y/N—” Zayne’s voice, raw. Behind him, Caleb, tense as a wire, violet eyes locked on you like he couldn’t breathe until you looked back.
But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
Instead, you stared at Emcie, voice trembling, cracking under the weight of everything you had carried. “Do you know what it’s like? To wake up every day with a scar that reminds you you were disposable? That the people you loved—your family—looked you in the eye and decided you weren’t worth saving?”
Zayne staggered forward, his face stricken. “No. That’s not—”
“Yes it is!” you snapped, the words tearing out of you like knives. “You begged me. You held me down. You let me die so she could live, and now—now you stand here and tell me you’re sorry, like that can erase it? Like I’m supposed to smile and laugh with you while she glows, while she takes every piece of you that used to be mine?”
Emcie’s tears spilled over, her voice small. “I never wanted—”
“But you got it.” Your voice dropped to a whisper, shaking. “You got them. And I got a grave.”
The silence after your words was deafening.
Zayne looked shattered, tears streaking down his face, his hands reaching for you but not daring to touch. Caleb looked like he was choking on glass, his fists clenched so tight blood dripped from his palms. And Emcie—Emcie crumpled, her sobs raw, broken.
You wanted to hate her. You wanted it to be that simple. But as you watched her crumble under the truth, something inside you splintered instead.
Because she wasn’t the villain. She was just the one who lived.
And maybe that made it worse.
You stumbled back, pressing your hand over your burning scar, your chest heaving. “I can’t do this. Not with you. Not with any of you.”
Then you turned and fled before any of them could stop you.
she never had a home that felt safe — until he gave her a home that feels safe.
pairings : bf!heeseung x gf!reader
word count(s): 3k+
genre : slice of life, angsty on the reader's side, fluff, slight humor (ive tried 😓)
warning(s) : mentions of some insults (useless, being unemployed); reader has depression and toxic family (or maybe parents); pet names (angel, darling, baby, my love, amor, babe); heeseung had that 'every family is happy' in his mind (only mentioned few times); use of (y/n) maybe once; mentioned of reader kinda craved for male validation; DADDY ISSUES; and reader is the eldest daughter 🧍🏻♀️ do let me know if i missed anything 😁
notes :
(1) my second fic 🥹 it takes so long my brain is frying like a grilled chicken atp 😭 this is for the eldest daughters out there who becomes a second parent 🥹 big hug and loud cheer for all of you for staying strong and powerful 💪🏻
(2) this is not proofread and english is not my first language, so i apologize if there are mistakes in my writing whether in grammar, wording, etc.
(3) the characters are only in the story and it doesn't implying to how they are in real life and please read on your own risk 🫂
you just went back home from hanging out with your boyfriend, heeseung. you feel exhausted after walking around the amusement park, playing some games and buying gifts for your siblings and for your mother. now, lying on the couch with your eyes closed, you feel a sense of peace and calmness, not realizing you doze off right after you put your head on the pillow.
after a few moments of your peaceful nap, your mom suddenly throws a pillow towards your face, making you jolt awake and open your eyes.
“pretend to sleep just to run away from your responsibility?” she says sarcastically.
your heart aches. pretend to sleep? when you really dozed off earlier after a tiring day?
“i really fell asleep earlier, mom.. i was tired.. what are you saying?” you ask with full of confusion and pain.
“don't act dumb. i know you're trying to run away from your responsibility as the eldest daughter! and you're trying to use that “feeling tired after hanging out with that guy” reason?” she asks with full of anger and sarcasm. “you're such a useless daughter! you've unemployed and always in those depressive shit episodes of yours! literally toughen up and fight it! it won't help you if you keep sitting there, scrolling through your phone and texting with some men.”
now, your heart is breaking into a million pieces — as if it can't be fixed anymore.
you stare at your mom with confusion and hurt in your eyes. you did your chores as the eldest daughter and as the eldest sister. you've unemployed because you've just finished your degree certificate and are waiting for your graduation day. after all, it's hard to find a job since most of the jobs that you want and align with your major require a higher than degree certificate. so, you keep trying to earn money by searching for small jobs on social media, but still haven't found any.
you also did your chores while she's gone to work. washing dishes, sweeping the floor, washing and drying dirty clothes, and even taking care of your cats, which require some energy most of the time.
and today is the only day you can hang out with your boyfriend, well, monthly hangout — since it's the weekend and the only free day without a schedule for you.
and that's why what your mom said to you hurt you very badly. i mean, who wouldn't feel hurt, right?
“go to your room. seeing your face makes me feel like i'm going to blow out soon,” your mom said coldly with a hint of slight annoyance in her tone.
you immediately get up and take your handbag while holding your tears. you swallow the lump in your throat before exhaling shakily. “i bought a gift for you and the others. heeseung also bought something for you. it's on the dining table,” you say before heading towards your room.
heeseung walks out from the bathroom towards his bedroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist and a towel on his head before he dries his hair with the towel.
he sits on his bed and immediately lets out a long exhale after resting his upper body against the headboard. he takes his phone from the bedside table and turns on the screen, revealing a photostrap wallpaper of him and you that he took earlier at the photo booth.
one photo of him making a ribbon pose on top of your head, and you squishing his cheeks with your palm, making him pout and you smiling widely.
a second photo of them wearing silly props — him wearing a flower sunglasses and a fake black mustache, pretending to be cool and you wearing a tiara and holding a diamond wand, poking the edge of the wand at his button nose while making a cool expression.
third photo of them, now without any props, with him wrapping his arms around your waist and your arms loosely wrapped around his neck. you're looking at him like he's the love of your life while tilting your head slightly and smiling full of love. while heeseung looking at you like you're his whole universe, someone who he won't trade for anything in this world. his smile? well, let's say the smile on his face was very endearing and full of love too, but dreamily. yeah.. a dream to make you officially his.
heeseung grins like a loverboy when he looks at the wallpaper. “she's so beautiful.. how am i so lucky to have her as mine?” he mutters to himself.
he's still drying his hair and when he feels like it's not too damp for him, he puts the towel on the bedside table and lies down for a moment before he wears his pajamas and puts the towel that he used to dry his hair on the towel rack.
heeseung closes his eyes and lets out an exhale, finally feeling rested after today.
but not so long after, you call him and he immediately answers it because the ringtone that he sets for your contact is different from others.
he clears his throat and puts the phone on his ear. “babe? hello?” he asks with a hidden excitement in his voice.
don't get him wrong. of course he's already spent all day with his girlfriend today but his day isn't complete without her calls even if it's just listening to her breathing. he attached to her.
not that you mind though, with listening to his breathing through the phone, it somehow calms your mind from being loud and it's easier for you to fall asleep because the only thing you're focused on is, his breathing… also his mumbling and how he dreams of eating ramen but again, not that you mind.
heeseung waited for you to answer but when he didn't hear anything, he immediately frowned.
something is wrong. he thought to himself.
“(y/n)? you okay, angel?” he asks in full of concern. and after being silent for so long, that's when he heard something he really doesn't want to hear from her.
her cries. her silent cries.
only sniffles can be heard and silent sobs that sound like it would burst sooner or later.
heeseung immediately sits up on his bed and try to pinpoint what's going on.
you were fine all day but why are you crying tonight?
“can.. can i please see your face, heeseung? p-please..” you say between your sniffles on the other line.
heeseung immediately agreed. “yeah.. yeah sure.. i will turn on the video call, okay?”
once he's got confirmation from you, he fixes his hair and switches the voice call to the video call.
and he thought hearing his girlfriend's silent cries already hurt him. but seeing her tears streaked face with red puffy eyes and how she hugged the cat plushie that he gave as her birthday gift tightly on her chest.
his heart aches two times than before, like a brick just smashed his heart.
you tried to hold it in by yourself, not wanting to burden heeseung anymore. you've really tried.
but your mother's words keep repeating in your head like it won't stop and that makes your heart aching even more.
you've tried to hold yourself to call him, thinking he must be tired after a very long day with you at the amusement park.
but here you are, have a video call with him while hugging your plushie that he gave you on your birthday and looking at his face that full of worry and hurt.
“oh, amor.. what makes you cry?” he asks softly with his eyebrows furrow slightly.
you hiccup and bring the plushie close to your mouth, muffling your quiet sobs.
heeseung keeps staring at you through the screen before he finally connects the dots.
“is it your mom again? hm?” he said after a long thought. you nod slowly, making him sigh slightly.
truthfully, he didn't understand at first why on earth a mother could do that to her own child. that's because he lives in a family where there's no such heavy conflicts between them. his mother never downgrades him and understands him very well. the same goes to his father and his brother. sometimes they argue and sometimes there's a misunderstanding, they immediately talk it out or his brother would ask him to play basketball together.
but, your family? it was his first time hearing the heavy conflicts and how messed up some families are. at first, he was a bit judgmental because there's no such thing as a messed up family, right? in his life, he's surrounded with nothing but love. so, when he finally realises there's a family that has their way to bond, he starts to accept that there are families that aren't like his family. but your family? that makes his jaw drop.
you as an eldest daughter and the eldest sister for six younger siblings; three younger sisters and three younger brothers. you raise your younger siblings as a second parent since your mom provides for all of her children, including you. she's a businesswoman, a rich one but of course with your father who does nothing in the household adds a burden to your mom, and you.
heeseung didn't understand why your father is not like his father at first. his father would always be there for him, and he thought a father should treat the daughter better.
but for you, your father is your first heartbreak.
he's not always at home, doing only God knows what he's doing. at home, he's either sleeping, eating, or playing on the phone. when something is not going on his way, he would be damn furious even if it's just the smallest thing. never give love to you and never provide for your family.
he now understands why you told him you easily get attached to a man when they just show slight interest. no validation from your own father.
he now understands why your mother is always on edge. she's the only provider in the house.
but he still thinks it's unreasonable to lash out at the children when the husband is the problem.
“tell me about it, baby.” he said softly as you burst into tears even more, but still holding onto your sobs.
heeseung stares at you on the screen as he finishes listening to your stories. he frowns sadly as he stares at you.
he understands both sides actually. your mom is probably tired of being the only provider. you're also exhausted from being the eldest daughter and a second parent.
you hiccup slightly before you wipe your tears, “i’m sorry for ruining your night, heeseung-”
“amor.. hey.. i told you before, right? you don’t have to apologize..” he cuts off gently.
he was right, he told you before — not to apologize if you ever want to tell him anything. he wants to hear it. he wants to be someone you can rely on after so long.
“well, baby.. you know you’ve been such a strong girl. i mean, carrying the whole responsibility at your age? hell, it makes me feel like i want to kneel in front of you and worship the floor you walk on, darling.”
he can feel his heart bloom again when he hears you giggling behind the plushie when he says that, and the way he can see your eyes wrinkle when you giggle.
oh, the way that man swears he wants to see that smile and that eyes wrinkle in happiness again and again and again.
“you always know what silly things to say,” you say with your voice still wobbly due to crying but there’s a hint of smile in your voice.
well, heeseung takes that as a compliment and a sign to continue.
“i shall not let my queen let down her tears from thee majestic eyes, soaking thee breathtaking cheeks with thee salty tears.” he said with a mock serious tone and mimics how people in victorian era talked.
and because of that, you let out a laugh behind the plushie that covered your lower face. your cheekbones rise in joy, and your eyes crinkle in happiness. “lee heeseung!” you playfully scold him while giggling.
heeseung stares through the screen with adoration and love. he doesn’t want to let the sound of your laughter disappear from you. he wants to protect your laughter and happiness from everything.
he wants the joy always in you and never let the sadness control you always.
“don’t ever let these kind of things ruin your laughter, baby,” he starts gently, referring to your problem with your family, “especially when i’m the reason you laugh — even from how silly i am.” he says while staring at you through the screen, making you stop laughing because the way he looks at you with full of love and adoration in his eyes — making you feel loved.
“i promise, baby.. once you’re ready, sorting things out, planning well, i’m going to propose you and we can live together — far from everyone that ever hurts you, everyone who makes you sad and questioning yourself, everyone who makes you carry the heavy burden since you were young. okay?” he says with gentleness in his voice and a silent vow for him to make sure you can escape from the hellish place that looks like a heaven from the outside.
“and i will be the best husband for you. if you ever feel i do something wrong, we can sit down together, eat cookies, and sort things out, yeah? if you ever feel you do something wrong, reach out to me and make sure to tell me the truth, even how bad it is.”
“even i break your Nintendo Switch?”
“even you break my Nintendo– oh! not that one! i’m going to crash out.” you laugh while covering your face with your plushie.
you know very well how he cherishes his gaming consoles, keyboards, and his Nintendo Switch. and ramen, obviously.
but you also know he didn’t mean like that. yes, he would probably going to crash out if his Nintendo Switch broke — but he won’t get too worked up and yell at you. maybe he’s going to nag and being sulky all day.
and heeseung knows you knew he didn’t mean it in an aggressive way. that’s how much you trusted him.
and he vowed not to break the trust. never.
“but seriously, baby. i promise, okay? i will work harder and harder, earn money to provide you and help you with your mental health problems. we can go to the therapy together since i know you really want to ask for help from professional but with these circumstances around you, you can’t ask for help without people judging you.” he says while staring into your eyes through the screen. his words make you emotional ‘cause he was right — it’s so hard to ask for help in these surroundings.
your eyes start to get teary again — before he said something that made your tears going up again.
“and we can going crazy at the arcade and eat ramen all day.” he says before he shrugs his shoulders as if that’s the normal thing. for him.
you chuckle while sniffling and wipe your tears with your plushie. “you’re so annoying sometimes. we could get sick and be on the deathbed if we eat ramen all day, baby~” you say with those whiny yet playfully scold him tone.
“well, we could be Romeo and Juliet but in modern days.” he has that lazy smirk on his face after saying that as if he dropped something flirty that makes your heartbeat thumps loudly.
it is, but at the same time, it’s not for you.
you wheeze for a moment before you laugh. “why are you like this, baby~?” he giggles along when he hears your laugh through the screen.
heeseung stares at his phone screen as he sees you start to feel sleepy after your emotional breakdown and maybe from how much you laugh. he brings his thumb close to his phone screen as he looks at you with full of love in his screen. his thumb hovers his phone screen before he makes a caressing gesture.
“heeseung..?” you call him softly yet sleepily. “yes, my love?” he replies with softness in his voice, like he’s afraid his voice would jolt you from your sleepy state.
“you really promise you will do that if we ever get married, right?” he stares at the screen into your sleepy eyes.
at first, he questioned himself if he wasn’t sincere and genuine enough, but then he remembers — your father broke his promises to be a good father.
he finally come back from his sense before he let out a soft whisper, “i promise, my darling. i promise you will get your happy life.”
he shifts himself on his bed, laying down on his right side, hand underneath the pillow, his right side of his cheek squish slightly on the pillow, other hand holds the phone steadily in front of him. “but, i also promise — there’s no rush for you, okay? we can take it slow and do it without any pressure.”
you smile sleepily before you nod slowly. “mhm.. no pressure,” you say before you close your eyes. heeseung sees that as a sign you’re going to enter your dreamland. with that, he starts to hum a soothing tune, keeping his voice low and soft.
after some time, he can see your breathing is steady and how your face looks so peaceful in the sleep, as if your mother didn’t hurt you verbally earlier and how you cried your heart out.
he smiles to himself as he feels lots of emotions in one time — feeling grateful he could call you his, feeling sad how you face this burden as the eldest in your siblings for so long, feeling the determination to make you his wife; and feeling the overwhelm in his heart of how much he loves you.
“i love you, my darling. i love you so much. please stay strong for me. i promise we can get our own flower path.” he says to you who’s already sleeping peacefully and to himself as a vow.
and little does he know, you heard his words one by one in your sleep, making you smile slightly as if the words were from your dream. you don’t need to be at home to feel at home.
heeseung himself makes you feel like you’re home — a warm, peaceful home.
➜ summary: jay’s always had everything. you were just the girl who followed him around until you became the one thing he couldn’t let go.
pairing: pjs x f!reader, wc: 16k words , genre: best friends to lovers, rich!jay, fluff, a wee lil angst w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing
When you were eight, your pet fish died. Jay, being the perfect friend, snuck out of his house, hoodie zipped up to his nose, and stood outside your door with a juice box and a Pokémon sticker. He didn’t say anything, just left them there with a note that read: “U ken yoos the stikr four yur dairi.”
He wasn’t the best speller, but he was the best friend you could ever ask for.
When you were thirteen, you stayed up until 3 a.m. on the phone, ranting about how some snotty new transfer from Australia, Sim Jaeyun said your feet looked “weirdly shaped.” Jay spent an hour trying to convince you that Jaeyun had a thumb that looked like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and couldn’t tell a mermaid from a fish so he didn’t deserve to have opinions.
When you turned seventeen, Jay gave you his favourite hoodie before flying to Seattle for a month to visit his relatives. You wore it religiously while he was gone, just to feel a little closer to him.
And till now somehow, Jay still orbited your everyday life.
“You’re late,” he said without looking up, eyes fixed on some game playing on the TV.
“I wasn’t even supposed to come today.”
“But you did,” he replied, finally turning to glance at you. His grin was lazy, a little smug. “Couldn’t stay away from The Jonginator 3000.”
“Gross,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Please never call yourself ever that again.”
You crossed the room and dropped onto the other end of the couch, knees curling up beside you as your shoulder brushed his. Jay made space for you without saying anything.
“Here,” you muttered, digging through your tote bag and tossing a bag of chips his way.
He caught it one-handed. “Oh, how you spoil me.”
“Well, that’s because you’re unbearable when you’re hungry.”
“And equally as charming when I’m full,” he added with a wink.
You bit back a smile, tilting your head with mock thoughtfulness. “Hm… I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate,” you said.
You liked to believe your friendship with Jay could weather even the strongest storms but lately, you weren’t so sure.
It wasn’t that anything had gone terribly wrong.
It was quieter than that. Slightly more subtle? Things had just… started to change. Not in ways you could clearly name, but in the little things.
You and Jay were friends. Best of friends, even.
Your mum had worked for his family for almost a decade, taking care of his grandmother, the same woman you’d come to call Grandma, too. Jay never minded. His grandmother never corrected you. If anything, she loved it. Jay was an only child, and without a granddaughter of her own, she’d folded you into her life without hesitation.
His family had always been kind. They treated your mum with respect, and you never felt looked down on.
But lately, something had started to shift. Nothing harsh or particularly cruel. Just… small things, little things you were starting to piece together.
Maybe it was the way people talked about the future now about colleges, cities, careers. Plans that didn’t involve waking up in your childhood bedroom. Plans that didn’t include walking into Jay’s room, knocking once before flopping onto his bed to rant about terrible Netflix documentaries you’d force him to watch.
But most of all, they were plans that didn’t include both of you.
Maybe it was the realisation that Jay was heading somewhere you couldn’t afford to follow.
And maybe Jay was starting to realise that too.
You loved him. Almost too much. You didn’t like putting a label on it. Romantic, platonic, it didn’t matter. All you knew was that he made you laugh when you wanted to cry, and he made you smile when you were knee-deep in anger.
And losing that? Losing him? Somehow, that scared you more than anything.
You’d left for the bathroom a little over five minutes ago, but it took nearly three just to get back to Jay’s room.
You were about to push open the door, fully prepared to return and absolutely obliterate him in the game you’d been playing, when you heard a voice.
“Baby,” his mum said gently.
You froze. Your hand hovered just above the doorknob. Something about her tone stopped you. It sounded serious… a little too serious for you to barge in like nothing.
So you didn’t.
You stayed where you were, just outside his door, waiting for the right moment to step in.
“Mom, I’m not going,” Jay said. You could hear the sound of him ruffling his hair, followed by a long sigh.
His mum exhaled softly. “Jong, it’s a tradition. The family went there. I went there. You—”
“I’m not going,” he repeated, firmer this time.
There was a pause.
“If this is about…” she began before letting out a deep breath. “Look, I love her. You know I do. I treat her like a daughter too, but baby, this is a big deal. You have one foot in the door and you’re throwing it all away?”
“Mom—”
“No, listen to me.” Her voice cracked slightly. “You can always come back to her, but this… this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”
A long stretch of silence followed, thick and heavy, before she spoke again, softer now but still thick with tension.
“I’m not saying she isn’t good for you. She is. She’s smart, she’s pretty. She’s… kind. But do you really think the two of you have anything in common besides growing up together?”
Oh. Oh. Oh…
So this was how they saw you: not bad, not unworthy…just not enough. Not for him.
“Baby,” she said, “the two of you are on different paths and…well, Jong, you were meant for greater things. Big things.”
Through the small crack in the doorframe, you caught a glimpse of Jay, sitting on the edge of his bed, brows furrowed, elbows resting on his knees. He wasn’t answering. He looked like he was thinking about it.
That hurt more than anything.
You backed away quietly, each step careful, like even your breath might give away that you had been listening. When you reached the top of the stairs, you glanced down at your feet, your socks, mismatched and worn. They had never felt like such a statement before. And now, in this house, with its icy cold Italian marble floors, they felt impossibly…prominent.
You were rushing toward the door when something made you pause. The second living room, the one you’d always walked past, never into. You turned, just a little, just enough to see it.
The walls were lined with frames. Studio portraits of Jay and his parents, always dressed to the nines, always looking like they belonged on the cover of some high-society magazine. There were formal family shots with his extended relatives, his cousins in their prep school uniforms, their parents with Rolexes and pearl earrings, champagne glasses in hand at some gala that probably changed the world without you knowing.
Then your eyes landed on the final frame tucked in the corner.
Jay, standing beside the minister at a government scholarship ceremony. A navy suit that fit him too well. His parents beaming on either side of him. The plaque in his hand gleaming. You remembered that day vaguely, he had texted you something self-deprecating about tripping on stage. You had laughed then.
You weren’t laughing now.
Because all of it somehow was starting to feel like a mockery of just how different your worlds really were. There was a bitter sting in your chest, and you weren’t sure if it was jealousy over a life you’d never live, or the ache of knowing someone you liked so much came from a place you could never quite reach.
While Jay had birthday dinners at restaurants you didn’t even know existed, yours were made of takeout leftovers and cakes baked in a neighbor’s oven. Jay had a whole wall of proof that he belonged. And all the while, you didn’t even have matching socks.
—
Jay: Did you just leave? Without saying goodbye? 🙁
You didn’t reply.
You were too deep in your own spiral…spinning, crashing, drowning in thoughts you didn’t ask to think. His mom had been right. About everything.
She hadn’t been cruel. She hadn’t even sounded angry. Just… honest. Like a mother trying to protect her son from making a mistake. And maybe you were the mistake. You knew she liked you. You knew the whole family did. But that didn’t change the fact that you’d always been her daughter, the caregiver’s daughter. Not one of them. Not really.
And for the first time in your life, you felt it, not just the distance, but the pity. Ten years of your mom’s hard work, all the quiet pride she carried, all the long nights and it suddenly felt like none of it mattered. You were just the tagalong. A nice girl with nowhere better to be.
You were never someone in that house. You were just... there.
Your phone lit up again.
Jay: I’m coming over.
Your eyes flew open. “Damn it–” you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie.
You: Don’t.
Jay: Huh?
You: I’m fine.
Jay: But you left so soon?
You: I had to take a shit so I left.
There was a pause.
Jay: I have a bathroom, you idiot.
You: It’s too fancy. I like mine better.
Jay: LOL well at least say goodbye next time. I went around the house like an idiot looking for you for 10 whole minutes.
You stared at the screen, thumb hovering. You wanted to say more.
But you didn’t want him to pity you too.
—
Jungwon stood beside you, rhythmically tapping two fingers against your back, drumming out a song only he could hear. You hunched forward at the front desk, shoulders tense, chin propped against your palm as you glared at the dusty computer monitor displaying your completely empty Tuesday schedule.
You part timed at Goober Galaxy, an indoor playground targeted for kids ages 3 and up. Today was quiet. It was the perfect shift for a breakdown. Unfortunately, Jungwon hadn’t gotten the memo.
You swatted his hand away without even turning around. “Cut it out.”
He laughed, and leaned over the counter so that his chin now rested on his folded arms beside yours. “I’m bored,” he declared, eyes scanning your blank expression.
“Then go find something to do.”
“I like bothering you,” he said with a smile.
You turned to glare at him, grabbing the nearest pencil and holding it up like a weapon. “I’ll stab you with this.”
“Ooh, how scary,” he said, grinning wider.
“Shut up.”
You didn’t mean for it to come out as sharp as it did. Jungwon blinked, his smile faltering just a little but only for a second. You dropped the pencil back onto the desk and folded your arms, slumping deeper into your chair. You’d been like this all day: distracted, fogged over, stuck in your own head with thoughts of you and Jay.
It’d been two days since you left Jay’s house without saying goodbye. Two days since you’d heard his mother’s voice echoing in the hallway, reminding him that people like you didn’t belong in their world.
He’d been texting you ever since. But every time your phone lit up with his name, your heart clenched so hard it made you nauseous. You couldn’t answer. Not when you didn’t know how to exist next to him without feeling small.
You didn’t realize Jungwon had moved until he dropped onto the beanbag beside your stool with a dramatic huff, his legs splayed out in front of him, head tilted toward you.
“Okay,” he said, “seriously. Who is it?”
You didn’t answer.
“Come on,” he continued, tapping his foot against your shoe. “Tell the master of Women who has you acting up like this.”
“I highly doubt you even know what a woman is.”
You let out a breath through your nose and glanced at him. Jungwon’s dark hair tousled from where he’d been running his hand through it, polo shirt wrinkled, name tag barely hanging on. He was annoying and loud. But he was also one of the only people who understood what it meant to want more than you were allowed to have. You both had jobs instead of highly paid tutors, worn-out sneakers instead of new ones, savings goals that felt like they’d never be reached.
He didn’t know what was wrong. Not exactly. But he knew enough to ask.
Still, your voice caught in your throat. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it aloud: I overheard Jay’s mom say I don’t belong in his world and I think she’s right and now I can’t even look at him without wanting to cry.
So instead, you mumbled, “It’s nothing.”
Jungwon didn’t push. He just leaned back with a sigh and said, “You know I’ll keep annoying you until you tell me, right?”
You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. “I know.”
He grinned. “Cool. Just making sure we’re on the same page.”
You sighed then tilted your head toward him, your voice quiet. “D’you ever think we’ll be bigger than we are right now?”
Jungwon blinked, caught off guard. “I mean… I heard Mr. Kim say we stop growing after we turn 18, but I’m not too sure.” He tilted his head dramatically, thinking hard. “Though… I have been drinking more milk lately so all fingers crossed!”
You snorted, rolling your eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant! I meant... just us. Will we ever be bigger than this? Than who we are now?”
He looked at you, his smile fading into something gentler. You didn’t usually say things like this. “Like... spiritually? Emotionally? Or like tax bracket-wise?”
You stared at him flatly.
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, raising both hands in surrender. “I get it. You mean like, in the world.”
You nodded slowly, your voice tightening. “I mean…look at us….We’re just... two kids. Two random people in this giant fuckin’ world. And there are people out there who are so much bigger than us. So much more important. Doing things that matter. And we’re just here. Doing this.”
Jungwon leaned his head back against the beanbag, legs stretched out in front of him. He looked up at the ceiling for a long moment before shrugging. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But I like where I am.”
You glanced at him, brows furrowed. “You like working for scraps?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Well... it’s a Tuesday afternoon, and I’m hanging out with the prettiest girl I know. So yeah. Not bad.”
You shoved his shoulder, trying not to smile. “Be serious, Won.”
His expression softened then, all teasing drained out of it. He shifted to face you more fully, his voice quieter. “Okay. You’re upset. And since it’s you, and you don’t get like this unless it’s something big, I’m guessing this is about Jay.”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.
Jungwon reached out and gently poked your forehead. “Then let me say this clearly: you need to stop letting that big, overthinking brain of yours spiral.”
You exhaled shakily.
“I know Jay. Not like you do, obviously,” he added with a small grin, “but well enough. And I know, for a fact, that Jay doesn’t give a single fuck that we’re working at...” He looked around and grimaced. “Goober Fuckin’ Galaxy.”
You laughed.
“I’m serious,” he said, nudging your knee with his. “That guy looks at you like you invented…I don’t know…the freaking internet? It clearly doesn’t matter what job you have, or where you come from. You’re not small to him. Not to me. Not to Hee. Not to any of us.”
You didn’t reply, but something in your chest eased…just a little.
The bell above the entrance gave its usual pathetic worn out ding, but you didn’t look up…no one came to Goober Galaxy on a Tuesday. That was the whole point of working Tuesdays.
“Uh oh,” he muttered beside you, sitting up from his beanbag.
“What?” you asked, barely glancing over.
“Lover boy incoming.”
Your brows knit together as you turned and froze.
Jay was standing in the entrance, chest rising like he’d sprinted from the subway (which he’s probably never taken), hair tousled in that way that looked both accidental and annoyingly perfect. In one hand, he held a bouquet of white daisies wrapped in soft brown paper. In the other, a box of chocolates with a ribbon tied so tight it was starting to crumple the corner.
And then you noticed it, the faint red splotches blooming across his knuckles, creeping up his wrist. His grip didn’t falter. Jay was allergic to flowers. You’d known that since forever, since the day he sneezed through an entire spring picnic and blamed the pollen for his watery eyes.
Your heart twisted.
Suddenly, you felt awful. And soft. And maybe a little bit in love all over again.
He walked straight toward you, eyes never leaving your face, and you hated the way your breath caught.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “I’m sorry.”
You blinked, completely thrown. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” he said again, pushing the flowers into your hands like they might prove his sincerity. “I don’t know what I did. But whatever it is, I’m sorry, okay? I—I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t even realize something was wrong until you stopped replying and then I thought maybe it was something I said or maybe I looked at you weird and—”
“Jay—”
“I was going to come yesterday, but I didn’t want to be pushy. And then I tried calling again this morning but I figured maybe you were busy—”
“Jay.”
He finally paused, breath short, his eyes scanning your face with desperation. And just like that, your chest ached in another way.
He didn’t know. He thought he did something wrong. And he came all the way here just to apologize for a mistake he didn’t even understand.
You looked down at the daisies, hands curling around the brown paper. The stems were still wet. Fresh, which means he got the flowers that day.
God, he was sweet. Stupidly, painfully sweet.
Before you could say anything, Jungwon cleared his throat loudly from behind the counter. “Sooooo,” he drawled. “You got her flowers and chocolates? What do I get?”
Jay turned to look at him with the flattest, most unimpressed expression you’d ever seen. Without a word, he reached into his hoodie pocket, pulled out a single crumpled bill, and tossed it onto the counter.
“A dollar,” he said.
Jungwon stared at it. “That’s it?”
“You’re lucky I didn’t give you lint from my pocket.”
“Then…I’ll just have the dollar.” Jungwon muttered, pocketing the dollar.
Jay turned back to you, lips parted like he wanted to say more but the words didn’t come.
Jungwon hadn’t moved.
He was still standing there, hovering way too close, arms crossed, eyes bouncing between you and Jay like he was watching the tension build. His eyes crossing between you and Jay’s a silly grin on his stupid face.
You shot him a look. “Can you get lost?”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered. “It’s Tuesday. I’m bored. I wanna see how this plays out.”
“You want entertainment?”
“Desperately.”
You sighed through your nose, then shoved the box of chocolates into his chest without looking. “Here. Take this. Go sit in the ball pit and eat this.”
He stared at the box, then back at you. “These are from him, though.”
“I don’t care. Just go.”
A smug smile bloomed on his face as he clutched the box. “You know what? Say less.”
And with that, he strolled off, climbing into the nearest corner of a giant ball pit, where he immediately sprawled across the plastic balls.
You turned back to Jay, your eyes flicking upward to meet his.
He was still watching you, brows drawn just slightly. His arms were at his sides now, hands twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for you or give you space. He didn’t know what he’d done, but he knew something had changed. And it was killing him.
You looked at the flowers still in your hands. You looked back at him. You weren’t sure which one made your chest hurt more.
So you said it.
“I heard what your mom said that day.”
His entire expression shifted subtly. His mouth parted, but he didn’t speak.
“I didn’t mean to,” you added, softer now. “I was coming back to the room and I just… I overheard the entire conversation.”
Jay’s shoulders tensed. He looked down for a second, then up again, jaw clenched, eyes searching your face.
You swallowed. “I wasn’t avoiding you because I was mad. I just… I don’t know...I didn’t know how to act.”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just blinked slowly, like the words were still settling into place.
“Look,” Jay said finally, his voice low but firm, “you don’t have to worry about it. I’m not going anywhere—”
“Jay,” you cut in, your voice sharper than you meant, “I’m not worried about that.”
You looked down, fingers tightening around the bouquet of daisies in your hands. The stems crinkled slightly in your grip.
“I’m not mad about what she said,” you said quietly. “I’m just... she’s right.”.
His mouth opened slightly, brows drawing together like he didn’t understand how those words could’ve come from you. His chest rose as if to argue, but he didn’t speak yet. He couldn’t.
You lifted your gaze slowly, and your throat burned. “She’s right, Jay. We don’t have anything in common besides growing up together.”
He shook his head immediately, stepping closer. “You’re more than what she said—”
“Jay,” you said again, this time with a bitter laugh laced into it, “who are we kidding?”
He sighed when you cut him off.
“I work in a stupid kids’ playground called Goober Galaxy. You’re in every high-end after school academy, tutoring centre, test prep institute money can buy. You’re made to get straight A’s, made to end up at some fancy university. Made to do something big. I’m not.”
“I don’t care about any of that,” he said, his voice cracking just barely at the edges. “Do you think I ever looked at you and saw anything less?”
Jay exhaled shakily and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “I’ve liked you since the day you showed up behind your mom in that stupid little yellow dress you hated. You were hiding behind her, and God—” he let out a soft laugh, almost breathless, “The moment you sat beside me, you punched me in the shoulder and said I had a dumb name. I’ve liked you since then.”
Your eyes fluttered up to glance at him, but only for a second, before dropping back to your shoes. He reached out gently, fingers brushing under your chin, and tilted your face toward his.
“I loved that version of you,” he said, eyes locked onto yours. “I love this version of you. I’ve never thought you were less than me. Not even once. It’s always been you.”
The silence that followed clung to the air, thick and trembling.
You stared at him, barely breathing, barely able to believe this was real.
“Jay–”
“UH GUYS, CAN I COME OUT NOW?” Jungwon’s voice rang out, followed by a hacking cough. “I THINK I SWALLOWED THE RIBBON.”
You almost burst into laughter. Almost.
But instead, you did the one thing you’d been aching to do for far too long.
You leaned forward over the counter and kissed him.
Jay froze for just a split second, stunned. His hand hovered uncertainly beside you, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you. But his eyes fluttered shut, and when you pulled away, his lips chased yours like he didn’t want it to end.
His cheeks flushed immediately. He laughed softly, a little dazed. “I didn’t think today would end up like this.”
You smirked. “Do you want me to take it back?”
He shook his head quickly, still smiling. “No. I just... I wish it wasn’t in front of—”
The both of you turned.
Jungwon was now sitting fully upright in the ball pit, legs criss-crossed, waving at you. A half-eaten piece of chocolate dangled from his fingers.
“I think I’m the first person to ever witness a love confession in Goober Galaxy,” he said. “A sentence that has never, ever been said before in the history of mankind.”
Jay groaned and dropped his head onto the counter with a thud. “Why are you like this?”
He tilted his head, beaming like he’d just officiated a wedding. “So… can I come out now?”
You and Jay both answered without missing a beat.
“No.”
—
The two of you had been dating for a whole month now and sneaking around had become a normal occurrence for the two of you.
A month of stolen glances, hushed giggles, and kisses behind closed doors. You came over under the same old pretense, “I’m just hanging out at Jay’s while waiting for Mom to finish work”. It was familiar. There was nothing to question.
Except now, every time you stepped into his room, the door clicked shut behind you and the rest of the world disappeared.
You’d start out pretending to study. Laptops open, notebooks flipped to blank pages, a pencil stuck behind your ear. Jay would sit beside you, his knee pressed against yours, trying really hard for maybe ten minutes. And then he’d look over.
You’d barely meet his eyes before his lips were on yours.
Usually, soft first then it goes deeper, slower, the kind of kissing that made you forget what time it was. It’d be 4:30 one moment and 6:00 the next. He’d push your hair behind your ear, you’d tug lightly on his hoodie, and the math textbook between you would be quietly shoved to the floor by someone’s feet.
It always ended the same way. A knock at the door. Your mom’s voice floating in, “Come on, time to head home!”
You’d jolt apart, breathless, cheeks burning, smoothing out your hair and reaching blindly for a notebook. “Okay!” you’d call out, voice a little too high. Jay would flop back onto his bed, dramatic and pouty.
Your mom would open the door, glance in, see the two of you surrounded by notes and open textbooks, and nod. “I’ll wait downstairs.”
“Just five more minutes,” you’d reply automatically.
She’d leave. And before you could even stand, Jay would hook a finger through your sleeve and pull you gently back down.
One last kiss. And then another. And then five more, because he always said one wasn’t enough. He’d press them to your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, grinning like an idiot.
“Do you really have to go?” he’d mumble, arms still around you.
“She’s literally my ride home.”
“I could give you a ride.”
You snorted and leaned back just enough to look at him. “You got your license like... five minutes ago.”
“Exactly. I’m freshly certified. I’m a responsible driver.”
“Jay,” you said flatly, “I heard what grandma said about you hitting the curb”
Jay groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. “What a snitch.”
You laughed, pulling away gently as you stood up. “That’s a no, by the way. You’re not driving me home.”
Jay pouted, tugging lightly on your hand. “You don’t trust me?”
“I trust you. I just wanna go home in one piece tonight.”
Still pouting, he leaned up and kissed your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “One day you’ll be begging me for a ride.”
“Sure. The day you stop kissing the curb.”
—
It was another ordinary day, or at least it had started that way. You were in Jay’s room, lying beside him with your head propped on your hand, half-listening to him ramble about something stupid Heeseung had texted. His hand was resting on your knee, your fingers loosely interlocked until the knock came.
The door creaked open a second later.
“Oh,” his mother said, her smile soft but surprised. “You’re here.”
You sat up immediately, your hand slipping out of his. You nodded politely, reaching for your bag even though you weren’t meant to leave for another hour. What used to feel like home now made your shoulders tense. Jay noticed. Of course he did.
“Are you staying for dinner?” his mother asked, stepping inside like she always had.
You shook your head quickly. “No. I was actually just about to leave.”
“So soon?” she pouted slightly. “You haven’t eaten dinner with us in a while.”
“I just have a lot of homework to get through,” you replied with a rehearsed smile, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You turned to Jay, silently asking if he’d stop you, if he’d ask you to stay. But he saw it. The unease in your body, the way your smile didn’t quite meet your eyes. He wanted to reach for you, to pull you back down and kiss the worry out of your forehead. But he didn’t.
He just nodded. Smiled like it didn’t hurt.
“Go,” he said gently.
And so you did.
The door clicked shut behind you.
Jay stood there for a beat, staring at the closed space you’d just filled. Then he turned back, meeting his mother’s gaze across the room.
She crossed her arms. “Is something wrong?” she asked, frowning now. “She hasn’t stayed for dinner in almost two months.”
“Nothing’s wrong, Mom.”
“I think there is.”
Jay exhaled, his jaw tight. And he hated it…hated how something that was once easy had turned into this sharp-edged discomfort. How your laughter had grown quieter. How he had to love you in secret all because the life carved out for him didn’t have room for anything outside of perfect.
Over the past two months, Jay had started to feel something sour curling inside him. A quiet resentment. Not towards you. Never you. But toward everything else. Toward the silent expectation to carry generations of ambition on his back. He loved his mother, God, he really did. But that love didn’t soften the frustration. It didn’t erase how badly things had shifted between you both since that night.
He had so many things to be grateful for. But all he’d ever really wanted was you. Just to be by your side. And somehow, even that felt like something he wasn’t allowed to have.
“Mom, drop it,” he said, voice flat.
She frowned, stepping further into the room. “Jongseong, you’ve been acting different since the day—”
“That’s because I’ve been talking, and you haven’t been listening,” he snapped.
Her expression faltered. “What do you want me to do, Jong? Your dad and I have worked tirelessly for this opportunity—”
“That I didn’t ask for!” His voice cracked, hands clenched at his sides.
“You are going to that university. It’s in your blood. It’s good for you. And deep down, you know it too. If I told her how important this is, how good it is for you, I’m pretty sure she’d be supportive.”
“Don’t tell her.”
She froze.
“Baby—”
“Don’t. Tell. Her.” he repeated, each word heavier than the last.
His mother blinked, visibly thrown by his tone. And Jay just stood there, chest heaving, trying to hold back the rest of the words rising in his throat. Because if he said more, he wasn’t sure what would come out.
He just knew this: She wasn’t allowed to take you from him, too.
—
The two of you had wandered into a small alleyway market off the main district, less glossy, more charm. Little stalls lined both sides, selling handmade accessories, mismatched shoes, thrifted bags with peeling zippers, and the kind of bracelets that cost just enough to mean something, but not enough to break a wallet.
You stopped in front of a table full of them, rows of braided cords, beaded charms, faded ribbons wrapped around thin, bendy wire. You held up one with small star-shaped beads, smiling a little to yourself.
Jay hovered beside you, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes scanning the stall. “You sure you want one of these?” he asked, not unkindly, just confused. “There’s a place down the street that does custom silver bands. We can go there. I’ll pay.”
You shook your head immediately, the smile slipping off your face. “I don’t want anything too expensive,” you said quietly. “I just want something pretty.”
Jay frowned. “Yeah, but we could get something prettier. Something that’ll last. I just—why not get something better?”
You didn’t say anything at first, just lowered your hand. Something in your chest twisted. He didn’t mean anything by it. You knew that. But it still hit the wrong nerve.
You turned to him, jaw tightening. “Just because I’m buying cheaper things doesn’t mean they’re ass, Jay.”
He blinked, startled. “I didn’t even mean it that way,” he said, voice low but tense. “I just meant—if there’s something you want, I’ll get it for you. That’s all. You don’t have to—”
“I don’t want anything,” you cut in, too fast, too sharp. “Not with your money.”
The silence that followed was instant.
Jay’s brows lifted slightly. He’d been reaching for your hand without even realizing it, but at that, he pulled back. Just a fraction. Just enough to make your heart drop. His expression didn’t shift much, just the tiniest flicker of hurt. But that was worse. You could tell when he was trying not to show it.
You reached for him quickly, fingers wrapping around his hand before he could pull away further. Your grip tightened, desperate.
“I’m sorry,” you said, softer this time. “I didn’t mean it. I just—sometimes I feel weird. I don’t know.”
Jay looked at you for a long moment. And then, wordlessly, he pulled you into his arms.
Your face pressed against his chest, your fists gripped onto the fabric of his hoodie. He didn’t say anything.
“I just want to give you everything,” he whispered after a long silence.
And even though your throat burned, you didn’t cry. You just nodded, clinging to him.
—
Jay stared long and hard at the framed certificates on the wall of his father’s office.
He’d been sitting there ever since he got back from your little date.
You’d cried for almost 30 minutes before finally falling asleep on his shoulder. He’d felt every quiet sob, the uneven rise and fall of your chest. Like being with him hurt.
He knew you loved him. God, he loved you just as much, probably more. But seeing you in that much pain simply because the two of you came from different worlds made his chest ache.
He didn’t care about any of it. Not the money. Not the future his parents had mapped out. Not the name on the wall in front of him.
But you did.
He didn’t know how to fix it. How to make you believe you were never less than him. That you’d always been the best part of his world.
“Jong?”
Jay’s head snapped up. His mother stood at the door, peeking through. He cleared his throat and quickly wiped away a single tear he hadn’t realised had fallen.
“Mom,” he said, nodding stiffly.
He hadn’t spoken to her since the last time she tried to push him into going.
Jay had already made peace with attending a good university in Korea. One that meant a thirty-minute drive from you. One that didn’t require a time zone between your hands. He didn’t care about prestige. He didn’t need legacy. He just needed you.
Because no place could feel like home unless you were there.
He wanted a small, lived-in apartment where the walls were filled with pictures of the two of you, some crooked, some blurry, all perfect. He wanted late mornings and lazy nights, strumming his guitar while you sat on his lap, flipping through TV channels.
He didn’t want boardrooms. He wanted breakfast in bed. He wanted you in his hoodie, laughing at something stupid, your legs tangled with his on the couch. He wanted to choose that life.
He just didn’t know how because his life wasn’t his.
His parents were successful, respectable, powerful, intimidating in every room they walked into. And Jay? He was their only child. The heir. The one meant to carry it all.
He didn’t want to seem ungrateful. He knew he was lucky. But sometimes…he wished he was at Goober Galaxy right next to you. Sweeping floors, handing out stickers, chasing after toddlers. Living the kind of life he got to choose.
He wished he could trade places with Jungwon, just for a moment. To know what it felt like to live freely, to love without strings.
But he wasn’t Jungwon.
He was stuck. Caged by expectations that didn’t belong to him. And no one had asked if he wanted them.
“Your dad wants to see you.”
Jay blinked. His mother was still standing in the doorway, phone in hand, the screen already lit up with a call. He swallowed. She passed it to him without another word.
Jay sat up straighter, the back of his neck already tensing as he accepted the phone. His father's face filled the screen, sharp suit, crisp tie, backdrop of a sleek conference room somewhere in Hong Kong. The time zone difference didn't matter. His father always made time when it came to lectures.
“Jongseong,” his father began without pleasantries, eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s this I hear about you not wanting to attend Oxford?”
Jay opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He glanced at the wall, at the same framed degree he’d been staring at moments earlier, and felt the familiar weight return to his chest.
With his mother, he always knew what to say. How to deflect, how to counter her logic with his own. But with his father… it was different.
With his father, Jay always felt like a little boy again.
Like he wasn’t the man of the house, but a kid sitting at the edge of a chair too big for him, trying not to swing his legs.
With his father gone so often, Jay had stepped into the role by default…holding things down, keeping things quiet, managing expectations. But every time his dad reappeared, even just through a screen, it was like the years peeled off and left him exposed.
He felt his mouth go dry. His fingers curled tightly around the edge of the phone.
“I’ve… decided not to go,” he said finally, voice quiet but steady.
There was a pause. A beat of silence that buzzed louder than any scolding.
“Decided?” his father repeated, eyes narrowing. “Jong, we don’t just decide things. You know that.”
His voice rose, firm and cold.
“We’re not like anyone else. Do you understand that? You don’t get to just throw away opportunities people would kill for.”
Jay swallowed again, throat tight. He wanted to argue. He wanted to say I don’t want it. I never did. But the words sat heavy in his chest, unmoving.
He didn’t want any of it. But how could he say that to a man who had spent his entire life building it?
“I—”
“Son,” his father’s voice dropped, deeper now, tinged with concern. “I didn’t… we didn’t build this by making decisions that went against our family. We built this by honouring tradition. By upholding it.”
“Dad—”
“We’re not just… anyone, Jongseong. You have to remember that. Even when it comes to the people we keep close.”
Jay’s eyes flicked to his mother, still standing in the doorway. Her gaze faltered just slightly.
So she told him. About you.
Of course she did.
And now it wasn’t just about the university anymore. It was about you. About everything he’d kept safe and sacred. Everything he thought he could keep separate.
—
You barged into his room with your bag slung over your right shoulder, hair slightly windblown..
“School was so boring!” you groaned, flopping straight onto his sofa. Without warning, you dropped your head onto his lap, staring up at the ceiling.
“But you wouldn’t guess what happened though,” you continued, grin creeping onto your face. “I got an A for Biology and Hee got an F, so now he has to retake the test. He looked like he was about to cry—”
You stopped mid-sentence.
Jay wasn’t laughing.
He wasn’t smiling.
His eyes were somewhere else, fixed on a spot just past you, like he wasn’t really here at all.
Your smile faltered.
You sat up slowly, shifting your weight until you were straddling his lap. His hands instinctively moved to your waist, but his gaze was still lost. So you reached for his face. Your hands cradled his jaw, thumbs pressing gently into the softness of his cheeks as you squished them together.
“Jay?” you said softly, brows furrowed. “Where’d you go?”
That finally pulled his eyes back to you.
He blinked, like surfacing from deep water, lips parted as if he’d forgotten how to speak.
“Jay?” you repeated, your voice quieter now, more cautious.
Jay shook his head quickly, almost like he was trying to shake something off. Then his hands tightened around your waist, grounding himself.
“Baby,” he murmured.
“You okay?” you asked, eyes searching his face.
He nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”
But he wasn’t. Not even close.
Ever since the call with his father, the decision had been made for him…he would be going to Oxford. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a discussion. It was a statement, sharp and final. There was no room to disagree, no room to even think.
Not that he had a choice. He never really did.
Jay had spent the entire night buried under the covers of his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as the hours ticked by. His phone had lit up over and over again, messages from his mom, soft knocks at the door but he hadn’t moved.
He didn’t want to read what she had to say. He didn’t want to hear reassurances...not anymore. Because the truth was, nothing anyone said would make it feel any better.
And now here you were, sitting in his lap, smiling like the sun, laughing about your day, trusting that the world hadn’t just changed for him entirely.
He didn’t know how to tell you.
Didn’t know how to say he was leaving.
Didn’t know how to break your heart when you had only just handed it to him.
But he had to.
Because he was leaving.
At this point, it wasn’t about academics. It wasn’t about prestige. It was about control.
His father thought this was the cleanest way to fix things.
Remove the distraction.
Remove the attachment.
Remove you.
Jay felt it in his chest, this sick, sinking sense of being packaged up and delivered to a life he never chose. Like this would be better. Like this would make things easier. Not for him. But for them.
—
You were worried.
Jay wasn’t acting like himself. He wasn’t snarky, or smug, or sarcastic in the way you’d come to love. He wasn’t cracking jokes or teasing you every time you said something dumb. He was quiet and distracted.
Jay was usually good at hiding things. But today… today, whatever it was had cracked through.
So naturally, you turned to the two most emotionally stunted people you knew.
“I think he’s broken,” you declared, arms folded on the table in front of you. “Like, actually broken.”
Jungwon blinked. “Did you try turning him off and back on again?”
“I’m serious, Won,” you said, glaring at Jungwon, “He hasn’t texted me all day. And yesterday, he...was so different? I don’t know what’s wrong but it’s not nothing.”
“Have you considered…” Jungwon began, “that he’s just constipated?”
“Jungwon, I swear to God—”
“I’m just saying, emotional constipation and actual constipation are cousins.”
“Please shut up,” you muttered, face in your hands.
Across from you, Heeseung was flipping through his notebook like he wasn’t listening. But then he spoke, casually, without even looking up.
“Why don’t you plan something lowkey for him?” he said. “Like, something you guys used to do. Remind him what home feels like. He clearly needs it.”
You and Jungwon both froze.
Then slowly, you turned to look at him.
Heeseung glanced up, blinking at your silence. “What?”
Jungwon pointed at him dramatically. “Holy shit, that’s the first good idea you’ve ever had.”
You side-eyed Jungwon. “You haven’t had a good idea today either, Won.”
“Yeah, but I usually do,” he shrugged, sipping his drink. “So this makes up for it.”
Still, you leaned back in your chair, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you let the idea settle.
Something simple. Something that would pull Jay out of whatever fog he was in and back into the version of himself he only ever seemed to be around you.
Maybe Heeseung was right. Maybe it wasn’t about fixing anything. Maybe it was about reminding him that he was loved.
–
You sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows resting on your knees, hands fidgeting with the sleeve of your hoodie. Jay was upstairs grabbing something, his keys maybe, or a jacket, or just taking forever like he always did. You’d planned everything with Jungwon and Heeseung down to the detail. A quiet dinner at your place. His favourite food, his favourite people, and a homemade banner Jungwon insisted on duct-taping across your kitchen ceiling.
You tapped your feet against the floor, eyes flicking between the staircase and the coffee table in front of you.
“Oh—hey!”
You hadn’t expected to run into his mom.
She came out from the hallway with a small stack of neatly folded towels, pausing slightly when she saw you there. Then her face relaxed into a smile, almost like the kind you couldn’t quite read.
“Oh, you’re here early,” she said lightly, crossing into the living room. “Jong’s still upstairs?”
You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Said he’d just be a minute.”
She set the towels down on the armchair, smoothing one absent-mindedly. “How have you been? It feels like I haven’t seen you properly in ages.”
You stiffened slightly. Not out of rudeness. Just… because you never knew how to be around her anymore. Not since that night.
Still, you tried to keep your voice even. “I’ve been okay. School’s been a little hectic.”
“Mmm, I remember those days,” she said fondly. “So much pressure to figure everything out. Especially now.”
She gave you a knowing look, and you tried to return it, even though your stomach twisted.
A moment of silence passed. You glanced down at your hands.
“I really haven’t seen you around much,” she added gently, “Not even for dinner.”
You gave a small shrug. “I’ve just been… busy.”
Her gaze flicked to the corner of the room, almost like she wanted to say more. But then she smiled again, too quickly.
“I’m actually waiting for a delivery,” she said, as if to fill the quiet. “Should be arriving soon.”
“Oh?” you said, seizing the normalcy in her tone. “Something exciting?”
She waved a hand. “Just a new luggage set.”
Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Ooh, another vacation, Mrs. Park?”
She laughed softly. “Oh, no, not for me. It’s for Jay, we’re giving it to him before he goes to Oxford.”
And just like that, the world stopped.
The words didn’t even sound dramatic. Just a casual statement, something said mid-sentence, in passing.
But your brain latched onto it like it was the only thing that mattered.
Your mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.
Oxford…
Oxford?
Jay was going to Oxford.
Your chest constricted. “Oxford?” you repeated, and you hated how your voice sounded small and uncertain.
Mrs. Park blinked, like she was only just realizing what she said. “Oh… oh, didn’t he tell you?”
Your heart dropped.
Your ears started to ring.
“He’s been accepted for early enrolment,” she continued, her smile faltering just slightly. “We’ve been sorting everything out this week. He’ll finish his last semester online and leave by the end of next month.”
End of next month.
That was four weeks.
Four weeks.
Four weeks left with Jay, and he hadn’t said a word.
“I thought you knew,” she said gently. “I’m so sorry, I assumed—”
But you didn’t hear the rest.
You could barely hear anything past the blood rushing in your ears. Your throat tightened. The lump rising felt sharp, like glass.
You nodded. Or at least you think you did. Some vague, stiff movement that looked enough like understanding to make her stop talking.
Upstairs, you heard Jay’s door creak open. His voice called out, cheerful and completely unaware.
“You ready?”
You stood up too fast, your legs unsteady. The smile you threw on felt like someone else’s.
Because right now, your heart was already cracking.
And he didn’t even know yet.
–
Jay was finally driving you. In his new car.
It was sleek, glossy black, still smelling faintly of showroom leather. The dashboard glowed with lights, the music system softly playing an instrumental track you barely registered. You’d never ridden in a car with him driving before. A month ago, that would’ve made you tease him endlessly, maybe fake a scream when he made a sharp turn, joke that your life was in his hands now. He would’ve laughed, reached over to pinch your knee, and said something stupid like, "Relax, I got my license in one try."
But now, you just sat there… quiet.
Your hands stayed clamped in your lap, fingers twisting into each other until you found the skin along your thumb and picked. You pulled. Peeled the hangnail until a thin trail of red welled up against your nail bed. You rubbed it away quickly with the sleeve of your hoodie.
Jay’s eyes flicked over from the road. Then back. Then again.
“You okay?” he asked carefully, hands still gripping the wheel. “You haven’t said a word since we left.”
You nodded. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. Because how could you?
How could you turn to him and ask ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ How could you ask ‘Was I supposed to find out from your mom? Like a stranger?’
You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry and beat your fists against the dashboard and shake the truth out of him.
“Baby?”
His voice pulled you out of your spiral. Your head snapped up.
“Huh?”
Jay glanced over again. “Something’s clearly going on.”
“I’m fine,” you muttered, your voice too tight to be convincing.
He didn’t buy it. “Is this because I’ve been acting weird? I swear it’s all good now. I’m good.”
You shook your head and tried to laugh, but the sound came out cracked and hollow. “No, no. I just—”
Jay gave you a look. “Now I know you’re lying. You’re not about to pass that off as your real laugh.”
“I guess I’m just… worried, that’s all,” you said, brushing a loose thread off your jeans.
Jay’s brows knit. “Worried about what?”
You stared out the window, watching the blur of trees and apartment buildings pass. Your voice dropped. “The future.”
He didn’t press.
He turned onto your street, easing the car to a slow stop right outside your house. The engine purred into silence, but the tension between you roared. Still, you didn’t move. You didn’t speak.
He waited, hoping, maybe, that you’d open up. That you’d say something. But you didn’t. You just shrugged, gave him a vague “I guess,” and unbuckled your seatbelt like the conversation had ended.
The car locks clicked open.
You were already halfway out the door.
Jay cursed softly under his breath and slammed his door shut a second later, jogging after you. You’d unlocked your front door with shaky fingers and were about to step in when he caught up.
“You’re mad,” he said from behind you.
“I’m not mad.”
“Yes, you are.” His voice was tense now. “Baby, c’mon, did… did I do something? I’m sorry. I really am.”
You stopped in the hallway. Still didn’t turn.
Your heart thudded in your chest, hard and loud. You didn’t want to look at him because you knew that if you did, you knew everything would fall apart. You’d been holding it together and he was tugging on the last thread without even knowing it.
But it was the way he apologised, when he didn’t even know what for, that did it.
You turned.
Your eyes were red. Not just teary, bloodshot, swollen, like you hadn’t slept in days. You weren’t crying yet, but your expression… it was wrecked. Like someone trying to hold back a flood that had already started leaking.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered.
Jay froze. He looked at you like you’d just split him open.
“Tell you what?” he asked softly, though the dread was already sinking into his eyes.
“That you were going.”
Jay’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
And then the pain hit again, your words echoing off the hallway walls, hanging between you like smoke.
“I…” He tried. God, he tried.
But the words didn’t come.
Because how could he explain it? How could he say, ‘I didn’t want to see this look on your face?’ How could he say, ‘I tried fighting for us but it wasn’t enough?’
You shook your head slowly. “You were going to leave without telling me.”
“No,” he said quickly. “No, it wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it?”
Jay stepped closer, voice trembling now. “I didn’t want to lie. I just… I kept waiting for the right time. But every time I saw you, I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to see you look at me like I was already gone.”
“But you are,” you choked out. “Aren’t you?”
His face crumpled.
“I didn’t choose this.”
“Not telling me was a choice. Your choice.”
Jay dragged a hand down his face, chest rising with shallow breaths. He looked older in that moment.
“I tried to stay. I told my dad I didn’t want to go. I told him this—” he gestured between the two of you, eyes glassy, “you — this is what matters to me. But he didn’t care. He never does.”
Your lip trembled, but you held it. “Then you should’ve told me.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”
He took another step. Close enough to touch now, but he didn’t. Not yet.
“I was scared you’d hate me.”
You looked up at him then and for the first time, he saw it all: the betrayal, the grief, the love.
“I don’t hate you,” you said, voice breaking. “I just didn’t want to be the last to know you were leaving.”
Jay’s breath hitched. His shoulders dropped.
“I’m not trying to leave you,” he said, so quietly it almost sounded like a plea. “They’re just making me go. Please.”
You didn’t answer. Your throat was too tight.
He stepped forward, slowly, gently cupping your face with both hands.
“You’re the only thing I don’t want to leave behind.”
And this time, when the tears came, you didn’t stop them.
Your face crumpled as you collapsed into his chest, your arms wrapping tightly around his middle like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go. Jay held you immediately, his hands splaying across your back, his cheek resting against the top of your head. .
“I’m not leaving,” he said suddenly, the words tumbling out in a single breath.
You blinked up at him through wet lashes. “What?”
“I’m not leaving,” he repeated, more firmly now. “I never wanted to go. I’m not going. I’m staying.”
You pulled back slightly, brows furrowing. “Jongseong… you can’t just up and ignore your parents—”
“I’m not ignoring them,” he cut in, “I’m just finally standing up for myself. Look. I don’t even want to go. If I’m not allowed to make my own choices about my own future, then what am I? A puppet?”
“Jong…”
“God, I love them,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated but honest. “I love my parents so much. But if they truly give a shit then they’ll just have to respect me enough to let me make my own decisions. They can’t keep deciding my life for me and call it parenting because it’s not.”
You hesitated. “Jong, you’re not doing this solely for me, are you?”
Jay sighed.
“I’ll admit that a huge part of me wants to stay because of you,” he said, not flinching. “Of course I do. But it’s not just that.”
He stepped back slightly, just enough to look you in the eye. “I don’t want to be living somewhere where I don't know anyone. I don’t want to start over. I don’t want to wake up in a city that doesn’t have you, Hee, or Won. And c’mon, there are good schools here — great ones, even. I can still make something of myself without crossing an ocean for a name, all while being here…with you.”
You searched his face, your chest tight.
“But your dad—”
“Can live with my decision,” Jay said, quiet but certain. “I’ve been pretending I could live with this, but I can’t. Not anymore.”
He took your hands, thumbs brushing over your still-shaking fingers.
“I’m happier when I’m with you,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “When I’m here. With you guys. Near the people who make me feel like I’m already enough.”
You swallowed hard. His grip tightened.
“I’m not giving that up for a future that doesn’t even feel like mine. So please…don’t make me go.”
You breathed, like you’d been holding it in, “Okay.”
He sighed like the weight pressing on his chest had finally loosened.
And then he kissed you.
There was no hesitation, no inch of space left between you. It wasn’t delicate or careful, it was immediate, all heat.
His hands slipped from yours and rose to cradle your face, palms warm against your cheeks, thumbs brushing the corners of your mouth like he needed to feel you. His lips crashed into yours.
Your breath hitched in your throat. You leaned into him instinctively, your hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. His nose brushed against yours, his lips parting against your bottom lip, tasting the salt of your tears.
It wasn’t perfect. It was messy, and rushed, and aching. His mouth trembled just a little when he kissed you. Jay’s thumb traced along your jaw, slow and reverent, while his other hand slid behind your neck.
Your knees felt weak. Your lungs burned. But none of that mattered. Because he was kissing you.
“So… like, uh… do we come out now or…?”
You and Jay froze.
From behind the sofa, Jungwon slowly popped his head out, holding a cake with “Stop Being Sad!” scrawled messily across the top in blue icing. Heeseung followed a beat later, scratching the back of his neck.
“We could, like… pretend we aren’t here,” Heeseung muttered, glancing down at the cake as if he suddenly regretted every life choice that led him to this moment.
You and Jay instinctively pulled apart, both of you flushed and teary-eyed, your breaths still uneven. It wasn’t exactly how you wanted to be seen.
Jungwon winced at the sight of you two. “Uh. Sorry? We were gonna jump out and yell surprise, but like… then you guys were fighting then the next thing we knew you were kissing so–”
Jay dragged a hand down his face with a low groan. “Oh my god. What are you guys even doing here?”
“We were going to throw a surprise feel-better party,” Heeseung said flatly, lifting a plastic bag of takeout containers, “but if I’m being honest, I think we're the ones more surprised.”
Heeseung sighed before continuing, “We even brought your favorite food. Well… kinda. I think Jungwon ate half the fries while we were waiting.”
Jay didn’t say anything. Just let out a slow breath and sank into the sofa, his body folding inward like something was caving in. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. His thumbs rubbed together, a nervous habit. One you’d seen since you were kids.
But Jay didn’t look at anyone.
His eyes were fixed on the floor, staring through it.
You watched him from across the room, your own shoulders still tense, fingers curled around the frayed edge of your hoodie sleeve. He hadn’t said much since the kiss. Since the apology. Since he told you he was staying. And now, sitting there in your living room, he looked smaller somehow.
He was staying. But that decision came with consequences and Jay knew exactly who he had to face next.
The thought of confronting his father made his chest tighten. Not just in fear but in something closer to shame. Not because he regretted his choice. But because he knew what that choice would cost him. What it had always cost him.
The memory came back before he could stop it. A flicker of a younger version of himself, standing in the marble foyer of his family’s house, backpack still on, heart pounding after sneaking back in too late. His father’s voice slicing through the silence. “You skipped prep school?” His tone wasn’t surprised. It was more like disappointment. And then the yelling came and it didn’t stop. Not till three hours later.
But all Jay could remember was the way your face had looked earlier that day, eyes wide and glowing under a canopy of fairy lights at the amusement park. The way your hand had never let go of his. How you’d smiled like the whole world had finally opened up for you. And how, just for that one afternoon, he didn’t care about anything. He just wanted you to feel like someone had chosen you.
And now, he was choosing you again.
Except this time, he had no idea how to explain that to the man who had spent his whole life choosing everything for him.
The room had gone quiet, heavy with the things no one wanted to say aloud.
Jungwon, seated cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, glanced up and studied Jay’s profile for a moment. Then, gently, he asked, “Thinking about how you wanna talk to your dad?”
Jay’s jaw tightened. He nodded once, not looking up. “Yep.” The word left his mouth flat, clipped, like he didn’t trust himself to say anything more.
He leaned in further, pressing his hands together, elbows braced against his thighs. His voice dropped to a murmur. “I don’t even know how to start. It’s like… the moment I stand in front of him, I’m twelve again.”
You moved before you could stop yourself.
Quietly, you crossed the room and eased down beside him on the sofa. The cushion dipped beneath your weight, your knee brushing his. His shoulders didn’t flinch, but they didn’t relax either.
You slipped your hand into his.
Jay blinked. Looked down at your fingers curled around his.
And when you spoke, your voice was soft. “Do you want me to be there?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he stared at your joined hands, breathing slowly through his nose like he was trying to think. But you could see the shift. The hesitation that made your stomach turn.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Your brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”
Jay let go of your hand slowly. He rubbed his palm against his jeans and sat back slightly, like creating space might help him form the words he was scared to say.
“I just… I think it might be easier if I go alone,” he said. “He’ll be less... intense. If it’s just me.”
You frowned. “Jay.”
He didn’t look at you.
“That’s not the real reason, is it?”
Jay shut his eyes, jaw clenched. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. “No. It’s not.”
“Then what?” you asked, barely above a whisper.
He hesitated. Again. And when he finally spoke, it was carefull.
“He just… doesn’t understand,” Jay said slowly. “Why I want to stay. Why that matters more than prestige or legacy or whatever. And bringing you into that conversation might just… complicate things. He’s upset. It’ll pass.”
But you heard it.
The way he didn’t say it.
You sat back slightly, looking at him now, “Complicate things,” you repeated.
Jay nodded faintly.
You stared at him for a moment, piecing it together. And then your voice came out flat. “You mean to say... they don’t think I belong in your world.”
Jay’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “No. Those aren’t my words. I’d never—”
“But they’re his,” you said softly. Not accusatory. Just… hurt.
Jay’s voice broke as he reached for you again. “I…I don’t agree with anything they’re saying.”
But the words, even as warm and trembling and full of love as they were, couldn’t take back what you already knew.
You blinked hard.
“It’s funny…I really thought they liked me,” you said, more to yourself than him. “I really did. I thought I was like family.”
“You are. To me, you always have been.”
But that wasn’t the same.
You looked down at your lap, your fingers now curled in on themselves. “So all this time… they just smiled at me and still thought I wasn’t enough.”
Jay’s hands fell to his sides. His voice cracked. “It’s not about you—”
“It is, though,” you whispered. “That’s exactly what it is.”
He didn’t argue. Because he knew. And you knew he knew.
You looked down at your lap, your fingers now curled in on themselves. “So all this time… they just smiled at me and still thought I wasn’t enough.”
Jay’s hands fell uselessly to his sides. His voice cracked, almost a whisper. “It’s not about you—”
“It is, though,” you said, quieter now. “That’s exactly what it is.”
No one spoke.
Not you, not Jay and not Jungwon or Heeseung, who had been silently sitting off to the side, exchanging hesitant glances as if trying to gauge whether they should stay or disappear. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was heavy.
Then, slowly, you stood up.
“Thanks for coming, guys,” you said, your voice strained but steady. “I just… I think I need some time alone.”
Jungwon blinked, rising immediately without protest. “Of course,” he said gently, grabbing his jacket.
“Take all the time you need,” Heeseung added, pulling Jungwon by the arm, guiding him out of the room.
And just like that, it was only you and Jay.
He hadn’t moved. But his eyes never left you, still wide, still searching, like he was waiting for some version of you to reach back out and say this wasn’t real. That you didn’t mean it.
You exhaled sharply, hugging your arms across your chest. “Jong, I need time. Alone.”
He rose to his feet, almost stumbling forward. “I can’t possibly leave you alone with all these thoughts—”
“With what thoughts?” you snapped, voice wobbling. “That your parents think I’m not good enough for you?”
Your throat tightened as tears welled up again, threatening to fall. “For the record, Jay, I’m precious to other people too.”
And that cracked something in him.
Jay’s breath caught in his chest as he watched you fall apart in front of him.
He couldn’t speak. He should’ve swallowed his fear. Should’ve protected you better. But instead, here you were, crumbling under the weight of his parents’ ignorance and all he could do was watch it happen.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
You were already shaking your head. “Jay, they’re right,” you said, your voice cracking as tears spilled down your cheeks. “I’m crying because they’re right.”
“No,” he said quickly, stepping closer.
“They’re not—”
“Look at us!” you cut in. “From the moment we got together till now, we’ve been fighting over the same thing. Me and you. We don’t belong in the same world. And you know it.”
Jay flinched.
You took a breath but it came out in pieces. “What’s gonna happen in the future, huh? When you’re out there doing all these big world things and I’m just… I’m just stuck. Working at a stupid kids’ playground, scraping money together just so I can go out with my friends like a normal person?”
You couldn’t breathe between sentences now. It was all tumbling out, everything you’d been burying deep inside.
“No,” he muttered under his breath. Then louder, “Enough.”
You startled at the sharpness in his voice.
“That’s enough,” he said again, stepping forward in two long strides before pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you so tightly. “Stop. Please,” he whispered against your hair. “Just stop.”
You didn’t fight it. You were too tired. Too worn. You just stood there, pressed against him, your hands balled.
“I love you,” Jay said suddenly, voice rough. “I fucking love you. How can you even say that? That you’re not enough?”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face now, his forehead pressed to yours.
“I don’t care about status. I don’t care what my parents built. I don’t care about any of it. The only thing I care about is you.”
His chest rose and fell too fast, like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.
“I spend day and night thinking only about you. I always think about you. Dreaming that someday, I’ll get to wake up next to you and not have to keep it a secret. That I can walk out into the world and tell everyone that you’re mine. That I chose you. Over everything.”
You didn’t speak, didn’t move. Your heart felt like it was breaking and being stitched back together at the same time.
“I don’t care where we live,” he said fiercely. “I don’t care if it’s some shabby motel room or a one-room apartment over a laundromat. I just care that you’re there. Right beside me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
His voice softened, cracked down the middle.
“If my mom and dad can’t see that? Then fine. Whatever. Let them be blind. Because… the only thing I’ve ever really wanted, the only thing that’s ever mattered, is this.”
He gripped your face tighter, thumbs brushing your tear-streaked cheeks. “Us. Our relationship. You.”
Your chest shook with the sob you hadn’t meant to let out.
And this time, when you collapsed into him, it wasn’t from sadness.
It was from the unbearable weight of being unconditionally loved.
–
Jay’s house had always been intimidating in a quiet, understated way not because it was large or lavish (although it was), but because of the tension that wafted it in the air. A kind of coldness that never really went away, even when his mom was smiling or his dad was out of town. You felt it now more than ever as you stood in the hallway outside his father’s office, the sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor echoing louder than you wanted it to.
You were in a pretty little dress, nothing flashy, just enough to look presentable. Your hair was done in a half ponytail, neat and soft, something you’d fixed just before you came even though you knew it wouldn’t change anything. Jay had decided to bring you with him. After everything, the two of you had spent the night talking, curled up together on your couch, deciding that no matter what happened in that room, you would walk out together.
Even if that meant Jay leaving with three suitcases and no home to return to.
When the heavy double doors to the office opened, thunder cracked outside, almost like the sky itself was warning you. Jay flinched. So did you. But still, he stepped in first, fingers tightly curled around yours, and you followed behind him into the room.
His father sat behind his massive mahogany desk, posture straight, glasses perched low on his nose, the blue light from his laptop casting sharp shadows across his face. He looked like any other wealthy middle-aged man, if you were being honest, if you didn’t know better, you’d never guess how much power his voice held over Jay. How that man could reduce him to something so small with a few words.
“Close the door,” his father said without looking up.
Jay obeyed wordlessly. The soft click of the door shutting made your heart pound louder in your ears.
The silence was unbearable. The only sounds in the room were the quiet clack of his father’s typing, the occasional pop from the crackling fire in the fireplace, and the rush of blood in your ears. You could feel Jay’s hand trembling in yours as he led you closer toward the desk.
His mother sat just to the side in one of the leather armchairs, perfectly composed. She looked at your joined hands, then up at you both. Her expression was unreadable, but when she exhaled, you caught the faintest trace of defeat in it.
Jay stopped just a step short of the desk. You could feel the tension in his body, the rigid line of his shoulders, the way he shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other like he was grounding himself.
He cleared his throat.
“I’m not going.”
The typing stopped.
The silence that followed was louder than anything else that had come before it. His father slowly closed the laptop, fingers steepled over it as he raised his head. And then, he smiled.
Not a kind smile. Not even a confused one.
It was the kind of smile you gave when you thought someone was playing a prank on you. Condescending. Amused, but in that way that made you feel small.
“Not going?” he repeated, voice low but laced with ice. He leaned back in his chair. “And who exactly made that decision?”
Jay’s grip on your hand tightened.
“I did,” he said, voice steady but strained. “Because it’s my life.”
There was a moment where the room stood still.
Then came the slam.
THWACK.
His father’s palm hit the desk with a force that made you flinch and Jay instinctively step a little in front of you.
His dad’s face darkened, his voice rising now. “You did?” he echoed. “You decided to throw away Oxford. Throw away everything we’ve worked for. Everything I’ve sacrificed for this family. For what? Her?”
Jay didn’t respond.
His father’s eyes flicked to you, cold and sharp. You tried not to shrink under it, but it was hard, your chest felt like it was caving in on itself. He continued, now addressing his son with pointed disgust. “I always knew you were impulsive, but I didn’t think you were stupid. Do you understand what you’re giving up?”
Jay stayed still. Then slowly, he nodded.
“I do,” he said softly. “And I’m still not going.”
His dad scoffed, jaw tightening. “This isn’t just about you. This is about our name. Our reputation. Do you think you can waltz out of this house and pretend like your choices don’t affect the rest of us? Do you think—”
Jay stepped forward then.
“I’m not pretending. I know they affect you. But this—” he motioned between you and him, “this affects me too. And for once, I’m choosing the life I want to live.”
You could feel your lungs struggle for air.
Jay’s mom shifted in her seat, something soft flickering across her face. Her eyes moved back to the two of you, and this time, it lingered.
His dad rose to his feet.
“Then you can pack your things,” he said coldly. “And leave.”
Jay didn’t say a word. He just grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the office like the walls themselves were going to swallow him whole if he didn’t move fast enough. The last glimpse you caught before the door shut was his father, still standing, his expression unreadable save for the sharp stare he gave you and his mother, her eyes lingering on you.
Then you were in his room. The room you’d spent so many years in. The room where you studied on the floor for hours, where you once fell asleep watching movies with your legs tangled together. But now, it felt different. Felt almost unfamiliar despite the million times you’ve been in there.
Jay was moving fast, throwing open his wardrobe doors, yanking shirts and jackets off hangers, pulling drawers open and emptying clothes into an open suitcase. It was all happening so fast you could barely process it. You stood there, frozen by the door, the click of the doorknob behind you still echoing in your ears.
You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. Your limbs were locked in place like your body had gone into shock. Guilt rose steadily in your chest, thick and choking.
“Baby…” your voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t think… shouldn’t we talk? Shouldn’t there be more to it than just this?”
Jay didn’t stop packing. He only glanced at you briefly, his eyes hard, lips set. “Talk about what?” he said sharply. “They’re never going to listen.”
You walked over to him slowly, your hand reaching for his arm, grounding yourself. “I just… I don’t want to be the reason you stop talking to your family. This is heavy, Jay. This burden—it’s heavy as hell.” Your voice cracked near the end, and you hated it. Hated how weak you sounded. Hated how helpless this all felt.
Jay finally paused, his shoulders still heaving with frustration. He turned to you, placed both hands gently on your shoulders, thumbs brushing your skin as if that alone could reassure you. His voice dropped, low and tender, full of a kind of pain that was older than this moment.
“Baby, this isn’t about them right now. It’s about me. About trying to live my own life. I’m so tired of living a version of me that only exists to please them. I’ve been the perfect son for years, and now…” His hands tightened, eyes boring into yours. “Now I’m just trying to take my life back.”
You looked up at him for a long second, your breath caught in your chest, and then you slowly nodded. Wordlessly, you stepped beside him and knelt, beginning to fold the wrinkled clothes he had shoved into his suitcase. You couldn’t fix anything, not really, but you could help him pack.
He watched you for a moment. The way your eyes were lowered, expression unreadable. Guilt settled heavy in his stomach. He knew you were hurting not because of something you did, but simply because of who you were. And how his family had decided that was somehow… not enough.
Then he felt it.
Eyes on him.
Jay turned toward the door.
His mother stood there, a hand still clutched lightly against the frame, her face soft and wet with tears. Her gaze flickered from him to you, back again. “Jong…” she said, her voice cracking. “Don’t go.”
His heart squeezed. God, he’d always had a soft spot for her. For the way she brushed the hair from his eyes when he was sick, for the quiet way she defended him during family dinners. She loved him and he knew that. But when it came to standing up to his father, she never stood a chance.
“Mom…” he said, his voice breaking.
“Jong, please,” she whispered again.
He looked down. Then at you. You stood slowly now, standing behind him, your hands twisted tightly together, fingers fidgeting in a desperate attempt to stay grounded.
Jay swallowed hard. “I’m not going,” he said, barely more than a breath. “And if it’s too much for you or Dad to handle, then I’ll leave.”
His mother stepped into the room, shaking her head, eyes red. “I tried talking to your father—”
“He’s not going to change his mind, Mom.”
“He can. We can try.”
Jay let out a bitter laugh, short and sharp. “I’ve been trying. For years. And nothing’s ever budged.”
She stepped closer, voice pleading now. “What if you went? Just for now? You could visit every few months—”
“Because I don’t want to!” Jay’s voice rose, his frustration boiling over, his fists clenched at his sides. “The love of my life is here. I want to be here. My friends are here. You’re here. I don’t want to go somewhere where I don’t know anyone, where I have to pretend like I’m someone I’m not.”
He was crying now. A mess of breathless anger and heartbreak. He looked at his mom, desperate for her to see him. To see you.
“You used to tell me stories, remember?” he said, voice trembling. “How Dad courted you for three years. How you didn’t even like him at first, but he waited. You told me about your love story growing up. And now what? I don’t get to have one?”
His voice broke completely.
“I’m in love with her, Mom,” he whispered, his hand reaching behind to find yours again. “And I can’t let you or Dad take her away from me.”
The door slammed open with a violent crack, bouncing off the wall behind it. You jumped, your breath caught in your throat as Jay instinctively turned, stepping back to shield you behind him.
His father stood in the doorway, tall and unmoving. His expression was unreadable.
Jay stiffened in front of you, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides as he positioned himself like a barrier. He didn’t say anything. Neither did you. It was like the two of you were back in school, caught sneaking out past curfew, facing down a teacher.
“You’re comparing whatever you have with her to the story of your mother and me,” his father said, his voice calm but sharp, every syllable slicing through the room like glass. “So tell me, Jongseong. What makes you so sure she’s the one?”
Jay blinked. “What?”
The question caught him off guard. Of all the things his father could’ve said… that wasn’t it.
His father took a slow step forward, hands still tucked neatly into his pockets. “You’re willing to give up your education. Your future. Everything your mother and I worked for. You’re willing to throw it all away for her.” He didn’t look at you when he said it, only at Jay. “So explain to me. What makes you think the two of you are so special? What makes you believe this is real? That it’s not just some immature, irresponsible decision for a—” his voice dipped, “—a passing fling.”
You felt the breath leave your lungs.
Jay’s shoulders tightened in front of you, his jaw clenching so tightly you could see the muscles twitch. He didn’t move at first. Just stood there.
You swallowed hard, your eyes locked on the back of Jay’s hoodie, your fingers trembling at your sides.
Jay turned slowly, just enough to glance back at you. His eyes met yours for the briefest second.
He looked back at his father, drawing a breath.
“I know,” Jay said, voice steady, though it cracked faintly at the edges. “I know because I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. I’ve never fought this hard for anything before. And it’s not a fling. It’s her. It’s always been her.”
His father raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And that’s supposed to be enough? A feeling?”
“No,” Jay replied, firmer now. “It’s not just a feeling. It’s the fact that I see my entire life with her. Not just today. Not just tomorrow. All of it. I don’t care if we’re rich or broke or living in a shoebox apartment. I want her there with me. I want to wake up next to her, argue with her over dumb things, bring her coffee when she’s tired, learn how to braid our daughter’s hair if we ever have one…that’s how sure I am.”
You blinked, your heart thudding so hard it hurt.
Jay stepped forward, his voice rising slightly. “You want to know what makes this real? It’s that when I think about what makes me feel safe, what makes me feel like I have a home, it’s her. Not a country, not a job, not a title. It’s her.”
He turned and reached for your hand again, threading your fingers through his, holding you tightly like he was afraid the world might tear you away at any moment.
“And if you can’t see that,” Jay said, looking directly into his father’s eyes now, “then maybe it’s not me who’s being reckless. Maybe it’s you for thinking love has to come with a some sort of societal hierarchy.”
The room fell silent again.
Jay’s father didn’t move. His face didn’t change.
“Then so be it,” he said.
Jay stiffened, not expecting him to fold, at least not like this.
“I expect three schools you’re planning to apply to. On my desk. Monday morning.” His gaze flicked between the two of you, briefly, unreadable. “Top three in the country. Or you’re going to Oxford. That’s the deal.”
And just like that, he turned and left.
The sound of his shoes against the hardwood echoed down the hall. The door clicked shut behind him.
You turned slowly to Jay, still gripping his hand, still trying to find your footing.
His eyes were locked on the door his father had disappeared behind. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move.
You gently brushed your thumb against the back of his hand. “Jong?”
He blinked, once. Then again. And finally turned to look at you.
“He didn’t say no,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “He didn’t… shut the door.”
“No,” you said softly, stepping closer. “He didn’t.”
Jay nodded slowly, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders. Not completely.
Because this wasn’t a win.
But it wasn’t a loss either.
–
Things at home were still tense. No one had said much since the confrontation. His dad mostly kept to himself. His mom cooked in silence. Meals were eaten quickly and apart. It felt like everyone was walking on glass, afraid one wrong step would crack it all open again.
You were at Jay’s place, waiting for your mom to finish work so she could swing by and pick you up. The rain had just stopped outside, leaving the windows streaked with droplets, a quiet stillness hanging in the air like the whole world was holding its breath.
You were both sitting cross-legged on his bed, half under the covers, half sprawled out with glossy brochures scattered between the pillows and across the floor. Jay was holding one upside down, dramatically squinting at it.
“Do you think they give scholarships for people who have a traumatic past?” you asked, grinning.
He scoffed. “Please. I deserve a full ride just for surviving my father.”
You laughed, nudging his arm. He retaliated by leaning in, pressing a teasing kiss to your temple, then one to your nose, and then your lips, just a light brush, slow and sweet.
“You’re distracting me,” you mumbled against his mouth.
“Mm,” he hummed, grinning. “Good.”
You rolled your eyes, about to swat his shoulder again when the door creaked open.
Both of you froze.
Jay’s mom stood at the doorway, a brochure in her hand, her expression unreadable. She cleared her throat gently. “How about this one?” she asked, her voice even.
You blinked. Jay sat up straighter. “Huh?”
She walked in and handed the brochure over, and as you took it, your fingers grazed hers. It was another local university, one that hadn’t been on either of your lists but was known and reputable. A place his father wouldn’t hate.
And then you understood.
She was helping. In her own way.
Your lips parted slightly.
Jay’s mom sat down beside you on the bed, smoothing her skirt down as she exhaled.
“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes flickering to yours. “For everything you’ve gone through these past few months. I wish you told me the truth. I wish you told me you and Jongseong were together. I would’ve fought harder for the both of you.”
Your throat tightened. You swallowed hard.
“But then again,” she continued, her voice lowering, “I was wrong. You heard what I said that day… about you not being in our world. And I was wrong for thinking that.”
She turned toward you more fully, her tone warm but earnest. “What Jong said was right. At the end of the day, we’re all just people. Status, names, connections… they shouldn’t matter. And I’m sorry I ever made you feel like they did.”
You nodded slowly, blinking through the sting in your eyes. You weren’t sure what to say, maybe because there was too much to say.
–
The sun was merciless, high above the stadium, baking the crowd in waves of heat and happiness. You were squinting into your mom’s phone camera, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jay, both of you dressed in identical deep navy cap and gowns.
Your mortarboard was already slightly crooked. Jay’s tassel kept swaying into his mouth.
“Mom,” you groaned, “that’s like the hundredth picture you’ve taken just today.”
Your mother didn’t even look up from her camera. “And?”
Mrs. Park, standing right beside her, chuckled warmly, nudging your mom like they were old best friends now which, frankly, they kind of always had been. “The two of you look so cute in your cap and gown,” she cooed. “We have to document this. For memory sake, c’mon!”
Jay groaned under his breath but smiled anyway. You rolled your eyes dramatically.
“A little kiss for the camera?” your mom added with a wink.
“Gross, Mom,” you muttered, already turning your head away.
Too late.
Jay took your chin gently and turned your face back toward him, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “I won’t say no to a free kiss,” he murmured, smug.
You shoved his chest lightly, but the laughter broke through before you could even pretend to be mad. “Ugh. You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Behind you, a familiar voice cut through. “Okay, lovebirds, let’s not forget who the actual valedictorian is.”
You turned just in time to see Jungwon walking up, cap perfectly straight, robe pressed to perfection, not a single wrinkle in sight.
And then, Heeseung who was trailing behind him, in a gown that looked like it had been stuffed into a bag.
The sleeves were slightly too short, the zipper was half-stuck, and it hung off one shoulder.
“I can’t believe my parents didn’t spring for a second gown,” Heeseung said, exasperated, lifting a loose sleeve. “I’m stuck wearing my brother’s ratty one from two years ago. I found a mint in the pocket. Unwrapped, by the way. I swear to God, he’s the filthiest creature on Earth.”
Jungwon didn’t even pause. “You look stupid.”
Heeseung blinked back at Jungwon, completely deadpan. “Thank you, Jungwon. As always, a pillar of encouragement.”
Jay snorted into his sleeve. You were already wheezing, clutching your side as the two of them launched into another round of sarcastic bickering that made you question how either of them made it to graduation.
“Oh…hold on,” Heeseung suddenly perked up, biting his lip and raising a brow. “Some girls from the junior classes just showed up to congratulate me.”
You rolled your eyes. Jay muttered, “Here we go…”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Heeseung said, already straightening his sad excuse of a gown, “Won, you’re coming with.”
Jungwon blinked. “And why the hell would I do that?”
“I need a wingman. Jay’s taken, and I need someone to distract the extras while I move in on the main event.”
“Stop talking,” Jungwon said immediately.
“C’mon, please?”
“Just stop talking and I’ll go.”
“Sweet. Let’s go,” Heeseung grinned, already dragging him away.
You and Jay watched them go.
“Are we… sure he graduated?” you asked.
“Honestly?” Jay shrugged. “A miracle.”
But then, a throat cleared.
You turned, laughter freezing in your throat.
Jay’s father stood a few feet away in a crisp suit, arms crossed, sunglasses pushed up on his head. He didn’t say a word right away. Just looked at the two of you, at Jay in his cap and gown, hand intertwined with yours.
Jay’s hand stiffened slightly in yours. You looked at him and caught the faintest flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
To be fair, since the Monday Jay had placed the list of his top university applications on his father’s desk and then got into those schools, no less, there hadn’t been much conversation. Just the occasional grunt, nod, or one-word answer. It wasn’t new. Jay never expected his father to be warm. He could live without it. Had done so for most of his life.
But right now, Jay held his breath.
His father stepped forward, slow but sure, gaze unreadable. You tightened your grip on Jay’s hand without realizing it.
He stopped in front of Jay. His eyes scanned him once then paused on the crumpled gown, the slightly crooked cap, and then your intertwined hands.
“Well,” he said, voice low. “You wore the cap properly.”
Jay blinked, unsure if that was a jab or a compliment. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
And then, Jay’s father reached out.
To you.
He adjusted the tassel on your cap, gently sweeping it from the left to the right side.
“You’ve graduated too,” he said, not looking at you directly, but something in his tone softer than before. “Should wear it properly.”
You didn’t move.
Then his father stepped back. He looked at Jay for a long beat, something tight in his jaw, but his voice steadier this time.
“You did good,” he said. “Better than expected.”
That was it.
Jay’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Because those few short words, that deadpan delivery, that subtle nod was his father’s way. And Jay knew, as frustrating and emotionally constipated as it was, that was as close as he’d ever get to hearing “I’m proud of you” out loud.
Before either of you could say anything, Mr. Park had already turned away, his footsteps slow and composed as he made his way through the crowd. He nodded at your mother and Mrs. Park in passing, the gesture polite.
Then, weaving through the field, he crossed paths with Heeseung who, at that moment, was mid–peace sign, tongue out, and clearly trying to impress a group of younger girls.
Mr. Park came to a halt. Looked him up. Then down.
“Fix your collar, boy,” he said in the most unimpressed tone known to man, “You look stupid.”
Heeseung blinked. He turned to Jungwon, stunned. You and Jay were already doubled over trying not to laugh.
A minute later, Heeseung made his way back to the two of you.
“Guys,” he said, eyes wide, “who was that and why was he mean?”
Jay rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, that’s… my dad.”
“Oh,” Heeseung said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, he seems lovely.”
“That’s because you’re an asshole,” Heeseung snapped.
You turned toward Jay, stifling your laugh behind your hand as Heeseung and Jungwon continued to bicker beside you.
Jay slipped his hand into yours giving it a gentle squeeze. His thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly, and when you glanced up, his gaze was already on you.
“Hard to believe we made it here,” he murmured.
You smiled, stepping closer until your forehead touched his. “Well… I kinda had a feeling we’d make it.”
“Weren’t you the same person who cried for two hours because you thought I was leaving?”
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
“Still… I would’ve chosen you,” he said quietly, just for you. “Even if it meant packing up and leaving with nothing but you.”
You leaned in, kissed him gently, then pulled back just enough to speak. “Lucky for you,” you said, your smile matching his, “I came with everything we need.”
“Okay, kids! Group photo!” Mrs. Park called out, already motioning for you, Jay, Heeseung, and Jungwon to squeeze together.
You groaned playfully, but there was no use resisting. Jay laced his fingers with yours and tugged you forward, Heeseung fixed his borrowed gown while Jungwon rolled his eyes and tried to smooth his already-perfect one.
“Closer!” your mom called, squinting at the screen. “Act like you like each other!”
Heeseung threw an arm over Jay’s shoulder. “That’s a big ask.”
“Oh, as if you’re any better.” Jungwon scoffed, flicking Heeseung’s forehead.
“Smile!” Mrs. Park added, then laughed. “Okay, last one and then we’ll go for dinner!”
The four of you leaned in, grinning wide for the camera. Jay’s hand slid to your waist and pulled you in, close and quick, pressing a kiss to your cheek just as the shutter clicked.
You squeaked in surprise, eyes wide, but the warmth on your face gave you away instantly.
“Now that’s burned into our graduation photo. Great,” Jungwon groaned.
“Unless… you want all of us to kiss you too?” Heeseung suggested, wiggling his brows.
Jungwon blinked. “No. I don’t really… I don’t want that.”
“Oh, come on,” you teased, already leaning in.
“Let’s do it,” Jay said, grinning.
Before Jungwon could escape, the three of you planted a kiss on his cheeks all at once.
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↳ Years after loss and war, Caleb returns to the village where love once bloomed, only to find the son he never knew and the grave of the woman he never stopped loving. In a quiet house filled with memories and unopened letters, he reads your final words and finds peace at last.
The cottage had gone quiet.
The kind of quiet that settles only when a child is asleep and the weight of grief has nowhere else to go but your lungs.
Caleb stood beside the bed, watching the soft rise and fall of his son's chest beneath the blanket. He looked so small in sleep. Smaller than he ever did awake. It struck Caleb then how little time ten years really was. A blink. A breath. And yet the boy already had your softness in the corners of his mouth, your stubbornness in the set of his chin, and something unspoken. Something his in the eyes that looked too much like his own.
He swallowed the knot in his throat and leaned down, pressing a kiss to Ash forehead. The boy stirred faintly, fingers curling into the worn fabric of his blanket and Caleb's hand lingered on the edge of it.
The box, that damn box sat unopened on the nightstand. Still shut tight. Still full of all the years he'd missed. Of all the things you must have tried to say in ink because you knew he might never come. And he couldn't bring himself to open it yet. Not tonight.
Tonight, he had somewhere else to go. So he stepped out into the cold. The wind rolled low through the trees, pulling at his cloak and stirring the lantern light like a memory that didn't want to be touched. But he walked, feet tracing a path he hadn't seen in years. And yet, his body remembered.
The tree was still there. Of course it was. Thick, knotted bark. Wide roots that twisted into the earth like the bones of something ancient and holy. The place where he'd kissed you the first time. The place where you made a promise he couldn't keep. And beneath it now, a stone.
He saw it from a distance and still... Still, his heart tried to lie.
Tried to pretend it was for someone else. That maybe it wasn't real. That maybe it was just a marker. Maybe this was just a nightmare. Maybe if he turned around right now and walked back to the cottage and he'll find you sitting by the fire. Maybe you'd look up at him with tired eyes and that dry smile and say 'Took you long enough, love.'
But the name was carved there. Your name. And once he saw it. Like really saw it. His legs gave out.
Caleb collapsed to the ground like the grief had cut his knees out from under him. Hands clawing at the dirt as he half fell, half crawled the last few steps. He reached out, fingertips trembling as they grazed the edge of the stone like maybe it would still be warm. Like maybe it could hold some trace of you if he just touched it gently enough.
It didn't. It was cold. Final. And he broke.
He didn't cry like a soldier. Not like a Duke. Not like the Commander of Crown's Guard forces. He cried like a man who had waited too long. Like someone who thought he still had time. Like someone who believed happy endings could just be postponed until the war was over.
His hands fisted in the grass. His breath hitched until it turned into sobs that sounded like someone dragging a blade across something already bleeding.
"I thought..." He choked, voice shattering mid word. "I thought it would be alright. That you'd be here." That you'd be waiting. Just like before. He pressed his forehead to the stone, chest heaving. "I was going to come back. I did. I fought, I ended the damn war-"
But the war had already taken you. Quietly. Without a blade. While he'd been spilling blood across foreign soil, you'd been fading. Alone.
"I should've come sooner" His voice broke again. "I should've never left." He cried. "I shouldn't have made that damn arrangement..." He didn't know how long he knelt there. He didn't know how long he cried there.
The moon had risen fully by the time the sobs quieted into a hollow silence, tears drying on his cheeks as he stared at the ground. The grave. The place where the only person he ever truly loved now slept, beyond reach.
The village lights were dim in the distance. And even though no one came near, he knew they heard him. He knew the way grief sounded when it wasn't polite anymore. When it tore out of you, loud, raw and humiliating. When it made you into something that no longer resembled a man. And they heard it.
But they shut their windows. Turned their faces away. Because no one wants to witness the man who once commanded armies. Who was said to be carved from stone, beg the dead for forgiveness.
The wind picked up, brushing through the leaves above like a lullaby too late. He stayed. Until the sky began to pale. Until the world reminded him it still turned. Even if his had stopped.
And when he finally rose, unsteady and broken. The only thing he took with him was a single dried bloom that had sprouted at the base of the stone. He held it in shaking fingers, cradled it like it was your heartbeat. And walked home to the son you left behind.
-
The scent of eggs and toasted bread clung to the quiet.
A pan sizzled lowly on the stovetop, and the kettle gave a faint hiss as it cooled beside him. Caleb stood at the stove, sleeves rolled past his forearms, hands steady even though he had barely slept. He moved with practiced familiarity, not from habit but memory.
The memory of you, in this same kitchen, moving between the cabinets barefoot and humming some half forgotten song. He tried not to look at the empty chair by the hearth. The one that still leaned a little to the left.
Instead, he focused on the task at hand. Cooking. Something simple, something warm. Something that might look like the life he was supposed to have if only for a few hours.
The soft patter of feet across the wooden floor pulled him gently from his thoughts. Ash stood at the threshold of the kitchen, his dark brown hair tousled from sleep, cheeks still creased with the shape of his pillow. There was no greeting. No yawn. No bright eyed curiosity. Just the still, unsettling stare of a child who had seen too much and said too little.
Caleb straightened slightly, brushing a hand down his apron like it mattered. "Morning." He offered, voice low, careful. "You hungry?" The boy said nothing, only moved slowly to the table and climbed into one of the chairs.
Caleb placed a plate in front of him, then one for himself. Eggs, lightly salted. Toast browned just a little too much. A small dish of berries. The ones Ash had picked with his friends in the grove just last week. Caleb had learned that from the headwoman. She doesn't want to tell him anything at first. But grief softened even the hardest lines.
He sat across from his son, watching as the boy stared at the food. "You don't have to eat it." Caleb murmured, trying not to sound nervous. "But I made it the way your mother used to." Ash blinked, then slowly reached for his fork. Still, no words. Just silence. Heavy and pulsing like a second heartbeat between them.
Caleb tried to eat. He managed two bites before the food began to taste like ash. He set the fork down carefully, fingers twitching in his lap. Then he cleared his throat, bracing himself against the chair's edge.
"I was thinking." He said, voice as even as he could make it. "That maybe… you might want to come with me. Back to the duchy." The fork paused halfway to Ash's mouth.
He looked up. Slow, unreadable and stared straight at Caleb with his eyes. "What if I say no?" Caleb met his gaze, trying not to flinch. "Then… I won't force you." He said. "But I wanted you to know the door's open." He added. "I'll stay here with-" Ash leaned back, chewing slowly. Then, quietly. "I'll go."
A rush of something. Relief? Hope? bloomed and then withered just as quickly in Caleb's chest. "But I have a condition." Caleb stilled. "Of course." "I won't call the princess my mother." Ash said flatly. "And I won't treat her like one. My mother is dead. She'll always be my mother."
The words hit like a blade. Caleb swallowed around the sudden tightness in his throat. "You won't have to." He said softly. "She's not- she never was. We were never married. It was a political arrangement. Nothing more." Ash didn't move. Didn't nod. His gaze was cool, distant.
"That's not what everyone else said." "I know." Caleb's voice dropped. "But the truth is... The only person I ever wanted to marry was your mother." There it was again, the flicker of disbelief in Ash's face. Not overt. Just a tightening of the jaw. A downward twitch in his brows.
You used to do that too, when you didn't believe something but were too tired to argue.
"I know it doesn't mean much now." Caleb continued, quieter. "But it's the truth. I never stopped loving her."
Ash didn't reply. He went back to his plate, taking a few more bites in silence. The weight of it. Of not being believed has settled in Caleb's chest like sand. He pushed back from the table after a while. Clearing some of the plates with a mumbled excuse. "I'll just- clean up."
But instead of heading to the kitchen, he headed to the small bathroom at the end of the hall. He shut the door behind him quietly, like if he made a sound, it would crack the fragile truce between them. And then he broke.
Silently, violently, with his back pressed against the door and his hand clenched over his mouth to stifle the sobs. His whole body shook with it.
Not just for the boy outside the door or the wife he never got to call that or the years lost to silence and war. But for the awful question that haunted him now.
Did you believe it? Did you spend your final days thinking he had chosen honor over you? Duty over love? Did you die thinking he let you go willingly?
His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, trembling. "I came back." He whispered, voice raw. "I swear I did. I just... I didn't know how much time I'd lost." He pressed his hand over his mouth again, trying to breathe.
In the other room, his son cleared the table quietly. And Caleb stayed where he was. Not just because he couldn't face him yet. But because he didn't know if he could survive the answer written in Ash's eyes.
-
Caleb didn't ask to join him. He just followed.
Ash didn't say much, didn’t offer directions. But he didn't tell him to go away either and that, in itself, felt like something. So Caleb walked three steps behind his son through the quiet village letting the boy's smaller boots set the rhythm of their day.
They stopped by the well first. Ash helped the older woman who always came too early and left too late, steadying her bucket without being asked. Caleb recognized her vaguely from years ago. She gave him a long, pointed stare but said nothing. The water sloshed once and Ash kept walking.
Next, they passed the small chapel at the edge of the hill. The priest sweeping the steps looked up sharply, paused mid motion and Caleb nodded politely.
Then came the bakery. A boy around Ash's age ran out and handed him a small bag. Ash muttered something too low to hear. Pressed a few coins into his friend's hand and kept walking, tearing off a piece of bread to share and only handing half to Caleb without a word. He accepted it with a quiet. "Thank you." And tried not to let the silence feel like punishment.
They continued down the lane. Caleb couldn't help but feel the stares. Villagers paused in their chores to glance over their shoulders. Conversations softened when he passed. He heard his name whispered once. Not Duke Xia, not the Commander. Just Caleb. The familiarity stung more than the suspicion.
He couldn't blame them. They had known you in ways he hadn't in seasons he had missed. They had watched you walk with swollen ankles and unspoken worry, raise a child with gentle hands and a quiet laugh, all while waiting. While hoping. And he hadn't come.
So now, they looked at him not with fear, or awe, but with something colder. You're too late. Ash didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't react.
He led Caleb to the riverside where the wildflowers grew. Sat cross legged beneath the tree. Caleb sat beside him, not too close. Just enough to be near. They didn't speak for a while. Just sat in the breeze and watched the water move.
It was peaceful, almost. Or it could have been, if not for the tension lingering in Caleb's chest. The weight of unsaid things, the dread that Ash might never truly forgive him and the deeper, quieter fear that maybe he shouldn't.
But Ash spoke first. "When are we leaving?" Caleb blinked. "Soon." He said. "I sent word to my army days ago. They should be near. Once they arrive and rest, we'll head out." Ash only nodded.
The sun was dipping low when the sound of hooves reached them. The unmistakable beat of trained horses, fast but disciplined. Caleb stood, instinct sharp, eyes scanning the road as familiar banners crested over the hill.
The army had arrived. And at their head rode a man Caleb trusted more than most, his first lieutenant, Sir Ryns, whose armor caught the dying light in silver glints. His expression shifted when he saw Caleb waiting by the road.
"My Lord." Ryns dismounted quickly, bowing once before speaking in a low voice. "We've arrived as ordered. The men are camped near the eastern ridge. We came straight when we received your last raven-" Then his gaze drifted past Caleb.
To the boy standing a little behind him, quiet and watchful. Ryns frowned. His eyes narrowed faintly, curious. "My Lord." He asked cautiously. "Is that…?" Caleb turned slightly. "Yes." He said without hesitation. "This is my son. Ash Xia."
There was a beat of silence. Many of the soldiers exchanged glances. Caleb saw confusion flicker in Ryns' eyes. Ash stood still, his hands in his coat pockets, his face blank but guarded. He looked like he expected the questions, maybe even the judgment.
One of the younger knights finally spoke, hesitant. "My Lord… Forgive me, but... We were told you came to this village to... See her. Is she-?" He didn't finish. The assumption hung in the air. You're alive, aren't you? Caleb's jaw clenched.
Ash looked up at the man and answered before his father could speak. "She's dead."
Silence fell. It wasn't a dramatic thing. There was no gasp, no collective outcry. Just a sharp shift like the wind had suddenly turned too cold. The soldiers' expressions changed. One by one, Caleb saw their eyes fall to him registering the tightness in his shoulders, the hollow in his face.
Only then did they truly see him. Not the Duke. Not the Commander. Just the man who had lost something he'd come too late to claim.
Caleb gave no explanation. There was nothing left to explain. He simply turned to Ryns. "We leave at dawn. Have a carriage prepared, one comfortable for a child. And make sure the escort is discreet. I don't want attention drawn on the road back." Ryns nodded, his voice quieter now. "Yes, my Lord."
The soldiers began to disperse, respectful in their silence. No one dared ask more. Caleb looked down at Ash, who still hadn't moved. For a brief second, their eyes met. Neither of them said a word.
But Caleb saw it. The question buried behind the boy's quiet stare. Why now. And though he couldn't answer it yet, he would spend every day trying to.
-
The carriage rocked gently over the dirt road. Its wheels cutting through the morning hush like a lullaby too tired to sing.
Outside, the house of Xia's banner trailed behind the lead riders. Catching what little breeze the early day allowed. The army rode in disciplined silence. A formation tight enough to shield but respectful enough to keep their distance. No one said anything. No one dared to intrude.
Inside the carriage, Caleb sat across from his son. He hadn't wanted to impose. Had considered assigning Ash a separate space. A smaller, lighter carriage fitted for comfort. But the thought of being even a stone's throw away from his boy made something inside him twist too tightly. So he stayed. And hoped it didn't make things worse.
Ash didn't complain. He didn't talk much either. He sat with his knees tucked close, arms loosely folded, gaze fixed on the passing trees. The morning sun painted his profile in soft gold. His silence wasn't hostile, not exactly. Just… Practiced. Like he'd learned to speak only when the world gave him a reason to.
Caleb watched him in the quiet. Noticed how his shoulders didn't quite relax. How his fingers picked absently at a loose thread in his sleeve. A nervous habit. One Caleb had once had himself.
Halfway through the ride, Ash finally spoke. "What are you going to do when we get there?" Caleb blinked. "To the duchy?" Ash gave a small nod. "Well." Caleb started slowly, choosing his words with care. "The first thing I'm going to do... Is declare you as my son."
Ash's brows lifted a fraction. Not in shock. More like he had expected it eventually, but hadn't thought Caleb would say it so plainly. "And then?" The boy asked, voice quiet. "Then." Caleb exhaled softly. "You'll live your life. However you want to. You'll have a room, a library, land if you want it. But mostly, I just want you to be a child. To grow up safe."
Ash tilted his head. "Don't I need lessons? Or etiquette stuff? Nobility things?" Caleb shook his head gently. "You'll have tutors, yes. But only the basics. No one is going to shove the whole court on your shoulders. I won't let them." He paused. "You've carried enough already."
Ash looked down at his lap. His fingers stilled. "… So I can just live?" "Yes." Caleb said firmly. "That's all I want for you." That's what you'll want for him too.
There was another stretch of silence, broken only by the soft clatter of the carriage wheels. Then Caleb smiled faintly and murmured. "Ash…" But the boy looked up. "Mavius." He corrected, tone neutral. "My name is Mavius Caelum Asher."
Caleb froze. The air left his lungs. He hadn't heard that such familiarity in years. Not since- He blinked once, twice, and looked at the boy more closely. Mavius. Caelum. Asher. "… You named him after her." Caleb whispered.
Ash didn't meet his eyes, just turned to look out the window again. "Yeah." He said, voice distant. "Mama said she named me after someone important. Someone you lost."
Caleb felt his throat tighten. He remembered now. MC, his little sister. Bright eyed, fever sick, too young to go. The necklace he had given you once had belonged to her. You had kept it, even then. Even when things were falling apart. You remembered. Of course you did.
He pressed a hand over his mouth. Told himself no. Not here. Not in front of the boy. But the tears came anyway. Slow and silent. He turned his face to the side, away from Ash, eyes shut tight against the sting.
He had told himself he had no tears left to shed. That he'd mourned enough for a lifetime. But then his son, your son, said that name. The name that came after hers. The grief returned like it had been waiting all along, patient and sharp.
Across from him, Ash said nothing. He didn't reach out. Didn't offer comfort.
He just stared out the window, his profile still and unreadable, as the Duke, the Commander of the Army, the man called a legend in five kingdoms quietly broke beside him.
Outside, the army rode in perfect formation. Inside, a father wept for the love he had lost... And the family he was only now learning how to hold.
-
They stopped in a modest trading town just near the duchy's border. One of the outer territories under Caleb's name, tucked between sloping hills and terraced farmlands. It was quiet but prosperous, the kind of place where news came late but pride came early.
Caleb thought it best to ease the transition here. To soften the sharp edges of what was coming. So he took Ash shopping.
It wasn't extravagant, not in Caleb's eyes. Just enough to ensure Ash had clothing suitable for court, for winter, for meals that didn't happen on wooden benches. But Ash moved through the shops with the same quiet expression he wore on the road. Unbothered, unexcited, composed in a way no child should’ve had to learn so early.
He let the tailor measure him. Nodded when shown fabrics. Said nothing when asked preferences. Caleb finally broke the silence. "I'm sorry." He said, standing beside Ash as a shopkeeper carefully adjusted a collar near the boy's shoulder. "About the suddenness. The change. I know it's a lot."
Ash didn't look at him, but his voice came out flat. "I'm used to change." Caleb's mouth went dry. He tried again. "I used to come here with your mother." He said quietly. "Before the war. Before… before the agreement. It was one of the few places we could go without anyone recognizing me." Ash blinked. Finally turned his head a little, just enough for Caleb to see him.
"She liked the old bookshop two streets down." Caleb added. "Used to complain that they never dusted the top shelves, then spend hours there anyway. I once had to drag her out with her hands and a whole bag of books she swore she'd return." He gave a soft, nostalgic chuckle. "She didn't."
Ash looked at him now, fully, and though his expression remained guarded, he asked. "Did she laugh a lot?" Caleb's breath caught. "She did." He said. "Gods, she did." And so he kept talking.
As they moved through the square and stopped by the cobbler and then a modest jeweler, Caleb told him stories. About the time you nearly got kicked out of a tavern for arguing with a chess hustler. About how you once braided a red ribbon into his hair and threatened to tell the barracks it was tradition if he took it out. About the stolen apples from a merchant's cart, the nights spent beneath a shared blanket, counting stars and whispering names for constellations that never existed.
Ash didn't speak much. But he listened. And for once, Caleb didn't mind the silence. Not when it felt like this, like remembering.
By the time the carriage rolled toward the duchy gates, the sun was beginning to dip behind the tall white towers that stood in the distance. The roads widened. The banners came into view.
And the people. They were waiting. The crowds lined the outer walls, nobles and commoners alike. Some carried flowers, others waved embroidered flags. There were children on shoulders, elders holding lanterns, merchants standing still in the middle of their trade stalls just to catch a glimpse.
Because the hero had returned. Their Duke, their Commander. The man who had come victorious at the war. The man who gain everything, power, status, honour. But he was also the same man who lost everything he had.
Caleb looked straight ahead but he could feel Ash watching him. He didn't wear armor today, but the weight of expectation wrapped tighter than steel ever could. He wondered, faintly, how long it would take before Ash felt it too.
The carriage slowed. Trumpets began to sound. Ash leaned toward the window, just slightly. "… They're here for you." He said, voice unreadable. Caleb looked at him. "No." He replied softly. "They're here for us." Ash didn't answer. But he didn't look away either.
And as the gates opened wide, letting them pass beneath stone arches and golden banners, Caleb let his hand rest. Briefly, gently on his son's shoulder. It wasn't much. But it was a start.
-
The duchy castle was colder than Ash expected.
Grand, yes. Its marble floors and soaring ceilings soaked in light, with chandeliers like frozen stars and banners heavy with heraldry. Every inch of it whispered of history, of victories won by men with unbending spines and names carved into stone. But still, it felt cold.
Caleb, however, moved through it like a man who had shed his armor but not his discipline. He walked with his hand resting lightly on Ash's shoulder, guiding him gently toward the entrance hall before leaving him with Sir Ryns, his most trusted aide.
"I'll be away for a few hours." Caleb murmured to his son. "There's something I need to settle. You'll be safe with him."
Ash didn't argue. He simply nodded and watched him go. Tall, cloaked in command, disappearing into the echoing halls where power liked to gather. Sir Ryns gave a respectful nod. "Shall we?" Ash followed.
In the court council chamber, the temperature was different.
Not the air. The mood. Stiff collars and older men, faces lined not by time but by caution. A place where no voice raised unless it had weight behind it.
Caleb stood at the head of the long table, straight backed, unshaken, in the same travel worn coat he arrived in. He didn't need titles or emblems today. He was the title.
"Mavius Caelum Asher Xia" He said, voice steady. "Is my son. By blood. By name. By will." He didn't smile when he said it. There was no softness in the way he spoke of it, only certainty.
It didn't take long for the murmurs to begin. "My Lord Duke." One of the elder vassals said, clearing his throat like it might buy him courage. "Surely such a proclamation should be delayed until-" "No."
Caleb's eyes didn't waver. "It will be announced before the week ends. The court will bear witness. The documentation will be sealed in my name." "But the boy." Another tried. "He's not been raised in noble society. He may not be-" "He's my son." Caleb said again, this time like it was a weapon.
There was a pause, brief and sharp. "And the mother?" A third man asked, cautious. "Will she be named? Brought forward?" Caleb's jaw tensed. "She died. Years ago." The silence thickened. "Your Grace." Someone dared again. "This decision... May unsettle the houses who've pledged their banners-" "Then let them be unsettled."
The words dropped like stone into still water. "I've served this duchy for years. Given it my youth, my loyalty, my blood. And I have buried every dream I once had for the sake of peace. But not this. I will not bury my son."
He leaned forward slightly, hands braced on the table. "Let me make this simple. I am not here to ask for your approval. I am informing you. As Duke, as Commander, as father, that Mavius Caelum Asher Xia is my heir. You will recognize him. You will show him the respect his name demands. Or you may leave your posts before sundown."
No one spoke after that. There was nothing left to say.
Meanwhile, Ash followed Sir Ryns down a quieter wing of the castle.
"This part of the keep isn't shown to most visitors." The aide said mildly. "But your father asked that you be given access. These halls are his private wing." Ash barely nodded.
He walked slower now, fingertips grazing the stone as if memorizing the shape of it. The rugs here were more worn. The windows opened onto smaller courtyards. It didn't feel like a palace. It felt like someone's home.
They rounded a final corner. And that's when he saw it. At the end of the hallway, tucked quietly across from the Duke's chamber door, hung a portrait. It wasn't regal. It wasn't formal.
You were painted sitting beneath a great blooming tree, one hand resting over your lap, a gentle smile dancing at the corners of your mouth. The sky behind you was warm with color.
Ash stopped. Sir Ryns paused behind him, then gave a small bow. "I'll give you a moment." He stepped away. And Ash stared.
You looked... Alive. Not like the worn memories, not like the soft dreams that blurred at the edges. This was clearer, sharper. He could almost imagine you laughing just out of frame.
And the way the painting was placed, nnot in a public gallery, not in the halls meant to impress but here. Here, where only Caleb would see it every time he passed his chamber.
Ash took one step closer. Then two. And just like that, something broke inside him.
Because all this time, despite everything you told him. Everything you left behind, some small, childish part of him had wondered if it was just a story. If his father had loved you less than duty. Less than legacy.
But this? This was not a thing done out of guilt. This was devotion. Frozen in oil and light.
And just for a moment, he let himself imagine what might've been. You, laughing down these halls. Your hand in his father, watching over him. The warmth of something that wasn't stolen by silence or time.
But it was only a painting now. And Ash? He turned away before the ache could swell too wide.
-
The garden had always been yours.
Even when the rest of the duchy bore the mark of lineage and strategy, marble and bloodline. This garden remained untouched by politics. It was a space you claimed not with words but by presence. By laughter echoing against the ivy. By your barefoot steps on wet grass at dawn. By the scent of jasmine clinging to the folds of your dress when you came in from the evening mist.
Now? It had grown wild in your absence.
The path was nearly swallowed by moss and wandering weeds. The lavender stalks bent heavy from months without pruning. The peonies, once carefully coaxed into bloom by your touch, were wilted. Their heads drooping as though even they were mourning.
Caleb stood beneath the worn stone archway, the sky already softening into late dusk. A breeze passed through, stirring the overgrown hedges, sending petals drifting onto the stones.
He didn't step forward just yet. Because there, between the tangled hedges and forgotten rosebushes, was Ash.
The boy moved slowly, quietly, his small hands brushing against leaf and bloom with an odd reverence. As if, instinctively, he knew this garden had once meant something. As if he could sense that someone, you, had once walked here every morning, humming softly to yourself, hands filled with shears, ribbon and soft flower threads you tucked into your hair.
Caleb swallowed hard. He couldn't bring himself to speak. He just watched, hand tightening around the edge of the pillar beside him, eyes following every movement like they were watching a ghost retrace your steps.
Ash crouched down near the base of the old stone bench. The very one where you had once curled beside Caleb with a worn book in hand. You always fell asleep midway through your stories, cheek pressed to his shoulder, your words slurring into nothing, warm breath fogging the pages.
It hurt. Gods, it hurt.
Caleb's throat ached from how tightly he clenched it. He hadn't stepped foot in this garden since the war began. It had been years. He had ridden out with armor and banners and men at his back, chasing glory that never filled the hollow parts of him. He never came back. Not until now. Not until everything else had already been lost.
How many things had he missed?
His son's first cry. His first steps. The first time he scraped his knee. The way he might have tugged at your sleeve and asked about the stars. The way you might have lit a lantern when he had nightmares, pulled him into your arms and told him stories about a man named Caleb, far away, fighting for peace.
Did you tell him you loved him for the both of you? Did you tell him he was worth all the waiting?
The wind stirred again. Ash turned his face toward the breeze and closed his eyes. The exact same way you once did. Caleb's heart broke in a quiet, restrained kind of way. No dramatics. Just pressure. Like something cracked deep in his chest and kept splintering.
He stepped forward. Ash opened his eyes at the sound of boots brushing against gravel but didn't turn. Just kept staring out over the garden. Caleb stopped beside him. "I used to come here with your mother." He said, voice low, almost too rough. "She always said this garden looked better wild."
Ash tilted his head. "She came here a lot?" Caleb nodded. "Every day. Before everything. She would talk to the plants. She hated when the gardeners trimmed too much. Said flowers should be allowed to reach for whatever they wanted."
Ash didn't respond. Just reached down and picked up a fallen peony petal, curling it between his fingers. The boy didn't speak for a long time. Then, softly. "Mother told me you were a hero." Caleb swallowed.
"Mother told me stories about you." Ash continued, fingers tracing a small blooming flower. "Said you were brave. That you were fighting for everyone, not just us. But some nights… I think she cried when she thought I was asleep." Caleb closed his eyes. "I'm sorry." He said. "For not being there. For not coming home sooner. For… Everything."
Ash looked down at the petal in his palm. Caleb crouched down beside him, fingers trembling as he rested a hand over Ash's shoulder, tentative, unsure. "I don't deserve forgiveness." He whispered. "But I want to try. For you. For her."
Ash finally looked at him. And for the first time, there was something softer in his eyes. A recognition. Maybe even… A beginning.
They stayed like that for a while, father and son, in a garden left wild by grief and time. And near them, the first bloom of the flower unfolded. Quiet, patient and unafraid to reach.
-
The halls of the duchy were quiet that night, save for the faint sound of torches flickering against the stone walls. The air held a kind of stillness that only came before something irreversible. Not quite dread, not quite anticipation. Just the soft weight of change, gathering like fog on the edge of dawn.
Caleb stood just outside Ash's door, hand hovering over the latch. He told himself to walk away. Let the boy sleep. Let him have the only peace he could offer before the court tried to take it away. But his hand moved anyway.
The room was dimly lit. A candle flickered low on the desk, half melted wax trailing down its base. The boy was curled on his side beneath a heavy quilt, not asleep. Just staring toward the window, as if the stars outside had something more comforting to say than Caleb ever could.
Caleb stepped in and closed the door behind him. "Can't sleep?" He asked softly. Ash didn't turn but his small voice broke the silence. "Too much noise in my head." Caleb pulled a chair close to the bed and sat with a quiet exhale. "I know the feeling."
They sat in silence for a while, just the two of them, the gap between their pasts too wide to be bridged with words. But Caleb was learning that closeness sometimes started like this, not with conversation but with presence. With showing up and staying put.
Ash shifted slightly under the covers. "I don't know how to do any of this." He murmured. "You don't have to." Caleb replied. "Not yet. You just have to be yourself." Ash's brow furrowed. "That's not what everyone else expects, is it?" Caleb smiled faintly. "I stopped caring what they expect a long time ago."
Ash didn't respond to that. Instead, after a beat, he asked. "Do you think mother be proud of me?" Caleb's heart clenched. He reached over, gently brushing a bit of hair from Ash's forehead. "She'd be proud of you for waking up in the morning. For breathing. For surviving." His voice faltered. "She'd be proud of how brave you've been."
Ash looked at him then, eyes shinier than before and with some hesitation. "Are you proud of me?" "I've only known you for a short while." Caleb said, voice rough. "But yes. Every single day, I'm proud of you. And I wish I could've been there sooner to say it."
The boy blinked and turned his face away. But not before Caleb saw the wetness in his eyes. "You're not alone anymore." Caleb added gently. "I'm here. I'll always be here." And for once, Ash didn't pull away when Caleb tucked the blanket tighter around him.
The next morning came with ceremony.
The great hall was transformed into something out of legend. Tall banners unfurled from the rafters, tapestries lined the walls with the crest of House Xia. Black and purple, the colors of night and their eyes. Every noble family of note stood waiting, their formalwear glittering, their expressions carefully controlled.
Caleb stood at the head of it all. The Duke, Commander, war hero returned from the frontlines after uniting the warring kingdoms, take back some throne for the right ruler to lead. All for the sake of peace. And beside him stood Ash.
He wore a suit cut to fit, his brown dark hair brushed neatly though his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. Caleb placed a steady hand on his shoulder. And stepped forward.
"My people." He began, voice resonant through the hall. "I have led you through war. I have fought beside you, bled for your families, and returned peace to this land not through conquest, but through righteousness." Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"But I come before you not as a hero." He continued, eyes sweeping across the nobility. "I come as a father." The air shifted, tense, expectant. "I stand here today to name my son. The heir of House Xia. The rightful child of my blood." Gasps whispered down the aisle, hushed disbelief tugging at curious glances.
"He was raised far from the court." Caleb said, lifting his chin. "But not from love. His mother, though not of noble birth, bore the heart of a saint. She raised him with strength, compassion and grace. His name is Mavius Caelum Asher Xia, my son and my legacy."
There was silence. Then applause. Hesitant at first, then thunderous. But even as they clapped, the nobles whispered behind fans and under breath. A commoner. Was he conceived before the war? How could the Duke hide such a thing? Who was the mother? Was it that village woman from the old rumors? Caleb heard it. He always did.
"My Lord." One older vassal began. He must have missed the first meeting. "We mean no disrespect. But surely the title of heir must pass through... Clearer channels. The duchy-"
"Will be inherited by my son." Caleb interrupted. His voice cut cleanly through the chamber. "Not because of his blood, but because of what he represents. He is my future. That is not up for debate."
Another tried. "But his mother-" "Will not be spoken of with anything less than honor." Caleb said, tone sharper now. "She gave her life raising him. She gave me a reason to come back. If you cannot speak of her with respect, then you do not deserve to speak at all." That silenced them.
And in the shadow of his words, no one dared challenge him again.
That night, Caleb sat in his chambers. The old box you left him still untouched on the bedside table.
Ash had long since gone to bed. But Caleb sat quietly, the moonlight pooling across the desk, and whispered your name like a prayer.
"I'm doing my best." He murmured. "I don't know if it's enough. But he's here. He's safe. And I won't let him face this world alone."
The box remained closed. Not yet. He wasn't ready to open the past. Not until he could face it with something steadier in his chest than grief.
-
The duchy was never silent, not even in the early hours.
There was always movement. The shuffle of boots on stone, the hum of court gossip, the rustle of silks as nobility drifted through the corridors like ghosts dressed in gold.
But within one particular wing of the castle, one newly opened after years of being shut. There was a kind of hush that wasn't born of reverence, but of adjustment.
Ash sat stiffly at the edge of the chair, back too straight as though posture alone could hold him upright through this.
The tailor buzzed around him, muttering about hem lengths and shoulder seams, fussing over measurements like his thread held the fabric of the kingdom.
Caleb stood near the door, arms crossed loosely, a patient look on his face. Ash caught him watching. "I can do this alone." He muttered. Caleb only shrugged. "I know." "Then why are you still here?" A soft smile makes its way on Caleb's lips. "Because I want to be."
Ash didn't answer, just looked down as the tailor moved to adjust a sleeve. It was like that most days. Stiff, clipped responses. Ash kept his emotions guarded. His trust locked behind layers of survival. But Caleb didn't push. He stayed.
He was there in the mornings, walking Ash through the halls and introducing him to the staff. He was there at meals, quietly explaining noble etiquette while pretending not to notice when Ash refused to use the proper cutlery out of spite.
He was there during riding lessons. Though Ash already knew how to ride. You had taught him, after all. But Caleb still showed up, still walked beside the horse, still held the reins steady when the stallion bucked just slightly.
Ash never said thank you. But he didn't push him away either. That was enough.
At night, they played chess by the fire.
Caleb let Ash win the first few games. After that, he didn't need to. "You're holding back." Ash said during one match, brow furrowed. Caleb smirked. "Am I?"
"I'm not a child." "No." Caleb said, moving a rook. "You're my son." Ash stared at the board. "You don't know me." "I'm trying to." Caleb replied gently.
For a moment, Ash didn't move. Then he said, quietly. "You missed a lot." Caleb nodded. "I did." Ash made his move. "Why didn't you come sooner?" The words were like flint, soft but capable of sparking every buried grief between them.
Caleb met his gaze. "Because I thought I'd have time." Ash didn't look away. "You didn't." "No." Caleb's voice was barely above a whisper. "I didn't."
Ash stared at him a moment longer. Then, finally, looked back down at the board. "Your move."
-
It was small things, after that.
Ash asking him to join for tea in the afternoons. Caleb fixing the saddle on Ash's horse without being asked. Ash staying just a little longer at the dining table instead of retreating to his room. Caleb brushing his hand over Ash's shoulder when they passed in the hall, the way fathers do without thinking.
They didn't speak of love. Not yet. But it was there, beneath the silences. The kind that didn't need words, only time.
-
The snow had fallen without mercy that night.
Pale and soundless, it coated the roofs of the duchy and swept down the narrow roads like a silken veil. It blurred the horizon until the world outside the windows looked like something imagined. Soft, distant, dreamless.
But inside the west wing, there was no dream. Only fever. And the ragged breathing of a child calling out for someone who would never come.
Ash had not been well for days.
What began as a stubborn cold had twisted into a high, searing fever that clung to him like a curse. The court physicians had done all they could. Steam, broths, tinctures too bitter to keep down. But Ash fought them. Resisted, pushed away hands trying to help.
He was crying again. "Mama..." The boy whimpered, thrashing under the heavy blankets, eyes glassy and faraway. "Where's Mama…?" And then. "I want to go home..."
The servants wept quietly in the hallway. They didn't know which home the young lord meant. Be it the one made of wood and warmth tucked at the edge of the forest or the one now buried beneath the tree near the river side. Either way, neither could be returned to.
The physician knelt helplessly beside the bed. "He won't take the medicine." He muttered. "He won't-"
The door slammed open. Boot steps thundered against the stone floor. The Duke had returned.
Caleb didn't say a word as he stormed into the room, frost clinging to the edges of his cloak. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. His hands were still red from the reins, his shoulders dusted with snow. But none of it mattered.
Because his son was screaming for someone who couldn't answer.
"Mama-!" Caleb's heart twisted so violently he thought it might finally split in half. "I'm here." He breathed, crossing the room in a heartbeat. "Ash. I'm here."
But Ash didn't see him or if he did, he didn't recognize him. He was somewhere else. Somewhere safer. Somewhere warmer, where your arms still waited and your voice still sang.
The boy's body shook with sobs. "Please- I want Mama- I want- her-" Caleb sat on the bed and pulled Ash into his arms. The boy didn't resist. He clung. Like drowning. And Caleb, for once, didn't know what to do.
He held him tighter, rocking him gently as the boy cried and gasped and called for the one person neither of them could return to.
The physician hesitated. "Your Grace, the medi-" Caleb reached out, took the cup, and held it to his son's lips. Ash turned his head away violently, a sound breaking in his throat like a wounded animal. He trembled, gasped, cried. "No- no- no-"
So Caleb pressed his forehead to Ash's temple. "You want her." He whispered, voice cracking. "I know. I know." His eyes stung. He bit back the tears, but they came anyway, hot, silent and furious. "I want her too."
The boy hiccupped still half in delirium. "I miss her so much." Caleb whispered. "Every day. Every breath. You might not remember it, but I know she used to hum when you couldn't sleep. I know she'll kissed your forehead when you had bad dreams. I know she carry you when you wouldn't stop crying. I know she loved you more than the stars, Ash. She would've fought the gods themselves for you."
Caleb paused. Swallowed. "But I'm here now. And I won't let you go. Please- Let me stay. Let me take care of you. For her. For you. For us."
Ash whimpered. Then slowly like something inside him recognized the grief in that voice, he opened his lips. Caleb raised the cup. Ash drank. Not all of it. Not without difficulty. But enough.
The boy collapsed against him after, exhausted. And Caleb held him through it, through the shallow breaths and the sweat and the half conscious murmurs that still whispered for you.
He brushed the damp hair back from Ash's forehead. Kissed his brow. Wiped away the tears neither of them knew how to stop.
Outside, the snow kept falling. Inside, time stood still.
Later that night, long after Ash had fallen into a fevered sleep, Caleb remained by the bed, hunched forward with elbows on his knees, your son's small hand still wrapped tightly around his finger.
He stared into the fire, eyes hollow. "I should’ve come sooner." He whispered to no one. To you. To the silence. "I should've given it all up. Just for one more year. Just to hold him like this, while you were still here."
The flames didn't answer. But your presence was everywhere. In the scarf folded on the nightstand, the lullaby Ash had murmured before sleep, the faint scent of lilies that lingered on the Ash's blanket.
You were gone. But you were in everything. He looked at the sleeping boy. Pale. Fragile. He was all that remained of you. And he was everything.
-
The fever had passed.
Ash was on the mend, stronger with each passing day, the heat of illness gone from his skin, the distant haze fading from his eyes. But the space between him and Caleb remained quiet, still slightly tense. Not cold. Just… Uncertain.
Ash didn't avoid him anymore. He no longer pulled away when Caleb adjusted his blanket or sat beside him during meals. But neither did he reach out. Not yet. There were no arguments. But no real conversations, either. Not about the things that mattered. Not about her.
He didn't hate his father. He kept telling himself that. But sometimes, when the shadows settled in just right, he remembered the years spent wondering why the door never opened. Why the man in his mother's stories never arrived.
It was easier to pretend he didn't care. Harder to accept that he did.
So one afternoon, while the palace was caught in the lull between meetings and duties and Caleb was tucked somewhere in council, Ash wandered.
Down the halls echoing with memories he wasn't part of. Past portraits he didn't recognize. Through rooms filled with polished furniture and untouched heirlooms. Until he found the door. It wasn't locked.
Not his father's main office, no. This was smaller. Tucked away behind a quiet hallway near the west tower. A study, maybe. Or something older. He hesitated, hand on the latch. Then pushed it open.
The room smelled of aged parchment and cedar wood, soft and worn. Bookshelves lined the walls, dustier than they should be. A map of the old provinces lay unfurled on a desk, corners curled from time. And on the far wall. A painting. He froze.
You, his mother and Caleb. Young. Laughing. Radiant. Your hands in his. His arm around your shoulders, a look on his face that Ash didn't think he'd ever seen in person. You were smiling at him in that painting. And Caleb. His father wasn't looking at the artist at all. He was only looking at you.
Ash stepped closer. His heart beat too fast. Beneath the painting, there were boxes. Not marked. Not sealed. He knelt, fingers trembling slightly, and opened the first one. Letters.
His breath caught. Dozens of them. Some torn at the edges. Some ink-smudged. Some wrinkled as if they'd been carried in the rain. He unfolded the top one.
At the same time. The west wing was quiet. Quieter than the rest of the castle.
Even the wind seemed to hush as it pressed against the high windows, like it, too, knew not to disturb what lay behind that half opened door.
Caleb hadn't been in that room for years. Not since before the war. Not since before everything unraveled and was never stitched back together again. It was a personal room, not the Duke's office, not the public study. It was a room only he had reason to enter.
And now, the door was open. And the silence inside was not the silence of emptiness. It was a silence full of grief. He pushed it open slowly.
Ash sat on the wooden floor, legs tucked beneath him, small fingers curled around a sheet of yellowing paper. Around him lay scattered envelopes, some torn open, some still sealed. The box that once held them had tipped onto its side.
The boy didn't look up. Not even when Caleb stepped fully into the room. Ash's voice was small when he finally spoke.
"You wrote her." Caleb's chest tightened. "I didn't know you ever did." Ash's eyes were red, but dry now. His throat worked as he swallowed. He glanced down again and began reading aloud voice trembling, fragile.
I still see you in my sleep. I wake up thinking I'm back at the old tree, and you're lying beside me with grass in your hair. I reach out, and you're never there. That's how I start my mornings now.
Ash picked up another.
They tell me to forget. They tell me duty matters more than anything. But if they saw you, just once, they'd know why I couldn't.
Caleb froze in place, unable to move, unable to speak. Ash kept going.
I heard rumors you had gone south. I spent a week riding with no name, no insignia. I searched every village. Every market. Nothing. No trace of you. I started to think you were a ghost, sent to haunt me just long enough to remember what love felt like.
Another.
I'm sorry I left you behind. But I would make it right. After the war I'll find a way back to you. I know we had more time ahead of us.
Ash's voice cracked. He reached for another. And paused. This one had your name on the front. Just your name, in Caleb's slanted, uneven script like he had written it in a moment of weakness and haste. He opened it, carefully. His voice dropped. Ash's hands trembled.
I know I wasn't enough. I couldn't protect you. I couldn't choose you. But gods, if I could turn back time, if I could see you one last time… I would give away this title, this honour just to hear you laugh again. To hold you. To say goodbye properly.
The letter slipped from Ash's fingers. And when he finally looked up, his eyes were brimming.
"You didn't know about me." He whispered. "You didn't know I exist." Caleb finally found his voice. "No." He said softly. "I didn't." Ash nodded slowly.
Then like the dam finally cracked, the tears spilled over, full and messy and childlike.
"But why didn't you try harder?! Why didn’t you come sooner?!" He shouted suddenly, voice breaking. "She waited for you! She told me you'll come back! Every year she said it, every year! And then she got sick! And you weren't there! She said you were a good man! She said you'd come back! But you never did! You never came!"
Caleb stepped forward, kneeling down, hands open. "I didn't know-" "You should've!" Ash cried. "She believed in you! And I did too! And you weren't there when she died! She died! She died before you came! And I was alone! I was- I didn't know what to do-!"
He hit him then, small fists pounding against his father's chest. Caleb didn't stop him. "She said you loved us." Ash sobbed. "She said you loved her! And I kept waiting and you never came!" "I'm sorry." Caleb said, voice hoarse. "I'm so sorry."
Ash's fists slowed. His little body trembled with the weight of grief he shouldn't have had to carry alone. Caleb wrapped his arms around him gently. "Everyone told me stories - stories about you- about how you married someone else- that you forgot us- and I didn't know what to believe-! I hated you- I hated you so much-"
Ash finally crumpled against him, the fight falling out of him all at once. "She always said you'd come back." He hiccupped. "I kept believing. I waited. I really… I really did." "I'm sorry." He whispered into his son's hair. "I'm so, so sorry."
"I wrote to her because I didn't know where to go." He whispered. "Every letter was a prayer. Every day I thought I could find her, I thought- gods, I thought I had time. I thought once the war ended-" He couldn't finish.
"I missed your whole life." He choked. "I missed everything." Ash hiccupped against his chest. "She always told me stories about you." Ash whispered. "She said you'd come back. That you were brave. That you had a good heart. But sometimes... I didn't believe her. I thought she was lying. I thought you'd left us."
"I didn't know I had a son." Caleb whispered. "But I knew I had a reason to live. I just didn't know it was you." Ash pulled back slightly, looking at him. "Do you still love her?" "I always will." Caleb said.
Ash hesitated. Then, in a tiny voice, asked. "Can I call you Dad?" Caleb's breath caught. He nodded, one slow, shaking nod. "Yes." He whispered. "Yes. Please." And Ash, still sniffling, wrapped his arms around his father.
"I don't hate you anymore." Ash said. "And I forgive you." He said quietly. "But you have to promise to stay this time." "I will." Caleb said burying his face in his son's hair. "I swear. I won't lose you too."
-
Time had softened the ache, but never erased it.
Years passed, as they do in places built from stone and silence. The Xia Duchy become prosperous from war given the fact that they played a big role taking the princess side who was now the queen of her own kingdom. It was rebuilt beneath its people's pride and their Duke's stern discipline.
And through it all, Caleb ruled with the quiet steadiness he had always been known for. Colder now, more distant perhaps, but respected without question. And beside him, his son.
Mavius Caelum Asher Xia, now older, sharper, taller than before. He had moved through the estate like someone born to its halls yet always with a piece of himself withheld. He was polite in court. Composed in lessons. Exceptionally bright in every diplomatic event or noble function Caleb took him to.
But he smiled less than most boys his age. And he trusted even fewer. His heart, after all, had already broken once. And while it had learned to beat again, it remembered. Always.
Caleb tried not to think about how many nights he had missed. How many birthdays, how many mornings, how many firsts. But in the years since he had brought Ash home, he had never spent another one away. He did not plan to.
Ash had become his world now and every day Caleb tried to become the kind of father you would have wanted him to be.
But grief did not stop time. And time did not stop society.
It started with a letter. Then a visit. Then three more. Ladies, noble blooded, marriageable, politically useful arriving with simpering smiles and folded hands, trailing daughters as carefully dressed as they were clearly rehearsed. They came with tea and embroidery, cloaks lined with lace and intention.
Each one mentioned Ash with practiced warmth, with concern, with a motherly tone none of them had earned.
And Caleb? Caleb refused them before they finished speaking. "I am not looking for a wife." He said coldly, every time. "But my daughter-" "Is not her." He cut in once. And that was the end of that conversation.
But then came the bold ones. The ones who sought out Ash. In the garden. In the stables. Near the training fields. With carefully measured smiles and low voices.
Once, a lady bent to place a hand on Ash’s shoulder and said softly. "You must be so lonely without a woman's care. A boy needs a mother to-" "I had one." Ash said flatly, stepping away. "She died. I don't need a replacement." And he walked off, back straight, face unreadable.
Another tried to invite him for tea. Brought a cake she claimed to have made herself. Ash took one look at it, smiled politely and handed it to the kitchen staff without taking a bite. "Looks heavy." He said. "Just like your expectations." The staff nearly choked on their breath.
By the time he was thirteen, word had gotten around the court. Mavius Caelum Asher Xia, the heir of the Duke was not a boy easily charmed. And if you approached him with pity, manipulation or anything less than honesty, you were going to walk away very embarrassed.
Once, someone tried it in front of Caleb. A highborn woman, twice widowed, always circling. Had the nerve to say. "Ash is such a thoughtful child. I've always dreamed of being a mother to a boy like that." Ash glanced up from his book. "You dream too much."
The silence was palpable. Caleb didn't hide his smirk. Didn't wven try to hide his chuckle.
Later that evening, in the privacy of the Duke's study, Caleb leaned back in his chair and looked over at Ash, who sat curled up in one of the armchairs reading. "You know." Caleb said mildly. "There are more diplomatic ways to discourage suitors."
Ash didn't look up. "You want me to stop?" "No." Caleb said. "Just wondering if you took more after me or your mother." Ash shrugged. "I take after her." "Clearly." There was a beat. Then Caleb added, quieter. "She would've liked that."
Ash looked up. For a long moment, they just looked at each other. Then Ash said softly. "Do you miss her even now?" "Every day." Ash set his book down, carefully.
"I don't want another mother." He said. "No one could be her." "I know." "Some of them think they can just… smile their way in. Like she didn't matter. Like they can take her place." "They can't." Caleb said. "And I won't let them."
Ash tilted his head. "Even if it helps the court? Even if people say it would be good for your image?" "I've never cared much for appearances." Caleb said, smiling faintly. "I let them say what they want."
"Even if it hurts your reputation?" "Even then." Caleb said. "Because you're my son, our son and has more sense than the entire court combined."
Ash blinked, not used to compliments. He looked away, pretending to read again. But Caleb could see the smallest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. That was enough.
And that night, as they passed each other in the hallway. Ash heading to his room, Caleb to his study and the boy, his boy paused, turned slightly, and mumbled. "I think she would've liked you now." Then he disappeared behind the door before Caleb could say a word.
-
The halls of the duchy were once again filled with light.
Banners fluttered from balconies and carved archways, catching the late spring breeze that danced through stone colonnades and across the open courtyard.
Servants moved briskly. Nobles arrived in their finest. And in the grand ballroom where years ago Caleb had once stood beneath a crown of duty, the people now stood for a different Duke. A younger one. One born of quiet strength and hidden roots. Of love, not arrangement.
Ash stood at the center of it all. Tall, sure footed, his features a blend of both memory and legacy. Dressed in a deep indigo regalia stitched with silver thread, he wore the weight of his title like it had always belonged to him.
But today was not just about ascension. It was also about love.
Because standing beside Ash, hands clasped in his, was a young woman in a simple cream gown. No crown, no courtly title, only a soft look in her eyes that said she saw him not for his name but for the boy who once cried for his mother in fevered dreams.
She was from the duchy. Not noble, not titled. Just kind. Clever. A girl with ink stained hands and warm laughter who had met Ash under an apricot tree, the one Caleb planted all those years ago, with you. And argued with him over books, not bloodlines. And somehow, she became his future.
From a distance, hidden in the far end of the courtyard, away from the clamor. Caleb watched it unfold. He stood in shadow, still in his formal clothing but without the heavy cape. Age had crept into his bones more fully now, silver threading through his dark brown hair like early frost. His posture remained dignified, but there was a weight in his gaze.
The quiet ache of a man who had spent his life carrying the consequence of choices.
But in his eyes… There was peace. Because Ash had done it. He had broken the cycle. He had chosen love. And Caleb, though it cost him years and memories and the warmth of you beside him was here to see it.
When the crowd erupted in cheers and the lovers were announced, Ash looked up. Searched the courtyard. And found him. Their eyes met. Ash smiled. So did Caleb.
Later, after the festivities had dimmed and guests wandered off into courtyards and wine drunk laughter, Ash found his father standing beneath the veranda near the old marble fountain. The air smelled of roses and old stone. His footsteps were soft.
"You're not staying the night." Ash said gently, already knowing the answer. Caleb smiled faintly, not turning. "No." "You really are going back to the village, father?" "That's always been the plan." Caleb said, looking out at the stars. "I kept a promise, once. That I'd live simply. Return to the roots where it all began. It's time I kept it."
Ash looked at him, expression unreadable. "And you're fine with that? Leaving all this?" "All this." Caleb echoed, gesturing around. "Was never mine to keep. It was only ever a placeholder for something I lost. Now… Now, it belongs to someone who still believes in it."
Ash was quiet. Then, quietly. "Will you be lonely?" Caleb turned, finally. "Not if you come visit once in a while." Ash's face softened. "I will." Caleb reached forward and fixed the clasp on Ash's cloak. The way you used to do for him. He stepped back. Nodded.
"You look just like her when you smile." Caleb murmured. "But you live better than I ever did. I'm proud of you." Ash swallowed hard. "She would've been too." They stood in silence a moment longer.
Then as Ash was called back to the celebration, he gave his father one final look, half smile breaking the serious line of his jaw. "Don't forget to water the tree." He said dryly. Caleb chuckled. "Brat." "Old man."
They parted with quiet hearts and full ones. And as Caleb left the duchy that night, cloak fluttering behind him in the wind, he felt for the first time in years. Like he was going home.
-
The house stood at the edge of the forest, just beyond where the village road curved and gave way to thickets of pine and soft grass. It hadn't changed much.
Still weather worn, still crooked in the corners, but sturdier now. As though someone had seen the cracks and mended them with care. The roof no longer sagged. The fireplace, though cold, was clean. The porch steps creaked less than they used to.
Caleb stood at the doorway for a long time, hand on the wooden frame, just... Stare. He had brought little with him. A trunk of clothes. A satchel of books. A few mementos he never quite had the strength to throw away. But most importantly, he brought the box, that box. Still sealed, still untouched after all these years.
He didn't open it yet. He didn't feel ready. He set it on the table where you once used to leave wildflowers in a chipped vase. For now, that was enough.
The village welcomed him quietly. They nodded, offered faint smiles, and went on with their lives. They knew who he was. What he had lost. What he was trying, quietly, to remember.
Caleb spent most mornings walking. Sometimes to the baker, who remembered still sell the kind of bread that you like. Sometimes to the tailor, who once helped stitch Ash's baby clothes. He didn't speak much but his presence was never unwelcome.
In the afternoons, he wandered down the path to the river, the same way you used to. The tree was still there, that same old tree, roots like fingers pressed into the dirt, still standing guard over the world the two of you had tried to build.
He would sit beneath it, right next to your tombstone as if siting right next to you for hours. Watching the way the sun reflected on the water. Listening to the breeze as it rustled the leaves. It was quiet, peaceful. The kind of quiet he used to hate when he was younger.
Now, he craved it. Because in that stillness, you lived again. He saw you in the way the river curved around the stones. In the way the light filtered through the canopy, golden and soft.
In the echo of children laughing in the distance. The same way Ash once did, toddling across these fields before either of them knew his name.
Sometimes, he would hum. A tune only you would remember. The one you used to sing when you were cleaning or when you danced barefoot by the firelight, coaxing him to join you even when he said he couldn't dance.
Caleb never responded to those memories with words. He just closed his eyes. Let them hurt. Let them stay.
Each night, he would return to the house, make tea the way you used to and sit by the window and write. Not letters, he had written too many. It was just thoughts now. Notes. Fragments. Pieces of love, tucked between lines of grief.
He wasn't waiting anymore. He wasn't chasing anything. But every now and then, he'd glance at the box on the table. The one filled with your handwriting. Your last truths.
And he would wonder if maybe, tomorrow, he would be brave enough to open it. Just not tonight.
Tonight, he would light the lamp. Pour another cup. Sit by the fire. And remember you as you were. Laughing, brilliant, alive in the only place you ever truly belonged.
Home. With him.
-
The fire had dimmed to embers.
Caleb Xia sat in the worn wooden chair by the window. The same one you used to claim on restless nights, knees tucked to your chest, voice soft with laughter. The air was still, the kind of stillness that only comes when life has slowed into memory. Even the wind outside hushed for him, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath.
He had lived many lives in one. Soldier. Commander. Duke. But none of them had ever felt as heavy, or as holy, as being yours. And then, being a father.
The box sat beside him now. Old, weatherworn, the latch loose from travel and time. He had carried it for years, across courts, across time, through years of frostbitten regret. A box he dared not open because some part of him was afraid that once he did, the last thread tethering you to this world would snap.
But now, he was ready. And the lid creaked open.
Your handwriting was the first thing that struck him. Still familiar, still you, the loops and softness of your letters holding time like pressed petals between pages. He read.
Caleb,
If this letter reaches you, maybe I'm gone. Maybe you're back. Maybe you're sitting under our tree again, pretending not to cry. You never did cry easily. Always so composed. Always carrying everything alone.
But I hope you let yourself cry this time.
He smiled faintly, tears already slipping past his lashes. Another letter.
Ash took his first step today. It was clumsy. Beautiful. He fell straight into the garden soil, laughed, and held his hands up to me like he'd just conquered the world.
He looks like you. But when he sleeps, he curls into himself the way I do.
I tell him stories about you. I call you his brave father. The hero who fights so no other child has to lose their home.
And sometimes, when I'm tired and the house is too quiet, I let myself imagine you're just late coming home.
He bowed his head, fingers clutching the edge of the parchment. His shoulders trembled. The words blurred.
Letter after letter, unfolding like spring after too long a winter. Telling stories of scraped knees and lullabies. Of hopes you never voiced out loud. Of a love you never regretted, not even once.
I never blamed you. You must know that. I chose this. I chose to keep him safe. I chose to stay hidden, to keep you from the shame and blood of scandal.
You always said love was dangerous. But I think ours bloomed because of that. It bloomed in the cracks between duty and longing.
It bloomed in silence.
His hand moved to the pendant at his throat. The one that used to be yours. The one he'd found around Ash's neck that day in this village. The moment that changed everything.
If you ever come back here... Tell him I'm sorry. For everything I couldn't be. For every night he cried and I couldn't stop missing you enough to smile.
But remind him, our son, that I loved him. And remind him you loved him too, even before you knew he existed.
I see you in him, Caleb. Every time he looks at me. Every time he stares off like the sky is whispering something only he can hear.
You don't have to carry guilt. Just love. That's what we leave behind, isn't it? What was left to bloom.
Caleb exhaled, long and slow, like his heart had finally been given permission to rest.
What was left to bloom. Yes. That had been Ash. A child born from love that never got to finish saying everything it wanted to. A child raised with stories, not presence. But still full of roots and meaning.
He placed the last letter back in the box. Closed the lid gently.
His eyes drifted toward the window. Beyond it, the tree stood tall. Your tree. Their tree. Our tree. Blossoms just beginning to peek out from its tired branches, defiant against the last bite of cold.
Caleb's breath came slower now. He leaned back in the chair, fingers curled around the box. And there, in the final quiet of early spring, with sunlight pooling at his feet like an old friend, Caleb closed his eyes and let go.
-
Ash arrived just before dawn.
He'd brought fresh bread. He was planning to convince his father to come into the village square for tea. Maybe watch the river again. Maybe talk, like they'd been doing more lately.
But when he stepped inside and saw his father still and peaceful in the chair, the box of letters on his lap, the quiet smile on his face. He knew.
He said nothing at first. Just knelt beside him. Held his hand. Then whispered. "She waited." His voice broke. "And you found her."
-
Outside, the river moved slow and sure. The breeze brushed past the blooming tree with a hush, as if the world itself was bowing.
And in the years to come, when Ash would walk through those woods with his own children, he would point to that house, that tree, and say. "This is where love once bloomed. And this is what came after."
[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°
: not sure if this really hurts or I'm just being dramatic cuz I actually cried writing this. Also, the content of what actually happened in the war would be explain in the other guys fic. Bye.
notes ( ╱ ) : fics 4k and under are considered drabbles.
☆ HEESEUNG ───
COLLIDE | hockey player .ᐟ heeseung ៹ fem .ᐟ reader
• Lee Heeseung strolls in like he owns the place, pushing his hair back as he yawns. “Sorry, sorry,” he drawls, not sounding sorry at all. “Rough night.”
FALLING INTO RUIN | bad boy .ᐟ heeseung ៹ ex ballerina .ᐟ reader
• He leaned forward, just slightly, and you met him halfway. The kiss happened so fast you didn’t even think. It was clumsy, desperate, tasting like smoke and everything you’d never said aloud.
OPERATION: HOW NOT TO GET THE GIRL | heeseung .ᐟ ៹ fem .ᐟ reader
• You didn’t even speak for the first few seconds, just sat there panting, adrenaline still racing through your bloodstream, chest heaving as the lights and shouting faded behind you. Then, you looked at each other. And burst out laughing. Full, uncontrollable, hysterical laughter.
☆ JAY ───
HATE TO HAVE YOU | hockey player .ᐟ jay ៹ coaches .ᐟ daughter reader
• Jay didn’t look at you at first. He exhaled hard through his nose, like your presence was an ache he didn’t know how to stretch out. Then, he rolled his eyes with all the weariness of a boy who’d spent his life hearing people tell him what to do.
☆ JAKE ───
OFF THE ICE | hockey player .ᐟ jake ៹ fem .ᐟ pregnant reader
• "so, yes I'm quiet and yes I'm not saying anything. because my mind is going to war trying to think of a way to be a dad and a damn good hockey player at the sametime.”
☆ SUNGHOON ───
FROSTBITE | hockey player .ᐟ sunghoon ៹ figure skater .ᐟ reader
• She was all light. He was the void that light avoided. Still, she twirled like the world had never wronged her.
☆ SUNOO ───
nothing yet...
☆ JUNGWON ───
nothing yet...
☆ NIKI ───
nothing yet...
OT7 FICS AND SMAUS
nothing yet...
HARD THOUGHTS
nothing yet...
SERIES AND COLLABS
CROSSING THE LINE | hyung line .ᐟ series
HARD LAUNCH | jake sim .ᐟ smau series
DRABBLES
dad!jake | w.c 514
take me for a ride | w.c 765 (heeseung)
world stop | w.c 2.3k (jay)
💔 I know people will hate me for this, but I can’t stay silent anymore
I just want to find at least one person who feels the same way I do.
Even if a hundred or a thousand people will hate me for it, I want that one single person who understands what kind of scar this MC left on me.
---
For a long time, I couldn't quite explain why I had such a deep dislike - no, a visceral rejection - of the MC of Love and Deepspace.
It wasn’t just that I found her annoying, rude, or bland - though many users defend her as "just a cute sweetheart," or "not that bad heroine".
No. I think I genuinely hate her.
And recently, after sitting with this feeling for months, I finally figured out why.
She is an empty shell.
A hollow, perfect otome heroine who had everything handed to her by default. She has:
- A loving older adoptive brother who would literally do anything for her because he had to watch her suffer as a child and ended up traumatized (while she conveniently forgot everything - how convenient, right?).
- A serious childhood friend who possibly had feelings for her but had to hide them to avoid hurting her with his evol - and of course she’s the only one who can make him smile again
- A literal husband from the future, who time-traveled just to save her (because even time itself is on this woman’s side).
- Not one but TWO ancient creatures (a mafia boss who created and controls an entire shadowy underworld mafia just to protect her, and a literal mermaid sea god whose soul is tied to hers across lifetimes) both of whom have loved her across lifetimes and would destroy the world for her!
The love interests? Fantastic.
They’re well-designed, emotionally rich, and full of potential.
But the moment you add destiny threads, past life reincarnations, and mythic soulmate-level love, something breaks.
I stop feeling like I’m part of the story.
I don’t feel like the MC.
I don’t feel like I’m influencing or choosing anything.
I don’t feel... close.
It feels like I’m just watching someone else’s picture-perfect story - some unreasonably lucky girl - from behind a screen. And I have absolutely nothing to do with it.
I think what makes it worse is that Infoflds advertises this as otome game.
A dating sim for women.
Isn’t it supposed to fulfill the fantasy of being special?
Of being seen?
But all I felt after a few months of playing and watching her was:
MC is the center of the universe.
And I mean that literally.
From what I understand, the plot eventually reveals that she’s a kind of cosmic entity - a celestial being that gave birth to an entire advanced civilization on another planet. She’s the source of life itself.
Every powerful man or godlike creatures in this world exists and lives because of her.
Loves her. Worships her. Saves her.
Even the player feels like they’re supposed to worship her.
She’s the chosen one. The universe, the love interests, and the story all bend to her - and honestly? It felt like the game was screaming in my face:
"Look at her! Look at everything she has that you never will!"
Yes, I know the mythic destiny trope is just a lazy storytelling shortcut to justify why all the LIs fall so hard so fast.
But still… it hurts.
This game showed me something I didn’t expect:
That I’m a non-MC reader.
Just a side character. A background girl.
And that’s why I adore non-MC stories with a reader.
They mirror how I feel in real life - painfully, but in a cathartic beautiful way.
They say: yes, even if you’re beautiful, loyal, smart, kind - if you weren’t born the Chosen One, if you weren’t written into the myth - then you’ll never be her.
You’ll never be the one they cross time and space for.
You’ll never be the cosmic soulmate.
You’ll never be the MC.
And yes, maybe I’m just a jealous bitter bitch.
Maybe I just fell too hard for the guys and now feel like a miserable outsider.
Maybe I felt like I was being pushed out of a story that never included me to begin with.
But this post - this pain - is real.
If you’ve ever felt like the story wasn’t written for you,
If you’ve ever watched miss Hunter be worshipped and thought:
“Why not me?”
If you’ve ever craved a story where someone like you gets to be seen, wanted, and chosen:
pairing ꪆৎ gentleman!jay x reader ; genre: fluff. one sided enemy to lovers. reader swears that she hates jongseong's guts. word count: 5855.
YOU SWORE THAT PARK JONGSEONG was a living breathing problem.
It was all triggered when he spilled an entire cup of iced americano onto your blouse in front of the humanities building. It was a nice day—sunny, calm, until he bumped into your shoulder with his loud laugh.
The second the freezing liquid soaked through the fabric, and your audible gasp reverberated in the hallway, all he did was look down, blink, a few times... then give you a ward cash.
No "sorry."
No "are you okay?"
Just... fucking money.
You remembered his expression too. Like it was no big deal. Like he bumped a water bottle over, not his cup of coffee on your whole outfit and morning.
And since then, you resolved: Jay Park, is not a good man.
It didn't help that your friend group had the biggest crushes on his.
"Sunghoon's so cute I want to cry,"
"Ni-ki's dancing are unreal."
"Jongseong has such good boyfriend energy, like—ugh, imagine."
"Do you think he smells good?? He looks like he smells good."
You just wanted to scream.
What could be interesting about a bunch of rich boys playing sports? What could you find appealing about these kids who acted like campus royalty? Especially Jay, the way he walked like the whole school was his catwalk? That shit-eating grin like he had a thousand secrets when you definitely weren't interesting enough to even know one?
You didn't care if he was hot. Or rich. Or had nice hair that always flopped perfectly over his eyes. No. You were not like all the other students. You weren't going to fall for it.
...that is until the professor told you about your new seating arrangements.
And just like that—you were seat partners with Park Jongseong.
He never ignored a chance to talk to you, either. From day one.
"Are you always this quiet or do I scare you?"
"That's a nice pen. You want me to get you a gold one?"
"Your notes are too cute for you to hate this class."
You either waved him off or answered him in one word. But he never stopped trying. The effort was honestly... strange.
Jay, however, noticed every little thing.
The way you always furrowed your brows when trying to understand something.
How you fidgeted with the cap of your pen during pop quizzes.
How you zoned out halfway through lectures but still somehow managed to pass.
He remembered the coffee incident, unfortunately.
And maybe he should've said sorry instead of throwing money.
But you looked so pissed, he genuinely thought you were going to throw the cup at his head.
Still, he noticed you in the crowd.
At the basketball match.
Under the scorching sun.
Not screaming his name like the others, but sitting stiffly, clearly dragged there by your friends, lip gloss melting off from the heat. You didn't even like him—he knew that—but something about you kept catching his attention.
Today when you walked in late a cup of coffee was waiting for you on your desk.
You stared at it, then stared at him. You stared back at the cup, and then back at him.
Jay, crossed arms leaning back in his seat looking way, way too smug.
"It's for you. An apology," he said nonchalantly.
You blinked. "Took you that long to apologize?"
"Hey, at least I apologize," he said raising an eyebrow.
You scoffed, pulled out your laptop, and opened up your notes—fighting the way your lips twitched. Not a smile. Not at all.
Class moved slowly. You did your best to pay attention, but Jay's tapping his pen and glancing at you every so often pulled you out of your thoughts.
It wasn't until the professor began writing complicated diagrams on the board that you furrowed your brows in confusion. You didn't say anything—but Jay noticed.
Without saying much, he leaned a bit closer and explained it quietly, simplifying everything so well that you almost forgot you were mad at him.
"...Oh. That... actually makes sense," you muttered, barely taking your eyes off your screen.
He just shrugged like it was nothing.
But Jungwon—who sat behind you two—definitely heard the soft "thank you" you mumbled under your breath. He noticed how you didn't pull away as quickly when Jay leaned in. He noticed the slight shifts in your body language.
Maybe Jay wasn't just a problem anymore.
Maybe he was becoming... an unexpected one.
After class, you hurriedly grabbed your stuff, and made your way right outside the hall, where you eventually found yourself scrolling through your phone to pass the time until your friends showed up.
They came a few minutes later, immediately nudging each other, as one leaned toward your ear and said, "Don't freak out. But Jay's totally watching you right now."
You looked up, and sure enough—in that moment he sat leaning against the brick wall with Jungwon by his side, arms crossed, hair a little tousled from running his fingers through it, and staring at you directly.
He wasn't even pretending not to look.
And you tried not to look interested, but your heartbeat said otherwise.
You swore you would never feel this way about him. Not now. Not ever.
But when you caught his stupid gaze—that stupid, confident gaze—and turned away like his stare was on fire. "Whatever," you said real quietly to yourself. "Maybe he he was looking at one of you guys or something."
But none of your friends were falling for it.
"Girl, come on." Juri sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes as she wrapped around your arm. "Even I like him and I feel like he was staring at you. It feels like it didn't even blink, like what kind of a K-drama is this?"
You bit back a comment, cheeks warming slightly, brushing your fingers through your hair to play it off. "It's not that deep, guys. Come on. I'm hungry."
"Right, yeah," said one of your friends with a smirk. "Hungry for what though?"
"Shut up," you sighed, lightly swatting her shoulder as they all burst into laughter, teasing you mercilessly while still debating what to eat for lunch. You could feel the way your heart was skipping in your chest, and you hated it. Hated the thought of him affecting you like this.
Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the quad, Jungwon was over the staring competition that Jay was losing to.
He abruptly jabbed him with his elbow, sending him an annoyed look. "Stop staring at her and tell me what you want to eat later. You're being weird."
Jay continued to lean against the wall, chewing on his bottom lip, and did not respond right away.
Then finally, a small quiet voice.
"...Do you think she hates me?"
Jungwon blinked and scrunched up his face. "What?"
Jay looked away from where you and your friends huddled, hands stuffed in his pockets. "I mean, I wouldn't blame her. But I don't know, I keep trying."
Jungwon gave him an unimpressed stare before shrugging his shoulders. "She probably does. But..." he paused, watching the way you were trying very hard not to look back at Jay, fiddling with your bag strap, and the way your lips twitched like you were trying not to smile.
"...I think she's warming up to you or something. I don't know."
Jay allowed the tiniest of grins to curve onto his lips, his gaze drifting back to you once more.
Yeah. He was gonna try again.
Your morning was already off to a terrible start. You had cramps twisting in your lower stomach the second you got out of bed, and you knew—knew—the rest of the day would continue in the same terrible fashion.
You wanted nothing to do with the heat. Or your heavy laptop. Or people breathing too loud.
So when you reached your seat and dumped your bag on the chair with a heavy thump, Jay flinched just slightly beside you. He turned his head to look at you, presumably expecting some other cold brush-off or annoyed glare, but instead saw you laboriously pulling out your notebook, then sighing in exasperation as you noticed you forgot your pencil case.
You looked... off.
You were slumped over your desk, one arm under your head and the other curled across your stomach, breathing heavily through your nose. It wasn't hard to put two and two together, especially with how often you shifted uncomfortably in your seat every minute, with your brow wearing an ever-so-slight frown.
Jay frowned a little, his lips pressed together into a line. Was it him? Did he do something again?
But, when class began and you blearily blinked awake, wordlessly pointing at the extra pen laying beside his laptop, he just nodded and slid it to you with a slight gesture of his hand. You took it, wordlessly, and he wasn't expecting a thank you either.
This was different than other days. You didn't brush him off, or fight him with your snarky attitude. You were just tired. And Jay could tell.
And to be honest, he was too.
Jay shouldn't have been taking notes, he shouldn't have been paying attention to the professor, explaining some stat formula. But his attention had gone sideways.
You were slumped again, your head turned toward the window, eyelashes fluttering lightly as sleep began to pull you down again. He took in the way your hair strands framed your cheek, and how the rise and fall of your chest was slightly uneven—probably from the lad style.
You looked soft, he thought. You were still beautiful, and you were still so headstrong in the way you carried yourself every day, but in that moment, you looked really vulnerable—in a way no one ever got to see.
No one, except him—the person you hated the most.
His chest tightened.
And maybe you didn't know, but Jay had always paid attention. It wasn't just basketball and flirting and showing off. He observed you. And he saw every detail about you.
The way you would cross your arms when someone walked in that you didn't like.
The way your eyes always flicked to the exit in your lecture, as if you were planning your escape.
The way your nose crunched when someone said something dumb—which, usually was him.
And now, how your hands were lightly clenched over your stomach, how you didn't have your usual bag, and how your shoulders were hunched the whole class.
Jay wasn't used to being... protective like this.
Once class was over, he reached out, nudging your elbow gently. "Hey..." he said, his voice lower than usual.
You blinked yourself awake slowly, letting out a soft groan while you hurriedly packed your belongings, not saying much, and being slower than you usually are—your usual brisk pace shattering before his eyes.
He stood up before you did, ready to ask if you were okay, when his eyes glanced down.
And froze.
There—faint, but visible to see—there was a stain on the back of your skirt. The guys who were normally a few rows behind, already walking down the stairs were loud as usual.
Jay knew what kind of assholes they were. He didn't need them seeing this. He didn't need you getting embarrassed.
With a rush, he came to put himself closer and then step into your space—with his back now pressed directly to yours just as you turned slightly in confusion and almost bumped into him. "Jay—?"
"Shh. Just..." He mumbled low enough only you could hear it as he was shrugging off his varsity jacket and looping it around your waist. "Don't move yet."
You froze as you began understanding what he was doing. You looked down and back behind you.
Then the panic hit.
Your voice became suddenly small. "Wait—shit—fuck, seriously?"
He tied the jacket around your hips, snugly but not too tight, making sure there was enough cover. "Yeah. But I got you."
Your heart was breathing a little bit faster now, and you were flushed from more than just the cramps. "You didn't have to-"
"I wanted to." He turned slightly and blocked you with his body as the group passed. "Now let's go before those idiots say anything."
You stared at him for a second, heart racing from the embarrassment. But Jay wasn't laughing.
He wasn't poking fun at you, or even looking smug. He was just calm. Calm and somewhat gentle. You looked down at the jacket he tied for you. It smelled faintly of his cologne.
"....Thanks," you whispered.
He didn't say anything for a beat, just smiled a tiny smile and moved to the side and offered his arm as if this wasn't a big deal. "C'mon," he said. "Let's go. I'll walk behind you—just in case."
You definitely weren't expecting him to say that—that he'd stay behind you just in case. That he wanted to cover you. That he noticed, cared, and took action without a second thought and without judgment.
You didn't even trust your own voice to speak up, you just nodded slightly; you tucked your chin in a little as you ran down the steps of the lecture hall and followed him. He just stayed behind you—not too close to suffocate, but enough that you could feel the presence of him.
The soft weight of his jacket around your hips wasn't heavy, but it was... grounding. Almost comforting, in the way it made you feel protected.
Jungwon had picked up the hint quickly, walking ahead a little with his earbuds in, choosing not to say anything or third-wheel—bless him for that.
As you both exited the building, the sun immediately warmed your skin, and you saw your friends standing just outside the gates of the campus. They were chatting casually, but the second their eyes landed on the both of you together—it was over.
Juri squealed first.
"Oh my god-" she gasped rather dramatically as she elbowed one of the girls beside her.
Their eyes dropped down to the most easy to identify varsity jacket wrapped around your waist. Jay's jacket. And how he was still standing subtly behind you, brushing your back with his chest whenever you moved even slightly.
You wanted to melt into the floor.
"Hi guys..." You let out awkwardly, waving a bit as you slowed to a stop in front of them, everything suddenly coming to your attention—him, your cheeks, theirs eyes, his jacket.
He remained behind you, levelled like a wall, a quiet assurance behind you.
The excited squeal one of your friends were trying so openly to suppress. Juri was practically bouncing with excitement, mouthing something you didn't need to interpret to know you were going to glare at.
She winked. You glared. She's grinned even wider.
Traitor.
The rest of your friend group quickly caught on to whatever Juri was scheming and played along too well, saying something about being "suddenly so busy" and "oh no, we forgot we have that meeting" and "so sorry, can't join you guys" before waving and scattering in different directions, pretending to be more occupied than they clearly were.
You turned your head to them, deadpan. "Really?"
Juri winked again from behind her iced latte and skipped away.
Jay watched the whole thing with the kind of amused look that was just barely hidden—a small smirk tugging up at his lips as he leaned a little closer to you.
"So I guess we're alone now," he said casually, tone light.
You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "You can go find your friends or... practice. I mean, whatever you were supposed to be doing."
Jay shrugged. "I'd rather stay."
You looked up, prepared to protest again, but he was already talking.
"Keep the jacket. It's cute on you," he added nonchalantly, eyes flitting down, clearly taking in how it wrapped snugly around your hips. "Color looks good on you."
Your heart stuttered—an infuriating flutter you refused to admit was because of him.
"Jay," you said, half-informing, half-flustered.
He just chuckled softly. "Wanna join me for lunch then?"
You blinked, surprised. "What about your frie-"
"They'll live," he cut in with a slight grin, nodding toward the sidewalk just past the gates. "They can survive a day without me. I promise."
You hesitated, still gripping the strap of your bag in defiance. But... you were hungry. And your friends really did just ditch you.
And Jay... Jay wasn't being boisterous or cocky like he usually is, he was just... here. Present. Acting like you were a person, not a target. You didn't hate it.
He tilted his head at you, his voice softer this time. "My treat?"
You looked up at him, and bit the inside of your cheek before you sighed. "Fine."
"Fine?" He grinned, eyes bright. "I'll take it. Let's take you back to your dorm first to change?" Jay raised a brow to you, voice softer now, though you could see the teasing in his eyes.
You felt your breath hitch slightly—right, your skirt. You forgot the whole reason you were covered in his varsity jacket. Heat bloomed at the back of your neck as you quickly nodded. "Y-Yeah. Good idea."
He walked next to you in silence, while you led the way. He glanced your way occasionally, when you'd brush your hair behind your ear, or rub your eyes in tired frustration. You weren't used to this—him giving you this much attention.
When you both stepped into the elevator, the air felt thick, like it was charged with things unsaid. Jay didn't say too much either, he just shoved his hands into his sweats pockets and watched the numbers light up until you hit your floor.
You hesitated for a moment before unlocking your dorm door—not because you were scared, but because this was the first time you had ever let any guy inside. Any guy.
But Jay didn't just feel like any guy.
When the door creaked open, he slipped quietly past you. His eyes roamed the small room. It was not too feminine—just cozy, and filled with little details that screamed you.
The soft fairy lights, the half-empty mug on the desk, the pile of books on the chair, the diffuser softly puffing in the corner. Your whole room felt cozy and real, just his type.
He leaned back against the door frame while you set your bag down. "You can shower first if you want," he said casually, shrugging his jacket off his arms. "I'll wait."
You blinked. "Really? I don't wanna take too long..."
"You wouldn't. Go on. It's your priority first alright?" he stated reassuringly, taking a seat at the edge of your bed and already reaching for his phone to scroll until you got into the bathroom.
As the door clicked shut behind you, you let out a big sigh. A sigh of relief but also a sigh of exhaustion from the day. You quickly took off your clothes and got under the water, allowing it to melt the tensions in your lower back and stomach. There was warmth spreading over your skin, the soft smell of your shampoo rising with the steam.
But halfway through drying yourself, your eyes grew wide with horror.
You forgot your clothes.
You clutched the towel tighter around yourself and creaked the door open just enough to peek in the room. Jay was splayed out on your bed; lazy, legs splayed open slightly, his phone sleeping on his chest while he took it all in. At the sound of the crack of your door, Jay's eyes shot up immediately.
"Jay..." you called softly, voice barely audible. "Can you... go to my wardrobe and pick something out for me?"
He blinked a few times; clearly taking in the sight of your bare legs and shoulders wrapped only in a towel. His throat bobbed as he quickly averted his eyes. "Y-Yeah. Sure. I can do that.."
He leapt out of the bed faster than expected and walked over to your closet like he was on a mission. His fingers traced along the hangers while he glanced along before grabbing what looked most interesting one—a soft little sundress and a cardigan.
He looked at it one second. Cute. Way too cute. He thought he was grabbing something easy to put on—not something that made it look like you were on a date.
...wait.
Is this a date now?
He invited you to lunch. He bought you coffee. He gave you his jacket. Was he serious about this? If so, did you see it that way?
His head cocked slightly as he brought the outfit to your hand peeking through the slit of the door. "Here," he said, clearing his throat. "I hope that's okay."
"Thanks," you mumbled, fingertips nudging together for a moment as you took your clothes back in the room and shut the door again.
Jay turned away, allowing for a little more privacy, walking over to the bed and flopping down onto it again, but now he really looked different. His hand was now behind his head, and he just stared up at the ceiling.
His heart felt weirdly calm and loudly beating at the same time.
This wasn't normal for him. But it didn't feel bad at all.
He didn't even care about the fact that he saw some girl in your department giving him a look as he walked into your dorm earlier. He was probably going to deal with a rumor or two by tomorrow, but honestly, let them think whatever they want. It doesn't mean anything unless you say something.
He wasn't a mess-around type of guy. Regardless of what he might be labeled as—confident, cocky, or a tad intimidating, Jay Park has always eventually been a careful chooser. Something about him sitting on your bed, in your space, waiting for you to get ready just to go out and eat, felt like the first time he wasn't choosing with his head.
Maybe you're his unexpected problem.
But maybe you were the only one he didn't mind having.
You emerged from the bathroom, newly clothed in the soft dress Jay had chosen for you, with the cardigan draping you comfortably around your body. You went straight to your vanity, pulling your hair as gently as you could to the side, and reaching for your cushion foundation.
You didn't want to take too long; he was already being more patient than anyone had ever been with you, but you wanted to look nice.
Jay, still perched lazily at the edge of your bed, watched as you patted on the soft makeup. He tilted his head slightly, admiring the way your brows furrowed when you concentrated.
"You don't have to rush, you know," he said, "You're already pretty, but I get it. Take your time to look good good."
Once you were finished, he stood up, waiting as you grabbed your phone and lip balm, before walking out of your dorm.
The walk to the restaurant was... quiet in a comforting way. The kind of quiet where the air didn't feel heavy or awkward. Jay walked beside you, hands in his pockets, occasionally looking over at you—the way your cardigan sleeves nearly covered your hands, the way your hair bounced softly with every step.
You were beautiful. And he knew he was going to be in trouble.
As you passed through the parkway leading to the restaurant, an older couple walked past you two and the man looked at you with the woman before pausing to lean and give a warm smile. "What a cute couple you two make," the elderly gentleman remarked, nodding his head at Jay before giving you a wink.
You widened your eyes slightly and immediately shook your head. "Oh! No, no, we're not-" you nervously laughed, looking down to hide the growing redness in your ears.
Jay offered a polite nod and, biting the inside of his cheek to hide the smile coming across his face.
"Well," the elderly man said, his eyes twinkling, "you two would look really good together."
You didn't offer much response to that. But Jay didn't either.
When you arrived at the restaurant—a cute, warm little Japanese place, sandwiched between a couple of shops—he opened the door for you, and then, like it were second nature, he pulled your chair out before sitting across from you. It definitely caught you off guard. You couldn't say many guys did that anymore.
You quietly admired the atmospherics—dark wooden tables, warm light, jazz faintly playing in the background, and the menu was digital, and you scrolled through it quickly while Jay rested his chin on his hand, eyes flicking between you and the dishes.
You finally placed your order, and once the waiter walked away, Jay pulled his phone out to take a picture of the restaurant; you really didn't think much of it—until you noticed his camera stayed pointed a moment too long at you.
"Wait—h-hey!" you leaned forward, a little embarrassed.
He looked up, phone still in hand. "What?" he asked.
"You just took a picture of me."
"You're literally right in front of me. What do you want me to do?"
"Delete it."
"No."
Your mouth opened in protest, but he spoke first, "Don't worry, you look good."
You huffed and crossed your arms, slouching back in your chair. "What if your little fangirl group sees it and comes to murder me in my sleep? You never post girls," you said.
Jay hesitated for a moment, looking directly at you.
"Then I'll be there," he said gently, not teasing, not joking; just being honest. "To protect you."
You blinked.
"And besides," He tilted his head, lips curling into an all too familiar smug grin, "Are you sure you hate me?"
You stared at him, mouth opening but no words coming out—and he knew you couldn't deny how he'd been treating you. The jacket. The dorm. The lunch. The damn picture.
Before you could respond, your phone buzzed.
Jay had posted it—the picture of the restaurant with you slightly blurred in front. And he tagged you. He tagged you.
You looked up at him slowly.
His eyes were still on you—expectant.
"You're waiting for me to repost it," you mumbled under your breath.
Jay gave you a sly smile and leaned back in his seat. "Might as well. You look good. Let them know who I'm with."
Almost immediately after, his phone starts buzzing. Jungwon. Heeseung. Even Sunghoon. His group chat was blowing up with messages that said:
jungwon: finally
heeseung: no way is this real
jake: bro's in love
heeseung: WHO IS SHE
sunghoon: our boy got a girlfriend???
Jay just chuckled, locking his phone.
"Looks like they are freaking out already," he said casually, taking a sip of his water.
Jay was already laughing the minute you said, "My friends are freaking out too."
He leaned in a little more, resting his elbow on the table, as you flicked through the increasing number of likes and notifications about your post on your phone, scrolling nervously with your thumb.
You sat there scrolling through the notifications, and you were only halfway through it when you sighed and started writing back, one after another—
No, we're not dating.
It's just lunch lol.
Nooo he's just being nice.
But texts kept flooding in, from people you hardly spoke to.
And they didn't believe you; why should they? Not when Jay—the guy who has never been seen out like that with a girl—was now publicly posting on his Instagram, tagging you, feeding the two of you in public.
And not when the restaurant he picked was that cute, with it's oh-so-romantic lighting, and view, and the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing he's there for.
Because to him, you were the pretty view. Not the food. Not the street-side sunset later.
You. Only you.
And then the drinks came, the sound of porcelain tea cups softly clinking in the calm space, Jay taking a small sip from one cup, and casually putting it back down, eyes flicking to your plate,
then to you.
"You're checking mine out," he said.
Your head jerked up. "Wha—no I wasn't."
Jay smirked, grabbing his chopsticks to cut off a perfect bite-sized piece and holding it out to you. "Come on. Eat it."
You hesitated, caught by surprise, blinking as the food stayed in front of your lips. Your heart stuttered in your chest, but you leaned in and took the bite. He watched you chew with content.You had gone silent, now concentrating on your own plate, your cheeks warming up.
He reached for his phone.
"Can I film it again?" he asked. "You looked really cute when I fed you. I'll send it to you—post it if you want."
You stared at him for a beat. "I don't even look cute right now."
"You look perfect."
You tried not to react to that, biting the inside of your cheek before you gave in with a little eye roll. "Fine."
He fed you another bite while filming, a soft chuckle sound leaving his lips behind the camera as you blinked at him mid-bite, clearly shocked.
You looked at the video afterward and well, you liked it. It was oddly cute. Only you were in frame, the lighting soft and golden, the mood intimate.
So you posted it.
Your comments started pouring in. The caption was vague, but that didn't stop people from blowing up your DMs. Your friends were already in your group chat spamming heart emojis and yelling in all caps.
You set aside your phone again and went back to your food.
Jay was looking at you again, but this time he didn't say anything. He just smiled to himself.After lunch, he insisted on paying for lunch—no negotiation—and the two of you walked out into the late afternoon sun walking side by side down the cobbled streets of the city, past window displays and street vendors.
It felt like a date. An actual date.
You weren't sure you were ready to admit that yet.
But he could feel it. The way you hesitated when you were walking past a boutique, the way your shoulders brushed and you didn't pull away, the way your voice softened when you were talking to him. It was different now. You weren't the girl who hated him anymore.
Eventually, you both reached your dorm, the sky dimming now with an early evening hue. He walked you all the way to the door without a question.
"This is the most fun I've had in a long time," Jay said, with his hands in his pockets, rocking back on the balls of his feet. His voice was softer now—a little shy, despite his confidence.
You studied him for a moment, your heart tugging at something you didn't dare name yet. "Me too," you said, a barely audible whisper.
Then, on gut instinct—uprising from your heart or just the heat of the moment—you tiptoed forward and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. You stepped back, your heart racing, your eyes wide, and your brain scrambling to process what you just did.
Jay stood frozen. Then, his head turned toward you, with a sparkle in his eye and a slow, self-satisfied smile emerging on his lips.
"Well, so much for hating me, huh?" he teased, raising an eyebrow.
You rolled your eyes and shrugged him lightly with embarrassment. "Shut up. It's just a thank you for taking me to an expensive lunch."
He chuckled. In his strange but Jay-like way, he reached out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. "I guess I should take you to lunch more often then."
This time his voice was lower and there was a hint of seriousness.
"I'm not complaining," you said, and you couldn't help but smile.
That next morning everything felt loud.
The whispers, they were everywhere. You don't think you made it onto campus before you heard it-
"Is that the girl from Jay's post?"
"She's the one he fed right?"
"Ugh I can't believe how lucky she is. I didn't even think he liked girls like her."
The stares you got felt heavier than your backpack. You keep walking, brushing your fingers back through your hair like you didn't care, until your best friend Juri comes sprinting toward you with the loudest gasp.
"You. You kissed him!"
"What- I didn't-"
You blinked fast and took a stumbling step back.
"Okay maybe not you, but you two went to lunch?! Girl come on." she whined, pulling your arm through hers. "And don't you try downplaying it. I seen the story. We all seen the story."
You rolled your eyes. "It was just food."
"Yeah, a food date, with Park Jongseong, that fed you and tagged you and now half the girls on campus wanna burn you at the stake."
You sighed, face heating up as your friend group giggled and teased all the way to the lecture hall. When you stepped inside alone, the buzzing died down just a bit. Not because people weren't talking—they were. But because you were suddenly all too aware of your seat.
Beside Jay.
He was leaning in toward Jungwon, laughing about something when you sat down, catching your presence from the corner of his eye. He turned immediately, smile tugging at his lips.
Jungwon, of course, caught on fast.
"Your girl's here," he snorted, stretching in your direction.
"Shut up," you muttered, slumping in your seat.
Jay just chuckled.
Class started and you attempted to focus, but it was hot. Way too hot. Second day of your period and it hit you harder than yesterday. The cramps were intense, like someone had clamped a fist in your stomach. You winced slightly leaning your elbow on the desk, annoyed at the heat slowly rising through your body in discomfort.
Jay saw.
Without saying a word, he reached into his bag and pulled out a thermal bottle. He nudged it toward your desk.
You stared at it and then looked up at him, confused.
"It's warm ginger tea... my mom said that it helps with cramps." he whispered.
You blinked. "You made it for me?"
He shrugged and looked back down at his notes. "Thought it might help."
You took the bottle, suddenly at a loss for words.
After class, you walked next to him again. The two of you seemed to slide into a quiet rhythm of walking next to each other without saying a word. Jungwon was behind you humming something rhythmic under his breath, but then he abruptly stopped and said bye.
Jay's hand brushed against yours before he gently laced your fingers together.
You didn't pull away.
Outside, your friends awaited again, sprawled at the steps, but so did those girls. The ones who looked at you like you'd sinned just by being next to him. Popular. Perfect. Pretty.
Jay noticed the way your mood shifted, how your smile faded just slightly. And maybe he could've ignored it, or reassured you with words.
But that wasn't his style.
Instead he leaned down and kissed you loud on the cheek.
You squeaked a bit, trying to pull away.
"Jay, what the hell are you doing-"
The sound of his mouth making smacking noises on your cheek over and over filled the breeze, making your friends go wide-eyed as you turned a darker shade of red. Your nose crunched, eyes scrunched shut as you half-laughed, half tried to squirm away without offending him.
"You're so annoying-!"
"And you're so cute." he grinned.
You turned your head, wanting to say something but miscalculated.
Your lips met.
His lips were warm and sweet, just enough to make the girls eyes widened from afar.
Jay blinked, in shock, pulling away a little, and then, "...fuck it."
He kissed you again, this time intentionally. Longer. He was more sure this time around. Your friends behind you screamed. Someone definitely started recording. The girls who were shooting daggers at you are completely shaken. And you?
You couldn't move, your lips tingling, breath knocked out of your body.
Jay pulled away slowly, his lips barely brushing against your own, and soft and low enough that only you would actually hear him say, "Now you really can't say you hate me."
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