fallingforyou

He hopes he’s not alone in this. Because in every other aspect of his life right now, he feels like he is. He knows he is. He realizes it in every moment that passes in his life; he realizes it every morning when he wakes up in the cold dorm room he shares with a roommate that barely talks to him because he’s 2 years older and has other things to worry about, he realizes it every lunch break when there are no classmates sitting at his table with obnoxious laughter coming out their throats, he realizes it every afternoon when he walks home after his classes end and he surely realizes it every night when you’re not there cuddling him and providing him warmth. 

There’s no moment in his life when he would be completely alone. When he wakes up in the morning, there’s his roommate getting ready for his classes. At lunch, there’s plenty of people in the cafeteria and there are people sitting next to him in class, when he listens about the state of the current economy and tries to learn something useful for exams. He’s surrounded by people when he walks home through the town center, there’s people talking to him on the bus when they get lost along the way, there’s people bugging him when he shops for groceries and carries them to the dorm by himself, with no help. There’s always someone in his immediate reach, yet, he’s always lonely. It’s a bitter paradox.

He should tell you how he feels. Maybe he’ll find comfort in knowing you feel the same. Maybe he’ll find it easier to get through the semester knowing that you’re out there, yearning for his presence just as much as he is for yours. 

But that’s not the kind of person Mark Lee is at this very moment. And so, to answer your question, he chooses the easier alternative. He lies.

“I’m alright! Just got done with classes for the day. I’m on my way home and I missed you, so I wanted to call and see how you’re doing,” he mumbles, trying to sound the most cheerful he can, not letting you see any sign of discomfort or anxiety from being so far away from home.

“That’s good! I hope the classes were interesting, Markie,” you say, making him chuckle at the clingy nickname you sometimes let slip out of your mouth, “I got home at 2 and then went to hang out with girls from high school. I have plenty of assignments to get done already, but I’ll get to them after we finish our call.”

“I hope I’m not… you know. Interrupting you in work or something,” Mark mumbles, too hesitant to be annoying you when you have important things to do. The truth is, Mark doesn’t think he’s the smarter one in this relationship– he never thought so in the first place, but after he got into a mediocre business school on the other side of the country and you got into a prestigious med school close to home, the fact was only further solidified. No amount of homework Mark could’ve gotten at university could be more difficult than whatever you have going on, and he knows that. His only wish is to not be the reason why you’re distracted and putting off your assignments.

“No! I want to talk to you,” you say, tone of voice sweet as honey, coating all of his wounds with a thick essence of love and tenderness, “how’s life there? We haven’t talked much since you moved out.”

The last sentence cuts him open and leaves him bleeding in the slowly darkening park, making him inhale sharply as he looks around and finds a bench to sit on, not really caring about the coldness of it on his bum.  It’s true– he moved out for university in September, with you hugging him tightly as he set on the train and never looked back in a fear of seeing everything he’s leaving behind waving at him, and now it’s November and he can only remember calling you no more than under 10 times, on occasions when he misses you the most. The reason? 

Again, he doesn’t want to bother you with his clinginess. He also doesn’t want to bother you with his loneliness. He doesn’t want to bother you at all– you have more important things to do than to worry about your boyfriend living on the other side of the country. 

“It’s… it’s good,” Mark lies, choosing to forget about all the parties he’s been to and hated, leaving before midnight, choosing to leave out the closed-off roommate and the kids in his class that only hang out together, leaving him out, “my classmates are… nice… and the course is super interesting as well… What about you, though? How’s life? Exciting?”

Humming, you reply to his burning question. “It’s alright, I guess. I mean… I hang out with Minji and Jisu from high school, so it’s not too lonely. I like the classes and everything and I think I’ll do well on my exams, so that’s comforting. I even made some new friends at the party we went to last week, they study Econ like you do!”

Mark finds himself getting lost in the tone of your voice, something about it picking him up and carrying him into your room, letting him feel the essence of your presence and the warmness of your persona. Humming, he finds himself asking you more about your experiences, for he despises talking about his own, wanting so desperately to hide away back home and find comfort in the known. “Woah, look at you being so social! I’m glad to hear that, baby. Where are they from?”

“Daegu,” you reply shortly. “What about you? Any new friends? Parties?”

“Yeah,” he nods, cutting it short. He doesn’t have much information to give you about the parties he’s been to or the people he’s met, mainly because he hated every moment of those gatherings and the classmates in his circle aren’t really his friends, only keeping the conversations surface-level and not trying to get to know him more. “They’re nice.”

“That’s all? They’re nice?”

“I mean.. we… we haven’t really talked much yet,” he clarifies, hoping this answer is enough for you.

“Mark… you have to get past it and talk to people! I know it’s hard, but I promise you can make friends easily. Just don’t let the fact that they’re reserved at first put you off, everyone’s a little shy sometimes,” you encourage him, making him instantly feel empty, hollowing the pit in his stomach even deeper.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, “I know.”

You’re silent for a few heartbeats, suddenly running out of things to talk about. Mark feels himself falling deeper and deeper into the hole of self-pity he’s been digging since he moved out across the country, trying hard to find anything to talk about, trying hard to tell you something new or exciting to pick up your interest, but failing. He can’t find anything he wants to share with you.

The truth is, partners should share stuff with each other. The exciting things, the sad things, the lonely things… all things. But as time passes, Mark finds himself sharing less and less with you, in fear of making you worry and judge him for the way he’s living in this very moment, in fear of being nothing more than an embarrassment to such a successful and amazing human as you are. 

As time passes, you know less and less of him, and he knows less and less of you. It feels off. It feels wrong. In all of his life, he always felt that you were the closest to him, no matter how far you were away from him. In this moment, though, he feels as if you were on another planet, in another universe, millions of lightyears away.

“Sometimes I walk down the street of your house and when I see the empty driveway, you know, where you used to park your car, I get so sad… time flies so fast, Mark, it feels like yesterday when we just met in high school and now we’re both adults and you’re living so far away…” 

Sniffling, now not only from the cold but also from the wave of emotion that hits the poor boy, Mark wipes away the stray tear that travels down his cheek. Clearing his throat so he doesn’t let you know that he’s crying, he keeps his answers short, afraid of his voice breaking and trembling, therefore not letting him mask his emotions. “I know.”

“It feels so empty without you here,” you say, only managing to break him more.

He doesn’t know if you realize it– just how much your words impact the way he feels right now. Not only does he feel lonely, but you probably do too. For years, it’s always been you two together, seeing each other every single day, cuddling away the worries and talking about everything. Now, it’s all different and you haven’t seen each other for two months, let alone touched each other and embraced each other’s broken bodies in a healing hug. He feels insanely bad for leaving you alone. It doesn’t matter just how lonely he feels every single day– it doesn’t matter just as much as your feelings do, at least in his eyes.

“It’s… it’s the same here,” he manages to get out, wiping away the tears that uncontrollably roll down his cheeks, feeling his lower lip trembling. Seeing a stranger walking down the park, he tries to hide away from their eyes, afraid of showing any kind of emotion to anyone. He feels embarrassed for crying like this. He should be good at handling it.

It’s always been his dream to move far away from home for university. So why the hell does he feel so lonely all the time? 

He never knew how homesick he could get until he didn’t start missing home. He guesses it’s true that you don’t value what you have until you lose it.

“Maybe… maybe I should come over? So we can talk?” you suggest, your tone of voice so low and broken that he almost feels like walking on shattered glass, the pieces of your relationship prickling him in the bottoms of his feet and leaving him bleeding on the concrete.

Your suggestion should make him happy. He should be excited to see you again, he should be head over heels to invite you to his dorm, to let you sleep over and show you around. He should be excited to show you the dorm he hates, the town he hates, the university he despises, the classmates he finds annoying, the coldness of it all, the roommate that constantly ignores him, the spiderwebs in the corners of his room, the messy handwriting in his notebooks from the lectures he couldn’t keep up with; he should be excited to show you the bus route to the grocery store that always makes him bored, the puddles in the park that never disappear because it rains all the time, the emptiness of his fridge because he can’t cook, the dark circles under his eyes because he can’t sleep, the wounds on his fingers from when he cuts his fruit when he’s distracted thinking of you, the bruises on his knees from when he fell over after tripping on the stairs at university, the dry plant he bought to make himself feel more at home but abandoned it the day after, because he's too tired to even look after himself… he should be excited to see you again, to hold you again, to kiss you again.

But he’s not. He doesn’t want you to come to this place. He doesn’t want you to invade his little, silent bubble. He doesn’t want you to see the sad little space he lives in, the rock hard bed he sleeps in, the cold of his dorms or the mess on the floor. He doesn’t want you to see the mess in his head. He doesn’t want you to see everything he despises, for you might make him have good memories in the places he hates, and he doesn’t think he could handle seeing the glimpses of you everywhere while knowing you’re so far out of his reach.

He doesn’t want you to see him struggle and cry when he knows you’re doing okay back at home, studying for your dream job, chasing your dream. 

He doesn’t want you to see just how lost he is. 

He doesn’t want you to come to him and see the mess he really is when he’s alone, he doesn’t want you to see him so vulnerable, for he knows the true intention of your visit and he doesn’t think he could make it if you really come over just to break up with him in person because you’d feel bad to do it over the phone after such a long time of being together and promising him you can make it long distance, but knowing all too well that that it's too much to handle for the both of you as soon as a few days passed after he left.

a/n: first fic on a new blog always gets me nervous omg... please f1 be nice to me I am just trying to feed the albonation. this fic has been in works since august of last year and was originally a kpop fic (eric sohn nation missed out :p), but it's very very personal to me and soso special, so please handle it with a lot of care. :) oh ALSO I am aware the "experimental method" of this is incorrect on a lot of levels I literally have a bachelors degree in psychology but lets just ignore it for the sake of this fic please xx

EPISODE 1: THE PILOT (JK WE NEED AT LEAST 8 EPISODES THIS WILL CONTINUE NO MATTER THE RESPONSE…)

“Hello dear listeners, hello professor Vowles,” Alex talks into the microphone in front of him after clearing his throat and pressing record, looking at you as if to give you the cue to say something as well.

“And professor Smith,” you add, lips close to the other microphone the male provided for you, skin almost brushing the metal tip of the device. You’ve never handled such a thing before, so you don’t really know how close you have to be to have your voice picked up by the machine, but you kind of feel like a rockstar right now, so you’re going to make the best of it while you’re at it.

“And we welcome you to the first ever episode of our podcast called The Y/N and Alex show,” the boy finishes, flashing you a grin at the end of the little introduction. 

Shaking your head at him, you sigh. “We are not calling it The Y/N and Alex show,” you argue.

“Do you have any better ideas?” 

“Well, I don’t, but–”

“Your opinion doesn’t really matter, then,” Alex shrugs, making you once again sigh at his antics. You haven’t even really started, yet you are already regretting even getting together with the boy to do this in the first place. It seems like it’s going to be rather difficult to complete your assignment with someone like Alex Albon.

“Okay, let’s at least redo the intro, then,” you mumble after pinching the skin in between your eyebrows, lost in thought.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? You can’t just leave that in–”

“Watch me,” Alex grins. If you knew recording with him would be such a hassle, you wouldn’t agree to do this. He looked normal in his profile picture, though– oh how foolish you were… “All of this is staying in.”

“Why would it– you know what, let’s just proceed…”

After knowing Alex Albon for about a total of 25 minutes– of which you spent in his kitchen getting a glass of water and then in the dimly lit spaces of his bedroom right across the hall that he remade into a makeshift recording studio for your little podcast– you already learned that there is no use arguing with the stubborn guy. You just have to nod and accept that it’s his way or the highway– and since editing the whole podcast was his responsibility, you can’t really tell him what to do and what not to do when it comes to it.

“So, to anyone who doesn’t know– which might just be everyone, I think– let’s introduce ourselves. My name is Alex Albon, I am a freshman and I study communications. This is an assignment for my podcast making class, and I recruited miss Y/N over here to do it with me, because she promised to have a never-ending list of topics to talk about,” Alex says, looking over to you with the microphone close to his plush lips, as if signaling your turn to speak.

“And I am Y/N, studying psychology. I can’t really tell you what my assignment is about, because it would defeat the point of it, but I met Alex in the campus Facebook group begging for someone to do this with, and.. here we are.”

After getting your assignment description for social psychology– to try to replicate an existing experiment from the history of psychology to the best of your abilities– you chose to put Arthur Aron’s theory to the test. To anyone unaware of the man, he pretty much compiled a list of conversation topics to talk about that, supposedly, inevitably will make two people fall in love. 

And since you’re quite skeptical of love in general, you decided that this is the best thing to put to the test. You really needed this documented to the last detail and also needed someone that you didn’t know well– so there was no previous feelings or opinions involved– and so after joining the university Facebook group where students help each other with the most various things, you found a lost freshman asking if anyone wanted to help him with his assignment for a podcast class. 

It felt like a heureka moment. After turning up and actually doing it, though, not so much…

You don’t really know what you expected, to be fair. You didn’t stalk Alex, because you figured finding out something that would make you want to turn down the plan would be a disadvantage to you, since you needed to start on the assignment as soon as possible. However, after turning up to his apartment and finding a messy haired brunet smiling at you and excitedly waddling like a puppy into the flat he shares with a guy he introduced to you as Lando Norris, you can’t say you expected this– to record the said podcast in his room, at 10 in the evening– ‘for aesthetic purposes’, surrounded by only his bedsheets and a single microphone in hand.

You’re not disappointed. Maybe just a little… weirded out? No… That’s not the right word. Just a little taken aback, you suppose.

You note Alex’s state– loose gray sweatpants adorning his long legs and a cozy, big sweater hanging off his broad shoulders. You wore your best jeans and a pretty top, which might be a little excessive for something like this, you must admit, and make a mental note to get here dressed more casually the next time.

“Here we are,” Alex nods, agreeing with you. “So… before we start with whatever you have prepared, I was meaning to ask… how did you find the first week of university? Given we are both freshmen and all,” the male smiles, taking you off guard with his friendly question.

“Oh,” you start, humming. “It was alright, I guess. It’s kinda awkward in class, but my roommate seems nice enough, so that’s good.”

“Awkward?” Alex raises his eyebrows at you. “How come?”

“Well, you know,  since we don’t really know each other and all,” you say. “Everyone’s a little scared of each other, or something,” you joke, making the boy opposite of you smile.

“Wow… that’s weird, though,” Alex mumbles. “I already made like 5 friends, I think?”

“Because you seem to be extroverted,” you point out, having the boy roll his eyes at your comment– he seems to get that a lot.

“I have a lot of energy,” he nods. “People laugh at me because I make friends with everyone, like, up to the point where I was friends with my friend’s dad back in high school.”

“With his dad?”

“Yeah,” Alex laughs. “Shout out to Joe,” the boy mutters before continuing, “we fully went to see a tennis match together and everything, excluding my friend.”

“That’s wild…” you comment. “Poor guy.”

“I don’t think he minded… but you see what I mean? Maybe I should keep more to myself.”

“Maybe,” you nod, but instantly rebuke your own words. “But no, I find that to be a good thing. I always like it when an extrovert takes me under their wing, because I find making friends a little scary. Too bad I chose a major where everyone is an introvert, so I kinda have to make an effort myself or I’ll end up lonely.”

Alex nods, humming to the microphone to accompany his body language, since your podcast is not recorded and you two aren’t shown on camera. “You have to channel your inner extrovert.”

“I am actively doing it, dude,” you snicker, “it’s a little hard, but I’m trying.”

“I can see that,” he nods, grinning. “Not a lot of introverts would hop on a podcast with a random dude off Facebook, that’s for sure.”

You laugh, agreeing with his point. “Yeah,” you nod, “I don’t really know what came over me in that moment, but anything to get this assignment done, I guess.”

“And I’m sure you’ll do a good job on it,” Alex says, smiling. “Speaking of, do you wanna start with it? I promise not to look online or anywhere, as you mentioned– Mr Smith, I am a completely unaware subject of this experiment–”

“Don’t address him like that, gosh,” you shush him, the respect you have for your professor coating the words coming out of your mouth. 

“I don’t think he’s listening, Y/N.”

“Well, you never know!” you lick your lips, shaking your head at the boy in disbelief. Getting your phone out of your jeans back pocket, you open your notes app and scroll through the various documents, finding the list of questions you copied off the internet.

“Mr Smith, if you’re listening, send Y/N an email–”

“Shut it! I’m starting with the thing now, okay?” you hum, looking up at the boy opposite of you through your eyelashes, finding him nodding at you obediently with a soft smile playing with his features. Does he ever stop smiling? Does his facial muscles not hurt..? Weird.

“So, Mr Albon,” you clear your throat, “given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as your dinner guest?”

“Interesting question,” Alex hums, pursing his lips a little against the microphone. “Dead or alive?” he asks for clarification.

“I guess either…?” you shrug, looking up from the phone screen again, giving him your full attention now that you asked the question.

“That made it harder to answer.”

“Why?”

“Because the selection is bigger now, duh,” Alex says, rolling his eyes at you jokingly. You sigh a little at that– teasingly, of course– before you watch the boy contemplate his answer, squinting his eyes a little, as if thinking about the response took way too much of his brain power.

“Who are you choosing out of?” you ask, curiosity getting the best out of you.

“I don’t know yet,” he says, pursing his lips a little. “What about you? Who would you choose?”

You hum. Before asking all those questions, you didn’t really prepare any answers– thinking that it would kind of defeat the whole purpose of the experiment. Your task was to be authentic, to fully test out your theory– being that Arthur Aron was wrong, and there is no way you can fall in love with someone just after asking them 36 simple questions. After seconds that, however, feel like eternity spent contemplating your answer, you start to think that maybe, you should’ve made up some answers before coming here to make it easier for the boy, though. 

“Maybe my grandpa,” you say, noticing the way the boy looks at you with raised brows, instantly wanting clarification. “He’s not here anymore, so… I think it would be nice to talk after so many years.”

The boy turns more serious at your answer, an understanding look flashing over his features. The aura around you two calms for a bit, the playfulness escaping the boy– adapting himself to the topic of conversation at hand instantly, trying to sense the boundaries. “How old were you when he passed?”

“Like… 11, I think?” you hum, nodding to yourself. “I miss him sometimes.”

“That’s understandable,” he says, “he must have meant a lot to you.”

“He did,” you agree, “he does.”

Alex offers you a sympathetic smile, humming to the mic. Careful not to ask something that would upset you, he lets you take charge of the conversation, listening. “Yeah, so… that would be my answer,” you conclude, not really ready to discuss anything more intimate with the boy just yet. “What about you? Who were you deciding on?”

“Oh,” the boy perks up, taking the hint and leaving the previous topic alone, “I was actually in between my friend George and Lando,” he says, making you instantly burst into laughter.

Furrowing his brows at you, a confused question drags itself out of Alex’s throat. “What?”

“It’s just… you asked if it’s anyone, dead or alive, and out of everyone in the whole world, all time, you chose your friends?” you say, shaking your head at him in disbelief. His response felt ridiculous– Alex Albon sure is a weird one.

“What’s so funny about that?” he asks, the expression of a confused puppy theatrically appearing on his face.

“I mean, it’s just funny to me that you chose someone that you can have lunch with at any time anyway, you know?” you clarify, shrugging. “I’d expect you to choose someone like… I don’t know… Michael Jackson, or something.”

Alex laughs at that, shaking his head at your argument. “Well, no. I don’t really know what I’d talk to Michael Jackson about, y’know?”

“I dunno,” you shrug. “I’m sure you’d think of something. You seem like quite the social butterfly.”

“I get that a lot,” he agrees. “But no, I’m serious. I’d probably pick George, if I had to choose. George, if you’re listening, you still owe me 20 quid,” Alex sing-songs to the mic, tone of voice cute and scolding, making you laugh at the ridiculous manner of the boy in front of you.

“Is this a friend from back home?” you ask, curious.

“Mhm,” he hums. “We met in elementary school. He’s my longest friend.”

“Is his dad Joe?” you joke.

Alex snorts. “No,” he shakes his head.

“Why didn’t you choose Joe?” you tease, making the boy in front of you laugh out, a gentle warmth caressing your heart at the sound. His laugh is pretty, you conclude– the type that makes you want to laugh with him. 

“Look, me and Joe didn’t have much in common except for tennis, if I’m being honest,” he says, grinning. 

“So you’d choose to have dinner with someone you already know well instead?” you ask, testing the boy.

“Well, yeah,” Alex shrugs, “do I get to choose the place as well?”

“Sure,” you nod, completely dumbfounded with the nature of the podcast host in front of you.

“I’d take George Russell to Subway. I am craving Subway and I know he hates it, so although I’d bring him to dinner with me, he would get nothing out of it, and I think that’s kinda funny.”

“You’d take him out just to spite him?”

“Something like that,” he nods. “That’s for the 20 quid he owes me,” Alex says, tone of voice serious, yet you know there is a hint of a joke behind his words.

Shaking your head at him, you let out a defeated sigh. “That’s– why would you even choose him, then?”

“I dunno,” Alex laughs, eyes settling sincerely at your face. “I think I’d choose George because I know the dinner would be pleasant. I always have things to talk about with him. I guess… I guess the person I’d like to spend my free time with the most would have to be my best friend, y’know?”

You nod, smiling. You must admit that although Alex’s response is unexpected, it’s sweet. It shows his character. 

Maybe having this podcast with him for the course of this semester wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

EPISODE 2: INFLUENCER ERA?? 

“Hello listeners,” Alex sings into the microphone, a soft melody making you laugh at the resemblance he has to old-school radio hosts, “or shall I say, listener?”

Snorting at his comment, you shake your head at him at the bluntness of his words. After the first episode of your podcast was posted on Soundcloud, Alex wasn’t very pleased with the response it got. Not only did none of his friends he made at university listen to it like he asked them to– not even the ones from the podcast class he is doing all of this for– but his friends from home didn’t either. The episode was stuck on one view, and that surely hurt the boy’s pride more than he’d like to admit. (Not to mention the single listen might have been from you. He sent you the link two days after the recording, and you clicked on it in curiosity only to click out when you cringed at hearing your own voice.)

“You’re surely salty about that, aren’t you?” you joke, eyes meeting with the boy in front of you. 

It’s Monday evening and you turned up to his apartment the same time as last week, meaning it’s close to midnight. You don’t complain much, since the quiet atmosphere of the dimly lit room provides just the perfect setting for the experiment and the recording itself, but after finishing up just after the clock strikes early morning, you can’t say you’re not at least a little sleepy.

Which is why you finally came to the recording dressed in your comfortable clothes– big sweater, fuzzy socks and all, sprawled out on the top of Alex’s duvet.

“Just a little bit. I wonder who the only listener is, though.”

“Your mum, maybe?”

“Was this a your mum joke, or are you actually suggesting it’s my mother?” Alex laughs, the sound resonating through the quiet apartment.

“No, just an actual suggestion,” you clarify, watching as the boy shakes his head at you.

“I actually think it’s my professor,” he says, “since he’s the only one that has to listen to it to grade me, y’know,” Alex notes, having you nod at his suggestion.

“Well, hello to Mr Vowles, then,” you say sweetly into the microphone, watching your co-host grin at the antics you’ve picked up from him since the last episode. “Wait, that’s a good segway into the next question I had prepared.”

“Oh, so we’re rawdogging it? Right away?” Alex asks, raising his eyebrows at you innocently.

“I don’t think you’re using that term correctly and I wish you would never use it again,” you hum, but continue with your speech nonetheless, not really giving him space to correct himself. “But yes, right away, because it fits. Would you like to be famous? Since the absence of views on our podcast is a problem to you, it seems,” you point out, watching the boy chew on the inside of his cheek– much like every time you ask him a question and he takes a moment to think about it.

“Yes and no,” he says, earning himself a sigh from you. Can he never give you a single normal answer?

“What does that even mean?” you mourn.

Alex Albon is surely something different. You’ve never met someone just like him– the way he thinks, the way he replies to your curious questions… You’re amused and entertained just by watching him dwell on your words– wanting to know more about him, about the way his brain works. Every answer he provides you is analytical, saying too much, providing you with a view of his brain, a sight of his inner thoughts.

“Well, I think I’d like to be like… medium-sized famous…? Like, I could still go out without a mass of people following me everywhere, but I get recognised like once every two weeks on the street, y’know.”

“So specific…”

“I’d love to be like a… niche influencer, or something,” he says. “They kinda have it easy, don’t you think?”

“You’re the one studying social media, not me,” you laugh, pointing out the obvious.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying it,” he hums, pursing his lips a little. “Only if more people and friends of mine listened to this podcast…” he ironically muses, making you snicker. “Maybe this would be the first step towards my stardom.”

“Medium-sized stardom.”

“Right,” he grins, nodding at you. “What about you? Would you want to be famous?

A hum slips its way past your lips, only a few seconds passing before you offer him your final response. You thought about this before, if you’re being honest, and although you would want to give him a more eloquent, more interesting answer, you have to be true to yourself.

“I don’t think I would,” you note. “I like attention, but I think it would be too pressuring for me.”

“Pressuring?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you. He is always so patient with your answers, wanting to know what you have to say. It’s not every day you meet a person who truly engages in conversation with you– and doesn’t treat it like it’s an interview– and that has you appreciating Alex Albon’s efforts twice as much. 

Maybe this is why he has a lot of friends. It’s easy to warm up to him.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Like, everyone’s watching my every move and I can fuck up any minute, and everyone would know. I’m also quite a private person.”

“I can see that,” he notes, making you furrow your brows at him, confused.

“Huh?”

“I- Lando tried to stalk you on Instagram the other day– since he met you, and all– and he found nothing. You only have a profile picture,” he laughs, “so yeah, I’d expect this answer from you. You don’t seem to be the one to enjoy having many eyes on you.”

“Yeah,” you nod, agreeing with him. “Although, your roommate wanting to stalk me is mildly concerning. Maybe I should stop coming over…” you joke. (Or do you? It’s seriously quite weird…)

“Oh, Lando is harmless. He runs into poles on the street sometimes,” Alex jokes, wanting to reassure you. He knows you won’t stop coming– he turned his bedroom into a studio. A bad one, a cheap one, but it works, and you know that moving everything and making sure it works each time you want to record would be taxing.

You’ll just… avoid Lando Norris at all cost…

“Okay, well,” you hum, almost a little ironically. “I’ll try to make myself believe that.”

Alex laughs at that, scratching the back of his neck before continuing. “Okay, so we established that no listeners on this podcast is actually the ideal for you. What other questions do you have prepared for today?”

“Let’s see… the next one– since I have to do them in a specific order,” you say, listening to Alex hum in understatement, “says: before making a phone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?”

“I don’t,” Alex says, “but maybe I should, actually.”

“Hm? Why?”

“My friends say I talk too much,” he says, pursing his lips a little. “I guess I can be quite annoying sometimes.”

“Annoying?”

“Yeah,” Alex laughs, but somehow, you don’t think he really finds it funny. “Like, I’d start one thing, and then I move to another, and I ramble on and on, and I guess sometimes, it’s a little tiring.”

“I guess I could see that,” you hum, nodding. You don’t know Alex very well yet, but you’ve seen him get lost in his own train of thought before, his conversation taking you on trips you would’ve never expected to arrive to after hearing him say the first word of the sentence. “But for what it’s worth, I think that’s better than me– I always have to rehearse what I say, or else I don’t say anything. Especially during important phone calls.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. I used to… I used to have social anxiety, so…” you say, trailing off a little when the conversation once again moves to a more dangerous territory– which seems to happen a lot during the recordings. Curse you for choosing such an experiment to test. “Yeah, but… phone calls still scare me. I don’t really like doing them in the first place.”

“Interesting…” Alex says, acknowledging your words. “We’re kinda like two sides of the same coin, then,” he laughs, making light of the situation.

“I guess so,” you agree. “I think I’d prefer it if I was more like you, though.”

“And people around me would prefer it if I was more like you, so I guess the grass is always greener,” he points out, making you shake your head at his words.

“I don’t think I’d want you to talk less,” you note. “It’s easy to approach you when you’re talkative and energetic. People like you always made it… easier to be around, back when I had trouble with socializing, and all,” you hum, watching as Alex’s eyes glimmer a little in the dimly lit room, a gentle smile pressing its way towards his lips.

Shuffling in the sheets of his bed, changing his position from cross-legged sitting to more of a relaxed half-lay on the duvet, he locks his eyes with you in a newly found sincerity. “Well, then something like this,” he gestures around the room, the microphone momentarily leaving from in front of his lips, “must have been difficult for you to approach. Props to you for fighting it.”

You laugh softly at his words– even though they’re not funny. You're just trying to lighten the situation. “It’s gotten better in the last few years, definitely,” you admit, “but thank you.”

“Yeah, of course,” he hums, voice growing a little more quiet. The atmosphere shifts for a moment and you wonder if you have to just push through the silence by asking the next question off your list, but before you have a chance to, Alex speaks up again, beating you to it.

“Speaking of phone calls, though. Let me tell you about how my friend Pierre handles phone calls– I swear it’s so funny–” he starts, giggling a little at the thought of what he wants to share with you.

You find that talking with Alex is as easy as breathing. It’s comfortable, although new. He always has something to share, something to laugh about. He’s entertaining. He’s fun.

Maybe he should be a medium-famous podcast host. 

EPISODE 3: MY 13TH REASON 

“Hello listeners, multiple this time,” Alex announces to the microphone, tone of voice low and calm in the darkened room. “Welcome to another episode of The Y/N and Alex show.”

“Welcome,” you chime in, trying to mimic his tone– you think you’re starting to sound a little too alike to all those youtubers doing ASMR roleplay videos online, and so in fear of laughing at yourself and breaking the atmosphere of the podcast, you move on and talk casually from then on.

“Our listener count has gone up since the last episode,” Alex hums, raising his brows at you with what you assume is a sense of pride in his chest, making you snicker at the boy. Truth be told, you don’t really care about the numbers your little podcast does– after your respective assignments are done, it’s going to be over anyways– but it’s amusing to see the boy thriving in the attention, pointing finger guns at you when he announces that the last episode got ‘over 50 listeners’, as if the two of you were the next B-list celebrities of your town.

“On your way to stardom,” you say, “remember me when you’re famous.”

“We’re getting famous together, whether you like it or not,” Alex shrugs, “I think this podcast thing is really my kind of thing, y’know.”

“I don’t wanna get famous just because you are.”

“Sorry, I think that’s kind of… inevitable at this point…” he shrugs, faking guilt.

“I’ll just have a Britney moment then, or something,” you say, “so I can disappear from the face of Earth.”

Alex snickers, but then he seems to remember something, sighing. “Almost had a Britney moment today, to be fair.”

“Why?” you ask, laying back a little in his bed that you’ve been using as the podcast set-up for the last 3 weeks now. If you’re being completely honest, his mattress is kind of comfortable. If you weren’t so into the topics you’ve been talking about, you could very well fall asleep on it easily, without even trying.

Your co-host takes a sip from his water bottle before continuing, as if to keep you on your toes. “So, I just had the worst day ever, basically.”

“Oh no,” you gasp, genuinely feeling sorry for the boy, “why? We could’ve rescheduled if you weren’t feeling well.”

Alex pouts at you, as if taking your words of kindness to heart, before he sighs. “Nah, I’m fine,” he says, noting that he might have been a little over-dramatic. “But dude, it was rough. I slept through my alarm, obviously,” he starts, mentioning the problem he already talked to you about off-camera before, when you were waiting for him to set up the equipment last time. “And then I was late for class. Which meant my professor didn’t let me take my exam– for legal purposes, I won’t mention any names, but if you’re listening, you know who you are–”

“Alex–” you panic, cutting him off before he gets himself– or both of you– in trouble.

“So that meant I was already in a pissy mood, right? Then, I went to get lunch between classes and I realized my lunch card didn’t have any money on it.”

“You could’ve gone to the store and bought something to eat with cash, then,” you hum, but with the way Alex looks at you, you might’ve just said the most criminal thing to him.

“I didn’t have enough time! I had to run to class right after,” he says. “So that meant I was pissed and hungry, and failing my class. Then, I tripped and ripped my favorite jeans, because I absolutely ate shit in front of everyone walking down the stairs from my class.”

Your mouth falls agape from shock at the new information. The image of Alex Albon falling down the stairs is not one you should be laughing at, and so you try your hardest not to.

“It’s really not funny.”

“No, I know,” you agree, but the look on your face says otherwise.

“That’s not all, though.”

“It’s not?”

“No!” Alex yelps, as if to further prove that life absolutely hates him today. “So I walked through the campus with blood on my knees, like a toddler, and then when I finally got home with half the groceries I originally wanted to get at the store– because they either didn’t have them or they were too expensive–” you chuckle at that, “I found out that I didn’t have my keys on me, so I basically locked myself out of the apartment.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp, trying your hardest to give the boy a good reaction, to make him feel seen. “What did you do after?”

“Well, I tried calling Lando– my roommate, for those of you who don’t know– but he wouldn’t pick up, so I thought he was somewhere out, or something. So I asked around for him, to see if any of our other friends were with him, but I got nothing. So I just sat in front of our building for like, approximately two hours, while my phone battery was on 15% so I couldn’t even do anything, and then who do I see coming out of the building?” he asks, an ironical smile plastered onto his lips.

“No way. Don’t tell me–”

“Lando! Lando Fucking Norris going on a walk,” Alex says, pure fury mirroring his features. You’re convinced the boy mentally moved back in time to earlier this day and is reliving the moments, feeling the same emotions again. “So I just got ignored by my roommate for two hours as I locked myself out. That… that was my 13th reason.”

“That was vile.”

“Wasn’t it?” he grunts, shaking his head at the situation. “But I got over it now… kind of…”

“Totally, yeah,” you nod, agreeing with the boy despite knowing that he’s still mad at the poor boy living just behind the wall. It’s alright, though– you’d be mad too.

“How was your day, though?” Alex asks, switching the topic to give you more attention, not only wanting to talk about himself. 

Shrugging, you answer. “It was alright. Definitely not as eventful as yours, that’s for sure.”

“You’re the first one that didn’t call me overly-dramatic so far,” Alex says, and you swear there is a hint of appreciation in his tone.

“Because you’re not being overly-dramatic! Your feelings are valid,” you shrug, “besides, I would’ve wanted to off myself after all of these as well. Like, I’d be feeling like I am on God's least favorites list, or something.”

“Exactly!” Alex agrees. “I fully thought this was gonna be my last straw, but I figured that it’s not worth ending it all when I’m so close to reaching fame.”

“You’re so–”

“Anyways, what’s your topic of the day? What’s the burning question you have for us today?” he switches the topic, wanting to steer it away from his overly-confident speech.

“It’s kind of ironic, I’d say,” you laugh after reading it out in your laptop, making the boy look at you with raised eyebrows and glimmering eyes, a grin mirroring his features at your light composure. 

“What? Why?”

“It says: what would constitute a ‘perfect’ day for you?” you say, looking at him with weary eyes, voice trembling a little with the laughter you’re trying your hardest to control. It’s easy to laugh when you’re next to Alex, you’ve noticed. He isn’t only amusing whenever the recording is on, but also whenever the microphones are off and you chill for a bit in his bedroom after, talking to him about whatever comes to mind before you take off and walk home. He is down to earth and casual, and it’s making you feel perhaps the most comfortable you’ve ever felt around a man before. 

“The universe is really making fun of me today,” Alex hums, tone of voice serious. “Anyways, I’d say a perfect day would be if I woke up on my alarm, got to take my exam, didn’t eat shit in front of everyone, and my roommate would let me in to my own apartment–”

You burst out into laughter, falling over a little, invading Alex’s side of the bed. The boy watches you with glittering eyes, breaking into an amused chuckle as well. “Be serious for once!”

“Oh, I am serious! Any day but today would be perfect for me, at this point–”

“I’m not taking that as a real answer.”

“Tell me yours, then,” he says, waiting to hear you out again.

After a few seconds of careful consideration and humming to fill the silence, you decide on your answer. “I think a perfect day would be one that’s exciting,” you say, nodding to yourself. “Like, I love concerts, for example. Or travelling. I just… love to do stuff, y’know? Like, growing up I never thought I’d get to do those things, so when I do them, life feels so worth living.”

The boy opposite of you nods, humming with agreement. “Why didn’t you think you’d get to go to a concert or travel?”

“I thought they were just… childish dreams…? I never really had a chance to experience much growing up, since we didn’t have a lot of money, so now that I earn my own and get to travel to meet friends and go to concerts and see stuff, it’s really eye-opening,” you nod to yourself, explaining your train of thought. You don’t know how or why it happens, but you always allow yourself to get a little vulnerable with the answers to the questions on the list. 

Is it Alex’s effect, or do you just want to put the experiment to the best test?

“I’m glad you get to do all that, then,” he says– and it sounds like he means it. “I think you don’t really need every day to be perfect to have a good life. Like, I’d say you ideally need to have most days where you feel okay, and then days where, as you said, you feel like life is worth living– something exceptional that makes you appreciate it in the middle of the mundane things.”

“That’s a nice way to put it,” you agree, voice softening at his words.

Alex hums, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a second before he continues. “For me, I guess, a perfect day is one where I’m happy. Like, when I’m having fun with my friends, hanging out with them– as you said, maybe traveling, or just going out and playing padel,” he shrugs, “I enjoy free days like this a lot.”

“You play padel?” you ask, watching as he nods, humming.

“I’m not as good, though. I am much better at karting. I actually wanted to go pro with racing when I was a kid, but I don’t think… I just wasn’t really good enough,” he admits, a chuckle escaping his mouth at the sentence, trying to laugh it off to show that it doesn’t really bother him– or at least he tries to show that it doesn’t bother him as much as it seems.

“Well, what’s important is you love doing it,” you say.

“Yeah…” he agrees. “I actually haven’t raced in a while.”

“Oh?” you hum. “You should.”

“Wanna go race with me?” he asks, eyebrows rising. If you didn’t know him better– to, as a person who’s known him for barely a month, is a lot to say– you’d think he was just being polite, not really meaning his question. This is Alex Albon you’re talking to, though. You know he is sincere with his sentiments.

“I don’t even know how to drive,” you shake your head.

“I’ll teach you. You don’t even have to have a licence.”

“What if I run someone over?” you laugh. “How will you compensate for that?”

“I think it would be quite impossible for you to run someone over at the track, Y/N,” he giggles, shaking his head at you in disbelief. “I swear it’s fun! No murder involved. There’s a karting track like… 35 minutes away from the town. We could go some day.”

“I hate things I’m not instantly good at, so you better be a good teacher,” you say. You don’t even know why you’re agreeing to his proposal– you have a lot on your plate already, when it comes to assignments, and you also don’t really know the boy that well. 

You think it might be the loneliness talking. It’s been three weeks, and although you tried, you didn’t make any new friends in class. You’re starting to think it’s getting a bit too late for it– although the healthy side of your brain keeps telling you you’re just being over-dramatic.

“We’ll make it work,” he laughs, “as long as you don’t crash into me, I think we’re gonna be fine.”

“Well, you can never know. I’m clumsy.”

“That’s okay. You can pay the hospital bills with the huge check we will get from this podcast–”

“Okay, so we are moving on to the next question,” you cut the boy off, pretending to be tired of hearing him joke about the fame you’re getting. Both of you know it’s just irony, but only one of you finds it amusing enough to make countless jokes about it.

Alex laughs at your comedic timing, taking another sip of his water. “Okay…” he sighs. “What is it?”

“When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?” you read out. When you look back up from your phone screen, the boy is staring at you, and when your eyes meet, he instantly retracts his gaze. You wonder if you have something on your face, but before you get a chance to ask him out loud, he cuts you off with his answer.

“You know what,” he starts, “I don’t really sing.”

“Not even in the shower?” you ask. “You look like the type to sing in the shower.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, furrowing his brows at you in concern. Was that a compliment, or the exact opposite?

“Oh, y’know,” you shrug, “I just– actually, I don’t know. It’s just the vibes.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific, Y/N,” your name rolls off his tongue. Something about the way he says it catches your attention, the sound replaying in your head, staying in your memory.

“Actually, no. That’s all I have to say on the matter.”

Alex sighs, shaking his head at you. “Okay, well, no. I don’t sing in the shower. You know who does, though?” he asks, voice already accusing, making you get the hint of who he’s going to talk about again.

“Is it–”

“Lando Norris, yes. My roommate. Actually, I think living with him in general is my 13th reason– he was singing so loud last night when he was showering that he woke me up from my well deserved nap. And he wouldn’t stop, the shit he is, can you believe that?” he scoffs, disbelief flashing over his sculpted features.

“Everyone sings in the–”

“I don’t care, shower quietly! Especially you, Lando. If you’re listening, sleep with one eye open at all times, I’m so serious right now,” he grunts.

You wonder if you can get banned on Soundcloud for hate speech and threatening. 

EPISODE 4: STARTING A MAKE A WISH PROJECT

The next time you’re recording, you realize your immense gratitude for the fact that your little podcast is audio only. Not because you’d be ashamed to put your face out there– it’s easy enough to look you up on Instagram, as you were proven before– but because it means you don’t have to show the whole university (or the 500 people who have turned up to listen to your last episode, which is still crazy to think about, by the way) your face when you’re at your lowest.

A little sick, incredibly tired and with dark circles adorning your eyes.

“Hello listeners,” Alex muses into the microphone, pressing one last look full of worry mixed with reassurance your way, “welcome to episode 4 of The Y/N and Alex Show. Tonight’s episode is going to be a little different, since my co-host is currently indisposed and shivering in my sheets, but I hope you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.”

His comment makes you shy away from his gaze a little, now fully aware of the fact that not only are you really covered up with his sheets, the smell of his shower gel protruding your nose with all the force aloe vera and cucumber mixed with the smell of his laundry detergent can master, (which is already bad enough), you’re now also exposed to everyone listening that you made a nest for yourself in his bed.

Which isn’t bad, not at all. It just makes it seem much more intimate than your friendship really is.

“Hello,” you greet, voice hoarse and scratchy. 

After arriving at his apartment, you were already scolded by your co-host himself for worrying about a ‘stupid assignment’ in your current state, all followed by him forcing you to wear his fuzzy socks, making you hot tea and placing you under his sheets when he realized you were cold. In retrospect, Alex might’ve been right when he told you you should’ve stayed home and slept the cold out, but the idea of missing a week and then having to catch up on everything was too unbearable. 

That, and you also really wanted someone’s company. Alex just happened to be the easiest option.

“I’ll do most of the talking, if you aren’t feeling it?” 

“Shocker,” you muse ironically, still having enough energy in you to joke. When you try to giggle at your own teasing, you are hit with the immediate force of karma making you cough, almost spilling your ginger tea all over his freshly washed sheets.

“Or I can leave it up to you? If you find your lost voice somewhere along the way, that is,” he mocks you, full of irony– hinting at the obvious scratch of your voice.

“I’ll be fine,” you hum, “don’t worry.”

“I’ll have to edit your mic to be louder, you’re basically whispering.”

“Good thing that’s kind of your job,” you playfully kick him under the sheets.

You’re usually sitting on opposite sides of the bed– facing each other, each of you talking into your own microphone. This time, you’re nothing more than a blanket burrito at the head of his bed, the boy sitting cross-legged at your feet, sending you looks full of concern, but also playful reassurance. It’s a nice change– your back doesn’t hurt as much and you feel more relaxed, but still– you know this won’t pass next time you’re here, so you’re trying to enjoy it to the fullest.

“Okay, so,” he clears his throat, ignoring your jabbing comment, “what’s your recap of the days we haven’t seen each other? Have you been swimming in the Arctic, or…?”

“No,” you snicker, rolling your eyes at him. “I probably just didn’t dress warm enough when going to my morning lectures. And then it rained the day I forgot to bring an umbrella, so… here we are.”

“Should I text you the next time it rains? Since you seemingly don’t have the weather app,” he chuckles. “Can’t have my co-host dying. What would I talk about without your burning questions?”

“I’m sure you’ll find something.”

“Probably not as interesting as your topics, though,” he shrugs, grinning. “So, what do we got on our plate today?” he asks, pointing his chin towards your phone in your lap.

A moment of silence falls over the two of you, the only thing resonating through the dimly-lit room being your sniffles and the occasional shuffling of sheets when Alex moves in his place on the other side of the bed. After scrolling through your phone and landing onto the document you need, you clear your throat and present him with the next question. “Do you have a hunch about how you’ll die?” 

Your eyes meet as Alex looks for an answer in the depths of his brain, a softness behind them replaced with playful joking as he notes: “Well, I don’t know about me, but I think we both know what the cause of death will be for you.”

“Is it me forgetting my umbrella?”

“I don’t know how that’s deadly,” he laughs, “but I was hinting at your poor immune system. It looks like your worst enemy.”

“Oh, for sure,” you croak, agreeing with him. “Actually, you might not be that far off with that one.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. A very, very bad case of flu could definitely get me,” you joke. “That, or any other health issue you can think of, honestly. Heart problems run in the family, so it could very well be a heart attack.”

“Wait, really?” he asks, eyes widening in shock.

You nod in agreement, snickering. “My grandpa died of one. On mum’s side,” you hum, “my dad’s side? Both grandparents had them. And my uncle. My own father, fuck’s sake.” The more you continue, the more concerned Alex looks– bless him. “So, logically, I could be the next one.”

“Have you had that checked before? Like… your heart, I mean.”

Another nod. “They said it’s high blood rate, but they can’t do anything about it.”

“What? Why?” he asks, tone of voice so scared as if you were in the middle of a heart failure already, barely surviving in his bedsheets. 

“Well, they said my blood pressure is too low, so if they gave me pills for one issue, it would kinda cancel each other out,” you laugh, taking in Alex’s genuinely concerned, frightened expression. “What? Don’t act like I’m already dying. One more word and you’ll be calling 911, it seems.”

“I don’t see how you don’t find that fucking scary, man.”

“You learn to live with it,” you shrug, shaking your head at his overly-worried state. “What about you? Any health issues daring to take you out? Dementia running in the family? Cancer…”

“No, thank god,” he cuts you off before you have a chance to finish the list, seemingly not really in favor of thinking about all the possibilities. 

“You’re basically immortal, then,” you say, voice cracking a little due to the sickness. If Alex notices it, he doesn’t mention it– thankfully. You only hope he can fix it somehow in the postproduction.

“I actually almost died before, you know.”

“What?” Now is your chance to act bewildered.

“Got chased by a horse. My own horse, to be exact.”

“You have a horse?”

Alex nods, grinning. “Two of them. And a dog. And 13 cats.”

You just stare at him wordlessly, taking the new information in. “You have a whole ass petting ZOO!” you chirp, blinking away the surprise. “That’s fucking crazy.”

“It is,” he admits, laughing. “I barely remember all of their names.”

“Maybe that’s why your horse tried to kill you,” you joke, watching as Alex joins– his eyes crinkling into moon crescants, rosy cheeks on full display. Your heart skips a beat– damn the heart issues. Maybe you are going into cardiac arrest, who knows?

“Maybe,” he nods, “that, or it’s the horse just being a scaredy cat. It saw something in the bushes and bolted, I fell off its back, and then it circled around and almost bashed my head in with its leg.”

You stare at him in silence, mouth slightly ajar. You’re so glad he’s alive after that, a passing thought flashes in your brain, before you shake your head at him in disbelief. “That’s genuinely terrifying.”

“It is. I haven’t ridden a horse since.”

“Why do you have two of them, then?”

“It’s my family’s petting ZOO as much as it is mine,” he laughs, shrugging. “Can’t get rid of a horse my sister loves just because we’re scared of each other now.”

“Fair,” you hum. Noting the silence in between the two of you, you take it as your cue to read out the next question on your list. It’s not that the silence is uncomfortable– quite the opposite, really, it makes you unravel and sink deeper into his comfy sheets– but you don’t think his assignment would benefit much from sitting in the quiet. “Anyways. Next one says: Name three things you and your partner have in common.”

“Not yet, but we could have a Make a wish business,” Alex says.

Blinking in surprise, once again, but now due to the sheer randomness of Alex Albon’s answer– which, in 4 weeks, you should be used to the nature of his brain by now– you wait for him to explain, a mere confused comment escaping your lips. “I don’t think Make a wish is a business, Alex.”

“Okay, yeah, true,” he nods, snickering. “But, y’know. It makes sense– I have a petting ZOO back home, and you will end up deathly sick one day and you could apply for it. And then, you could say you want to pet a horse, and I’ll be like, I have the perfect solution for it–”

“I don’t have to be a Make a wish kid to pet a horse,” you say, laughter coating your words. “Or go to your house, if that’s your main aim–”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Alex laughs, shaking his head. “See? What do we have in common? Not much. I have a brilliant, creative brain, and you–”

“You’re insane, more like.”

“And you’re studying to deal with insane people. See? We kinda work.”

You must admit, the way his brain works is kind of endearing. It makes you audibly laugh out loud, completely forgetting about the ache in your bones or the sleep in your brain. “This isn’t how the question works, Alex!” you mourn, watching the brightly-eyed boy giggle to himself on the other side of the bed.

“Okay, okay,” he calms himself down, humming to himself. “Well, I dunno. I think we’re both kinda different. But that’s what makes this–” he gestures with his hands into the space around him, not specifying if it’s the podcast of the foundations of what seems to be a friendship, “work.”

You only hum, nodding.

“Maybe… hm. We’re both hard working and ambitious? That works. I mean, you turned up to do this even though you’re basically dying, so…”

“Yeah,” you agree.

“I think our humor is similar, though,” he says, locking his eyes with you. “There’s not many people that laugh at my jokes as much as you do.”

Heat creeps up your cheeks. Maybe you have a fever. “I’m easy to please.”

“Or maybe I’m just funny,” he shakes his head, chuckling. “And you as well, of course.”

“Okay, I won’t sell myself short. If you say so…”

“Unbelievable,” he scoffs. playfully rolling his eyes at you. “That’s three, no?”

“I’d say two, but I’ll count it as three for our sake.”

“Okay, boss,” he nods. “Do you have more?”

You hum, eyeing the next question. “If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?” 

Another hit of silence– this time spent with you two sharing a knowing look, an amused smile tugging on both of your lips as you propose the answer. “You’d get rid of that horse?”

“Definitely.”

“Knew it.”

A fit of laughter slips over you like a glove and you hold onto it like a grudge. Somewhere in the unconscious part of your brain, you acknowledge just how grateful you are to share those moments with Alex. To him, this might be just a simple assignment– talking with a random girl he met through Facebook because he has to– but to you, those moments are close to everything you wished for when you enrolled into university.

Friendship. Ease. Conversations shared in a quiet room, over the smell of ginger tea.

Comfort.

“In all seriousness, I don’t think… I don’t think I’d change anything. I look back on my childhood very fondly and I think my mum raised me with all the right values in mind.”

You nod, agreeing. “Well, from what I’ve seen, she’s done a decent job so far.”

Alex offers you a heavy look– only a short one, cut off too fast to what you’re used to from him. “And you? What about you?”

You scratch the back of your neck, shrugging. “I think… I think I would’ve done better with a bit more freedom, if you know what I mean? Like… I wasn’t really allowed to go places alone, or do much of anything, because my parents were really strict growing up– obviously, for all the right reasons, they were looking out for me– but I think if I would’ve been more reckless back then, I’d be less scared of everything now.”

“Like what, for example?”

“People, maybe?” you huff, snickering. “Like, it sounds funny, but I think if I was pushed more into talking with other kids, or just, allowed to hang out and drink in my teens, it would make stuff much easier for me at uni.”

Alex hums, listening to you.

“I find it hard to make friends, since I was a bit sheltered. Which, in return, makes me more reckless now, but it also makes intimacy hard, and it’s… yeah. I dunno. We’re getting too deep now,” you chuckle, eyeing Alex’s expression.

He offers you nothing more than understanding, a soft nod of his head. “We can leave it at that, if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you shrug.

“But like, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing pretty good at the ‘making friends’ part. I mean, I would know,” he says, tone of voice full of encouragement and silent empathy, making your heart swell with fondness and maybe a little bit of vulnerability.

“You’re just saying that to keep me on the pod.”

Alex shrugs, a smirk embedding his features. “You need this just as much as I do.”

And the truth is? He’s right– you do need this podcast just as much as he does– and not just for the obvious reasons.

EPISODE 5: US WHEN WE’RE IN A BRITISH BOYBAND MAKING THEIR MOST POPULAR SONG (STORY OF MY LIFE. HAHA. GET IT?)

By week five of working on your assignment, you’re already in your zone when you walk into Alex’s apartment, dressed up in comfortable clothes and with an energy drink in your hand to keep you through the night. You must admit that while you never really dreaded recording the podcast with him, the more you get to know him– both his quirks, flaws and differences– the more you look forward to spending the time with him, just conversing.

“Hello listeners, hello Y/N,” Alex says into the microphone as his long legs involuntarily tangle with yours, the newly found position from last week recurring after both of you realized it’s way more practical and comfortable, leaving both of you to record the podcast half-sitting, half-laying in his sheets instead of crouching over, cross-legged and all. “Welcome to the fifth episode of The Y/N and Alex show.”

“Hello, hello,” you hum, going with the easy flow of the conversation.

“Have you realized that even though you fought me on it at the start, you still let me keep the pod name?” he mentions, raising his brows at you in question.

“I don’t think I have a lot to say about the creative direction of the podcast, Alex,” you hum, “your grade depends on it, not mine.”

“Touché,” he nods, stretching a little in his place, tiredness already laying over him like a blanket. Your eyes take a glimpse of the sliver of tan skin peeking from below his shirt as he reaches his hands overhead, heat rising to your cheeks as you force yourself to peel the relentless focus away from it. “I just think the name’s really fitting.”

“It’s very… descriptive,” you agree.

“No false advertisement here,” he says. “You get exactly what you’re told you’re gonna get.”

“Exactly,” you hum. “Maybe it’s not so bad after all,” you joke. The reality is– you don’t think you could come up with a better name in the first place.

“Glad you agree,” Alex snickers. “Well, anyway. This is the time when I’d ask you how your week went, but uh, I don’t think I have to do that this time, since I know how it went.”

“You do,” you agree, “for everyone listening, me and Alex hung out outside of podcast duties for the first time last week.”

“We did,” Alex grins. “I took Y/N out to her first ever frat party.”

“And your first ever frat party.”

“Right. For anyone wondering, I am not in a frat. I would hate to be in a frat. But my roommate, Lando, knows people who know people, and suddenly, he’s DJ-ing Alpha Sigma’s party–”

“I don’t think Alpha Sigma was their name, Alex–”

“Well, that’s not the point. But I thought I’d share the experience with Y/N here. So tell us, how would you rate the experience on a scale of 1 to 10?”

Your brain flashes with the memories of the night, each one getting not only hazier as the night progresses, but also more painful to remember. See, it’s not every day you end up at a frat party– it’s also not every day you get to hang out with a new friend outside of the assignment duties. After learning that you and Alex have no problem with the flow of your conversation even outside of the walls of his dimly lit room, you decided to test your teamwork in a game or beer pong– with two other dudes named Carlos and Logan playing against the two of you.

Well, it’s safe to say that that part wasn’t your strongest suit. Alex had to walk you to your dorms, and while you’d argue you could walk just fine, your orientation skills were a bit off-set. Which is why he had to beg your dorm’s doorman to let him walk you to your room, too scared you’d end up lost and asleep somewhere in the hallway.

“A strong minus 2, I’d say,” you nod, embarrassment creeping up your cheeks.

“Dare to explain why?” he teases, a glint in his eye.

“No comment.”

“Alrighty, then,” he laughs, gesturing towards the phone in your lap. “Hit me with the questions, then.”

Glad that he dropped the topic, you reach for the device and scroll through the document, like you’ve done four times before already. It’s strange to think about how you’re already halfway done with the assignment– it feels like yesterday when you nervously messaged Alex on Facebook messenger, awaiting a positive reply. 

“Okay, so. Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.” 

It’s Alex Albon you’re speaking to, though– you should’ve known he wouldn’t drop the topic of your drunk escapade that easily. 

“Do you maybe mind starting in reverse order? Like, latest events towards your birth?” he asks, earning himself a kick to his shin, making his laughter catch in his throat. “I’d really love to hear what you did on Friday night in detail–”

“Fuck you, dude,” you sigh, shaking your head with a defeated grin on your face.

“Hey! Don’t fucking swear, I’ll have to bleep it out.”

“Don’t fucking tell me not to fucking swear–”

“That’s gonna be a fine for breaking the policy.”

“Is that in our contract?” you ask, referring to the nonexistent piece of paper.

“Yes,” he nods, dead serious, “in the small ink at the very bottom of the page. I knew you wouldn’t read all of it…”

“I got tired after the part that said we can only record at 10pm because you play League of legends the rest of the day.”

Alex visibly cringes at the comment, shaking his head at you. “Okay, let’s stir away from exposing me to be a raging virgin in front of the whole class, thank you,” he mumbles, joking. “Let’s get back to the question.”

“Should I put a timer on?” you ask, already swiping through your apps to find the right one.

“Yeah, sure,” Alex nods, absent-mindedly pressing the microphone into his round cheek, squishing it and making him look like a hamster stashing his food. The sight is adorable, to say the least, making your heart clench with a newly found fondness for your co-host. “Who’s starting, though?”

Giving him no time to think, you press START on the timer app, counting 4 minutes. “You. Go!”

“Oh shit,” he swears, panic rising in his chest due to the time pressure. “Okay, so. I was born on March 23, which makes me an aries, I was told,” he adds the useless fact, “I grew up in Suffolk, alongside with my three sisters and a brother. My mum’s Thai, dad’s English. I did karting when I was little… My biggest role models were Michael Schumacher and Valentino Rossi, so… I really wanted to become an F1 driver. I was actually really good, to be honest, but then it didn’t end up happening and I went to high school… I graduated with decent grades, contrary to popular belief, and got into uni. And here we are, I guess.”

“You still have like, 3 more minutes to talk,” you state, nudging him with your foot. “This wasn’t detailed enough, I already knew all of this!”

“I don’t think my life story is that interesting,” he mourns, shrugging. “I dunno what else to tell you.”

“The question doesn’t say ‘Talk about the most interesting part of your life’, Alex. It just says ‘in detail’, so come on. I wanna know all the boring mundane stuff. How did you get your first cat?”

Alex grins at you, shaking his head at being asked. “We found her on the street. She was so small and so alone, and then it took me ages to convince my mum to keep her, but eventually, she complied. And then, turns out, she had 3 more siblings, we found them behind our shed– so we took them in as well. And since then, my mum turned from being okay with the idea of having cats into being obsessed with them, so she’d go volunteer at the shelter sometimes, and would come back with a new cat like, every other week. It’s crazy.” 

“That’s how parents always are,” you laugh. “What about the dog?”

“Oh, it’s a childhood dog. He was the first animal we ever got. Which is also why my mum was worried about the cats, y’know, like, what if he’s aggressive with them? But no, they’re absolute besties.”

“That’s so sweet,” you hum, nodding with a soft smile on your face. You can only imagine Alex with the rest of his petting ZOO– cuddled up with the cats, playing with the dog. He showed you a picture of some of them before, mentioning vague names you never really remembered, but now you’re wondering what he looks like with the animals, doting on them and talking to them in a baby voice.

Alex continues the life story himself, without needing to be asked this time. “And the horses, well, my uncle wanted to get rid of one, but my mum had an emotional attachment to it, so she brought it home. Then he tried to kill me and I was strongly advocating for the same idea my uncle had, but it was no use, I lost the battle,” he grins, “and then my mum got another one from the farm downtown, ‘cause they were selling it, and she said the first one must feel lonely. So now we have two.”

“That’s a crazy amount, still.”

“Yeah. It’s a pain in the ass to take care of when I visit back home, I’ll tell you that,” he nods. 

“At least they’re adorable,” you shrug.

“When they don’t bite, yes,” he grins, opening his mouth to say something else, but being cut off by the noise of your alarm going off in your lap, notifying you that four minutes have finally passed by and now it was your time to ramble on about your own experiences. “Your turn! Thank god.”

“Oh lord, oh jeez,” you sigh, watching as the boy reaches over and takes your phone into his hand and presses START on the timer, offering you a focused look, all ears. “So, I was born in April, which also makes me an aries, by the way. I had some health issues, so I only did one year of kindergarten, and then I joined school and was an absolute academic weapon,” you giggle, watching as Alex raises his brows at you in acknowledgement. “They called me a gifted kid, but that’s been slowly burning out as I enrolled in uni.”

“You’re selling yourself short.”

“No, it’s true. Had straight A’s even as I graduated from high school, but yeah. I’ve been slacking– which is fine, really, just something to mention. I was always a shy kid, spent most of my summer breaks and holidays at my grandma’s house with my brother, so I pretty much grew up in a village, you could say. Was feeding the chickens and gardening my whole summer, I’ll tell you that.”

“Child labor,” Alex jokes.

“I was paid in sweets, so it’s all good,” you giggle. “Yeah, I really don’t know what to say anymore. It was my dream to get into psychology, so I kinda went for it, even though my chances were low. Made it, enrolled, moved in with my roommate that I couldn’t be more different than– not a bad thing, I love you Laura, if you’re listening, it’s just… We don’t really have much in common. Then I got this assignment for my class, so I found this dumbass on Facebook–”

“You only have like, a minute and a half left, you’re sure you don’t wanna tell us about your Friday night instead?” 

“Oh, I’d love to. So, my podcast co-host got me drunk in a game of beer pong, no big deal. Maybe I danced and giggled a lot more than usual, but over-all, I had a good time. Until I got sick at the smell of a Red Bull can, but I won’t talk about that part more, or else this episode’s gonna need a emetophobia trigger warning.”

Alex laughs, shaking his head at you. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve looked after you better.”

“Well, that’s not really your job, but thanks,” you grin. “I’ll know better next time.”

“You’re trying to get into more frat parties?” Alex asks, turning off the alarm that’s gone off in the middle of you talking, ending the segment. He reaches towards you once more, fingers brushing yours when he hands you the telephone device.

“I’m not keen to go, but I also wouldn’t decline an invitation,” you shrug.

Alex takes the information in, nodding to himself. “Noted.”

His leg touches yours once more in encouragement, your digits swiping back into the document full of questions. “Okay. Next one… oh, this one’s deep. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?”

A hum escapes your co-hosts throat, deep in thought. His eyes bear into yours with much intensity, almost daring you to not look away, but you do anyway– after a while, it gets too strong for you to engage in. “I think I’d like to care less.”

“Care less?” you ask, raising your brows at him.

“Mhm,” he nods, “like. About everything. Like, sometimes I anxiously overthink everything– what would happen if this and this, what I should’ve done differently, what I shouldn’t have done at all… About what other people think, I guess…?”

“Hm,” you muse, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Didn’t place you as a chronic overthinker.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I don’t really know when that happened.”

“Do you find anything that helps?”

Alex looks up to the ceiling, contemplating the answer. “Just… reassuring myself? Affirmations, I think you psych people call it. I just have to tell myself nothing is going on, and I’m fine, and all, and at the end of the day, no one cares and thinks about what I do just as much as I do.”

“Exactly,” you nod. “Everyone’s too worried about themselves to judge. And also, if they’re judging, they’re not worth your energy.”

“The right ones won’t judge,” he agrees.

“Yeah.”

“What about you?”

You avert eye contact as you speak the next words, perhaps too scared of the sudden vulnerability. It’s a very delicate thing to share, one that you rarely talk about. Telling Alex isn’t as hard as you’d think, the words daring, battling to drag out of your throat– making you forget about the people that might be listening. Something in you just wants to trust him with the information, to spill your guts out.

“It might sound funny, but… I think in general, I’d just like to be more likeable. Like, I don’t know what I’d have to change to achieve that, but I guess I’d love it if people warmed up to me more easily. I find that people don’t really like me at first when they meet me.”

“Oh?” he says. Not judging, not analysing– just surprised. “I wouldn’t have guessed that. I mean, from the people I know that have met you for the first time, everyone loved you instantly.”

You laugh airly, daring to look at him. The gaze he offers you breaks you and pieces you back together all at once, steady, easy. “You’re just saying that. They don’t know me.”

“And they already like you,” he follows. “I enjoyed your company instantly. I mean–  of course, you can’t be everyone’s person, that’s not how it works, but I wouldn’t say you’re not likeable. At all, actually.”

A sigh escapes your throat. You lick your lips, shrugging, lost in thought. The words spill out of your mouth before you have a chance to stop them, before you have a chance to retrack and rethink if it’s the right time to say them. “I guess… you know that saying, like, in a room full of people, I’d choose you? I don’t– I don’t think anyone would choose me. I’m not really anyone’s favorite.”

Your hands shake a bit, your soul flying all around the silent room, fragile, but looking for a place to make its home, searching. You fear letting it down again, you fear breaking it, now all your fault. You should’ve stayed quiet.

“That just means you’re not in the right room,” Alex says.

Your eyes meet. You let out a shaky breath. The words sink in deep, making it a little hard to take in any oxygen. Something inside of you clicks.

All your life, you’ve tried to change and fit into the dynamic, change yourself for the narrative. Tried a bunch of makeup, trying to cover up your face, your flaws. You tried to keep up, to be what the world always wanted you to be– but pretty isn’t pretty enough, and good is never the best.

Turns out, you never had to change yourself to feel loved. Maybe you had to change the room all along.

You don’t think Alex would choose you in a room full of people– hell, you haven’t known each other for too long– but something inside of you foolishly thinks that maybe, his eyes would land on you in passing for a bit before he makes a choice, before he makes a run towards the one that deserves it. 

Maybe you’d be at least considered.

Somehow, that feels like enough for now.

“Let’s move on,” you chuckle, trying to play it off. “Oh! A fun one. Is there something you’ve dreamt of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?”

“Oh, easy. Bungee jumping.”

“Bungee jumping?” you gasp, shocked.

“Yeah. I think it would be fun. Why haven’t I done it? No opportunity to, honestly. Or money. I’m a broke university student,” Alex chuckles, making you shake your head.

“That’s crazy. I could never. Didn’t know you were an adrenaline junkie like that.”

“I literally wanted to be an F1 driver!” Alex laughs, making you join in. 

“Okay, yeah, fair. But this is something completely different! What if the rope fails?”

“Then I die being a badass,” Alex shrugs. “No, but I’d do it over water. Bigger chance of survival,” he notes.

“Crazy…” you whisper. 

“What would you say, then?”

You think for a bit, suddenly feeling silly. “I’ve always wanted to go to an amusement park. I love the rides, and all, so I think it would be fun.”

“And you call me an adrenaline junkie?”

“That’s something completely different. I am not actively jumping off a high place! I’m secured and stuff.”

“There’s zero to no logic in this statement,” Alex says, laughing. “Why haven’t you been to one before, though?”

“All my friends were always scared of the rides, so I had no one to bring with me. And I guess there was never one nearby, I dunno,” you shrug.

“There’s one close,” he says, raising his brows at you like it’s a challenge.

“Maybe one day.”

“One day,” Alex hums– but it sounds a bit ominous.

EPISODE 6: I CREATED Y/N’S FONDEST MEMORY (NO CLICKBAIT)

“Hello listeners,” Alex muses into the microphone, eyes watching you from under his eyelashes, making you swallow down the drink you’ve been sipping while he was setting up the equipment and pressing record, “welcome to episode 6– wow, we’re almost at the end already– of our humble, but flourishing podcast.”

“Have you considered getting into poetry before?” you tease, raising your brows at him in playfulness, referring to the way he says the introduction.

“No, actually. Have thought about narrating audio books, though. Reckon my voice is good for it?”

“Atmospheric,” you nod– and the thing is, you’re not even lying. There’s something about Alex’s voice that makes you believe you could listen to it all day– perhaps he could talk you to sleep. Or into jumping off a bridge, if he uses that sweet tone. It almost works like a siren’s call, if you’re being honest, and something about that makes you mildly concerned. Still, you can’t lie to him– he would be good at narrating audio books.

“Glad you agree. I was thinking of what genre it could be. Y’know, as much as I love children, I don’t think I could do all the funny voices in kids books. However, something like Twilight, or… I dunno, 50 shades, I could do great at.”

“Don’t make me imagine you reading smut out loud, Alex,” you grunt in disgust, making the boy laugh you in the face.

“Oh, don’t pretend you wouldn’t love it. Just imagine it, I could read that one line that goes–”

“We are swiftly moving on to the questions I have prepared for you today, thank you very much,” you yell into the microphone, desperate not to hear the dirty words from his mouth. If you did, you’re almost sure they’d repeat in your head like a mantra every night before going to sleep, and as much as you must admit that Alex Albon is an attractive male, this would be for all the wrong reasons.

He laughs at your outburst– maybe because he wasn’t actually going to say anything not safe for work, since he can’t recall a single line from that movie (since he didn’t read the book itself)– or because he just enjoys playing with you. Which one of those is true, you have a hard time telling– you’d rather not ask, though.

“Okay, let’s get right to it,” he nods.

“Lightning round!” you announce, startling the boy.

“I’m almost certain you said that’s not how this experiment works–”

“Shut up, I make the rules. Now tell me– what is your most treasured memory?”

Alex stares at you for a few seconds, seemingly lost in thought. You should be thinking of your own response, but there’s something captivating in the depth of his eyes, something wildly interesting in the softness of his forearms. It’s like he cursed you to watch him, and the sheer fact is mildly infuriating. The seconds of waiting stretch into tens, making you nudge the male with the sole of your foot to end your own misery.

“I don’t think you got what lightning round means, Alex. See, it’s called after the concept of lightning that strikes from the sky– it’s quick, fast, sudden. What you are doing, on the other hand, is quite the opposite–”

“I’d say visiting Thailand,” Alex cuts you off, finally offering you his response. “I’ve only been a few times, even though my extended family lives there, but the times I went were really the fondest. My mum was so happy, the culture is nice… yeah, just, great over-all,” he nods.

“Do you know the language?” you ask, suddenly curious.

Alex seems a bit guilty, shaking his head. “Not really,” he admits, voice wary, “I know a couple of words and phrases, and I could maybe understand half of what is said to me, but that’s it. Can’t really speak it.”

“That’s still good, though,” you say, tone of voice all encouraging, “better than nothing.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he hums, “but I wish I knew more Thai. I kinda wish my mum forced me to learn the language more, since it’s my heritage and all, but yeah. At the end of the day, I can only blame myself for not knowing.”

“Maybe you could try learning,” you say, “if you want to so badly, I’m sure even little progress would go a long way. There must be some online courses you could take.”

“True, true,” he nods, shrugging. “I guess I never really tried it, but I have to, at some point. What about you? What’s your most treasured memory?”

You press your head into your palm, tapping your finger onto your lips. You chew on your bottom lip as you search for a good answer, Alex’s voice not letting you think. “If you can’t think of anything, I have one moment we shared that surely has to be your most treasured memory.”

The moment the words escape his mouth, you have to grin at him, rolling your eyes. Of course he’d bring it up. 

“Don’t think of yourself so highly, Albon.”

“Come on, I basically made your biggest dream come true!” he says, a little bit offended. “That has to be something!”

“Okay, sure, I enjoyed it,” you nod, your face betraying you maybe more than it should, “but I wouldn’t say it’s the top one.”

Alex sighs, shaking his head. “Ungrateful,” he murmurs. “To the unaware listeners of this podcast, I did make Y/N’s dream come true– I took her to an amusement park. Me, her, Lando, Max and Oscar from politology went. She’s saying it’s not her top memory, but I have video proof of her smiling like, most of the day, so I call bullshit.”

“Video proof?” you ask, brows furrowed, a deep crease indenting in the middle of them.

“I wanted to record you being scared,” Alex defends himself, “y’know, for blackmail. But instead, I just have videos and pictures of you smiling and kicking your feet like a kid! Which is cute, yeah, but not enough to blackmail.”

Your brain goes short-circuit at the mention of Alex having videos and pictures of perhaps one of the best days of your semester. And at being called cute. Why? You’re not really aware why, but that’s besides the point. 

The point is, you did enjoy that day. Him and all his friends– even Oscar, the new guy– were all super nice to you and took turns getting on the rides with you. Alex even won a plushy and said you should keep it, because it’s too girly for his room– he even insisted after you said it would look great in the left corner of his bed, but after seeing how good it fits into your dorm (and how good it is to cuddle), you’re not really mad at it anymore. Lando shared his cotton candy with you. Max tried to make you scared with unnecessary comments about how the rides may be faulty before you got on– unsuccessfully. Over-all, you got to your dorm room with cheeks hurting from smiling too hard, and a huge teddy bear hanging off your hip like a child.

Still, you wouldn’t say this is your fondest memory.

“I’ll pretend it’s not creepy for the sake of this podcast.”

“I’ll send them over, I’m sure you’d love them for an Insta dump.”

“I actually wouldn’t! Thanks,” you smile, nodding in irony. (If he sends them, you’d consider it, though.)

“Okay, keep pretending you can think of something better than that day, then,” Alex shrugs, playing not interested as he twirls a loose thread on his hoodie around his finger.

You match his antics by twirling a loose strand of your hair, humming into the mic as you try to quickly think of something to say instead. You realize it’s you who said it’s lightning round, but after the trip down the memory lane of last week, it’s a little hard for you to battle the memory with something else.

Still, you say. “I think I’d say mine’s the time I saw my favorite band of all time live,” you admit. And truthfully, you’re not even lying. (The amusement park day might just take a place in the top 5, though.)

“Oh wow,” he says, “okay, I can’t fight you on that one. Who was that?”

“5 seconds of summer,” you say, holding back a nervous laugh as you brace to get judged for your choice of a favorite artist. You grew up with the 4 Australians, though, getting into their music at only 12 years old, so there’s something about them that makes their sheer existence a blessing to you.

“That’s cool,” Alex says, not a hint of belittlement in his voice– making you relax. You don’t know what you expected– for him to make fun of you? For him to bring your favorite thing down? That’s not like Alex Albon. “I can’t say I can recall a song by them, but that must’ve been magical.”

“They have that underwear song,” you say, “y’know, she looks so perfect standing there…” you sing– although a little out of tune– trying to make Alex remember.

He just stares at you a little confused, brows furrowed, trying to place it. “Hm… no. Send me the link for it on Spotify, I’ll listen to it later. I don’t think your cover is doing it justice,” he laughs. 

Your heart skips a beat.

And it means nothing– but to you, it’s everything, because no one has ever asked to listen to your favorite songs before.

“Sure you will,” you clear your throat, masking the erratic hammering of your chest.

“I will!” he insists. “I’ll even send a review.”

“If you rate it lower than a 7, I’m quitting this podcast early.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that.”

You laugh, shaking your head at his antics. “Alright. Next one. If you knew that in one year, you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living and why?”

“The questions are just getting deeper and deeper,” Alex grunts, shifting a little in his position on the bed.

“I didn’t make them.”

“I know,” he nods, snickering, “I’m just saying.”

Another cloak of silence falls over the two of you as you think of your respective answers. You get lost in the way the orange hue of Alex’s lamp casts shadows over his face, gaze tangled up in the wrinkles of his loose shirt. Your eyes snap towards his Adam's apple when he swallows before he speaks, then they land on his chapped lips.

“I think I’d try to worry less about money,” he shrugs. “Like, if I’m dying in a year anyway, I’d just spend all my savings and try to complete my bucket list.”

“Oh, definitely,” you nod. “What’s on it?”

“A lot of travel, honestly,” he laughs, “Europe, Asia, maybe the east coast of America? I’d probably drop out of uni and go crazy with it. I’d buy everything in my Amazon wishlist too. Just… do everything I’ve been putting off as ‘one day’, y’know?”

“Would you get a tattoo?” you ask, referring to a common item in people’s bucket lists.

“Probably not,” he says, frowning. “I don’t think I’m one to get inked up.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think I have anything of significance I’d want on my body forever.”

“Well, only for a year, I guess.”

“My body’s still my body, though,” he laughs, “even if I die, my corpse will have that tattoo, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but you’d be dead,” you shrug. “So you wouldn’t really care how it looks in the casket, you feel me?”

“True,” he admits, squinting his eyes at you. A hum escapes his throat as he licks his lips, nodding. “Maybe you convinced me.”

“See? You only live once, you gotta try it.”

“Sure, why not?” he grins. “So yours would be to get a tattoo?”

“Oh, big time,” you laugh. “It’s a part of the big one– I guess I’d take more risks.”

Alex offers you a look that shows he’s impressed with your answer, searching for more behind your simple words. You take it as an invitation to tell him, preparing to spill out your heart on the record once again, but welcoming the intimacy of the four walls he’s managed to create with just… listening.

“Like, I tend to overthink all my life choices, in a way. I’m like, ‘no, I can’t do that, because what if it goes really bad?’, you know? But like, in this scenario, I could just go ‘well, it won’t matter in a year anyway, so what’s the worst that could happen?’, and I’d just do everything, even if it’s scary.”

“You have any examples?” he asks, genuine interest in his tone.

Your eyes scan his features, your breathing hitching in your throat. 

“I…” you clear your throat, averting eye contact. “I dunno. Like, maybe speaking my mind more often? Taking more opportunities? Stuff like that.”

“You could just follow your own advice, though. Like, realistically, even if you’re not dead in a year, the thing still applies– it won’t matter in a year anyway.”

You blink at him, considering his words. There’s something eye-opening in them, something that was there all along, but you just refused to consider it. Alex has a way of showing you the best parts, in a way. He has a way of opening your eyes and your heart to new ways of thinking– ones that were within you already, you just didn’t really pay attention to them before.

There’s a risk at the tip of your tongue that is begging to be taken, begging to be released.

Still, when you avert your gaze from him, heat in your cheeks, you decide against it. It’s still too scary. Somehow, it feels like everything you have right now, and you’re not willing to lose it. What’s the worst that could happen? 

Many things.

“I guess you’re right, in a way.”

“I always am.”

EPISODE 7: SUGGEST A FAN NAME IN THE COMMENTS..?

“Hello showstoppers and welcome to the seventh episode of our humble podcast,” Alex muses into the microphone, making you look up from your lap where your phone is, locking it and offering him a pointed look.

“Showstoppers?” you ask, a little in disbelief. What’s that about?

“The fan name is a work in progress,” he says, matter-of-factly, shrugging. The comment makes you stop in your tracks, snickering as you propose the next question.

“Fan name?” you let out. “So you’re suggesting we have fans?” you laugh– because at this point, you have to– watching as Alex helplessly opens his mouth and closes it, all the words escaping him and running for the hills.

“Look,” he finally gets out, sounding both a little defeated and also a little hopeful at the same time, “all I’m saying is, our podcast gets like, 1k listens on a regular per episode now. We even got a comment on the last one, so I think it’s time to move on a bit further with our audience. Make it feel special, y’know.”

“A comment?” you gasp, suddenly on board. “What did it say?”

“Uh…” Alex mumbles, averting his gaze from you, scratching his neck. You know this is the part where he pretends he doesn’t remember, but the words are painfully clear in his head– and you start to worry that maybe it was a hate comment, and maybe your friend took it to his heart. His next words shock you, though, sending a wave of uncontrollable heat through your body. “It said ‘stop flirting and get a room, you’re making us feel single’, or something.”

Your own heartbeat rings in your ears, your stomach turning into liquid gold as you contemplate how to react to the accusation. You have to be quick to avert any suspicion– you’d hate for the whole world to think you’re into Alex when clearly, quite the opposite is true. “Ew,” you say, scrunching your nose in disgust, yet not really meeting Alex’s eyes, “stop saying disgusting things in the comments, guys.”

“Exactly,” Alex nods, tone of voice light– like he’s caught in a lie. Perhaps he’s uncomfortable with the people shipping you. You don’t really blame him– since they’re all wrong, and deeply parasocial. “I’d rather sit naked on a hot grill than to get a room with Y/N. Besides, we do have a room. My room. We’re in it, alone, right now, so…”

The nervous babble makes you take a deep breath in, his words not really making the situation better, but also not really making it worse. “Let’s just move on to our topics now,” you mumble, “since we addressed all the fan comments now.”

“Exactly. Let’s get to it.”

The movement of your fingers against your phone screen, the scroll down the document– it’s all familiar to you now, you do it so automatically. You note down the answers after every episode, so the document has been slightly growing in size since you started on it, but you soon get to the questions with no answers and read out the next one in the queue.

“Make three true ‘we’ statements each. For instance, ‘we are both in this room feeling…’” 

“We statements?” Now is Alex’s time to repeat the words after you, furrowing his brows in confusion. “That’s an odd question.”

“I literally gave you an example, Alex,” you point out, laughing at the male.

“I know, but it still doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yes it does…?”

“Okay, go first, then?”

“Okay. So… we are both in this room recording a podcast. See? Easy,” you say, shrugging. Alex meets you with a deadpan stare, blinking at you in response. (Or question?)

“That’s a stupid answer,” he says, shaking his head in disapproval. “That’s like saying we both have hair. We are both breathing. We are both sitting down. That’s all? I made three.”

“Alex! Take it seriously!” you mourn, sighing at his childishness.

“But you didn’t even say a good one..? Why am I the bad guy?”

“Let me do better, then. We are both big fans of Cars the movie,” you say, smiling to yourself in satisfaction. “And I’ll do two more, since you didn’t like the first one.”

“Go ahead.”

“We are both night owls, even though we like our sleep,” you propose, watching as Alex nods in agreement, “and we are both excited for the winter break.”

“Okay, true.”

“Your turn.”

“I already finished my turn,” he says, playing with you.

“Alex!”

“Okay, fine. We are both hard workers,” he says, being met with a quiet mhm of approval from you. “We are both funny,” a questionable sound escapes your throat at that, “and we are both into cycling.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m into it, I just do it because it’s convenient,” you muse, making the boy agree with you.

“Okay, same. Did I do it right now?”

“I think so,” you nod, grinning to yourself. 

“Hit me with the next one, this was a bad question,” Alex complains, making you playfully shove him with your foot. He catches it and tugs you forward, playing with you as you move in your place on the bed– you didn’t know he was so strong before– making you gasp and send him a sharp glare. 

“Stop!” you grunt as he tickles the bottom of your foot, trying to escape him. Alex laughs at you, and even though his hands stop the attack, you’re left with your feet in his lap, laying there aimlessly as his hands rest on your ankles, locking in your new position.

“Go on,” he motions for you to continue with his chin, the shit-eating grin never leaving his features. A dimple appears on his cheek, one that you recognise whenever he’s laughing really hard or failing to keep it in, making your heart skip a beat, the memory of it engraving into the back of your eyelids without your permission. 

Swallowing down, you swiftly move on. 

“Complete this sentence: ‘I wish I had someone with whom I could share…’” you say, voicing even the ‘dot dot dot’, making Alex snicker.

A moment of silence passes, one that’s filled with a thoughtful Hmm by the man in front of you, both of you thinking of your respective answers. His fingers absent-mindedly tap against the bare skin of your ankles, accidentally matching your heartbeat, your teeth chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“You know what? I wish I had someone with whom I could share the mundane things with. Like, I can’t just text anyone hey, I just made lunch or wow I just saw the cutest dog on the street, y’know?”

“Why couldn’t you?” you ask, furrowing your brows at him.

“I don’t wanna be annoying,” he shrugs. “I don’t think any of my friends would appreciate hearing all this random information. But sometimes I just have the urge to share everything, even the boring bits, and it would be nice to have a person that would listen.”

“I wouldn’t say any of that is boring. I think it’s nice when someone experiences something and goes, wow, I should tell this person. I’d be honored to be thought of like that,” you say, daring yourself not to shy away from his direct eye contact, “like, you saw a cute dog on the street and your instant thought was to tell me? That’s amazing, in my opinion.”

“George didn’t appreciate it the last time I spammed him about something like that,” Alex laughs, “it’s like, everyone has their own lives and is busy with their own stuff, so I feel like this boring, mundane stuff doesn’t have to be shared all the time.”

“Well, George is a bad friend, then,” you joke. “He doesn’t appreciate the thought behind it.”

“So you wouldn’t find it annoying if someone texted you in the middle of the night about how much they’re craving the Burger king fries?” he asks, tone of voice light, not really believing.

“Well, I wouldn’t find it annoying. Just odd. Because who the fuck likes Burger king fries? They’re always soggy.”

“Take that back.”

“Never,” you shake your head. “I can listen to any mundane information you want to tell me, but I draw the line at Burger king fries being good. Keep that shit to yourself.”

“I’ll start texting you about it daily just to piss you off, then,” Alex grins, making you sigh.

“Please don’t. Keep it at cute dogs. Actually, take pictures of the dogs you’re talking about so I can see for myself. That’s a way better deal,” you suggest, making Alex smile at you and nod, something about the implication that you can be that person for him hanging in the air.

“Noted. What about you?”

Already knowing the answer even before you read the question out loud, you purse your lips and say it. “I wish I had someone I could share everything with. Kinda like what you said, but for me, I have a bad time talking about my feelings, and I think it stems from me not really trusting people that deeply. And I wish… I wish there was someone in my life that would be patient enough with me to build that trust, and to eventually make me open up again.”

“I’m sorry you feel this way,” Alex says, “but you’re right. Trust, on that level, at least, takes time to build.”

“Of course,” you nod. “But I also feel like people never really ask me about my feelings. Or when they do, they don’t wanna hear the real answer. It’s just… asking to ask, not for the realness of it,” you mumble. In the midst of the honest stare he gives you, there’s a sense of understanding that in a way, this is you opening up.

Somewhere along the way, your brain realized Alex doesn’t ask just because it’s expected of him. You internalized that he is safe, that he cares. Maybe it’s not in the real depthness of it, not in the obvious, vulnerable way, but this is you talking about your feelings. 

You have someone like that– or at least, partially. The realization makes you shy away from his gaze. You feel like he can see right through you, like he can see all the broken parts and doesn’t judge them, doesn’t pick them up, but guards you from the world as you hesitantly take them into your own hands and start slowly gluing them back together.

“Maybe more people care than you realize,” Alex says, tone of voice considerate, intimate. “I understand that there must’ve been people before that didn’t, and that’s why your brain tends to think this way, but I hope that you learn to let people in and shut your thoughts down when they try to tell you your friends don’t care.”

You’ve never been talked to like this before. No one has ever seen you and understood your stance. No one has ever voiced that your feelings are valid, even though your thoughts can sometimes get in the way. You never had to tell him anything, yet Alex gets it on a level you were scared to ever show someone.

You nod. You lick your lips, take a deep breath in. “Thank you,” you muse, your voice a little hoarse. You clear your throat, trying to get it back to normal. “I’ll try to remember that.”

EPISODE 8: THE VOICES..!!:!!@

“Hello listeners, hello Y/N,” Alex hums into the microphone after taking a sip of his energy drink, dark eye circles crowning his face. It’s a sight you don’t usually witness with your friend, which makes you a bit worried for him– you know Alex likes his sleep, and you also know he has a good enough sleep schedule to get his beloved sleep.

“Hello, Alex,” you greet, even though you’ve been at his flat for a bit now.

“Welcome to the last…? Episode of our show,” he says, eyeing you when he says the words, getting reassurance in his assumption. Alex only needed 8 episodes to get through his assignment, and you were at the end of yours as well, so really, there was no use in another part being recorded after this one.

“Yeah,” you hum, “kinda bittersweet, if you really think about it. It’s been eight weeks of us doing this every Monday,” you say, a pout appearing on your face. 

“It is kind of sad,” he agrees, “but then again, aren’t you happy you’re done with your assignment?” 

“I mean, kinda?” you shrug. “But I must admit you’ve made it really enjoyable for me to work on it,” you admit. The words escape you without thinking, almost like sincerity is second nature to you when you’re around Alex– to which he offers you a warm smile, one begging to unravel all the words you have in you left unsaid.

“That definitely goes both ways,” he hums. “Wouldn’t wanna do it with anyone else. But– before we get too sappy, speaking of assignments,” Alex rambles, not really leaving you a chance to react to his sentiments (which you’re truly happy about, since you think your nonchalant act would falter under his gaze), “how are you hanging on with the school load?”

Winter break is next week, which means you have to hand in all your assignments before you can go home for Christmas and enjoy the holidays (also read as: cry in front of the Christmas tree as you study for the finals waiting for you right after New Year’s). You’d be lying if you said you were enjoying the workload, and you’d also be a filthy liar if you said you were on time with all the deadlines you were given. So, to Alex’s question, you just offer a telling scowl.

“Yeah, not good,” you say, shaking your head. “I have two lab reports due like, yesterday, and I’m not even started on the essay I have to hand in at the end of this week,” you sigh, shaking your head at your poor time management. “You?”

“I’ve been pulling all-nighters for the last week to finish up on everything,” he grunts.

“I can see that,” you point out, examining his tired face. “You should get more sleep, Albono. The dark circles don’t suit you.”

“They really don’t, do they?” he mumbles, shaking his head. “Well, speaking of, I was gonna ask if you wanna stay over after this and work together.”

“Well, first of all, we don’t major in the same thing, so I don’t see how that’s beneficial,” you snicker, “and second of all, I just told you– you need some beauty sleep.”

“I thought mutual support would be enough help for both of us, but okay, I guess,” he acts playfully hurt, averting his gaze from you. “And when we get tired we can nap. It would be like, half-nighter. Sounds better?”

“Actually, no, it sounds fucking terrible.” 

“So you hate me?”

“No! I’d just prefer it if we both get some sleep and then we can meet up and study together later,” you offer, watching Alex as he contemplates on your idea.

“I have work after class this week,” he says, tone of voice barely louder than a whisper– a hint at wanting to pursue you, but also desperate truth in his words telling you that not only does he have no other time to work on his school things, he’d also hate to do it alone.

And so you cave in.

Of course you do.

“Fine,” you grunt. “But you get me Monster energy. You know I hate those Red Bulls you keep drinking, they both smell and taste like vomit.”

“I’ll run to the gas station for you,” he says, his expression forming into one of pure relief and gratitude.

“And they say romance is dead.”

“Romance isn’t dead, most men are just assholes.”

“Thank you,” you nod at him, watching as the male tugs his corners up into a grin.

“Well, now that we’re done publicly scheduling a study date, we can move on to the interesting part of the podcast,” Alex says, motioning for you to take your phone into your hand and scroll to the few questions you have left– which you do, all while trying to ignore the almost painful thumping of your heart at the word ‘date’ escaping his mouth in relation to you, even though you know it was unserious.

Clearing your throat and ensuring your voice doesn’t wobble as you speak, you cross your legs in your position on his bed, suddenly too aware of your surroundings– his scent hitting you with force every time you settle a little too deep into his sheets, the comfy hoodie he let you borrow when you shivered in the kitchen as he fetched you water (while complaining about Lando never putting the heating on), the fact that you are so far in his space, everywhere and all at once, and how you never once questioned just how comfortable you fit into it.

And you wish the next question would divert your attention from the sheer fact, but it does just the opposite– it makes you focus on all the details, all the small things that just make your knees weak, that make you think of him during long days and between classes, like friends do, naturally. 

“Tell your partner what you like about them,” you read out, cursing the list– couldn’t it be another question about something embarrassing? A casual question just thrown into the wind? “be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met.”

“Oh wow,” Alex hums, snickering to himself, “a little ego boost. I like it.”

“Once again, I did not come up with these questions,” you defend yourself, hearing Alex laugh at your little bit.

“You wanna go first?” 

You lick your lips, examining his face– as if taking a longer look at him might make the words come out easier, make them jump out of your throat more smoothly. For a second, you contemplate shaking your head and waiting for him to be over with his turn, but you figure that there’s no use pushing back the inevitable, so you nod.

Taking a deep breath in, you purse your lips and then finally start speaking. “I guess… I guess what I like about you the most is just how much of a comforting presence you are. Like, we haven’t known each other for too long, but it feels like we’ve known each other for ages, because you’re so… open about everything, and you share a lot with me, and you have something about you that just makes me feel like I could tell you anything, and you would listen and understand,” you say, the truth just spilling out.

“I also adore your humor and your way with people, but I think those are the obvious ones. I mean, over-all, you’re just very chill, down to earth, easy to adore person, Alex, and I think that’s a gift not a lot of people have,” you mention, watching as the boy locks his gaze with you, something behind his orbs shifting, his cheeks dusting with rose pink.

“Well, thank you,” he hums, “I don’t think anyone’s ever told me that before,” he admits, letting out a nervous laugh as he scratches the back of his neck.

“They don’t tell you, ‘cause your ego would be too big,” you joke, trying to diffuse the terribly intimate atmosphere your words managed to create.

“You just said I’m down to earth?”

“Yeah, all because of the people around you. Look at you now– now imagine if we all start complimenting you on a daily basis,” you laugh, watching as the boy shakes his head in disbelief.

“It would only make me feel more appreciated,” he says. 

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you started your turn now, Alex.”

The male sighs, the grin staying on his face only for a second longer before he continues on with the question, now his turn to spill his guts out. 

“Okay, so… what I like about you is how courageous you are– constantly battling what you said you struggle with, and doing it with so much grace. It makes me really proud of you, y’know? But like… I guess also how honest you are. I don’t second guess myself with you, or how you feel about me or things, and I think that’s a really good quality,” he says, catching you off-guard with the compliment. You, too, don’t think anyone’s ever appreciated this quality of yours. People never liked your bluntness or your blatant honesty and often mistook you for being rude, or too up in their business– when in reality, you just wanted to help.

“But I guess it’s the same thing you said for me, in a way I find myself really comfortable with you, because you are just a really caring person. You are really loyal and selfless when it comes to your loved ones, and I feel like they always know you have their back, and that’s wonderful,” he says, nodding his head at you. “Everyone would be blessed to have you in their room,” he finishes, the words hitting you like a truck.

It’s a mere reference to the conversation you had a couple of weeks ago– ‘I don’t think anyone would choose me in a room full of people’ ‘Well, then you aren’t in the right room.’– yet, it’s so much more than that. It’s him recognising your struggles, listening to you, and remembering it– all while showing you that there’s a different way of looking at things, that he sees you in a room full of people, and considers taking the walk over to you.

And the truth is, perhaps you’ve stood behind the doorstep of his room for a while now. And while you’ve been battling the thoughts asking whether anyone– whether he’d choose you out of everyone– the reality of the fact that if he sat in your room, you’d turn to him without hesitating slowly crept up on you, now fully catching up, not leaving you a chance to run away from it anymore.

“Wow,” you say, averting your gaze. Your heart suddenly feels too fragile– a muscle ready to be torn apart, sat naked in his palms. “Okay, sappy.”

“You’re the one to talk,” Alex mumbles, although his eyes don’t meet yours for a while, stuck to anything he can find in his room. He searches through it as if it’s foreign space, not one he’s lived in and memorized completely up to the point of knowing how to operate it blind. You mirror his actions– both of you too shy now to give each other full attention, even though you know how badly you’d want to just look at him and engrave his face into your system forever.

“Didn’t think you had such a way with words, Albono,” you try to joke through it all, feeling the familiar teasing kick to your side from him, an action worth more than a thousand words.

“They call me the modern Shakespeare.”

“Who is them in question?” you ask, snickering to yourself.

“Uhm…” he shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. 

“The voices?” you say, earning yourself a deadpan look followed by a fit of laughter that makes your heart jump and your dopamine spike, your lips tugging into the warmest of smiles that you don’t think you could contain, even if you tried.

“Continue on with the segment, or else the voices are gonna tell me to kick you out, or something,” he says, his nose still scrunched up in that very endearing way that you fear lately, making you avert your gaze with the annoying thoughts once again entering your mind.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you bite back, but follow his orders.

When your eyes land on the last question, however, the answer to it is ready in your mind before you even have a chance to read it out loud. If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?

In that moment, your eyes finally meet with Alex’s. This time, you can’t bring yourself to look away, too enchanted with his siren-like gaze, too focused on everything that makes him him. Your brain flashes with countless memories of you and him in this room across the hall and outside of it, your ears almost hearing the sound of his laughter, your heart squeezing on itself as if you’re living the moments again and again, relishing in the sunshine his arrival to your life has brought.

The answer is clear as day, although you’d never admit it out loud.

Because it’s silly– it’s embarrassing, humiliating, almost theatrically ironic. The one thing you were trying to prove wrong with this assignment has turned out to be true, meaning you failed at everything you thought about, and somehow, it feels like your whole life is shaking in its foundations. And it might sound funny, or like you’re making it a much bigger deal than it is, but the truth is– if you had anything to regret, it would be not telling Alex Albon that somewhere along the way, during those eight episodes, you managed to completely mess up your own assignment and have hopelessly, deeply fallen for him.

EPISODE 9: WINTER BREAK RECAP AND FINAL GOODBYES

A clear of his throat, the low light of his cozy room, a candle lit in the corner of the nightstand. There’s tea waiting for you right next to it, a microphone in your hand, and after a look he sends you that’s met with a reassuring nod, he turns on the recording.

“Hello everyone,” he says, tone of voice familiar, light, “now, I know we said that the last episode would be the last, since we didn’t need any more and Y/N ran out of questions, but we figured… we didn’t wanna just end without a proper goodbye. So, here’s what we call our special winter edition of the pod, recorded during exam season, so you… you can thank us for blessing you in a moment of need, even though we’re absolutely dying over here.”

“I feel like those might be the last words I’ll ever get to say and tonight, I’ll die in my sleep out of stress and exhaustion,” you mumble, shaking your head at the thought of the finals that are awaiting you when you wake up tomorrow, bright and early (although very exhausted. Both physically and mentally).

“Good thing we’re recording this, then,” Alex says, laughing, “so your family and friends know what your last words were.”

“Exactly,” you hum, “make sure to send it to them through email.”

“I’ll forward the link,” Alex nods. “Will your mum be able to work out Soundcloud?”

“I don’t think so,” you say, a hint of doubt in your voice. “Maybe try to send it as an audio file.”

Alex looks like he is seriously thinking about it for a moment, eyes squinted and the microphone once more pressed deep into his cheek, before he sighs and shrugs. “I’ll cross that bridge when we get there. I’ll figure it out.”

“Right,” you nod, laughing. “Well, anyway, since we have no questions prepared for today, let’s just start leisurely… How did your winter break go?”

“Oh, right. Let me start off by saying happy new year everyone,” Alex says, making a pause for you to join in and wish the listeners as well, “we didn’t think of wishing you all merry Christmas before we went on break, ‘cause we’re stupid, but I hope you all had amazing Christmas and got lots of amazing gifts, because we all know that’s what the holidays are really about.”

“Did you get lots of amazing gifts, Alex?” you ask, a grin already tugging on your face.

“I did,” he nods, not really paying attention to your suspicious look, completely ignoring what you’re trying to suggest he mentions. “I got socks, and I got a book– Subtle art of not giving a fuck, was it? My sister gave it to me. Uh… I also got a sweater and some lego. What about you?” he asks, smiling at you in irony– of course he knows what he’s doing.

“That’s all you got?” you ask, faking innocence.

“I think so, yeah.”

“Great, okay, well,” you shrug, trying to not seem offended at the fact that he doesn’t wanna tell anyone what you gave him for Christmas– which, just for the record, you believe was the greatest, most thoughtful gift Alex Albon has received in years. “Should I say mine then, or–”

“Okay, no, I’m just playing with you,” Alex says, nudging you with his foot, his hand squeezing on the flesh of your ankle in reassurance. “Dear listeners, Y/N…” he shakes his head in disbelief, an honest, warm grin playing with his features. “You wouldn’t believe it. My dear co-host here, she remembered me rambling all about how I wish I could’ve gone karting again, and how fun it was when I was younger, so she hit up all my friends– yes, even George Russell from back home, the stalker she is– and she brought them all to the indoor karting arena just like, 40? 45 minutes away from the campus?”

“Like, 42 I’d say.”

“Yeah, so she brought them all up here and set up a race. Paid for everything and everyone too– insane. Batshit crazy. I had so much fun.”

“Yeah?” you ask, beaming in your glory.

“I did. I loved it, like– I didn’t even win, by the way. I was second, and Y/N was last–”

“Hey!”

“And she was sulking so hard, being like ‘I paid for all this shit and I don’t even get a podium?” Alex imitates your voice, high-pitched and a little scratchy. “But no, to be honest, I’d be mad angry too. Like, you even got us trophies and everything, that’s crazy.”

“It took so long to plan, you can’t even imagine…” you sigh, recalling the endless texts in secret group chats, online orders and arrangements with people you haven’t even met before, but heard of from Alex’s talking. 

“No, it was, seriously… I loved it. Best gift I’ve ever gotten, honestly. Thank you,” he says, reaching over and shuffling in his sheets, arms stretched out to accommodate you in a warm hug. His arms around you feel familiar, they feel safe– like you’ve made a home in his hold, deemed it your own place and no one else's. The hug reminds you of the one he shared with you after he won second place in the race, childlike joy and happiness reeking off his shaking body. 

“You’re welcome,” you mumble, dragging a hand along his back. “Anything for my podcast co-host,” you half-joke, because in the back of your mind, you know there’s reality behind your claims. Maybe you would do anything for Alex Albon, if it was in your competence.

“But now I feel shitty because I got you such a bad gift,” he pouts after he finally breaks away from you, his cheeks rosy and expression full of regret.

“Why? I loved it,” you coo, remembering the bundle of things he got you– a simple gift-box containing chamomile tea (‘Because you always drink it at mine and you said it’s your favorite’), fuzzy socks with sausage dogs on them (‘Because you’re always cold and love sausage dogs.’ ‘How’d you know that?’ ‘They’re your lockscreen, Y/N.), a personalized build-a-bear that screams in Alex’s voice when you squeeze it (‘Just thought it would be funny…’), a mug that reads ‘Co-host of the #1 Podcast in the UK (don’t fact-check it)’, and a friendship bracelet he made himself (‘Because I know you’re sappy like that.’).

And you’re being serious– you did love it. It was made of all the smallest fragments of your friendship, crafted with care and attention. Sometimes, you accidentally sit on the bear and it screams, which scares you, but then makes you topple over with laughter– a sign of your mutual sense of humor that you’ve relied on so much over the past episodes of your podcast. The bracelet doesn’t come off your arm even when you shower and you drink the tea when you want to calm down– every single thing he’s gifted you went to good use, just a sign of how much your friend really managed to get to know you over the last couple of months.

“You’re just saying that.”

“No,” you shake your head, “I’m being real. Don’t downplay yourself, Albono.”

“Well, alright,” he says, sighing. “I’ll have to step up my game next year, though.”

“I mean, I don’t think you can outdo me, but sure.”

“I would kick you, but the truth is, I unfortunately agree with you, y’know?” Alex snickers, shaking his head at you. “Like, what do I do? Send you to space?”

“Oh, I’d hate that.”

“Well, you ruined the only possible thing that’s better than this, thank you very much, Y/N...”

“You’re saying it like you won the lottery,” you laugh. “Maybe you’re just easy to please.”

“It felt like I won the lottery,” he says, laughing in disbelief. “You don’t even know– you can’t even– fuck it, you wouldn’t understand. Anyways, can we now talk about what your mysterious assignment was?” he asks, cutting off his own train of thought, making you almost choke on your own spit at the curiosity.

Your breathing hitches, your eyebrows shooting up close to your hairline. The truth is, you should’ve expected Alex to ask– he was always very curious to know about your major and what you’re doing in your everyday life, and this was no different. Somehow, in your deepest fantasies, however, you imagined outrunning this conversation. You always desired to never have it, to never have to talk about it, even though you brought yourself into this in the first place and you have no one else to blame.

Still, you take a sip of your tea, nose filling with cinnamon. Swallowing down, you nod, tone of voice lighter than you’d expect it to come out. “Sure. Yeah.”

“So?” he asks, expecting. “What was it on? What was it about? Did you find out anything…? Was this all deep psychoanalysis of me, or…?”

The questions make you chuckle, shaking your head in disbelief. “No, not at all…” you snicker. “It was actually on the replication crisis,” you say, eyeing Alex as he nods at you, waiting for a proper explanation. “So, in like the 2010s, a lot of psychological data were proven to be false, or better said– couldn’t be replicated. So like, that means the scientists messed with the data, or didn’t do the stats right, or just, y’know, there used to be– and still is, to be fair– a big publication bias, so they just pretended their research went a certain way and got certain results, even though it didn’t. And people tried to replicate those, and found out they couldn’t get the same data and results, eventually finding out most of it was heavily unreliable.”

“Right.”

“So, our assignment was basically based on that, in which we had to choose a certain significant research and try to replicate the results to the best of our abilities with the resources available to us. Which, yeah, it won’t be the same as doing it in a lab, or like, with professionals, or anything, but it still kind of revolves around the same concept…”

“Mhm,” Alex nods, “so, what did you choose?”

“So,” you nervously clear your throat, scratching your neck, “in 1997, a man named Arthur Aron made an experiment on generating interpersonal closeness..? I probably sound insane.”

“No, go on,” Alex reassures you, his eye contact suddenly feeling over-bearing.

“So,” you sigh, dreading the conversation. “He made this experiment where he wrote down 36 questions that are meant to fabricate interpersonal closeness. Basically, they get more and more intimate– as I’m sure you’ve noticed– which generates a strong mutual connection,” you finish explaining.

“Right,” he nods. He waits, knowing there’s more to fill the silence on your end.

“Uhm… I was scared you’d know it, but I don’t think you’ve caught on– it’s kind of a famous one, this experiment. They often call it 36 questions to fall in love,” you say, your voice weavering, sweat suddenly forming in beads at your upper lip, making you hesitantly wipe it off with the back of your hand.

“Oh,” Alex lets out, tone of voice a mix of surprise and something else you can’t quite put your finger on. 

“Yeah.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence shared between the two of you, only filled by the sounds of you breathing. You don’t dare to meet his eye. You’re sure that whatever you two shared, whatever bond you managed to create, is now gone. Lost in the wind– because realistically, what were you thinking? 

In your defense, you didn’t expect to fall for Alex. You didn’t expect to even get close to him– that’s the main issue. You tried hard to prove to everyone that his experiment is bullshit, that the data can’t be replicated, and here you are– a fool, falling for your own trap. And now, Alex must think you’re a psychopath– that you tried to make him fall for you, that you tried to trip him into this. 

You open your mouth, ready to tell him your defense, ready to prove to him that you’re not a total weirdo, even though your confession might prove otherwise– when his hesitant words cut through the space, making you feel like you were just sat in the electric chair, a current washing over you.

“Did it work, then? Did you replicate it?”

“Well, obviously no,” you say, almost a little too quick.

Alex hums, a sound you can’t quite place, can’t quite explain to yourself. For a moment, you wish you could see his face– even though you’re too scared to face him, opting to just stare at the ceiling instead– to try to read it, to see in between the lines. Maybe you could sense what he was thinking, what he was feeling if you’d look into his eyes. Maybe you know him well enough to.

“So you’re saying we didn’t fall in love?” he says, almost tentatively.

“Well, no. ‘Cause it’s bullshit. The experiment, it’s bullshit. You can’t just make people fall in love by asking 36 simple questions,” you say, trying to get out of the conversation. For a moment, you believed your claims– it seemed far too easy. Far too obvious. You deemed it bullshit– it couldn’t have been true.

But you lived it. You lived through it, experienced it. Because the truth is, it’s way more than just the 36 questions– it’s also the intimacy it creates. The sincerity you facilitate. 

“Do you think it’s bullshit because you don’t believe it could work, or do you think it’s bullshit because you don’t believe it could work on us?” Alex asks, stealing the oxygen out of your lungs.

“I– Alex–”

“Do you think it’s bullshit because you don’t believe in it, or do you just not believe anyone could fall in love with you?” he doubles down, his words having the same impact as a punch to your gut would, leaving you speechless and chewing on your bottom lip.

You finally dare to look at him. His face is almost blank, but his eyes are soaring with something distant, yet strong enough to take away your breath and all the words from the tip of your tongue. “You don’t know what–”

“Because, yeah, on a certain degree, I agree with you,” Alex starts, offering you a gentle look, checking in with your current state. “Like, of course it’s not gonna be universal. I don’t think it’s gonna work on everyone, like, every single random pairing you could take from the street. But as you said, it promotes intimacy and sincerity, and I don’t think you could build that trust with just anyone.”

You swallow down, nodding. 

“But that being said, I think… I think it works on certain people. I’m not saying they lead to love, but they definitely help to that. So like, sure, it may be bullshit to some, but– I mean– I think I’d be lying if I said it didn’t work here,” he says, his tone a little hesitant, his lips lacking the usual playful smile, “on me, I mean.”

His words reach your ears, but you’re not quite certain they reach your brain. For a moment, you just stare at him– taking him fully in, trying to make sense of it all. 

You shake your head. “No.”

“No?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“No–”

“I mean– fuck,” he says, snickering. He looks up at the ceiling, shaking his head. “I… Well, it’s fine if you don’t feel the same. Just– just thought I’d tell you true info, so you have it right in your report–”

“Wait– Alex–”

“Maybe we can cut this part out of the episode, I don’t need my humiliation ritual to be public–”

“Oh my god, Alex, shut up for a sec,” you sigh, finally getting back a taste of the old Alex you know– the one that cracks jokes and makes you laugh, the one that doesn’t take anything too seriously– and it comforts you, bringing you back to your senses. “Jesus, I– I just didn’t expect to hear that. I– It’s… I thought you were gonna think I’m crazy and this whole thing was insane and I tried to trap you, or something–”

“Trap me?” he laughs, shaking his head. “Y/N, you’re saying it like you tried to trick me. And look, I know I’m handsome, but I also know that this… it was all real. A random 90s experiment doesn’t change any of it in my eyes.”

“Every time you call yourself handsome, I regret most of my life choices.”

“Bet you don’t regret doing the podcast with me,” he smiles cheekily, bringing back the usual warmth to your chest.

How could you have ever feared telling him?

This is Alex, after all. The first friend you made at university. The boy that brought you to his circle just because he knew you were lonely. Alex, your co-host that always intently listened and asked questions, the man that made you feel seen and always had something to say to your concerns and deepest doubts. Everything with him has been easy, like falling asleep and experiencing your most exciting dream. You fell for him slowly, then suddenly, all at once– and none of it has ever proved to be difficult, so why did you expect this conversation to go any different?

“Eh, someone had to do it,” you joke. 

You doubt any of this is staying in the episode– not after Alex throws the microphone to the far end of the bed and launches himself at you, attacking you with tickles. The giggles escaping you sound somewhere between joyful and like you’re dying, your arms faintly trying to get the male off so you can breathe.

His scent fills your nose, unarming you, the softness of his hair brushing against your cheek as he works his fingers on your lower stomach, tears filling your eyes. “Get off, Albon! You’re heavy!” 

“Take back what you said, then!”

“Never.”

“Okay,” he shrugs, only further strengthening his attack on you. Somehow, you manage to run your fingertips over the exposed skin off his stomach, where his shirt has raised up, making his composure falter enough for you to roll the both of you over and hold his arms above his head, encapsulated in a way that lets you know he surrendered, even though he would be able to get out of your hold with no issue, if he dared to try.

He is left breathless under you, eyes glimmering like the night sky, blown-out like last week’s fireworks. His lips are still outstretched in a soft grin, one you’d now call lovesick, and suddenly, you’re hit with the realization that’s bigger than you, exploding all around the room– you don’t know how you got so lucky.

“So you admit the old guy was right? What was his name again…”

“Aron,” you mumble, snickering.

“Aron’t you in love with me?” he asks, his laughter at his own joke almost swallowing the last words that come out of his mouth before you slap a hand over his lips, not wanting to hear more of his terrifying puns.

Not in a situation like this. “Oh, shut up.”

Alex mutters against your skin, glistening lips brushing against the inside of your palm. It’s an old one, but it does the job: “Make me,” he teases, having you break out into a grin.

He doesn’t have to ask you twice.

Now, you’re sure the part of the podcast where you lean in and capture his lips with yours– something you’ve wanted to do every time he rambled for too long in the past few episodes– is going to be cut out of the podcast. You’re also sure that it won’t ever be cut out of your memory. 

That, and all the things you’ve shared– an experiment, or not.

There will be much more experimenting to be done now– you hate how Alex’s inner voice has somehow infiltrated your mind.

You battle it away, focusing on the way he feels when he shifts under you, his palms covering your hips, steadying you in place. He holds you like you belong there, like there’s nowhere you’d rather be. And you believe him–

because you don’t have it in you to doubt him. 

Juyeon takes your side. He stops you in your tracks on the way back to your dormitory, taking the hood of your jacket and pulling it over your damp hair. You let him, completely forgetting about the umbrella you snuck into your purse before you left. You let the boy pull you closer and take your bag off you– since it’s constantly falling off your shoulder and you make notice of it with an annoyed huff– before he decides to carry it for you and takes ahold of your hand, sneaking your intertwined fingers into his pocket. 

The night is a little blurry from then onwards. The conversations you have with him on the way back are hushed, quiet. You never thought you’d end up by the side of a calm, reserved presence– since you were an introvert yourself, believing you needed someone to bring you out of your comfort zone, someone to make you open up and enjoy life without unnecessary boundaries– but you don’t mind it. Still, you’re a listener. He doesn’t ask much. You think it’s not that he isn’t interested. You believe he just simply doesn’t know what to say.

Somewhere along the way, you reflect on the evening. On the amount of alcohol in your system and on the girl you just met a few hours before, introduced to you by Juyeon’s roommate. The whole meeting felt a bit like a double date, and even though you’d hate to think of it as one– since your relationship with Juyeon is far too casual, unlabeled and unspecific for any of your meetings to be called that name– there’s buzzing in your stomach, a flood of happy gold smearing on your insides when you realize how easy, simple and sweet the whole evening played out. 

It felt a bit too real. A bit too intimate. Normal. 

You know that thinking of it as such was a deep mistake, but it was one you didn’t know how to stop yourself from making.

And maybe it was okay to indulge in the feelings and thoughts– although slightly delusional, which you admit to even in your drunken state, just for the weeks he’s here. You tell yourself it’s fine, because he is leaving in just about 2 months, and after that, you’ll never see him again. 

You’ll never discuss your feelings with him in your second language under the intimacy of his dark dorm room ever again. You’ll never smoke together on the balcony, kissing in the moonlight, warming each other up by the closeness of each other. You’ll never share a drink, hold him close, let him touch you where no one has before. You’ll never hear his favorite playlist and listen to him talk about the culture back home, or encourage him when he’s stressed about exams ever again. 

You have limited time together. Somehow, you think it’s both a blessing and a curse. 

After a remark that makes him giggle– to which your heart jumps, still unknowing of your feelings for him– he sighs, his voice taking a whole another tint.

“Let’s make a promise that if neither of us have someone by the time we’re 30, we’ll get married,” he speaks, making your heart drop to your stomach.

The feeling his words encourage are indescribable. It’s like getting thrown off a 10-story building. It’s like when you’re bad at swimming and getting thrown into a pool of cold water, getting too tired in the middle of the lap and thinking you’re drowning before you realize you’re tall enough to reach the bottom. It’s like wishing on a falling star, not really knowing if you believe the silly superstition. It’s like the moment after waking up from a very good dream– when you realize none of it was real, but still, it leaves a fuzzy, warm aftertaste in you for the next few minutes before you forget what the dream was even about.

You don’t know how to name it. Not just yet.

“And you say you have no feelings for me,” you chuckle, teasing the man.

“I never said I didn’t,” he hums, almost making you stop in your tracks. Your heart jumps in your ribcage, a foreign, dangerous taste of adrenaline making itself present in your body.

“So you’re saying you do?”

The male sighs. “I mean…”

It’s what he always does. He throws you a bait, and then catches you on it like you’re some sort of a clueless goldfish. You blame your inexperience with romance for the lack of critical thinking– or at least now you do. He never really tells you how he really feels, what he really thinks. You always have to drag it out of him, beg him on your knees to tell you what goes on in his brain.

“You mean what?” you drag, impatiently.

“I mean, I knew I was going to meet someone while I’m here, but after the first time we hung out… I knew that it was going to end up this way,” he says, all ominous.

You hum. 

“And I think you felt the same way,” he adds.

You hum again– pretending you understand. Believing you do. Because what else could his words mean? What else– if not feelings, real feelings, deeper than whatever you two put on in front of his friends and acquaintances? Hell, you know you care for him deeper than you let on. You didn’t think you realized before, but the disgusting romantic liquid pumping in your veins right now only approves of the suspicion. 

You fell for Lee Juyeon. 

Somewhere between the drunken nights full of laughter, Netflix shows long forgotten in the background as his lips explore you and his arms hold you tight, you fell for a man you hardly even know.

You fell for a man you met at a bad, boring Halloween party and cringed over his texts when he followed you on Instagram the morning after. You fell for the man that shared cigarettes with you, obnoxiously sang along to the songs on the radio, told you constantly how good you smelled and how much he loved your body (making you both confident, but also more insecure to be loved in any way beyond your curves and crevices as time moved forward). You fell for the man that made you play videogames with him and let you rant about your dad. You fell for the man that complimented your brain whenever he heard about your studies. For the man that joked around with his friends. For the man that sent you Instagram reels in the dead of the night, the man whose terrible sleeping schedule you learnt by memory the same way you could make the journey to his dormitory, up the elevator and straight into his bedsheets with your eyes closed. 

But most importantly, you fell for the man that is here for one semester only– a man you’ll one day walk to his flight back home.

Still, you giggle as you two reach the gate of your dorm, waiting for the other couple to catch up to you as they laugh at each other’s jokes somewhere in the distance. 

“Your 30 or my 30? Because that’s a big difference, y’know,” you tease him, never letting the 4 years laying in between you two die. 

He shakes his head, laughing. “You choose,” he mumbles before he leans in and captures your lips in a tender kiss.

In this moment, there’s nothing else in this world, just you two. You two and the empty promise, the rain buzzing around you, the taste of nicotine and redbull on his lips. Just his hands on your waist, your soaring heart and the weight of your curfew (that’s in 5 minutes) breathing down your neck.

There’s no flight back home in February. There’s no silence on his end of the line during most of the day, no 24-hour wait for a reply to your messages. There’s no teasing looks from his dormmates whenever you walk with him to the communal kitchen, making you wonder just how much your name is thrown around the building. There’s no empty feeling in your stomach every time you take the train home– both from being away from the town that connects you two, and also from the lack of knowledge when you’ll see him again, because Juyeon was never the one to set exact times in stone. He never took the effort to plan your dates or let you know in advance. Meeting him was always rushed, last-minute and begged out from you. 

There’s no trip with him in January, because it hasn’t happened yet. There’s no sinking feeling in your stomach as you lay awake next to him in one bed in the dead of the night, listening to his snores, wondering what you’ve done wrong and why you’re not enough for him. There’s no sentences uttered out from his lips you overthink and replay in your brain over and over again, wondering what they meant– like that time he got asked if you were his girlfriend, and he had it in him to reply “Kinda”. There’s no polaroids you keep on your wall until March when you decide it’s time to move on. There’s no talk on the balcony that you’ll always miss– because it had the best view of the town you grew to feel at home in– the talk where you confronted him with what he said tonight, asking him if he really had feelings for you and wondering what he truly meant if they weren’t love. There’s no belief that a body to hold is all you’ll ever be to someone, tainted with the sweet words he said to keep you at his reach. There’s no crying during Christmas break because you think he grew tired of you, because he started to put in less and less effort, because you suddenly started to see the relationship for what it was and not for what you wanted it to be. There’s no text on New Years, because it never happened, and also no text on your birthday, because he never cared enough to remember the date.

There’s no broken promises to keep in touch after he lands back home. You don’t know that he’ll change his number without you knowing yet, you’re not aware that all the memories you had with him meant more to you than to him– just a distraction, an experience abroad he took them for. And you know it’s not his fault– because he never lied to you, never really did anything to betray your trust– you just let yourself fall for the one person you shouldn’t have, for the one person you never should’ve gotten caught up with in the first place.

There’s no tears and broken hearts and memorabilia in your dorm room made of all the things he left you because they didn’t fit into his suitcase. There’s no feeling of him getting everything he wanted and leaving you here stuck on him. There’s no message from his roommate telling you he wasn’t good enough for you after they left. 

In this moment, there’s just you two and this moment. The realization. The sudden knowledge that this is it, this is how falling in love feels like.

For now, you don’t think you want to know if the feeling flows both ways. 

Juyeon takes your side. He stops you in your tracks on the way back to your dormitory, taking the hood of your jacket and pulling it over your damp hair. You let him, completely forgetting about the umbrella you snuck into your purse before you left. You let the boy pull you closer and take your bag off you– since it’s constantly falling off your shoulder and you make notice of it with an annoyed huff– before he decides to carry it for you and takes ahold of your hand, sneaking your intertwined fingers into his pocket. 

The night is a little blurry from then onwards. The conversations you have with him on the way back are hushed, quiet. You never thought you’d end up by the side of a calm, reserved presence– since you were an introvert yourself, believing you needed someone to bring you out of your comfort zone, someone to make you open up and enjoy life without unnecessary boundaries– but you don’t mind it. Still, you’re a listener. He doesn’t ask much. You think it’s not that he isn’t interested. You believe he just simply doesn’t know what to say.

Somewhere along the way, you reflect on the evening. On the amount of alcohol in your system and on the girl you just met a few hours before, introduced to you by Juyeon’s roommate. The whole meeting felt a bit like a double date, and even though you’d hate to think of it as one– since your relationship with Juyeon is far too casual, unlabeled and unspecific for any of your meetings to be called that name– there’s buzzing in your stomach, a flood of happy gold smearing on your insides when you realize how easy, simple and sweet the whole evening played out. 

It felt a bit too real. A bit too intimate. Normal. 

You know that thinking of it as such was a deep mistake, but it was one you didn’t know how to stop yourself from making.

And maybe it was okay to indulge in the feelings and thoughts– although slightly delusional, which you admit to even in your drunken state, just for the weeks he’s here. You tell yourself it’s fine, because he is leaving in just about 2 months, and after that, you’ll never see him again. 

You’ll never discuss your feelings with him in your second language under the intimacy of his dark dorm room ever again. You’ll never smoke together on the balcony, kissing in the moonlight, warming each other up by the closeness of each other. You’ll never share a drink, hold him close, let him touch you where no one has before. You’ll never hear his favorite playlist and listen to him talk about the culture back home, or encourage him when he’s stressed about exams ever again. 

You have limited time together. Somehow, you think it’s both a blessing and a curse. 

After a remark that makes him giggle– to which your heart jumps, still unknowing of your feelings for him– he sighs, his voice taking a whole another tint.

“Let’s make a promise that if neither of us have someone by the time we’re 30, we’ll get married,” he speaks, making your heart drop to your stomach.

The feeling his words encourage are indescribable. It’s like getting thrown off a 10-story building. It’s like when you’re bad at swimming and getting thrown into a pool of cold water, getting too tired in the middle of the lap and thinking you’re drowning before you realize you’re tall enough to reach the bottom. It’s like wishing on a falling star, not really knowing if you believe the silly superstition. It’s like the moment after waking up from a very good dream– when you realize none of it was real, but still, it leaves a fuzzy, warm aftertaste in you for the next few minutes before you forget what the dream was even about.

You don’t know how to name it. Not just yet.

“And you say you have no feelings for me,” you chuckle, teasing the man.

“I never said I didn’t,” he hums, almost making you stop in your tracks. Your heart jumps in your ribcage, a foreign, dangerous taste of adrenaline making itself present in your body.

“So you’re saying you do?”

The male sighs. “I mean…”

It’s what he always does. He throws you a bait, and then catches you on it like you’re some sort of a clueless goldfish. You blame your inexperience with romance for the lack of critical thinking– or at least now you do. He never really tells you how he really feels, what he really thinks. You always have to drag it out of him, beg him on your knees to tell you what goes on in his brain.

“You mean what?” you drag, impatiently.

“I mean, I knew I was going to meet someone while I’m here, but after the first time we hung out… I knew that it was going to end up this way,” he says, all ominous.

You hum. 

“And I think you felt the same way,” he adds.

You hum again– pretending you understand. Believing you do. Because what else could his words mean? What else– if not feelings, real feelings, deeper than whatever you two put on in front of his friends and acquaintances? Hell, you know you care for him deeper than you let on. You didn’t think you realized before, but the disgusting romantic liquid pumping in your veins right now only approves of the suspicion. 

You fell for Lee Juyeon. 

Somewhere between the drunken nights full of laughter, Netflix shows long forgotten in the background as his lips explore you and his arms hold you tight, you fell for a man you hardly even know.

You fell for a man you met at a bad, boring Halloween party and cringed over his texts when he followed you on Instagram the morning after. You fell for the man that shared cigarettes with you, obnoxiously sang along to the songs on the radio, told you constantly how good you smelled and how much he loved your body (making you both confident, but also more insecure to be loved in any way beyond your curves and crevices as time moved forward). You fell for the man that made you play videogames with him and let you rant about your dad. You fell for the man that complimented your brain whenever he heard about your studies. For the man that joked around with his friends. For the man that sent you Instagram reels in the dead of the night, the man whose terrible sleeping schedule you learnt by memory the same way you could make the journey to his dormitory, up the elevator and straight into his bedsheets with your eyes closed. 

But most importantly, you fell for the man that is here for one semester only– a man you’ll one day walk to his flight back home.

Still, you giggle as you two reach the gate of your dorm, waiting for the other couple to catch up to you as they laugh at each other’s jokes somewhere in the distance. 

“Your 30 or my 30? Because that’s a big difference, y’know,” you tease him, never letting the 4 years laying in between you two die. 

He shakes his head, laughing. “You choose,” he mumbles before he leans in and captures your lips in a tender kiss.

In this moment, there’s nothing else in this world, just you two. You two and the empty promise, the rain buzzing around you, the taste of nicotine and redbull on his lips. Just his hands on your waist, your soaring heart and the weight of your curfew (that’s in 5 minutes) breathing down your neck.

There’s no flight back home in February. There’s no silence on his end of the line during most of the day, no 24-hour wait for a reply to your messages. There’s no teasing looks from his dormmates whenever you walk with him to the communal kitchen, making you wonder just how much your name is thrown around the building. There’s no empty feeling in your stomach every time you take the train home– both from being away from the town that connects you two, and also from the lack of knowledge when you’ll see him again, because Juyeon was never the one to set exact times in stone. He never took the effort to plan your dates or let you know in advance. Meeting him was always rushed, last-minute and begged out from you. 

There’s no trip with him in January, because it hasn’t happened yet. There’s no sinking feeling in your stomach as you lay awake next to him in one bed in the dead of the night, listening to his snores, wondering what you’ve done wrong and why you’re not enough for him. There’s no sentences uttered out from his lips you overthink and replay in your brain over and over again, wondering what they meant– like that time he got asked if you were his girlfriend, and he had it in him to reply “Kinda”. There’s no polaroids you keep on your wall until March when you decide it’s time to move on. There’s no talk on the balcony that you’ll always miss– because it had the best view of the town you grew to feel at home in– the talk where you confronted him with what he said tonight, asking him if he really had feelings for you and wondering what he truly meant if they weren’t love. There’s no belief that a body to hold is all you’ll ever be to someone, tainted with the sweet words he said to keep you at his reach. There’s no crying during Christmas break because you think he grew tired of you, because he started to put in less and less effort, because you suddenly started to see the relationship for what it was and not for what you wanted it to be. There’s no text on New Years, because it never happened, and also no text on your birthday, because he never cared enough to remember the date.

There’s no broken promises to keep in touch after he lands back home. You don’t know that he’ll change his number without you knowing yet, you’re not aware that all the memories you had with him meant more to you than to him– just a distraction, an experience abroad he took them for. And you know it’s not his fault– because he never lied to you, never really did anything to betray your trust– you just let yourself fall for the one person you shouldn’t have, for the one person you never should’ve gotten caught up with in the first place.

There’s no tears and broken hearts and memorabilia in your dorm room made of all the things he left you because they didn’t fit into his suitcase. There’s no feeling of him getting everything he wanted and leaving you here stuck on him. There’s no message from his roommate telling you he wasn’t good enough for you after they left. 

In this moment, there’s just you two and this moment. The realization. The sudden knowledge that this is it, this is how falling in love feels like.

For now, you don’t think you want to know if the feeling flows both ways.