L𐙚

– 1994

It’s been five years since you’ve moved to New York. The bustling city was overwhelming to say the least. Fast paced and filled with people of all kinds, settling in definitely took you some time. In those five years, you unexpectedly found yourself in a group of friends. As cliche as it sounded, you were convinced fate had set every one of you up in a peculiar way. From then onwards, the six of you have stuck together and terrorized the coffee shop as a spot for your daily hangouts. 

Everything first started off when you moved into your new apartment. You were housing with a girl called Jennifer Huh, or better known as Huh Yunjin, a native New Yorker. She was easy to be friends with, having a natural outgoing personality, she helped you settle in easier than expected. Soon, you met her friend who lived nearby, Kim Chaewon, another bubbly personality added to the mix. The three of you naturally became an inseparable trio when there were way too many common interests shared between all of you. 

Moving on from that, it didn’t take long before you met your neighbour too, the one that lived across the hall. Turns out, it was a man that occupied the apartment, seemingly being in the same situation as Yunjin was with the entire housemate hunt, but obviously, that changed when you came along. He, on the contrary, was stuck dealing with that trouble. His name was Lee Heeseung. He was kind, a little too handsome for your eyes to handle and had a mouth that spewed sarcasm like his life depended on it.

Heeseung was searching for a housemate too, but unlike Yunjin, he had a rougher experience with more failures than success. That luck soon changed when you came home to a bunch of boxes piled by the door of Heeseung’s apartment, another pretty face appearing to introduce himself as ‘Jay’, features strong enough to knock wind out of your lungs, matching his velvety smooth voice that would knock your panties off too. It took you and the girls a lot of courage to face Jay, who was deemed as the ‘handsome one’ without his knowledge.

“He won’t bite.” Heeseung snarkily whispered to the three of you when he saw you and your friends huddled into one corner of the couch in the coffee shop, listening to Jay’s complaints about his new job.

To make matters more interesting, Jay soon brought a new friend to the group, a fresh face to the city similarly to you. Sim Jaeyun, who actually insisted on being called Jake, was not only new to the city, but also the country. He was originally from Australia but moved to New York for his job. A cute, awkward guy that stumbled over his words from time to time, reminding you of a puppy, basically that summed him up as a whole.

From the comforts of your apartment to the coffee shop nearby, the six of you spent days, months, years together, not remembering the time where you’re not together, which was probably never. Fast forward to the present day now that years have passed, many have changed when it came to the world, but ultimately, your friendship remained. 

“Do you guys still have milk?” you opened your door to a topless Heeseung, bed hair still present, unbothered by your judgemental eye roll as he followed you in. 

“Well, good morning to you too,” you grumbled, getting back to your own breakfast. 

“Morning,” he flashed a smile at you, then proceeded to dig through your fridge for the milk he came for. “Bingo,” he slammed the door shut, holding onto your box of milk victoriously. 

Heeseung walked past you casually, heading towards the door only to stop in his tracks, turning his body to face you in a dramatic manner. You glanced up from your bowl of cereal, seeing the obvious question marks plastered on his entire face. 

“Are you still going on that date with Marcus?” he pointed the milk at you, an eyebrow raised. The minor twitch of that same eyebrow didn’t go unnoticed, a quirk of his whenever he’s mildly annoyed. For whatever reason, you didn’t know. You brushed off your initial reaction to that detail, responding to him with an unimpressed stare.

“It's Mark,” you corrected through a mouthful of cereal, watching him slowly approach the table, leaning against the chair opposite of you. “And yes, I am. Aren’t you going on a date with that Jessica girl you met at the coffee shop?” 

“I am,” he shifted uneasily on his feet, still maintaining that look in his eyes, the one that he has whenever he interrogates you at the mention of a date. It was rather unreadable, he tended to hide it pretty quickly once he realised you caught onto it. Heeseung and you were no strangers to each others’ love lives, constantly curious about potential dates, wishing to indulge purely out of interest. This time, however, Heeseung seemed to emit a much different intent than before. “That’s not important, though. So, what's Mark like?”

“Your date isn’t important but mine is? What? You want him instead?” you deadpanned, attempting to amuse him dryly, unable to understand the reason behind him suddenly prying into the information of your date when he would usually choose to spare listening to the details. 

“I’m just … asking,” Heeseung shrugged, a 180 switch from one minute ago, acting as if he could care less, but the stiffness in his stance was telling you otherwise. 

You finished the last of your breakfast, getting out of your seat to clean up, hearing Heeseung shuffling around behind you in your quiet apartment. “He’s nice, a decent guy with a funny humour, quite awkward, but also charming,” you described Mark to Heeseung, though you found it was rather simple and vague once you verbally said it out loud, not that you knew him more than that. “What about Jessica?”

Heeseung hadn’t expected you to turn his question on him. He was stunned for a moment, but was quick to recover himself. “She’s cute, really sweet, smart and works in a hospital,”

You nodded slowly, putting the dishes away before turning to face him, resting your hip against the counter. “Where are you taking this girl?”

“The restaurant down the street from the coffee house,”

“The Italian one? What a coincidence. Mark made a reservation at the Spanish restaurant across from it,”

“Of course he did,” Heeseung muttered inaudibly under his breath, just quiet enough for you to not catch onto his words. It only got him a very confused frown from you, your stance changing to rest a hand on your waist.

“What?”

He waved his hand dismissively at you, laughing lightly to distract you from his peculiar behaviour. “Nothing. Maybe we’ll run into each other tonight … or not,”

“Maybe,” you echoed, thinking about the several times you’ve actually ran into Heeseung in the middle of your dates and vice versa. You and him never had dates outside of the area, frequently going to places nearby, but bizarrely, you never question the coincidences if the two of you saw each other. 

“I’ll see you later at the coffee house. I heard Jake has some news he wants to tell us,” Heeseung had his hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, his gaze on you unwavering. It was an early morning, yet there was something odd lingering in the air between you and him that you could not comprehend. When it comes to your conversations about dates with Heeseung, it has always been lighthearted discussions, unlike this time where you found yourself troubled and him acting out of character. 

“See you, Hee,” you softly bid him a temporary goodbye, absentmindedly using a nickname that only you had reserved for him. He flashed you a quick smile before closing the door, leaving you alone to marinate in the aftermath of your short yet questionable conversation. The thoughts of him persisted for too long till the door to Yunjin’s room swung open, and you failed to notice it. 

“Who was that?” her voice successfully brought you out of your daydreams, you could tell from her expressions that she had spotted your strange behaviour almost at once, reminding you to snap out of it and return yourself back to your senses. Call it morning grumpiness or a Heeseung shake up. “Was it Heeseung?” you couldn’t deduce if Yunjin was simply assuming it was him or she had guessed it accurately from the look on your face.

“Yeah,” you chose to feign ignorance, pretending you weren’t bothered by him or even the mention of his name. 

Yunjin groaned deeply, rolling her eyes far enough that it might’ve gone to the back of her head. “Did he take our milk again?”

The morning rolled by without either of you bringing up Heeseung’s name once more. As usual, when lunch time came around, the entire group was present at the coffee house, crowding the designated spot, all of you arriving from each of your offices, waiting for Jake to spill his burning hot news. 

“So, what’s the big announcement, Jakey boy?” Yunjin sipped on her hot tea, eyeing Jake sharply as he set his briefcase down, the tailored suit hugging his figure perfectly. 

“I got offered to teach at NYU!” Jake almost jumped at the announcement, looking as though he had been holding that information in for ages. The group cheered in sync, yelling a collection of congratulations, each one of you taking turns to hug him out of genuine shared excitement. “I’ll be an engineering professor, isn’t it crazy?”

“That’s great, Jake!” Chaewon was the last to hug him, patting him enthusiastically on the back while she made sure her coffee didn’t spill over. She set her mug down, eyes lighting up at an idea that seemed to have appeared in her mind. “How about we go out and celebrate?”

Jake beamed at her suggestion, his answer was already written all over his face. “We should. Shouldn’t we, guys? What about dinner tonight?”

Heeseung glanced at you, meeting your knowing gaze, a mutual understanding passing through the two of you. He turned to Jake, hating to ruin the moment for just a split second. “Sorry pal, Y/N and I have dates tonight. How about tomorrow night?”

“You two are finally going on a date?”

The atmosphere around the group stilled, everyone stopped whatever they were doing, halted mid drink or bite, just to stare at you and Heeseung. Worst part of all, they didn’t even bother questioning Jake’s obvious error. You were sure every one of them had heard and understood Heeseung clearly, but instead, they chose to go with Jake’s misinterpretation.

“What?” Speaking in sync wasn’t entirely helping your case either. You and Heeseung exchanged incredulous glances, facing your group of friends after with nothing but an obvious look of ‘are you kidding me‘, as though their foolishness were incomprehensible to you and Heeseung.

“Wait, you’re not going on a date together?” Jake threaded the waters carefully, shrinking into his seat in embarrassment, contrary to the rest, who perked up in overwhelming interest.

“We’re not going on a date together, not with each other,” Heeseung corrected, sighing loudly out of his flaring nostrils.

“We have dates scheduled with other people. I’m going out with Mark, remember the guy I was saying—”

“Oh! The cute guy from my marketing department!” Chaewon jogged her memory, remembering the details better than Heeseung did. Speaking of him, he was fortunate enough to avoid getting caught rolling his eyes at the mention of your date, a minor detail that went a long way.

“That’s right, Chae, thank you,” you nodded at her, smiling sweetly. “Heeseung’s going out with … who’s she again?” You flashed an apologetic look at him, though it wasn’t convincing. You did remember her name, you were just doing this out of spite, and yes, you were aware of Heeseung glaring at you.

“Jessica,”

“The one with the big tits?” Jay spoke his mind a little too freely, garnering a collective questionable look from the group. He merely shrugged, not one ounce of regret seen in his expressions.

“No, the one with a big heart,” Heeseung grumbled, the sarcasm in his comment remained as per usual. 

“Well, we thought—”

“We thought nothing,” Yunjin cut through Chaewon’s words quicker than the speed of light, shooting her a warning glare that you might need to read into after. You and Heeseung couldn’t understand what they meant, neither did the two of you notice the wary looks exchanged between your friends. It was the exact feeling of getting left out of an inside joke, but it was less stinging to know you had Heeseung with you in that experience. “Anyway, should we set dinner for tomorrow night?”

As if on cue, everyone responded with unanimous agreement, brushing past the prior topic without a second thought. You figured it was strange how your friends had reacted to the very ridiculous idea of you and Heeseung going on a date with each other. Plus, what did Jake mean with ‘finally’? Weren’t you and Heeseung just friends, the same way it was with the others?

Hypothetically speaking, if you were to go out on a date with him, what’s so wrong with that?

For that night, to everyone’s disappointment, you already had a date, and his name was Mark. You decided to shake the thoughts away until you were standing by the entrance of your apartment, waiting for your date’s arrival so that you two could walk down to the restaurant together. It was an arrangement you purposely requested, thinking a walk would add some spice to it.

“Hey,”

You didn't need to turn to find out who it was that appeared. From the voice alone, including the warm presence you felt, you concluded that Heeseung had made his presence known. He stood next to you, hands in his pockets, decked out in a sleek suit. 

“Hey. You're all dressed up,” you reached over to fix his tie, straightening it to make sure it wasn’t crooked. After all, a good impression was important. “And, you finally know how to tie your own tie,”

“I always knew how to do that,” Heeseung argued back, though it was a weak argument, knowing you had struck dead on a bullseye. 

“No, you don't,”

“Yes, I do,”

“Then who’s been the one tying it for you whenever you mess up? Jay?”

Heeseung breathed sharply through his nose, realising you had the last word, but he didn’t mind, a smile proved it, just from thinking about the memories of you fixing his every fucked up tie. “It’s you,”

“That’s right,” you saw that smile of his stretched across his lips, the suddenness of your heart jumping at the sight made your hand fall from his tie, your expressions unknowingly faltering. You recovered yourself in an instant, relieved that Heeseung hadn’t caught onto it. “Are you waiting here too?”

“I’m heading to the restaurant, we’re meeting there. Is your date coming? We can walk together if you’d like,”

“I’d love to, but we’re meeting here,” you softened at his suggestion, noting the hint of disappointment in your tone that you hoped he didn’t notice. There was a short moment of silence that neither you nor him minded, just taking in each other’s presence. “Thanks, Heeseung,”

Heeseung smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes like it always did. Despite the noises surrounding you, whether it was people talking or the traffic of the busy city, in that moment, you only had each other in focus. “No problem. See you tomorrow?”

You nodded, reaching your hand over again to give him a slightly encouraging squeeze to the shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good luck,”

“You too.”

Meeting Mark started off great, the walk to the restaurant had gone according to plan, you managed to get to know more about this guy in Chaewon’s marketing department. He loved cycling, had a cat, lived in the upstate area, basically an ideal recipe for a good boyfriend. You knew you could trust Chaewon’s taste.

Dinner had a slow start to it. You listened to Mark talking about his latest discoveries of restaurants nearby, liking how he carried himself, especially when he spoke of his interests that only made him more interesting. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that this would break your ‘first date curse’, that there’d be an actual second date waiting for you. 

However, you were wrong, so wrong. 

By the time dessert was served, you thought your ears were about to fall off from Mark’s continuous rant about his ex girlfriend. At first, it began with only a simple mention of her, eventually it turned into an emotional spiel, then finally, he decided to close the night off with confessing his longings for her, which beats the entire purpose of the date and ruined your appetite for dessert.

You didn’t bother for him to walk you home, you figured you needed alone time to sort out your afterthoughts about the disastrous date. The moment you bid him goodbye, you knew there was no next time, surely you weren’t going to bump into him either. Once he disappeared around the corner, you found the courage to move, but as you were about to turn and leave, you spotted another figure across the street.

Heeseung.

Likewise, he had seen you at the same time that you did, meeting your eyes almost instantly. You couldn’t help frowning, noticing the lack of his date’s presence, questioning why he was alone just like you were. It didn’t take him another second before he crossed the road skillfully, dodging the traffic as if it was nothing. He appeared right in front of you within a blink of an eye, wearing the brightest smile that resembled the stars in the night sky. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you tonight,” you said truthfully, thinking the interaction you had with him before the date was going to be the last time you saw him until the next day. Little did you know, fate had other things set in motion for you and him.

“I thought so too. I’m glad I got to see you though,” he was genuine, you could tell, his smile remained on his face softly, as if your presence was enough to evoke one from him. “How’s your date? Has he left?”

“Don’t talk about my date, it was another disaster,”

“Was he married again?”

“What—no! God, no. I don’t think I can handle it if it happened again,” you shook your head harshly, mostly trying to physically shake the thoughts from your head. You swallowed, uncomfortably shifting on your feet. “He was talking about his ex,”

“Ouch!” Heeseung exclaimed, dramatically placing a hand on his chest.

“I know!”

“The worst kind of date to have,” 

“Tell me about it. I had to sit there and hear him yap about her and how she’s a bitch, but then she’s suddenly an angel that he lost,”

His eyebrows furrowed, a frown pulled at his lips, the same one he had whenever a waiter got his order wrong. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head gently. “You know what he truly lost? You,”

You searched his eyes for the truth, terrified he was lying through his teeth, that he was saying things to make your heart jump just for it to be all in your head. “You’re only saying that to make me feel better,”

“I've never lied to you, Y/N,” there, in the middle of a sidewalk, in his suit, Heeseung confessed his thoughts, the moon illuminating the honesty hidden behind his eyes, highlighting the truth laced in his words. “You looked beautiful tonight,”

“Thank you,” you had to ignore the feeling of warmth creeping up your cheeks, hoping—no—praying the darkness managed to cover it. “How was your date? I don’t see her anywhere,”

Heeseung pulled a face, shoulders stiffening at the mention of his night, which gave the clear impression that it didn’t turn out well. “She’s … I don’t know. I didn’t click with her, unfortunately. I don’t think she was interested either, honestly. We went our own ways after, that’s it,”

“Oh, Heeseung,” you winced, making a face that screamed ‘yikes’, causing him to click his tongue in annoyance.

“Don’t start the pity party, it was mutual,” he reached for your arm, pulling you to walk with him, starting your journey back to the apartment. You couldn’t explain it, but the usual route back home became more comforting with him by your side. “I think I might lay off the whole dating thing for a while and focus on work,”

“When was the last time you got laid?”

Heeseung turned to look at you with his mouth hung open midway, partially offended but also shocked at the fact that you dared to ask a question knowing it targeted his already weakened pride. This wasn’t the type of topic the two of you would shy away from, the years of being friends amounted to many awkward instances that trained either of you to turn insensitive to things others would view as taboos in friendships consisting of opposite genders.

You raised an eyebrow, prodding him to answer your question. He rolled his eyes dramatically, exhaling a long, exhausted sigh. All this and he would call you the ‘drama queen’. “Almost three months ago,”

“A-ha! No wonder you said that,” you pointed an accusatory finger at him, nearly cackling in his face. “Men who say they ‘give up’ on dating are usually the ones that are fumbling  their chances with a girl time after time. Is that not you?”

“Ouch?” he placed a hand on his chest, mocking a bullet to his heart, feigning a devastated frown to earn pity points from you. Spoiler alert, it failed, because all you could do was laugh at him, ticking him off further. “It’s not my fault I can’t click with anyone. They’re not …” Heeseung bit his tongue at the realisation of almost completing his sentence with ‘you’, the word coming to him in an instinct he didn’t bother to question. Shaking the thought away, he decided to omit it, burying it down in the pits of his abdomen. “They’re not the kind of people that share the same values as I do, you know?”

“I know,” you nodded slowly, wearing a small smile, somewhat relating to him on various levels. The date with Mark being a sinking ship was clear evidence. “I’m not having any luck in that department either. Look at us tonight,” you met his eyes, sharing a mutual understanding, one that neither of you needed to communicate, resulting in a fit of laughter, self-deprecating and wildly targeted at yourselves. 

“It just means not yet,” by the time he said that, the both of you had already arrived on the doorsteps of your apartments, conveniently across from each other. It sounded close to a promise of the future, the conviction in his voice nearly convinced you. You hummed in response, contemplating his words, quietly pondering if the day where you’d find love would come. Movies depicting New York as the city where love resided gave you a sense of false hope when you got here. Now years later, you were slapped in the face with the reality of its dating pool.

Choosing to move past the topic of love and dating, you decided to bring up a much more relevant question that’s been bugging you since you saw him earlier on. “Are you coming over for breakfast tomorrow? I'm making pancakes,” 

“Are they better than Jay’s?”

“Probably not, but I swear I’ll put butter on top instead of whip cream, the way you like it best,”

“You know me too well,”

You smiled. Of course you did. “Goodnight, Heeseung.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.” 

Neither of you dared to reach out to hug the other, it was evident that the both of you wanted to, but unexplainably so, you were too afraid to. Maybe it was the sudden switch in the atmosphere that you couldn’t pinpoint accurately. All you knew was that you could feel his gaze linger on you even as you entered your apartment, feeling his warmth in the empty apartment of yours. 

 “Heeseung was here for breakfast this morning,” 

In your shared living room with Yunjin, she happened to be bringing up some minor details of the day to Chaewon. The three of you were getting ready for Jake’s celebratory dinner at a fine dining restaurant uptown. It would only be fair if you got to prepare yourselves together, choosing the best dresses and gossiping about the latest scandal, except it somehow redirected to you. 

“And you got home pretty late last night too,” Yunjin pointed a finger at you, two pairs of eyes turned to look at you, expecting at least a pinch of explanation for a link between these two situations. Shrugging, you couldn’t understand what Yunjin was trying to get out of this, or you were pretending not to know where it was going.

“I had a date with Mark, remember?”

“Nuh-uh,” Yunjin chastised, clicking her tongue, and wagging her finger. Chaewon, on the other hand, scratched at her head, closely observing Yunjin’s thorough investigation. “He’s not the one who walked you home. You would always invite your dates in for coffee, but you didn’t last night, so it means the date failed,”

Right, you didn’t need another reminder from Sherlock Holmes telling you that the only date you had in several months ended up in a ditch. “Okay! Yes, my date with Mark didn’t go as planned,” you threw your arms up in surrender, hoping to move on from your misery, thus choosing to come clean against your will. You moved from the kitchen table to fling your body onto the couch, the bottom of your shirt riding up your hip. “I bumped into Heeseung, then we walked home together, that’s all,”

Yunjin and Chaewon exchanged a knowing glance instantly, as if it was on instinct, leaving you completely out of the loop. They got up from their respective positions and joined you on the couch, one on each side, closing in on you with questions written all over their faces. “That’s … all?” Chaewon added, sounding either hopeful or skeptical, a blurry line between the two,

“Yes,” you affirmed, scoffing humorously at your friends’ ridiculous behaviours. “What?” you turned your head from one to the other to give both of them a curious frown, unable to gauge their thoughts. Whatever they were, they weren’t good, nor were they going to make your frown turn upside down. 

“Are you wearing Heeseung’s shirt?” Yunjin pointed at the graphic tee you had on, fooling nobody as it obviously was not fitted for you. To dig your grave deeper, your friends believed you weren’t a fan of Star Trek either, hence the shirt with a large print of Spock made no sense. “He came in asking if he left it here,”

“I borrowed it, that’s it,” you presented your point, but Yunjin and Chaewon weren’t pleased. They were nowhere near satisfied, and it seemed they were willing to go lengths just to squeeze an answer or any semblance of information out of you whether you liked it or not. Your friends were crazy. Period. A fact you had known since the beginning. 

“What is Heeseung to you, Y/N?” Yunjin propped her elbows on her knees, chin rested on her palms, staring expectantly at you through her eyelashes. 

“Huh?” One question from Yunjin suddenly had the power to wipe off every thought from your head, mind as blank as a sheet of paper. If anything, it was panic that set in.

“You heard her, Y/N,” Chaewon nudged you, seeing through your act of ignorance. Obviously she would, she knew you the best when it came to your feelings. “What’s it between you and Heeseung?” 

“He’s my friend—my best friend,” you emphasised on ‘friend’ as though it was successfully helping your point. It was a fact either way. Heeseung was your best friend, he has been for the last five years, your first official friend slash neighbour since moving to the city. He was just that, just Heeseung, nothing more. 

“Men and women can’t be just friends,” Yunjin argued, supported by Chaewon who was nodding fervently next to you. 

“You know you’re friends with men too, right?” you squinted at her doubtfully, her idea completely defeated the purpose of your own friendgroup. 

“I know, we’ve already gone through it,” Yunjin nodded over to Chaewon, her nodding becoming more pronounced, a hushed ‘yeah’ escaped her breath, filled with partial guilt. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Alright, maybe Chaewon and I had some … past encounters with Jay and Jake, but none of them turned into anything. Oh, God forbid,” Yunjin brushed past your stunned silence, not batting an eye at your face frozen in shock, such information being exchanged before a dinner with said friends wasn’t good for your wellbeing. “It proves my point. Even if nobody says it outwardly, it’s a known fact,”

“There are platonic friendships,” you argued, knowing it was weak, and you were also losing. However, you were standing firm that you and Heeseung were nothing more than friends, close, good friends that understood each other well. That’s it. 

“Explain ‘When Harry Met Sally’,” Chaewon was actually using one of your favourite rom-coms against you, you couldn’t believe it, this was total betrayal. How could a movie with Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal be a reflection of your life? That’s far-fetched. “They didn’t like each other at first, but they eventually became friends, then realised they loved each other—not platonically,”

“Come on, that’s a movie,”

“It’s an example for your case,” Yunjin poked your shoulder, tilting her head to one side, presenting her puppy eyes to you. Unfortunately for her, you weren’t letting yourself get convinced by their crazy theories and philosophies. Standing up from the couch, you put your foot down—quite literally so.

“Guys, Heeseung and I will never be more than just friends, that’s crazy. I’m sure the others don’t share the same ideas as you two,” your laugh gradually died down when you saw the looks on their faces, telling you that your two other friends did think you and Heeseung could cross the lines of friendship. “Nevermind. Still, it’s impossible. He’s never once given me signs that he likes me that way,”

“I’d like to disagree,” Yunjin raised her hand, Chaewon following suit.

“Me too,”

You chose to dismiss them, clapping your hands together, staring down at them with your lips pressed tightly together. “Agree to disagree. And I’ll move on. My point is, we’re friends, end of story. There’s no way it’ll happen. Ever,”

“This is going to end up biting you in your ass, Y/N,” Yunjin seemed a bit more serious this time, genuine concern laced in her tone, the crinkles in between her eyebrows showed her thoughts without verbally expressing them.

“Not if nothing happens and everything stays the same. I’ll come out unscathed,” you sounded determined, though your heart and mind were the complete opposite, but you ignored them for now, uncertain how long you could continue to do so. “I’ll prove it to you that we’re just friends,” 

“How?” Chaewon shared the same doubts as you did, except you were much better at hiding them. 

“You’ll see,”

Coincidences were frightening. At that moment, there came a series of knocks on your door that you recognised in a matter of seconds. Your neighbours, Heeseung and Jay, were ready to leave for the scheduled dinner. They seemed to know when and how to make their presence known as usual. It would be believable if someone told you they’ve been listening behind the door all along, but you figured that’d be your nightmare that night instead of it being reality. 

“Are you guys ready?”

Exchanging frantic glances, the three of you burst out laughing at the so-called ‘divine timing’. You were quick to shush them in order to lower any suspicions from the other end. Giggles were hard to stifle completely, most of which stemmed from your two giddy friends. You picked up your clutch from the coffee table, ready to run to your room to change. The other two hopped off the couch to make finishing touches to their makeup. 

“Be there in a few minutes!”

Trying to ignore your friends’ claims of you and your guy best friend potentially being a thing wasn’t easy, not when he was seated next to you throughout dinner. 

God damn it. 

“…and that is how I secured the job. I still can’t believe it,” Jake finished his lengthy story, explaining the entire process that got him his new position at NYU. A few glasses of wine in, every one of you were far from being completely sober. Well, that was excluding Jake and Heeseung, the default duo that avoided drinking and had the responsibility of looking over the group. 

“So, what’s your lesson plan?” Chaewon chewed on her piece of french fries obnoxiously, showing actual curiosity about his job while Jay and Yunjin were engrossed in refilling each others’ cups with more wine. That left you and Heeseung to yourselves, both of you had already disassociated from the earlier conversation (sorry, Jake).

“Are you okay?” Heeseung looked over at you, noting your unusual silence since the start of dinner. Normally, you would be grateful for how observant he was, that he wouldn’t miss a single chance to check in on you if he noticed something was off. This time, however, he was the last person you wished to be conversing with. 

“Peachy,” you raised your wine glass at him before drinking a sip out of it, eyes widening just a fraction behind the glass. Yunjin and Chaewon truly set you up for failure by dropping a bomb on you. Now, you’re stuck trying to be normal around Heeseung with a different perspective compared to hours ago. “Just thinking,” 

“About?”

You. Lee Heeseung. Honesty wasn’t always the best policy, thus you blurted out the second thing you had in mind. “‘When Harry Met Sally’,”

Heeseung blinked for a few beats, realisation gradually setting in, a breathy chuckle left his lips. He shook his head in disbelief, not understanding your craze around that movie. What did he know about the superiority of friends to lovers trope anyway? “Don’t tell me you’re on your—what—tenth rewatch?”

“It’s my twelfth, actually,” you corrected sharply, holding a finger up. You took another bigger gulp of wine when Jay filled your cup, both him and Yunjin were on the way to getting drunk from finishing nearly the entire bottom themselves. “The best romance movie made of all time, period,” 

“Over ‘Grease’? ‘The Princess Bride’? Oh, ‘Dirty Dancing’? Those are our favourites,” Heeseung gasped, sounding betrayed by your choice of romance movies. You didn’t miss the hidden detail where he stressed on the movies he listed were ‘our’ favourites. Not ‘mine’, but ‘our’, as in you and I. God, you wished you were less aware of every tiny aspect about what he said or did. 

“You’re only saying that because I made you watch ‘When Harry Met Sally’ ten times out of my twelve rewatches, and you’re sick of it,”

“I am sick of it,”

“But if I invited you over for the thirteenth rewatch as a movie night, you’d come, wouldn’t you?” you leaned closer to him, wearing a cheeky smile to tease him even more. He gave you one of his classic eye rolls, trying to come off as annoyed only for the grin on his lips to sell him out. 

“Of course I would, you know that,” he flicked your forehead softly, pulling a humorous laugh from you. You’ve always been easily amused by him. Heeseung kept his gaze on you, hiding his smile with his glass of water which he was drinking out of. 

“Y/N!” Jay semi-shouted from across the table, getting many shushes from your friends, yet his tipsy state meant he was extra shameless, so he continued to wave at you. “Let me pour you another glass!”

You slid him your almost empty wine glass, watching him pour you an obscene amount of wine. What didn’t help was you meeting Yunjin’s eyes, and you could clearly read the message she was trying to convey with a single raise of her eyebrows, alongside the slight nod to the person next to you. You had a feeling she was keeping a close watch on you the whole night.

Taking your glass back, you stared at it with an expression that could only be described as dreadful delight. Sure, you were more than happy to indulge in expensive Italian wine, but the thought of the aftermath usually pained you more than the initial pleasure. After all, you would admit being a lightweight contrary to the constant denials that you were not one. Your drinking records and history would betray you immensely. 

“If you can’t drink that much, I can help,” Heeseung, your knight in shining armour, butted in to lend you a helping hand. But it wasn’t his first day knowing you. You weren’t someone who would go down without a fight. He had to learn it the hard way in the past, so if he were to give a stance on this, he chose to step away from stopping you.

“I can handle it,”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m very sure, don’t worry.”

Turns out, you couldn’t handle it, and your assurance was for nothing. The restaurant probably hated you and your friends for stumbling out, slurring incoherently, only two out of the six were visibly sober, bearing the burden to carry all of the others away from the place and into two separate cabs. The usual plan was enforced. Jake would bring Chaewon home, while Heeseung had to deal with dumb, dumber, and dumbest. 

Don’t even get Heeseung started on how he managed to get the three of you up the flight of stairs in the apartment building. It was a miracle all of you were just heavily tipsy, and not full on drunk, that would be a tale for another day. He made sure Jay got into their apartment before escorting you and Yunjin back to yours. Yunjin muttered a grateful ‘thanks’ to him then disappeared into her room, which meant it was you and Heeseung together again. Alone. 

“I had a fun night,” you twirled around in his arms, breaking into a song out of nowhere, the alcohol in your system visibly getting to you. The lyrics of your favourite ABBA song was being jumbled up in your mouth, Heeseung doing his utmost best to correct you as he stifled his laughter. “We should have another dinner party,”

“We will. Once everyone is sober,” he had his hand on your back, guiding you towards the couch, placing a bunch of pillows behind you. His patience was commendable. You settled into your seat, appreciating the warmth coming from his side, his shoulder pressed against yours. The comfort of his presence resembled a warm hug on a rainy day, enveloping you in constant assurance. It was something that could never get old. You leaned your head on his shoulder, snuggling closer to him.

“Remember our first trip to the beach?” You reminisced about the time when you and the others packed up for the weekend to head to the beach, courtesy of Chaewon’s aunt allowing every one of you to stay at her beach house. That trip alone was a key factor to your long lasting friendship, witnessing the highs and lows of your friends while they also watched yours, and that was barely an exaggeration.

Heeseung nodded slowly, curious to where your babbling was going. “What about it?”

“I still think about us on the beach—I meant the both of us—when we walked on the shoreline, collecting seashells. I think that is one of my favourite memories ever,” your eyelids were getting heavy, every word was uttered with whatever power left in you. Heeseung took a peek at you, smiling at your serene state. 

“It’s one of mine too. I remember all the sunsets and sunrises there. It was beautiful … unforgettable,” Heeseung could go on and on about that weekend spent there, it was the first trip you and your friends took as a group, one of the most chaotic trips as well. But it also happened to be the time where Heeseung realised he viewed you differently from the rest. “I still have the picture I took of you and the sunset,”

You were partly clear-headed at that moment, stunned by the memory he brought up out of the blue. He had never once forgotten about it, neither did you. Most importantly, it was how he said it which made your heart experience sensations you hadn’t felt in a long time. This was Heeseung, your Heeseung, a friend and a brother figure, there shouldn’t be anything more than that, should it? “And I have the seashells we collected together,”

Heeseung’s expressions softened, his lips twisted into a smile full of nostalgia, recalling the memory fondly as if it had just happened a few weekends ago. If he closed his eyes tightly for a minute, he may be transported back to then. The sound of the sea waves, the smell of the salty breeze, your laughter taking space in his mind. He was grateful his face wasn’t fully in view for you to see in case his eyes turned against him. He might’ve been silent, but his gaze spoke for him. Longing and missing the absence of the burden of carrying his heavy feelings. 

“Heeseung,” you called out his name, breaking the thick silence, startling him awake from his trance-like state. He twisted his neck slowly to look at you, inspecting you closely in search of any troubles. Your stoic face seemed to not give anything away.

“Hm?”

“I think I need to puke,” 

The calmness behind that statement managed to evoke sheer alarm in Heeseung. He was about to jolt out of his seat when he remembered you were leaning on him. As gentle as he could, he removed your head from his shoulder, pulling you up from the couch with him, holding onto you carefully. 

“Let’s do that in the bathroom, shall we?”

“I don’t think I’m drinking again, Hee,”

“You say that every time you drink,”

The urge to release all your discomfort came rushing when you regurgitated the night’s contents into the toilet bowl. You were kneeling on your bathroom floor, bent over the toilet bowl, puking in intervals, looking absolutely pathetic, all while Heeseung held onto your hair. He never complained, treating it as another night stuck with a drunk you. Now that you were much more stable than before without nausea knocking on your door little by little, you were stuck on the thought of whether your puking episode was induced by the alcohol or Heeseung as a whole. 

Holding onto that thought in mind, you collapsed onto the ground from fatigue, sitting slouched against your bathroom walls, feeling ten times lighter and a million times better. Heeseung knelt before you, holding onto either side of your head as it kept lolling back. Sleep was evidently getting close to you, the fluttering of your eyelids revealed your tiredness without a doubt. You forced your eyes open, instantly staring into his, a gleeful smile involuntarily appearing on your face. If Yunjin and Chaewon saw you then, you would be a goner, your attempt to prove them wrong would be redundant. 

“Why are you so good to me?”

“I don’t know how not to be. It’s easy when it’s you,” Heeseung gently pressed your cheeks together, chuckling under his breath at your mildly irritated expression. He probably thought it was due to him playfully teasing you by squeezing your face, but in actuality, you were bothered by his words, how he said them without any hesitance as though it was second nature. None of it was as casual as he made it out to be. 

Heeseung’s eyes flickered, gradually recognising what had actually left his lips as it slowly settled in, causing him to clear his throat, swallowing thickly. “Because that’s what friends do,”

The changes in your microexpressions were swift, face falling with a frown etching itself into your skin, all of which were barely noticeable if not scrutinized upon, but knowing Heeseung, you had a feeling he might’ve caught onto it at first glance. You couldn’t explain the disappointment burning into your bones once you registered what he said, the cut only went deeper knowing it came personally from him, not the voices screaming in the back of your mind. Shooting you possibly hurts less.

It was what you wanted, wasn’t it? To establish you and him were purely friends and nothing more. That was the whole point of your conviction to your own friends, it would be embarrassing to go back on it. But why were you sorely unhappy when he himself claimed that you and him were friends? Till the point where it was causing you uncontrollable sorrow that you had to push his hands away, using the walls as support to get yourself off the ground.

Severely caught off guard, Heeseung tried to help you in the process of standing up, though it wasn’t much when you got on your own two feet by yourself. Great, you felt the nauseating feeling in the back of your throat returning, only this time, you were certain it was caused by Heeseung. Speaking of Heeseung, you were met with his utterly perplexed yet worried look twisted in his tired face, wordlessly begging for answers that you couldn’t seem to provide.

“It’s getting late, and you’re tired. I can manage,” you opened the bathroom door, exiting through it while still facing Heeseung, hoping you wouldn’t get betrayed by your feet while walking backwards foolishly. “See? I can walk perfectly fine—”

Scratch that. 

You spoke too soon. As always. Another step taken backwards, your foot landed in an odd direction, which instantly caused you to lose your balance. Despite his exhaustion after a long night, his senses were constantly on high alert, hand flying out to grab onto your forearm, stopping you from falling back. To make things worse, he yanked onto your arm, pulling you into him without considering your frail state of mind and body, explaining your current position of your hands propped against his shoulder. 

“Still clumsy,” Heeseung attempted to break the silence with a lighthearted jab, which may have backfired a little when you continued to be unresponsive, silently staring at him with your mouth slightly ajar. The proximity wasn’t helping your prior mental war with yourself either. The concoction of intoxication and incoming hormone fluctuations were actively going against you as you battled with attraction and horror. You chose to respond to the horrifications created in your mind instead of the other.

“Not a single scratch,” you removed yourself from his hold for another time that night, chuckling nervously, your breath itself was also shaky. Definitely not helping your case. “Thanks again,” 

“It’s alright,” no sarcastic comments, no targeted digs at you, no usual Heeseung-like behaviour, it was purely him. Earnest and serious, another side of him that he wasn’t afraid to reveal to you. 

“That’s what friends do, right? Saving each others’ asses,” you weren’t in your right mind, it was evident when you said that and proceeded to punch Heeseung lightly on his shoulder to cover up your embarrassment. Heeseung wasn’t entirely thrilled after hearing that. It could be your eyes deceiving you, but you swore there was a flash of solemnness taking over his face at one point. He had the same look as the time he got heartbroken by his cat going missing.

“Right, friends,” he repeated that word with enough sourness to make others think he had issues socialising growing up, giving people the impression that he had an agenda against friends. The air in your apartment was turning stuffy by the minute, it was practically calling for you to force windows open because you were far from breathing properly. He released a sigh under his breath, taking a step to the side, his gaze stuck to his shoes. “I think I should get going now. Wash up and sleep. There’s medicine in your bedside table if you forget,”

“See you in the morning, Hee.” you couldn’t bear to follow him to the door, it was as though your body failed to comply with your mind completely. It was your pair of eyes that went after him, closely watching his every move to the door. He spared you one last look, not even a single smile that he would usually have whenever he’s at the door or at the mention of his nickname. Just like that, he was gone, and you were there staring blankly at your door, heart dropping to your abdomen for reasons you couldn’t come to terms with.

What have you done? 

“Does this match the curtains?”

You were standing in the middle of the furniture and home decor section of Bloomingdale’s with Heeseung next to you. It was conveniently a Saturday evening right before a dinner plan at your apartment with your friends, but unlike any other Saturdays, it was your birthday. As a way to celebrate, you decided to treat yourself to new additions to your apartment’s decor, not without Heeseung’s presence though. Truthfully, it was an unconventionally weird way to celebrate yourself, but Heeseung was used to it, rather desensitized if he could argue. 

“Realistically, you wouldn’t even display this on the coffee table, so let’s put this down,” Heeseung grabbed the quirky-looking monkey figure from your hand to place it back at its original position. “The duck you got last year is still rotting in your kitchen drawer,”

“Didn’t need to spoil my party,” you pouted, feigning hurt in hopes for Heeseung to take his words back, but he knew you a little too well, seeing through your patterns to ignore them. Instead, he threw an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side. The sudden physical proximity had turned you frozen under his touch for a split second, eventually easing into it like how you usually would be. 

Acting wasn’t your forte. You’ve known that since your first and last musical appearance as tree number four in your middle school play. But lately, you found yourself being an Oscar winning actress pretending like the usual jokes or physical touches weren’t bugging you, hiding how that entire night had been bothering you since he left your apartment. Don’t get you started on your friends. You should win a Golden Globe alongside the Oscar for convincing them nothing special happened, that he sent you home and left right after. Yeah, you wished it transpired in that precise order. 

That night was an emotional scar if you would put it one way or another. It was left painfully unanswered like a telephone call, neither you nor him addressed what went down, deciding to brush past whatever it was when you called each other ‘friends’ and that stifling tension between the both of you. Everything you could recall from that particular night became a frightful memory, marking a significant change in the course of your friendship. Although none of you had said anything about it, you were sure he could feel it just as you did. But of course, you chose to stay silent in fear it would affect your friendship with him, and he most likely shared the same sentiment, doing anything just to stay safe.

Basically, it summed up your whole friendship. 

“So, how does it feel turning another year older?”

“Feels like shit,” you lamented, the idea of being closer to a mid-life crisis wasn’t exactly tasteful. Growing up, birthdays weren’t your favourite time of the year (truth be told, it was Christmas). Hey, what’s really so fascinating about getting older? Cakes, candles, balloons, those looked nicer in movies or parties for your friends rather than at your own party, it didn’t feel the same when it was for you. 

“Hey, we got you your favourite cherry cake from that bakery downtown, so don’t get all pessimistic about your big day,” Oh, traditions, you loved them. Since your first year in New York, you’ve always gotten the same cake for your birthday, a cherry cake glazed with chocolate, heaven introduced in your mouth. With that cherry cake and your friends, those were all you needed for your birthday. Maybe also a call from your family.

“You know I get sappy whenever it’s my birthday, I can’t help it,” you innocently shrugged, but he didn’t buy it for a second time, he was aware of your minor disdain for your own birthdays, and he has made it known that he wanted to change that. “You can help if you get me this—” you grabbed a stuffed monkey toy from the display, parading it in front of Heeseung’s face obnoxiously, your shit-eating grin wasn’t supporting your argument. “It’s speaking to me,”

“How many more monkeys do you need in your apartment?” 

“I don’t think I have enough,” to be fair, you had one sad and lonely monkey related item currently residing in your kitchen, which was the monkey clock, Marvin, a treasured item you named after Marvin the Martian from the Looney Tunes. Yunjin had maternal instincts towards the wee monkey; she has made it known since it appeared in the apartment. You reckoned it needed a friend in the house. “Marvin needs a companion,”

“Marvin’s mothers should pay more attention to him instead,”

“Or Marvin’s uncle can get him a sibling? Friend, perhaps?” you were pulling out the signature sweet tone you used for convincing someone, holding back a bark of laughter at how he had enough of your measly act. “Please?” you held the monkey plushie at eye-level, covering your face with it while pleading with Heeseung. In his point of view, you were a demon with horns poking out of your head who knew what trouble you were up to exactly, utilizing your strengths of winning him over. 

Like a weak bastard that he very much was, he bought you the monkey plushie. He blamed himself for caving into your pleas, knowing damn well he was going to end up complaining to your friends only for them to hit him back with ‘you couldn’t say no to her’ yet again, which always successfully shut him up. 

He was a weak-willed man, what can you say? But at the same time, this man also happened to be sly, and succeeded at moving under the radar. As you yapped away to Heeseung about the affordability of groceries, what you thought was a normal walk back to your apartment was actually a hidden plan of Heeseung preparing to bring you to your surprise party at the apartment. That’s right, Lee Heeseung planned a party for you with the help of your friends. And he was not screwing it up. 

Coordination was hard to achieve when it came to dealing with your friends, that was another thing Heeseung had to learn the hard way. All that turned to nothing when he saw the smile on your face once the door to your apartment ripped open, revealing your friends, colleagues and some members of your family. Those gleaming eyes of yours stared right at him, emotions swirling within them, almost in denial that everyone you loved was there for you. It didn’t take you more than a second to know he was the one behind this, you just knew, which only choked you up further when you wrapped your arms around him, heart swelling in your chest. 

“Thank you.” You whispered into his ears, arms tightening around him a little more. He said nothing, rubbing his palm on your back, a soft kiss lingered similar to a ghost on the top of your head. Soon, you pulled away, his hands on your waist stayed for a beat longer, almost in a desperate attempt to hold onto you a bit more. Your touch then left as quick as it came, imprinting into his memory like an addiction that was hard to overcome. He watched as you left his side to greet the guests and thank your other friends, a slight smile resting on his lips, feeling as though you were so close yet so far.

You surrounded yourselves with your friends, doing anything but acknowledging Heeseung’s gaze from across the room, convincing yourself that it meant nothing more than what it seemed. There were a few instances where you met his eyes, exchanging brief smiles, pretending that either one of you weren’t already looking at the other in the first place. At the end of the day, you and him were friends, just friends, nothing more, or that was what you said to yourself as a reminder, especially when your heart picked up a few paces quicker around him.

‘Grateful’ wasn’t close to describing how you felt that night. Good food, great companies, amazing cake, a rich collection of gifts, maybe turning another year older wasn’t as frightening as you thought it was. By the end of the evening, with all the guests gone, your friends leaving one by one, Yunjin calling an early night, you took it upon yourself to clean the apartment up, under the condition where Heeseung would lend you a helping hand. 

“I still can’t believe you were the mastermind behind all this,” you expressed your surprise that never went away since the start of the party, throwing the cloth down as you finished wiping the countertop, the last part of your strategic cleaning plan. Joining Heeseung on the couch, resting your feet on top of the coffee table, you let out a breath of relief when you relaxed your body into the soft material.

“You have that little faith in me?” he turned to give you a small frown, extracting a breathy chuckle from you.

“Heeseung, you can’t even plan a trip to the dentist,”

“Ouch?”

You grinned, keeping your eyes on him a minute more before you spoke again, letting the peaceful silence calm the crashing waves in the midst of this storm. His gaze never wandered astray, focusing on you and solely you, the intensity of it nearly got you shifting uneasily in your seat. “Thanks for tonight, Hee, I mean it. You made it less scary to turn older,”

“I’m glad then,” there was a visible sign of relief flushing across his entire body, the time he spent planning hadn’t gone to waste. Everything had indeed worked out according to his favour, and getting to see you smile so widely during the cutting of your cake was the best part of it.

“I still haven’t got my present from you,”

“I know. I was hoping you’d ask me to stay,”

“You know I’ll always ask you to stay,” 

One thing you didn’t manage to fathom then was the weight of your words and the consequences they carried. It might’ve been said carelessly and casually, but you meant it—deeply. A fraction of Heeseung’s smile faltered, an equal amount of realisation dawning on him, which was eventually deflected by resorting to a swift grab of your present from under the coffee table. A small box was presented to you in the palm of his hands, a red ribbon tied around it with a handwritten birthday card. His scribbly handwriting was distinct, you recognised it at once. 

“Open it,” he egged you on, anticipating your reaction, an excited glint to his irises that sparked your curiosity. You shushed him for urging you, then settled into your own pace by unknotting the ribbon and opening the box slowly, your own expectations getting to you. Luckily, you were far from disappointed. On the contrary, you were taken aback from his choice of gift.

The content of the box revealed itself to be a gleaming silver chain with a small heart pendant. To others, it might seem like a typical birthday present, but you knew better. It wasn’t any ordinary necklace, you recognised it in a heartbeat, it was the one on display that you stopped to stare when you waited for Heeseung. You thought he hadn’t noticed that day, the two of you embarked on your walk as though you weren’t staring at the necklace through the shop window for at least five minutes.

“Really?” you gasped, eyes flitting between him and the necklace in your hands, wondering whether it was truly in your possession. You didn’t know which surprised you more, getting a piece of jewellery that you dreamt of or Heeseung paying attention to every minor detail when it came to you. You set the box down, pulling him into a hug without thinking twice. “You knew,”

“I saw you that day. You were looming around the window, staring at that particular necklace. I had a feeling you wouldn’t get it after you pretended not to care when I showed up,” you chuckled mainly out of embarrassment at how Heeseung read you to filth. That’s what you get for having a best friend. “I went back the next day and bought it. Thought it was out of a whim, I didn’t know how or when to give it to you, so I saved it for your birthday,”

He bought it with you in mind the entire time. One thing’s certain, you were touched, and very much emotional. He had successfully gotten you in your feels, but also simultaneously confused. Was this something friends do, you thought to yourself. You pulled away from him, arms still wrapped around his neck, the intimacy in this wasn’t expressed, but it was certainly felt and understood between you and him. “Thank you,”

“You’re welcome. I hope you like it,”

“I love it.” It wasn’t an extravagant piece, it was just right, something that screamed ‘you’. You were scared to pick it up and take it out of the box, admiring it just as you did at that shop window. Like always, Heeseung noticed every little shift in your demeanor, sensing your hesitance at once. He took the box from your hold, removing the delicate necklace from its position. One lift of his eyebrows conveyed an adequate message for you to turn around, sweeping your hair to the other shoulder, unintentionally holding your breath while you waited.

The cold chain sent small chills all over your body when it touched your skin, the sensation soon overpowered by the feeling of his fingers grazing against the back of neck as he fiddled with the clasp. His lackluster attempt was painful to endure, you had to grit your teeth while pretending it wasn’t bothering you, that none of this meant anything beyond the lines of friendship. That his act of buying you the necklace and putting it on you weren’t something for you to read into.

Suddenly, the heart pendant hanging on the necklace weighed heavier around your neck. While you tossed around in bed, all you could think of was Heeseung and the emotions stirred internally whenever you were around him, most of which you pushed down and prayed against. What more was needed for you to listen to your heart when he quite literally gave you his heart first? That necklace was him blatantly handing you his fragile heart, and you were cursed with the responsibility of carrying it with you all the time.

“You’re kidding me,”

Nothing was more comforting than a warm cup of coffee at your favourite coffee house the morning after. Then again, your peace was routinely ruined by your two preying best friends. Yunjin and Chaewon never wasted a second more to square down on you and attack like a hawk, edging you to the side of the sofa as you held onto your mug out of fear.

“He got you the necklace you’ve been eyeing for months,” Yunjin was eye-levelled with the necklace sitting on your chest, in between gawking and shocked, mostly unable to comprehend the layers of this situation. “And you never told him. He just did it because he wanted to,” 

“I’m sick of the two of you circling each other!” Chaewon groaned, punching the pillows with pure frustration that wasn’t fueled by caffeine, gaining several customers’ attention. Her tiredness regarding this topic about you and Heeseung was equally shared by Yunjin, both girls stared at you with an unmistakable question splattered over their faces: ‘what are you going to do now?’

“We’re not. It’s nothing,” you muttered into your cup of coffee, avoiding every confrontation as though it were a plague chasing you. Each time you did so, you started to realise the walls were getting brittle and breaking down, that you could no longer say you and Heeseung were nothing with full confidence. Because frankly, you were beginning to doubt even yourself. 

“If you’re really not into Heeseung, then prove it. Go on a double date,” Yunjin officially stood her ground, beyond being annoyed with her two best friends that were so obviously in love with each other till the point where it got suffocating, and everyone around them knew except for themselves. How did Cupid handle the stress of setting people up when she couldn’t bear seeing her two stupidly in love friends? Yunjin seriously considered if this would be worth it, but once her mind strayed to the thought of a wedding, she figured it might be. 

“Where are you getting a double date for us anyway? Besides, it’s not going to work. We had double dates before, and I felt nothing seeing him with somebody else,”

“That was the past. We’re talking about now, Y/N. You can fool yourself by thinking you feel nothing for him, but we know better, your heart knows better,” Chaewon added, offering her two cents, earning Yunjin’s nod of approval. You scoffed, finding your friends a little too ridiculous for taking their methods up a notch. 

“I already have your and Heeseung’s matches. They’re my friends from work. Jungwon and Wonyoung, remember? You met them at my party last summer,” Yunjin rubbed her hands, reminding you of those evil masterminds, the eager grin only convinced you of her secret plotting. Oh, this was definitely discussed with the rest of your friends without you nor Heeseung’s knowledge. How evil of them.

“I remember,”

“Great! I’ll set a dinner date this Saturday. Seven, at that Italian restaurant we always go to. How’s that?” Yunjin clapped, leg shaking out of sheer enthusiasm.  

“Sounds good. I’ll show you—all of you—that I have no feelings for Lee Heeseung whatsoever. It’ll be another successful double date, I’m sure.”

Define ‘successful’. 

If sitting opposite to Heeseung and his date who were overly engrossed with each other and being stuck with an awkward partner was deemed successful, then you’d consider yourself lucky. 

Dinner started off eventful. A typical ice breaker was introduced to get to know one another, discovering everyone clicked pretty well, which tricked you into thinking it’d go well, but it seemed to plummet like a landslide. Jungwon was a nice guy, you’d admit it. Other than a handful of conversations exchanged, there was nothing much to your interactions with him, so you surrendered quickly, admitting to feeling absolutely no spark whatsoever. You figured he got the memo, likely sharing the same sentiment as you did as the two of you ate your respective pasta with a tinge of depression watching the other couple hit it off better in comparison.

“Y/N, how long have you known Heeseung?” Wonyoung was sweet, a princess even, and that wasn’t an exaggeration. You wouldn’t be surprised if Heeseung was actually enamoured with her at first sight. She was the epitome of perfection as a human. Smart and charming, she carried the night’s conversations with ease.

“A few years now, since I moved to New York,”

“So, you guys must be close, huh?” 

You paused, hesitation stopping you when you briefly met his eyes, a first after a long time since the night began, realising you hadn’t talked to each other at all. You didn’t address it mentally, but you were sure it was a way of you avoiding him, isolating him unintentionally. Turning your attention back to Wonyoung, you forced a smile. “Yeah, we are,”

“She’s my neighbour, that’s how we first met,” Heeseung chimed in, bringing back a fond memory of yours. The first day you moved to the big city would always be something you held close to your heart. “I offered her a slice of pizza but she thought I was some sleazebag,”

That got a collective laughter from each of you. You shook your head, a faint smile ghosted your lips, reminiscing the moment that felt almost as though it had just happened a day prior. Wonyoung, on the other hand, seemed to be thoroughly amused by Heeseung, giggling a little harder than most while placing a hand on his forearm. “Which place did you get the pizza from? Not the one downtown, right?”

“Oh, no, never. I go to Joe’s Pizza all the time,”

“I love Joe’s! The pepperoni slice is a classic,”

“You get it!”

Pizza has continuously become the bane of your existence. A dough with cheese and some stupid toppings was enough to spark a heated conversation between Heeseung and Wonyoung, entrapping them in their own bubble for another time that night. What an eye sore. Jungwon turned to you, an unmistakable mix of pity and boredom in his face was recognised by you in an instant. Still, like the sweet guy he was, he tried to strike up a conversation.

“What’s your favourite movie?”

Thank God for a question you could have a passionate debate over. You beamed visibly, spine straightened with a thrilled grin, the only and obvious answer sitting on the tip of your tongue. “‘When Harry Met Sally’,”

Jungwon snapped his fingers eagerly, nodding in mutual agreement. At least there was one person who could agree on your choice of movie. “Good choice, Meg Ryan was fantastic in it. One of the best rom-coms of all time,”

You placed a hand on your chest, a little dramatically if you may add. “I appreciate you saying that. I agree,” 

“I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but can I add something to this discussion?” Wonyoung interrupted, brushing some hair behind her ear. You held your tongue, fixing a practiced smile as a green light for her to continue. “I don’t understand the craze around that movie, I think there are better rom-coms out there,”

“Finally! Someone understands,” Heeseung laughed, throwing his hands up with a degree of satisfaction knowing there was another person out there who shared his dislike over your favourite movie. This only annoyed you further. Seeing him and Wonyoung getting along better than anticipated had gotten to your nerves initially, but hearing the two of them slander your favourite movie was close to crossing the line. To rub salt into your wound, Heeseung was completely aware about how the movie was your go-to every time. After all, he was there for most of your rewatches, seeing you laugh and cry to your favourite rom-com.

“It has beautiful shots, wonderful acting, amazing actors, an emotional plot, what more can you get?” Jungwon was standing his ground, which you learnt to admire. Now you know who to call for your next rewatch instead of Heeseung.

“I just don’t think best friends can fall in love after twelve years. That’s too long! It’s basically platonic at that point,” Wonyoung argued.

“Best friends can and do fall in love—” you started, finding the words tumbling out of you from sheer agitation, trying to present your point rather impulsively without thinking straight. Your eyes averted to Heeseung, just to discover him already staring at you in the first place, causing your throat to tighten up all of a sudden. “Regardless of time, it just … happens,” you faltered, realisation slowly dawning on you. 

Your friends were right. ‘When Harry Met Sally’ was a guide this entire time, leading you to finally recognise your own feelings before it was too late. But you were indeed too late. You’ve wasted your time circling around the truth, afraid of facing it, until you were left to deal with the consequences. Here you were, watching him falling for someone else. 

The table fell silent. You looked away from Heeseung, clearing your throat, putting on your millionth uncomfortable smile for the night. Well, you were always known for acting without thinking, or in this case, speaking without thinking, as you didn’t consider the gravity of hinting yourself potentially being in love with your best friend. A normal Saturday dinner, eh?

“How about dessert?”

If you had to go through another double date in the future, you’d rather swear off love than experience something similar again. In the restaurant’s restroom, standing before the mirror, you hoped the contents in your stomach wouldn’t be flushed down the toilet bowl by the end of the night. The thought of you being in love with Heeseung was close to sending you into a shock, coming to terms with it in the middle of dinner reasonably made things worse for you. Was this a sign to move to the countryside?

“You’re really lucky,” Wonyoung’s voice startled you out of your daze, her figure appearing next to you, washing her hands meticulously. That was very on brand of her, you expected no less. “It’s rare to have a friendship like that—you and Heeseung. I can tell that you care about each other a lot,”

“We do,”

“I should be thankful for Yunjin since she set this whole thing up. He’s a really good guy,”

You nodded, swallowing a growing lump in your throat, a prickling sensation growing stronger in your eyes. At that point, you could only utter a string of words, feeling overwhelmed with helplessness. “Yeah, he is. That’s Heeseung.”

Should you be thankful that dinner’s ended and the night was over after a dreadful long wait? You parted ways with Heeseung and Wonyoung, following Jungwon to his car as he insisted on dropping you home. The walk there was suffocating, a couple of small talks scattered here and there, neither one of you had the heart to expand anymore knowing it was leading to nowhere. All you could think of then was what the other couple would be up to. Was he bringing her to his favourite spot? Was he just dropping her off and leaving immediately? Endless possibilities followed by more overthinking.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Jungwon broke the silence with a question that pierced through you like the sharpest knife. What a conversation starter. You had a feeling he was more than what you assumed him to be. You came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, looking at him with an expression that gave off the impression of you being scandalized.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yes,” there was barely any sugarcoating, he was straight to the point. The truth was deemed to be both beneficial and harmful to you in your weak and fragile state. “I have eyes, Y/N. I can see the way you look at him, and how you look at him when you think nobody’s watching,”

You were caught absolutely red handed, a big flashy spotlight pointed on you, telling the world that you’re fully guilty of being in love with your best friend. If a date that you’ve known for a few hours could see right through you, you couldn’t imagine what your friends had to deal with. Now you felt apologetic to them. “I guess I am,” you had nowhere to hide, what could you lose by being transparent with your date? “But I think I lost him,”

“If there’s one thing ‘When Harry Met Sally’ proved, it’s that you’re never too late,” Jungwon patted your arm in weak reassurance. “Or you can wait another ten years,”

You swatted at his hand, snorting lightheartedly. Rolling your eyes, you started walking again, letting him catch up to you.

“Oh, shut it. Drive me home.”

Was it bad to admit that you’ve been praying for the downfall of Heeseung’s relationship with Wonyoung? Apparently some DIY spell you got from Chaewon’s witch friend failed horrendously when the both of them showed up to dinner hosted by Yunjin at your own apartment. Maybe it was the one ingredient you swapped out that caused this.

This was the first time Heeseung brought her over. None of you had expected this. After your horrendous double date experience, Heeseung made it known that he was seeing her further, but no labels were established for now. You’ve been keeping your distance from him, convincing yourself you shouldn’t be close to a guy friend that had a potential girlfriend out of respect. However, deep down, you knew the truth that it was only because you wanted to avoid getting hurt less.

“What do you think about Wonyoung?” you whispered to Yunjin as you helped her prepare the dishes in the kitchen. Jake, Jay and Chaewon were loitering in the living room with the couple, overly invested in Wonyoung’s stories. It was the first time you had some privacy since the two of them arrived. She was introduced to the others, sparking a conversation soon after, successfully charming them as a result. It was no question she had won them over in a snap of a finger.

“I think she’s great. Really funny and smart,” Yunjin was focused on assembling the lasagna to commit to a sudden discussion about her work friend, her hands were full with bolognese sauce and bechamel, she didn’t have more space for your feelings. “There’s a reason why I set her up with Heeseung, I thought they’d be a match, and I was right. Sorry about Jungwon though, he’s not usually that shy,”

“I figured,” you mumbled, recalling the journey back home consisted of him explaining to you how he didn’t want a relationship since he had freshly broken up with his girlfriend. What was the luck between you and men that weren’t over their exes? At least he bought you some ice cream on the way home, and also accepted your invite to a ‘When Harry Met Sally’ movie night. A new friend gained wasn’t a complete loss. “But seriously, what do you think of them together?”

“I think … it’s alright? Gosh, I don’t know, Y/N. It’s too early to know, I can’t tell if they will or will not work out,” Yunjin gave a truthful answer to your question, but it wasn’t one that you wanted. She narrowed her eyes at you with a tinge of suspicion. “Why?”

“It’s nothing,”

“Don’t start, Y/N,” Yunjin sighed, walking over to the sink to wash the mess on her hands, in preparation to deal with your mess. She popped the lasagna into the oven, a hand propped on her hip, staring at you with an unhappy frown. “You told me nothing happened that night. You said you didn’t want to talk about it. So, why now?”

“Because I realised I am in love with him,”

“Oh,” Yunjin exhaled, blinking robotically at you, losing her grip on her hip. Stunned might be an understatement, a total opposite of a reaction you’d expected from her. Horrified would probably be a better description of how she looked gawking at you, nothing seemed to come from her mouth. “When? When … did you realise?”

“That night at the restaurant. I suppose you’re right all along,” your revelation didn’t help Yunjin’s case either, her jaw significantly dropping more. She hand flew to her temples, rubbing them with creases deepening between her eyebrows. “I thought I was fine, but when I saw him with her, I … felt it in my heart for the first time. Heartbreak. Your plan worked,”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know, Jen, I’m not putting the blame on anybody. It’s my fault. Just mine,” you rested your back against the wall, your hand hidden behind your back as it  twisted into a fist. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything. If Heeseung’s happy now, it’s fine. You know how unlucky he is with dates,”  

The initial frustration worn off entirely, soon replaced with sadness in Yunjin’s eyes, her face slackened, shoulders sagging. She slowly approached you, arms extending towards you. “Y/N—”

You caught onto them, giving her your best smile, thinking it could assure her, but you had a feeling it turned out slanted and half-hearted. On your best days, you could be an award winning actress for pretending you weren’t hurt. This wasn’t one of those days, unfortunately. “Let’s start dinner.”

Lasagna couldn’t cheer you up. Neither could Yunjin’s signature pasta pull a decent smile from you. You blended into the background throughout dinner, offering nothing but several chuckles and nods, keeping your eyes away from your source of demise. There were a few occasions where you felt his eyes lingering on you, it didn’t help that they lasted for more than an appropriate amount of time, pleading for you to respond to him in any way possible. Resisting him was hard.

Safe to say, you survived dinner and the dessert after. You owed it to the many rounds of red wine from the bottle Jake brought. Heeseung left the apartment with Wonyoung to walk her down to her cab, which left the apartment to you and your friends to tidy while also discussing whatever’s gathered in everyone’s minds for the entirety of the night. It was a common debriefing ritual you and your friends had once a new partner was introduced. 

“Wonyoung’s amazing,” Jay shared, starting the discussion as he picked up the plates to hand them to Yunjin. 

“Are you saying that because you actually think so or it’s because she’s pretty?” Chaewon pointed the dishwand accusingly at Jay, soap flowing down the handle. 

“Do you really think I’m that shallow—nevermind, don’t answer that,” he stopped her at the moment she opened her mouth to retort, realising he was never a match for her and her quippishness. “Still, I think she’s wonderful. She can mimic a bird’s cry. How fun is that?”

The others let out a chorus of agreement. Yunjin, in particular, glanced at you warily, visibly distressed and worried about both your mental and physical states. You said nothing, continuing with your task of storing the dishes, which you held back from smashing. Note to self, you needed a better outlet for getting rid of pent up emotions. 

“Y/N, are you okay? You’ve been very distant since the start of dinner,” Jake took the plate from your hand to store it on your behalf. He closed the cupboard door, pulled your hand to lead you away and sat you on the couch. You weren’t surprised Jake had caught onto you from the get-go. He was always smart, even emotionally. The rest of your friends soon swarmed the area, waiting for you to pour out your anguish. 

“I’m not feeling well, that’s all,” you were running away yet again. Scared, terrified to go anywhere near being vulnerable in front of your closest friends, stripped bare to admit you were in love with one of them while hoping it wouldn’t change anything. 

“Y/N,” Yunjin’s tone was hard, stern almost, with a tinge of disappointment as though she couldn’t believe you were trying to escape from your own feelings, something everyone there was familiar with. Your name was spewed out in a way where she was begging you to face the very thing you avoided till you were forced to face. To your dismay, this puts you on the spot with many eyes staring at you in confusion. 

“Fine,” that was a response directed to Yunjin, you had your eyes locked with hers before scanning the circle created around you. Each of them were waiting for your next word. It was either this or letting the truth eat you alive. “I’m in love with Heeseung,”

What was expected to be an explosive reaction turned out to be … nothing? Jay, Jake and Chaewon all looked at one another, exchanging glances with Yunjin as well, then every one of their heads spun to focus on you. It felt like there were stage lights shining on you, your friends being the audience, and you, maybe a clown. The seconds stretched on for what seemed like forever as silence ensued. 

“We know,” Jay broke the stiff atmosphere. You—mildly confused, whereas understanding and relief washed over your friends. They started laughing, rejoicing and high-fiving each other. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve assumed they won a price instead.

“Should I be shocked that you guys were in on this the whole time?”

“Yunjin and I already told you, didn’t we? We’ve all been waiting for one of you to break,” Chaewon clapped gleefully, her voice going another pitch higher from pure excitement.

“And it had to be me,” you mumbled, the thought of your feelings potentially being one sided was soul crushing. After your friends convinced you that it was mutual, your expectations were sky high, and you were not ready for them to be crushed. 

“Heeseung will come around,” Jake threw out a futile assurance. You winced at that, giving him a display of your pained frown. 

“He’s seeing someone now—Wonyoung, who you all love. I can’t ruin that, you guys know that,”

“We do,” Yunjin moved from her position to sit next to you, laying her head on your shoulder. You held onto her arm, squeezing it for a silent ‘thank you’ for the times she stuck by you. “No matter what happens, we’ll be here for you,”

There came another chorus of shared support from your friends who huddled around you. Their energy had given you a shred of hope, bringing a smile to your face for the first time in a while that night, a little more positive that nothing would completely change in the dynamics of your friend group. That was once proven as per Yunjin and Chaewon with their confessions of messing around with the other two men in the group. 

“Wait,” Jake stood up, interrupting the current emotional mood. The room fell into another round of silence. “I hate to ruin our little moment, but I think Heeseung’s coming,”

The mention of his name caused every one of them to turn to you, panic arising almost in an instant. You could only stare back, downfounded and powerless. It’s not like they could expect you to profess your love to Heeseung just because you disclosed it to them. “What do I do?”

“Talk to him,” Yunjin suggested the obvious solution, not that it helped or made it any better.

“But I’ve been avoiding him!” you forgot about that part, guilt began to crawl into your system at the memories of you evidently dodging him. Everything that went down with the date gave you the heebie-jeebies, how you shunned him, and dropped a lowkey hint of being in love with your best friend, a.k.a., him! It would be impossible for him to not realise your absence. He’s good at catching onto tiny details.

“That’s our cue to leave you and him alone. Just talk! You always talked to him. It’s Heeseung, just Heeseung,” that’s the problem. It’s Heeseung, your best friend. It’s not an everyday activity for someone to come to the conclusion of liking their best friend romantically and profess their love for them. 

Chaewon ushered the others to get to their feet, pushing them towards Yunjin’s room as a site of hideout now that it was too late for them to leave. You couldn’t tell if you were hearing the sound of Heeseung’s footsteps approaching or if you were mistaking it for your own heartbeat thundering in your ears. The noises of keys jangling and the door unlocking that followed after were unmistakable.

“Shit, he’s here,” that was what you last heard from Chaewon before she shoved Jay and his nosy-self into the room, slamming the door shut just in time for Heeseung to enter the threshold. He stopped at the sight of you in the middle of an empty apartment, looking at you with a sense of disbelief that it was truly you who was standing in front of him. 

“Hi,” you said quietly, arms sticking close to your sides, afraid of moving or taking a step forward. Heeseung placed his keys on the counter, but stayed in his original position by the door. 

“Hey,” he began, still not closing the space between you and him. When did it become this awkward to be around him? You felt like an alien who newly landed on Earth, interacting with the first human you came across, the situation was that extreme. It was easy for you to be around Heeseung, but you couldn’t say the same this time. “Where are the others?”

“They went over to yours. Jay needed help on something, I don’t know what it is,” you should be awarded for not crumbling under pressure. The lie flew out of your mouth in a natural manner. Heeseung didn’t suspect it, going along with your white lie.

“How was dinner?”

“It was okay,”

“You were quiet the entire time,”

“I’m not feeling well,”

“Sick?”

“Not in the mood,”

Heeseung slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants, nodding his head silently, lips pressed tightly together. He wasn’t letting any of his reactions show, purposely holding them back. You couldn’t figure out where this was heading, neither did he. “What do you think of Wonyoung?”

There it was. The golden question. You’ve been waiting for it, thinking if you got to steer clear of Heeseung, you’d never have to hear it. Predictions weren’t correct all the time. You knew he would eventually pop the question to you when you’re the only one in the group who has yet to express approval of Wonyoung. It just had to be at this moment.

“She’s alright,” 

His nostrils flared, eyebrows twitching out of habit. His patience was wearing thin, the initial annoyance you sensed since he entered the room intensified. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say after weeks of avoiding me? Two word answers?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth!” Heeseung raised his voice, footsteps heavy on the ground as he crossed the room towards you, stopping behind the couch, standing opposite you with it as a barrier in the middle. What his eyes reflected contradicted his anger. Sadness and desperation made up most of them. They searched for yours, seeking for answers and reasons as to why you were acting out of character.

“I don’t think she’s good for you,”

“Why?”

“Just … just because,”

“That’s not an answer, Y/N,”

What other answer could you give that wouldn’t sound like you were the villain in his story trying to break him and his love interest up? Every possible narrative couldn’t and wouldn’t work, not for you anyway.

“I know you,”

“And what do you know about what’s good for me?” Heeseung demanded, the hurt in his voice was evident, punctuating your heart like a stake, beating you down to depths lower than where you already were. “You don’t get to say that,”

“That’s not fair,”

“She’s a good person, Y/N. I think I deserve that at least,”

You swallowed, not expecting the truth to be thrown directly into your face by the person you were scared to hear it from. It was real, your nightmare of losing him due to your mistakes was coming to life right before you, reminding you that you were far too late. “You’re right. You deserve every bit of it, Heeseung,” his name tasted foreign on your tongue, no more nicknames or the hidden love that came with it, just stale integrity. “I wish you nothing but happiness,”

You didn’t try to hide the shakiness in your voice, nor the tears building up that you were doing your best to blink away. The tightness in your throat took away your speech, losing the ability to speak beyond that. You were being selfish, and you were getting punished for that along with your foolishness for your ignorance to your feelings. 

“Thank you.” he forced through his teeth with enough finality to know this was the last thing he’d say to you that night. You couldn’t bring yourself to reply, mouth opening for a moment just for nothing to follow through, using most of your willpower to hold your tears back instead. He shook his head, a visible sign of disappointment at you losing the strength to fight for whatever this situation of being more friends but less than lovers was between you and him. 

Heeseung took a full look at you for a little longer, his shielded gaze never left your teary one, as though he himself was afraid of letting you go. That was when he knew he had to leave or else he would end up staying like how he always did. He turned his back on you, heading for the door and picking up his copy of the key along the way. There was a few seconds where he stalled at the door, hand on the doorknob, breathing heavily.

Hope wasn’t a powerful tool for you to keep him longer. He was leaving, and there was nothing you could do to stop him, or reverse the pain you’ve caused. Heeseung turned the doorknob and left with the door slamming behind him, leaving you stranded alone to pick up the pieces of your heart. Punching you or hurling insults might’ve hurt less compared to this. 

You didn’t register your emotions until the floodgates came pouring down your cheeks, knees becoming weaker as you found yourself losing balance. The entire exchange had wrecked you out of consciousness, unaware of your friends slowly making their way out of Yunjin’s room, listening in on the mess that went down moments ago. The embarrassment doubled, but you were too busy crying to care. You melted into their arms as they surrounded you to console you, and it reminded you of the exact time you cried into their embrace when your first boyfriend in New York broke up with you. Never in a million years you would predict doing the same for one of your best friends.

Almost was never enough. You were a step too late, and a step over the line. 

90 days. 

That was how long since you’ve last spoken to Heeseung. Back in the day, three hours was the longest gap you went without speaking to him, not three months. Besides the occasional greetings in the hallway or bumping into each other at the coffee shop, neither of you sparked a full conversation. As a result of your fight, it had tremendously affected your friends who became collateral damage in the midst of it. The best way to simplify the dynamic of your friend group at the current moment was them taking turns to hang out with either of you. Pathetic, wasn’t it?

In some sick twisted way to get you out of your slump, Yunjin introduced you to her other, much senior colleague, Jeon Jungkook. If only you weren’t simultaneously so infatuated and heartbroken over your friend, you would’ve had your heart set on him. Unfortunately, that’s not how feelings worked. You were honest about it to Jungkook since your first meeting with him, and being the sweetheart he was, he understood. That didn’t stop you from being friends with him. He was probably the second closest friend you’ve hung out with besides your own friends.

October 31st rolled around, a monumental day for you and your friends who loved the arts of costumes and throwing parties. Yunjin and Chaewon chose to host this year’s Halloween party at your apartment. A special addition to the party was a costume contest, where the winner gets a hundred dollar prize reward. Perhaps Jungkook appeared in your life at the perfect timing.

“Do I have to wear a blond wig for this?” Jungkook held up the wig you got for him reluctantly after he agreed to be the Fred to your Daphne from Scooby Doo.

“It’s too late to go back on your word now,” you tossed him your ginger wig. He wasn’t in on this alone anyway. You left him sulking on the couch to join Yunjin and Chaewon, both of whom were busy preparing in the kitchen. 

“Fred and Daphne?” Yunjin laughed at your choice of characters, earning a firm slap on her shoulder from you. You didn’t wrack your brain day and night for nothing, it was a good and safe option to go for in your defense. 

“It’s cute. I aim to be the best dressed tonight,” 

“Do I have your permission to flirt with your date?” Chaewon slid up next to you, finally daring to ask the question she’s been holding back since forever. You had a feeling she was eyeing him from the moment you confirmed he was just a friend.

“By all means, have a go,”

“Hey, you know Heeseung will be at the party tonight, right? Just a heads up,” Yunjin wasn’t laughing anymore, her tone both serious and solemn. You couldn’t blame her nor your friends for being exhausted of you and Heeseung’s strained friendship, having to adapt to that and a new routine now that you were avoiding each other. “I’m quite sick of this, you know that? You guys are so childish! Instead of saying sorry, you chose to not talk for three months,”

She had a point. You hated that.

“It’s complicated,”

“It’s always been complicated between you and Heeseung. How about this? Make it less complicated and apologise to him first. I still remember you crying and feeling guilty about what went down that night,”

“You didn’t have to call me out directly, I got it,” you grumbled at the memory you cringed at every time Yunjin brought it up as a defence mechanism. Yes, you regretted your behaviour, half remorseful for the things you’ve said, but it wasn’t a common practice for you to apologise first. Whenever you and Heeseung had a fight, it was down to two things: Heeseung apologising first or the both of you sweeping past it. This time, however, both seemed undoable. To muster the courage for you to confront him and apologise, it took time. Maybe a bit too long. “I’ll see what I can do tonight.” 

Trying to distract yourself from your anxiety by helping Yunjin and Chaewon serve refreshments dressed in a full Daphne costume was the least effective method to ease stress. With every guest walking past your door, your heart skipped a beat hoping the next one would be him. Your friends’ costumes at the very least got a smile and some laughter out of you. Jay and Jake were dressed as members from the rock band, KISS; Yunjin decided to go all out and paint herself blue as Smurfette, matching blonde wigs with Jungkook; Chaewon, with the assistance of you and Yunjin, stuffed herself into a latex catwoman suit which took almost half-an-hour to get into. It wasn’t a dull Halloween after all.

“Need help?” Jungkook took the platter of refreshments from you, giving you no room to argue. You smiled at him as a wordless ‘thank you’, coming at the right time to save you from any more small talks. 

“My Fred in shining armour, or shining blond wig?” you giggled, reaching your hand forward to touch his wig, the coarseness of it proved the reason why it was only three dollars. He swatted at your hand, rolling his eyes at your endless teasing.

“I think I actually look good in it, thank you very much,” he dismissed your snark comment easily, you forgot he had a swollen ego in the first place. He pulled onto your arm, urging you to follow him as he served refreshments on your behalf. “You’re waiting for him, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Don’t pretend. I see the sadness in your eyes, Y/N,” Jungkook had talents of looking through your bullshit on par with Yunjin. There was no point fighting what was true, you chose to silently nod. “Speak to him tonight, please, for your sake, for his and your friends’ sake. Even for me! You’ve been keeping that apology in you for months, it’s time for you to tell him,”

“Is it really a good time to do so?”

“There’s never a perfect time. It’s now or never. I know it’s been eating you up, Y/N. Do this for yourself,” 

You considered Jungkook’s advice deeply. He wasn’t wrong, he never was, it came with his perfect traits. You were quite frankly done with running away, even if you were chasing pavements, an apology wouldn’t hurt to settle the troubles in your heart, it might even help you take another step from the position you were stuck in. You patted his shoulder in earnest appreciation. Jungkook could just cement his place to be your crime solving buddy, or in this context, a problem solving buddy.

“Care for a drink?” Chaewon swept in at the right moment with a couple glasses of homemade martinis. It was your cue to leave, not without one of her signature martini though. You took one last look at your two friends, knowing Chaewon would soon work her magic on an oblivious Jungkook, then you made your way to the balcony, in dire need of some air and time alone. 

You listened to the sound of New York traffic, taking small sips from your martini, overlooking the skyline of the city. The part which stings the most was coming to the realisation that you and Heeseung would often occupy this exact spot any time a party was thrown at your apartment. Whenever the space got stuffy and too many guests were present, the two of you would run to the balcony, have a few cigarettes, drink, and talk. You wouldn’t notice the party had ended by the time you and him were done with your hide out. Now, there was another party that you’ve successfully escaped, except he wasn’t beside you like how it was supposed to be.

“Missing trick or treat?”

Your blood nearly ran cold at the voice coming from behind you. One hand holding tightly onto your glass, the other gripping onto the ledge of the balcony in case your legs failed you. You didn’t need to confirm the owner of the voice, having heard it for just about every day for years on end. 

“I think I’m too old for that now,” you felt the familiar warmth belonging to the only person you’ve dreaded all night joining your side, a safe distance was still maintained between you and him. 

“You’re never too old for anything,”

“Touche,” you looked over at Heeseung, stifling your laughter when you saw his costume. A classic black tuxedo paired with a bow tie around his neck, hair slicked back, a sleek metallic watch around his wrist, a ridiculously looking toy gun as a prop in his hand. You would be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit how handsome he was despite being in costume. “James Bond. You weren’t kidding when you said that’s your costume this year,”

“I was never kidding,”

“I’m guessing Sean Connery’s James Bond?”

“One and only,” he stood up straight to display the excellence of his costume, giving you a playful 180 look just so you could see the entirety of his suit, at last posing with the gun as a cherry on top. It was impossible not to laugh when he’s trying this hard to get into character. “You think Daphne can assist James Bond in solving crimes?”

“I think Daphne’s going to stick to solving mysteries, not track down criminals or assassins,”

“I saw Fred inside. Your date, I assume,”

“My friend,” you corrected consciously, noting the mild hostility when he mentioned Jungkook. You simply couldn’t fathom the idea of Heeseung being threatened by another man.

“You’ve been hanging with him a lot,”

“What is it to you?” you snapped, harsher than you intended to, immediately feeling guilty. You couldn’t shake off the sense that he’s trying to get back at you in some unexplainable way.

“Nothing,” you knew he was lying, seeing him clenching his jaw right after saying that had given him away. Time and time again, he underestimated how well you understood him and his little quirks.

“Where’s your date then, Bond? Where’s the famous Bond girl? ”

Heeseung stared off into the city, a quiet but audible sigh leaving his lips before he said anything. Clearly, there was trouble in paradise. You wanted to take your words back, worried it might’ve crossed another line, but he beat you to it with an answer. “She’s at her place,” 

He didn’t expand beyond that simple reasoning, making it much more suspicious than it should be. You didn’t pry, and accepted it with a nod. You assumed she wasn’t a big fan of parties, or at least Halloween, not that you would judge. You let the silence sit longer than it’s supposed to, the traffic in the background filling the gaps in between. It was now or never, before the damage became irreversible. 

“I’m sorry for that night. I was out of line. I do think she’s brilliant, and I want you to be happy,” you turned to look at him, but as always, he was already staring at you in the first place. The martini was no help in suppressing your emotions. If anything, it was amplifying them. You could feel tears welling up at the edge of your eyes. “I mean it. I hate that we’re not talking, and I hate the thought of losing you more,”

Heeseung wet his lips, hanging his head, chest rising and falling erratically. He glanced up after a pause, nodding slowly, a tight-lipped smile appearing. “Thank you,” he meant it this time, genuine, but also stiff and restricted. “You’re never going to lose me, Y/N,”

“Truce?”

“Truce,” he drank out of his glass of martini, returning his attention back to the view of the city, but you kept yours on him, not that he mind. “Here we are again, bailing on a party,”

“Some things never change, do they?” you smiled, yet it didn’t reach your eyes entirely, the sadness in your face bled into every part of your body, all of which went unnoticed by Heeseung. Although you were done setting the argument aside, the apology getting accepted didn’t smoothen the roughness to you and Heeseung’s relationship. Some lingering tension still remained unaddressed. You could feel it, you doubted if Heeseung didn’t. “Should we head in? They’re announcing the winners of the contest.”

It wasn’t the right time to talk about it. You didn’t know if there ever was one. 

You and Jungkook ended up missing first prize by a large margin, getting just a box of chocolate as a consolation prize. On the bright side, Jay and Jake won the night’s best costume, earning a hundred dollars which you would undoubtedly convince them to spend on you. The night came to an end at around midnight. Even though all of your friends were exhausted, they stayed to clean as usual, cracking open another round of beers as a side reward. 

You were too busy sending Jungkook off by the door to realise a pair of eyes staring pointedly at you from a distance. As Heeseung collected the bottles and cups from the living room area, his gaze followed your every movement around Jungkook, a cup nearly fell out of his hand at some point watching you hug him. He walked over to Chaewon, dropping the volume of his voice. “Are they really just friends?”

“If they weren’t ‘just friends’—” Chaewon made a motion with her hands, “would she have allowed me to flirt with him all night?” she blinked blankly at Heeseung, who had furrowed eyebrows that were twitching slightly. “God, you guys are so annoying, and frustratingly stupid. Why must I be subjected to this?” she threw her hands up in defeat, hypothetically waving a white flag in surrender. Sparing him no more chance to speak, she walked away just in time for you to return from your farewell to your beloved Fred. 

“What’s up with her?” you mumbled as Chaewon stormed past you, grumbling somewhere along the lines of ‘misunderstandings’ and ‘get together already’. You took the bag filled with trash from Heeseung, handed it to Jay—still in his black and white face paint—for him to throw out. The apartment was mostly clean, lacking a bit of deep cleaning that you’d get to the next day. For now, you were content with your friends’ company and a cold bottle of beer. 

“You know, I think I owe you an apology too,” it was only you and Heeseung at the kitchen table, you weren’t expecting another apologetic conversation to happen over some beer, but you didn’t complain. “I shouldn’t have stopped talking to you. I was angry and scared. I’m sorry,” he took a swig of his beer, his other hand was knocking on the wooden table. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for your mum’s birthday,” 

One sacred secret you and Heeseung kept hidden from your other friends was this. It started with you inviting Heeseung to your hometown for a family event as your plus one. Looking back at it now, it was far more intimate compared to what you made it out to be. Not even every person would bring their partners to meet their family. Your family absolutely loved him, insisting on him to join them for every family occasion there was. Since then, he has been there for most birthdays. 

In turn, it would only be fair if you got introduced to his family. Hence, he brought you to meet his family soon after he met yours, continuing on the tradition of joining each others’ family occasions. You were at his parents’ birthdays, and he was there for yours. It was your thing with Heeseung for years until he broke the streak in the months of you not speaking. You still remembered your mother asking for him, just for you to create a lame excuse of him being busy with work, having no courage to tell them the truth.

“You’re forgiven,” you clinked his beer bottle with yours, the sharp sound made the brief quietness which followed after less painful. “I guess we’re both equally at fault here,” 

“I guess we are,” he fidgeted with his bottle, never letting his gaze falter from you for a second, as though he was making up for the moments he missed. “Your mum still wants me around, right?”

“Oh please, she was wondering where you were. You’re very missed,”

“I’m glad to hear,”

“And I’m not glad to have stroked your ego,”

You and him burst out laughing, clinking your bottles once more and taking a swift gulp out of it. Both of you sighed together in satisfaction from the taste of cold beer on your tongues, eliciting scattered giggles at that phenomenon. You never realised how much you’ve missed him. Forget about love and your feelings, you missed having him around as a friend. It hurts more deeply than you thought having someone from your everyday life disappear in an instant. 

Before you could dwell on such melancholic thoughts, the rest of your friends came flooding around the table, forcing open the fridge to bring more bottles out. You met Yunjin’s eyes, a knowing look on her face told you she was highly aware of you and Heeseung’s ‘little moment’ alone. Of course, you wouldn’t doubt her, she was known to be a surveillance camera that scans through the entire premise. You gave her a nod, and that was a sufficient message for her to understand all was well. 

“Who’s ready to drink?”

Yunjin’s definition of a ‘fun Saturday night’ was the complete opposite of what you had in mind. 

You had a feeling you were an old woman in your past life for thinking a night in with some pizza, snacks, and board games would satisfy the criteria of a ‘fun Saturday’. However, your friends didn’t share the same idea. That was why you were all dressed up, sitting by the bar counter with no intentions to drink while Yunjin and Chaewon were busy downing shots after shots. Call you a buzz kill, but you weren’t stumbling out drunk. You were happy with your virgin mojito. 

“What do you think the boys are doing tonight?” Yunjin was still admirably sober in spite of the amount of alcohol she consumed. She and her high alcohol tolerance should be investigated. 

“Watching TV,” you assumed, mostly based on how you last saw them huddled in Heeseung and Jay’s apartment, tuning into another episode of ‘Seinfeld’ before all of you left for the bar. 

“Oh, really? Then why do I see them approaching us,” Chaewon had a better angle of the door given her seating position. At that, you and Yunjin whipped your heads towards the door, disbelief fueling your system. When you told them of your plans, you weren’t expecting them to crash it.

“They really have to stop following us to girls’ night,” Yunjin groaned, returning a wave to Jake begrudgingly. It wasn’t the first time they appeared at girls’ night. You’d think they wouldn’t do it again, but clearly, it was your fault for thinking that way. 

“No invite?” Jay made a weeping expression, trying his best to wedge himself in between Chaewon and Yunjin, resulting in them pushing him away. 

“Are you guys eligible for girls’ night?” Chaewon deadpanned, sighing aloud.

“If you remove all the testosterone from our bodies, then maybe,” Heeseung slid into the seat next to yours, making himself comfortable as he actively ignored your disapproving gaze. 

You switched your focus onto him, letting the others’ bickering fade into the background. He swiftly ordered his usual drink, gin on rocks, then looked at you, cocking an eyebrow with some extent of expectation that you’d start questioning him endlessly. Well, he was right.

“You don’t like coming out to bars unless something has happened. Tell me, which one of you got your heart broken?”

Heeseung laughed, realising you had a point. There was a reason why the both of you could click easily. You and him shared equal dislike for loud and crowded places, finding them overwhelming. “I did,”

“What?”

“I ended it with Wonyoung. Not that it had a label in the first place, but … I just thought it was time to stop,” out of everything you prepared yourself mentally to hear, this piece of information was the last you thought to receive. “It was amicable, don’t worry,”

“But why?”

“We don’t click. That’s it. I thought we did, but I was wrong,” he shrugged, thanking the bartender for the drink, wasting no time in taking a sip of it. “My heart wasn’t there. I think I left it some place else,” he left his heart with you, in the form of a chain which sat around your neck, tucked beneath your blouse. 

“So the first thing you thought of was to come here and drink?”

“Wasn’t my idea. Jay insisted on coming after he heard about your plan,” 

“That is very on brand of him,” you snorted, expecting nothing less of Jay for wrecking havoc whenever he had the chance to. “Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine. I expected it at some point, so I suppose it hurts less this way,” Heeseung’s lack of expression made it hard to decipher what he was thinking, forcing you to guess while also treading carefully in unknown territory. “You’re right all along,” you didn’t reply, and waited for him to continue, a part of you cringed at the thought of the incident. Turns out, the projection of your jealousy wasn’t entirely wrong. “I knew we couldn’t work out when she said she didn’t like you guys—don’t be mad—except for Yunjin, I guess? How can I have someone who can’t stand my friends?”

“And to think we were actually rooting for her,” you were disappointed, but not surprised. There was always a feeling in your gut about Wonyoung regardless of your spiteful claim. You hated to be proven right in this context. At the same time, you’d also be lying if you said it didn’t provide some sense of satisfaction to you. 

“What doesn’t kill you make you stronger,”

“Cheers to that,” you held up your glass, to which Heeseung gladly clinked. You shot him a quick smile before sipping your mocktail, looking at him with a little too much emotion in your eyes which you couldn’t contain. If you didn’t know better, they might’ve come off as heart eyes. You made sure to glance away for a hot minute when Heeseung put down his glass, he mustn’t see you in your weakest state. 

“Look, I need a quick trip to the restroom. Wait for me. Maybe or maybe not, we can dip to get some of our favourite late night snacks,”

“Abandoning our friends? That’s evil,” you whispered, so that the others wouldn’t hear. Judging from their chaotic talking and continuous drinking, you doubted they would notice for even a bit. “I’m down,”

“Give me five minutes.”

Your eyes followed him into the crowd until he disappeared around the corner. Up till that moment, you were finally able to breathe more comfortably, feeling partially restrained by the unusual tension wedged in your dynamic with Heeseung. Although your friendship with him was mostly recovered, you still couldn’t shake off some persisting tension. It was sticking out like a sore thumb. The rest of the group were busy with their ongoing drinking game, dumping the two of you aside from the get-go, so you sat peeking over Yunjin’s shoulder to watch them play, minding your business with your drink in hand.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

So much for minding your own business. You turned at the sound of a stranger’s voice along with a tap on your shoulder, soon met with the face belonging to a handsomely charming man. As far as looks could get him, occupying a seat which was visibly taken based on the drink in its position on the counter wasn’t a good first impression. For the sake of courtesy, you offered a smile.

“Sorry, but the seat’s taken,” it was an indirect ‘no’, the nicest way you could put it without being harsh. Sparing him some embarrassment on his part was humane in your opinion, but apparently, rejection wasn’t an answer this man was willing to accept. The second you saw a switch in the way his face was screwed into, you peacefully realised trouble was imminent. 

“I’m just trying to be nice, miss. I think a drink isn’t that big of a problem, no?” 

“I appreciate it, but I’m not interested in accepting,” 

“Really, one drink, that’s all,”

You were starting to cower in fear, gradually shrinking into your seat. “Sorry, no,”

“What’s going on?” Yunjin slurred behind you, the effects of alcohol evidently caught up to her. The activities happening within your circle of friends had halted at the minor commotion between you and this man who wouldn’t leave you alone. You and all of your friends had gotten to your feet in caution. They. in particular, were instantly poised for action if physical extraction was necessary.

“This guy wouldn’t go away,” 

The man scoffed, removing himself off the high stool to stand on all ten toes as well. “I’m trying to get to know your friend. I’m offering to buy her a drink,”

“Hey man, she said ‘no’,” Heeseung couldn’t have chosen a better time to return. Without a single question asked, he was the first to leap into action. He instinctively put himself between you and the man, which unintentionally fueled the situation as it did nothing but agitated the man more. The man stepped closer to Heeseung, sizing him up as if it would successfully intimidate him. Heeseung didn’t like that at all, the mild twitch in his jaw gave his annoyance away. He held out his hand to put a distance between them. “Back off, dude,” 

“And who are you?”

Heeseung’s attempt at mediating the escalating situation wasn’t looking very bright. He didn’t answer—totally the wrong move—so, the man continued closing in on him. You came to the conclusion that the man was purposefully making things worse by ticking Heeseung off. And he had indeed fallen into the trap before you could warn him. He was left with no other choices but to push the man on his shoulder in order for the man to fall back. “It’s none of your business. You should leave,”

While still standing behind Heeseung, you pulled at his sleeves, trying to get his attention even though you sensed his anger rising, and there was a high chance he couldn’t hear you past it. “Heeseung, I think we should go—” 

“So, you’re protecting this bitch—”

A fist collided with the man’s cheek in a blur. Heeseung undeniably saw red, every ounce of rationality flew out of the window. The scene drew gasps from everyone in the vicinity, including you and your friends. Stunned was an understatement. Heeseung was known to be the calmest amongst the group, being the poster boy for thinking before acting. That was until now. 

“Heeseung!”

The man recovered rather quickly from both the pain and the surprise. Just when you wanted to pull Heeseung away, another punch landed, except it was on Heeseung this time. This was surely his ticking point, because he quite literally slipped from your grasp, returning a punch to the man. You were watching in horror as the prior dispute somehow evolved into a fist fight. You wanted a boring night, this was miles off what ‘boring’ would be defined as.

Everything around you faded, your ears were muffled, you weren’t even aware of Yunjin and Chaewon dragging you to the side while Jay and Jake ran to pull Heeseung off of the man. The situation had become out of control. Staff and some customers came to help, managing to separate the two men from each other, both bloody and bruised. The fortunate part about this mess consisted of two things: nobody else was hurt, and nothing got destroyed. The unfortunate part was probably getting kicked out and banned, then having to end your night in the emergency room. 

Heeseung suffered not only a split lip that had to be stitched, but also a boxer’s fracture discovered through an X-ray scan. His left hand was wrapped in an ulnar gutter splint—some medical term you recalled the doctor mentioning—immobilising specifically his pinky and ring finger, which meant he was totally inconvenienced by not being able to use his non-dominant hand for several weeks. You wished to laugh in his face for the consequences he brought upon himself. In spite of the thought of taunting him, you were far from being in the mood to do so. 

Standing by the medical bed with him sitting on the edge, his injured hand elevated on a pillow, you scowled, not having said a word since you arrived. Every one of your friends had returned home after Heeseung insisted he was fine in your care. In retrospect, he should be thankful you weren’t currently choking him for his careless actions. Instead, he was suffering from both his injuries and your angered silent treatment as the two of you waited for discharge paperworks.  

“I’m sorry,” Heeseung, at last, decided to be the one to break the icy silence formed rigidly in the room. A sharp inhalation of breath was your response for the next following moments, head shaking in what could be described as either disappointment or disapproval, you couldn’t figure which would be the most fitting for your current thoughts.

“‘Sorry’? What were you thinking? You were reckless, and incredibly thoughtless about your own safety,” you snapped, fear seeping through the anger you used to conceal your true emotions, the tremor of your hand might just be a telltale sign. 

“I wanted to protect you!”

“I didn’t need protection!” you took half a step forward, Heeseung barely budged, keeping himself steady and overall composed. “You could’ve gotten more hurt than you already are right now,” 

“But I didn’t,”

“That’s because people intervened before it got worse, smartass. You should be thankful the charges were dropped because the bartender backed you up,” you rubbed at your temple, pacing back and forth. His stubbornness was clashing with yours, making things ten times more difficult than it already was. You were able to understand why the last time the both of you fought had ended in neither of you speaking to each other again. “I didn’t want you to get hurt,”

“Who are you to get a say in that?”

You glowered at him, having the inability to form a logical answer to his response without the emotional side of you spilling all over. Sure, you could go with the reason of you being his dear best friend who was afraid to see him putting himself in danger, or you could go for the option of being silent and not utter those seven letters admitting you’re friends, because the last thing you’d like to touch upon in that emergency room was your feelings for him. It was a sensitive subject. 

“Excuse me?” out of all the possible times to appear, the nurse had to pick the one where you and Heeseung were in the middle of another altercation. Another not assuring point to note was the nurse awkwardly handing you the paperwork to sign, looking thoroughly uncomfortable and very much aware of what was going down moments before she entered. Great, you took your chances to sign the discharge paperwork and stormed out at the last flick of your signature, your frustration blinding you the entire way to the front of the hospital.

You gasped for air, the stuffiness inside the emergency room restricted your airways, in addition, the whole exchange with Heeseung only pressed harder onto your lungs. Watching cars come and go, patients arriving and leaving, you felt helpless for the first time in a while, consumed by your fear that was creeping up on you without your knowledge. You stood there, alone and confused, no one to come to your aid.

“Y/N,” you registered Heeseung’s voice, only you were a moment’s short of a reaction as he grabbed a hold of your wrist, tugging onto your arm to turn you around. You didn’t push him away. An arm in a cast, physically dishevelled, panting and out of breath from chasing you, Heeseung wasn’t backing down without a fight, one that he hoped wouldn’t land him in the hospital once more. “Answer me. What am I to you?”

“What?”

“What am I to you?”

“You’re my friend,”

“Bullshit,”

“My best friend,”

“Bullshit!” he snarled, spewing the word through clenched teeth, unable to contain his rage nor keep his voice from rising. His grip on you remained firm, contrasting the waver of emotions seen in his eyes. “Is this really what you think about me—about us? Because I don’t believe you,”

“Then what do you think about us?”

“Don’t turn this on me,”

“You’re the one who got a girlfriend first then suddenly dropped this out of nowhere! Not to mention, right after breaking up with her,”

“That’s because I wished she were you,” this was enough to shut you up, rendering you speechless, all vocabulary seemed to escape your brain, not that there were any appropriate ones to use at that moment. “I thought being with someone else would erase what I felt for you. It seemed to have worked for a short while, until I realised that’s not how it works, and I was thinking about you the whole time,” he paused, but you didn’t know if it was for you to take it in or for himself to not crumble. “You said you knew me, but clearly not enough to tell that I’m in love with you, and I’ve always been in love with you,” 

His confession had taken a toll on him, every last bit of strength he saved since running after you was slowly depleting. You felt him letting go of your arm, sighing deeply, the sound of your heartbeats filled the cold night air. Heeseung stared back at you weakly, pleading for you to break the silence on your end. You were a fool, a self-sabotaging lunatic who was ruining yourself at the thought of him falling for someone else in the first place, just to back away out of fear when he admitted his feelings to you directly. When were you going to stop running away?

“We can either leave here like how we were before, pretend nothing happened, or we can leave knowing the truth,” Heeseung had thrown the ball into your court, rightfully giving you your turn to speak your truth or forever hold your peace. Your hands were balled into fists at each side, nails digging crescent moons into your palm, the cooling breeze did nothing to help the heat travelling up your entire body.

“God damn it, Heeseung, I love you,” you bursted at the seams, the only secret you’ve kept to yourself was freed, pouring out of you like a gushing fountain. “I love you, and I’m in love with you too,” The months you’ve spent dwelled on this—your love for your best friend of several years—hadn’t prepared you to face it head on, because you were definitely holding in every ounce of tears amassed over that era of your life. “I was scared—I am scared, that if I ever told you how I really feel, I’d lose you, and everything we built would be gone,”

You shifted on your two feet, never once did you dare to look away from Heeseung, still petrified that whatever left your mouth would ruin the friendship that had already been over since you discovered your feelings for him. “I tried convincing myself we were nothing but friends, until I couldn’t anymore, and it hurts. It really did when I saw you with someone else, that’s when I thought I had lost you,”

“You never lost me, you never would’ve lost me,” Heeseung took your trembling hand into his, intertwining his fingers with yours. Something you’ve done countless times suddenly felt more intimate than it should be. Given the proximity and the vulnerable confessions, everything significantly changed, realising there was no point of return. “You were always a part of me,”

“Tell me this is real, that whatever I’ve felt between us has always been real,” you searched for his eyes, for some sort of confirmation to your fears which persisted in haunting you. He squeezed your hand, putting on a smile just for you, the edge of his eyes crinkled a little. 

“It is real, more than you can ever comprehend. You complete me.” 

Heeseung never gave you a chance to speak this time. He chose to be selfish. Once you’ve come to wrap your scrambled mind around his words, he has freed his hand from your grasp, pulling you in with that hand now placed on your cheek, lips colliding onto yours. 

Everything felt right. How you moved against each others’ lips, rough and passionate, barely holding yourselves back after months, or rather years of built up tension and silent confessions pushed down for the sake of keeping your friendship safe. That could all be forgotten now. The idea of a friendship flew out of your mind when you melted into his touch. His calloused palm cradled the side of your side face, moving it to a certain angle just so he could deepen the kiss. 

The amount of kiss scenes you’ve indulged from watching too many rom-coms would never have prepared yourself for this. Ever. Kissing Heeseung was different, he was different. It was sweet, gentle, and too familiar, as though kissing him was a second instinct of yours, almost like a birthright. You were experiencing every butterfly, every spark, every bit of nervousness that you’d normally get whenever his gaze lingered a minute too long, where his hands would brush against yours, or those times he would look at you in a group full of people. You were always the center of his world, you just never brought yourself to notice.

The both of you gradually pulled away after what seemed like an eternity trapped in heaven, but not completely apart, still resisting to separate, chasing each others’ lips with a hunger to appease. In the end, you settled to rest your forehead against his, noses close to touching, breaths fanning one anothers’ lips. Neither of you spoke for a while, basking in the ambience, all while you held onto him, and he held onto you closer. 

“Does that mean our friendship is ruined now?” you whispered faintly, grinning widely and giddy from the aftermath of your kiss.

“I think it’s been ruined for a long time,” Heeseung’s thumb caressed the expanse of your cheek, moving away to press a soft kiss on your temple. “And I don’t regret any part of it,” he shook his head, gaze boring into yours with no intention to ever leave. “Except I didn’t get to kiss you sooner,”

There he was, classic Heeseung with his smart mouth, trying to win you completely by pulling out the methods he used on ladies for them swoon over him. You punched his shoulder, scoffing at him and that smug smile on his stupidly charming face. “Then kiss me again.”

You didn’t need to tell Heeseung twice before he swooped in to connect his lips with yours for a second time that night. Sparks flew, electricity coursed through your veins, it felt like you were kissed by him for the first time all over again. Holding onto each other, none of you dared to let go, terrified this moment would suddenly disappear and fade into nothingness. But it was never meant to be fleeting nor short-lived, instead, merely a goodbye to this ending, welcoming a new beginning. 

In the middle of New York City, standing right in front of a hospital, you were kissing a man you’ve fallen in love with, your best friend who got himself injured just for your sake. If anything, you’d consider this to be a better plot than any of your favourite movies. The story of how you and Heeseung fell in love might be competing for the position of ‘When Harry Met Sally’ in your life. 

The festive season in the city was an absolute dream. 

You got to go Christmas shopping, visit coffee shops for a sizzling cup of hot chocolate, and head to a few rounds of ice skating just so you could prove to everyone you wouldn’t fall. It was your favourite time of the year. This time was no different from the other years you spent in New York. Staying in on a cold day, wrapped in layers of clothing, preparing for the annual Christmas dinner followed by an after party you and your friends threw as a tradition, everything about the holiday was perfect. The only contrast to other years was the label to you and Heeseung’s relationship. 

That’s right. You and Heeseung were no longer friends, you and him had become a couple. It took five years and six months for the both of you to reach this stage in life. After a total of over a hundred failed dates, two boyfriends, and three girlfriends plus three unofficial-no-label partners over the course of these five years, you and him finally learnt there was no point in finding love elsewhere, when it’s been next to you the entire time. Maybe you had to spend a long time to learn that, but a lesson was still a lesson at the end of the day.

“You guys are disgusting,” Chaewon could only roll her eyes and shake her head at the sight of Heeseung giving you a peck on the lips. She couldn’t bring herself to complain as she was one of the members to ride the train of bringing you and Heeseung together. Despite her funny little digs, she would be smiling watching the both of you severely struck by the love bug.

“It’s Christmas, cheer up,” you nudged her with your elbow, holding carefully onto the freshly baked lasagna. The last, grandest piece of the Christmas dinner presented on your kitchen table. You should bear in mind to hire caterers next year, the exhaustion was indescribable. 

“If only Santa could wrap a capable man for me this Christmas, and gift him to me,” Chaewon grumbled, falling into one of the chairs with a loud sigh. The smell of cooked food had attracted flies in the form of men into the dining area. Jay and Jake soon came rushing in to snatch a seat at the table, fighting over who would be the one to hog the turkey leg. 

“Am I not a part of this fight anymore?” Heeseung slid into the chair next to you, seemingly offended that he was excluded from the traditional turkey discourse. You, Yunjin, and Chaewon snickered at the silliness of their behaviour, a common happening you and your friends were desensitized to. 

“You have a girlfriend, Heeseung, the least you can do is leave the turkey leg to us,” Jake pointed a finger at Heeseung, earning a disgruntled grunt of agreement from Jay. Heeseung shrugged, knowing they weren’t wrong, contentedly throwing an arm around you, while also smugly grinning at the two men. You rolled your eyes, but didn’t brush his touch away either. 

With a clap of your hands, you announced the start of the dinner. “Eat up, everyone. Before the guests start coming.”

Hours later, you and Yunjin’s apartment was congested with friends and families, nothing you’ve never experienced before, you just forgot how overwhelming it was at some point. The music you put on the background was effectively drowned out due to scattered loud chatters, your friends were dispersed all over the apartment as well. You were at least happy to see the condiment platters being savagely cleared thanks to certain hungry individuals (most likely Jay). Seeing your hard work enjoyed by others was somewhat fulfilling, but you had a feeling it was the festive mood speaking on your behalf.

“Hey,” Heeseung appeared by your side as you replenished the platters, helping you to take them to the table. You followed him with empty hands. 

“Hi,” your hands weren’t so empty anymore when he grabbed them immediately after, pulling you along with him, squeezing through groups of people. He stopped directly next to the stereo in the corner, away from the crowd, just the two of you keeping each other company. He turned the volume higher, barely loud enough to overpower the sound of people’s voices, but just right for you to listen. George Benson’s ‘Nothing’s Gonna Change My Love for You’ began playing. 

“You’re tired,” he stated, bringing both your hands over his shoulders, resting them comfortably there, his own placed on your waist. You let him lead, body naturally swaying to the lazy rhythm of the music, slow dancing in this tiny corner while others were occupied. It was you and him in your own world, nobody else would come to disturb or ruin your moment together. 

“It’s always exhausting when it comes to throwing parties. I think we should have a vacation for the next holiday, escape all of this,”

“Where would you like to go?”

You pondered for a while, speaking off the top of your head. “I’m thinking the Bahamas,”

“You really love the beach, don’t you?”

“Only if you’re there picking seashells with me,” you pressed a long kiss by the edge of his mouth, taking in the smile that instantly appeared on his face, a look of love and adoration was written all over him. He was a man who stood at the top of the world regardless of what he wanted or wished to achieve. 

“I’ll gladly collect every seashell on the beach if it meant getting to spend time with you,” he hummed, squeezing your waist playfully just to hear you laugh at the tickling sensation. You slapped at his chest, a few more laughter lingered from either one of you, George Benson in the background being replaced by ‘With or Without You’ by U2. Heeseung glanced up briefly, a grin slowly formed, and you understood it was a sign of mischief. He was up to no good. “Uh oh, mistletoe alert,”

Following his actions, you tilted your head back, spotting a mistletoe hanging above your head. You didn’t know whether to be annoyed, impressed, or amused. Perhaps you were all. “You planted it there, didn’t you?”

Heeseung feigned ignorance, raising both shoulders with a devious smirk. He was a hundred percent guilty. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,”

You stared at him, still moving to the music playing, saying nothing, only letting your eyes wander every feature on his face. From his large deer-like eyes, to the slope of his nose, down to the pout of his lips, those were the features that welcomed you to the city on your first day, ones which you admired many times. Now, they would one day be passed down onto your children. Heeseung was the man you loved, and nothing would ever change that. 

“I love you,”

It wasn’t the first time Heeseung heard those three sacred words coming from you. In fact, he heard it day in, day out, you made sure he wouldn’t forget it, and he never once got sick of listening to your voice, listening to you express your love to him like it hadn’t been done before. He removed his hands from your waist, choosing to settle them on either side of your cheeks. “I love you too.”

Under the mistletoe, Heeseung kissed you like it was his very first time doing so. You forgot about the people, the music, the cold, and quite frankly, the presents waiting for you. All that mattered to you was having your best friend, your forever partner, in your arms, holding onto you with such gentleness it could almost be compared to the snow falling outside your window. 

Moving to New York City was the best choice you’ve made for yourself. You found your identity, a good job, an amazing group of friends, and a forever person to spend the rest of your life with. The advice you’d give to someone who’s new to the city would probably be: one, get to know your neighbour; two, accept the pizza your neighbour offers, then wait for whatever that comes next and go along with wherever the wind blows. Remember, it’s always good to ruin the friendship too.

( © jaylver all rights reserved. do NOT copy, plagiarise or edit my work and repost whatsoever. once discovered will be exposed and blacklisted. )

You tried staying up later, phone warm in your palm, eyes half-lidded while he talked about university life. You tried not to mind the missed calls, the delayed replies, the way silence began to feel less like rest – from college? Or you?

Jake tried too and you know he did. He promised visits that almost happened but something came up, I’m sorry, baby. He tried coming back on some weekends, but the demands of freshman year doubled in no time and you’re left on delivered for double hours.

He says his phone's broken but he just forgot to charge it.

You try to pull the plug, suddenly verbal about how it felt like you were the only one bending your time around him, about how effort shouldn’t feel like something you had to ask for. You told him that love shouldn’t feel like this.

Jake didn’t argue; didn’t even try because the way you sounded was worse than any petty fight. Instead, he starts working it out at twelve in the morning.

His alarm was already set for an 8am lecture, but that night, he got in his car and drove three cities back to hometown to get you. There was no warning – just the familiar headlights of his Bronco outside your house. He looked tired and concerned, and you immediately apologized before he could say anything, told him it was just a lot – senior year, the pressure, the uncertainty. He listened, arms squeezing you closer, just nodding.

He stayed until four (despite your protests that he should leave earlier), long enough to make sure you’re okay. He's sweet, no others boys would compete – your words run on scraps.

"We almost broke up again last night."

You've been there a thousand times and there's clear selective memory here. All the I love you's and I'm sorry's were said, but they feel futile. It's drifting apart, a big deal you've been in before and will be in tomorrow.

So the actual breakup wasn’t loud, loaded with knowing.

You talked on your couch when he came from uni, the tears coming before either of you could fully start. He kept wiping his hands on his jeans, fidgeting because he didn’t know what to do with them. 

“I don’t know how to fix this anymore,” you said, voice breaking on the word fix. Because you’d tried fixing, tried patience, tried understanding, tried being quieter about how much it hurt.

A part of you wished he insists, that he thinks otherwise and this is still fixable. Maybe because a part of you was still willing to fix it even when the odds were out.

But he only nodded slowly. “I think it just got… way too demanding, and I don’t know if I’m ready for something like that.”

That was the worst part.

“I love you,” he said, immediately. “I know,” you replied. “I love you.”

The exhaustion of wanting more and having nothing left to give.

You sat there for a long time after that, shoulders slumped, knees still touching, your hands finding his. His thumb brushed over your knuckles in the way it always did, familiar enough to hurt. He left quietly, making no promises, no maybe someday. Just a long, very long hug at the door, his chin resting on the top of your head, breathing you in like this would be the last time.

You watched him walk down the driveway the same way you always did, only this time, he didn’t turn back.

1 year, 2 months, 15 days, folded neatly in a corner of your room, hidden in your ballerina music box.

Tip #2: Do not use Instagram as a test. It’s dumb.

The summer after senior year was something.

College decisions loomed in the background like unfinished business, and it’s sometimes the very thing you dread just remembering. There was one you waited for specifically and God, you were scared shitless because it’s the very thing you’ve always wanted.

The dream university. The one you’d talked about since forever, with passion and persistence of the 13-year-old you. It’s also the school Jake goes to now – of course, with that kind of grit and intelligence? No doubt.

The email came on an ordinary morning, much to your distress because you were just eating cereal when –

The confetti registered first before Congratulations! itself because the decision portal specifically throws confetti across the screen when you’ve been accepted. That’s what makes you scream and cry and hug your mom and dad buys cake with custom icing and Evan calls you a crybaby, but he’s got a wide smile on his face for you. 

Then like muscle memory because your body tends to forget – it comes like instinct when you know it shouldn’t have.

You thought of Jake; your former number one supporter. The first person who’d told you you could do it, who’d sent you links to campus resources, who’d promised about showing you all the best spots when you get in. Back when when still existed.

You hadn’t talked ever since the break-up, as things should be between people with history (11-year-long history, to be precise). Although you still followed each other in social media, only at a distance so deliberate and established even without negotiation. No liking posts, no watching stories, just a quiet agreement to let each other live separately while still being one call away.

Definitely unhealthy – it’s really not good and it speaks a lot about your attachment.

You added the screenshot to your close friends with a caption of “see you”, balancing both the meaning of academic and, maybe, him, which is pathetic but who can blame a yearning (and desperate, clearly) heart. You included him after overthinking it for 35 more minutes which you reason out as “to see what would happen”.

Until a whole day passed and you received nothing.

Fucking hell, you are pathetic.

Of course he wouldn’t check, of course it was a dumb idea. You settled with screaming into your pillow, then you picked yourself back up with the notion that it doesn’t matter because this moment was yours and it didn’t need an audience – much less one from an ex.

The first week of college was easy. 

The campus was bigger than you ever thought it was – so you did indeed get lost multiple times and walked in lecture halls late with shame chiming around you. By the end of the week, you learned the schedule, learned shortcuts across campus (for when body and alarm clock betrays you), and discovered a coffee shop that made the best tactic to stay awake for your 8am.

For the next month, weeks blurred, lectures became routine, notes just got less pretentious, assignments demanded attention.

The crazy part — aside from your mind — was that you haven’t seen him yet, let it be in the library after staying there for hours, or in the hallways when you’re trying to get to your next class.

Not that you were hoping but – okay, you were and that’s not a crime, just very self-inflecting and sad. But you go on anyway.

Tip #3: All this tension, baby, let your body loose.

“You have to come!” Mia said, bouncing on the balls of her feet like she had stakes in your social life. “It’s the first real party of the semester. Everyone’s going.”

“Yeah,” Lila chimed in, voice dragging your name out like a cautionary tale. “We deserve a night off.”

You cross your arms, melting back against your friends cushions like ice cream. “I have dues tomorrow,” you muttered, though the thought of seeing new faces – and maybe forgetting about deadlines for a few hours – was tempting. However, saving yourself the hangover for a promised productivity tomorrow seems even more enticing.

“You are so –” Mia basically pounces you and starts tickling your sides, as you shriek and swat your arms in defense, “ – boring!”

Once you finally get her off you, both of you breathless, you glare at her with mock offense.

You truly do think about it, staring at their posters that stuck loosely against the wall while you do. A month in, and everything already felt like a balancing act in the circus – classes, expectations, this new version of yourself you were still figuring out. Maybe a few hours off wouldn’t ruin anything.

Lila nudged you. “Stop overthinking. Just come. It’s a cool, chill night. We’ll keep you safe. We’ll make you dance. We’ll –”

“Fine, fine,” you cut her off, laughing despite yourself. “I’ll go. But I’m not getting drunk.”

It’s still early when you arrive (12am), early enough that the place hasn’t fully filled in yet. There’s space to breathe and move without squeezing past bodies, but the music is already loud and colored lights sweep lazily across the room. Mia spots someone the moment you three managed to move through the crowd. “Oh my god – hey!” she calls out, already waving, and before you can process it, you’re being pulled along. Quick introductions are exchanged over the music – name you only half-catch, smiles that come easy.

He leads your group through the room to an open table near the back, just far enough from the speakers that you don’t have to shout. You slide into one of the couches, the leather smooth against your legs and Lila leans close to say something you barely catch over the music. At some point, you realize Mia isn’t beside you anymore, but before you can even text her, she’s back – grinning, triumphant, weaving through people with three plastic cups in her hands.

“Miss me?” she asks, setting one in front of you.

You blink, surprised. “When did you –”

“Don’t ask,” she cuts in, sliding another drink toward Lila. “Just drink.”

You lift the cup and take a cautious sip because you don’t trust the palate of a drunkard. It’s sweet before the bitter taste of alcohol comes, making you cringe back from the unexpectedness. It’s honestly exciting.

Mia clinks her cup against yours. “To surviving the first month!”

You have no idea yet that this is where things start to shift.

The friend Mia greeted earlier comes back, smiling at all of you. “Uh, would it be okay with you guys if our groups kind of merge? My friends just came.” his hands do gestures and immediately, you all agree before he even finishes the sentence. Lila’s already scooting over to make space, Mia’s cheering over the music.

He looks relieved, flashing a quick thank-you smile.

You take slow sips of your drink, letting the liquid cool the small knot of nerves you didn’t realize had formed in your stomach. You don’t get to be all jumpy and edgy in the function that demanded someone buoyant and convivial.

Though, you definitely should have expected doom – when some already-drunk dude comes and stumbles on your lap that you shriek in pure horror like a lead in Scream. You immediately shove him off and he lands on the floor, wasted and absolutely gone, while his friends apologize with pressed palms. You try to contain the sour expression on your face – but you can’t, because half your drink has spilled on you.

Great. Love that.

Because now you feel sticky and you smell like alcohol before anything real even began, your mood spoiling like you personally invited the bacteria in. Before you could curdle further into deciding to leave and plunge into the comfort and sterility of your bed, Mia’s already pulling you up on your feet to get to the bathroom.

Like some cruel, cinematic twist, the growing crowd press bodies closer and someone knocks into you without meaning to, of course, because you’re God’s number 1 favorite child besides the Redeemer. Either way, you stumble on your heel and you’re pushed into someone else for the nth time tonight, though you don’t really try to bother with a genuine apology. You mutter something half-assed, preparing yourself to squeeze into the crowd until you decide to glance.

Holy. Fuck.

For a split second, your brain stalls. And you’re frozen and you think that this has to be some kind of divine intervention as they like to call it, because this man has to be one of God’s loyal angels with the way the party lights start to uncoil as strobes behind him, and he’s here to announce the birth of some Messiah that will save the world.

Maybe you’re supposed to be expecting soon with the way alcohol isn’t the only thing making you wet now.

Everything rushes in at once – and you’re bombarded with the unfair reality of male supremacy in genetics. He’s taller than you remember, even with your heels on. Broader shoulders, solid in a way that makes it obvious time didn’t just pass him by, it worked on him. He’s filled out, grown into himself that didn’t change him but made him look more mature.

And now, Jaeyun Sim's staring at you like this was exactly what he didn’t expect in some random Friday party, much less in his local university club.

(Backtrack – Jake knows you’re attending the same university after receiving the news from Evan, who, despite the breakup, announces certain things about you as if to keep Jake updated. He never asked and never really stopped him either. So imagine how he feels, when the woman he knew didn’t exactly like parties bumps into him in one after one whole month on campus.)

The guy Mia knows is still talking, introducing his friends, but you can barely process anything past this one in front of you. The music isn’t helping, by the way, because it’s playing ‘Shout Out to My Ex’ by Little Mix.

Then he fucking smiles at you. Casually. Amused.

What the fuck?

“Hi.”

Jake reaches a hand out and you stare at it, well, first at his long fingers, then his wide palm, then the veins that travel all the way through his arms. “Didn’t know you go to parties.” he says and you look up at him through your lashes again, seeing that smile that doesn’t show much, just that he’s seeing you right here in front of him and he doesn’t hate it.

You try smiling too (works out fine; you look hot, he clears his throat), because you can’t be the one flustered while he’s here looking like God’s favorite, and casually reaches out his hand to you like you’re just someone he kind of knew back in high school.

Finally, your hand clasps with his. A dap, a squeeze; he taught you how to do it properly back then when you were together, something you do every after making out.

“I always do,” you reply, clearly pointed. His eyebrows knit for a few seconds, before he realizes what you mean, then he breaks out to a wider smile.

Before anything else can happen, Mia grabs your arm like a lifeline and yanks you through the crowd until you’re finally pressed up against the bathroom wall, the sounds of the party muffled behind the door. “How do you know that guy?!”

You basically scream into your hands once you get inside, while Mia yanks you beneath the hand dryer, pulling specifically the wet patch underneath to let it dry. 

Right. You got alcohol on you. You practically forgot how wet you are.

“That was my fucking ex, Mia!” you shriek.

She freezes immediately, eyes going wide when she realizes who you’re talking about.

“Wait. Wait. Wait. That’s… no. That’s the guy? Wait, first or second?”

“Second,” you groan again, slumping against the wall. “The same one. Holy shit, Mia. The same one.”

She grabs your shoulders and shakes you lightly. “And he’s here. At this party. And he’s… what. Hotter? Better?”

You groan again, throwing your hands in the air. “Mia, I can’t. I wanna go home.”

She rolls your eyes and shakes you by the shoulders again to get yourself together because you’re too hot and gorgeous to malfunction like this. After much encouragement from her (it didn’t work, you still feel like a slug against the wall), you two finally get out of the bathroom. She promises a drink just to get you your guts back, and of course, she delivers. She orders you two shots to salt the slug out of you, demanding you drink them now like the alcoholic-maniac she is. And like the disaster you are, you chug the burn down your throat.

The last thing you need right now is to care about your ex.

And to think about how hot he’s gotten after a few months. Like he needed to glow up, like how he looked wasn’t enough.

You know how to handle your drink well, but chugging down two straight shots must’ve fucked you up good because your knees feel weaker and your vision welcomes the lights as streaks that do wonders with feeling afloat.

You steady yourself by the table once you two get back. Your head feels light, but not in a bad way – only like the world softened around the edges and you remember that this isn’t high school; this is something you have to explore and enjoy.

So you do that. You don’t mind the reminder of high school at the corner of your peripheral, sitting on the couch so easily. 

You shake hands. You do the half-hug introductions like you’ve been friends for years. You repeat your name more times than you can count, watch it get lost immediately in the music.

Every now and then, you glance.

It follows him; the noise, the lights, the looks, because it’s him. Jake. The handsome guy in the group, the hot one in the team, the golden one even when he’s just smiling. No matter where, even in the corner of the room when he’s not doing anything – not even drowning himself in intoxication like you are. 

You know that much – the girl beside you has been eyeing the ‘guy in a leather jacket and eyeglasses at the side’. Jake, of course, who's got his sleeves rolled up like he doesn’t know just what kind of effect his veiny arms have. You admit, your heel might have jabbed her foot a few times, accidentally or not.

Jake’s a few feet away in the other table, leaning back with the natural ease of directing himself through social gatherings without trying hard. He’s talking to someone, head tipped slightly as he listens, smiling at something you can’t hear.

He’s not looking at you

A twinge blooms in the middle of your chest, just between the bones that cage your lungs. But before it worsens, you’re already bottoming out a drink Lila offered to you because you’re not about to orbit someone who somehow had the time for social stuff but never enough time for you. 

You wonder about the nights you waited for Jake’s reply while he was out partying. The thought steadies you more than the alcohol does.

You straighten a little, roll your shoulders back, remind yourself that this isn’t a competition, and you look too hot to treat the night like a loss

You don’t realize it at first. That some guy’s flirting with you.

You recognize him though, he’s part of the group that came in with who-shall-not-be-named.

He’s tall, and sometimes he leans down to hear you. His smile’s great and you remember him talking something about engineering. You don’t care, you don’t even try to care. But your own body betrays you because your heels have been slowly killing you, and your legs don’t function the way they do when you’re sober. So when someone accidentally bumps into you again, you stumble back and lean against him. He laughs low, ducks down to whisper how clumsy you are while his hand settles on the small of your back to steady you.

This is stupid. You feel stupid. Not ecstatic in any way at all.

The guy beside you says something again – teasing, light, trying – much of your disinterest. He takes a step closer and says your name like it’s something he wants to remember. 

You look around when the guy beside you takes a sip of his drink, letting this moment catch. 

But Jake’s eyes are already on you. He’s not laughing nor talking anymore, just watching you.

His expression is unreadable, jaw set tightly, the muscle jumps once and his hand curls around his cup like he’s finally clocking the distance between you and the guy, like he’s noticed the hand at your back.

The guy beside you leans in again. “So,” he says, voice easy, confident. “You're single, right?”

You don’t answer – you don’t even look at him. Your eyes stay on Jake and he doesn’t look away either. He’s looking at you like he’s sick of pretending he does not see you. Like he’s wondering if he’s been too patient waiting for a sign.

He turns away, taking a sip of his drink like he meant for you to catch him too, and now he’s frustrated that he's caught something else he didn't want. His jaw is still clenched, tight enough that the line of it looks sharper under the dim lights when he tilts his head slightly to the side, licking the inside of his cheek in the way he does when he’s mad.

You see that goddamn nose, tall and pointed. And you want nothing but to sit on it in front of this guy.

VIRGINs™.

You close your eyes and pull away like you’re burnt, not even managing a simple polite excuse before you practically shove him away from you and find your way to your friends.

Mia’s there immediately, she grabs your wrist and yanks you back into the safety of your circle. “Come on, babe. Drink up.”

Lila’s already pressing a cup into your hand, eyes sharp, knowing, and they’re assholes for this. Still, it’s comforting, the way they’re holding you now. “Bottoms up!”

You drink it immediately, barely registering the taste before you feel the rush, the way it hits your bloodstream and scrambles everything before they could form something coherent such as Jake’s face and how mad he looked when someone else had you.

“Dance?” Mia asks with an encouraging yell, but she’s already pulling the three of you together into the dance floor. 

The music crashes over you again, bass rolling through your chest and loosening something in your knees. The alcohol smooths everything out until moving feels easy and impulsive. You follow Mia and Lila without thinking, letting the rhythm carry you forward like a tide. Bodies blur together around you – all grinding, swaying, hands reaching up toward the lights as they flash and stutter. You drift closer to them, arms brushing, steps syncing, three girls caught in the same pulse, heat and laughter and movement packed into a space too tight and too loud. 

You close your eyes. You let the music hold you. And even when you try not to, you feel it; Jake’s gaze lingering on you like a ghost of warmth, woven into the rhythm, impossible to shake.

Tip #4: Think imgonnagetyouback mindset.

It’s 4am.

The music has started to die down. The chaos of the party is reduced to less and scattered laughter, half-empty cups, and people basically fumbling for their coats with wobbly feet and fucked vision. You swear you can smell vomit somewhere near, you’re just not sure if it’s on you and dangerously close by. 

You’re halfway gone on the couch, leaning against Mia’s shoulder because it’s the only thing keeping you upright right now. Deadweight, basically. Lila is fussing over you, holding a bottle of water up your lips like it’s a lifesaver. “C’mon, just one sip. You’ll thank me.”

“‘m fine,” you mutter in that slurred way, eyes half-closed, and completely stubborn while you swat her away like a useless baby. “You’re not fine. Look at you, Ms. I’m-not-getting-drunk.”

“‘m fiiiine,” you repeat, muffled against Mia’s shoulder, mostly because speaking more feels exhausting.

You don’t see it, but Jake’s with his friends. He’s laughing quietly, ready to disappear into the cold late hour, early morning. He’s completely normal and okay, sober compared to the disastrous sight of you. Which should be very embarrassing, but you’re way too blacked out to even know what’s happening.

He stops. His gaze flicks toward you. “Hey,” he calls softly.

Mia and Lila immediately exchange a look  – half amusement, half mischief – because of course, of course this is happening. And your ass is too drunk to handle your own plotline, so what would these simple women do if not steer it for you?

“Uh… he’s asking about you,” Mia says slowly, patting your leg. You groan softly. “Tell h’m ’m fine,” you mumble, voice battered with alcohol, low and coarse from fatigue.

“Tell him yourself,” Lila says, and you groan again.

Jake’s friends start moving toward the door, laughing under their breath and nudging him along. But Jake stays where he is across from you, doing something he knows he shouldn’t be doing (has been doing for the past few hours anyway), which is staring. Because whatever he’s feeling right now has him frozen in place, ethics slipping through his fingers, all because of you.

And in that second, when he looks at you better and sees just how disheveled you look, the tiniest smirk tugs at his lips, not even attempting to restrain himself. He looks like he’s holding back a joke, like he knows exactly what your stubborn little face is doing, leaning there, stubborn and tipsy and entirely (not) his.

“Is she okay?” he asks, not teasing, just him.

Mia snorts, Lila laughs quietly. Then, you lift your head to shoo away this man, until you see him and freeze, dignity crumbling little by little the more time you spend in this godforsaken club.

Jake. Standing there, relaxed, very much sober, and looking at you. Just you.

“You okay?” he asks again, softer than before.

And you can’t help it. A tiny, annoyed frown slips onto your face, one you didn’t mean to make, because of all the alcohol and the chaos and the mess of people bothering you, you see him and you remember you’re not exactly goody-goody with him, but he’s here asking if you’re okay anyway, acting so concerned about you.

Last time you remember, he can’t make time for you!

“’m fine,” you blurt, slurred, stubborn, mad, and a little breathless.

Then you fall back on Mia’s shoulder, deciding upon yourself that this is just a dream and he will disappear and you can go back to the life he wasn’t a part of.

Of course, he’s not convinced. 

Jake’s gaze flicks to Mia and Lila. He knows that you’re stubborn enough to try to walk home on your own if left unchecked.

“How are you getting her home?” he asks them this time, voice calm but with that subtle edge of concern.

Mia straightens a little, gauging just how to strategically use this wild card given to her by the guardian angels themselves like it’s fucking Uno. “Honestly? I don’t fucking know.”

Jake looks at both of them – at you – much in disbelief. Mia firmly believes she made the best choice.

Jake’s gaze shifts back to Mia and Lila, serious now, like now he’s assessing the logistics of this situation. “Where’s… uh, her dorm?” he asks, calm but firm.

Mia smiles and has the nerve to relax against the couch. “Oh… uh, it’s actually a bit farther away,” she says quickly, waving her hands vaguely. “But…it’s 4 am, there’s creeps out, and, you know…we’re all girls.” She lets the last part hang, her eyes flicking to you and Lila for piteous effect, acting the part of damsels in distress.

Jake raises an eyebrow. Before he can even open his mouth, Mia’s already talking again. “So… do you think you can take her? Please? We are soooo tired, it’s sooo late, and she’s basically useless right now.” She glances down at you slumped against her shoulder, half-asleep, barely clinging to consciousness.

Lila’s already nodding emphatically after understanding this turn of events, giving you a little squeeze for emphasis. “Yeah. You’d be, like… her hero or something,” she says, grinning.

Jake lets out a quiet, almost exasperated laugh.

“Guess that’s my job, then,” he says, voice low and soft, almost like he’s talking just to you about something only you’d understand. 

Always to the rescue, apparently.

One second you’re warm and hazy against Mia’s shoulder, the next you’re being shifted, hands lifting you under your arms, voices overlapping in a blur of wait – careful – okay, got her – 

And then, Oh. This is familiar.

You press into his chest without thinking, forehead tipping forward until it rests just beneath his collarbone. His sweater is warm and smells faintly like detergent and something unmistakably like his perfume – you know because you bought it for him last Valentines.

Jake stiffens for half a second.

Then he exhales, adjusts his grip, one arm sliding more securely around your back, the other settling under your knees. He struggles a little, just a little, shifting his footing, maybe because he’s still registering the reality of you in his arms.

You make a tiny sound in protest, brows knitting faintly in your sleep, and he smiles wider.

Mia points a finger at him immediately, all serious now. “You take care of her. I will hunt you down.”

Lila crosses her arms. “I know where you live.” (she doesn’t)

Jake snorts quietly. “Duly noted.”

He looks down at you again, expression softening, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your side like muscle memory never left him. You shift closer, nose brushing his sweater. “I’ve got her,” he says, steady now.

Mia and Lila exchange a look, satisfied with their contribution to this plot twist and turning the course of events in your life effectively, then step back, already halfway to freedom. The script’s flipped and you’re leaving a dumb party with him, no handcuffs needed.

“Text us when she’s in bed,” Mia adds. “And water. Make her drink water.”

Jake nods. “Yeah. I know.”

With you tucked against him, asleep and unaware, Jake Sim turns toward the door and carries you out into the quiet, early-morning air. He slips you into the passenger seat of his Bronco, which smells like faint cologne and pristine, organized and fixed while – you are basically deadweight, heavy, and uncooperative, completely misplaced in his world. So when you shift in the passenger seat to get more comfortable after he slides you in, your elbow swings out without warning, smacking him lightly in the face while he’s trying to buckle you in.

“Whoa – hey,” Jake mutters, voice low but amused. You groan softly, like you’re the one who deserves to get mad, eyes still half-shut. 

You slump further, letting yourself sink into the seat, muttering something that barely comes out as a coherent “sorry” that obviously isn’t meant. He doesn’t say much, just shifts the car into gear, and starts driving.

The next memory hits and you’re in the dorm lobby, blinking at the familiar walls while Jake has you wrapped up in his arms. Suddenly, you notice your own weight again and decide, maybe you can walk on your own.

“Okay, I’m good,” you mutter, pushing lightly at him.

“No, you’re not,” Jake protests, tightening his hold.

“I can walk, thank you very much.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you pry yourself from his clutch and take a shaky step forward, bare feet on the cold marble, instantly a washing regret because it’s freezing. Only then do you realize – you’re not wearing heels, you’re not even holding your bag, and Jake is standing there with basically everything you own, dangling in his hands like some overzealous luggage attendant.

“Really, you’re just showing off now, aren’t you?” you huff.

He gives you an “are you serious?” guise, and he looks fed up if it weren’t for the small smile that says otherwise. Like he’s entertained and he likes this, watching you with the kind of gaze too thrilled for someone who’s supposedly your ex. 

Maybe around five steps later, your foot catches and you stumble, losing balance instantly. Before you even fall, his arms are around you again, steadying you — and once again you’re pressed against him. He lets out a soft scoff of amusement, finding you both irritating and adorable simultaneously.

“We should stick to plan A,” he murmurs, the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re too drunk to pretend you’re not.”

You groan into his chest, limbs still heavy. But you don’t protest anymore, letting him guide you to the elevator. He gets you to your room with minimal fighting this time.

The door clicks shut behind you, the familiar quiet and comfortability settling in way too fast because now you just want to sleep pronto. Jake guides you over gently, hands warm and steady at your waist until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You sit down obediently, blinking up at him like you’re trying very hard to stay awake and failing anyway.

“Okay,” he murmurs, already turning. “Stay.”

You do. Shockingly.

By the time he comes back with a cold bottle of water, you’re slouched slightly, hands folded in your lap, hair falling over your face. He presses the bottle into your hands and nudges it toward your mouth.

“Drink,” he says softly, the way he used to – like he knows you’ll listen if he keeps his voice gentle.

You do. You take small sips, nose scrunching at the cold, eyes half-lidded as he watches to make sure you actually swallow. He waits until you’ve had enough, then takes the bottle back and sets it on your desk within reach.

“There you go,” he says, quiet praise tucked into the words.

He thinks he should go now, now that you’re safely in your room and in your bed. Though he hesitates, eyes flicking to your face – your lashes clumped with false lashes and mascara, faint shimmer still clinging to your lids, concealer intact, lipstick smudged. A smile tugs at his mouth, fond, and a little resigned.

“You’re gonna hate it if you sleep like that,” he says lightly, gently poking your cheek. “D’you want to take your makeup off?”

You nod immediately, just small and sleepy, still fighting your way to stay awake.

“Mm,” you hum.

He exhales a soft laugh and heads to your bathroom, carefully of course, cautiously going through your room and locating familiar products on your counter. He comes back with your remover, cotton pads, even your headband.

He places everything carefully into your hands. “Here.”

You stare down at it – long, blank, confused – like you’re waiting for them to work themselves out onto your face. Then you look up at him, brows pinched slightly, lips pouting in concentration like you’re trying to remember a thought you just had.

“‘M just… gonna sleep,” you decide, voice small and stubborn, followed by a yawn.

Jake closes his eyes for a second, pinching his nose bridge before his hands fall on his hips. “Yeah,” he sighs, smiling despite himself. “I figured.”

He gently takes the things from you before you can drop them, then crouches properly in front of you. He tilts your chin up with two fingers, touch feather-light. 

“Don’t move,” he murmurs.

He gently and carefully removes your false lashes first. Then he soaks a pad and starts slow, careful, wiping beneath one eye first, one side at a time. His touch is patient like he’s handling something fragile.

“That okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod again, leaning into his hand without thinking. He smiles at that, just gently holds your jaw.

He works in silence, almost reverent in the way he handles you so gently. He’s switching pads, murmuring the occasional “there we go” or “almost done,” wiping makeup away until your face is bare and clean again. His thumb lingers for half a second at your cheek, warm, familiar.

You sway slightly, fighting sleep, eyes drooping.

“Hey,” he says gently, tapping your knee, tipping your chin back with his two fingers. “Stay with me, yeah?”

You hum in response, something content and sleepy, and his chest tightens.

He stands when he’s done, then he sets everything aside and looks at you for a long moment – sitting on your bed, hair messy, makeup gone, eyes heavy but trusting. You’re looking up at him through your lashes, and he really likes you that way. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs before he can stop himself.

Your brows knit together, lips pushing into a soft, unhappy pout, like something about this doesn’t sit right with you – because with all honesty, this feels like something you’d look back with regret and hate.

Jake notices immediately. He straightens a little, eyes searching your face. “What is it?”

You blink at him, slow and glassy, like you’re trying to line your thoughts up and they keep slipping away. “…why’re you here?” you ask, voice slurred, small, and drunk.

He shouldn’t engage with you when you’re like this.

Still. He can’t not.

“What?”

You frown deeper, shaking your head slightly, hair falling into your eyes again. “You’re… you’re acting like you care,” you mumble. “Why are you pretending?”

His brows furrow this time. “I’m not pretending,” he says quietly.

You scoff, weak and breathy, clearly unconvinced, clearly drunk. “It’s not fair.”

Jake swallows. “You’re drunk,” he says gently. “You’re tired.”

You nod once, sharply. “Yeah. And you’re here. And you’re… being like this.” Your voice wobbles despite your effort to sound annoyed, you point a finger at him. He glances at it then back to you, not being able to keep himself from smiling. “So which one is it, Jaeyun?”

The way you say his name undoes him. Completely.

When he doesn’t answer you, you frown, trying to focus through the fog in your brain. “Probably like this with all the girls you meet, then?” 

He blinks once before he chuckles quietly, very amused with your insobriety. Then, slowly and deliberately, he leans over just enough to tap your forehead with a finger, teasing but gentle. “Aren’t you the one who was flirting with some guy tonight?” he asks, half-smile tugging at his lips. His eyes shine with something you can’t quite name – soft amusement, pride, maybe even jealousy in the right angle.

You let out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t like him.” you mumble, head leaning back, eyes half-lidded when you look up at him through your lashes.

Jake’s smile softens, grows warmer, almost proud. “I know,” he says simply.

Your chest hammers, and it’s not just the alcohol anymore – hasn't been, really – it’s him. He watches you like he’s memorizing every detail – the messy hair, the curve of your hips, the way your eyes drift between amused and annoyed – and you feel seen. Now, you know, you’re hopelessly, irreversibly caught; drunk or not.

You murmur something then, so soft it barely makes it past your lips.

Jake blinks. “What?”

You don’t repeat it. You just stare at him, eyes unfocused, lashes heavy, mouth tight because the words slipped out before you could decide if you meant them.

He leans in a little. “Hey,” he says quietly. “What’d you say?” As he moves closer, his hand lifts on its own. He gently tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear like he’s afraid of startling you.

You both know this shouldn’t happen, that this is beyond the rules of exes and the quiet decency you’re supposed to keep between people who already broke each other once. This look, this closeness, the way his attention lingers like he’s forgotten how to pull it back – it’s all wrong. And yet he’s looking at you like he’s still falling, slow and helpless, like nothing ever ended, and in the quiet of it you realize the worst part isn’t that it’s happening. It’s that you want it to. Drunk or sober.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you look up at him from under your lashes.

“I miss you,"

Jake's heart? It does a sharp, traitorous jump, like it’s trying to climb into his throat, and for a split second he forgets how to speak. The golden star he is, known for being well-spoken and articulate with his sentences now rot speechless in the presence of the only girl he’s ever loved.

“Oh,” he says, because it’s the only sound he can manage.

His hand drops slowly back to his side, turning into a fist, like he needs the grounding of knowing better than let this thrive.

“Hey,” he murmurs, quieter now, steadier than he really feels. “You’re drunk.”

You nod, breaking away the eye contact. “I know.”

Jake swallows, jaw tightening as he looks down at you. He looks… a bit wrecked, like he’s trying to decide whether this is real or just the cruelty of 4 am and too much alcohol. His hand slides to your jaw again, thumb warm against your cheek, grounding himself just as much as it does you.

Then he leans in.

He dips his head just enough that his lips brush on your forehead. And with hesitance, he presses another kiss at the bridge of your nose.

You let out a small, breathy laugh. It slips out of you, soft, a little incredulous, and you lift your hand to weakly shove at his chest. “What the fuck are you doing.” you say through a breathy laugh, half-protest, half-something else entirely but feels close to intimate.

Jake smiles. The tension in his shoulders eases just a fraction. “Relax,” he murmurs, fond – always fond. “You’re gonna knock me out like that.” His sarcasm makes your blood and chest curl with heat. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but your hand lingers at his chest instead of pulling away. He glances down at it, then back at you, smile deepening just a little. You try to shove him again, this time with even less force, because you’re everything messy but he likes that anyway. “You’re weird.”

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, eyes warm. “You’ve told me that before.

Bygone will be the bygone’s era, yet they fade into gray, blurry, and uncertain. Because he who should remain obsolete looks the most vibrant in the dull vision of intoxication. You can’t decide whether you’re gonna curse him out or pull him into bed with you – but now, you hate him all the same. Because you can hear the whispers in his eyes – and they sound a lot like late night apologies for not finding time for you.

Jake straightens at last, hands lifting in surrender. “Okay,” he says gently. “That’s my cue.”

You start to fall back on your mattress, head back against your soft pillow from incredulity at what the fuck life has brought you to.

You’re just drunk, you think, for the way indignation (from remembering) and nerves blend into a tarty smoothie in the pit of your stomach. Jake carefully helps you tuck in and pulls the blanket higher around you.

“Sleep,” he whispers. “We’ll talk when you’re not like this.”

He waits until your breathing evens out, which doesn’t take long. Once the tension leaves your shoulders, your lashes finally rest against your cheeks, and your fingers loosen their grip on the blanket. Only then does he move again. Jake slips into the bathroom, opening the cabinet above the sink, and finds what he’s looking for almost immediately. He takes a couple of painkillers then places them beside your water bottle, lined up like a reminder for the morning.

You’re curled slightly on your side now, blanket pulled up to your chin, hair fanned like feathers across the pillow. He dims the light instead of off, and steals one final glance over his shoulder – like he’s imprinting the sight of you into memory.

Then he leaves. That familiar smile lingers on his face – the kind that’s always been yours.

He finds it that he was never not yours.

Tip #5: He’s responsible, proceed with caution.

You wake up with a really shitty hungover. Your head hurts, your mouth tastes like regret, and your brain keeps replaying things it shouldn’t be replaying. Then there’s knocking at 10:17 am, according to your phone, which feels too early for anything.

You consider pretending you’re dead, but Mia has never respected boundaries, not even in theory.

They settle in like this was always the plan, like your room is a recovery ward for debriefs and recollection and greasy sandwich breakfast. 

Then they say his name casually like it doesn’t still do things to you. 

Jake pretended he didn’t care.  Jake was normal.  Jake was looking at you every time you moved.  Jake was looking when you weren’t. 

You don’t know which part makes your stomach twist harder, the fact that you weren’t imagining it or the fact that it changes nothing, because knowing he still looks doesn’t mean he’s allowed to.

You’re feeling everything all at once, which you shouldn’t, by the way, because he’s your fucking ex.

And then the water bottle and the pain killers on your nightstand – a reminder from him and the physical evidence of his tracks that he was here.

You go on to fill their hearts content with what happened last night, about how Jake was so responsibly firm and gentle with you and treated it as if it wasn’t an inconvenience. As if he had the time to do all of it; slowly, carefully, steadily, not in a rush for a deadline he’ll say sorry for later – not anymore. Last night, in your own room while you were drunk and gone, Jake Sim played daddy.

Mia peeks through her fingers. “You’re saying this very emotionally.”

“I’m saying this very hormonally,” you snap. 

Right now, you remember the wet patch of alcohol from last night. As well as the tears you’ve shed from high school because he wasn’t able to manage his routine in a way that he can balance his school life and your relationship. 

Right now, Jake isn’t that. He can hold you without it feeling like he’s losing time. Right now, you get fucking wet from the thought of him being a responsible guy, treating you like he was supposed to do – and yeah, you remember the tears, except they’re running down your thighs now.

A little “There you go,”, “Drink.”“Don’t move,”, “That okay?”“Stay with me, yeah?”, and of course, “Good girl,”, which is plainly ideal foreplay.

You’re mid-chew when your phone buzzes on the mattress behind you.

Mia manages to snatch it before you can, and you basically start whining for her to give it back. Too late, she’s read the preview and says it out loud, 

jake: you alive?

You groan, dropping back on your bed because you’re absolutely emotional and embarrassed and hungover and turned on by your ex. 

You can’t believe it. After months of no contact ever since the breakup, specifically 7 months and 2 days ago, he breaks it to ask if you’re alive like he didn't just kill you.

“I hate him,” you mumble.

“You absolutely do not,” Mia says, shoving your phone back to you immediately. “Text him back.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Mia says, already sitting on your legs to pester you.

You stare at the screen. This totally isn’t fair and you know that he knows this is wrong – exes don’t talk to each other and check up on one another and tuck each other in and kiss each other’s foreheads. 

Before the girls protest which reponse sounds natural, your phone buzzes again.

jake: drink water btw

You shut your eyes and try to calm down your heart while he tries murdering it with Instagram texts. What is he doing? Why’s he doing it? Does he know he’s actively committing felony?

“Oh my God,” Lila whispers. “He’s still taking care of you."

Mia flops beside you. “Okay. We’re doing this strategically.”

“No strategy,” you say quickly. “I am not opening a door.”

“Too late,” Mia says. “The door is already cracked. He carried you through it.”

Fuck, she has a point. 

Your head still aches, but it’s not just the hangover anymore. It’s the memory of his hands steady on your waist while he talks you through it, his voice low and patient. He didn’t rush you. Didn’t take. Didn’t demand anything. Just stayed. Willingly. And smiled charmingly while he did – with extremely good teeth too.

You exhale slowly, then finally type: alive. sorry if i was a lot.

You hit send before you can chicken out, and the three of you stare at the screen like it’s a bomb.

The reply comes almost instantly. Oh wow, now he remembers how to use a phone – how to charge it too.

jake: you werent

That’s it. No flirting, no emotional ambush, no anything else, just a message that makes you think if he’s letting you open a conversation or if he’s closing it himself. He really is messing with your brain, and it’s not good for you – nothing about Jake Sim was ever good for you.

Tip #6: Prepare for the Instagram story.

Your phone stays quiet from his messages for the rest of the following weeks. At first you tell yourself that it’s good. It’s proof that you’re both mature and healthy, because you acknowledged that the night happened, but didn’t see it as an opening for anything else. 

Except you, maybe. You’re back to wondering where he is on campus. It’s life playing tricks on you; letting your heart go on a rollercoaster of events only to snatch it and buckle you back in your routine that didn’t include him.

Jake wasn’t an online kind of person ever since college started, only really posted stories when someone else mentions him on theirs. Stalking him through social media is futile, but you always go back to his posts, anyway – like a temporary remedy.

There used to be four posts, three highlights. But for very obvious reasons, your proof of occupation was removed.

It feels like highschool, when you danced this humiliation pirouette around something you wanted but had to pretend you didn’t. To act like you’re not itching even though your concentration has been compromised, which is obviously piteous for someone as bright as you. 

So you don’t do anything, more than willing to participate in this game of composure to see who’d break first. You keep your decorum. You keep your dignity folded neatly in your back pocket.

Nothing happens.

‘Til it’s late out and you’ve just finished studying 2 lessons – which obviously immediately means you’re more emotionally unstable and desolate tonight. And you’re not exactly expecting a tragic ambush for the cherry on top, because you're not thinking right now, not when your mind’s running on about limits in Calculus 1 – which is ironic because you're clearly on one.

It’s muscle memory, really – open app, tap, tap, oh. You don’t even register it until the screen loads and the familiar username appears on the top of your screen.

You’ve viewed it 52 seconds after he uploaded the story. Like you were waiting on his proof of life and decided to pounce him, straddling and all, the moment it shows.

And then when you process just what the story is, that’s where your stomach drops. It’s a repost from a girl’s story, who took a picture of Jaeyun leaning against the table, using his phone while she’s holding coffee and sitting really close – as in, legs brushing, overly intimate, something old you would post when he was your boyfriend – that you scoff so loudly and practically fling yourself back against your chair.

So that’s why. That’s why he didn’t text even though he said you’ll talk when you’re sober. He has a girlfriend and obviously, you’re the last thing he’d ever have in mind. And you? You remain lonely and single and pathetic and pining for another man in other girls stories and leg-brushing-tionship.

That’s also when you notice the little caption tucked in the corner. thanks for the coffee ig

Right, and she’s flirting plainly and publicly and clearly claiming territory. You don’t even see her face but you could tell immediately how perfect she probably is, as far as your insecurities are concerned: she’s the same year, probably shares ⅔ of his classes, sees him all the time, and gets free coffee from him.

And your phone’s been suffering lately, attempting to function on 1gb left on your storage. It’s laggy, that’s when it downright betrays you after 2 years together. It lags and your hand probably slips or something, because you like the story.

Shit.

You blink. Then you scream. You unlike it then you throw your phone away after, shrieking against your pillow while you decide whether it’s time to delete your Instagram account for good. You decide on multiple options here actually, but all of it comes to a choice when your phone buzzes.

jake: ?

God you wish you could sleep. But there are monsters in your head called impulse and pride, and they’re tag-teaming you while your phone lights up like it knows exactly how weak you are. You stare at the screen. The single question mark feels louder than any paragraph he could’ve sent and it’s annoying and he feels like the asshole he never was.

you: phone lagged mb

You hit send before you can overthink it into something kinder. In your best efforts to be civil, there’s still a faint aftertaste of not my fault, it’s yours. 

Three dots appear almost immediately. Disappear. Reappear. Like it was meant to piss you off. You roll onto your back, arm flung dramatically over your eyes like you’re auditioning for a film about female suffering directed by Greta Gerwig.

When you said ok, you thought he meant on a customary, normal-person time and date. And you should think like what a regular citizen act on this eccentric occasion – such as declining his absurdity and sleeping because you have lecture tomorrow. You ask yourself what you’re doing in this cafe now, in a tee and sleep shorts, arms crossed while you wait for the man who somehow still knows how to summon you with two texts and zero explanation.

You look around like you might recognize another idiot who showed up for emotional closure in pajamas, but there’s no one. Just you, your crossed arms, and the creeping realization that you look like a girl waiting to be let down. You’re not the girlfriend, not even the ex that gets proper boundaries, but the one he can call at 1 am – the punchline practically knows your name.

The bell over the door rings and there he is, exactly as expected, annoyingly composed in a hoodie with sleeves rolled to his elbows – and this time, you’re both sober. You look at each other a second too long, like you’re both checking for signs of intoxication that might excuse whatever happens next. When you find none, you decide that it’s the worse version of the night – clear-headed and intentional: there’s no buffer tonight with excuses to lean on. 

Jaeyun gestures toward the counter. “You want coffee?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine,” you say with a sigh. “I have lecture in the morning.”

And then he just nods, tongue poking the inside of his cheek while he decides what to do now. You both sit in a table for two, across from each other – which isn’t anywhere in the safebook because it’s close enough to feel familiar, but far enough to be safe.

“You said things the other night,” he starts carefully. Of course, because he treated your fleeing like a lesson, and he now talks like a man (doesn't make him one, though). “When I helped you home.”

Your stomach tightens and you chew on the inside of your cheek to try for casual. “I was drunk.”

“That all?” His brow cocks up, like he obviously doesn’t believe that’s all. “You didn’t mean it?”

Honesty has always been your downfall with him, even after spending half your life pretending and lying about what you feel for him. “I said I missed you,” you say flatly, owning it before he can dress it up. You laugh under your breath in disbelief of your position now. “There. Are you happy?”

He looks at you then and whatever he sees makes his shoulders drop a little. Jake sighs, fingers fidgeting underneath the table while he thinks of what to say now, just before he swallows and looks back into your eyes. “I didn’t text because I didn’t know if you wanted to talk to me sober.”

“So you waited,” you say. “Until I embarrassed myself.”

Honestly, the phone does work two ways. Maybe he was also pensively standing by for a sign that you’re still willing to let him in solemnly – but for fuck’s safe, was he meant to play hard-to-get while you chase?

Now he smiles, tongue poking the inside of his cheek because clearly you’re being petty and he’s measuring just how much patience he has tonight. Jake says your name quietly, low and firm, which does 7 natural wonders in your abdomen.

“Honestly? I was wondering if you remembered, or if it was just something you said because you were drunk.”

He delayed, he avoided, he compartmentalized, and he resurfaced at this ungodly hour. So yes, you get to be petty in thin sleep shorts because he fucking messaged you at 1am after posting another girl in his story. 

Indifference isn't respect, avoiding isn't civility.

When he looks back at you, his expression is composed, which is unusual for someone as emotional as him. “I didn’t say anything back that night,” he says, meeting your eyes.

You nod. “I noticed.”

“Yeah.” He practically huffs out a laughter. “I just didn’t want to say the wrong thing.”

You watch him, unimpressed despite the heartaches that say otherwise; loud and thrumming through your body in the form of your foot tapping. 

“I figured if I answered at that moment, it would either sound like I was some guy who’s going to take advantage of a moment just because it’s convenient.” Then he straightens, like now he’s talking out of judicious judgment and not out of the heavy first-love impulses to work it out with you. “I chose time,” his voice steady. “For both of us.”

A minute of silence passes but you don’t try to break it, not that you had the proper words to do it anyway. He sees you though, even when he can’t see your eyes.

When it’s clear that you won’t say anything anymore, Jake swallows, then leans his elbows against his knees to at least try to find your gaze.

“I missed you,” 

You look up at him before you can stop yourself, like your body reacts faster than your pride ever could. His eyes are on you already, open and honest and a little scared, despite the composure he holds tight.

“But missing someone,” he continues, “doesn’t automatically mean going back is the right move. And I don’t want to pretend it is.”

The cafe noise swells for a second, people talking about their much jovial nights, but the only words ringing in your head are Jake's.

Dumb and easy, that’s what you are, what always will be. Because you should be mad at him right now, right? You're supposed to curse him out, block him in social media, and never reminisce the past like an aspiring historian.

He leans back in his chair, measuring exactly how much gravity to put on the moment. “I know I messed up,” he admits softly. “Not texting. All of it. I’m sorry.”

You huff a laugh that’s equal parts bitter and incredulous. “That’s just your character, isn’t it?”

He smirks faintly like it’s an inside joke he fully understands, that half-smile that used to make your chest do dumb things when you were 18 and convinced he was untouchable. “Maybe it’s strategic inconvenience?”

You roll your eyes. “Strategic inconvenience,” you repeat, flatly, like it’s a brand. “You mean… you’re an asshole.”

“Point taken,” he says, hands up like he surrenders but he doesn’t flinch when you call him that, doesn’t ask for sugarcoating, doesn’t even try to defend. He just accepts.

“You know, you can't decide I’m already guilty before I finish talking.”

You tilt your head, crossing your arms. “You are guilty.”

A corner of his mouth twitches. “Exhibit A.”

“Don’t make jokes,” you say firmly. “That’s how you get out of things.”

“I’m not getting out of anything,” he replies with a smile that almost mocks. “I’m sitting right here.”

“Bare minimum,” you mutter.

He leans forward this time, elbows on the table, eyes on you. “What do you want me to say?”

Now you feel the aftertaste of bad decisions and ideas, when he’s looking at you that despite how gone pride is in this moment – now just running on want and unhealthy self-management – he looks like he won. ‘Cause sure, he fucked the circadian rhythm and pulled you out in pajamas like hauling a rabbit out a magician's ass and pissed you off again, but he thinks it’s worth it. Because he got to see you.

You scoff, narrowing your eyes at him, "I thought you know the right shit to say now, Jaeyun."

The way you say his name again undoes him. He grins, shaking his head like he can't believe himself for that reaction.

“I’m not here to charm my way back in. I know that doesn’t work on you anymore.”

You raise an eyebrow and he shrugs, long fingers tracing the edge of the table.

“I came because I missed you,” he continues, eyes following the lines of your features. "And because I figured if you were going to be mad, I’d rather you be mad to my face.”

You cross your arms tighter. “That’s not an apology.”

He tilts his head, eyes flicking over you – your crossed arms, your shorts, the way you’re still here despite yourself. "You're sick of apologies. I'd rather show."

You swallow. Annoyed at him, at yourself. “You look way too pleased for someone who’s supposedly guilty.”

He chuckles. “I am guilty.”

Your jaw tightens. “Don’t get comfortable.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” his smile turns stupidly fond. “You’re terrifying when you’re mad.”

This is idiotic and you do feel like one. But that has always been the deal with Jaeyun; always complicated even before you got together. And now you’re in the after being together department, you’re not sure you find yourselves to be… ex-materials. 

This is really unhealthy, but he doesn’t see you trying to leave your seat.

Jake smiles, no teeth, just smug, and pulls out his wallet from his pocket like he’s getting comfortable. “So,” he says. “Do you want me to buy you coffee now?”

He's the bad decision – the one you already made.

Oh, this is fucked.

Tip #7: Use your mouth. He likes it.

You know better than to stay up late for a guy – you swore you learned your lesson. But… the conversations were easy and traitorously familiar, exchanging stories and laughter with the natural cadence of people who knew how to do it. And to add to the betrayal, it’s… not awkward. Which is bad, like really really bad, because that means you both still have chemistry.

Jake drives you back to your dorm at 4am again like it’s your personal devil’s hour. You thank him and get down the Bronco, but he gets off too, and meets you on the other side after he rounds from the hood.

You try passing by him but he grabs your wrist and tugs you back. He gives you a once-over, smirking a little at the sight of your bare legs in this cold. 

“I’m sorry for not catching up sooner." he suddenly says. You blink, just once, like you’re trying to understand. "and for posting that girl." he adds.

“That’s not my busin –”

“It is.” he cuts you off, thumb now running over your wrist. “You get to be annoyed.”

You force the smile off from your mouth, settling to bite the inside of your cheek instead. “I know better than to pine for someone’s boyfriend.”

Now, Jake smiles like you dropped a good pun. He shakes his head, and pulls you a little closer which you could easily mistake as being clingy if you’re careless with your thoughts. “I haven’t dated or even talked to anyone after you.”

Your heart jumps and your stomach lurches. “That’s sad.” you say, light and dismissive.

He huffs a laugh through his nose. “Yeah,” he says. “Guess I’m a little pathetic.”

He pulls you just a little closer. Then he leans in, just a little. “So am I forgiven?” he says softly.

You scoff, turning your face just enough to avoid how close he is. You're not in the mood to confront just how he's looking at you. “You’re asking like you didn’t keep me up at four in the morning.”

“Strategic timing,” Jake says easily. “You're nice when you're sleepy."

"I am not."

He hums, amused, eyes dipping to your mouth like he’s thinking something he has the decency not to say. “You didn’t say no.”

You tug your hand slightly, testing him. He lets you go immediately but the warmth of where he was lingers, traitorous.

“Have a nice night, asshole.” 

Jaeyun looks at you like you’re still his favorite smart mouth. “You too, princess.”

Back in your room, you check your Instagram. Jake removed the story.

Tip #8: He's your ex, there's no slowburn.

Days pass and there’s buildup faster than what you’re used to.

After that day, the campus feels smaller. Now that you know where Jake Sim exists inside it (he shared with you his classes and where they were, just a small thing he mentioned when you guys talked). You’re not tracking it – obviously, come on. At least not consciously. It’s only inevitable, you tell yourself, knowing a place holds meaning.

You start seeing Jake Sim more, also inevitable.

At first it’s coincidence; a glimpse across the quad, a passing figure near the library steps. It’s a quick ‘hi’ and wave. Then it becomes routine – eye contact that happens faster, his hellos that always suggest more conversation. He intends them to be quick but they always takes up more time than necessary, only to end up with him running to get to his next class, you trying not to smile on the way back to your dorm. 

Then comes the heart.

You, Mia, and Lila go out for dinner – nothing fancy, just food and girls night. You take a picture, you post it to your Instagram story without thinking. Your phone buzzes less than a minute later.

A very specific like. From him, of course, his username and his profile picture. You stare at the screen for half a second before Mia notices, then Lila notices, then all three of you are shrieking because slowburn doesn’t seem to exist here at all.

Okay. Whatever. It’s fine. It’s nothing. That’s the theme with Jaeyun Sim, and you’re more than adamant to keep it rolling. You don’t think about it – well, you do but you try not to, it’s just that you pause to breathe while brushing your teeth. So yeah, you do think about it way too much for your own good. 

Enough that later, you post with more purpose and intention, though you try not to be obvious. It’s just to see.

Sometimes he likes them. Sometimes he doesn’t.

Even when it’s a really cute selfie of you – of course he doesn’t like it. But if it's a random picture of food, he likes it. 

Whatever! It probably just means that he’s totally not into you and you should actually start to realize how pathetic it is to post a story for a guy. You have to accept that he’s a player, a real NBA baller with how he manages to flirt with you and turn you over for food. 

One night, you’re out again – this time it’s loud and late and sticky with sweat and bass-heavy music. You’re back to a party after a week long of demands, dragged back to blinding strobes and catching names you’ll forget later. You slip into a bathroom stall, mirror fogged, lighting criminal but flattering enough. Mia takes a selfie, and you pose in between them while Lila stands behind you, not really overthinking it. Your outfit shows more skin than usual – not obscene to the point of out-of-character unordinary, but something’s undeniably different this time. 

You post it because it’s a good picture. You drink, you exchange names, you drink more – more importantly, you have fun and let loose. You check your phone and other than the usual flood in your inbox, you see a specific username that manages to hitch your breath every time.

A like. And a reply.

jake: i thought u had to be dragged into parties? 😂

Your breath catches so sharply you almost choke on it.

You stare at the message, grin spreading before you can stop it, warmth curling low in your chest – something light and stupid and undeniable. Because yeah, this is happening, he really is starting to be part of your life again, in these dumb ways that mean more to you. You don’t even reply right away, you just sit there for a second, phone in your hands, heart traitorously satisfied.

You don’t go home drunk that night. But you go home with an epiphany that gets you smiling into your skincare like a dumbass, replaying the message in the dark like you find something you’ve once lost.

You physically press the phone to your chest, eyes squeezed shut, a sound leaving your mouth that you will never admit happened. You stare at your screen for a long time, smiling into the quiet of your room, the night suddenly too soft, too full.

This isn’t nothing anymore.

It’s the beginning of something you’ve swam in before.

Tip #9: Post the selfie.

The next few days shift in a way that’s subtle enough to deny, and you still say it’s nothing even when you start to think otherwise. Jake’s messages start coming more. Not in a good morning beautiful way that takes things too fast and icky. You don’t talk all the time, but once a week turns into once every two days, then replies that used to lag start coming quicker.

It starts small.

A reply to something you were meant to send to Mia that accidentally ends up in his DMs instead because you’re stupid and half-asleep and maybe you’ve been backreading that’s why you were in his chat log.

You: omg im sososo sorryyyyy

jake: its aight 😭

jake: seems like my business now tho

jake: tell me 😂😂

Then there’s him reacting to things he never reacted to before – your complaints about deadlines, a blurry picture of your coffee, a story of your notes spread across the table with a self-deprecating caption.

02simjake: liked your story.

02simjake: replied to your story: real

Then one afternoon, when you’re sitting on the steps outside your building finishing up some work, your phone buzzes again.

You shake your head, laughing under your breath, heat crawling up your neck. This easy back-and-forth, this familiarity slipping back into place like it knows where home is – like you know where home is.

Back to the boy who never failed to make your heart thump like a drum.

And on some random night when you finally breathe from the uni demands, you post a simple selfie. It’s nothing. But he messages, and it’s enough to get you back on adrenaline.

simjakee_ replied to your story: go to sleep

You stare at it and type anyway.

You stare at the ceiling, a grin slowly spreading across your face, chest warm and buzzing in that unmistakable way. This is real, your ex is flirting with you on Instagram and you feel as giddy as you did at 13-years-old; back when it was you and him learning how to tie ribbons and landing on skateboards. It’s intention, soft and careful and unmistakably him, with the wisdom that came from learning the past and letting you see just how far it has improved. 

The boy who couldn’t balance you and his studies is now a responsible guy with fixed time management, on the way to your apartment – because he wants to see you. With no excuse that he doesn’t have time, or that he can’t because he’s really busy. Now, he’s asking if you have time, and he follows your schedule.

5 minutes after your dumb hoax impatience, he texts again.

jake: im here

If you had good instincts, which you doubt you do, you’d turn away with the defense mechanism of someone with avoidant attachment issues just to protect your heart – but you can’t, not when it feels this… thrilling.

You open the door and there’s your ex; tall, hoodie pulled over his cap, hands shoved into his pant pockets like he’s pretending this is casual, like he didn’t just show up at your door on impulse. You look up at him through your lashes before you can stop yourself and – God. Yeah. This looks exactly like toxic, bad decisions.

“So,” he says quietly, eyes dropping to your face. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” you answer. “Why, were you hoping?”

Jake huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. “Just checking.”

Then you let him in before you could decide to shut the door in his face and regret whatever this is. His gaze drifts, just taking in the room like he hasn’t seen it before. When his eyes come back to you, you see them check you out while you try to process that he’s standing in your room at an hour where intentions blur and honesty slips out too easily.

You cross your arms, suddenly hyper-aware of how you’re dressed. “So what do you want to do?” 

He shrugs, eyes on yours. “You really wanna ask me?”

And when you blink multiple times, the heat crawling up your neck, he smiles playfully like he didn’t realize how that sounded. He shakes his head before settling on your bed, spreading his legs while he sits on the edge, putting his cap down. “Relax. I’m not gonna do anything.”

You raise a brow. “Bold of you to assume I was worried.”

That earns another smile, warm and dangerous.

“Okay,” he says, amused. “Then what are you thinking?”

You hesitate, shifting your weight, pretending you need to fix something that isn’t actually wrong. You lean against the desk instead of sitting, arms still crossed like they might save you from yourself and your thoughts and the dooming questions. “Why did you come over?” you ask finally, voice lighter than you feel. 

Jake looks up, brows knitting together just a little, elbows resting on his thighs. “You invited me.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes like you didn’t fucking know that. “Yeah, but I didn’t force you. It’s not like I dragged you here. What made you come?”

For a second, you think he’s going to deflect, make a joke, or shrug it off the way he used to – but he doesn’t. Right now, he licks the inside of his cheek, before saying, “I wanted to see you.” No overthinking, no qualifiers, just the truth, laid down with pure honesty.

Your mouth curves before you can stop it. You immediately try to swallow the smile, turn your face away like you’re suddenly very interested in the floor.

“Oh,” you mutter. “That’s… dumb.”

“Is it?” he asks, amused.

You glance back at him. “A little.”

He laughs quietly, shaking his head. “You invited me this late and I’m the dumb one?”

“Touché,” you concede, shrugging.

Another pause settles in, thick but not uncomfortable. The kind that only exists when it’s loaded and even though it feels good, it doesn’t make it any less right. Now, again, you’re never the arbiter on what’s correct and not – yet you look at him like you’re battling with your moral compass because wrong looks so fucking hot if it’s Jake Sim.

Jake exhales through his nose, then slowly reaches out – open palm, unhurried. “Come here,” he says quietly, a balance of order and ask. 

Your heart stutters, and you hesitate just a second too long only to slip your hand into his anyway. His fingers close around yours gently, and he pulls you toward him with care. You end up standing between his knees. His thumb moves without thinking, brushing slowly over your knuckles, grounding and absent-minded all at once. 

"Thought you weren't going to do anything." you whisper. He ignores.

He leans forward, stopping just short of touching you – then tilts his head and rests his forehead against your stomach. He stays there for a moment, eyes closed, like he’s anchoring himself and is starting to realize he needs this more than he’s willing to admit.

"Is this okay?" he asks quietly.

Your stomach drops. "Yes," you answer.

He exhales, relieved, shoulders relaxing as he settles there properly. One hand still holding yours. The other resting loosely at your hip, and it’s a lot like threading dangerously down a line he isn’t sure he should cross.

Your free hand lifts before your brain can stop it. Your fingers slide into the hair at the nape of his neck, which is devastating to Jake, who lets out the smallest sound but it tells you everything.

You shouldn’t be doing this. You know it. And yet, your thumb strokes slowly, guiltily, like muscle memory never really left. Jake doesn’t move, just stays there, forehead pressed to you, breathing you in like this is the quiet he’s been missing.

“God,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I missed this.”

This. Not you.

“Jaeyun,” you call. He only hums, thumb rubbing against your hip and you feel the warmth of his touch through your shorts. Your fingers curl slightly in his hair, grounding yourself as much as he is with your hips.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” you say quietly, half a joke, half a warning. “Doing this.”

His lips twitch, but you don’t see. “I know.”

“The –"

“I missed you,” he repeats, this time not to himself but to you for sure this time. “I really don’t want to fucking pretend I don’t.”

You exhale shakily, shaking your head but you’re smiling. “You’re so annoying.” You huff out a laugh, breathless.

He looks up at you, eyes practically doe before he breaks away and shakes his head. Then he stands, hands fully to himself which fidget at the side of his jeans. At first you're confused, then scared, because you don't want him to leave.

“We can just chill.” he tells you, obviously holding his composure tight while he avoids your eyes.

You cross your arms and stare at his chest, shaking your head because you don't know what you're doing. Clearly, so does he, because when he looks at you, he's trying to read you.

It's silent, save from the sound of your appliances and the casual drive of cars outside. He's looking into you while you pick at your elbow, studying just what you want from him.

You take a step back without realizing it and Jake notices instantly, his body tensing just slightly. “You want me to go?” he asks, careful.

The thought makes your stomach drop.

“No,” you say too fast, shaking your head.

You look at each other like that – like you’re standing at the edge of something familiar and dangerous, both knowing exactly where it leads.

He swallows, throat bobbing, and your gaze follows it before you can stop yourself.

You step forward, still enclosed in your own embrace, and he watches you tensely because you've got the reins and he's just letting you steer. Your fingers curl on his hoodie, eyes refusing to meet his for now as when you tug the fabric, he willingly follows.

You look up, finally, and he's looking into you like he's reading the directions off your gaze.

He knows now, of course, plain in sight, what you need him to do.

Jake leans down slowly and carefully, enough that you feel his breath, warm against your cheek, your nose. He stops there, giving you time. “Tell me to stop,” he says.

Your noses brush and the world narrows down to breath and heat and the memory of how this used to feel.

Jake exhales, slow and shaky. “Fuck.”

Your lips brush his first – just a graze, like you’re both checking if the other will pull away because you know better than to indulge. When neither of you do, he exhales into you, a soft sound of relief, and then ducks down to your height to press his mouth on you. You flinch when his hand finds your hips. Your lips move together like you’re relearning something you never really forgot.

Jake pulls back like he got burnt. “Fuck,” he whispers, breath warm against your mouth. Then, quieter: “I really –”

His hands caress the soft curve of your waist and hips, firm but careful when he pushes you back against the counter of your kitchen – decisive in a way he’s made up his mind and isn’t going to pretend otherwise. You let out a soft breath as you stumble back, the back of your legs bumping the wood. He kisses you again, hungrier this time, hands steady on you while your tongues meet in your mouth.

Your hands find his hair again instantly, fingers threading through it like they always naturally do. Jake groans quietly this time and his hands flatten against your back, warm and grounding, holding you like he can’t handle space.

You can’t help the little sound that leaves you, and he tenses, just a little, catching your bottom lip between his teeth like restraint’s something he’s never known. You tug him down and he follows, ducking down his height just to chase your mouth. His large hands slide underneath your shirt and touches your skin there, fingertips slightly grazing the hooks of your bra.

When you pull back just enough to breathe, your noses brush. Jake rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavy but controlled.

“Shit,” he whispers again, softer this time. “This feels unfair.”

You smile despite yourself. “Do you hate it?”

He laughs under his breath, arms still wrapped around you. “Hell no,” he admits. “I’d do it again.”

You lean in for another kiss, worse than last time because his tongue presses fast into your mouth, and his warm fingers caress the skin underneath your bra hooks. You tear away for a startled laugh, smacking his arm and he smiles, before pulling you back in for another kiss.

It’s almost 3 am when you finally tell him he should go.

Jake doesn’t argue. You walk him down the building, hoodie sleeves brushing your wrist in the elevator, the air between you calmer but heavier obviously.

Outside your building, the street is empty and quiet, in a way that shows the impropriety of this rendezvous.

"Well," he says, rocking back on his heels. "Text me when you’re inside."

You scoff. "You don’t get boyfriend privileges."

He grins. "Worth a try."

You dap him out (because he always he insists you should after making out, just for tradition) and you’re already pulling your hand back when he tugs you forward just enough to press a soft kiss to the bridge of your nose.

"Goodnight," he murmurs.

Back in your room, the silence hits different.

You sit on your bed, staring across you with the post-experience clarity of what you have just done. You laugh under your breath, sharp and humorless because of course he’d do that, of course you’d let him.

This is how it starts. This is how you forget why it ended. This is how you convince yourself this time will be different.

So stupid, you think. So predictable.

So, very, toxic.

Tip #10: Let it become a habit.

For the first day, you two kinda tried pretending nothing happened. 

Jake answered texts the way he always had – flirty but polite and measured. He showed up to class, ate, slept – all in time. He even convinced himself that the warmth lingering in his palms was psychosomatic, some delayed response to nostalgia rather than the very real memory of pushing you against the counter he pretended not to remember. You were equally complicit. You waved at him across campus like nothing had shifted tectonically between your bodies. You spoke in full sentences and didn’t stammer once, so it was going pretty great.

This mutual delusion lasted exactly thirty-five hours. Because at precisely 11:07 pm, Jake Sim’s on your door unannounced, looking faintly apologetic and was simply bracing for consequences. “I was nearby,” he said, which was a lie. “I figured,” you replied, which was an acceptance. 

He stayed until 1 am. You worked on an assignment but was cut for intervals because he’d pull you in his lap and kiss you. 

Jake had always been a creature of habit, as once something entered his routine, it stayed. You slipped back in as if you’d never left. He started showing up with intent disguised as coincidence, your study sessions lasted longer than needed. There’s also late-night drives where the music stayed low and you laugh about stupid things together while munching down on McDonald’s fries.

Weeks passed and there also came the moments when the day’s busy for anything particular, that even hanging out in the same room was a little close to impractical. However, Jaeyun finds the time he couldn’t give before. He makes sure to call when you don’t meet, or a quick snack to hand over between in-between class schedules. Your favorite is when he promises just five minutes to see you after a lecture.

"Five minutes," you say. "You promised."

"I stand by that."

Then he hugs you, chin-hooked-over-your-head hug that immediately eats up about forty-five seconds. After 5 minutes;

“Time’s up.”

He doesn’t move.

“…Jaeyun.”

“Just one more,” he says quietly, arms still locked around you.

In the hallway, you’re walking with your Foreign Language partner, running lines for a presentation due the next day. He laughs at something you mispronounce, leans in to correct you, points at your notes. You don’t even think twice about it until later, until Jake decides it is a big deal.

He’s on your couch now, sprawled while you tell him it was just your partner, he scoffs.

“Yeah, right. Nothing,” he mutters.

“Literally, leave it, Jaeyun,” you say, arms crossed, irritation buzzing under your skin.

He glances at you. “Didn’t look like nothing,” he says, quieter now, sulking like he hates that he noticed at all.

You bite back you don’t get to be mad or anything at all that would turn this to a fight. Instead, you turn to your laptop, pretending to care more about another language than the way his presence tilts your focus off-center.

From the couch, his foot nudges yours absentmindedly, like muscle memory.

“You still need help with that presentation?” he asks eventually, casual, almost bored.

On some random week, Jake has had too much to drink. Now, he loves a good beer and can endure it more than the average man, but clearly, everything's been building up – you, to a great degree actually – that he comes up your building and knocks at 2am and clearly, at the very least, is tipsy.

When you open the door, all he had to do is follow the silhouette of your body underneath your thin sleepwear and listen to your very angry remarks about respect and time or whatever, before he's already letting himself in and kissing you against your bed.

He's respectful, always is, but you feel how tight he holds your hips like he's trying not to touch the skin of your thighs grazing his fingertips.

The morning comes around and you wake up with his chest pressed against your back and his arms around your waist in your bed – no hookup, clothes still on, just messy makeouts – but it's enough for you to groan in disappointment anyway.

"We need to set boundaries." you state while you make your waffles.

Jake hums, trying not to get distracted by the curve of your ass when your back's turned to him.

You look at him, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed. "You're always like that. Always so pushy and breaking boundaries and breaking the rules – "

He manages to chuckle. "That was two years ago."

"And last night! And the nights before!" you scoff, shaking your head while you massage your temple.

It's bad. This is bad.

When you turn to look at him again, he's already in front of you, pressing close while his hand finds the side of your neck. You tilt your head up towards him, meeting his eyes which seem to study your face so closely.

You can't really think properly when he's this near, when he's touching you.

Jake’s thumb pauses at your neck. His voice is softer now, clearer than last night but still low. “I know,” he says. “Tell me to stop.”

You open your mouth, nothing comes out.

He exhales a laugh under his breath, fond and frustrated all at once, then leans his forehead against yours instead.

That's so unfair.

You swallow, and push lightly at his chest. "Stop showing up at 2am, Jaeyun."

“I know.” He nods immediately. “That’s on me. I'm sorry."

When push comes to shove, between self-respect or Jaeyun, you run on drunk impulse on a sober gut.

Your studies? A bit compromised. You still show up and pass and look functional on paper, but there’s a fog where focus should be, thoughts drifting where they shouldn't.

And the thing was – Jake Sim was still exceptional and brilliant. Still building a future with the same relentless precision that once earned him accolades and recognition, but now there was something else threaded into his life, something not quantifiable with the integers he mastered in so well.

You. A variable he no longer tried to control and pretend wasn’t doing mass decimation to his sane meter.

“…Are you serious?” Mia turns to you after what she’s dubbed an essential debriefing, legs tucked beneath her as she stares like you’ve just confessed to crime. Your life odyssey – past tense colliding violently with future tense – has been laid bare between sips of iced coffee. You sink further into her couch, picking at your nails. “I mean. I think so?”

Lila blinks. “You’ve been meeting your ex, who’s been acting like your boyfriend minus the title?”

You think about Jake – about the way he waits for you outside lecture halls, pretending to scroll through his phone like he hasn’t been tracking the time down to the minute. About the way he listens now, really listens, like he’s afraid to miss something important and is completely terrified that you’d have to repeat yourself. 

You tell yourself – just this once – that it’s fine not to define it yet. After all, habits take time to name, even the really bad ones called making out with your ex in his Bronco and going on a dinner date in a real lavish restaurant billed in his card after.

Later that night, when you’re back in your room, phone face-down beside you, you wonder when exactly it happened. You wonder if he’s thinking about you too and your phone buzzes like it heard you.

Oh, this is sick. You've become a dog.

Then once upon a time, you were only supposed to be passing through to find Jake and return the borrowed charger, then leave.

He's near the steps of the humanities hall when you spot him, surrounded by friends. He’s leaning back against the railing and there’s a girl beside him whose shoulder brushes his arm when she says something. He laughs at what she says, doesn't really flinch when she touches his arm.

His eyes lift and immediately he's already jogging over. Once he's right there, you reach the charger out but he grabs your elbow instead, then pulls you closer to him.

Jake's eyes search search your face like it's checking damage.

“What,” you ask flatly.

A slow, crooked, and infuriating smile tugs at his lips. “You look like you’re about to murder me,” he says quietly.

“Stop,” you say, low and clipped, even as you tug at your arm. He doesn’t let go, thumb warm against your sleeve to keep you there.

“Relax,” he murmurs, tone easy, almost lazy. Like you’re not two bad decisions away from ending what shouldn't have started. “I’m not doing anything.”

You glare at him. He just watches you, gaze steady in that way that’s always made you feel seen without being put on the spot.

He finally lets your elbow go, hands dropping into his pockets. “Didn’t mean anything,” he adds, glancing briefly back toward where he was standing earlier, then back to you.

Back to you.

"You look so fucking annoyed." Jake laughs, hand reaching up to ruffle your hair.

You shove lightly at his chest, more reflex than force. “Don’t.”

He stumbles back a step anyway, like you’ve wounded him, hand flying to his chest. “Wow,” he says, dragging the word out, eyebrows lifting. “Violence on campus.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips betray you – curling slightly despite yourself.

He catches it instantly even though it's barely anything. His grin widens, smug and triumphant. “There it is,” he says, pointing at you like he’s won something. “I knew you still liked me.”

Then he positions his arm over your shoulders, dragging you to lunch off-campus just to hook you back again.

Fuck. It's fucked.

Tip #11: Give him something to remember.

November is fucking hell. It was the month professors collectively decided that sleep was a suggestion and deadlines were a personality test. They expect submissions on top of other “minor” requirements that demand just as much work anyway, just to reason it out as a growth strategy for the harsh, professional world of jobs. As if the real world operated on 72-hour days and the sustained abuse of caffeine. 

You do try to see the good at the end of the tunnel from all the sadism, because in the middle of your aggressively color-coded annotated calendar sat one date circled in ink: Jaeyun’s 21st birthday. 

It wasn’t going to be another birthday to pass with simple dinner, much less under the vituperative ultimatum of the endless projects and studies.

You insisted he celebrated it with everyone.

Not just a rushed meal squeezed between deadlines or a quiet “we’ll do something later” promise that later never really comes.

So you booked the fancy restaurant, you sent the texts, and herded his friends like you're the Shepherd Himself. You told them to dress nice, and prayed no one would accidentally ruin the surprise with a dumb slip.

Jaeyun was wearing a simple crisp white button-up with trousers.

The night of, he showed up thinking it was just the two of you, until he walked in.

The table was already full with familiar faces and grins, singing happy birthday the moment Jaeyun's at the entrance like a humiliation ritual. For half a second, he just stood there, blinking, processing – then he laughed, stunned, hand dragging through his hair like he didn’t know what to do with himself and the moment of everyone he loved in one huge ass table.

“What the hell?” he said, turning to you.

You shrugged, way too casual for the amount of effort this took. “Happy birthday?”

The dinner itself was loud and warm and unpretentious despite the restaurant itself being conspicuous of poise. His friends made the space theirs anyway – chairs pulled closer, voices overlapping, utensils clinking. They toasted him for things both sincere and stupid, and his ears end up turning to a color red.

Sunghoon starts first, hand in his pocket and red wine raised high. Riki follows, then Jungwon, then Sunoo who smiles a little bashfully.

His friends told stories you hadn’t heard yet and ones you’d heard too many times, and Jaeyun took it all with that soft, crooked smile like he couldn’t believe he was being celebrated this openly.

Cake came with a candle and off-key singing he definitely didn’t ask for. Jaeyun made his wishes, cheeks warm, eyes bright.

At some point in the night, draped in Jaeyun's coat, you stand near the edge of the balcony overlooking the city below. When he slips behind you, his hands automatically settle on your waist. His cheeks are flushed, eyes bright, smile lazy and unguarded.

“Hi,” he says, like he hasn’t seen you all night.

You laugh, one hand on top of his, and the other hand threading up to the hair on his nape. “Hi, birthday boy.”

He rocks you side to side, barely moving, chin resting against your hair. “You know,” he murmurs, voice low so only you can hear, “I was genuinely okay with just us two. I meant that.”

“I know,” you say.

“But this?” He glances around at the inside, his friends, the calmed chaos. Then his gaze drops back to you. “This is… insane. In the best way.”

You tilt your head up. “You like it?”

He laughs, soft and breathless. “I’m obsessed with it. With you.”

He presses a kiss to your temple first, slow and lingering. Then another to your cheek. He pauses there, lips hovering, like he’s savoring the moment.

“Can I?” he asks quietly, eyes flicking to your lips.

You don’t answer with words. You just turn around, hands settling on his nape.

The kiss is warm and unhurried, his hand sliding up your back, thumb brushing over your spine. It’s full, sweet, and certain. Like this is exactly where he wants to stay.

Jake pulls back just enough to grin. “I love this.”

“Your party?” you ask.

“You.” he corrects easily, like the word belongs there now. Like it always has.

Later, he drags you back onto the dance floor in front of the live musicians. 

He dances badly on purpose – spinning you too fast, dipping you slightly too low your back is lowkey bad now, laughing when you squeal and clutch onto him. At one point, he lifts you off the ground just because he can, grinning like he’s won something.

“You’re showing off,” you accuse.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “It’s my birthday.”

Eventually, when your feet ache and your voice is hoarse from laughing, when the night’s adrenaline has settled on your bodies, the crowd starts to thin and some people head out. You thank them for coming, waving as they disappear into the elevator with tired smiles and leftover cake in hand.

As you make your rounds, thanking people for coming, accepting hugs, the night starts folding in on itself.

That’s when you hear it. Something that wasn't meant for you – low, lazy voices carried over by the balcony doors still cracked open.

Jake and Sunghoon are leaning against the edge, sharing what’s left of the wine. Jake’s sleeves are rolled up, posture loose in a way that only happens when he’s had a good night.

Sunghoon tilts his glass, watching the last drops swirl. “So,” he says casually, too casually. “You and her.”

Jake huffs out a breath, not defensive just honest. “No.”

Oh.

Sunghoon looks at him and waits.

“We’re not together,” Jake adds, after a beat. It's not denial, just a fact that still makes your chest curl.

Sunghoon hums. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Jake’s mouth quirks, something complicated flickering across his face. He takes a sip, eyes drifting somewhere distant like he’s replaying moments instead of looking at the present.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Like last time.”

There’s no bitterness in it, not something like regret either. Just that strange, suspended place between was and isn’t clouding over like a storm coming.

Sunghoon clinks his glass lightly against Jake’s. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “you look happy.”

Jake smiles then. “I am.”

You hide behind the wall before either of them notices you lingering, heart doing something uncomfortable in your chest.

When you reappear a minute later, Jake looks up instantly – like he felt the shift in the room.

“Hey,” he says, easy smile snapping back into place.

“Hey,” you reply, mirroring it.

But this time, when he reaches for your hand, his grip is a little tighter.

"Wanna go?" he asks, hand soothing the small of your back.

You nod, giving Sunghoon a hug before you slip behind the doors before Jake. They make their goodbyes and you wait outside, Jake's coat protecting you from the cold.

It rings, that one single word that makes the night cooler than it really is.

No, you're not dating. And he's vocal about it too, probably with all his friends who also asked. You start to realize how stupid you must've looked, sending the invites, kissing his cheek throughout the night while everyone knows that – there's nothing between you two.

Your heel taps against the concrete, lips quivering, getting into your thoughts before his palm finds your lower back and his lips press on your temple.

"I love you." he whispers while he pulls you into him.

No. We're not together. Could've fooled me. Yeah. Like last time.

The drive is quiet, the city blurs past, lights streaking softly through the windows. His hand finds your thigh at red lights, thumb brushing slow, absent-minded circles. You try not to think, because it's his day and you'd hate to ruin something this good.

So you swallow and turn to him.

“I don’t really wanna go home yet,” you admit quietly.

He glances at you, surprised for half a second, then smiles. “You can stay with me for a bit.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he says easily. “We’ll keep it chill. I’ll get you home before two.”

It’s only 11. 

At his place, everything is hushed. The shoes are off by the door, lights kept low. His apartment is very much him – some legos half-built on a shelf, posters slightly crooked, figurines taking up their space, a hoodie draped over his chair – and you’ve been over a couple of times but it’s only now you really look over his orderly clutter. 

You smile. “You never finished that one.”

He groans. “Don’t expose me.”

There’s a pause, comfortable, charged, settling in while you throw your heels somewhere across his floor. You look over the lego cars and books aligned in his book shelf, giving them a better look, until he slips his hand in yours and pulls you towards him. Jake rests his chin on the crown of your head, humming in contentment at your warmth underneath him.

“Thank you for tonight.” he says quietly. You tip your chin up to look at him and simply smile as a silent you’re welcome.

He leans in first, kissing you softly, like he’s testing the water. It’s slow, his hands on your waist with your fingers on the back of his neck.

Then another kiss, lasting longer this time. You shift closer without thinking, pressing, pulling him down to you as he melts in. His hand slides to your hips while your fingers curl into his hair, tugging just slightly.

When you pull away, you press one last kiss on the tip of his nose before telling him you'll just change out of your clothes. He nods and lets you go to his bathroom to slip into the comfort of sleepwear.

You rethink, even though you're trying not to. Let it be not another bad decision you make yet everything about him is – though you can't resist. The reminders echo but the image-driven mind can't lose the way he kisses you so good, and holds you the way you need to be held.

So when you get out, his shirt's still on but more crumpled and loosened. He's talking about something that happened in dinner, rambling the way he always does. Except when he turns to you to tell you what Riki did with the cake, Jake freezes. You look shy but still, you meet his eyes, the same ones that can't even pretend to be respectful as he stares at the imprint of your nipples through your tulle and lace nightdress.

Jake's silent and frozen, eyes wide and jaw slack. You manage a smile, softly padding your way to him. Once in front of him, you stand on your toes to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you despite how stiff he is, how careful he is not to touch you.

Still, when you kiss him, he kisses you back.

The kisses deepen naturally, like neither of you really wants to stop. But he feels your rush, when you pull closer like you’re looking for something, how you kiss harder and lick into his mouth. He pulls back suddenly – not far, just enough to look at you. He looks ragged and trying to collect his thinning composure, blinking like it will save him.

You meet his eyes, breath a little uneven, heart loud in your ears. You don’t say anything – don’t really feel like you have to. Whatever he sees in your expression makes his face change, something startled and tensed passing through it like an epiphany for something like he didn’t expect. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, slow and careful. “You’re okay?”

You nod, eyes flicking back to his mouth. “Yeah.”

He exhales, leaning his forehead against yours, eyes closed for a second like he’s steadying himself because if he doesn’t, then he’ll lose the thin veil that’s keeping him restrained. When he kisses you again, it’s still slow but more breaths – like he’s losing a part of himself when he’s giving this much to you. He keeps his hands on your waist, pulling you closer without really meaning to but because his body needs it.

And when he finally rests his forehead against yours again, smiling weakly and knowing and wanting but respecting –

“We can just stay like this,” he says, swallowing. “I don’t need anything else.” he reassures because he’s terrified that you think you need to do this for him.

You look up at him through your lashes, nodding. “I know.” you add, “I want this.”

You kiss him again before he can process it – harder and faster this time, with a weight behind it that makes his breath hitch immediately. Your hand slides into his hair, fingers threading through it as if you need something solid to hold onto.

He makes a sound he doesn’t mean to.

It’s quiet, caught in his throat, but you feel the way his hands tighten at your waist, the way his shoulders tense before he gives in. He shivers, just a little, like the kiss reached somewhere deeper than he expected and pulls out a moan from his chest. You pull away, your hands lingering. Jake has to bite his lip, feeling your warm and soft palm move from his hair, down to his shoulders, across his chest, until they finally rest flat against his abs. You feel it, the way his muscles contract from your touch, the way his breath catches shakily against your mouth.

You look up again, your eyes undeniably dark, and you see his restraint breaking as his Adam's apple bob, sweat glistening down his skin. You nudge him back, guiding him with your palms until he sits on the edge of the bed. He lets you. He doesn’t resist at all. His legs hit the edge of the bed and he sits down almost automatically.

He looks up at you then.

His hair is messy, lips pink and swollen, eyes dark and searching – like he’s trying to read you without pushing, without asking for more than you’re giving. His hands slide from your waist to rest at your hips, grounding, reverent. You stand between his knees, letting your fingers comb through his hair. 

“Baby,” he says quietly, voice rough, like he’s trying to stay in control.

Your nails graze his scalp just enough to make him inhale sharply. His eyes flutter shut for a second, forehead dropping forward until it presses lightly against your stomach.

He exhales there, like he’s holding himself together one breath at a time – but you know he’s failing. You slide one knee on one side of his hip, followed by the other, your thighs framing him as you settle in place. You straddle him perfectly and fully, hands braced on his chest as his breath stutters beneath you. 

He thinks this is fine. Straddling isn’t new. Making out isn’t new. You’ve done this a dozen times.

Until you smile, letting your nose bump against his, and lips brush together. “Hi,”

He clears his throat. “Hi.”

It's just another dress. It's new with intent and purpose, but it was alike to the others – just that you're not exactly wearing a bra underneath. He tries being rational but he can't, not when he can feel just how soft your breasts are against his chest.

You tilt your head, letting your lips glide against his, teasing the birthday boy as he tries catching your mouth with his. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently, and he responds with a low groan that vibrates straight through you. Then you kiss him, harder, claiming, his large hands pulling you closer. You shift slightly, letting the heat of your bodies sink together – until your hips press against his so suddenly that he has to stop you and pull away. 

“B-baby,” he gasps, looking up at you, eyes wide and confused and needy. “What are we doing?”

You look at him beneath you, breathless and kiss-drunk, already fucked out before anything has even happened. 

“Do you not want it?” you whisper.

He practically chokes on the air. His hands tighten instinctively at your hips.

“I –” He swallows hard, throat bobbing, eyes blinking. A little flustered, very Jaeyun. “I thought we’d wait. Like –” He exhales, embarrassed. “Until marriage.”

That’s true, he thought this is something you’d like to do after passing the eye of God or something like that. Yet you only hou hum softly, sounding dangerously close to something else, his shoulders tensing immensely. Your hands slide up, thumbs brushing his jaw as you lean in, pressing a slow kiss there – right beneath his ear. Again, you’ve never really been for righteousness.

“Do you not want it?” you ask again, slower, deliberate.

He swallows again, and you can feel him think and break, especially when you feel this soft and good in his hands. Because honestly, committing sacrilege feels sweet when it tastes like you.

You don’t wait for an answer anymore, letting your hips rock against his pants that he lets out a soft, strangled whimper. His fingers tighten against your hips, unsure whether to keep you still or press you closer.

“Jaeyun,” you whisper, tugging his hair back gently but enough for him to open his eyes to you again. He looks at you with reverence, like you’re God herself pressing your clothed pussy against his growing erection. “Do you not want it?” you ask again, needing an answer.

He blanks, zeroes, knows enough that this is all he needs to cum.

He thinks about the time he didn’t want it – which goes down to the answer: never. Not ever since he tasted you for the first time almost 2 years ago, his tongue in your mouth, your soft chest pressed against his, your thighs enclosed around him. He always felt guilty, while he fisted his cock after a hangout with you, but couldn’t really help it when he gets horny even just from kissing you. 

Things never escalated between the two of you, never anything more than breathless makeouts that always had been respectful and not overly touchy. He thought you’d like it that way, and he liked it too. He knows now, as he finds desire in your eyes, how months of missing and wanting has finally come down to this. As exes that doesn’t know how to be exes, or a situationship that’s more romantic than any other crude paperback.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, husky and suede. You smile from how meek and small he sounds – it makes you clench around nothing. 

“Am I sure if I want your dick in me?”

He fucking chokes at how vulgar you are. Gone is the woman who pretended to be annoyed with him, gone is the girl he used to bribe popsicles with.

It’s his 21st birthday, and you want nothing but to make it his most special day ever – you made sure to include this in the itinerary.

You run your hands from his hands on your hips to the length of his veiny arms, until the collar of his top. You slowly start unbuttoning his shirt, and he makes no protests, keeping his eyes on you while he lets you do the work. Once it’s off, the firm muscles of his arms flexes underneath your touch when you let your fingers graze. When you glance up, you see him clearly struggling to breathe.

You’re not rushing this – even when you think you should, just as you think how you have every right to be angry at how respectful Jaeyun Sim is.

You feel like a sex demon because of how much you think about fucking him. Yes, you’ve been masterbating even back when you were together because how could you not. You’ve been drinking pineapple juice these past few weeks. You’ve been stretching out your hole through your own fingers for this moment. You feel crazy and that’s very much an underreaction, considering how hot Jake is.

“Do you not want me?” you ask, voice small, trying to sound pitiful, while you kiss his jaw.

Want you? He’s been having wet dreams of you. When he was fucking you balls deep, or when he had you bent over your vanity, or when you were riding him in his Bronco –

He doesn’t understand why he can’t move now, when you’re still grinding your pussy against his hard cock. He curses himself for not doing anything more than hold your hips against him. So, like the sensible guy he is, his hand trails up your skin. Your breath finally catches when his large hands caress the softness of your side, just when his thumbs innocently graze the underside of your boobs.

He breaks into a grin and before he could say more, you lean in again, kissing his mouth with the intensity of a starving woman. It’s messy fast, his tongue slipping into your mouth, intertwining as he finally finishes unzipping your dress. Your own palm press against the hard lines of his abs, making him gasp and breath shake against your mouth. He makes a sound at the back of his throat – urging you to press harder, feeling the hard bulge against his jeans.

He pulls back, letting out an amused huff of a laugh. “Fuck, baby,” his eyes are completely half-lidded.

You giggle, and you feel like an animal as you lick his bottom lip, plump and swollen. 

You push his shirt off him. Once it’s off, you gape at the hard muscles of his torso, broad, and all very yours. He’s lean without being too big, lines of strength visible beneath smooth skin, shoulders wide, waist narrowing just slightly. You let your fingers trace the solid lines, liking the way he reacts at your touch.

You gasp when he suddenly shifts you in his lap, letting you grind against his boner. He reacts too, like he didn’t mean that, but rocks underneath you anyway. His hands – large, veiny hands, rub at the sides of your dress, and you could feel his desperation starting.

“Take this off,” he says, already pulling your dress. “please, baby. Let me see how pretty you are.”

You shift a little on his lap again, just to let the hem of your dress pool around your waist.

“Arms up,” he states, soft but firm.

You follow, putting your arms up as he pulls it off, and just in one go, your breasts spill out in front of him. He smiles and exhales, “There you go,”

His teeth bite down his bottom lip as your nipples stare at him, all hard and practically begging to be put in his mouth. His cock twitches in his tight pants at the sight, pupils dilating visibly.

His hands meet your sides, softly brushing your supple skin, causing shivers to run down your spine. “Damn…” 

Then finally, he ducks his head down, pressing his face at the valley between your breasts. He finds the swell through feverish bites and licks, taking his time with his tongue. After, he finally latches his mouth around one nipple after, teeth gently biting down, earning a gasp from you at how good it fucking feels. Then he sucks, tugging even, letting his tongue twirl the bud.

The sight of it should be a sin, at how he seems so content with sucking your breast. At fondling with them like he’s having the time of his life. 

It’s his birthday. So you pull away, his mouth detaching with a pop. His eyebrows knit with confusion, large hands tightening instinctively around your hips when you try moving away. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You soothe his hands, prying his fingers off you. “Trust me, birthday boy,” 

You press a kiss on his nose, making a mental note to sit on it later – finally.

When he lets loose, you slowly get off his lap. Still on the edge of the bed, he watches you with wide eyes when you sink down on your knees in front of him. Jake breath catches like he hadn’t been ready to see you below him like that – on the fucking floor of his room. You smile at him, eyelashes fluttering as your palm glides over his clothed thigh. He flexes at the contact, blinking like he’s in the midst of trying to survive this, at the way you look on your knees for him. He’s never been this hard in his life, he thinks. 

“Baby?” his voice is unbelievably soft and whiny, sitting up to look at you while you keep his knees spreading. Your hand slides over the muscle of his thigh, watching the way he slightly twitches beneath your manicured fingers. You trail further up, and just when he realizes, he takes your wrist.

You know he doesn’t mean it, but his grip’s tight. He clears his throat, and he’s genuinely kind of scared of you. His cheeks and ears are flushed pink. “Y-you don’t have to, do this. For me.”

You’re not sure if this is his way of telling you to stop, or if he’s so overly sweet and cares so much. Well, you care quite little, only really needing that cock in your mouth right now.

“Well,” you pull your hand away, shifting further on your knees as you reach for his zipper. He stares, intently watching how close you are to touching him. “I think…” 

You start pulling it down, keeping an eye on the light twitches on his face; biting down his lip, eyebrows knitting closer, breathing uneven. “I think I also deserve to blow… a candle.”

You smile at him, finally pulling the zipper down, and cupping the huge bulge against his boxers. He chokes on his breath, head tipping back at the relief of your hand despite the cloth between. You stop wasting time, tugging the hem down to reveal just how hard he really is.

Jake’s big. And long. And veiny. And pretty.

You eye the way his sharp v-line leads to his cock, all hard and pretty, tip so pink and flushed – you can’t help but lick at your lips, imagining the way it would cry and twitch in your mouth. You pray thanks because pink really is a lovely color.

Jake’s looking down at you like he’s with fever, all flustered and intoxicated, and you could see how scared he is of how excited you look, your eyes are practically sparkling at the sight of his cock. 

You wonder if it will fit.

You hold it against your warm palm and he groans, voice rough when it hums against his throat. His hips buck, wanting more of you already – needing more of you because it’s impossible not to. Your thumb meets with the head, toying with the slit that’s already wet with pre-cum while your hand starts a slow stroke. 

“Ahh–” Jake whines, and when you look up to see, his eyebrows are furrowed, eyes half-lidded watching you, completely fucked out while he tries rocking into your hand, hips lifting off his bed just a little.

“C-can you…” he tries talking but you squeeze him, biting your bottom lip as you tilt your head slightly to the side to tease him. The sight makes him hum out another whine. “...go faster? J-just a bit, baby, please.” the way he begs makes you wet your panties a little.

He’s fucking sublime and you think you could go on with teasing him, not really giving him what we wants until he’s puddled with tears, begging that you finally put him in your mouth. But, it’s his day, you can’t be mean.

You hum, like you’re thinking about it. You pull his pants and boxers down further, before rubbing his dick just to spread his pre-cum all over. Then, without warning, you lean in to lick his head, your tongue teasing the slit.

He whimpers and his head falls back completely, lips parting and neck glistening with his sweat. He’s flushed and heavy against your hand, finding yourself playing with it with a few kitten licks and rubs at the base. Then you drag your tongue from his base back to the tip with a long lick, earning a moan that sounds close to drowning.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he whines, biting his bottom lip as his large hand shoots into your hair. He grabs a handful from your scalp, although you can tell just how gentle he’s trying to be even when he’s losing all control. 

You open your mouth and enclose it around his head first, tongue twirling around it. Then slowly, you take him in, letting him slide further into your lips. “Fuck,” he groans, his hips jerking forward immediately. The head touches the start of your throat and you can’t help but choke at the sudden intrusion, sending vibrations around him. You watch through your lashes, how his bicep flexes while he guides your head down his dick, abs contracting when your nose almost touches v-line, eyes narrowed at how his length disappears into your lips.

“O-oh, fuck, that’s s-so dirty…” he groans, seeing drool spilling from your chin as you cheeks hollow around him. Your hand tightens around the parts you can’t reach, squeezing and rubbing fast. You pull back up, leaving only the head in your mouth before sliding it all back down your throat. 

You set a pace, not so fast, but it’s still too much for Jake whose chest is heaving while he forces his gaze on you, burning and dark. “Mmmm,” he moans, trying to keep his mouth shut from all the pathetic noises he’s making. He looks like he’s in heaven, watching you suck his cock on the floor of his bedroom – you can tell that he’s practically finishing already. “Ahh… y-yeah, I like th-tha – ahh–”

He groans, shaking his head at how good and dirty he feels. “Just a-a bit more, mhmm, yeah,” he exhales deep, shaky breaths, using your hair as anchor while he guides your mouth down his cock. “Just like that– ah, o-oh, g-god…”

You see how his eyes are rolling back, teeth biting down his plump bottom lip. That’s when you tug back, pulling off with a wet pop from the tip. You give him a few more kitten licks, rubbing slower until he feels the loss and snaps his eyes back down to you.

“Uh, I was just,” he sits up properly, looking at you confused when you pull away fully. He’s eyeing you with desperation – brows pressed together, lips tight in a line, hair messy and reaching his eyes. Then he shakes his head, blinking while he tries rebuilding his control.

“Are we done, baby?” He forces his eyes away like he’s convincing himself he’s okay with what you’re giving, even if it leaves him with blue balls. He’s still so gentle with you, tone soft and whispered while he watches your face, checking if you’re still okay.

You smile so wide and bright, not needing any convincing to know how much you love this boy.

Then you stand back up, body still bare as the soft lace of your panties is the only thing keeping you, well, completely exposed. He stares at your soft breasts again, swallowing at the way they bounce slightly when you help him out of his pants and boxers. He smiles just watching them, his hand reaching out to fondle with one. His thumb glides over one nipple, playing with the hard bud.

You laugh, taking his wrist when he starts fondling with the swell of your breast, like he’s memorizing how its weight looks on his hand. “Staring is rude.” you say, kicking his pants and boxers away once they’re off. His pretty cock’s still hard against his pelvis, lubricated with your saliva and his own pre-cum.

“They stared first.” he says, keeping his eyes on your nipples, pinching one with his fingers.

You smack his bicep, prying his hand off you with a playful shove. He looks up at you, a small frown on his mouth like you did something mean. “You’re taking away my fun.” he pouts dramatically.

Then, you hook your fingers on your lace panties and start sliding them off you, the fabric gliding over your smooth thighs before pooling around your feet.

Oh shit.

His eyes are glued to the way your pussy glistens for him, slightly amused with just how wet you are too, without being touched. He gently reaches out for you, deciding how far you really are. His palms slide at the back of your thighs, guiding you closer to him as your hands settle at the back of his head, gently caressing through his black silky locks. You’re now standing in between his knees.

“My pretty girl,” he whispers, ducking his head slightly to get a closer look. Although you don’t feel super embarrassed, you can’t help but shift inevitably, closing your thighs when you feel his breath fan in between your legs. 

Jake looks up at you, eyes twinkling and an amused smile on his lips. “Don’t do that, baby,”

He spreads your thighs, hands firm against the plush, supple flesh. He gets closer, addicted to the way it smells so sweet and enticing. His nose basically subtly nudges your clit, earning a cracked gasp from you, your fingers tightening against his hair.

“Can I?” his eyes briefly glances up at you before looking back down. When you hum an approval, he leans in further, licking your folds.

“Ah, Jaeyun, wait –” he grabs your thigh and props it over his shoulder suddenly, helping you find your balance before plunging his tongue through the folds, finding your clit almost immediately.

Wow? To think this is both your first time?

“F-fuck–” you caress the back of his head, his tongue lapping up at the hole while his nose pokes against your clit. Cunt-hungry man, he thinks he can do this forever, just latching his lips around your clit and holding your shivering thighs around his head.

“I n-need your,” you tip your head back, words lost in your throat. 

“My what, pretty?” he moans against your pussy, his cheeks now messy with your juices and his saliva combined. “God, she’s fucking talking to me. Look at that,” he uses his thumb to spread out your fold, watching the way it shines before using his tongue to tease the hole.

Your things are quivering in strain and pleasure, too much, that you feel your knees buck. He groans when he realizes you’re pulling away, propping your thigh back and forcing your legs up with his hands. “Stay still.”

“Y-your fingers, baby, please.” you whimper, and he likes that sound. He nods, following you obediently, letting the tips of his fingers graze your entrance before suddenly plunging one inside.

Oh God.

His fingers are thicker and longer than yours, so even one feels too much. Your knees are wobbling but he helps you still. Jake keeps it slow, feeling just how your walls squeeze around him, the sweet smell wafting through the tension. Jake can’t help it, wanting that back in his mouth, so he teases your clit with his tongue in tandem with the thrust of his finger. He sneaks in another thick finger inside, thrusting two at the same time, stretching you out definitely. You let out whines, holding tightly on his hair while he fucks you with just his hand and mouth.

“Jaeyun, wait –” you tap his shoulders, just as he speeds up the pace, addicted to the way your cunt squelches around his fingers. “Jaeyun – ah – w-wait, please,” you tap insistently and when he realizes, he stops at once, a bit irritated. Jake pulls away with a bitter exhale, but softly and slowly strokes your thighs, letting you stand on both your feet now. He looks up at you, eyes finding yours, still soothing your thighs with his warm hands. “Why do you keep stopping, love?” He laughs, amused and humorous, but there’s a tone of annoyance tucked in.

Your eyes flick down to his dick, and his gaze follows, looking back at how hard and angry it looks against his abdomen like that. Long and begging to be touched. He huffs, grin widening back up at you with disbelief and lack of control. 

He swallows, shaking his head. “I don’t have a condom, baby,” his voice is rough, hands soothing your thighs still.

You scoff, using your palm to push him further into the bed. When he’s moved, you slide your knees on either side of his hips and he has to physically hold himself back from the sight of how close your cunt is to his dick. It makes him twitch against his stomach, bite his lip from making a pitiful sound.

“I want you raw.” you say, leaving a mark on his skin.

“And I want you safe.” he says, softer this time, gently caressing your hips.

You laugh, getting back to his face as you nudge his nose with yours. “Just fuck me, Jaeyun.”

He exhales, both from exasperation and how turned on he is from your straightforwardness. He likes it, he likes you, and clearly he’s torn between fucking you until you’re full of his cum, or being responsible with sex and –

Fuck that.

You stroke his cock underneath you, giving it slow rubs just to lubricate it. He sighs, watching you work on his length like that. Even with just you on top of him like this, bare and looking at him and only him, he’s happy. The wishes that blew his candles do not compare to this; a prayer in flesh and soft breasts and plush thighs and a pretty face – what else could he need if this is not enough salvation. Then you shift closer, aligning his angry tip with your entrance. He watches it all happen, hands still on your hips, half-lidded eyes completely dazed with desire and anticipation of when your cunt meets his cock. His lips are parted, taking heavy shaky breaths.

“Will it fit?” he swallows, looking back up at you with wide eyes. 

Just then, his sensitive tip grazes your hole, and he lets out a quiet whimper. You drag the head into your wet folds, pushing the thick tip with a wet pop, and Jake practically jolts up at the feeling – fingers so tight against your hips you know it will bruise. “W-w-wait, baby, y-you’re too – ah–”

It stings so you pause, adjusting to the size first. You rest your forehead against his, catching your breath as he catches his – and something about it is so intimate, at the way he holds you close, hand soothing your back to ground you and himself.

“Y-you okay?” he asks, rubbing your back, pupils blown wide you could practically see hearts form in them.

You smile, weak and soft, pressing a kiss on his mouth. He tilts his head for you, your tongues meeting in his mouth before you pull away. “Perfect.”

Then slowly, you start to sink down his cock, earning grunts while he holds you close. “Sh-shit– tight– fuck–”

He guides you down his shaft, and he really does fight the urge to shove himself inside you in one go. “S-slow down for me, yeah?” Jake holds you, thumb rubbing against your skin. “There, mhm, I-I know you can do it.” 

You cry out his name when you bottom down, his leaking tip touches your cervix deliciously and your walls tighten around him so right he’s convinced he’ll finish right here. It’s warm inside you and you’re tense, arms wrapped around his neck, chests pressed together, gummy walls choking his cock. You wrap your legs around his hips closer, squirming slightly while he’s still inside you that he moans loud, feeling just how you vacuum him in and grind against him – he’s done.

Jake’s mind is blank, nothing except the way you look like Sunday worship with how you kneel above him. He knows now, that this is heaven, and that being good does not mean anything to him when you feel like every sin eaten in Eden. He doesn’t mind dying lying this, he thinks, in between your thighs while you introduce what greed truly means, and as you show him just what the fuck Adam betrayed God for underneath that tree.

He’s in so deep and tight that you could feel every vein that throbs inside you. Like he was meant to fill in that space, with how perfect it fits, you can’t help but roll your hips against him a little. Because it’s too good not to, too fucking slow to wait. 

Jake though, very much cannot let you move because you look so incredibly hot riding him and taking him in so good that he will come from cockwarming. He grabs you before you can even try again, his hands a paradox of gentle and strong, keeping you still from any ideas. His long fingers run down your spine, shivers trail your skin, inevitably making you clench from the sensation. He exhales, struggling and trembling, huffing out a sick laugh as he licks his bottom lip. “I’ll cum if you move.” he says, rough and no more breaths to give when you’ve taken everything.

Even though his hold is firm, it’s not bruising, so you decide to tease, just a little, by rolling your hips subtly and when he realizes what you’re doing, he grabs your hips quick – tight and strong, his biceps flexing. “D-don’t move, baby, c’mon,” his hoarse voice is soft in contrast to how hard he’s holding and staring at you now. You giggle, leaning in instead to kiss him. It’s slow, the smell of sex so heavy in their air and in between you two. 

With an exhale from coming down the high, he finally nods, falling on his back. “Ride it, love.” Then you lift yourself, slowly, showing a white ring at the base of his cock. It’s lewd and better than any pornographic he’s seen.

Leaving just the head inside, you slam yourself back down, a strain moan spilling his lips like confession. “F-fuck– o-oh– so g-goddamn tight…” you do it again, loving the way his eyebrows push together, his lips parting as he moans your name. He whimpers when you squeeze your cunt around him. “H-holy s-s-shit.” he holds your hips as you find the pace, speeding up as you practically bounce on his dick like a mad woman. Every thrust spills a whimper or your name in the form of a gasp. He helps you slam right back down on his cock, touching just the right spot inside you with precision.

“T-that’s it – just like that, baby, f-fuck yeah,” he huffs, abs tightening. Your palms are flat against his chest, admiring just how his hair is now slick with sweat, sticking to his forehead. He runs a hand through it, pushing it back. You go faster, riding him to the point he can’t even talk right. “W-w-wait, s – holy s-shit, please, s-s-slow down,” his words turn into broken moans, hoarse and cracked as you pound yourself down his dick. Skin slapping echoes throughout his room, your breaths merging in this hot air.

Jake can feel it too fast, the way his abdomen and balls tighten because he’s about to cum already. It’s warm and so good. But he sits up and stops you, his strong arms quickly pulling you off him while you grow stunned. “Wha–” 

He huffs an incredulous laugh, shaking his head in disbelief of the situation. He was seconds away from cumming, way too fast for how long he wants to spend this moment with you. His grip’s strong, tight compared to how gentle he places you down his bed. You lie chest-first on the mattress, your abdomen tightening with a slight heaviness from not releasing tension. You try asking him again but cuts you off, “Wait for me, yeah?”

He looks over you with hunger in his eyes; from the gentle curve of your shoulders, to the arch of your back, down to the plumpness of your ass. Jake smooths over it, admiring it as his fingers squeeze the fat, just before giving it a smack, earning a gasp from you. “Jaeyun –”

Jake lifts your hips to put you on your knees, chest against the sheets for him, and leans down to press a kiss on your folds. “Need that ass,” he smacks one cheek again, then uses one thumb to spread out your labia and lick one stripe.

And he’d love to keep this going, munching down until your knees would give out and he’ll have to hold you up to continue devouring what your pussy could give him, but the tension in his dick begs otherwise, especially after knowing how it feels to be choked inside. So he flips you, taking your arm and getting you on your back.

Jake spreads your thighs, pressing your knees down against the bed so you’d allow him in between your legs. He props himself there, hovering over you when he puts his hands beside your head. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, sliding his own knees underneath your legs, shifting you against him. He soothes your inner thighs, making sure you feel comfortable.

The coil in your core is too hot for you to talk, mind blank except for the way Jake’s body glistens with his sweat and how he feels on top of you, his presence a clash of need and relief. You just nod, reaching your hands flat against his chest, trailing down towards his abs which tighten from your touch. He chuckles, raspy and rough, leaning down just slightly that you could feel his breath fan your face. “I need words, love,” he smooths over your thighs again, though this time closer to where you need him most. “Can you do that for me, hm?” he purrs.

You whine, biting your bottom lip at the sight of his cock so hard and straight, faintly brushing your entrance. “Jaeyun, stop teasing.” you mewl, reaching down further to let your fingertips graze the slit on his head. He lets you stroke him, smiling down at you as you do.

“Words, come on. I need to know you’re still okay.” he asserts, voice patient but firm.

You sigh. “Put your cock inside me, Jaeyun, please.” 

Then he smiles, pressing a kiss on the bridge of your nose. “Good girl.” he coos.

Jake pulls you closer by your thighs, squeezing the fat before he gives himself a few strokes. You watch him eagerly, hips unintentionally squirming at the sight of him touching himself, his own juices spilling just a little to give it slick. Then he shifts, nudges your legs up with his knees before propping himself in between you. You keep your legs up as he aligns his cock with your throbbing clit, giving it a few rubs. Moans fall from your pretty lips. He gets closer, uses his thumb to push back your folds and find your entrance, before finally positioning himself against you. He presses a kiss on your mouth just to distract you a bit, then pushes himself inside, the slick sounds obscene.

You pull away from the kiss because of the stretch, Jake’s big cock squelching inside your pussy. “S-so fucking tight, s-shit…” he groans.

Your hands find purchase on his traps, nails digging down the skin there when he squeezes himself inside you, veins throbbing against your walls. Thick and long, touching your cervix as it did earlier, and you’re addicted to the feeling of him filling you up, kissing every crevice like he’s made for you. You clench, thighs pressing against his hips – he lets a low growl when you tighten.  He finds your gaze and for some unknown reason, you get flustered, and he smiles. Jake kisses your warm cheek. “That feel good?” he whispers, waiting for your nod of approval before he starts moving. 

Teeth sink into his bottom lip as his hips rocks into yours. It’s slow at first, letting you feel every little detail of his dick inside you. Until he speeds up, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the corners of his bedroom. Low whimpers slip from Jake’s throat, breathing your name against your mouth. It’s vulgar, the smell and sound of cum when he pulls out and slams right back in, at a pace like he can’t handle being apart from you for long.

He loves the way you shove against the bed when he pushes in, loves the way your tits bounce every time, the way your swollen and bruised lips part and moan his name like you’re his. Your moans, sweet and thick like honey, your nails when they dig into his muscles like you’re claiming him.

“C-can you clench, baby? Just – t-there– fuck, baby – f-fuck yeah, just like t-that, ah–” he whines, veins running along his arms beside your head as he grinds into you, head stroking your fucking womb.

His cock drives into you with perfect precision, somehow hitting the right spots, rubbing against your walls so good. His abs taut, muscles flexing above you. “Y-you feel so good, baby, ah– so fucking good,” he coos, stealing your mouth for a kiss.

He speeds up, rutting into you like he can’t handle any more time not cumming in you. And it feels good, for sure, but something about the fact he’s enjoying himself in you, his thick brows knitting together, teeth into his lip, makes it better. Jake looks at you then, and when he finds your wide, innocent eyes gazing up at him like that, his hips suddenly stutter to a slow and his arms falter. His chest tightens, caught off guard from how pretty you are.

You laugh, smacking his arm in amusement. He huffs an embarrassed chuckle, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Shit,” he murmurs against your skin, while your hands run through his hair, scratching his scalp gently. You hum, pressing a kiss on his hair while he holds you closer, sneaking an arm underneath you.

“That’s not fair,” he murmurs against you and you laugh again, softer and quieter. “You’re so perfect.” he whispers, peppering kisses all over your neck. Before you can respond, he pushes into you roughly again, a cracked moan slipping from your lips. You hit his arm for doing that, before squeezing it when pleasure comes back.

He straightens, finding his pace again as you breathe heavy, fisting the sheets behind you. Jake’s hands find your thighs again, pushing your legs back against the bed, stretching you out further. “Fuck, Jake–” you sob, and the name makes him pound into undeniably faster and rougher.

“Again, baby,” he sneaks a thumb against your clit, rubbing it to add into your pleasure, “Say it again, come on,”

You stretch out your arm, your palm pressing against his taut abs. He doesn’t stop, if not his movements become faster, fucking your pussy so aggressively you practically recoil back on his bed every thrust. He hisses at your warm touch, baring his teeth a wolfish grin. “J-Jake, fuck,” yeah fuck him, ‘cause how could someone be so sweaty and still look hot.

Jake adds more pressure, stroking circles on your clit. You practically wail, that knot starting to form and tighten in your core. His other hand presses on your lower abdomen and you feel it – a stimulation in your wall and obviously, his fucking cock bruising your cervix. He leans down, hovering over you closer. “You feel me, baby?” he whispers, pressing harder that you choke on your own moans.

You arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair, his thumb stimulating your pussy continuously. Each push of his hips starts bringing you closer to the edge, that knot tightening harder and hotter – the image itself is pornographic, with how powerful his pelvis wrecks into you.

“Jaeyun, I-I’m gonna –”

“Gonna b-breed this fucking pussy,” he murmurs, rutting harder, his thrusts getting sloppier and losing measure. He flashes you a grin again. “Will you let me, love? Let me cum i-inside – f-fuck –” 

You nod, eager and urgent, letting your nails scratch down his back, making him wince in pain and pleasure. He pushes your hips before pulling it back, his own orgasm arriving. 

“F-f-f-fuck, I’m cumming – I’m g-gonna, w-wait baby –” he moans.

“Jaeyun, p-please– ah–”, one final thrust has you milking him before he does, pussy clenching so tight as you grab his hair to ground yourself when your orgasm washes your vision white. He continues, pounding into you so deep, before Jake whimpers low and loud. You feel the thick white ropes spill into you, hot and full and sticky, hips stuttering. “Shit, b-baby, god– that’s so hot– baby, you’re so hot–”

He rides out the last of your pleasure before you pat his biceps to stop him from overstimulating your sensitive walls. Jake falls on top of you, weight pressing down on you before he could even stop it, muscles tensing before they relax.

You’re both breathless, mixed cum warm inside you and slowly oozing out. Neither of you move just yet, he’s holding you close, resting his forehead against your collarbone. You soothe his back, tracing the outlines of his muscles while you hum, helping each other out to come down from your high. 

A few beats stretch out before you tap him, a tired smile on your lips as he musters back his own strength and straightens, his darkened gaze meeting yours when he gets on his hands again. His pupils are in the shapes of hearts, mouth pulled to a sheepish grin, face still flushed with heat and sweat.

Jake practically inhales you like it’s what will bring him back to reality. When he pulls back, he swallows, resting his forehead against yours. “J-just, let me catch my breath,” he huffs out a laugh then lies his head back down your chest.

He listens to the rhythm of your heartbeat, closing his eyes at the calming sounds of it. His cock still is very much inside you, softer than it used to be, twitching and you feel it.

After a few minutes or so, Jake starts shifting and you let him get up, releasing him from your embrace. He then slides out of you, hissing at the feeling, slick oozes out of your hole, but you don’t pay any mind anymore.

For a moment you're frightened, because he just lies there beside you, not touching you. You rethink again, once the high's gone and he's got his fill, whether this is just another bad decision you'll regret –

Until Jaeyun places his blanket around the both of you, arms wrapping around you underneath the weight of it. With your back pressed against his chest, he peppers soft and light kisses on your head, holding you tight. He's muttering sweet nothings that make up of praise and affections, although your mind is too hazy to comprehend any syllable.

His breathing finally steadies, finding himself comforted and grounded with you against him like this.

After 5 minutes, hand rubbing your belly, he calls your name. When you hum and turn to him, he studies your face for a second, eyes warm and attentive.

“Water?” he asks, voice hoarse.

You hum against his chest, voice small. “And chocolate.”

He nods. “Okay,” he says softly, like it’s the easiest decision in the world.

Jake rubs your back, soothing and gentle, pressing light kisses to your temple because he can't really afford to let you go yet. Pressing one long kiss on your forehead, he finally sighs and loosens. “Okay, I’ll go,” he whispers before slipping away, murmuring reassurance that he’ll come back immediately. He stumbles when he attempts to put his sweatpants on fast, making you giggle watching him.

He returns quickly with water and snacks. He settles back beside you, guiding the glass into your hands, watching as you drink like you're deserted dry. “Slow, baby,” 

When you’re done, you both curl back into bed and he hands you a piece of chocolate to munch down on. Neither of you speaks for a while, the room quiet except for rustling of sheets, and your chewing.

Jake’s thumb traces lazy, soothing circles against your arm. You rest there together, warm and close, his cheek resting against the top of your head. “Okay,” he murmurs. Then, almost shyly, “Uh… in a bit, you’re gonna have to pee, yeah?”

You let out a small, tired sound, half a laugh. “Okay,” you whisper.

His hand keeps moving along your back, lazy, repetitive, like he might fall asleep doing it. There’s a beat of silence, then he speaks again, words blurring together in that half-awake honesty.

“Hey,” Jake murmurs again, thumb slowing where it traces your arm. His voice is quieter now, careful, shy again. “Was that… okay?”

You tilt your head slightly, enough to look up at him. His brows are knit just a little, not anxious, just attentive like he’s waiting for your answer to matter.

“Yeah,” you say with a smile, honest and warm. “It was amazing.”

He exhales, shoulders easing like he’d been holding that breath on purpose. “Okay,” he says, nodding once. Then, softer, “I just wanted to make sure.”

You shift closer, tucking yourself into him more fully. “You’re really sweet, you know that?”

He lets out a small laugh, embarrassed but pleased, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Only with you.”

His arms tighten around you – not confining, just secure in that way he's grounding himself against you too. He stays like that, no hurry to move, no agenda beyond keeping you comfortable, no plan other than staying right here with you.

You hum, already drifting while his hand still moves in those slow, steady circles. After a beat, he sighs softly and nuzzles your hair, tapping your forearm while sitting up. “Okay… bathroom time.”

He helps you shift gently, sliding an arm under your back while you get on your feet. “Easy,” he murmurs, careful.

Once you’re upright, he walks just behind you, steadying you with a hand lightly on your lower back. “Like a professional escort,” he jokes softly, voice low.

He takes you to his ensuite and you have to smack him again because he’s babying you, acting like you need this much help when in reality, he just wants to stay close. “I can sit on the fucking toilet on my own, Jaeyun.” you laugh in disbelief and amusement.

He frowns but follows through, leaning against the doorframe while you pee. Once you’re done, you two head back, one hand still on the small of your back. He takes his shirt, one too big for your frame, and slides it on you. He also helps you into your panties because your legs are still worn.

"I love you." he whispers, not from post-sex haze, but because it's you. You smile and say it back.

Back in his bed and in his shirt and in his arms – everything that makes this entirely his, you melt into it remembering,

You're not his.

And to Jake, the 4 seconds of silence before you said it back hurts like fucking hell.

Tip #11: Refuse to be simplified.

Nothing about Jake is suddenly different.

He’s always been around – always walking you to class, always waiting. He’s somehow at every corner, leaning against the doorway of your lecture hall when you exit, waiting outside the library when you need to grab a book, showing up at the cafeteria exactly when you do. But now, there’s touches intertwined with them. Fingers immediately finding yours in the hallway, shoulder nudges to tease, quick kisses pressed to your temple or hair.

In your dorm, it’s worse than it is outside. Not all moments or hang-outs transition to heat, sometimes he crashes over just to lie on your lap and sleep there, or he helps you out with laundry and folds your clothes with you. But of course, there are moments when a kiss brushes your lips before you’re even fully aware. Your fingers trace his jawline, catch his shirt, pull him closer, and suddenly he’s already in between your legs, pounding into you recklessly. After your first time, he insisted he’ll use condoms instead, you respond with a pout.

At the last stretch of the first semester’s finals, it’s hectic. Every single day is packed with tests, essays, group reports – sometimes they share the same due date and you try not to collapse under it all. It’s not easy, but you feel that you have some kind of cheat code to steer away from chaos.

Jake finds a way to meet up when the schedule’s too tight for anything else. A text ping between classes: coffee. 5 minutes. i’ll be outside. He shows up just when you need a break, just when the stress is too much to carry alone, he makes sure you know he’s there.

Even if it’s just ten minutes, even if it’s a rushed chocolate handoff, even if it’s just to hold you for 5 minutes – they’re all enough. Enough to feel like he’s keeping the storm at bay, like you’re not drowning in deadlines because he’s always there, tethering you to sanity with soft touches, stolen kisses, and the reassurance that no matter how chaotic, he’ll always find you.

No more begging for time and counting minutes. Now, time finds you both without asking, offered freely and instinctively because he tries.

He plans around you without making it feel like effort, he adjusts his pace to match yours.

There was one week specifically that was busier than any other, all subjects demanded something for their final submissions and the over-achiever in you always had to give everything. Jake says you’re over-stressing and overworking, that you’re going way too hard on yourself even when you didn’t have to. You also did try brushing him off, that this was okay. He brushed you off by unexpectedly coming over and relieving you off your tasks, and you unexpectedly broke down into tears in his arms. After that, once you’re refreshed, he helps with productivity which he doesn’t rush, just eases you into slowly.

You find your rhythm again and lo and behold, your hardwork and efforts have been greatly rewarded with an A that you practically smell the 3.8 gpa coming your way.

And to graciously show your appreciation to his thoughtfulness towards you, you ride him. Jake’s a gentleman as he is kind, but he’s also just some guy. Simple, knows-what-he-wants guy. So sometimes, it’s a gentle switch from kissing to sex on the bed with a pillow under your hips. There are times where he doesn’t even take off your shirt and slip off your underwear and he fucks you from the back while you’re brushing your teeth. Or cooking. He seems to find you in a domestic state completely fuckable and hot. Sometimes it’s in the shower and he spends half the time kissing you and eating you out under the running water than actually cleaning up.

Very, very clingy. Kisses your forehead suddenly, presses some on your knuckles, hands on your breasts and nipples when you’re spooning in your sleep, then later when he’s really stressed with engineering he practically urges you on your knees and slips his cock down your throat.

It’s a duality you don’t mind, obviously. But sometimes you’re caught in surprise just how strong this man’s sex drive is. 

He keeps a stack of your clothes in his closet, though he insisted you grab a pile from your dorm. He quite literally bought you clothes specifically for his own place so you don’t keep going back. And in no time, your belongings have infiltrated his entire place; half his closet was yours, the sink’s cluttered with your cosmetics and skincare products with his one single cleanser and toothbrush in a quiet corner. And the bed, of course, where he fights for space because your plushies also had their own. He doesn’t mind it – he loves it actually, the constant epiphany when you walk around his place in nothing but his shirt that yeah, this is his life now, being colonized by your over-the-top possessions. 

One night, he comes home kinda late and finds you curled up in his bed, laptop balanced on your thighs, his shirt slipping off one shoulder. For a moment, he just watches. You call him a creep and you throw a pillow at him, but he sneaks in between your legs and takes your clothes off and fucks you in the same minute.

There’s no conversation about moving in. He just presses a kiss into your hair and murmurs, half-amused, half-awed, “You know you basically live here, right?”

Normally, ambiguity didn’t bother him. Jake was built for uncertainty in the academic sense – he lived in probabilities and margins of error. He trusted that if you applied enough rigor, enough time, the answer would eventually reveal itself. Variables could be isolated and noise could be filtered out. Systems, no matter how complex, always collapsed into something legible if you were patient enough.

People, however, were not systems.

You were not something he could model without interference or reduce into inputs and outputs without losing the essence of you. And yet, that was exactly what he did – slotting you into his life with the same quiet efficiency he applied to everything else. You were there when he woke up, there when he came home, there when his brain finally shut down. 

And he had also followed through, coming over to your own place and integrating his dominion over your space – his deodorant, some hot wheels he forgot to take home, clothes you both can wear, and sweatpants when you accidentally cum on his pants. Yeah, the setup was nice, but even if ambiguity was something he thoroughly enjoyed exploring in the world of science; you’re not science.

He can’t treat your relationship like a margin of error he can back up from and retry again when shit’s messy – that’s never his intention with you, and he does regret that faulty. 

You’re not his girlfriend. You’re not not his girlfriend.

When the grocery cashier comments how much of a lovely couple you two are, you laugh that sweet laugh he loves, until you say, "he's not my boyfriend" and he tries not to die from a heart attack.

Jake feels sick.

Tip #12: Remember how you got him.

Jake hates it. Didn't realize how bad it actually fucking sounded when it comes from you saying that no, you're not dating, he's not your boyfriend, that you might as well cut his dick and shove it between his lungs.

He spends the weekend in your apartment as some unnamed lover. You both settle with ordering takeout for dinner after much negotiating where to order.

The movie keeps playing, something you just randomly chose to pass time. Snow taps faintly against the window, Jake’s fingers tracing absent-mindedly on your thigh. You’re also in the middle of your face mask when his phone dings, then he says he’ll get the food.

He takes a while. You hear the door first – the soft click of the lock, the familiar drag of his shoes against the floor – and you’re halfway through complaining about how long it took when he appears in the doorway.

With a bouquet of your favorite flowers. And a big, obscenely plush bunny tucked under his arm. And an envelope pinched between his fingers like it’s nothing.

You blink, lips part, jaw slack, completely frozen with a dumb hydrating mask on your face.

“Uh,” Jake says, shifting the bunny like it’s inconveniently large and like he doesn’t understand what this means. “So.” He frowns slightly, then jerks his thumb back toward the hall. “I think the delivery guy is flirting with you.”

You stare at him, still in the middle of processing the sight and reeling back in from the shock of everything. You're in the middle of trying to understand what the fuck this is. “Jaeyun.”

“What?” he says, defensive. “I’m just saying.”

You’re still trying to understand the fact that there is a bouquet and a giant bunny and an envelope in your bedroom when he walks closer and hands you the letter like it’s a receipt he forgot to give you earlier. Like a delivery guy, that’s what he is. 

“Anyway,” he adds, too casual. “This is yours.”

You look from the letter to him, still completely confused and startled, handing you the bouquet and bunny next like it’s just something he found in the mailbox. “You’re not even going to explain?”

He shrugs, lips twitching. “Explain what?”

“The –” You gesture vaguely at everything. “All of this.”

He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Delivery guy must’ve felt bad.”

You kick his knee and he laughs. “You’re such a liar!”

You stare at him for a couple of more seconds, biting down your bottom lip from a wide smile. You feel giddy and excited and astonished and hydrated.

Is this it.

Is this the moment you're finally going to rid the expired not-dating label.

"Tell me what this is, dork!" you're being mean because you're skittish, but he loves it, loves how you're mean sometimes.

"I don't fucking know, baby!" he laughs, still pretending before he leans in and presses kisses on your thighs. "Fuck I know why the delivery guy is flirting with you."

You open the envelope immediately and Jake suddenly finds the floor very interesting. He watches you from the corner of his eye, pretending not to, pretending this isn’t a big deal, pretending his heart isn’t doing something stupid and loud. 

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

dec 1

You and I have never been simple. We never moved in straight lines or clean timelines, and there were breaks and overlaps and wrong timing and a lot of moments where we probably should’ve stopped and didn’t.

You were never simple. You were a really really complicated interpretation.

We’ve tried being nothing. We’ve tried pretending. We’ve tried acting like what we do doesn’t mean what it obviously does. And every time, we end up right back here. I always find myself coming back to you.

I also really hate getting denied at the grocery cashier.

So… can I be this complicated girl’s boyfriend again?

– Jaeyun

━━━━━

When you finish, you don’t say anything right away. You look at him then, at the way he’s trying so hard not to make this a thing while making it very much a thing. At how he stands there like he’s bracing for rejection even though he already knows you’re not going anywhere, not with that face mask you’re not.

Jake shifts. “So… food’s getting cold.”

You throw the face mask away, a wide smile on your face as you tug the end of his shirt. “Come here,” you say.

He doesn’t hesitate. He’s already leaning over you in between your legs, and then he kisses you slowly. It’s warm and nice and romantic and when he pulls away, he’s smiling like he’s in heaven on earth. It just so happens to be right here, right next to you.

You knew it’d come around, this thing called love that comes crashing down. 

“So,” he murmurs. “Still think the delivery guy was flirting?”

You smile, playing with his hair. “Yeah.”

Jake sighs, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” 

Then he leans in again but before you can kiss him, he stops.

"So is that a yes?" he knits his brows.

You laugh, smacking his arm with no real effort before you smooth over the muscle there, then sensually down to the veins leading down his wrist. He clears his throat and presses closer, pelvis against your ass.

"I don't know," you drag the last syllable to tease him and he groans.

He ducks down, nose brushing yours. "Fuck, baby," he whines. When he kisses you again he totally forgets the food waiting outside.

Guess getting your ex back 101 did work, then? Real genius.

Six-foot nothing-but-trouble, starting point guard, baby-faced assassin with a highlight reel that ESPN couldn’t stop drooling over. The kind of guy who could miss class for two weeks straight and still have professors grinning at him when he finally walked in. Though his frame didn’t scream trouble, his game said otherwise. His playing style was all crossovers and footwork, the kind that had commentators whispering words like Kyrie Irving and generational talent. He didn’t just play basketball. He performed it.

If Riki were a heavenly figure, he’d be Christ.

To you, he was just a regular human being. Why exalt someone that did nothing to benefit you personally? Did he cure world hunger? Leak the cure for cancer—because you could promise one exists. Build homes for displaced families? Relieve students of crippling debt? Anything? The answer is no. So why? Why? Why do athletes make more than doctors? Teachers? Why do people that save the world and make positive contributions to society not get even a sixteenth of the recognition of those that run up and down a court or field for a living? That, you couldn’t find the answer to.

But besides that, Riki was everywhere. It was freaky, seeing his face plastered in various campaigns beside other college athletes. You couldn’t even walk into the dining hall without Riki’s face smirking at you from a Gatorade cutout. He was on billboards, a few campus shuttles, hell—probably someone’s phone wallpaper. You could almost see his New Balance campaign now, how many times you came across it. And the stupid slogan, hearing him say: “Nishimura. New Game. New Balance.”

Okay, while the line was kind of clean—it was just him that pissed you off.

And it was insane because you never even met this guy to judge him. While you were in proximity to him, your best friends being cheerleaders and sharing the terrifyingly large court with them—you really had nothing bad to say about his character. For all you knew, Riki could be an amazing guy with an even more amazing personality. But you never knew him, never spoke to him, never even locked eyes with this guy if it weren’t via an obnoxious billboard. You’d never seen this man play. Every time you stumbled on a highlight, you swiped away. He didn’t do shit to you, you simply hated the hype around athletes. Around sports in general.

Even in basketball, it was all so negative. All the commentators and fans did was discuss the past. ‘Jordan this. LeBron that.’ And if not that, they’d find some way to bash a player they claim to love. If you love this player so much, why say they’re washed up? At least you could respect football fans—they were delusional behind their teams.

Still, you didn’t hate Riki. Didn’t even dislike him.

Not until today.

—

Like most days, you sat in the Decelis Arena. Right on one of the bleachers in the student section. Your best friends, Yasmin and Bella, were cheerleaders and shared the arena with the basketball team most weekdays. So you hung out there, got some work done as you watched your girls from their side of the floor. The coach never said anything, it was an open practice as far as you were concerned. Plus you never gave them any issues. Never distracted, just stayed quiet and typed on your laptop—it was great. You got to be around your girls and be productive. The only downside was looking to the left and seeing the men’s basketball team.

But it wasn’t so bad to hear them get degraded while they were conditioning and running drills. The sound carried in the arena—sneakers squeaking, basketballs smacking the hardwood, coaches barking like drill sergeants. On the other end, your girls were bright and polished, high ponytails bouncing in perfect sync.

You sat tucked on the bleachers, typing away, invisible. As their practice came to an end, the men kept going. But Yasmin and Bella walked up to you and you felt them before you heard them. Thus, you closed your laptop as you peered up at them with a bright smile.

“You guys look dazzling as ever,” you teased, though Yasmin’s mascara was halfway down her cheek and Bella looked one toe cramp away from retirement. They stopped in front of you, grinning but panting in exhaustion as they simultaneously wiped sweat off their foreheads. “Dude,” Bella huffed as she plopped next to you. “I can’t do—” Yasmin pointed at her fiercely. “I don’t wanna hear that shit, Bells. I told you. ‘Can’t’ isn’t—” “In our vocabulary,” you and Bella chorused, laughing at the girl’s optimism.

Yasmin Alamilla was one of the kindest, most supportive women you’ve had the pleasure of meeting. Always cheery (no pun intended), wise, and to be honest, at times her optimism when you were feeling low was almost annoying. Because how can one person just be so happy all of the time? But you loved her from the moment you met her and wouldn’t trade her for the world.

Bella Powell was the opposite. Sharp-tongued, dramatic, and stubborn in a way that could make you want to strangle her one second and hug her the next. She complained more than anyone you knew, but she was also the first to show up at your door with fries and milkshakes when you weren’t feeling it. Loyal to the bone—even if she’d never admit it out loud.

“Yeah, yeah whatever,” Yasmin rolled her eyes with a smile. “You’ll be thanking me later.” She leaned her head back as she sipped from her purple water bottle. Bella groaned as she helped you pack your stuff, holding your backpack open as she looked at the girl still standing. “I will thank you, just right now my body’s not thanking me.”

“Did you stretch beforehand?” you asked. The answer was no. But before she could admit it, a freshly pumped basketball came beaming across the court. It wasn’t a throw; it was a bullet. A missile. Before anyone could yell “Heads!” or even “Duck!” it was already too late. The ball cracked against the side of your face, cheek first, the sting blooming hot and instant. The sound was sickening, a hollow thwack that echoed louder in your head than in the gym.

Your vision tilted for a split second, your cheekbone pulsing like it might’ve cracked under the pressure. The ball ricocheted to the floor, rolling harmlessly now, but your cheek burned like fire. Yasmin’s gasp came first, Bella’s curse second. Your pencil pouch slipped from your hands, pens scattering. The feeling was akin to when you’re taking something out of the toaster oven and you accidentally touch the hot rack—only this time the burn wasn’t a split second. It felt everlasting.

As shock rang through the arena, you could hear a pin drop. And that wasn’t even the most embarrassing part—it was the collective “Ooh…” from the people around you. “Yo—” a voice cut through the chaos, low and sharp. Sneakers squeaked across the court as Riki jogged over, sweat still glistening down his temple. He scooped the ball up in one fluid motion, spinning it on his finger before tucking it under his arm like he hadn’t just nearly concussed you.

“You good?” His eyes flicked to your face—quick, but not quick enough to hide the way he lingered on your cheek. “I’m fine,” you lied through gritted teeth, pressing your palm against the sting. “Doesn’t look fine.” He crouched slightly to your level, smirk tugging at his lips even though his brows pinched with something closer to guilt. “Bet you’ll have the Wilson logo on your face for the next hour.” Bella shot him a glare. “Not funny, Riki.”

Riki turned his head to Bella, amused, then looked back at you—smirk faltering as his gaze locked on you again. “Seriously, though. You want ice?” Maybe you were just reading into things. And as someone who tended to take up the observer role, you truly felt in your heart of hearts that this guy was the asshole you thought he was. To make a joke out of your pain—and no one’s saying he had to call the national guard—but to spin the ball like he was putting on a show? Rage bloomed hot in your stomach.

“I’ll get my own,” you muttered. Riki’s smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth, that same infuriating confidence he always carried. “Next time,” he said, tossing the ball up and catching it effortlessly, “don’t sit so close.” And just like that, he pivoted, jogging back to drills, sneakers squeaking against the hardwood, leaving you to gather your pens and seething pride. You pressed your palm harder against your cheek, the sting sharp, and glared after him. Unbelievable.

The girls bent down to pick up your scattered pens and highlighters. Bella scoffed, “He’s such a dick sometimes. I’m so sorry, babes.” Yasmin frowned, brows creasing in worry. “That ball hit you something serious.” She handed you your fully stocked pouch. Tears brimmed your eyes. “I’m solid, this shit just hurts—Ow.” You hissed, leaning forward. “Here. Take this.” Yasmin rushed to grab Bella’s frozen water bottle and gently rubbed your back.

Yasmin gave you a soft, sympathetic look. “You really should’ve sat farther back. That kid’s got rockets for hands.”

You groaned, wincing as the sting radiated through your jaw. “Yeah, thanks for the tip,” you muttered under your breath, still glaring toward the court. Sure enough, Riki was back at it, running drills, tossing the ball between his teammates with that infuriating ease, smirking every time someone fumbled a pass.

“Ugh,” Bella muttered, nudging you. “You hate him already, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer immediately, your fingers tightening around the strap of your backpack. Hate was a strong word. But there was no denying the wrath that had just been lit inside you. Something about the way he’d spun that ball, flashed that smirk, and then walked away like none of it mattered…it was aggravating. But you stood, your hand still glued to your cheek as you grabbed your bag. “I don’t hate. I detest. I resent. And I hold grudges because I’m childish.” You grit out, luckily the bottle gave you some relief. And as the two of you walked out of the arena, you moved the bottle from your face for the first time, the air hitting the stinging sensation and making you wince. “Does one side of my face look fatter than the other?” You stopped midway on the sidelines to give them space to inspect you. Bella squinted dramatically, tilting your chin this way and that like she was about to submit you to America’s Next Top Model. “Hmm. Honestly? You look like you just lost a round to Mike Tyson.”

“Bella!” Yasmin swatted her arm, glaring before softening as she leaned in. “It’s not that bad. A little rough, but the swelling isn’t obvious yet. Ice will help.”

“Yet?” you groaned, pressing the bottle back to your cheek like it was a lifeline. “Oh, fantastic. So tomorrow I’m gonna look like Quasimodo.”

Bella snorted, looping her arm through yours as you all started walking again. “A little bit, but at least you can brag that the Riki Nishimura was in your face and ice was involved.”

“Shut the hell up,” you laughed.

Yasmin shook her head, trying not to smile. “You’re impossible, Bella.”

“Impossible but not wrong,” Bella sing-songed, squeezing your arm. “Half the girls on campus would kill to have him that close, even if it meant getting smacked with a ball.”

Yasmin smiled, “yeah but those aren’t the balls they wanna be smacked with.”

You pointed to her with a dry look. “That’s disgusting.”

—

Next week

—

You returned to their practice despite debating even coming back to this place ever again. But this time you took the Head Huncho’s advice and did in fact sit a little higher up on the bleachers. The girls were getting changed and in the meantime, you got set up on the bleachers. Typical stuff. Laptop, cola, and your person—you.  The arena was relatively silent as it was just you and the sound of you unzipping and settling into the spot you were gonna be occupying for the next hour or so. So you got to typing, chipping away at the Philosophy essay you had due in a week. 

You heard footsteps coming your way and just assumed it was Yasmin—no one seemed to be as light on their feet as her. 

“Forgot your water again?” you called without looking up, fingers still flying across your keyboard.

Except…no answer. Just the scrape of sneakers against the bleachers and a low chuckle that definitely didn’t belong to Yasmin.

Your head snapped up, and there he was—Riki Nishimura himself—standing two steps below you, spinning a basketball against his palm like he was born with it.

“Bold of you,” he said, smirk firmly in place, “to sit in the line of fire again. Thought you learned your lesson last week.” You narrowed your eyes, instinctively bringing a hand to your cheek even though the swelling was long gone. You opened your mouth to respond but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Your jaw clicked as you turned back to your computer.

He didn’t stop though, he just got closer. “How’s your face? I got you good didn’t I?”

“Fine,” you said robotically.

“Really?” He tilted his head, not seeming convinced. 

“Really.”

“Hm…” He nodded, the same smirk planted on his face. “Did you sleep on your right side for a few days?” He tested, letting his words hang with a teasing undertone. You sucked in a breath, fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard as you turned to glare at him. “Do you go around asking random girls about their sleeping positions, or am I just lucky?”

Riki’s grin widened, infuriatingly boyish. “You’re funny.” He let out a small laugh, taping his fingers mindlessly—like this was second nature. Because it was.

“You really are as insufferable as they say.”

“And you,” he said, pointing the ball at you like a teacher with a chalk stick, “sit through two hours of sweaty practices when you probably don’t even like basketball. Which, respectfully, makes you insufferable.” Your face was plagued with repulsion. “I’m here because my friends are cheerleaders. I’m here for them. There’s people whose world doesn’t revolve around you, you know?” You scoff. “Fuck off, seriously.” Going back to your laptop, you angrily type. Your keyboard one more click away from not having a letter F. 

“Yes…Bella and Yasmin.” He hums as he points at you with a knowing look. “I like them. Both very beautiful girls.”

You ignored him because he hadn’t said anything untrue. But in any case, he needed to tread lightly when mentioning your friends.

“They are,” you said flatly, eyes glued to your screen.

Riki tilted his head, smirk tugging wider as if he’d caught a flicker of irritation in your tone. “Relax. I wasn’t hitting on them.” He spun the ball in his hands, the squeak of rubber filling the silence before he added, “Not my type.”

You arched a brow, finally glancing at him. “Oh, so you have a type?”

His grin was infuriating. “Don’t we all?”

“Careful,” you sing song. “New Balance wouldn’t want to know you’re out here objectifying women instead of selling sneakers.”

He huffed out a laugh, “cute, cute. You’re very cute.” Riki bounced the ball between his legs haphazardly, lifting a leg cavalierly as he looked at you. “You know, I really like girls like you. Girls that don’t like me. Turns me on.” “Oh my gosh, I never told you. But I write my name with yours in my notebook every single night before I go to sleep. I’m in love with you.” You deadpanned, saying this with no inflection whatsoever. For a second he actually froze, like you’d handed him an unexpected plot twist. Then the grin came back—slow, smug, all teeth. He bounced the ball twice before holding it steady in his hands. “Is that right? Interesting bedtime ritual.”

You felt your stomach do a stupid little flip and immediately hated it.

“You know what?” he continued, like he was considering the absolute worst and most entertaining idea. “I like a challenge.”

You raised a brow. “Do you now?”

“I do.” He tapped the ball once, twice. “Let’s see how long it takes me to make you say that without the sarcasm.”

“I’d sooner die.” 

“That’s the only thing that keeps me going.” He moves back. “Keep that pretty face safe for me.” He waves, batting his eyes as he jogs to the other side of the court. Dribbling the ball and swiftly passing it to one of his teammates, laughing with them as they overhear his teasing. And still, that seething rage in your stomach hasn’t left in over a week. 

It still persists. Even more so now.

—

Later that day

—

It was a nice, peachy evening. Clouds akin to cotton candy and the sun a cute lollipop in the sky. Bella and Yasmin were headed back to their dorms to get ready for bed. If they valued anything it was their beauty sleep. Which…real.

You, however, couldn’t enjoy your night. No. Not even in the slightest. In just twenty short minutes, you had a class. Never did you think you’d be one of the people taking an evening class, but your registration slot was less than favorable.

But some good music and walking off your heavy dinner was enough to keep your mood up. You zipped your hoodie up tighter as the evening breeze picked up, tugging at stray strands of hair that had escaped your ponytail. The sidewalks were practically empty, the campus bathed in that soft, peach-and-lollipop light that made everything look harmless. But you weren’t harmless. Not tonight. Not when every memory of Riki Nishimura—grinning, teasing, infuriating—was still pressed into your brain like a damn watermark.

You hated that he was everywhere. Again, in the dining hall right on the fountains—his jersey number—three—next to a Gatorade logo. Now, as you’re walking—a shuttle passes. He was unavoidable, his every being plagued your existence and before it was used to just be a ‘whatever, this is just annoying’ kind of way. But because he seemed to know you now, and target you in some way—it escalated from annoyance to near disdain. 

But of course, it seemed like you couldn’t think about him without it costing you. 

He smoothly stepped right in front of you—a smile as bright as the sun—cutting you off in your path. “Hey girl,” It honestly seemed like he came from nowhere and you stopped short, bumping right into his chest. He smelled like fresh laundry and faint cologne, the kind that lingered just enough. Worse, his chest was warm, solid—completely unfair. Head to toe in the signature New Balance sweats—grey—with the popular 530s to match. Very typical of him. 

You looked up at him, and this was the first time you’d seen him really up close. Upright that is. He wasn’t as small as the camera, or as huge as the cutout—or even his ego—made him seem. Granted, he was tall. Standing a solid six foot one. Beside his teammates, he was shorter. Which made sense, you didn’t need to be extremely tall to be a point guard—you knew that much. He carried the duality of a superstar and a regular guy all at once. Nothing about him was special yet, every last thing about him is. But you didn’t dare fix your lips to say anything remotely positive about him. You pursed your lips and sighed in defeat, not even having the energy for this at the moment—you quietly brushed past him without another word. But you didn’t make it very far, he was much faster than you ever were.

“Ooh, not so fast, mama.” He quickly stepped in front of you, holding his hands up in defense as you bumped into him again.

So in response, you stepped to the left.

He also stepped to the left.

You stepped to the right.

He also stepped to your right. 

You tapped your foot in frustration, nostrils flaring as you glared at him. Eyes narrowing when you saw the feign of ennui on his face. “I’m very good at this game…” He frowned, sighing as he waited for you to break. You lifted your non-dominant hand and checked your watch. You had less than fifteen minutes to get to your class and you didn’t have time to waste. With a groan, you looked back at him. “What the fuck do you want?”

The smile he greeted you with reappeared as he clasped his hands together. “Okay so…I wanted to apologize.”

“Apology accepted,” you nodded curtly as you brushed past him once more. He still reminded you that he wasn’t letting you go just yet. You sped walked in the direction of your class and he followed closely beside—his long legs eating up the space between you without another breath.

“Wait, I’m not done.” He matched your pace as he looked down at you. “Just let me get my shit off then I’ll leave you alone forever.”

“Why do I feel like I’m not the only girl that’s heard that before?” You peered up at him with a sarcastic smile. 

Riki nodded slowly, accepting the jab. “Okay. Well, I just wanted to say I was sorry for being so rude to you. I should’ve been more careful—while my pass wasn’t terrible, my teammate didn’t catch it and it just happened to hit you—”

“Why’re you blaming others in the midst of your own apology?” You scoffed as you turned a corner to go to the lecture hall. 

Before he could open his mouth, someone from afar shouted his name out. “Hey Riki!”

You instinctively turned your head the opposite direction. Not because you thought people would give a fuck—they most likely wouldn’t. It just seemed to be reflexive—you didn’t have much of an explanation for it. Almost like the one-off, fictitious bubble you thought you had with him burst and you couldn’t look at anything but the bushes to bring you back to reality.

Two people pulled up beside you two in a golf cart. Riki’s mood perked up as he greeted them. “Oh, hi guys,”

“Where you headed?”

Riki turned his head to you. “Where you going?” He said lowly, obviously taking your shyness into account. 

Your eyes flit to the side then back to his gaze. “South Hall.” 

He turned to the pair—two girls—with a bright smile on his face. “South Hall.”

The girls leaned over the steering wheel, beaming. “Hop in! We’ll give you a ride.”

Before you could wave them off, Riki’s hand landed lightly at the small of your back, steering you forward. “Perfect. We’re headed that way.”

Your head snapped up at him. We?

The girls brightened instantly, scooting their bags to make space on the back seat. “Yeah, climb in! Saves you the walk.”

You opened your mouth to protest—no way were you getting chauffeured across campus like his plus-one—but Riki was already sliding into the cart with that casual ease, patting the seat beside him like this was your cue.

“I’m fine walking—” you started.

The girl driving, her nametag reading Sydney—waved you off. “Girl, please. It’s nothing, we’re headed that way anyway.”

“Yeah, they’re already headed that way.” Riki smirked as he watched you step onto the cart. His hands up subconsciously to be ready to catch you if you slipped. 

You settled into the tan leather seats. “Thank you, girls, I appreciate it.” You nodded with a small smile on your lips, clutching your bag tighter than necessary. Sydney grinned back at you in the rearview mirror, while her friend—Maya, judging by the lanyard swinging around her neck—twisted halfway in her seat to wave you off. “Of course! We know how far South Hall is. Nobody should have to trek that after dinner.” The cart kicks as you pull off, breezing past the landscape and contemporary architecture. Paid for courtesy of the money that the athletics teams brought in from various donors and student dollars.

“Especially not after getting smacked in the face with a ball,” Riki added, leaning back like he owned the whole cart.

You shot him a look so sharp it could’ve cut glass. “You love bringing that up, don’t you?”

“History’s important,” he replied smoothly. “If I don’t remind you, who will?”

Maya giggled like he’d just delivered the funniest punchline of the century. You swore half the school was under his spell.

“Honestly, Riki’s right,” Maya said. “That pass was crazy. You didn’t even cry though. Respect.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting the urge to explain yourself. Because the truth was, you had flinched—you just did it internally where no one could see. But now, thanks to Riki, your little moment of public humiliation had become folklore. “You saw it?” Maya nodded, “yeah, I’m the basketball coach’s assistant. Well I didn’t see it but I, for sure, heard it.”

“The smack heard around the world—” Riki laughed, curling into himself as you slapped his rock-solid arm. “Shut up,” you hissed, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

Maya reassured you, “it’s okay. It’s contained. Only a few people saw it.” She shrugged, “the amount of times the guys on the team themselves have been hit is like…”

“Incalculable.” Sydney chimed in as she made a left turn, breezing past other walking students. You frowned at the sight, you wish you could fit them all in the vehicle. 

“Totally,” Riki added. “You remember that game against Boston when Jay—”

“I’ve never seen any of the games.” You interjected, narrowly inspecting your nails—but as soon as you said that the cart almost jerked to a full stop.

Sydney’s head whipped around, eyes wide. “You what?”

Maya gasped, clutching her chest like you’d just told them you hated puppies. “You’ve never—ever?” The cart slowed as a group of students crossed, giving Riki the perfect stage to swivel toward you, brows lifted in mock offense. “Hold on.” His voice was calm, but his expression was all wounded pride. “You’ve been sitting in my arena, my practices, for how long—and you’ve never watched a single game?”

You blinked at him. “I’m there for the cheer practices. Riki—I’ve never even seen you do more than dribble the ball.”

“How is that possible?” He furrowed his brows.

You frowned in thought. “I just never paid any mind to your side of the floor. I just…look where the girls are or my laptop. Mostly my laptop.” 

They finally pulled up to the lecture hall. Both you and Riki slid out—thanking Sydney and Maya as you did. “Good luck, girlie.” Sydney gave one last smile before speeding off ahead. It went by a lot faster than you thought. By this point, the two of you stood on the sidewalk right in front of South Hall. Taking in the silence for the moment as you both looked at the horizon. The sun melted behind the glass neuroscience building. Causing the both of you to turn your gaze to each other as the light reflected into your eyes. The moment Riki did, he grinned. “Okay. You can stop acting cool, no one’s around.” He whispered. “I know you’ve seen me play—one of my games at least.”

You slowly shook your head. “I swear I haven’t.”

He conceded, “Fine. Well…as I was saying before we were interrupted. I’m sorry for hitting you with the ball last week. It was an accident, and I also apologize for being a bit of a dick to you.”

You squinted up at him, arms crossed. “A bit of a dick?”

Riki laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “A little bit…” He pinched his fingers together. You gave him a look as you waited for him to take it back. Letting his words simmer. “Not even just the tip?”

You sighed, running your hands over your face. “Boy, if you don’t get the fuck out of my face—”

“I’m sorry, okay, okay!” He laughs as he waves his hands in front of your face. “I was joking…”

“Mmm…” you tilted your head at him, your heart beating a bit faster than it was before this conversation began.

He pursed his lips as he smiled down at you. A glint in his eyes that you don’t recognize. “I have an idea.”

“What?”

“As a token of my apology, I want to invite you to my next game.”

You stared at him like he’d just suggested a blood pact. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon.” His grin widened, like he’d been expecting that answer. “Front row, VIP. I’ll even have your name on the pass list. You don’t even have to cheer for me.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Fine, then come and boo. Loud. Make a sign if you want—‘Down with Nishimura’ or something.” He mimed holding up a poster, his expression all faux-serious. “I’ll wave at you from the free throw line.”

You snorted despite yourself, quickly covering it with a cough. “Why would I waste my Friday night watching sweaty dudes run back and forth?”

“Because sweaty dudes running back and forth is basically my art form,” he shot back smoothly. Then he tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a little. “Besides…you owe me.”

Your brows furrowed. “For what?”

“For traumatizing me,” he said without hesitation. “Do you know how much it hurts when someone tells you they’ve never seen your masterpiece?”

“That’s something called ego.”

He leaned in, close enough that his voice dropped into something teasingly low. “Same difference.” For a beat, you just stared at him, pulse tripping traitorously. “Dream on, Riki.” You turned, reaching for the heavy doors of South Hall, but his voice caught you right before you slipped inside.

“One game,” he called out, tone softer now. “Just one. If you hate it, I’ll never bother you again.”

You froze, hand on the handle. He had to know you weren’t the type to fold under pressure—so why did his voice sound less like a challenge and more like a genuine ask?

Slowly, you glanced back. He was standing there with his hands shoved into his sweats, rocking back on his heels, watching you with a grin that wasn’t entirely smug.

You squinted. “You expect me to believe that? You’ll leave me alone?”

He pressed a hand over his heart, feigning sincerity. “Scout’s honor.”

“You’ve never been a scout in your life.”

“Exactly, so I’ve got nothing to lose,” he said easily. “C’mon. You sit in the bleachers twice a week anyway. This time, you get a show.”

You opened your mouth to shoot him down again—but the words got stuck. Maybe it was the sunset painting him in gold, maybe it was the echo of his laugh still buzzing in your chest, maybe it was the faint thrill of saying yes when every fiber of you wanted to say no. You saw why people liked him. When he wasn’t being a pompous, meat for brains, insipid asshole—Riki could be described in a very simple word: charismatic. Everything that he is, does, seems to rub people the right way. But the fact that it took over a week to get a full apology from him always rang in the back of your mind.

“C’mon mama, wherever you need to be, you only have five minutes.” He sang, as he glanced at his blue Superman watch.

You didn’t want to be bought by him, this was just some sick foreplay, if any. He said it himself, he likes people—girls—like you. The ones that despise him and aren’t so easily won. He probably thinks you two are flirting—he has been. You haven’t—not intentionally that is. The last week has shown you the type of person he is. He’s rude, careless, inconsiderate and for sure undeserving of your time. “Quick question.”

He looked up at you, lifting his brow. “Talk to me.”

“Those girls that drove us, Sydney and…Maya. How do you know Sydney?” You pulled the sleeves of your zip-up over your wrist.

Riki cocked his head to the side, “she’s Maya’s girlfriend. Why?”

Okay so, that didn’t exactly satisfy the answer you wanted. 

But this is the problem, you wanted so badly to catch him in something. To see if someone was going to pop out of the bushes and tell you that you’ve been Punk’d. That you were a fool for even thinking that one of the most prolific basketball stars this university’s ever seen wanted your time and attention. But he seemed to. Or maybe it was his guilt. You couldn’t tell. And that was what was eating you alive. That you couldn’t tell. But curiosity was a bitch and maybe Friday night could’ve been for you.

As you looked at him again, he was already looking at you. “So?” He smiled gently, hopeful glints in his eyes.

You sighed, “how do I buy the ticket?” You throw up your hands in defeat as you look to the side and up at the nearly set sun. 

“Yes!” He cheered, pumping a fist in the air like he’d just hit a buzzer beater. Opening his arms wide, “can I give you a hug?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, arms crossing tighter. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, mama, I earned it,” he pleaded, arms still spread like he was about to embrace the whole campus. “You just admitted you’re coming to see me.”

“I admitted nothing,” you corrected, stepping around him toward the South Hall doors. “All I said was I need a ticket.”

“That’s the same thing.” He jogged to keep up with you, a grin plastered across his face. “In fact, it’s even better—you asked me for one. That’s like—” He paused, holding his hands out like he was framing a painting. “—a confession of interest.”

You stopped, deadpan. “I’m not interested,”

“And yet, hater,” he said, tapping his temple as if he’d solved world hunger, “I’ll see you Friday.”

Before you could come up with a scathing comeback, the bell tower chimed the hour. You groaned, clutching your bag. “I’m late. Thanks for that.”

“Thank me later,” he called as you hurried inside. And when you risked one last glance over your shoulder, he was still standing on the steps—hands in his pockets, that infuriating grin aimed right at you like he’d already won.

And maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of you worried he had.

—

“Wait what?! Riki invited you to his game?!” 

“Say that any louder would you?” You threw your hands up in irritation as Yasmin’s eyes bulged out of her skull at the news. 

Bella covered her mouth, stifling a laugh as she flipped the waffle maker open. “Wait—hold on, hold on.” She pointed the spatula at you like it was a gavel. “You, you, the number-one Riki Nishimura hater on campus, got personally invited by the man himself, and you said yes?”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “I didn’t say yes, I just…didn’t say no.”

“That’s a yes,” Yasmin gasped, and she quietly clapped her hands.  “Oh my gosh, you’re going to a game! Our little cynic is finally embracing school spirit!”

The dining hall was typically bustling around this time. Early in the morning, people want to load up on breakfast and catch up with friends before the inundating life of college consumes them. You, Yasmin, and Bella met up at nine AM for breakfast every single morning, no exceptions. Ten on weekends.

“Fuck the school, fuck the spirit.” You groaned. “I’m going because he wouldn’t shut up about it. It’s a one-time thing. A pity acceptance.”

Bella raised a brow. “A pity acceptance is still an acceptance, babe.”

The waffle maker dinged. She lifted the lid and slid a perfect golden square onto her plate, smirking as she doused it in syrup. “Honestly? I’m proud. You’re about to see the campus cult leader in his natural habitat.” She immediately doubled back to put more mix in the press. You and Yasmin always split a waffle. The beautiful, olive skinned girl squealed again. Grabbing your hands and interlocking them. “This is huge! You’re gonna love it—the lights, the crowd, the energy—”

“The egos,” you cut in, tugging your hands back.

“The athleticism,” Yasmin countered, unfazed. “And hey, if you don’t like the game, at least the cheer squad will look amazing. I’ll even throw in a wink just for you.” You wrapped an arm around both girls’ shoulders, to which they rested their heads on yours. “At least I’m guaranteed some type of joy. Seeing my hot friends in their cute cheer outfits.”

Bella laughed, rubbing your tummy as she lifted herself up to check your waffle. “I’ll even give you a lap dance if you ask nicely.”

“Bella!” Yasmin swatted her with the back of her hand, laughing so hard her mascara almost smudged.

“What?” Bella grinned, cutting your shared waffle with surgical precision. 

You snorted into your mango juice. “If Riki’s game is even half as entertaining as this breakfast, maybe I’ll survive.”

“Oh, you’ll more than survive,” Yasmin said confidently. “You’re gonna be converted.”

“Is this guy really that good?” You grabbed two plates for the two and slid them to Bella. 

The two girls nodded in unison. “Putting all dickhead-ism aside, babes. He’s extremely good.” Bella said as she put the halves on both plates.

Yasmin nodded, as you both walked back to your table. “Yeah, it’s freaky. I don’t know, but you’ll see Friday.” She shrugged as you sat at your table. 

Bella pointed her fork at you. “You’re gonna hate how much you agree with her.”

Before you could fire back, a shadow fell across the table.

“Agree with who?”

You nearly choked on your strawberry. Yasmin yelped so loud half the dining hall turned. And Bella? She smacked her fork down like she was about to get very violent.

Standing there, plate balanced casually in one hand, was Riki Nishimura himself. Grinning like the devil.

“Don’t do that!” Yasmin scolded, clutching her chest.

“Do what?” he asked innocently, setting his plate down at the table behind yours. He placed his hand on the back of your chair—something weirdly intimate. You couldn’t assess the feeling. But you felt his body heat radiate off of him.

Bella and Yasmin knew Riki in passing. The basketball team and their cheerleaders—the team that the girls were a part of—were familiar with one another. From the university standpoint, the cheerleaders would hype up the crowd, boost morale, the works. On the other end, a lot of them would date other athletes. Which sounds cliche in hindsight. Riki ‘dated’ many cheerleaders in his day, mostly during high school. Now, he’s calmed down—only having screwed around with three of them in his years at Decelis. Three in two years isn’t that terrible. But that was the thing with Riki, he screwed. That’s all he could do. Wanted to do, really. He knew the power he held here and what man wouldn’t enjoy the flock of women that threw themselves at his feet? Especially when his status was what it was. Riki would make it clear that he didn’t want anything more with them. Abundantly clear that it was just sex, nothing more or less. But of course, there would be a few that would try to change him. Claim him, go around saying things about him that weren’t true to scare other girls out of dating him. Once he started getting attention, sponsorships, ESPN coverage, he couldn’t risk his image being tainted at the hands of a one night stand. From his perspective, he’d rather get in trouble for things he did on his own than something someone else said. Especially if it weren’t true. Besides that, the girls and him essentially ran in the same circles. Plus, Yasmin and one of the other basketball guys had a one-off fling. Brief, fruitless, literally lasted three weeks. Bella was pretty and Riki was sort of eyeing her for a minute, but that crush died. Nothing that Bella did, he just saw you.

“Nothing. Do nothing, Riki.” You looked up at him with a sarcastic smile. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I love the welcome wagon.” He nodded curtly as he lightly, very playfully punched your arm. “Just wanted to remind you that Friday shall not be forgotten.” Yasmin smiles, “it’s not! We were just talking about yo—” Bella immediately kicked her leg, roughly—nearly leaving a bruise. Yasmin’s yelp turned into a strained laugh, way too high-pitched. “—yo, yogurt. We were just talking about yogurt.”

The blonde nodded affirmatively, slowly but going with what the girl writhing in pain said. “Uh-huh. Strawberry yogurt. Very…important conversation.”

Riki squinted, biting into his toast with suspicious slowness. “Yogurt. Right.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “You guys know you’re terrible liars, right?” Bella shoved a piece of waffle into her mouth to avoid answering. Yasmin’s eyes darted everywhere but him. And you? You just stared back at him, unimpressed.

“Relax,” Riki grinned, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “If I wanted to eavesdrop, I’d sit at this table, not behind you. Though—” His knuckles rapped against the back of your chair again, teasing. “This seat has its perks.”

Bella groaned into her plate. Yasmin kicked her under the table this time.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t you have a young woman’s life to ruin?” 

He quirked his brows, stealing a slice of kiwi from your plate. “Who, like yours?”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

Riki just chewed the kiwi like he hadn’t just thrown a grenade on the table. “I’m saying—” he gestured vaguely with his fork, “—you’re acting like I’ve got a whole victim list when clearly…” His eyes slid to you, gleaming. “…you’re volunteering.”

Bella choked on her waffle. Yasmin slapped her back, sputtering. “Who do you think you are?”

“What? I’m clarifying,” he said innocently, though the corner of his mouth was doing that thing—the smug almost-smile that made your blood heat. Then, without another word, he grabs a chair and his plate from the table he had the food on. Getting comfy as he set himself up. “I’m so sorry I just love girl chat.” He squealed as he scooted inward and entirely too close to you.

Bella’s head snapped up. “Did…did you just squeal?”

“I did.” Riki leaned his elbow on the table, grinning like a cheshire cat. “I’m very in touch with my feminine side.”

Yasmin looks at you with a disappointed sigh, “I see what you were talking about.”

Your fork froze mid-air. “Wow. Betrayal this early in the morning?”

Yasmin just shrugged helplessly, sipping her coffee. “I’m sorry,”

Riki gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “You’ve been slandering me before I even sat down?”

Bella stabbed her waffle with unnecessary force. “We didn’t need to. You do it all yourself.”

He turned to you then, eyes glinting, completely ignoring the other two. “So that’s the verdict? I walk in here, innocent, just trying to enjoy my kiwi—”

“You mean my kiwi?” You gesture to your nearly cleared off plate of fruit. 

“It’s not like you were eating the shit.” He reached in, going for the last few slices. But before he could, you turned the bowl—bringing it out of his reach. Riki froze mid-reach, his hand hovering in the air.

Without any effort, he reached down to the leg of your chair—pulling you closer into his side with the strength of a singular arm. Your heart skipped, and you yanked back slightly, more surprised than scared. “Hey! What—” Riki didn’t budge, just leaned forward to grab the bowl. “What?” His eyes flicked to the bowl of fruit, then back to you, unrepentant as he tested you. Dared you to speak again in a teasing way.

Bella and Yasmin froze mid-bite, their expressions somewhere between horror and fascination. Yasmin whispered, “Uh…maybe…maybe intervene?”

Bella just buried her face in her hands. “Nope. Not my problem.”

—

Friday came faster than you thought it ever could. Which is strange because any other week goes by excruciatingly slow for you. Greatly enough, you didn’t figure out why. Maybe it was the thought of seeing Riki on the court, all energy and mild aggression personified, or maybe it was the memory of him cornering you over a damn kiwi bowl. Either way, you found yourself walking across campus, purse slung over one shoulder, feeling a mix of dread and curiosity that you didn’t entirely understand. The arena loomed ahead, banners flapping in the evening breeze as crowds of people made their way inside. Your chest tightened, not from the usual anxiety of social situations, but from the knowing—knowing that he was here, somewhere in the midst of all that chaos, grinning like he owned the place. After the interactions you had with him, you wondered if Riki ever got nervous before games. If he did some bizarre ritual or had a good luck charm like a pair of socks he wears every game that he hasn’t washed since he was ten. Your lace-trimmed long sleeve was very cute and delicate, definitely not the “athlete-supportive” outfit anyone would expect at a basketball game—but somehow, it felt like armor. You tugged at the hem nervously, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach. Inside, the arena buzzed with energy: the squeak of sneakers on the polished court, the rhythmic stomps and chants of the crowd, the banners waving overhead. Somewhere in the middle of it all, you knew Riki would appear larger than life, and honestly…the thought made your palms sweat.

He didn’t lie, there was a seat reserved right in the front row with your name on it.

​​You blinked at the small placard. Your name. Front row.

A mix of irritation and curiosity bubbled up. Who even does that? And yet…part of you couldn’t deny the thrill. Sliding into the seat, you felt the floor vibrate as the players warmed up, sneakers squeaking and balls thumping as the team warmed up. Then you saw him moving across the court, every motion effortless, commanding, magnetic. Even from a distance, you could feel the energy radiating off him, drawing your gaze like gravity. He caught your eye for a brief second, slyly winking at you as he chewed on a mouthguard. His attire was great. Yes, he wore the school colors—purple and white—on his uniform. A large number three at the center of both sides of his jersey. But on his right arm, he had a white arm sleeve. White finger tape decorating his fingers as on the opposite leg—his left—he had a leg sleeve. You’ve seen basketball players wear stuff like this, it seemed to be the style. Your eyes scanned the middle of the court and you spotted Bella and Yasmin—dolled up and looking as gorgeous as ever as they sat on the sidelines. You beamed and immediately took out your phone to snap a photo of them. Oh-so-inconspicuously sending that photo in the group chat. An ‘I’m watching your every step’ message. Nothing too weird, you know. The laugh in your throat bubbled as you broke out into a smile, and for a moment, the noise of the crowd faded into the background. Bella’s perfectly lined eyeliner, Yasmin’s gleaming hair, the way they leaned into each other as they whispered—you could practically hear the unspoken jokes.

Until it was time for tip-off.

—

The buzzer sounded, a sharp crack that made your chest skip a beat, and the ball soared into the air. Riki lunged with impossible timing, leaping higher than anyone else, his arm sleeve flexing with the motion. The crowd erupted as he slammed the ball down with a satisfying thunk, immediately taking control of the game.

From your front-row seat, every movement was mesmerizing: the pivot of his legs, the effortless bounce of the ball, the way his jersey clung just right when he twisted mid-air. And, of course, the occasional glance your way—a subtle lift of the brow, a tilt of the head—just enough to remind you he knew you were watching. Riki crouched low near half-court, dribbling the ball between his legs with that smooth, controlled rhythm that made it look effortless. His eyes flicked up, scanning the defense like a chess player anticipating every move. He didn’t rush—never all-out too early. Every feint, every subtle shift of his weight was calculated, teasing the defenders, building tension, like he was saving the real fireworks for the perfect moment. A defender lunged, trying to predict his next move, but Riki only stayed focused, spinning the ball through a precise between-the-legs crossover. He leaned forward, eyes locked on the basket, energy coiled and measured, every step deliberate. And then—explosion. He exploded past the defender, weaving through the chaos with that signature agility, rising for a perfect, graceful layup that made the crowd roar. Even in motion, his gaze flicked toward you, subtle and teasing, like he was daring you to blink.

—

He always took smart shots. 

Surprisingly enough, Riki was far from a ball hog. He moved like a conductor through the chaos of the game, every dribble, pivot, and pass precise. He orchestrated plays, drawing defenders toward him and then slipping a perfect pass to a teammate cutting to the hoop—playing the point guard role perfectly. Every shot he took was calculated; every assist and pass, effortless. You watched, captivated, as he built the momentum of the game with a controlled fire that was both intimidating and magnetic. Halfway through the second quarter, he caught the ball just inside the three-point line, eyes scanning, defenders breathing down his neck. He dribbled, a subtle hesitation, then spun between his legs, pivoting with that signature agility. A defender tried to stop him, but his shoulder grazed Riki just enough to make him stumble—foul called immediately. He didn’t miss a beat. Rising for the layup, he absorbed the contact and still managed to sink it cleanly. The whistle blew—and one.

As he landed, he slapped his chest with that confident, masculine gesture, exhaling sharply, eyes glinting. The crowd clapped, teammates high-fiving him.Every move seemed designed to entertain as much as to dominate. He drew cheers from the crowd, coordinated plays with teammates, and every so often, that teasing glance toward you reminded you: this was also a show for you.

—

On defense, Riki was a pest. Annoying. The kind of player who never gave you room to breathe. He crouched low, arms wide, reading the offense like he had the playbook in his head before it even unfolded. Every time his opponent tried to drive, he cut them off with quick, sharp footwork, shadowing every step. And when he went for a steal? Ruthless. One second the ball was in his opponent’s hands, the next Riki had stripped it clean, darting down the court. He didn’t just defend—he got under skin. By the third quarter, you could see the frustration written across the faces of the guys stuck dealing with him. He thrived on it too. That sly grin crept back whenever a frustrated guard shoved into him a little too hard, trying to break free. He’d just shrug it off, tap his leg sleeve like try again, and lock back in.

Even from the front row, you could tell—he wasn’t just good. He was exhausting to play against.

—

There were a few times he should’ve got called for a technical foul but wasn’t. A few of the other guys on the team trash-talked. But Riki’s mouth was the worst. You could tell, just like the rest of them, that they got extremely competitive in the heat of the moment. Which was understandable, but you wondered. There have been many times you’ve seen women’s games and the refs have so much to say to them when they get snippy. But the guys are essentially having a dick swinging contest right before the entire country to see. He’d get in the defenders’ faces, bump their shoulders. Take out his mouthguard specifically just to shit talk right in their faces. Whispering foul words to intimidate the player that you couldn’t make out. The guilty part of you was sort of turned on by it, seeing Riki this way. This was the most masculine you saw him. Not the smug tease hovering over your shoulder in the dining hall. Not the boy grinning as he chased you up to class. Here, on the court, chest heaving, jaw tight, trash talk spilling easy—this was Riki in his rawest form. And you hated how much your stomach knotted watching it.

—

By the last thirty seconds, the gym was shaking. 126–126. Decelis ball. Everyone in the stands already knew where it was going—Riki. He dribbled up, face locked in that sharp, predator focus you’d never seen off the court. Two defenders closed in, practically climbing his back. The crowd roared, waiting for him to take the shot. Of course he would. He always did.

He didn’t.

At the last second, Riki snapped his wrist and swung the ball out to a teammate wide in the corner. Perfect pass. The kid launched it. Swish. Decelis up three. The arena exploded, bodies leaping, the bench clearing to scream. Riki didn’t even crack a smile—just hit his chest once, hard, and pointed at his teammate like that’s you.

The other team scrambled for a last shot, missed, and the buzzer went off in a storm of whistles and screams. Decelis: 129. Them: 126. Your ears rang as everyone flooded the court. Players crashing into each other, coaches losing their minds, fans pressed against the rails. And in the middle of it all was Riki, tall and shining and untouchable, sweat dripping down his jaw. While you covered your ears, trying to ensure you didn’t lose your hearing at the tail-end of this event—you got it now. More than anything did you understand why these things weren’t just games. They were spectacles. If people were like this for regular in-season games, imagine what the playoffs and (hopefully) championship games would be like. But besides that, you realized what made your pulse race wasn’t just the scoreboard or the roaring crowd—it was him. Riki, standing there like the center of gravity, chest rising and falling, teammates mobbing him in a blur of jerseys. He hadn’t even taken the final shot, but everyone knew he’d been the engine. The conductor. The spark.

He accepted the praise, but he immediately found the kid that he passed to—hitting his chest as he nodded. Smiling through his mouth guard as they both had some weird, guy conversation. Some celebratory music was playing from the arena speakers, as the fans cheered and stomped, the sound rattling through your bones. Players kept shoving Riki, grabbing his shoulders, hollering in his face like he’d just saved the world. He took it all with that cool, unbothered grin, dapping them up one by one. But then, as the noise stretched on, he peeled away. Sweat dripping down his temple, jersey clinging, he jogged over to the scorer’s table. You frowned, watching as he grabbed the ball from the official’s hands, spinning it once in his palm like it belonged to him.

And then—of course—his gaze cut straight to you.

Your stomach twisted as he looked at you, expectantly—waiting for your approval. Waiting for your okay. For you to tell him how great he already knew he was. But he wanted to hear it—see it—from you. Without a word, you nodded slowly—tipping your bag of sour gummies at him as you leaned back into your seat.

His grin widened around his mouth guard, sharp and almost childlike as he turned back to his teammates—doing cheesy celebratory dances as the arena cleared out. You shook your head, laughing softly as you cleaned up your area. Grabbing the wrappers and water bottles you went through—you hated leaving messes for people to pick up when you were fully capable of doing it yourself. As you walked to the trashcan that was about ten feet away, the girls wrapped their arms around you from either side. Bella’s perfume hit you first, sugary and strong, while Yasmin’s lip gloss smudged your cheek as she leaned in.

“Front row, huh?” Yasmin sing-songed, her grin wicked.

Bella gave you a look that said girl, explain, even as she pretended to focus on the giant foam finger she was waving.

“In my defense, I didn’t think I’d be put there.” You put your hands up, stepping back.

The blonde smiled, poking your arm. “Okay, WAG—”

“No!” You laughed, swatting her hand away. “Not WAG! I’m not—I didn’t—”

Yasmin’s grin widened, clearly loving your flustered flailing. “Relax, relax. We’re just saying, you know…front row. Big stage. Him.”

Bella snorted, waving the foam finger like a banner of proof. “Yeah, yeah, admit it—you enjoyed it.”

You rolled your eyes, tugging your bag higher on your shoulder. “I did. The game was good.” Nodding in thought, “y’all were right.” 

Yasmin smiled, “see?! It’s so cute like, we all come together just to sit down and be in community and cheer and it just—” “Okay Miss Frizzle,” Bella placed her hand onto the girl’s shoulder as you all shared a laugh. Bella tugged you guys close, hugging you both tightly. “Okay, so are we ever gonna have the conversation where we cover the fact that Riki totally wants you?”

You froze mid-step, the weight of Bella’s words hitting like a surprise full-court press.

Yasmin snorted behind her hand, eyes sparkling. “Ooh, she’s gonna deny it. Watch.”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, trying for casual, but your voice betrayed you anyway.

Bella rolled her eyes, smirking. “Uh-huh. Totally casual. Front row, him looking like a Greek statue on the court, and he somehow looked in your general direction for most of the game? Totally casual. So friendly.”

You nodded, brushing your curls behind your ear. “Mhm, you said it, not me.”

They both give you a look. Sharing one with each other as they both moved you out of the way as there were flocks of people still trying to make their ways out of the arena in one piece. But you somehow forgot about their existence, this has been happening a lot to you the last few hours. And most of your life. This sort of dissociation—only minding the people close to you. The ones you thought were special. Like today, you’d be in a sea of people and if you knew three—you kept them close to your chest. There’s been so many times where people would run into you, or come up to you and greet you and you’d not know who they were until they reminded you that you had your eleven-thirty history class with them and they sat right behind you. This is why Riki crashing into your life these last two weeks has been so surreal for you. And maybe, just maybe, this might be the reason for your subconscious rejection of him. You never actually hated him, you understood that. You simply didn’t like that you and the entire university were being forced to like him simply because he was good at a sport. By this point, the arena was empty sans for you three and some custodians that swept up the floor with pristine efficiency. Proving they’ve done this a thousand times over. 

Yasmin opened her mouth to respond, yet she was interrupted by one of the girls calling from one of the double doors. “Bella! Yasmin! C’mon, Coach is making us take photos and we can’t go without you guys.”

The brunette nodded, “we’re coming!” She called out as she turned to look at you. “Be right back.” She whispered, hugging you tightly—kissing your cheek as she scampered off to the door. 

Bella smiled as she watched Yasmin make a quick break for the doors. Turning back to you, she nodded to the door. “Wanna come?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “Sure I—” From the corner of your eye, you see a tall figure jogging toward you. The sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor pulled your attention, and before you could even finish your sentence, there he was. The man of the hour. Still in his jersey, dried sweat sticking to his skin, his hair damp at the edges. He had ditched his mouthguard somewhere between celebrating and now, flashing that unbothered grin that made your pulse do a somersault. The ball was tucked under one arm like an extension of himself, and his pace—quick, determined—made it obvious: he wasn’t jogging toward anyone. He was jogging toward you. Bella’s brows shot up, her lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile as she stepped aside like she knew she was witnessing a movie scene unfold. “Ohhh, this should be good,” she murmured, already backing toward the doors to “give you space” but absolutely intending to eavesdrop from ten feet away. She debated, but ultimately decided to go find the team before she had to run ten laps before next practice. “I’ll catch you later, love you.” She whispered, rubbing your shoulder before she scurried off. Your feet stayed planted, though your mind screamed at you to do literally anything else. Riki slowed to a stop in front of you, chest rising and falling, eyes locked onto yours like Bella, the arena, the custodians didn’t exist. “Hi.” Just that—soft, breathless, like he’d been holding it in all night and finally let it spill. He shifted the ball under his arm, free hand tugging at the hem of his jersey like it could keep him grounded. His eyes, though, weren’t grounded at all—they were skating across your face, memorizing, cataloguing, daring you to look away.

“Congrats,” you managed, your voice a little too high, a little too airy, like you hadn’t been practicing something cooler in your head since halftime. “Star of the game, huh?”

His grin returned, a little crooked now, more boy than legend. “Nah. Don’t start with all that.” He leaned in a fraction, enough for you to catch the lingering salt of sweat, the heat radiating off him. “Besides…wasn’t really playing for the crowd tonight.” You raised your brows in slight shock, your heart skipping a little at the flirtation. “Are you flirting with me, sir?” Stifling a laugh as you cock your head.

Riki laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

Your stomach dipped like the floor had given out under you, though your face did its best to play it cool. Folding your arms, pretending his answer didn’t just rearrange your insides, you said, “Thank…you?” Riki’s laugh came again, low and disbelieving, like you’d just crossed him up on his own court. “Thank you?” He echoed, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on the ball. “That’s your response?”

You shrugged, trying to look unfazed even as your pulse thudded in your throat. “Well, what do you want me to say?” That crooked grin tugged at his lips again, boyish and sharp all at once. He angled his chin at you, eyes flicking over your face like he was searching for the crack in your act. “I was hoping for something more like…‘finally.’”

That single word hung between you, heavier than the arena’s fading buzz. Your arms loosened, the folded front slipping without your permission. “Finally?” you repeated, soft, like you weren’t sure if you wanted to challenge him or dare him to keep going. “Yeah,” Riki said, voice quieter now, less bravado and more truth. “Been waiting for a shot. Figured tonight I’d stop warming the bench.” He let the ball go, letting it bounce. He tapped it gently, letting it come back to his hand. He extended it to you with one arm. “For you, beautiful.”

You blinked at the ball, then at him, like he’d just offered you his jersey, his sneakers, and possibly his firstborn all at once. “For me?”

Riki’s smirk tilted into something softer, more earnest. “Yeah. MVP keeps the ball. Tonight…” he shrugged, eyes never leaving yours, “that’s you.”

Without anything else coming to mind, you just take the ball hesitantly. Like it would explode if you were to handle it wrong. “Oh my gosh, Riki…” you smile brightly. “Thank you.”

He laughs softly, “you said that already, mama. You don’t have to thank me.” He waved off as he sighed shakily. “Look…I know…we got off to a rocky start—”

“Rocky?” You echoed, one brow arching as you hugged the ball tighter against your chest.

“Hostile’s the better word.”

You nodded curtly, “for sure.”

Riki chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck like he was taking the hit on purpose. “Yeah, I deserved that.”

You tilted your head, lips twitching. “Glad we agree.”

His grin softened into something a little less cocky, a little more boyish. “But…if hostile was the start, I’m hoping this—” he nodded toward the ball in your arms, “—can be, you know, the reset.”

“So you wanna be friends?” You bounced the ball, dribbling it as you stared down at it. Ensuring it didn’t go anywhere—zero hand-eye coordination on your end.  Riki’s smile brightened as he watched you. “Friends is a good start, that’s not all I want though.” His eyes darted between you and the ball that you seem to have so much trouble dribbling but he just let you go.

Your dribble went sideways, the ball nearly escaping before you caught it with both hands, clutching it like a life preserver. “Not all you want?” you repeated, squinting at him. “You don’t even know if I can make a free throw.” Riki snorted, entertained at seeing you try this with zero grace. “But I do know you can’t dribble. I’m sorry but you are absolutely terrible.” 

“Hey! It’s not even my job to be good at this shit. Sorry I’m not like what’s-his-name.” You switch hands and dribble the ball at an irregular rhythm.

“What is his name, sweetheart?” Riki pursed his lips as he watched you with his hands clasped behind his back. 

You snapped your fingers as if it were able to trigger a thought. “Um…Allen Iverson! Yes! Allen Iverson.” Riki blinked, then burst out laughing, so loud one of the custodians looked over in confusion. “Allen Iverson?!” He bent forward, hands on his knees, grinning at you like you’d just told the funniest joke of the year. “Oh my God—nah, don’t do AI like that. He’s turning in his grave right now—”

“He’s not even dead!” you cut in, indignant, clutching the ball tighter.

Riki straightened, smirk pulling at his lips as he pointed at you. “Exactly. And you still killed him with that comparison.”

You gasped dramatically, eyes wide. “Wow. You’re mean.”

“Nah,” he shook his head, stepping closer again, grin softer now. “Just honest. And besides…” his gaze lingered on you, enough to make your heartbeat stumble, “…you’re way cuter than Iverson anyway.”

You got back to dribbling. “I don’t know…” you sang. “I used to have a crush on him when I was young.” You were focused, tongue sticking out in concentration as you played with the ball. 

He blurted out. “Okay, I’m sorry, I can’t take this anymore.” He scratched his forehead. “You gotta keep your eyes up, mama.” Scrunching his nose a bit as he put his hand on his hip.

“No, Riki, I’m gonna lose it if I do!” 

“Well I’m already losing it.” He laughs at your stubbornness. “You looking down isn’t helping you. If this were a game, I’d steal the ball from you.”

Your eyes stayed down, at this point, you were just pulling his leg. 

He swiftly stole the ball from you. “Hey,” he said firmly, grabbing your chin gently and forcing you to look at him. He bounced the ball at a quick rhythm, “look at me.” Dribbling the ball between his legs as he leans down to your height. 

Your breath caught, heat rushing to your cheeks at how close he suddenly was—his palm warm and steady on your chin, his eyes locked onto yours like he dared you to blink. The ball thudded against the hardwood in a perfect rhythm, the sound echoing in the empty arena. His smirk deepened, lips curling as if he’d just proven his point without saying another word. “See? Easy. You keep your eyes on me, and the ball takes care of itself.”

You scoffed, though it came out softer than intended, your voice a little shaky. “That’s…literally not how physics works.” “Sure it is,” he countered smoothly, still dribbling with one hand, chin tilted with that effortless confidence. “Ball control is focus. And right now, your focus…” he tapped your chin lightly before pulling his hand back, “…is exactly where I want it.” He stops dribbling and presses the ball into your chest.

“You’re such a showoff.” You crossed your arms over the ball, trying to reclaim some authority, though your heart betrayed you with a rapid thump. Riki tilted his head, grin sharpening just enough to be mischievous. “And you’re—

“Yo Riki!”

The both of you turn to see someone from behind you. Turns out it was three people, only one of them shouting out from across the floor. His teammates most likely. “You coming?!”  Confusion coated your features. That and annoyance was on Riki’s as well until realization found him. “Wh—oh shit!” He quickly turned to you with a small smile. “The team’s having an afterparty at one of the frats, wanna come?”

Your eyes widened, “a frat party?” “Well, yes and no. One of the guys on the team, Maki—we have the same name, funnily enough. Whatever that’s not the point—the point is, he’s a part of Phi Gamma Theta. The party’s at his frat house and it’s his turn to buy the beer.” He nods with a shimmy of his shoulders. 

You turn to his teammates that are eyeing you both expectantly, mainly him. At this moment, you really didn’t want to go. Like at all. And you were most certainly going to deny him! But you were so surprised that he was so quick to let you into his world in this way—so quickly. While you liked that he wanted you in the spaces that he occupied, you were weary of both him and the company he kept. You simply didn’t know him that well. 

While it didn’t hurt to make new friends and take on new social scenes, you seriously debated how to spend your Friday night. Bella and Yasmin were going to their dorms right after this they said. They’d been putting in serious work this week and were taking every last day of their weekends to do nothing. You were just going to study for your Latin quiz on Monday—which you hardly did because you were too worried about the Philosophy paper due this afternoon. So either way, you lost. “Uh…I think I’m gonna stay in tonight. Latin quiz on Monday and I’ve hardly studied.”

Riki nodded, “for sure, that’s fine.” He waves off, looking to his teammates and holding up his index finger. Indicating that he wanted a second. They went back to where they came, most likely the locker room. “Text me when you get to your dorm?” You quirked a brow, that confusion making another appearance. “I don’t have your number, Riki.”

He tilts his head, “you for sure do.” His eyes fell to the basketball in your hands then your eyes again.

Your gaze followed where his once was, shifting the ball around in your hands until you come across a slip of paper taped securely to it. Reading: To my MVP. Then the digits followed. Laughing, your heart rate spiking more than you’d like it to. “You’re such a cornball.” “And I got your number from Yasmin already so…don’t even think about flaking on me.” He wagged a finger in your face. “I’m a little crazy too, I hope you know.” He teased.

“Too? As in, you think I’m crazy?” You narrow your eyes as you fold your hands over the ball. He smiled as he reminisced, “well, when one takes a fresh basketball to the face and doesn’t cry, I’d like to think there’s a little something in your wheelhouse.”

You stared at him blankly. “Goodnight, Riki.” Then lightly tossed the ball, watching it bounce right off his forehead before he could react. And funnily enough, it fell right back in your hands. “Huh, I guess ball control really does work.” Riki laughed, rubbing the spot as he stepped closer. “See? Never lied to you.” His hand hovered briefly at the back of your head before he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Thanks for coming. I mean it. Text me when you get in, okay? Actually—” his grin flickered back as he shook his head, “don’t even bother. I’ll text you in thirty minutes.”

And this might’ve been the very moment that he got you. 

Him getting closer to you as he showed this affection felt like it was in slow motion. Did it last twenty seconds or twenty minutes, you couldn’t tell. As the faint scent of his sweat overtook your senses, you found yourself breathing him in. Taking in every ounce of the time you had with him in this arena. Despite the salty liquid, he smelled of something clean. Like linen, or some sort of fruit—citrus. More so an orange. His body was cooler now, but the heat from his body trying to cool itself down and instead it felt like the heat was all on you now. 

You did this a lot. Taking him in. Soaking up every second despite his presence not wanting to admit how much you enjoyed it. That awareness lingered in your chest, heavy and sweet, like honey that refused to dissolve. You hugged the ball against your stomach, pretending it was the only anchor keeping you steady. Because if you didn’t, you might’ve reached out—might’ve let your fingers graze his jaw, might’ve leaned in just a little too much. He didn’t make it easier, either. Still so close, still looking at you like you were something more than just a distraction. His grin is softer now, less cocky. Like he was letting you see the part of him he didn’t hand out to just anyone.

—

The second you get to your dorm you don’t even text him. You immediately sit at your desk, prop your phone up and move all your books to the side. You felt like you just did ninety lines of cocaine, every bone in your body jittering, every nerve spiked.  To be fully transparent, you hadn’t felt like this since Christmas when you were ten and your parents got you the entire Dork Diaries series after hearing you ask for it since December the year before. Fuck all the Bratz dolls, the Barbies, the dollhouses. Those be damned. Nothing mattered more to you than finally reading the book where Nikki actually didn’t say her comebacks in her head and when Mackenzie wasn’t finally the victim anymore. However, you didn’t get that far in the series anyway.

There had to be a day that you found your Brandon Roberts, and it might’ve not been today. But until then, you had to document every moment to your best friends. As you rang them on the group video call, they both popped in. Yasmin was perched at her desk with a face mask and a fluffy headband like she was running a skincare commercial. Bella was sprawled across her bed, the camera only showing her nose up like she couldn’t be bothered with life.

“Why you calling us like the world’s ending?” Bella groaned, her voice muffled by her pillow.

“Because it is,” you shot back immediately, tucking your legs under your desk chair. “Guys—I think Riki kissed me.”

So, both of them were gagged—full stop. Your screen sparks to life. Yasmin’s in a fluffy headband, cheeks already flushed. Bella’s camera is a nose-up drama shot and both of them look like they’ve seen a ghost and a dream at the same time.

“No way! Wait—what—dude! I thought you didn’t like him like that!” Bella beamed as she smiled into the camera. Holding her heart to keep it from bursting and oozing into the phone. You tilted your head, “I’m easy, I fear…” you bit your finger as you all giggled at your tone. Burying your face into the desk, you screamed into the hardwood. Yasmin asked. “Wait so…what do you mean ‘you think?’ I’m pretty sure you’d know if someone kissed you, girl.” She leaned back in the chair, smiling still as she smushed slime. Letting the glue mold in her hands as she popped some of the air bubbles. 

You grabbed a stress ball from your drawer. “Long story short—”

“Hold up—sorry to interrupt but after I left how long did y’all talk for? Y’all stayed on the floor?” Bella nodded, trying to scope out the scene.

You nodded, “yeah, and we stayed for like…twenty minutes after?”

Yasmin squealed, holding her cheeks. “Ugh, I’m so happy for you! What did y’all talk about?” Shrugging, you shook your head in thought. “We just…talked. It wasn’t anything heavy. But he did say he wanted to be more than friends; and me coming to the game was a way for him to hopefully bridge the gap between us.” A smile spreads onto your face slowly. “It was nice…”

“So how did a kiss happen?” Bella hummed, fully sat for this debrief. 

You clear your throat dramatically, adjusting yourself in your seat. “So basically, he gave me the game ball—” Both girls jumped up like you announced you just won the lottery. “Rejoice! Thank goodness, my girl is finally gonna get some dick!” Bella cried out to the popcorn ceiling, raising her hands in jubilation. 

“But he taped his number to it—and Yas! You gave him my number?!”

Yasmin ducked lower in her chair, a guilty smile creeping across her face while her slime made a wet squelch. “...maybe. Don’t act like you’re mad, you’re literally glowing right now.”

You tossed the stress ball at the wall, rolling your eyes so hard they might’ve gotten stuck. “That’s beside the point!” Bella was already wheezing, halfway off her bed. “No, no, no, wait. He taped his number to the game ball? Like…actually taped it? That’s the most middle school-romance-movie shit I’ve ever heard. I live.”

“And it said ‘To my MVP,’” you admitted begrudgingly, dragging your hands down your face like confessing to a crime. Both of them lost it again. Yasmin fell sideways in her chair, face mask peeling at the edges, while Bella screamed into her pillow like you’d told her BTS showed up at your dorm.

“Oh my god,” Yasmin gasped between giggles. “He’s corny. He’s so corny. But in the best way. Like…cereal box prize corny. The kind you keep forever.” Bella sat up, eyes wild. “Nah, that’s husband behavior. Do you hear me? Husband.”

And despite yourself, you smiled so wide your cheeks hurt. “Then when we both parted—he and the team were going to a party at the Phi Gamma Theta house. He invited me but I didn’t wanna go—anyway—as we were leaving, he kissed my forehead—AH!” You screamed into the desk again. Not even caring if you got a noise complaint. You cleared your throat as you got back up. “Sorry.” They shook their heads, waving you off without a care. 

“Anyway, he kissed my forehead, thanked me for coming, and said to text him when I got here—I haven’t yet.” You grabbed another toy, your slinky, and played with that. “And that if I didn’t he’d call me in thirty.”

Yasmin nodded, “so why didn’t you text him yet?”

Bella chimed in, “so she can see if he’s the type of guy to do what he says he’s gonna do, Yas.” She nodded with a smirk, tapping her temple in thought.

“Well, he should be calling any—”

Your phone buzzed as it rang from an unknown number—most likely Riki’s seeing as you hadn’t saved it yet. “Oh my gosh, fine shit is calling! What do I do?! Wait! He’s video calling me too!”

“Answer it, fuckface!” Bella laughed.

You yelped, fumbling for the green button as your hands shook. “I—I don’t know if I can!”

“Girl, are you serious?!” Yasmin screeched, squeezing her slime like it owed her money. “Just answer! He’s literally waiting to see your face!”

Bella was practically vibrating off her bed, one hand covering her mouth while the other waved frantically at the screen. “Do it! Pretend you’re calm, but like—you know just play it cool.”

“Okay, okay!” You took a breath and quickly clicked the green button.  Then before you knew it, there stood Riki. Hair slightly damp from the shower and outside air drying, fresh faced, and a black tee that you could only see the neckline of. The streetlight and LEDs that the frat had up illuminated his face so warmly. It was so bizarre, from the neck downward, Riki was beyond what you could imagine an athlete’s physique being like. Lean, agile, cut, not even an ounce of fat on him—but even then, you realize that he was still so handsome anyway. 

He smiled when he saw you. “Hope you didn’t forget about me.”

You waved, “no, I could never.” Opening your arms as you spread the slinky and let it fall back into your hands.

“How was the debrief?” He brushed his hair back, flashing his watch, laughing softly as he saw your shocked face. “What? I have sisters, ma. I know what you girls do.”

You sputter like a bad engine, “uh…I—it was fine?”

Riki chuckled, that low, easy laugh that made your chest feel way too tight. “That’s code for none of my damn business, I assume?”

“You’d assume correctly.” You nodded slowly as you gathered your books. Flipping to the right pages. “How’s the party, brochacho?” Saying absentmindedly as you grab your tablet to notetake.  He laughed softly at the name as he wandered about the lawn. “It’s alright, not really feeling it tonight. Just wanted to make sure you were in one piece. That you didn’t walk into any balls on the way there.”

You rolled your eyes, “yeah I have some balls you can walk into.” 

“Shut up,” he smiled as he sipped from his red cup.

Talking to him was calming, like talking to a friend you’ve known for years. Smooth, simple, easy. The nerves came and went with him. They never stuck.

“You been drinking?” You copied your important notes down from the textbook. Trying to pay attention to the material but your mind was obviously elsewhere. He shrugged, “some beer. Took like a pull of some weed but…” He trailed off with a little sigh, lips puckered in that half-pout that made him look younger than he was. The camera dipped slightly as he adjusted the phone, showing the glow of the house behind him, people laughing, voices spilling into the night. Sitting on the sidewalk, and on their phones as they nursed drinks. “Not really my scene right now.”

Your pen stalled over your tablet, notes forgotten. “Wow, the big campus star skipping out on free booze and bad music? What’s the world come to?”

“You must not know me,” he snorted, laughing at the irony. “I’m always a buzzkill at these shits. I feel like they only invite me just in case.”

Humming, you stood up and gathered your stuff for your shower. Not to take one now, but to prepare your clothes for when you did. “In case of?”

“Just for safety. I sort of…act as a buffer. If we’re caught drinking on campus, it’s a problem, blah blah. Coach is notified but we’re not gonna get real disciplinary action.” He shrugged a shoulder. 

You nodded slowly, “oh to be a man.” Out of view, you bent down to your drawers to pull out your pajamas and fresh underwear.

“No, even the women’s teams do this. Any smart coach wouldn’t let it get to the Dean. We’d get punished internally for shit like that. Run laps, suicides, sacrificing a Saturday to wash his car, I don’t know. Looks bad on him if he benches starters.”

You laughed as you folded your pajamas. “Nah that would piss me off. Making you do suicides for one beer? I’d kill myself, actually.”

Riki shrugged, amused. “You’d be surprised. Guys hate it more than anything. Pride chips away at the sight of a whistle.” He nudged the camera so you could see a pair of teammates arguing over pizza in the background. “Anyway, I should probably go make sure no one’s starting a riot.” You tucked a loose curl behind your ear and grinned. “Go be the responsible one, then. I’ll be the one who aces Latin because I studied all night—” you said as you sat back down, deadpan, and he snorted.

“Mm. Sure you did,” he teased. “The dining halls are closed by now. If you get hungry just tell me. I’ll send you whatever you want, okay?” Your pen hovered over your tablet, heart hitching. He said it so simply, like it wasn’t a whole production, like sending food across campus at midnight was just so normal. “Aww, Riki. You taking care of me with that NIL money?”

“Hell yeah,” he said, furrowing his brows. “I worked hard for that shit.” Laughing as he sipped from his cup. “It’s hard out here.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you scribbled half a Latin conjugation that didn’t even make sense. “Oh my God. Not you acting like a single mom trying to stretch the paycheck.” “Don’t play with me, I am the single mom of this team.” He turned the camera toward the chaos of his teammates wrestling over the last pizza box. “Look at my damn kids. Do you see what I deal with?”

“Serving Reba McEntire realness.”

Riki rubbed his eyes, deadpanning. “Go study, sweetheart.”

“You should wear a red wi—”

“How about that Latin test!” He smiled happily—albeit mocking to shift topics. 

Your laughter rang through the call, and for a second he just looked at you, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he couldn’t help it.

“Alright, go ace your Latin,” Riki said, softer now.

“You go wrangle your kids,” you shot back, smiling.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Night, Riki.”

The screen went dark, leaving you with the echo of his voice and a grin you couldn’t quite wipe off.

—

Two weeks later

—

They say the first high is the best. That once you get it, you spend the rest of your days trying to chase the one you got at the start. 

You didn’t get high—at least not like that anyway.

In your situation, riding the high of Riki Nishimura’s attention felt like its own kind of intoxication. Every ping of your phone, every dumb meme he sent between classes, every “good morning” text when he was already at practice—it was steady, constant, addictive. And instead of chasing it, you were starting to wonder if he was raising the bar higher every time. And in retrospect, Bella was right. Why did it seem like once that buzzer hit, a switch flipped in your mind and you were just indoctrinated like the rest of the Decelis student body? Like he knew exactly what he needed to do to get you. 

You couldn’t put your finger on it but you didn’t want to overthink anything. So many things that you couldn’t comprehend put you here in this very situation and you didn’t want to ruin it by reading too deeply into it. Needless to say, Riki has seamlessly made his way into your routine. You didn’t think he’d find a place within the days that are overtaken by your needs and wants, your best friends, and classes. But if he did anything, it was make your life easier.

Riki never asked you to ditch your friends to be with him. He understood that he only had you for lunch and dinner as you had breakfast with Bella and Yasmin everyday. He messaged you to check up in between classes, already having memorized your schedule. Ensuring that you had snacks so you didn’t lose stamina between lectures—he had successfully put you on to these protein bars, amazing. And they didn’t taste like chalk. Riki even went as far as to start waiting outside your lecture halls—never in a way that felt suffocating, just casual. Leaning against the wall with his hood up, earbuds in, scrolling on his phone until you stepped out. Like he wasn’t the six-foot star guard of Decelis basketball but just some guy, killing time until you showed up.

Sometimes he walked you to the dining hall, sometimes to the library, he always just carried your bag like it was second nature. It wasn’t grand gestures—no flowers, no flashy displays—it was little things. He made space for you without demanding it, and you couldn’t lie, it was disarming. The girls noticed, of course. Yasmin raised a brow every time your phone lit up with his name. Bella, never subtle, outright called him your “NBA boyfriend” and asked if she should start practicing her court-side wave. But kept reminding you that Riki was boyfriend stuff without the actual title.

And maybe you should’ve protested harder, maybe you should’ve insisted it wasn’t that serious. But deep down, some part of you was starting to like the way it sounded.

That conversation had rang in the back of your mind for the rest of the day. And you just kept hearing Yasmin’s “...boyfriend behavior without the title” line, over and over and over again. 

Because was it really true? Were you in a situationship? Really, it’d only been two weeks, is that an appropriate time to get to know someone to further ask them on a date?  In essence, the things that Riki did for you to show he cared, were indeed boyfriend things. Sending you food when you didn’t want to leave your dorm or the spots around campus were closed. Making sure you ate and drank enough water. Never demanded your time even though his life especially, always demanded a lot from him—he ensured that there was some time out of his day for you.

You knew he liked you and he let you know he did. But did he like you enough to take you seriously? Were you just something to do? Something to take his mind off the budding fame and popularity? Funnily enough, before you came to Decelis, one week before your first year, your parents had told you in harmony: don’t date athletes.  Maybe your rejection of Riki at the beginning was just a subconscious effort to suppress your attraction to him from the very start. So that must be why it was so easy to come to terms with liking him. 

Because you always did.

The girls had left your dorm room to go on about their evenings. You just chilled on your beanbag and looked pretty as you watched one of your favorite gamers fail at Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? 

Besides the Riki stuff, you were at peace. Homework done for the rest of the week, you just showered, hair done, nails done. Two of your classes were cancelled tomorrow. Tomorrow was Friday. Life was great! Just as you were about to reach for your box of graham crackers, your phone buzzed. Lighting up and alerting you that it was indeed eight PM and someone texted you. 

brochacho: hi pretty, you at your dorm?

you: good evening, and yes i am.

brachacho: good. i’m downstairs. come get me!

Your hand froze mid‑reach for the graham crackers, eyes darting from the notification to the door like he might magically materialize through it.

Downstairs? Now?

You quickly typed back, thumbs flying:

you: what do you mean you’re downstairs???

The three dots appeared almost instantly.

brochacho: literally downstairs. in the lobby. come get me. 

Your pulse jumped. This wasn’t a text saying “hope you’re good” or “goodnight.” This was him—physically here—while you sat in pajama shorts with a crumb in your hand and a streamer yelling about measurements on your laptop. You scrambled up from the beanbag, nearly tripping over your blanket as you tried to get your bearings. Should you change? Brush your hair? Put on perfume? He hadn’t said why he was there. He hadn’t even asked if you were free.

Another buzz.

brochacho: don’t stress. i’m not kidnapping you. just wanted to see you before bed.

You swallowed, staring at the text like it might tell you what to do next. All you knew was your heart was hammering, and Riki Nishimura was in your lobby.

you: ok, give me a sec.

And without a second thought, you tidied your space. He’d never been here before, he only ever walked you to the building itself. You didn’t like surprise visits but shit, why not?

After folding your blankets and placing them on your bed, then spritzing some vanilla room spray, you held your racing heart. Taking deep breaths as you slipped on your baby pink crocs, grabbed your ID card, and deadbolted your door.  You stepped into the hallway, the carpet soft under your feet, and exhaled slowly. The fluorescent lights above hummed faintly, casting long shadows along the walls. You could hear faint laughter echoing from down the hall; the muffled bass of music drifting up from somewhere in the building. Your heart was still hammering like a drumline, and every step toward the staircase made it beat faster.

Sliding your ID into your pocket, you gripped the railing as you descended the narrow steps two at a time. Normally, you’d take it slow, careful not to rush, but tonight, nerves and excitement propelled you forward. You peeked through the stairwell window down into the lobby, spotting him almost immediately. Riki was leaning casually against the front desk, arms crossed as he scrolled on his phone, hood down and hair a little tousled from the walk. The soft light from the lobby ceiling brushed over his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the way his eyes seemed to catch the gleam from the floor’s polished tiles.

He glanced up, and that small, knowing smile spread across his lips, the one that made your stomach twist and flip like it was auditioning for gymnastics. His eyes scanned the stairwell, catching yours as soon as you emerged, and a tiny spark of mischief danced in them. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing pulse, adjusting the hem of your shirt like it would somehow make you appear composed instead of the jittery mess you felt like inside. The lobby seemed impossibly large all of a sudden, the echoes of your footsteps loud and exaggerated as you approached him. “What do you want?” You smiled as you reached in for a hug, how you always greeted each other.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, resting his cheek on the top of your head. “There’s that welcome wagon.” The vibrato of his voice rang through the lobby as it was muffled by your curls that always smelled like strawberries. “I come bearing gifts.” You hummed, pulling back but letting your hands linger on his thin waist that you were beyond envious of. “Isn’t that considered love-bombing at this stage?”

He snorted, “yes, but it’s not really a gift.” He reached behind him for a blue crocheted bag and held it up with a bright smile. “I brought dinner. I made some and didn’t wanna eat alone.”

“Nice,” you laughed softly. “But where’d you get the bag from? One of your other twenty girlfriends?”  He rolled his eyes, “my baby sister likes to crochet and I stole it. Don’t tell her I said that.” He smirked, tucking the strap over his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world to stroll into your dorm with a handmade bag of food.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “You made dinner? What, like, instant noodles level or are we talking chef Riki over here?”

He laughed, a low, warm sound that made your chest tighten. “I make a mean pasta salad.” You nod to the staircase door. “Good enough,” the door clicked as you swiped your ID card over the receiver. Riki followed behind you, reaching above your head to open the door for you as he closed it behind him. “You made that in your dorm kitchens?”

He shook his head but it wasn’t like you could see him. “Nah, I don’t live on campus. I thought you knew.”

You paused mid-step, turning on the landing to look at him. “Wait, what? You don’t live here?”

Riki tilted his head, a little amused at your wide-eyed reaction. “Nope. I’ve got an apartment off-campus. Closer to the gym, less noise. Plus, dorm showers? Couldn’t do it anymore.” He made a face like the very idea offended him. Your brows lifted as you kept climbing, crocs scraping against the concrete steps. “Hold on. You’ve been walking me back here all this time and then…what? Walking another fifteen minutes to your place?”

“Ten if I’m moving fast,” he corrected with a shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s not that deep.”

Finally you both made it to your dorm—a place he hasn’t seen. Only little parts via video call. You hesitated at your door. The reality of it hit you—Riki Nishimura was about to see your room. Not the polished corners you’d shown him over FaceTime, not the carefully angled shots that hid the mess, but the whole thing. Every detail. Pushing the door open, you stepped aside to let him in first. He slipped past you without hesitation, and immediately the air felt heavier—his presence filling the small dorm like it was too much space for one person and not nearly enough for him.

His gaze roamed quickly but thoroughly. The string lights draped above your bed. The pile of books stacked on your desk. The blanket you’d folded too hastily, still a little crooked at the edges.  He didn’t say anything at first, just kicked his shoes off by the door where he saw you had two other pairs lined up.

Riki had some manners. 

“Finally, I get to see the whole thing.” He looked at you then back to the space, looking at the wall covered with photos by your bed. These he also hadn’t seen.

Some of these were photos of you and your family. Seemingly at your high school graduation. You had changed a lot since then, just by the looks of it. Your eyes were a little duller, but you looked happy to be out of there. “Who’s that?” He pointed to the tall boy that stood next to you in the photo. Darker skin, hair pulled back into cornrows as he was dressed in very casual wear. Shorts and t-shirt for the hot weather you graduated in.

You approached, leaning forward so you could see what he was referencing. “Oh!” You snorted, “that’s my little Bother.”

“Your who?” Riki smiled as he turned to you.

“Bother,” you repeated with a grin, shaking your head. “That’s Elijah, my little brother. So—brother, bother…it stuck when we were kids.” You nodded. “And he actually grew into it because he became the biggest pain in my ass.”

Riki laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he glanced back at the photo. “He doesn’t look little at all. Dude’s towering over you.”

“Tell me about it,” you groaned, folding your arms. “He hit his growth spurt at, like, thirteen and never stopped.”

“How tall is he now?” 

You tilted your head in thought. “Huh…I couldn’t even tell you how old he is.” You shrugged, bursting out into laughter as you grabbed the crocheted bag and sat on the floor. “But he’s around your height? Maybe a little shorter.”

He followed you down to the rug, sitting parallel to you and crossing his legs into butterfly position. 

Riki leaned back on his palms, studying you with that amused little glint in his eyes. “So what you’re telling me is there’s another version of me out there, just younger and genetically programmed to annoy you?” “Basically,” you said through a laugh, tugging the drawstrings of the bag open. “Except Elijah’s way louder, thinks he’s funnier than he is, and eats like he’s never seen food before.” You pulled out two plastic containers, setting them between you.

Riki snorted. “Sounds familiar. Pretty sure that’s just me with different branding.”

You shot him a look, biting back a grin. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. He’s worse. But I think you two would get along, though.” “You think so?” he chuckled, reaching forward to help you peel off the lid of one container. A soft aroma of herbs and parmesan filled the air.

Laughing, you grabbed the two plastic forks he put in the bag. Someone came very prepared. “I know so, actually…” Pause. “Nevermind.”

“No, no, tell me.” He said softly, unzipping his hoodie and placing it next to him. “I’d love to hear about your family.” His tone made your stomach twist a little, but not enough for you to make him aware of the effect it had on you. “Elijah…” you snorted. “Actually wants to come to Decelis. You know…after he graduates high school?”

He nodded slowly, “okay? And that’s embarrassing?”

“Oh my gosh, no. No. Nothing about my brother is embarrassing, it’s just that…” You scrunched your nose as you twist your fork. “He’s a…big fan of yours.”

Riki blinked at you, mid-bite, his fork paused halfway to his mouth. “...A fan of mine?” His tone landed somewhere between amused and genuinely startled, his brows lifting as though he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or press you for details. You dragged your fork through the pasta salad, trying to play it off, but the heat was already creeping up your neck. “Yeah, like…he likes college basketball a lot already but he thinks that me attending school with and being in the same year as one of the top prospects is cool.”

He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Man, your brother’s got way too much faith in me. But…that means a lot. More than I’d probably admit to his face.” He takes a bite of the pasta.

“Woah…” you furrow your brows. “Since when do you doubt your skills? He’s not saying anything different than anyone else does.” He chewed slowly, his gaze dropping to the plate as though your words weighed heavier than he expected. When he finally swallowed, his voice was softer, almost thoughtful. “It’s not that I don’t believe in what I can do,” he said, rolling his fork between his fingers. “I just…know how fast it can all go away. One bad game, one injury, and suddenly all that hype doesn’t mean anything.”

He lifted his eyes back to you, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a small smile that didn’t quite hide the seriousness in his tone. “So yeah, I guess I don’t let myself buy into it too much. Easier to laugh it off than start thinking I’m invincible, you know?” As grateful as you were that Riki was sharing a very vulnerable part of him for the very first time, you couldn’t help but think of yourself—as self absorbed as that is. You were beyond normal. Yes, you had your hobbies, friends, interests. But you never even realized the amount of pressure that Riki underwent each and every day. 

His every move was watched by strangers. There wasn’t a moment that you walked beside him on campus and someone wasn’t greeting him or trying to get his attention. Some people even started doing the same for you seeing as you were now semi-associated with him. That alone bugged you. You let your fork rest against the edge of the container, your appetite forgotten for the moment. The realization pressed into you heavier than the warmth of the room—Riki didn’t just carry his own dreams; he carried the expectations of everyone watching him. And there were a lot of eyes.

It explained the careful way he handled himself, how even his jokes carried a twinge of deflection, how he managed to be approachable without ever letting people in too far. You’d brushed it off as confidence before, but now you saw the cracks. The weight of being Riki Nishimura wasn’t something you could ever fully understand, but sitting across from him, you suddenly wished you could take even a sliver of it off his shoulders. You shifted slightly closer, nudging the pasta container between you. “You know…” you started carefully, trying not to make your words sound like pity, “I may not be able to relate to that but I want you to know as…someone who genuinely cares about you…” You huffed, looking up as you picked your words carefully. “That you are so beyond talented. Like have you seen you play?” You laughed, reaching out to hold his free hand. “The Kyrie comparisons are not far-fetched.” For a moment, he just stared at your hand resting over his, fork frozen in mid-air again like he’d forgotten how to move. Then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. His thumb brushed against your knuckles once, deliberate but subtle, almost as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.

“I mean it. You’re absolutely undeniable and while I can only imagine how much pressure is on you, I never want you to forget to live in the moment. Nor forget who you are in the process.” For a beat, his gaze stayed locked on yours, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. The fork slipped quietly from his fingers, forgotten against the edge of the container. His hand stayed under yours though, warm and steady, like he was afraid to let go.

You gave his hand another squeeze, leaning in just a little closer. “Riki, you’re not just some highlight reel or a name on a scouting report. You’re…you. The guy who makes sure I eat, who shows up at my dorm with pasta salad in a crocheted bag, who can make me laugh even when I’m trying not to.” You smiled softly, your eyes searching his. “You’re already enough—more than enough—even without all the basketball.” His jaw tightened, like he was fighting something inside himself, but his eyes softened. That little spark of mischief you were used to seeing in him wasn’t there this time—just something vulnerable, raw. And a tinge of something you could only identify as guilt. But you didn’t see how that could apply to this situation. You didn’t pry further. Riki nodded, then smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes but he turned his hand beneath yours to grip it and brought it to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Assuming this topic was just extremely touchy for him, you turned your hand to hold his cheek, lightly scratching his jaw. “No need for a ‘thank you.’” His eyes fluttered shut at the touch, like the simple act unraveled something tight in his chest. He leaned into your palm, faint stubble barely grazing your fingertips as his breath steadied against your skin. When he opened his eyes again, there was a quiet earnestness in them that made your stomach flip. “You make me sound so…saint-like.”

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “Trust me, that’s the last word I’d use for your dumbass.”

—

As the night went on, you and Riki found yourself on your bed. 

Nothing intense, nothing extreme. It was a twin XL, what could you really do? But despite that, you two both found some old movie that you’d seen a million times to watch on your projector.

The movie washed your walls in soft flickers of light, the dialogue barely audible under the quiet hum of the projector. Riki stretched out beside you, one arm folded behind his head, the other lazily draped near your side like he was claiming space without meaning to. The bed was laughably small for two people, every shift making the springs creak, but neither of you complained. At some point, you realized you weren’t even paying attention to the movie. Your cheek was pressed against his shoulder, his shirt soft under your skin, and his steady heartbeat beneath it was far more distracting than whatever was happening on screen.

“Hey,” Riki murmured after a while, his voice low, like even the characters on the screen didn’t need to hear. “Next time…you’re coming to my place. No offense to the twin XL, but it’s not exactly built for two.” You snorted, scooting closer as you wrapped your arm around his waist and leg over his hips. Riki stiffened for half a second at the sudden weight of you practically curling into him, then melted into it, his arm sliding instinctively around your shoulders. A grin tugged at his lips as he tilted his head down to look at you. “Oh, so you like being close, huh? You could’ve just said that instead of pretending the bed was the problem.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile tugging at your own mouth. “Please. I’m just making the best out of limited square footage.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, pulling you tighter against his side, his fingers idly tracing circles into your upper arm. His free hand ran up and down your bare thigh—the warmth in his hand nothing compared to what was in the room.

The slow drag of his palm along your thigh sent a ripple of heat through you, his touch unhurried but deliberate, like he knew exactly what he was doing. The movie faded further into background noise, some distant murmur you couldn’t even pretend to follow. “You’re real quiet all of a sudden,” Riki teased, his breath brushing the top of your head. “What happened to all that smart talk about square footage?”

You tilted your chin up, lips twitching into a smirk despite the way your pulse betrayed you. “Maybe I’m conserving energy.” “Oh?” His thumb pressed lightly into your skin before trailing higher, testing the waters. His eyes flicked down to yours, the grin on his face softening just enough to make your chest tighten. “Energy for what, baby?”

The space between you felt paper-thin, your leg hooked over his hip pulling him closer with every breath. His shirt smelled faintly of laundry detergent and something undeniably him—the citrus smell you always caught a whiff of, and suddenly the twin XL didn’t feel too small at all—it felt like it was forcing you into a choice. His question lingered in the air, heavier than the blankets draped over you both. Your heart thudded against your ribs as if it were trying to answer for you. You tilted your face up toward him, close enough now that the glow of the projector painted his features in soft light—sharp jaw, lashes low but trained on you, lips just parted like he was waiting. For a beat, neither of you moved. The hum of the movie filled the silence, but you barely registered it. Then, like gravity had made the choice for you, you leaned in.

Riki met you halfway.

The kiss was unhurried at first, his lips brushing yours in the lightest graze, as though he was testing to see if you’d pull away. But you didn’t—you pressed back, your hand sliding up to curl into his shirt near his chest. That was all the confirmation he needed. His grip at your thigh tightened, pulling you closer, angling you so there was no space left between you. The kiss deepened almost naturally, like you’d both been holding your breath for weeks and finally let go. His hand slid higher on your thigh, steady but not rushed, while your fingers tugged lightly at the collar of his shirt, urging him closer. The twin bed creaked beneath the shifting weight, the closeness of it all making your pulse race.

Riki angled his head, mouth moving against yours with a hunger that surprised even him—like he’d been trying to starve this part of himself and finally gave in. Your hand brushed along his jaw, thumb grazing the faint stubble there, and he made a sound low in his throat that only pulled you deeper into him. He leaned up, turning to hover over you halfway, springs of the bed whining at the action. But then—just as the air between you turned sharp with heat—he stilled. His lips slowed, then parted from yours, lingering close enough that you could still feel his breath ghost across your mouth. His hand fell from your thigh to rest limply against the sheets, no longer holding you.

“Riki?” you whispered, confusion threading your tone.

He didn’t look away, though something flickered in his eyes—something heavy, almost mournful. He managed a small smile, the kind that didn’t reach as far as it should. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges. “Got a little carried away.” You searched his face, wanting to ask more, but the way his thumb brushed over your arm—gentle, reassuring—kept you quiet. He wasn’t shutting you out, not really, but whatever sat on his chest wasn’t something he was ready to spill. “Did something happ—”

Instead, he shook his head and pressed the lightest kiss to your temple, grounding, soft. “No, no, no, baby.” he said softly as the two of you were nearly nose-to-nose. “Nothing happened…” He smiled softly as he brushed a curl from your cheek, lightly letting his thumb brush on your lower lip. “Just…didn’t wanna ruin the moment, that’s all.” Your lips parted, ready to argue, to tell him he could never ruin a moment like this—but the way he looked at you stopped the words in your throat. There was a tenderness there, threaded with something heavier, something you didn’t dare press on in case it shattered the fragile quiet between you. So instead, you nodded faintly, your forehead brushing his as your breath mingled in the inch of space left between you. “You can…” you whispered, though your chest ached with the weight of everything unspoken. Riki’s hand left your lip to cup your cheek, his thumb smoothing over your skin like he was memorizing the shape of you. His smile lingered—gentle, almost apologetic—but his eyes softened in a way that made you feel like he saw you, really saw you, beneath all the noise.

He shifted, pressing another kiss to your hairline this time, lingering just long enough that you felt the sincerity tucked into it. “You want me to?” It seemed like every inch of you was melting into this old, creaky bed. That your literal bodily matter could act as a substitute for WD-40 if you both stayed like this. You’ve experienced intimate moments. Moments that made everything blur into background noise. And right now you heard nothing. Absolutely nothing despite the flickering projector and the soundtrack to the ending of 10 Things I Hate About You playing lightly. Yet all you heard was the pick up of your heart rate in your ears. And maybe your own breath. Despite that, you nodded without another word.

Riki leaned in slowly, kissing your cheek. Letting his pillowy lips get a different taste of you as his hand toys with your small hoop earring on your opposite ear. His touch was maddeningly careful, like he was savoring every second before it slipped away. His lips brushed along your jawline, feather-light, leaving a trail of warmth that had your breath hitching in your throat. You tilted your head instinctively, giving him more space, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself. Each kiss was deliberate, patient—not hungry like before, but reverent, like he was mapping you in a language only he knew. He lifts his head to look you in the eye. “Um…I was planning something for this but—” He let out a shaky laugh, his thumb brushing your cheek like he needed the grounding. “I feel like it’s something that I don’t want to hold out on anymore.” He cleared his throat, his eyes darting from yours to the pillow, then back again like the words were fighting him on the way out. “I was gonna do this all different—make it special, not, y’know, while we’re half-squished on a squeaky bed watching a rom-com—but…” His hand dropped from your earring to rest gently against your chest, right over your racing heartbeat. “But I can’t sit here and pretend I don’t already know what I want.” He paused, breath unsteady. “I want you. As my girlfriend.”

The room went impossibly still, the hum of the projector fading behind the weight of his words. His voice cracked a little on the last word, like even saying it out loud cost him something. His thumb slowed against your collarbone, tracing nothing in particular, a small, restless circle. He was still looking at you—not cocky, not teasing—just wide-eyed, waiting. The guy who could command a whole court with one look suddenly couldn’t seem to breathe until you spoke. “I’m not talking to anyone else,” he added softly, like a confession he’d been holding onto. “Haven’t been. Haven’t even wanted to. I just…don’t wanna assume anything about you. I don’t wanna ruin what we already have.” The way he said it was so un-Riki—tentative, careful—that it almost broke your heart. You could feel his pulse under your palm where you still held his hoodie, just as erratic as yours. You didn’t even realize you were smiling until you were; the kind of smile that cracked you open from the inside out. “Riki…” you murmured, sliding your hand up to the back of his neck, pulling him just a little closer. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

His brows pinched, nervous. “In a good way or…?”

“In a way where the answer’s already yes,” you said, your forehead brushing his. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.” The tension bled out of him in an instant, his breath catching on a laugh that sounded like relief. He pressed his forehead fully to yours, eyes closing, and let out a long, shaky exhale before kissing you—slow this time, smiling against your mouth.

—

Four months later

—

Life has been very weird for you. Not weird, weird. Just different. Good different.

Your skin is clear, grades stellar, Yasmin, Bella, and Riki were in one piece and the weather has been decent.

Dating Riki hadn’t turned your life upside down the way you thought it might. It wasn’t all fireworks and Instagram-worthy grand gestures. Instead, it was quieter things—the way he reminded you to eat between classes, the way his hoodie always “accidentally” ended up in your laundry pile, the way his laugh sounded different when it was just for you. And somewhere between late-night study sessions and those walks across an ice-slick campus, you realized: this wasn’t weird at all. This was the new normal. And, surprisingly? You liked it.

A relationship with Riki was nothing like you thought it’d be. In some way he was right, you didn’t really know him. “Public, but private” wasn’t really the right phrase anymore. Riki made sure people knew—he held your hand in the quad, kissed you goodbye outside lecture halls, and didn’t even flinch when Yasmin pulled out her phone to record the two of you bickering like an old married couple. Everyone knew you were his, and he was yours. But still, the most meaningful parts weren’t the ones out loud. Sure, he’d tug you into his lap at parties without caring who saw, but it was the softer moments—the way he’d tie your scarf tighter against the cold, or slide his coffee across the table without asking because he knew you needed it—that stuck with you most. Dating Riki wasn’t about hiding or flaunting. It was about existing together, naturally, in public and in private, like there’d never been a time you weren’t in each other’s lives.

Obviously, your bond with him was different than that of yours with Yasmin and Bella’s. Of course because you weren’t romantic with the girls but the friendship aspect wasn’t the same.  Yasmin and Bella were akin to sisters. Their love and friendship was unconditional, unwavering and greatly enough—you met them at freshman orientation and had been inseparable ever since.  The funny little traditions you had. Getting breakfast together every day, even if it was just coffee and a bagel wolfed down before an eight AM class. Your group FaceTimes that always started as study sessions but somehow devolved into debating which professor was most likely to secretly live in the library. Movie nights in Yasmin’s dorm where Bella inevitably fell asleep twenty minutes in, curled up like it was her own personal bed. With Yasmin and Bella, it was easy, almost familial—like home in human form. With Riki, it was…different. Not better, not worse. Just its own kind of important. He didn’t fit into the category of “friend” or “family.” He was the exception. The outlier that made sense.

Riki was an exception. And you noticed that in almost every avenue he occupied that he was an exception. In anything he put effort toward, he had this sort of competitive spirit that he wanted to be a person that was remembered. Not in a loud, look-at-me way, but in the way he showed up, consistently, like he was determined to leave a mark. On the court, in class, even in the way he memorized the little things about you—your coffee order, your weird habit of doodling stars in the margins of your notes, the fact that you hated the word “moist” enough to dramatically gag every time someone said it. Being with him didn’t feel like you were keeping up with a storm or chasing after someone out of reach. It felt like he wanted you right there, beside him. Your mom called it the honeymoon phase and that very well may be true. But like everything with Riki, you tried to live in the moment. Which is bizarre seeing as you overthink everything else. Lately, the girls have been getting used to seeing him around a lot more. While Riki never wanted to overtake your life nor take time away from your friends, he at times found himself getting cool with them as well.

The girls and you stood at the waffle station like usual. Bella, as always, was overseeing the operation. Yasmin was yapping about something related to the bad Wattpad movie she watched last night. 

“Dude,” you smiled. “What are you waffling about?” You nudge her with your elbow, snickering as you cover your mouth. 

Yasmin froze, looking at you blankly. “You did not—”

“—yes, she did,” Bella cut in, shaking her head with mock disappointment. “Every morning, a new low.”

“Hey! Don’t hate me ‘cause I’m beautiful.” You snorted as you reached around her to grab the mini cups for the syrup. The pounds of syrup that Yasmin liked drenching her waffles in.

The brunette laughed, “we love you because you’re beautiful. But that shit just wasn’t funny.”

You sigh and wrap your arm around the girl, to which she instinctively rests her head on your shoulder, wrapping her arm around your waist. “You guys are fun-suckers.”

Bella snorted, already halfway through pouring batter into the waffle iron. “Please. We’re the only reason you’re tolerable before ten AM.”

You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest. “You wound me.”

“Good,” she said dryly, snapping the iron shut like she was sealing a deal. “Maybe it’ll stop the puns.”

Yasmin cackled at that, pulling back from your shoulder just enough to look you in the eye. “Nah, she thrives off this. You’d have to physically mute her.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Bella muttered, reaching for her coffee.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. The three of you moved like clockwork—Bella in charge of batter, you in charge of toppings, Yasmin handling the syrup like it was an Olympic sport. The waffle station wasn’t glamorous, but it was your spot. The one ritual you kept no matter how busy the semester got. That’s when you felt a familiar hand snake around your waist from behind. Riki leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “Did I miss roll call, or are you guys planning breakfast without me again?”

Bella groaned without even looking up. “Speak of the devil.”

 Riki gently turned you around to face him, taking the toppings from your grip as he leans in. “Hi baby,” placing his lips on yours gently as he moved a hand to rest on your jaw. His thumb grazing your cheek as you reciprocate. “Mm! I missed that.” You felt your cheeks warm instantly, caught off guard by how easily he could do that—just walk into your morning routine and make everything tilt a little. You tasted the faint sweetness of syrup on his lips, the smell of his cologne cutting through the waffle-station chaos.

“Riki,” you murmured against his mouth, a laugh caught in your throat. “You’re gonna make Yasmin drop the syrup.”

“I already did,” Yasmin deadpanned, though when you turned your head she was smirking. “Don’t mind me. Continue your public display of affection.”

Bella groaned dramatically, flipping a waffle with more force than necessary. “Please, at least let me finish cooking before you two start fucking next to the chocolate chips.”

Riki chuckled against your cheek, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “They’re jealous,” he whispered, his thumb still brushing your jaw. “Let them be jealous.”

You swatted at his chest lightly, though your grin betrayed you. “Please,”

And finally, the four of you sat at your usual corner table—Riki having tagged along like it was the most natural thing in the world. The dining hall buzzed with the Monday morning chaos of clinking trays and half-awake chatter, but somehow, your table felt like its own little bubble. Riki slid into the booth beside you, his knee brushing yours under the table, and immediately stole one of your strawberries without shame. You were used to it. Him stealing your food; like a tax, if you will.

“So what are y’all doing with your weekends?” You hum as you watch Riki cut your half of the waffle into pieces.

He perked up mid-cut, glancing at you with that spark in his eyes that always came out when basketball got brought up. “Ooh, we’re having an away game on Thursday,” he said, the words already carrying a hint of excitement. “It’s at Syracuse, so we’ll be gone for like…two nights, maybe three depending on how long Coach decides to torture us.”

Yasmin and Bella roll their eyes simultaneously. “Dude, ‘Cuse is the worst.” Bella sighed as she slumped back into her chair.

“You’re just a big ball of positivity this morning.” Riki hums as he feeds you a piece of waffle. Hovering his hand below it to catch any syrup that might’ve dripped onto his hand.  You accept the food and nod, speaking through your chewing as you cover your mouth with your hand. “Yeah, what’s up with you? You’ve been acting like a buttmunch all morning.”

Bella groaned, stabbing at her strawberries like they’d personally wronged her. “I’m sorry guys, I just really don’t wanna go to that fucking game.” Riki wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side as he leaned back into the cushiony seat. “‘Cuse is not that bad. They play dirty but that’s nothing we can’t get around.”

“Dirty?” You looked at him in confusion.

“Yeah,” Yasmin nodded as she sipped her apple juice. “Last season, they fouled one of the guys—Nicholas—so hard. He went for a layup and they shoved him. Fractured his wrist. It was crazy, I felt so bad.”

Your brows lifted, “no way. Did the ref even call it?”

“They did,” Riki sighed. “But at that point, what can you do? You suspend a player, he’s on the bench for the rest of the season—fine. But one of our players is benched indefinitely, has to go to PT for his wrist, he may not play the same, whatever—it was just so much worse for Nico.” He rolled his eyes as he recounted the events of the past. Stirring anger in his stomach as he remembers watching that happen. Bella shook her head. “Yeah, it was bad. It wasn’t like a life-altering injury or anything but it was so shitty on Syracuse’s part.”

“Well…what are you guys gonna do?” You sigh as you rested your hand on Riki’s muscly thigh and leaned your head on his shoulder. 

Yasmin chimed in, “not much. There’s nothing we can do. I mean, their cheer team isn’t really a problem. They’re always super nice. It’s just the fuckass team that gives these guys issues.” She nods to Riki.

“So when do you guys leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Bella brought a raspberry to her mouth to chew, looking down at the threading of her skirt—her chewing halts suddenly. “Wait…”

Yasmin smiles brightly, “don’t. Because if we’re thinking the same thing then I’m for it.”

“Oh, we are thinking the same thing,” Bella said, setting her fork down with a little clink. “Babes, you should so come with us!”

You nearly choked on your drink. “Wait, what?” you coughed, slapping the table with your free hand. “You’re inviting me to Syracuse?”

Bella leaned forward, eyes sparkling with that dangerous “I have a terrible idea” kind of excitement. “Think about it. Road trip! We have to cheer anyway, eat gas station snacks, complain about hotel beds—”

“—get screamed at by Syracuse fans and possibly catch another stray basketball to the face,” You interrupted, waving her fork. “Yeah, super fun.”

Riki smacked his teeth. “Don’t even joke about shit like that.”

Bella laughed, flicking a crumb at him. “Relax, Captain Protective. She’s not gonna get decked by a ball again.”

“I’m not opposed to her coming.” Riki clarified, “obviously. But we all get to ride on the team bus, why would you waste your own gas?” 

Yasmin grinned, already scheming. “Because we’re not on the team, genius. We’re with cheer, which means we have to take the spirit bus.”

Riki’s expression twisted. “The spirit bus? The one that smells like glitter and spray tan?”

You furrowed your brows as you leaned away from him, letting his arm fall back on the seat. “How do you know what the spirit bus smells like?” You ask him with suspicion—even mildly irritated.

Riki froze, eyes flicking toward you like a kid caught stealing snacks before dinner. “Huh?” he stalled, fork halfway to his mouth. “I mean…I’ve heard things.”

Bella immediately perked up, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Heard things, huh? Or experienced things?”

Riki set his fork down, leaning forward defensively. “Okay, first of all, I was on there one time. One time. Coach made me grab the banner they left behind after homecoming, and it was like stepping into Candyland.”

You raised an unimpressed brow. “Mhm. So what you’re telling me is that you voluntarily stepped foot on the cheer bus, alone, to grab a banner.”

He pointed at you, shaking his head. “Don’t do that tone thing. It wasn’t like that.”

You squinted at him, “I’m not doing anything.”

“Ooh…” Yasmin murmured to Bella. “Boyfriend in trouble…” She sang as she shimmied her shoulders. 

Riki smiled nervously, eyes darting between you and your two grinning friends. “No, no—don’t let her fool you. She’s trying to make this sound like some scandalous cheer bus rendezvous when I was literally in there for thirty seconds.”

Bella gasped dramatically. “Thirty seconds? That’s all it takes.” Yasmin nearly spit out her juice laughing. You pressed your lips together, trying to look serious but failing miserably as Riki’s ears started turning red. “Wow. I thought you’d last longer than that.”

Riki raised his brows in surprise. “Don’t get cute, baby.” He smiles as he feeds you a grape.

Yasmin and Bella gagged dramatically at the sight but decided to move on. The blonde grinned, leaning across the table. “Admit it, you were curious. You wanted to see how the other half lives.”

“The other half smells like hair spray and glitter glue!” Riki protested, groaning as you finally let out a giggle. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

You rested your chin on your palm, smirking up at him. “Maybe. It’s cute when you get defensive.”

“You,” He smiled as he pointed at you. “Are evil.”

You gasped in mock offense. “Evil? I prefer ‘charming,’ thank you very much.”

Riki leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms but fighting a smile. “Yes, mama—you are very charming but I’d rather you say like messing with me.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Maybe. But you make it so easy.”

Bella snorted. “Yeah, she’s got you wrapped around her finger, dude. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

Riki threw her a flat look. “You’re just mad ‘cause your waffles are hard as frisbees.”

“They were abstract,” Bella countered, stabbing one with her fork. “Fuck you, they’re still edible.”

Yasmin laughed so hard she nearly choked on her juice. “Yeah, okay, Picasso.”

You watched the three of them bicker, warmth flooding your chest. Riki didn’t just fit in with your friends anymore—he belonged there, like he’d always been part of the picture. The ease of it all made your heart do that stupid little flip it did whenever you realized how much you liked this boy.

—

Later that day

—

After some relenting, you decided to come with the girls to the game. It didn’t take much convincing.

But even then, something felt amiss. 

Ironically, the day that Riki accidentally knocked you in the face with that ball—it unlocked some type of sixth sense. One where you could just feel, when your left cheek throbbed—that something was about to go left. Yasmin and Bella were making their way off the court and into the arena hallway. Practice was over and they were headed to the locker room to freshen up. As usual, Yasmin was buzzing, Bella was limping. How she hasn’t just quit the team yet, none of you know. As the girls guzzled water, they heard commotion coming from the men’s locker room. The sound was the usual post-practice banter. Laughter, some music echoing off the tile. 

And for some reason, this was the one time the girls decided to be nosy. The guys were pumped after their own practice—adrenaline and testosterone running rapidly through the air. Towels were slung low on hips, sneakers squeaking against the wet tile, music blaring from someone’s speaker. The room smelled like victory and cheap body spray.

“Yo, Riki, be honest,” one of them called out through the steam, “you and that girl—what’s the deal?”

Riki, mid-laugh, froze with a water bottle halfway to his mouth. “What girl?” he asked, but the grin tugging at his lips already betrayed him.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” another chimed in. “The one that’s always waiting after practice. The one with the big eyes. Cute face?”

The guys erupted into hollers and mock ‘oohs.’ Riki shook his head, trying—and failing—to bite back a smile.

Outside the door, Yasmin and Bella’s jaws practically hit the floor.

Yasmin whispered, “Oh, we are so not supposed to be hearing this,” but she leaned in closer anyway.

Bella, deadpan, muttered, “You mean you’re not supposed to. I’m locked in.”

You’d just arrived at the end of the hall when you saw them crouched near the door like undercover agents.

“...What are you guys doing?” you whispered.

Both girls whipped around, wide-eyed, trying and failing to look innocent. Yasmin gestured frantically. “Shh! He’s talking about you!” And just like that, your stomach dropped—and your left cheek started to throb again. You dropped your backpack to the floor as you crouched next to the girls. Stabling yourself against Yasmin as you held her shoulders.

Maki leaned against the opposite lockers, facing Riki with a smirk. “So you get any action yet?”

Riki scoffed, rolling his eyes as he turned to his locker—grabbing a clean towel to wipe his bare chest. “Is pussy all you guys think about?”

Some of the guys laughed, Maki included. “Well yeah, sometimes. Especially if I’ve got a girl and she hasn’t put out in the few months we’ve been together.” He whistles, antagonizing the point guard. “I hoped you’d score more than that.” Yasmin’s eyes widened so hard you thought they might fall out of her head. Bella smacked her arm, whisper-yelling, “Oh my god, he did not just say that—”

You didn’t even breathe. Every muscle in your body went rigid, eyes fixed on the thin crack of light between the door and the frame.

Inside, Riki let out a dry laugh, low and humorless. “You don’t know what I do, dumbass. Who do you think I am?”

If there was one thing that you knew about men, it was that it only took but so much to make them crack. They were easy. Toy with them, keep them on their toes. And you prided yourself on knowing Riki. His quirks like touching a doorframe before walking through. Scratching his jaw when he was irritated.

But you certainly knew his type: you. Because he told you. He made sure you knew through his words but action as well. He likes someone that he can upkeep a rapport with. A fun personality and a sharp mouth to match his. Someone who could keep up with him in a room full of noise, toss a jab back when he threw one first. You’d always joked that you were built to spar with him, not swoon over him. It amazed you, really. Because narrowing down the versions of Riki you saw, you knew that there was one side that you’d experienced up until this point wouldn’t make an appearance. The nasty, egotistical one. 

Your cheek throbbed again.

“I think you’re better than this.” Maki laughed. “You’re whipped.” Snorting as he grabbed his towel to swipe Riki with it as the rest of the team followed. Spanking him with their towels as all of them shared laughs—Riki included. “Hey! Hey hey hey!” He straightened up as he shrunk into himself before. Laughing as he nudged the guys off. “I’m not whipped! Okay? You really think the Riki Nishimura, basketball extraordinaire is whipped?” He says dramatically, as if he’s some king giving a royal decree.

“Oh fuck…” Yasmin mumbled to herself in panic, hand feeling for yours as she gripped it tightly.  But Riki kept going. “All these girls are the same, Maki.” He smiled—slickly, as he got closer to the shorter lowerclassmen. “Just another hole to fill and if you think I can’t get any then you’re as dumb as you look.” Riki’s eyes scanned the younger as he poked his forehead. “Let Big Bro show you something.”

You froze. Your stomach dropped into your shoes, and your left cheek throbbed—not just from the memory of the ball, but from the words echoing across the locker room. Yasmin’s grip on your hand tightened like she was trying to anchor both of you to reality. “Nope. Nope. Nope,” she whispered, her eyes wide.

Bella’s jaw had practically hit the floor, a mix of disbelief and shock frozen on her face. “What the fuck?” You didn’t even let yourself finish the thought. Riki’s swaggering smirk, the way he leaned over the younger guy, his words sliding out like they were rehearsed, hit you harder than any basketball ever could. This wasn’t the playful, teasing Riki you knew. This was calculated, confident, and…something darker. Something that felt like a stranger pretending to be the man you loved.

“Show me what? How to not get play?” Maki shook his head with a laugh. “You’re not that guy, trust me.”

“I’ll just keep doing what I’ve been doing.” Riki shrugged, “fucking around and winning.” Your stomach twisted. That laugh—the arrogance—it didn’t belong to the Riki you knew, the one who kissed and touched you like the prize you were, who stole your kiwi, who teased you just enough to make you laugh. This version was a performance. And part of you hated that you even recognized it, that it was still so convincingly him.

Yasmin leaned closer, whispering in your ear, “We should go…now.” Her hand squeezed yours like she was trying to pull both of you back to safety. You hesitated, eyes glued to Riki. He was laughing now, tossing the younger guy a smirk like it was all a game. The energy was intoxicating, magnetic, but it made your chest feel tight. You wanted to call him out, to make him stop—but at the same time, you were frozen, caught somewhere between anger, disbelief, and the part of you that still loved him fiercely. Yasmin’s voice broke through again, urgently. “Seriously, we’re leaving before this gets worse.” But how could it?  You let her tug you gently, glancing back at Riki one last time. His grin was still there, but now it was softer, more familiar. And somehow, that made your chest ache even more, caught between relief and frustration.

—

The three ended up in Bella’s dorm, which was the closest to the arena. You knew you couldn’t make it all the way to your dorm without breaking down.

Once the door clicked shut behind you, the chaos of the arena felt miles away. The muffled sounds of the men’s locker room were replaced by the faint hum of the radiator and the soft creak of the dorm floorboards. Yasmin dropped onto Bella’s bed with a dramatic groan, clutching her water bottle like it was a life preserver. You sank onto the edge, hands pressed to your face as you tried to steady your breathing. The image of Riki—the conceited, dark version of him—kept flashing in your mind. It wasn’t that you doubted him. You knew him. You thought you did. But that side, that…performative dominance? It was a reminder that there were layers of him you hadn’t touched, weren’t sure you ever would. And then the floodgates came down.

Grabbing one of her pillows, you buried your face as sobs racked through your chest. Yasmin and Bella froze for a moment, exchanging a glance that said without words: do we intervene, or give her a second?

Yasmin was the first to react, gently kneeling beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Hey…hey, it’s okay,” she murmured, her voice soft but firm. “Breathe. Just breathe.” You couldn’t stop the shaking, couldn’t stop the tears that spilled into the pillow. “I…he’s…he’s not just…he’s…” Your words stumbled and fractured, barely audible. The part of you that tried to rationalize, to ground yourself in months of trust and tenderness with Riki, felt useless against the image of the stranger-like version of him.

Bella joined in, kneeling on the other side and grabbing your hands gently. “I got you,” she said simply. “We’ve got you. Nothing he did—or who he was being in there—changes the fact that we’re gonna be here for you every step of the way.” Your body trembled against them, the sobs coming in uneven waves. Yasmin rested her chin on your shoulder, humming softly like she had when you were a kid after a nightmare. Bella squeezed your hands, her eyes warm but steady. Together, they anchored you, a living reminder that the world wasn’t just Riki and his shadows.

After what felt like an eternity, the sobs slowed. Your chest heaved as you tried to suck in air, finally lifting your face from the pillow to see their concerned, gentle expressions. “I…thank you,” you whispered, your voice raw. “I just…I knew it, bro.” You punched your palm in frustration. “My parents fucking told me.” Your voice wavered as warm tears ran down your face. “I should’ve listened to my fucking gut!” Yasmin’s arms tightened around you, her voice steady despite the worry in her eyes. “Hey, hey…shh. No blaming yourself. None of this is on you.” She rubbed small circles into your shoulder, comforting you like she always did.

Bella nodded firmly, her grip on your hands unyielding. “Exactly. You’re not responsible for him being…whatever that was. You’ve been trusting, you’ve been patient—that’s all you could do. And yeah, maybe your gut had warnings, but you didn’t listen—so what? You’re a human being.” You pressed your face back into the pillow, muffling a sob, but the two of them stayed right there, unwavering. The warmth from Yasmin on one side, Bella on the other, felt like the only solid ground in a storm that had your world tilting.

“Hey.” Bella continues firmly, bringing your face up to look at her. Her blue eyes locking with your own eyes. “Fuck that guy. If he wants to speak about you in such a disgusting, deplorable way to stroke his own ego—by all means. But that doesn’t make or break you. It only says something—everything—about him.” You blinked through the tears, letting her words sink in, heavy and grounding all at once. The anger bubbling in your chest mingled with the ache, a strange but familiar cocktail. “Yeah…yeah, you’re right,” you murmured, your voice cracking slightly. “It’s not me. It’s…him.” Yasmin squeezed your shoulder, her grip firm, unyielding. “Exactly. And we’re not letting that bullshit stick to you. He can act like a fool all he wants—doesn’t change who you are, or what you deserve.” Bella gave a small, almost fierce smile, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “You are not defined by what some guy tries to pull, okay? Not Riki, not Maki, not anyone. You’re solid. You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re a fucking—you’re absolutely stunning. A smoke show. And—fuck it—you’re ours. And we don’t let anyone talk down to our girl.”

You let out a shaky laugh, more release than humor, leaning into their warmth. “I—I just…God, I hate that it stings.” “And it will,” Yasmin said softly, but firmly. “For a second, for a day, maybe even a week. But that’s fine. You feel it, then we leave it there. You don’t have to deal with it alone. Not now, not ever.” The room fell quiet for a moment, save for your uneven breaths and the soft hum of the radiator. And in that silence, you realized something—this wasn’t just comfort. This was armor. Solid, unbreakable, built of friendship and love that no locker room bravado could ever touch. And instead of making you feel some sense of support, love, security—it sent the wrath of the devil through you.

The signs were there from the beginning, the chasing, the bombarding his way into your life. The hesitance during the first kiss. The trying so hard to make you like him then laying it on thick—it was all right in front of you.  You let him encroach on your girl time—the fact that you even let him get close to the two most important people in your life felt like betrayal in itself. Like you handed him the keys to your sanctuary and he just stomped through it.  Blows to your pride were something you didn’t take lightly and this was something you couldn’t just swallow.  What about your feelings? What about the other, maybe, dozens of girls he’d used like a tissue and tossed to the bin?! You were sick and tired of seeing so many girls and women—people—fall victim to assholes like Riki Nishimura. 

Just another hole? Fine. You need retribution. And you need it now.

Heat turned to ice in your veins and something in you snapped neat and clean—not a sob this time, not a plea. A cold, focused fury rose up, quiet and terrible. You didn’t want a meltdown anymore.

“I’m going to ruin his life.” You mumbled to yourself as your jaw clicked. “I’m going to make him wish he never met me.”

Yasmin and Bella froze, giving each other looks. Before Yasmin spoke up, “hey…” She cleared her throat. “Let’s ease up, okay? You’re upset and—”

You sit up straight, getting up from the bed as you angrily paced back and forth. “No. I’m fucking livid. I mean who does this dickhead think he is?! Me?! Nothing but a fucking hole to fuck when he’s the one that damn near—no—begged me to even talk to him?” As the two girls looked at you, both of their expressions differed. Yasmin, like always, led with her heart. Her gentle features framed by her curtain bangs, she was always the one to consider someone before anything. The friend that would give her last meal if it meant you ate. The person that would sit on the phone with you for hours just to hear you vent if it meant that it’d help you.

Bella led with her brain. Her wavy hair was out of her face, wearing her emotions for you to see plainly. She had such a knack for getting the both of you out of sticky, overthink-y situations. She’d tell you when you were being ridiculous but would dive in the deep end with you if you so chose. And yet, they looked at you just as one would expect.  Yasmin was on the verge of tears herself, her eyes brimming as her lips pouted. Seeing you this unhinged was so beyond her and she shook her head, looking down at her own hands. 

Bella was locked, though. Her sharp features rested calmly though her jaw was set. Which made sense. Someone does something outrageous, she’s upset. That makes sense. “Okay,” she said finally, her voice steady in that way that made you want to either hug her or throw something. “Then what’s the plan, genius? You gonna torch his car? Leak something? Because as much as I’d love to see that boy panic for once in his life, I think you want something smarter than that.”

Her calmness only made your pulse pound harder. You wanted movement. Consequence. You wanted Riki’s name to taste like ash in every mouth that said it. But even as the fury roared, Bella’s words dug in—she wasn’t dismissing you. She was challenging you to make it count. Yasmin stood, wiping under her eyes and grabbing your arm gently. “You’re hurt, dude. Like, badly. And that’s okay. But if you do something you can’t take back, you’ll regret it—and he’ll still win. You’re better than this. Don’t stoop to his level.”

“Or what, Yas? Just let him give me his ass to kiss?” You shrugged, laughing humorlessly. “I—”

“Dude, just break up with him! Call it quits. But you don’t have to try to ruin his entire—”

“Look,” Bella stood up as she chimed in. “In some way, Yas is right. While I’d love to see his life ruined—stooping lower doesn’t exactly do you any favors. Because then what? Guys get off easy, you know that. You’d just be the bitter, scorned lover and would have an entire fan base and university hate you. Is it worth that?” She said carefully.

You stared at her like she’d just said something in another language. “So I’m supposed to just…what? Move on? Pretend he didn’t just violate like that?”

Bella exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No. I’m saying—you play it smart. He wants you to be emotional. He wants drama because it makes him look composed. Don’t give him that. If you’re gonna do some shit then just know that I don’t condone it. But…” She pursed her lips as she cleared her throat. “I’m down. What are we doing?” Yasmin looks at Bella like she has three heads. “Are we being serious right now?” Then looking back at you. “Hello? Am I speaking a language you don’t understand? Just dump the guy, it’s not worth it—I’m telling you!” She held your arms as she looked at you—pleading. “You may be hot now but I’m telling you —mark my words—you will regret it.”

“Then let me,” you shrug, “look, I’m not gonna kill him or anything.”

Yasmin blinked, her nostrils flaring as she loosened her grip on your arms. Leaning back as she let out a breath. “…Fine. But I still vote you dump him and skip the theatrics. I do not want to be in a courtroom later.”

“Oh stop it, Yasmin.” Bella smacked her teeth as she waved her off. “She’s just going to fuck with him a little probably.”

“Exactly,” you nod. “I have ideas…but I’m not gonna break up with him.” You smiled deviously, “I’m just going to throw him off his game.”

—

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come, mama?” Riki frowned as he stood by his apartment door. 

The Syracuse game was tomorrow and the basketball and cheer teams were leaving in t-minus one hour. Since both your friends and Riki invited you to come along, you figured you’d stay behind. For obvious reasons. “I’m sure, baby.” You sighed as you leaned against the door. “I have a presentation for my Ethics class that I’ve hardly started. I gotta lock in.” 

The tall man nudged his suitcase away, “are you sure? You’re more than welcome to come.” He steps forward, grabbing your hands as he kisses them. Making his way up your wrists and it took everything in you not to vomit in your mouth. “You know I play better with you there.” “Sorry, but I really can’t. If I miss this deadline, I could fail. It’s a major assignment.” You shrug a shoulder. “You know how it is…”

Riki nods, “I do, mama, you know I do.” He pouts as he lets go of your arm and pulls you into a hug. “Well…” He exhales dramatically. “I’ll miss you. And I left you the key and my card on the counter. The place is yours.” He leaned down to peck your lips to which you reciprocated. Kissing Riki at this juncture contested your morals. Half of you felt bitter, the other sweet. That the recollection of his words then and now threw you for a loop. You battled with hating him with your brain but loving him with your body. You cupped his face as you tilted your head into the kiss. Lips gliding across his as smacking reverberated throughout the quiet pad. He hummed into the exchange as his hands rested on your ribcage, just below your breasts. Sliding down to your waist but you pulled back before he got any ideas.

“I’ll call you. I wanna hear all about your night, okay?” Riki kissed your knuckles again like he was sealing a promise and then he was gone—suitcase rolling, keys jangling, the door shutting with that small finality that suddenly made the apartment feel way too big. You stood there an extra beat, breathing out the sight of him walking away down the hall, feeling that weird cocktail of relief and venom fizz in your gut. You locked the door and immediately got to work. You started with something simple.

Going to the fridge, you shuffled through the fridge for his protein shakes and green juices. And without a second thought did you gather them all along the counter. You lined every bottle up like little soldiers about to meet their maker. Vanilla whey, chocolate whey, matcha greens, the ominous “superfuel” one that smelled like spinach and dirt. Every one of them—fuel for his precious pregame routine, the routine he swore by. The same routine he’d bragged about perfecting since middle school.

You grabbed the first bottle.

Twist, breaking the seal with a crack. Pour. Down the sink it went, a depressing brown waterfall glug-glug-glugging into the drain.

It felt like sex.

You didn’t stop there. One by one, you emptied every single drink. Protein? Gone. Greens? Gone. That weird probiotic mango kefir he always insisted “was life-changing?” Down the pipes like it was nothing.

By bottle five, you were humming. By bottle nine, you were laughing. By bottle thirteen, you were leaning your weight on the counter like, wow, I’m actually unwell. But oh, it felt good. When you were done, the counter looked like a crime scene. Caps everywhere. Empty bottles lined up like trophies. The sink foam-green from the mixture of whatever the hell he’d been consuming. You rinsed the sink out of the mess, gathered the bottles in a garbage bag to take out—not leaving a trace. You wiped your hands on a dish towel, chest rising and falling as the first hit of petty victory lit your veins. 

Step one complete. Sabotage the routine.

Step two?

You opened the pantry. Protein powder. Pre-workout. Hydration packs. Then, you took the pre-workout and loosened the lid by half a turn. Just loose enough that, when he inevitably grabbed it in a rush, the powder would pop out in a satisfying puff—onto him, the counter, the floor.

Your phone buzzed.

angel: what’s the status, brittany snow?

You: all the bodily fluids GONEEE

pretty princess: girl PLEASE what does that even mean

You: his nasty ass shakes

pretty princess: EEEYUCK ???

angel: LMFAOOO

You smiled, pocketing your phone.

You walked into his bedroom next—the sanctum. Neat, annoyingly neat. Bed made. Shoes lined up. Posters straight. Laundry basket empty.

Perfect. You didn’t have to destroy anything. You just…shifted.

Nothing too far—just enough out of place that he’d be tearing the room apart in thirty minutes. His practice hoodie? You folded it and tucked it under the bed. His favorite beanie? Behind the headboard.

Small inconveniences. It’s all super silly, but throwing someone out of their rigid routine meant a lot more than one thought.

Then you opened his nightstand drawer and saw it.

The Polaroid of you he kept. The one from your second date. Crooked, sun-washed, you laughing with your face turned away from the camera. You simply flipped it faced down.

That was enough. He’d open the drawer and know something had shifted.

And then, for the finishing touch, you slid a sticky note onto his mirror. hi baby, did some cleaning up <3

You stepped back to survey the apartment—quiet, calm, meticulously disturbed.

A masterpiece of emotional warfare.

You dusted off your hands and whispered to yourself, almost sweetly: 

Your cheek didn’t throb this time. It pulsed.

You weren’t done. 

Not even close.

— Two days later

1 Missed Call from Riki

riki: baby what happened to all my shakes and juices…?

you: can’t call, in class rn what do you mean?

riki: sorry mama but i got back to the crib and i saw that all of my juices were gone did you clean?

you: yeah i left a note, sorry idk why i didn’t just text you that i cleaned up lmao ??

You stared at the blinking cursor, tongue poking into your cheek as you imagined him standing in front of his open fridge, hands on his hips like somebody’s stressed single mother. Perfect.

riki: ok but like all of my juices? every single one?

you: …why does that matter?

Three dots. Then none. Then the message bubble disappeared like he was pacing around his kitchen trying to form a coherent thought with no electrolytes in his bloodstream.

riki: i’m not mad, baby just confused they were FULL bottles did you throw them away??

You leaned back against the couch, laughing as you snuggled into your duvet.

you: yeah, they were old. dates looked weird. didn’t wanna risk expired protein diarrhea in my lover <3

Another long pause.

riki: babe those were bought THREE DAYS AGO like t h r e e  d a y s  a g o ??

you: oh. baby i’m so sorry.

There was something deeply satisfying about imagining him standing there, fridge light illuminating the disbelief on his face, probably blinking like he’d been smacked with a baguette.

riki: ok…it’s fine…it’s fine i’ll just get more in the morning before shootaround it’s cool

Liar. You could smell the stress through the phone.

you: you good? you seem stressed

riki: no i’m good i gotta go to team meetings rn but can i call u later? want ur voice before i sleep, or maybe u could sleepover

You stared at the message. You could almost feel the shift—like he was trying to recalibrate, shake off the unease creeping under his skin.

you: we’ll see. depends on my workload.

Saying that but you know damn well you’re going to sleepover.

riki: …ok i love you

You typed. Erased. Typed again.

you: love you too

You locked your phone, letting it drop onto your thigh as the familiar pulse flickered through your left cheek. That tiny, electric reminder of what started all this.

—

Later that day

—

“Goodnight, mama.” 

“Night, baby.” You smiled as you leaned over, pressing a kiss to Riki’s lips as he sighed into it. He ran his hand down your back as he broke the kiss to press a smooch to your cheek. “I love you forever.” He mumbled against your cheek. “You love me?”

You rolled your eyes, chest burning with anguish and resentment. But you had to keep the ruse. “Mhm,” turning your face to peck his jaw as you found he looked at you. Resting his hand on your cheek as his chocolatey eyes melted at the sight of you under the warm light.  And somehow, seeing him—seeing him look at you in this way almost entrapped you again. Made you remember who he was to you. The pop-ups with dinner, the random dates, the proud affection he gave you.  But it was just that. Because what happened? What did you do? Where did you go wrong? And how was he just able to turn it on and off that way? You saw the glint in his eyes, the way he slightly towered over his junior in the locker room as he degraded you for tens of other people to hear. As humiliating as it is, he knew you’d have to be around those same people. Greeting them, sitting courtside and cheering them on. It was almost sociopathic.

“Good. Because I love you even more.” He leaned in to peck your lips repeatedly. “Push me off or I won’t leave these lips alone.” He purred, bringing his hand to your jaw. 

You smiled, returning them before you pulled back and he let you. “Go to sleep, casanova.” Riki grinned—soft, lazy, stupidly in love—like the world outside that bedroom didn’t exist. Like he hadn’t gutted you less than a week ago without even knowing he held the knife. He lay back, tugging you down with him until your foreheads brushed and his thumb stroked your cheek with that reverent tenderness reserved for saints and girlfriends. Not holes.

“Mm…I’ll sleep if you kiss me one more time,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded, voice dipped in honey. “C’mon, mama…just one.”

He was so close you could feel every breath, warm and even, laced with trust so blind it felt like a dare. You huffed a soft laugh, leaning in, letting your lips graze his—barely there, feather-light. Just enough to sell it. Just enough to keep him wrapped in the version of you he thought he owned. His lids fluttered shut like it was instinct, like your touch was the last thing he needed to sleep.

He whispered it again, softer this time. “Love you. Forever.”

The words slid under your skin like ice.

You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the edge of his mouth as he nuzzled into your palm like a spoiled cat. You gave him your warmest smile—sweet, sleepy, harmless. “Goodnight, baby.” He sank into the pillow with a little satisfied exhale, reaching blindly for your hand like he couldn’t fall asleep without it. His fingers threaded through yours, grip loose and trusting. Within a minute, his breathing evened out, lashes still against his cheekbones, lips parted just a little.

Peaceful. Completely unaware.

You watched him for a long moment—watched the soft rise and fall of his chest, the slow flutter of his fingers as they loosened around yours, the way his features looked almost boyish in dream-light. The version of him he let you have. The one no one else got.

The one he weaponized behind your back.

Your smile faded the second his breathing confirmed he was fully under.

You slipped your hand from his, slow and soundless. Sat up. Watched him one last time—because you needed to—then stood.

His phone glowed faintly on the nightstand, screen half-lit from a notification.

You snuck over, bare feet silent on the floor. Up close he looked smaller, somehow—all that swagger folded into the slow rise and fall of sleep. Your hand hovered for a second, then moved without drama: you pulled the cable from the phone. The charger came free with a soft click that sounded way louder in the hush than it should have. The phone screen blinked, then dimmed to black as charging stopped. Then you quietly placed the phone on the floor between the bedside table and bed. So you could suggest that maybe just maybe, it fell while he was asleep.

There was no time for you to feel bad. No space for you to have any regard for him and his feelings.  You slipped back into your side of the bed, lifting the comforter just enough to slide under without shifting the mattress. Riki didn’t even twitch—just mumbled something incoherent and rolled slightly toward your now-empty hand, searching for it in his sleep. The kind of soft instinct that once melted you.

Now it just hardened your resolve. You settled onto your pillow, facing him. His lashes brushed his cheeks, his dark hair fell messily over his forehead, and the corners of his mouth were relaxed—none of that locker-room arrogance, none of that cruel swagger. Just a boy sleeping.

Your cheek pulsed again. You breathed out slowly, quietly. No hesitation. No guilt. If anything, a sharp, wicked satisfaction bloomed low in your chest. He’d wake up groggy, confused, panicked from oversleeping, trip over his own excuses. Miss warmups. Piss off his coach. Maybe his whole rhythm would be off for the rest of the day. And it wouldn’t be traced back to you. Cute.

You turned your head on the pillow, watching the faint glow of the digital clock on the wall.

11:23 PM.

Plenty of time before he needed to wake up.

Plenty of time for his phone—now unplugged and hidden—to drain just enough.

You shifted slightly, the bedsprings creaking faintly. Riki moved too, instinctively throwing an arm over your waist, pulling you back into him with sleepy strength. His breath warmed the back of your neck.

If someone walked in, they’d think this was love.

But you stared straight ahead, eyes open, awake and focused, your mind already sketching the next domino to tip.

—

The morning was a quiet, serene one. The sun’s grace poured through the windowpane as it painted the bedding in gold, catching on the dust motes swirling lazily in the air. The apartment was warm, still, the way it only ever was when fall-winter sunlight decided to be nice for once. Riki shifted behind you with a soft groan, his arm tightening for a second before he blinked himself awake. You didn’t move—just breathed evenly, eyes half-closed like you’d been asleep, not wide awake planning the trajectory of his downfall. “Mmm…what time is it…?” he mumbled, voice low and raspy with sleep. One of those sounds that used to make your stomach turn to lava.

Now it curled your lip.

He reached over your waist, patting blindly along the nightstand until his hand hit nothing but wood. He frowned, still groggy, lifting his head to look. “Huh?”

Your lashes fluttered open just enough to watch him through the tiniest sliver.

He pushed himself up onto an elbow, hair sticking in every direction. “Where’s my phone…?”

You stretched slowly, selling the morning softness. “I don’t know,” you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “You tossed and turned like crazy.” He blinked, confused. “Did I?” He leaned over the edge of the bed, eyes widening slightly when he spotted the phone wedged between the table and frame—exactly where you left it.

“Oh. Damn.” He grabbed it, pressing the side button.

Nothing.

He held it down longer.

Still nothing.

“What the—” his brows furrowed. “Baby, it’s dead? It was charging.”

You sat up, pulling the blanket around your shoulders like you were just as confused as him. “Did the cable come out? You know that outlet is loose.”

Riki shoved the cord into the phone again and flipped it over—and the second he saw the blank battery symbol flash and disappear, panic lit his whole face. “Oh shit—what time is it?!” He scrambled, grabbing the digital clock on the nightstand like it held the secrets of the universe.

07:42 AM.

Workouts were at six.

Scrimmage started at seven-thirty.

His entire body went rigid. “Baby, baby—fuck, I’m late—Coach is gonna fuck me up—”

You let your expression twist into perfectly curated worry. “Oh my god, Riki—go! Hurry, go!” He shot out of bed, nearly tripping as he yanked on sweatpants with one leg still tangled. His heartbeat practically pulsed through the apartment as he raced around, grabbing his duffel, portable charger, shoving random shirts inside, searching frantically for his warmup jacket. Scrambling through his closet, throwing shirts and pants off the rack and onto the floor. “What the fuck?! Where’s my fucking sweater?”

“What sweater, baby?” You yawned as you stood up, your socks hitting the carpeted floor.  “My purple Decelis fleece? The one—nevermind I don’t have time.” He turned back around to grab a random, black pullover. You padded into the kitchen with the blanket still around your shoulders, half-yawning, half-smirking into the fabric where he couldn’t see. Behind you, you heard the frantic gargling, toothbrush clattering into the sink, the thud of cabinet doors closing too hard.

You opened the fridge, all innocent-like, and pulled out the protein pancake mix he loved—the one he always made on game days for “optimal energy.” You set it on the counter on purpose, knowing damn well he wouldn’t have the time to use it, but the sight alone would salt the wound. “Baby—!” Riki called through toothpaste foam, stumbling out of the bathroom, hair a wild disaster. “Have you seen my arm sleeve? The black one with the—fuck—never mind—”

He barreled past you, nearly knocking into the counter as he tore through the drawers. You stepped aside, clutching your blanket tighter, doing a very convincing impression of a sleepy, supportive girlfriend instead of the overseer of operations. The puppet master. “You want me to make you a quick smoothie?” you asked sweetly, batting your lashes like breakfast was even possible.

He huffed, chest heaving. “No—I—shit—I don’t have time.” He dropped to his knees to search under the couch. “Coach is gonna kill me. He’s literally gonna kill me.”

You peeked over the edge of the counter. “Did you check the rack by the door?”

“For what?!” His voice cracked in panic as he scrambled back to his feet.

“Your arm sleeve.”

Riki sprinted to the entryway—and there it was. Right next to his shoes. Propped neatly. Like a little gift.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, shoving it into his duffel. “I love you—I literally love you—” You smiled softly, touching your chest like his words warmed you instead of making your stomach curdle. “I know, baby. Don’t forget your protein powder.” You hugged the blanket closer to you.

He groaned, “you’re right.” He brushed past you and to the cabinet. Opening it quickly and reaching for the tub by the lid. And before he could make another step, it was like it started snowing.  With a clatter and thud, the tub hit the counter before its contents spilled all over the floor.

A cloud of chalky white billowed up like a blizzard in a snow globe someone had just punted across the room. Protein powder went everywhere—on the counter, the floor, his socks, your socks, the air itself. It was a crime scene. A lactose-based natural disaster. A winter wonderland from hell. Riki froze mid-motion, one hand still gripping the lid, the other suspended like he wasn’t sure whether to catch the explosion or just accept defeat. His pupils blew wide with pure, uncut panic.

“…No.” He whispered it like a prayer, a curse, and an obituary all at once. “No, no, no—bro, what the fuck—”

You gasped, covering your mouth with both hands. “Oh my god!” Your hands smothered your laugh, your chest caving in nearly gave you away.

“I don’t—shit—fuck—WHY IS IT SO FULL?!” He coughed violently as the powder puffed straight into his face, coating his lashes and settling in his hair like freshly fallen frost.

You rushed forward, blanket trailing behind you like a cape of sympathy. “Oh—don’t breathe, don’t breathe—okay, wait, no—do breathe—you need oxygen—” He spun in a frantic circle, slipping slightly on the powder-covered tile. “Coach is gonna kill me and I look like I just got baptized in whey protein! I can’t—baby, I can’t—”

“Riki,” you said softly, reaching out to brush some of the powder from his cheek. “It’s okay. Just…wipe it off. You still have time.”

“No I fucking don’t.” He grabbed the edge of the sink and leaned over it like he was about to weep. “I’m already late. I was meant to be there—” he squinted at the blinking oven clock through his snowstorm bangs, “—FIFTEEN minutes ago!”

“Don’t yell at me!” You brushed your socks off. “It’s not like I made you late for practice for the first time in—”

“Never! I’ve never been late.” He wiped his face aggressively with a dish towel, leaving streaks that made him look like he’d been lightly dusted by a pastry chef. Powder still clung to his hoodie, his sleeves, the entire front of his body like static made of sadness.

He gave one last distressed look around the kitchen, defeated. “I—fuck—okay—no shake today—I don’t need it—I’ll eat a banana or some shit—oh my god—”

You did your best wide-eyed, supportive girlfriend impression. “You’re gonna be okay. Just go! Talking to me about it does nothing.”

Riki nodded once—shaky, determined, a man on the brink—then darted back toward the door, leaving a trail of protein footprints behind him. Before he left, he popped back in, pressed a powder-scented kiss to your forehead, and whispered: “Love you—lock up when you leave—text you later—please pray for me. Leave the mess, I’ll clean when I get back.”

And then he was gone again, bolting down the hallway like a man fleeing a crime scene.

When the door shut, the powder finally settled.

And so did your laughter. 

Pulling out your phone, you figured a group FaceTime was underway. 

You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye—not from sadness, but from laughing so hard your ribs hurt. The kitchen looked like the inside of a snow globe that had been shaken by a toddler with vengeance issues. And the image of Riki sprinting out the door, looking like the Ghost of Christmas Past, would feed you for weeks. Still snickering, you reached for your phone, thumbing open FaceTime and tapping on the group chat with Yasmin and Bella: The Holy Trinity™.

It rang twice.

And then both girls appeared on your screen in chaotic split view—Yasmin in her bonnet, mascara smudged under her eyes like she’d just woken up or cried or both, and Bella with her hair clipped back, already slurping iced coffee like it was noon instead of seven-something in the morning. “Oh my gosh,” Bella groaned, squinting at your background. “Why does it look like you’re filming from inside a cocaine factory?”

“Bro,” Yasmin choked, leaning closer to the camera. “Is that snow? Did it snow in his kitchen? Why is there…why is there powder on your tits—”

You burst into another fit of laughter, nearly dropping the phone. “Guys—guys, wait—he dropped the tub of protein that I placed.”

Bella’s jaw dropped. “No. No, don’t lie to me. Tell me he looked stupid.”

“So fucking stupid,” you said proudly. “He looked like Frosty the Snowman on creatine.” You chuckled, flipping the camera to reveal the catastrophe. Bella screamed. Not yelled—not gasped—she let out the kind of shriek that could summon emergency services. Yasmin laughed so loud that the microphone didn’t even pick up the sound. They couldn’t see you laughing though the camera shook as you tried to get ahold of yourself. “Oh shit…this is way more fun than I thought.” You wiped a tear from your eye as you flipped the camera back to yourself. “Guys…he said ‘please pray for me’ before running out the door. Like he was going to war. Like he was going to send me letters from the trenches or something.”

“Ooh, what else is there?”

—

As a result of the last two weeks of torment you put Riki through, you’ve been nothing but happy to see him slowly become a fragmented, mildly skittish and paranoid shell of himself.  And you didn’t even have to do anything to him. A lot of these things were self-inflicted. Whenever you approached him on campus, he would jump before you could make him aware that it was you.

When he showered, he somehow found that his shampoo was always nearly empty. Hardly enough to even lather up. And when he did have to replace it (now almost weekly), he always felt like there was a Nair-y stench to it.  The protein powder remained in the cracks of the kitchen’s wooden floor. He felt that his hair was thinning even though it clearly wasn’t. Riki also discovered that he had a fish allergy—courtesy of the fried cod you made him. The reaction was very mild, just an antihistamine and it knocked him right out. You didn’t know he had this allergy. 

You’re not that crazy.

Unfortunately, the only thing that the universe—with the interference of you—couldn’t seem to shake was that fucking basketball shit. No matter how many times you tried to curb his alarms (he set multiple and bought an alarm clock), hide stuff (he packs his bag the night before now), and secretly pray for his downfall—it just never happened. Riki’s stats still stayed the exact same. Averaging thirty points per game, seven rebounds, eight assists. He hardly called you after practice with weight on his voice. And that was the only thing that Riki did his best to protect. Basketball was his sanctuary and as vain as it sounded: he considered himself to be a seasoned vet already. If he learned anything from playing—enduring—this sport for his whole life it was two things: don’t be a selfish player—not just in game, but in life. And leave any and all personal shit off the court. 

And that if he held both of these things close to his heart and led with love, then he was going to be alright. 

But he was a human being. Most importantly, he was a man. An egomaniacal, self centered man. And just like any other human being, he made mistakes and with those two values he held tightly to his chest—if he slipped then he’d feel it. So everyday, for the last two weeks—he reflected. What exactly did he do to be so out of whack recently? He wasn’t selfish. He loves you, honors you, does everything that a boyfriend should right?  Yeah, Coach yelled at him the day he was late. But he ultimately suffered no consequences as that was his first offense. But still, despite that—he ran three laps around the arena to be fair to his teammates. You and him haven’t argued yet. In the four months that you had been together, everything went swimmingly. Nothing that you’ve done has sincerely pissed him off. The closest thing might’ve been the day with his juices being gone. But it was an honest mistake. But besides that, everything that he felt for you from the start remained—if anything, it only intensified. There wasn’t a moment where he didn’t want to be in your skin. To hold you and tell you how breathtaking you were. How every conversation with you felt like talking to a friend. Like he’s known you his whole life.  So what did he do? What did he do to be having such a tough time? What was he getting karma for?

—

You sat in your dorm, munching on a salad as you were working on an assignment that was ten days past due. But truthfully, it was already beyond late—you didn’t care about making it up anymore.

Your main concern was your next point of action: kill Riki Nishimura. Not like actually kill him or anything. 

This was going to be your magnum opus: killing him socially. Bella and Yasmin didn’t think you could do it. More like they didn’t want you to. But you had it all mapped out. And your beloved boyfriend had no clue. Not one. He made it easy with how weird he was being. The best revenge comes from doing hardly nothing at all. Watching him feel like a stranger in his own skin brought you enough joy to last you three lifetimes. 

But you were greedy.

—

The arena’s noise was thick. You could feel it in your ribs—the music from the above speakers, the chatter, the sharp whistle of sneakers on the waxed court. You sat front row, dead center. The perfect sightline. The perfect stage. Your fingers shook—not from nerves, but from the kind of adrenaline that comes before impact. You had the note written out. Printed. Folded once. Sitting like a loaded weapon in your lap. You could feel the weight of it pressing through your jeans. Bella had clocked it the second she saw you. Yasmin’s eyes darted to the paper, then to your face, then back again. They didn’t even need to say it out loud; the girl telepathy was loud enough to deafen. The blonde’s attention remained on you but she placed her hand on Yasmin’s arm. “What the fuck is she doing?”

“I don’t know!” The olive skinned girl shrugged as her doe eyes widened in fright. “She didn’t say anything about doing something public.”

Bella shook her head. “Oh fuck no, she’s lost her goddamn mind.” She stood, waving her arms to catch your attention. “Don’t,” she hissed, barely moving her lips.

But you were already standing.

The announcer’s voice bled into the air, “—and now, your starting five!”

You didn’t hear the cheers. Didn’t see the team running out. You only saw him. Riki, jogging onto the court, smiling easily, looking like he hadn’t spent the last two weeks unraveling.

He waved to the crowd, scanning briefly—just long enough for your eyes to catch. He froze. Blinked. His smile faltered for a second. Then returned, practiced and bright.

You unfolded the paper.

“Don’t you dare,” Yasmin whispered, gripping your arm so tightly her nails pressed crescents into your skin.

You shook her off. “He deserves this.”

Bella stood too, half-blocking you from view. “No, he doesn’t. Not like this. This is too fucking far!” But you didn’t even hear her. The mic was right there—abandoned on the sideline after the anthem. You could take three steps and it’d be in your hand. You could read the note, the one that started with ‘Three weeks ago, starting point guard, Riki Nishimura, had degraded me—’ It’d be over for him. You’d make sure of it.

And that’s when Yasmin, bless her, full-body tackled your arm and snatched the paper clean out of your hand. “You’re done,” she hissed, shaking her head. “This isn’t justice, this is suicide.”

“What—” you started, but then Bella’s voice cut through, low and warning. “He’s looking.”

And he was.

Riki had stopped dribbling during warmups, staring right at the three of you. His brows pulled together, confusion, worry. Then he started jogging toward you, calling your name.

The crowd noise dimmed into static in your ears.

He reached the sideline, cluelessly. “What’s going on?” Tilting his head as he raised his taped hand to brush your coils off your shoulder to toy with the ‘R’ pendant on the necklace he gave you. A habit, something he did as a means of soothing both you and him. “Everything okay?” Yasmin shook her head slightly. “This has gone entirely too far, dude.” She sniffled, dabbing her fallen tears in an effort to not ruin her makeup.

“You gotta tell him.” Bella said firmly. 

Riki looked around, scanning the arena for any cameras that were on him. “What? Tell me what?” He squinted, genuinely baffled—like he was trying to fit the scene into a scoreboard in his head. You stayed silent, your eyes fiery and skin crawling at the feeling of his touch now. Your eyes fell right to the microphone where you could do your final bidding. Eyes watering and heart heavy, you crumpled the paper in your fist as you avoided Riki’s gaze.

Bella exhaled, all impatience and exactness. “Can we do this somewhere where there aren’t cameras?” Her eyes fell on the guy before you three.  Riki’s expression hardened a little, glancing at the gigantic clock at the top of the stands. Twenty minutes til tip-off. Without another word, he nodded to the tunnel which led to the locker room. The only private area where he knew no one would be passing through. “Quickly.” He said lowly as he rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “Please.” You stayed planted where you were, your eyes glaring a hole into his. As if lasers would beam through if you tried hard enough. Yasmin grabbed you by the bicep, “come on.” She said shakily, which in any other case would’ve weighed you down with her. 

The tunnel smelled like old sweat and floor cleaner—half of the arena’s life lived in a stale chemical cloud. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, turning everyone’s skin a little too pale. The noise from the court faded to a distant roar; here it was only your voices and the scrape of sneakers against concrete. Then squeaking as you entered the empty locker room. Riki kept his jacket half off, breath shallow, eyes darting between the three of you like he was trying to memorize which way the exits led. “Talk to me.”

You stayed silent, folding your arms to your chest as if it could keep your guts from spilling out.  “Hello? Did you hear him? He’s speaking to you—” Bella tapped your shoulder.

Riki interjected sharply, brows furrowed in annoyance. “Don’t fucking speak to her like that—”

“No! This shit has gone way off the rails and now she’s acting like a fucking baby. Speak up, I’m not coddling you anymore!” The girl insisted. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

“Shut the fuck up, Bella.” You snapped, “don’t try to sit here and ‘tough love’ me now when you know you’re the one that held my hand through this in the first place.” Turning to her as you jabbed her shoulder with your finger. 

Bella scoffed, “But I never told you to go this far! You—” “Why the fuck are we talking in code?! I have shit to do and y’all here playing!” Riki clapped his hands in urgency.

Yasmin blurted it out. “We heard you talking about her.” She huffed nervously.

Riki’s eyes flit to the side in confusion. “So? I talk about her and to her every single day.” “No.” You finally interjected, turning your attention to him as you were able to take your anger out. “When you stood in here and said to Maki that I was ‘just another hole to fill’ and how not whipped you are?” You squinted your eyes as your posture straightened. “That all girls are the same and how much play you’re gonna get—” You smiled bitterly at the memory as you spoke with your hands. “And how you’re just gonna keep ‘fucking around and winning? Huh?” You nodded. “Remember that, baby?”

Riki froze. Like someone had just yanked the oxygen straight out of his lungs. For a second, the world went completely soundless—even the hum of the fluorescent lights seemed to cut out. His jaw twitched once, twice, before he let out a shaky exhale and blinked at you, eyes wide, almost boyish in disbelief.

“Wait—” he said hoarsely, “you heard that?”

You laughed, sharp and humorless. “Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t mean it. That it was just locker room talk, right?”

He ran a hand over his face, backing up until he hit the edge of a locker with a dull thud. His expression twisted — confusion, panic, then shame flickering like a glitch he couldn’t smooth out. “No, that’s not—fuck, that’s not what I meant. It was a—Maki was—”

“Maki was what, Riki?” Bella snapped. “A part of your stand-up routine? Or your echo chamber?” “Bella, stop,” he hissed, voice cracking under strain. He turned back to you, hands slightly raised like he was pleading his case to a judge who’d already heard the verdict. “It wasn’t about you like that. It was—God, it was a joke. I was trying to sound cool, and—”

Your eyes narrowed. “Cool?” The word landed like poison.

“You think degrading me makes you cool?”

Riki’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He was crumbling in real time—his composure, that stupid practiced charm, the performative calm he always wore when things got ugly. He looked twenty different kinds of small now. “Say it again,” you whispered, stepping closer, voice shaking not from weakness but from the sheer weight of it all. “Say it to my face this time. Say I’m just another hole to fill.”

Riki’s throat bobbed. “Don’t—”

“Say it!”

“I didn’t mean it!” he exploded, voice ricocheting off the walls. The sound of it startled even him. “I swear to God, I didn’t—” He stopped himself, chest heaving, eyes flicking to Bella, then Yasmin, before finally settling on you again. His voice dropped. “You think I’d ever mean that? About you?” You blinked, your vision blurring with the beginnings of tears you didn’t want to shed—not here, not in front of him. “I don’t give a fuck what you meant. You deserved everything I fucking did to you and more of it!”

“What…?” His voice cracked. “Wh–what did you do?”

Yasmin spoke up. “Can I interject…?” She stepped forward from the corner to stand beside Bella, who was letting her ponytail down as she felt her head starting to throb. “Riki…we decided to—”

“No.” You kindly shut Yasmin down. “I—neither of them had any involvement in anything—decided to pay you back. I poured out your juices. Loosened your protein tub. Unplugged your phone—everything weird that’s been happening to you for the last two weeks was me fucking with you.” Riki blinked once. Then again. Like maybe if he gave his brain enough time to reboot, it’d spit out a version of this scene that made sense.

“You—” he breathed out, the word shaky and small. “You what?” He stared at you—searching, scanning, trying to find some hint that you were joking. But your face didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even twitch. “Everything weird that’s been—” he stopped, eyes darting back and forth as the puzzle pieces rearranged in his head. “My shampoo, the alarms, the fucking—my protein—” His voice rose an octave, breaking off in disbelief. “The fish?!”

You blinked. “Okay, that one wasn’t on purpose. And I didn’t do anything to your shampoo.” He laughed. But it wasn’t funny. It was breathless and sharp—half a gasp, half hysteria. “Oh my God,” he said, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my fucking God.”

Bella winced. Yasmin quietly muttered something under her breath that sounded like a prayer.

Riki dropped his hand and looked back at you, eyes glossy—not with tears, but something worse. Something that looked like betrayal and heartbreak all twisted together. “You made me think I was losing my mind,” he said quietly. “For weeks.” You crossed your arms, defensive now. “You made me feel worthless.”

“So you poisoned me?”

You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come.

“You unplugged my phone, you messed with my stuff, you—” he gestured wildly, like he couldn’t even pick which violation to name first. “You messed with my head, and for what? To even the score?”

“Don’t you dare make me the bad guy here,” you snapped, voice cracking on the edge of your fury. “You’re the one who said that shit about me.” “And I said I didn’t mean it!” he fired back, stepping closer. The sound of his voice filled the entire locker room—loud, raw, desperate. “You think I’m proud of that? You think I sleep easy knowing that came out of my mouth? I’ve been trying to figure out what I did to deserve all this—turns out, you were just—” He cut himself off, choking back whatever word was about to fall next.

“Just what?” you bit.

He stared at you. His throat bobbed. “Cruel.”

The word sliced clean through the air.

You flinched, but didn’t back down. “You talk about me like I’m replaceable and you think I’m cruel?”

“You tried to ruin me!”

“Oh, please,” you wave off. “You’d still be fine. You always land on your feet.”

Riki shook his head, eyes glazed. His eyes caught the folded loose leaf in your hand, gesturing to it. “What is that?” 

Without a second guess, you shoved it into his chest. Not even causing him to stumble but he snatched it. Opening it and doing his best to make it out beneath the crinkles.  And right then, was the angriest you’ve seen him up until this moment. The desperate, flabbergasted Riki that was before found new ground to stand on. His nostrils flared as he licked his bottom lip; fingers curling around the paper. “You were going to read this in front of people?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to—your silence was already too loud.

Riki’s laugh was low and humorless. “You were going to humiliate me.” He said it like he was testing the words out loud, like saying them would somehow make them less insane. “In front of my team? My coach? The entire nation, are you fucking crazy?”

“I was going to tell the truth,” you shot back, eyes glinting. “That’s all it was. The truth.”

“The truth?” He took a step closer, paper trembling in his fist. “No, no—you wanted revenge. You wanted blood, not closure.”

You rolled your eyes, though your pulse was slamming in your throat. “Don’t get poetic now, Riki. You said what you said.” “And I told you I didn’t mean it! How many times do I have to—” He held up the note like evidence in court. “This—this is you trying to destroy me because you’re hurt. You were really going to try to ruin my life’s work and career over this when you could’ve just fucking talked to me?! Or even dumped me?”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you called me just another hole to fill.”

He went still. The sound of sneakers squeaking from the court outside was a faint, haunting rhythm beneath the tension between you.

Riki lowered his head, voice dropping to something barely human. “You really hate me that much, huh?”

“I don’t hate you,” you said coldly. “I just wanted you to feel small for once.”

He let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Congratulations. You did it.” He held up the crumpled paper like it was a white flag—like you’d already won the war you started. “You’ve made me feel smaller than I ever have in my entire life.”

You swallowed, your anger flickering like a dying candle. “Good.” Riki stared at you for a long, long moment—jaw tight, eyes glassy, chest rising with restrained fury and heartbreak. Then, quietly, he tore the note in half. Once, twice, until the pieces fluttered from his hands like ash. “Hope it was worth it,” he muttered, voice shaking. And when he walked past you toward the locker room exit, he didn’t look back.

The girls followed in his direction with shaking of their heads. But were interrupted by your voice. “Where are you guys going?” They stopped, turning around. Yasmin’s eyes sparkled from the overhead lighting as tears misted her eyes. “We also have shit to do.”

You threw your hands up, “oh so now I’m the bad guy?” You laughed humorlessly, “you guys—” “We didn’t tell you to do anything!” Bella waved her finger. “Yas was against this from the beginning. I said I was just gonna support you. We support each other! Right, wrong, or indifferent. But I didn’t think you would lose yourself like this?” She gestured to your frame. “I mean who even are you anymore?”

“I’m me. I’m still me, guys—” You stepped forward with your voice shaking. Smile vanished as you swallowed what seemed to be a knot of nervousness. “C’mon…don’t turn your backs on me too…” Yasmin sniffled, “if we did then we wouldn’t have saved you just now. This isn’t my best friend,” Yasmin whispered, shaking her head. Her voice cracked mid-sentence, soft but sharp enough to land. “My best friend doesn’t do shit like this.”

You froze. “Yas—”

“No,” she said, stepping back a little. Rubbing her temples as frustrated tears streaking down her cheeks. “You’re not even listening to yourself anymore.” Bella exhaled, crossing her arms. “You became the thing you swore you hated. You’re standing here, trying to justify ruining someone’s life just because he bruised your ego. That’s not love. That’s obsession.”

Your throat closed up. “You think I wanted to turn into this?”

Bella didn’t answer right away—she just blinked at you, disappointed. “No. I think you got hurt and didn’t know where to put it. But you don’t get to burn down someone else’s peace to feel better about your pain.” The silence that followed was unbearable. Only the muffled sound of the crowd bleeding in from the court—cheers, drums, whistles—made the moment real again.

Yasmin took a shaky breath, voice quiet. “You can still fix this. Maybe not with him, but with yourself.” You stared at them, every word hitting like shrapnel, and for the first time since the whole spiral began—you didn’t have anything to say. The weight of what you’d done, what almost happened, started to settle in your stomach like lead.

Bella grabbed Yasmin’s hand. “We’re going to go. You should go get some rest.” You watched them walk away through the tunnel lights, the sound of the game roaring back to life behind them. You stood there, still holding the blanket of your own rage and regret—realizing it was never warmth at all. And the walk back to your dorm was a cold one.

—

For three days, you disappeared. The campus kept spinning without you—the chatter of students, the clatter of cafeteria trays, the hum of a world that refused to pause—but your room stayed still. Curtains drawn, phone facedown, mind circling the same moment over and over until it felt like static. The guilt wasn’t sharp anymore; it was heavy, dragging. Every notification with his name felt like another bruise you didn’t remember getting.

Bella and Yasmin tried to reach you—knocks at the door, texts, calls—but nothing stuck. Riki was radio silent; as expected. On the fourth day, you sat up and climbed off your creaky twin XL. You walked up to your desk and removed the pillowcase covering it and for the first time in days, you were able to stomach looking at yourself. Your reflection in the dark monitor felt like a stranger. Eyes swollen, lips cracked from lack of hydration, skin dry and textured. And immediately you put your head down. Holding your stomach as you wept into yourself. It came out of you like a flood you’d been holding back too long—all the anger, the shame, the grief. You tried to breathe, but it only made the sobs louder. You pressed a hand to your mouth as if you could stuff it all back down, but it was useless. You cried until your ribs hurt, until your knees gave out and you sank onto the floor, arms wrapped around yourself like you were the only thing keeping from coming undone completely. “Oh God—” You held your chest as you heaved. “What have I done?”

—

By the fifth day, the silence became unbearable. You couldn’t stand the sound of your own thoughts anymore—the echoes of Riki’s voice, the look on Bella’s face, the way Yasmin’s eyes had glistened before she walked away. So for the first time in almost a week, you took positive first steps. You showered, scrubbing yourself to the point where you swore your skin was about to peel off. Brush your teeth, following your meticulous oral care routine. And you put on lotion, perfume, did your hair and finally…you felt you were halfway worth looking at again.

—

The campus air touched differently after a self-imposed exile—too bright, too loud, like the world had the audacity to move on. You found Bella and Yasmin outside on the quad, sprawled on the grass with open laptops and snacks, their laughter cutting short the second they saw you.

“Hey,” you said softly, voice half-stuck in your throat.

Bella shut her laptop, sitting up. Yasmin didn’t say anything yet—just watched you with that mix of worry and quiet anger that made you feel twelve years old again. “I know,” you started, rubbing the back of your neck. “I was a dick. To both of you. And you didn’t deserve that.” You looked between them, heart pounding. “You were just trying to look out for me, and I…I took it way too far. I wanted to hurt him so bad that I forgot who I was. And who you guys were to me. I’m sorry. But I just wanted to say thank you for gathering me before I inevitably got worse.”

Neither spoke for a beat. Then Bella sighed, resting her chin on her knee. “Yeah, you were a dick,” she said flatly, but there was the ghost of a smile there. Yasmin exhaled, eyes softening. “We were worried sick. You don’t just vanish like that, dude. We thought you—” she cut herself off, shaking her head. “Like at least an ‘I’m okay’ text would’ve been enough. Just…” She sighed, “don’t do that again.”

You nodded quickly, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “I won’t. I swear.” Bella patted the spot beside her. “Good. Then sit your dramatic ass down and eat something. We made sandwiches.”

Tears finally came down as you smiled. Sitting down between them as you hugged them to you. Both their heads on your shoulders as they squeezed you. “Are you guys still mad at me?”  “Oh definitely,” Yasmin smiled as she nuzzled your shoulder. “You have some serious making up to do.” Huffing as she leaned up and let go.

You looked down at the blanket and your crossed legs, “Can I start by saying you were right and that you owe me an ‘I told you so?’” To which that elicited laughs from both girls on either side of you.  “Forgiven!” Yasmin giggled as she clapped her hands excitedly. Like she wasn’t twenty but a little kid. And as you sat between them, the tension eased, the world didn’t feel quite as tilted anymore.

—

You were mid-laugh when it happened—Bella had just said something snarky about the “post-breakdown glow” you apparently had going on. And for a moment, things felt easy again. Like it always had with these two. The three of you were walking up the stone path toward the dining hall, the smell of pizza and fryer oil already drifting through the air, when a familiar voice froze you in your tracks.

“Hey!” He was coming down the opposite side of the path, still in his team jacket, backpack slung over his shoulders, hair a little messy like he’d just showered. His teammates had already gone ahead, but he stopped the moment he saw you.

Bella glanced between you two and sighed under her breath. “Well, this is awkward.”

“Yep,” Yasmin muttered. “Definitely our cue.”

They shared a look before Bella patted your arm. “We’ll, uh…grab our table. Take your time.”

And just like that, they slipped inside the dining hall, leaving you and Riki alone under the faint hum of campus noise.

For a second, neither of you spoke. You just stared at him, at how tired he looked—eyes a little red, hands balled up as he adjusted his sleeves.

“You look alive,” he said finally, a small half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Barely,” you replied, managing a smirk. “You?”

He shrugged. “Playing like I’m mad at the whole planet, but we’re winning, so…guess that counts for something.”

You nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the ground. “Riki, I—”

He shook his head before you could continue. “Don’t. It’s done.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not mad anymore. I mean, I was. But now…I get it.”

You searched his face for bitterness and found none—just exhaustion, and something softer hiding under it. “It’s not an excuse.” Shaking your head, you pulled your hoodie sleeves over your hands as you balled your fists. “You hurt me and instead of being a good, mature girlfriend…I went to the extreme. I’m so sorry, Riki.” “I deserved it, mama.” He stepped closer, whispering as he reached his hands up to frame your face—not touch it. “What I said was inexcusable. Absolutely repulsive and inappropriate and no one should speak about a person—especially their girlfriend—like that. I’m sorry too.”

“I guess neither of us are perfect.” You sighed, as you gently brought his hands back down. The radiating warmth leaving your cheeks and replacing it with the evening chill.

His mouth curved, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I think we both kinda nuked the moral high ground.”

A weak laugh slipped out of you. “That’s one way to put it.” For a moment, it was quiet—just the wind cutting through the trees and the sound of students laughing somewhere across the quad. You stared at the space between your sneakers, the weight of everything that happened hanging between you.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” you said softly. “Even after all that.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Good. ‘Cause I couldn’t even if I tried.”

That made you look up. His gaze was steady, not pleading, just…honest. The kind of look that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to name yet. “Did you mean any of it? Like when you said you loved me?” His eyes searched yours, “I’m sorry, it’s just been driving me crazy and I need to know.” The look in his eyes was layered in desperation and heartbreak. Only half of what you encountered in the locker room that day. “Please. For my own sanity—” “I did.” You sniffled, dabbing your eyes with your sleeve to prevent tears from coming out. “It…”

Riki pulled you to a small bench, tucked away from possible prying eyes as this was becoming an intimate moment. The first one in what seemed like forever. He wiped the bench with his hands, getting any debris—branches, dirt, cigarette ashes—off and away. “It was that I loved you so much that I did what I did.” You sat down as he did beside you. “When I heard you saying those things about me, it…it just—a switch just flipped in my brain. Like…everything that I thought about you beforehand was just confirmed. That my parents were right…”

Riki’s eyes widened a bit, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach as he gulped. “You—your parents?” You nodded, “they always said not to date athletes. That they’d either cheat, lie, or dog you. Maybe all three.” Fiddling with your manicured nails, clicking them slightly. “In a way, me getting revenge just felt like I was doing every single person that was wronged by every athlete, right. But I got greedy. Selfish. And really, I could’ve just spoken to you about it.” Riki leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground like it might offer him a manual on how to handle this conversation. “I wish you did,” he said quietly. “I would’ve told you the truth. That I was talking out of my ass, trying to look tough in front of the guys because I was scared of how much I actually loved you. I mean I’ve never felt like this before, y’know?”

You let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s not an excuse.”

“I know,” he said, glancing at you. “But it’s the truth. I said those things because I thought if I made it sound like I didn’t care, then they’d just get off my dick about it. In actuality, I was never thinking about sex with you.”

You shot him a look.

He smiled, “okay, I was.” Laughing as you did, but he leaned up. “But it wasn’t at the front of my mind. I didn’t lead every interaction with you with the expectation that you’d let me have any.” The words hung between you like fog, dense and heavy. You looked up at him then, and the sharpness you’d carried for weeks softened. He looked older somehow. Not in a bad way—just like he’d been through something real. “But even with the four months that we were together, I didn’t even want to bring it up because I didn’t want to scare you.”

“The idea of sex with you didn’t scare me, Riki. But the fact that when I thought I could trust you to keep certain things of our relationship private, you fell through. And disrespected me at that.” You went on. “Because how did Maki even know that we hadn’t done anything? Were these things regular conversations and I just happened to catch one?” Riki’s jaw tightened, his knee bouncing slightly. “No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that. I swear, I didn’t go around talking about our business. Maki was being an asshole that day, asking questions, making jokes and assumptions, and I—” He paused, running a hand over his face like he could erase what came next. “I took the bait. I wanted to sound cool. Like I wasn’t some lovesick loser.” You stared at him, the memory of that locker room replaying in your mind like a cruel film reel. “So you threw me under the bus to impress him?” His eyes flicked up to meet yours, guilt written across every line of his face. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “And the second it left my mouth, I wanted to take it back. It was just talk. It was just…I don’t know.”

You looked away, lips pressing together. The bench between you suddenly felt like a chasm. “I really thought you were different, Riki,” you said softly. “You made me believe it.” He winced like the words cut him. “I am different. Or at least I was trying to be. I just—” He exhaled, frustrated with himself. “I didn’t think about how much weight my words had. I didn’t think about how much they’d hurt you if you heard them. I was trying to protect my ego instead of the one person I actually gave a shit about.” The silence after that was long and brittle. You could hear students laughing in the distance, the scrape of skateboard wheels against pavement. Ordinary sounds in a world that felt anything but ordinary right now. And it only left one question: “So what now?”

Riki shook his head firmly, turning to you. “Look I love you. Still—”

You sighed, closing your eyes in distress but he insisted. “No, no, no. Just listen to me.” He hesitantly reached for your hands. “I know we both have work to do. But I don’t want anybody else. And I mean that. You’re everything to me and even after the bullshit and what you were going to do…I still look at you the same.” You stared at him, the ache in your chest twisting into something you couldn’t name. “You shouldn’t,” you said softly. “You should look at me differently.”

He shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t. I’ve tried.”

You wanted to laugh, or scream, or both. Instead, you just looked down at your intertwined hands—his fingers trembling slightly against yours. “Please don’t romanticize it, Riki. That was the ugliest I’ve seen myself in…ever. And I don’t know if I wanna be with someone that brings that out of me.” “But I do,” he smiled softly. “I want to be with someone that drives me crazy. That makes me feel every possible human emotion and that person was you.” He brought your hands to his lips to kiss them, like he always used to. “This is going to be what you want at the end of the day. But I won’t stop fighting for you. When I said I loved you forever, I meant it. As a friend, a lover. Anything. I just wanna be in your life.” For a split second, you could almost feel your heart stop. The rawest you’d ever seen Riki was in this moment—before you—as he practically begged to be in your world. A person who’s so used to the inverse. And he didn’t stop. “Since the day I saw you, I’ve not been able to get you off my mind. And I don’t wanna forget that feeling. Call me obsessed, desperate. But even then, I don’t care,” he finished, voice breaking slightly. “Because I’d rather be desperate for you than indifferent to anyone else.”

You swallowed hard, blinking fast. His eyes were glassy now, full of something that looked too much like the boy you fell for—reckless, sincere, and way too intense for his own good. “Riki…” “I know,” he said, shaking his head quickly, cutting you off before you could form the words. “You don’t have to say it. I just needed you to know. Even if you never look at me the same again, even if you find someone who actually deserves you—I needed to say it out loud once.”

You felt the world slow down around you, the hum of the dining hall muffling into static. His confession sat between you, too heavy to move around and too fragile to touch. “I think…I think it’s best that we be friends. For now…” He nodded immediately, “anything you want—wait, you said for now?” He tried to hide the way his lips curved, but failed.

You rolled your eyes, exhaling a shaky laugh. “Don’t push it.” And then, almost without thinking, you scooted forward. He met you halfway, arms slipping around your waist like muscle memory. You pressed your face into his shoulder, breathing him in—the faint trace of detergent, cologne, and something you couldn’t name but still remembered.

It wasn’t a reconciliation. It wasn’t a promise. It was just…quiet understanding. He melted into your arms, remembering the warmth he once felt there as it hadn’t ever gone away. Rubbing your back as the both of you fell into the comfort of each other again. “I won’t…I promise.” He said softly as he sniffled. You felt his breath hitch against your neck, the sound muffled but raw. His arms tightened just a little, like he was afraid that if he let go too soon, the moment would vanish. You rubbed slow circles into his back, grounding him, grounding yourself.

“I know,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes red but steady. “I just don’t ever want you to think I didn’t care,” he said quietly. “Not for a single second.”

You smiled faintly, brushing your thumb over the corner of his hand where it still held onto you. “I never did,” you admitted. “But time will tell.” For a moment, neither of you moved—just stayed there, breathing the same air, hearts syncing in that familiar rhythm you both tried so hard to forget. And when you finally stepped apart, it wasn’t out of anger or regret. It was because you both knew what this was.

Something that wasn’t over. Just paused.

— epilogue!

The semester was coming to an end and things were looking up! Spring was underway, you traded in your hoodies for tube tops and life wasn’t as hard as it was a month ago. Bella and Yasmin are the same: reliable, solid, harassing—typical. As for Riki…

You and him had stayed true to the “friends for now” thing…with a few cracks around the edges. You were doing pretty well with the whole “platonic equilibrium” mindset. Riki, though…was doing his best, which—coming from him—meant trying really hard not to accidentally flirt every five minutes. There was always a soft awkwardness in the air whenever he was near, a kind of gentle hesitation that felt new. Like he was relearning how to exist around you without crossing lines he used to dive over headfirst. Whenever you ran into him around campus, he’d light up—just a little, almost like he wished he didn’t. He’d start to reach for your hand out of habit, stopping mid-motion with a small, embarrassed laugh. Sometimes he’d call you “baby” without thinking, freeze like he’d just triggered a bomb, and mumble a panicked “sorry.” It was…cute. Annoyingly cute.

But here’s the thing—he didn’t push. Not once. He didn’t corner you, didn’t force conversations, didn’t try to speedrun your healing. He gave you space without disappearing, presence without pressure. It was the most mature thing you’d ever seen him do, and honestly? Kinda hotter than when he was your actual boyfriend. Slowly, the tension stopped feeling sharp and started feeling warm. The kind you notice on slow walks across campus or when you catch him staring from across a study lounge. The kind that makes your stomach dip but not in a painful way anymore.

He was still your Riki—loud, unserious, overwhelmingly athletic, always carrying a million and one snacks in his bag. But this version of him was steadier. Softer. Careful with you in ways he never had to think about before. Spring was blooming, and so were you. And somewhere in the mess of new beginnings, slow healing, and accidental almost-romantic moments…you could feel it.

You and Riki weren’t done. Not even close.

riki: hey girlieee

you: hi riki lmao

riki: rq, what are ur thoughts on selena gomez?

you: random?? LMAOO ??? but 10/10 no notes. she’s mother. omg i love her blushes too

riki: she sells makeup??

you: yeah…everyone knows that

riki: literally why would i know that but thanks, noted.

you: why tho? what happened?

riki: <3

you: …? that’s not an answer…?

riki: <33

you: ok

Riki left you on read after that last “ok,” which was suspicious behavior for him. Usually he double-texted entirely too often. But whatever—maybe he was in the gym…benching a car or some shit.

Two weeks rolled by in this weird limbo where he acted normal but also not normal. A week ago he’d shown up outside your lecture hall just to hand you a juice box because, quote, “You always look dehydrated after class.” Three days ago, he’d pretended to trip just so you’d laugh. Yesterday he’d sat next to you in the library, headphones in, sharing a pack of gummies and tapping your knee every time he thought of something funny. And you didn’t miss the shift in him—this boy was planning something. You could practically hear the cartoon gears grinding in that brain of his.

Then Friday came. A warm, breezy, stupidly pretty spring evening. You were chilling in your dorm, headphones in one ear as you reviewed for your microeconomics final. And that’s when you heard it.

“It’s been said and done…Every beautiful thought’s been already sung…”

And comedically, your head popped up. Brows furrowed as you turned your head to get a grip on the muffled, crackled noise coming from the outside. But you just figured it was the student union having one of their last hurrah’s before the year was finished and y’all were right back in three months.

“And I guess right now, here’s another one…So your melody will play on and on…With the rest of them…”

Your phone buzzed.

pretty princess: girl look tf out ur window rn.

You blinked at the notification, confusion already tugging at your face. Yasmin never texted like that unless something was either (A) horrifying or (B) gobsmacking. There was never an in-between with her. You shoved your chair back, nearly tripping over your backpack as you crossed the room. You pulled the blinds open—

And your stomach dropped to your ass.

Because there he was.

Riki. On the quad. Holding an actual boombox over his head like he was auditioning for an eighties rom-com.

The thing was massive, probably older than both of you, and blasting Selena Gomez’s “Love You Like a Love Song” at a volume that was definitely violating at least six campus rules. Students were recording him but he didn’t care. He spotted you instantly.

That stupid, boyish, heart-squeezing grin lit up his whole face the second your eyes met. He lifted the boombox even higher—like his arms weren’t already shaking—and he yelled up at your window: “HI!”

Just “hi.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, partially to smother your gasp and partially to keep from laughing out loud like someone who lost any and all gumption. Heat crawled up your neck. “No he didn’t,” you whispered.

Oh, but he did. And he wasn’t stopping.

People started chanting his name—half because they loved drama and half because the acoustics were terrible and the song was starting to echo off the buildings like some kind of chaotic love anthem.

You opened the window. “RIKI!”

He perked up like a golden retriever hearing treats shake. “YEAH?”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

“I’M—” He paused, laughing. “I’M TRYING TO BE ROMANTIC BUT THIS THING IS REALLY HEAVY! AND LOUD!”

You nearly melted on the spot. Your brain was soup. Your heart? Gone.

He lowered the boombox slightly—possibly because his arms were probably about to give out—and yelled, “COME DOWN! PLEASE! I DON’T WANNA DROP THIS AND DIE. THAT WOULD BE EMBARRASSING.” He wasn’t struggling, his arms weren’t trembling. He wasn’t out of breath. 

You squinted down at him, realization hitting you like a brick made of pure annoyance and affection. “Riki…are you faking struggling right now?”

He flashed you a guilty little half-smile, shrugging with one shoulder while still holding the boombox like it weighed absolutely nothing. “Uh…maybe. For dramatic effect. Gotta sell the moment, y’know?”

You groaned into your hands. “Oh my god.”

He adjusted his grip again—effortless, casual, absolutely not dying as previously advertised—and yelled, “C’MON! DON’T MAKE ME LOOK STUPID IN FRONT OF LIKE—” he glanced around, “—WAY TOO MANY PEOPLE!”

You rolled your eyes so hard you saw last semester. But you threw on your hoodie, shoved your feet into whatever shoes were closest, and bolted for the stairs.

By the time you reached the quad, people were still filming, still chanting his name, still acting like they were witnessing a Hallmark movie. Riki stood there proudly, boombox now resting against his shoulder as the chorus blasted:

“I-I-I love you like a love song, baby…”

He grinned the second he saw you and the crowd dissipated as they saw him put the boombox down to the grass and lower the music. “Hi…”

“Hi?” You laughed as you reached him. “What in the world is this?” You gestured to the boombox now at your feet.

“A…boombox—”

“I know what a boombox is, Riki!” You hold your hands up. “I mean…why?” You said softly. 

He sighed. “Okay, look. I know you’ve said sorry before. And I did too. But I was saying it like…someone who wanted to fix a scratch, not someone that had the capability of ruining an entire relationship with words.” He frowned slightly as he reached out for your hands. Inhaling before he mustered up the courage to grasp them. “You don’t make it easy for me. You don’t worship me. You don’t pretend I’m a big deal. You roll your eyes and tell me when I’m being a dick—and that’s the first time in a long time I’ve actually had to listen.” He went on.

“When we stopped talking, I still couldn’t stop thinking about you. When you liked me for half a second, I didn’t know what to do with it. When you loved me…I felt like I was caught with my pants down.” The breeze blew at his dark locks, brushing his silky hair just right as the perfectly timed sunset kissed his tan skin. “You said once that you don’t understand why people lose their minds over athletes. I get it now. I’m the guy who people cheer for and I still don’t get it either. But when you look at me, it’s not because I made a basket—it’s because you actually see me. And I don’t want to lose that. And…” He huffed, eyes brimming with tears. “I’ve gone these last few months with an attempt to change everything about myself. But the one thing that I couldn’t seem to shake is that I really am selfish. Only when it comes to you.” He shakes his head as his lips quivered. “I love you, I kiss the ground you walk on and I can’t shake that. I just wanna be around you. All the time and it eats at me every waking moment that I fucked this up. That the idea of you being with someone else makes me irrationally angry. Seeing another guy even look your way makes me—and I’m so sorry. It’s so unfair.”

You felt something in your chest pull tight—like every word he spoke tugged a different thread you’d been trying so hard to knot back together. “Riki…” you whispered, but he wasn’t done. He stepped closer, eyes shining in that way that always made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something huge.

“I know it’s not healthy. I know I shouldn’t think like that,” he said, voice cracking as he blinked fast. “But I can’t help it. I’ve tried to get over you. I’ve tried to be chill, to be normal, to be the guy who just ‘moves on.’ I can’t. I can’t pretend I don’t still look for you every time I walk across campus or step into the dining hall or hear your stupid laugh echo in my apartment when I look back at old videos of us.”

You let out a quiet breath—a little shaky, a little overwhelmed. “And I know it sucks,” he added, softer now. “I know it’s messy. I know it’s not fair to you. But I’m standing here, blasting Selena Gomez like a psychopath, because I needed you to know that I love you in a way that makes me spend two hundred dollars on boomboxes. Getting scammed for old CDs online to look for them to put in the boombox.” He smiled, laughing softly. “And spending almost four hundred dollars on makeup because I couldn’t figure out which one you liked so I bought them all!” He bent down to open his backpack to pull out a black and white striped Sephora bag to hand it to you. Filled to the brim, all thirteen blushes. Simply because you mentioned liking it once.

You stared at the bag. Then at him. Then back at the bag—because there was no way. No way.

“Riki…” Your voice cracked.

He held both hands up like he was surrendering to the police. “I know. I know. It’s crazy. Please—”

You almost laughed. Almost. Riki rolled his eyes but stayed locked on you—smiling regretfully. “I’m not saying any of this to make you feel guilty. I’m saying it because I’m tired of pretending I don’t care when I care so much it makes me do…this.” He gestured around helplessly, as if the chaos wasn’t literally his own fault. “I’m a mess.” You swallowed. Hard. “Why now?”

“Because,” he said, stepping closer to the dorm entrance, “I realized something that night in the locker room.”

Your breath hitched. “That I would rather embarrass myself in front of everyone. Teammates, coaches, sports analysts, scouts—than let you think you weren’t worth fighting for. And you can nuke my protein and rig my alarms—”

You cut him off with a kiss. For half a second, he froze—eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between oh my god and ‘no way no way no way.’ Then he melted. Like actually melted. His shoulders dropped, his hands hovered in the air like he was terrified to touch you, and then very, very gently, they settled on your waist as you dropped the bag. Letting it thud into the grass.

He kissed you back like he’d been holding his breath for months and finally got oxygen. Pulling you into him as he gently cradled your head, tilting his own to deepen the kiss. You felt his breath hitch against your mouth, the kind that said finally with every exhale. His fingers threaded into your hair like he’d been memorizing the motion in his head for weeks, rehearsing it in private like some lovesick maniac. He kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, like he wanted to make sure you understood exactly how long he’d been waiting for this. His thumb swept the hinge of your jaw, gentle, reverent, like he was scared you’d disappear if he touched too roughly.

You pulled back just an inch, just enough to breathe, and he chased you a little—just a tiny lean forward, like he hadn’t meant to lose contact. His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing too hard for a kiss that lasted maybe ten seconds.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. He cupped your cheek, brushing your skin with the back of his fingers like he couldn’t believe you were real. “I’m so in love with you,” he said—quiet, shaky, honest in a way that punched you right in the throat.

Your heart stuttered. “I love you too, Riki.” Leaning in to hug him tightly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Oh…” He exhaled in relief as he picked you up and spun you around. “I missed you, baby. Oh I missed my baby so much!”

Your laugh broke against his shoulder, breathless and warm, and he clutched you like he was afraid gravity might snatch you away again. His hands slid under your thighs automatically, lifting you like you weighed nothing, and he buried his face into the crook of your neck with this completely unhinged, lovesick groan. “I missed you so much,” he repeated, voice muffled against your skin. “You have no idea—oh my god. I’m actually gonna pass out. I’m dizzy. Is this normal? Am I dying?”

You snorted. “Put me down, idiot.”

“No,” he said immediately, hugging you even tighter, rocking you side to side like a toddler with their favorite plush. “Absolutely not. You said you love me. That means you’re legally my emotional support human now.”

“Riki…”

“Shh,” he whispered dramatically, pressing an overly loud kiss to your cheek. “Let me have this.” Riki didn’t care. Zero shame. Negative shame even. He finally set you down but kept your waist locked in his hands like he didn’t trust reality to keep you there. He leaned back to look at you properly—eyes bright, hair messy from the wind, chest rising like he’d sprinted here from three counties over. “You love me,” he whispered again, like he was tasting the words, like they were cotton candy on his tongue. “Say it one more time.”

You raised a brow. “Riki—”

“Please,” he said, already smiling like he knew he was ridiculous and didn’t care. “Just one more. I need to hear it clearly, I’ve been hearing nothing but this fucked up speaker for the last hour.”

Your cheeks warmed as you whispered, “I love you, Riki.”

He shut his eyes like the words physically hit him. Head back, hand over his heart, dramatic and sincere at the same time. “Oh yeah,” he breathed. “That’s it. I feel like I just did ten lines. I’m never messing this up again.” Then, with a soft grin creeping up his face, he added: “Now c’mon, baby. Let’s go turn off my damn boombox before I get fined again.” You bent down to grab your Sephora bag and his backpack. Him with the boombox as he went two tracks over to put on ‘Who Says.’ You both laughed as you sang, “I wouldn’t wanna be anybody else!” 

He twirled you with his hand as you both walked into the direction of his apartment. “You know my favorite Selena song is ‘Naturally.’ For future reference.”

Riki laughed as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, bringing you close to him. “I’ll add that to the wedding playlist.”

“Woah, woah—”

He sang. “You wouldn’t wanna be a WAG?” 

It’s his own fault, really, he should’ve known that innocent, good girl persona you put on was all an act you use to control people – specifically men. Stirring the dessert batter in the mixing bowl, Heeseung shakes his head at the memory of you tilting your head and batting your eyelashes at him as you spoke, your perfectly manicured nails – that you probably got some desperate bitchboy to pay for – tracing and lightly scratching his bicep.

“So,” you started, dragging out the ‘o’, “how much do you charge for edibles?”

Heeseung shakes his head, tracing the rim of his half-empty red solo cup as he responds, “Edibles aren’t my forte. You don’t smoke?”

“Not my forte,” you say in a mocking tone, making Heeseung chuckle. “It’s just too much, you know? The smell, how quick it kicks in…not for me. But, uh, if you don’t make them I’ll stop wasting your time, then.” You give Heeseung a friendly pat on the shoulder before turning on your heels, fully prepared to disappear back into the party and find someone who actually meets your needs.

“Wait!” Heeseung stops you, tugging on your arm until you’re back to facing him. He can’t fucking believe this bullshit manipulation tactic you’re using on him is actually working, he’s literally pulling on your arm like a child so you won’t leave him.

You raise a brow at him as you wait for Heeseung to continue, taking note of his sudden nervousness, “Yeah?”

“Uh…are you into, like, brownies? Or…”

The smirk you gave in response said enough, you’ve got him exactly where you want him.

He’d spent the next few hours browsing the aisles of Target, checking his phone every so often and checking off each ingredient as he tossed them into the bright red shopping cart. To make matters worse, you hadn’t even requested normal brownies, you wanted some shit he’d hardly ever heard of before: blondies. 

It was bad enough that Heeseung already couldn’t bake for shit, and here you were demanding he’d make something he’d never even tasted before; you really are a master manipulator.

His third and final attempt at baking the blondies were a success, his three roommates taste-testing the fresh batch as a final confirmation.

“I can’t even taste it,” Jake says, his brows shooting up in delight, “you sure you’re not forgetting the main ingredient?”

“That’s the whole point,” Heeseung explains, cutting the remaining batch into neat squares, “YN doesn’t want the taste to be too strong, she likes when it’s more subtle and takes awhile to kick in.”

“Are you her wife or her plug?” Sunghoon jokes from his spot on the couch, taking a small bite of his own blondie.

“Neither,” Jay inserts himself into the conversation, taking a seat next to Sunghoon, “I’m sure he wants to be both, though.”

“Fuck off,” Heeseung snaps, momentarily narrowing his eyes at his roommates. “We just met, I’m just trying to get to know her.” He sets the knife down, reaching into the wooden cabinet to retrieve ziplock bags.

“You’re already her bitch, what else is there to know?” Sunghoon half-jokes, resting his feet on the ottoman.

“I am not her bitch.”

He totally is, if the way he’s hurrying to send you a picture of the freshly made blondies is anything to go by.

Heeseung * 2:47 AM

[Attachment: 1 Image] Yooo

YN * 9:06 AM

omggggg  ur the fucking best how much??

You didn’t respond until the following morning, causing Heeseung to nearly jump out of his skin once he woke up to your texts. He turns on his side, elbow propped up against the mattress as he formulates a response.

Heeseung * 10:31 AM

1 for 10 or 2 for 15. venmo or cashapp But lmk if you want more 

YN * 10:40 AM

no cash? :(

Heeseung’s about to go on a long winded explanation about how money transferring apps are quicker and more convenient than accepting cash when you interrupt him by sending a photo.

YN * 10:41 AM 

[Attachment: 1 Image] plsssss i don’t trust cashapp and ive been having issues w my venmo acc :(

It’s a photo of the bottom half of your face, lips formed into a cute pout with your camera angled low enough to show off your cleavage. You weren’t even trying to be discreet, setting your forearm underneath your chest to make your boobs sit higher, the cheetah print material of your bra peeking out from under your too-small tank top.

Heeseung swallows hard, staring down at the photo with his pupils blown wide as his trembling fingers type out a response.

Heeseung * 10:50 AM

Actually you know what don’t even worry about it lmao Consider it a gift When r u free for pickup Or i can bring to u Either or is fine lol

YN * 10:59 AM

omg :o are u sure?  don’t want u to lose out on money >.<

Heeseung * 11:11 AM

It’s fine dw about me baby U picking up? Or want me to drop off On campus is too risky

YN * 11:12 AM

thank u hee!!!!!!! im done with classes around 4:30 i’ll pick up around then if that works also u responded at 11:11…angel number u must be my angel :o

There you go again with your subtle manipulation tactics that Heeseung swears won’t work on him. If there really is angel out of the two of you, it definitely wouldn’t be you, but Heeseung’s not too sure he’d be considered one either. After all, in the twelve minutes it took him to respond to your message, he spent ten of them fucking into his fist as he stared at the photo you sent.

His mind conjured up countless scenarios; leaving hickeys and bite marks across your chest, slipping his dick between your tits as you held them together for him, cumming all over them, fucking anything. Desperate wasn’t even the word.

Heeseung * 11:13 AM

Must be :)

After a month and a half of being your personal baker slash bitchboy, Heeseung really is convinced that you’re using him, yet he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything he’s grateful, fully aware that if it weren’t for him being your plug, the two of you likely never would’ve crossed paths despite attending the same universities.

There wasn’t an ounce of school spirit in his body, so he had little to no urgency to attend any of the sporting events you cheered at or one of the many school-sponsored events you were required to attend. Meeting you at that party not too long ago had been his first encounter with you ever, and you clearly left him with a great first impression on him.

Since that night, he’s found himself conjuring up a new batch of edibles for you every week; brownies, cupcakes, cereal bars, whatever the fuck you wanted, and half the time he’d do it for free if it meant he got to give it to you in person.

He still hasn’t convinced you to actually smoke, though, but maybe it’s for the best. The mere thought of getting high with you and how you’d stare him down with half-lidded eyes was enough to make his dick hard — in fact, it already has. Several times.

Enough time has passed to the point where it’s obvious to everyone, yourself included, that Heeseung has genuine feelings for you that go beyond a physical and sexual attraction. Sure, he’s still convinced that you’re a little bit evil and definitely manipulative, but he considers it part of the fun. He’s also deluded himself into having the “I can fix her” mindset that he’s been using to justify his actions of ignoring your red flags.

However, even if he can’t “fix” you, it wouldn’t be a huge loss. Red is his favorite color, after all.

“You sound…crazy, and she sounds crazier,” Jake leans against the kitchen counter, raising a concerned brow at Heeseung as he takes a sip of his drink.

“I’m not crazy,” Heeseung corrects, “and YN is…I don’t know, honestly. Leave her alone, dipshit.”

Jake throws a hand up in defense, glaring when a fellow partygoer accidentally bumps into him, nearly causing him to spill his drink. “Rather be a dipshit than a bitchboy.” He mutters loud enough for Heeseung to hear before groaning, “Wow, speak of the devil.”

Heeseung turns, following Jake’s line of sight until he spots you walking through the front door. Stunning as always, your khaki mini skirt and black halter top fitting as if they were custom designed for you and only you.

Despite extending you an invitation to Sunghoon’s birthday party, Heeseung was fairly certain you wouldn’t show up tonight, assuming you’d be consumed with cheer practice or one of your many extracurricular activities to attend. Yet, here you were, a wicked grin on your face as you made eye contact with Heeseung.

He gulps in return, eyes wide as he watches you walk over to him and Jake.

You stand beside Heeseung, shooting him a quick smile before directing your attention to Jake, “Sunghoon! Happy birthday, king!”

Jake side-eyes you, briefly glancing at Heeseung before responding, “I’m not…you know what? Nevermind, thanks.” He takes this as an opportunity to exit the conversation, giving Heeseung a light pat on the shoulder as he leaves.

“Didn’t think you’d be here.” Heeseung comments, leaning against the kitchen countertop.

You shrug, “Wasn’t doing anything else, figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop by for a little. Besides, I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah?” Heeseung asks, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Yeah,” you respond, taking a step closer and resting your hand on his bicep, “got anything for me?”

Fuck, Heeseung knew he should’ve made another batch of brownies or some shit. He seriously hadn’t been expecting you to show up tonight, otherwise he would’ve been prepared.

He shakes his head, “Not this time, you should’ve told me you were coming; I would’ve made something.”

You groan, momentarily tilting your head back, “I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me surprised,” his hand lands on your waist, pulling your body until your flush against him, “why won’t you just smoke with me?”

You grimace, shaking your head in response.

Heeseung rolls his eyes, “Just once? I know your first time wasn’t that great, but, I really think you’d like it if you tried again.”

“I don’t know, Hee…”

“Tell you what,” Heeseung starts, clearing his throat, “smoke with me just this once, and your next few purchases are on me.”

It isn’t much of an offer considering most of the shit he gave you was either free or already extremely discounted, but your eyes light up regardless. “Really?”

Heeseung nods, “I swear.”

You think it over for a moment, the pros instantly outweigh the cons and lead you to accept Heeseung’s desperate offer. 

A few minutes later, you find yourself in a comfortable lounge chair with Heeseung in his backyard, grateful that the remaining partygoers opted to stay indoors, giving you privacy and alone time with him.

You’re sitting sideways on his lap, trying your best to ignore the feeling of his dick pressing right against your ass, neatly rolled blunt in one hand as he uses the other to fish a lighter from his pocket. “You’re nervous,” he comments.

You shake your head, “I’m not.”

“You are, I feel you shaking.”

“I’m fine, just kinda cold. Go on.”

Heeseung studies you for a moment, eye contact strong and intimidating as ever as he brings the blunt to his parted lips. You watch carefully as he brings the lighter towards the tip, focusing entirely too much on the concentrated look on his face as he lights it. Slowly, he begins to rotate it as the end continues to burn, taking a few small puffs here and there.

Satisfied with his creation, Heeseung takes a long, slow drag, inhaling the smoke into his lungs before titling his head away to exhale.

“Your turn,” he says, offering you the blunt.

You hesitantly stare down at it before accepting; it was intimidating to say the least, the scent alone strong enough to make your head hurt. Heeseung watches you patiently, eyes darting between your lips and the blunt in silence.

Deciding you need a little bit of encouragement, he brings his thumb to your lips, parting them slightly as his free-hand wraps around your wrist, “You’ll be fine, trust me.” 

Under the guidance of his calloused hand, you finally bring the blunt up to your lips and briefly inhale before immediately exhaling.

Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head, “How’d that feel?”

You ponder for a moment, passing the blunt back to Heeseung, “I don’t feel anything. Literally nothing.”

“I mean, yeah, you didn’t even inhale it.”

You roll your eyes, “Why are there so many steps? This is why I prefer edibles.”

“I’m just showing you that you have other options, babe.”

“Yeah, well I’m sticking to my baked goods. You can have the rest of that, I don’t want anymore.”

Heeseung’s well aware that you’re a woman of your word, and the chances of you ever smoking again were a definite zero, so trying to get you to change your mind was pointless. However, there is one thing that may just work on you.

“Mind if I try something?”

You perk up, “Try what?”

“I do all the work but you still get high.”

You raise a brow, “That’s possible?”

He nods, “All you’d have to do is take deep breaths.”

Taking a deep breath, you accept Heeseung’s offer with a sigh, resting a hand on his shoulder as you adjust yourself on his lap. “Fine.”

Here goes nothing.

He guides the blunt back to his lips, taking a long drag as he holds the smoke in his mouth. He tilts his head upward towards you, taking your chin in his hand, signaling for you to part your lips. You follow his command and part your lips open, just enough for Heeseung to close the distance and allow the smoke into your mouth, his lips barely brushing against yours in the process.

You take in a deep breath, eyes closed shut and inhale the smoke, careful not to exhale too quickly and have a repeat of your previous attempt.

“How was that?” Heeseung asks, taking note of your sudden silence.

Truthfully, it wasn’t bad. The smell is still too strong for your liking and requires much more effort than biting off a piece of dessert and calling it a day, but it wasn’t bad. You’re certain that Heeseung shotgunning it into your mouth only added to the experience.

“Not bad,” you admit, “probably because you did all the work.”

He chuckles at that, “I’ll always take care of you, remember that.”

Heeseung is having the time of his life, thoroughly convinced that he finally has some power over you. Here you were sitting on his lap in his backyard letting him blow smoke into your mouth. Sure, it may have taken a lot of convincing and begging on his end to get to this point, but none of that matters; baby steps are still movement.

As if the night couldn’t have gotten any better, you’re asking Heeseung to shotgun more smoke into your mouth over and over. He’s careful to maintain a calm and nonchalant demeanor as he does so, not wanting to come off as too eager out of fear of scaring you away. Or even worse, giving you back that power you have over him.

On the fifth time, you swipe your tongue across Heeseung’s bottom lip when he passes the smoke into your mouth, a low groan escaping from him in the process. He’s fully hard in his jeans by now, and there’s no way you can’t feel his dick pressing right into you. Despite the cold weather, your entire body feels warm all over, Heeseung only adding to the pleasure.

You should’ve taken Heeseung a bit more seriously when he said you’d still get high from this; after a few minutes, your limbs were already starting to feel lighter and weaker. A delicate, cloud-like haze fills your head; your vision blurs slightly and it takes a few minutes for you to fully relax.

Heeseung, attentive as ever, remains silent and still has he watches you; primarily due to the fact that you squirming around on his lap is only adding to the uncomfortable tightness in his jeans. One wrong move, and he’d surely be cumming in his boxers.

You rest your forehead against Heeseung, pressing a firm hand against his chest when he moves to blow more smoke into your mouth. He hums, staring up at with a concerned look on his face.

You close your eyes, mumbling, “Heeseung…”

He hums again in response, still holding the smoke in his mouth.

You open your eyes briefly before closing them again, balling up the collar of his shirt in your fist as you lean down to press your lips against his. He opens his mouth on instinct, as if it were a second nature, parting his lips slightly and exhaling the smoke into your mouth once again.

Heeseung absentmindedly sets the blunt down, his hands moving to your waist to pull you closer to him until your tits are pressed right up against his chest. He groans into your mouth at the feelings, tilting his head to allow himself further into your mouth. 

You cup his face in your hands, hips moving forward as you slowly begin to grind yourself against him. “Fuck,” he moans in a low voice, “keep doing that.”

You grind down harsher this time, capturing his moan in your mouth in the process. With each movement of your hips, a shiver descends down your spine at the friction; Heeseung is painfully hard, and from what you could feel, he was definitely packing. Bigger than what you would’ve expected.

It all feels too good; you grinding against him, the state of his high, your tongue in his mouth. It’s all so overwhelmingly euphoric that Heeseung hardly realizes how close he is to literally cumming in his boxers.

His body was always overly sensitive whenever he got high, and often avoided any sort of intimacy that involved another person due to how embarrassingly quick he would finish, and tonight doesn't seem to be any different. What makes matters worse is the fact that Heeseung was already desperately attracted to you and had been dreaming of this moment since he’d first met you.

He pulls away quickly, cursing under his breath, “YN, h-hold on,” he stutters, “slow down, please.”

You don’t listen; in fact, you can barely even hear him with how caught up you were in your own head. “Hmm? Say that again?”

“S-slow – ah, fuck – slow down for a sec, baby.”

His grip on your waist tightens, and despite the urgency in his tone of wanting you to slow down, he makes no effort to still your hips move you off of him. Fuck it, it is what it is.

“Why?” You question, tilting your head, but you’re a few seconds too late.

Heeseung’s entire body shivers, hips jolting upwards as he comes on himself, making a mess of his boxers. While that alone was definitely embarrassing, Heeseung is more annoyed over the fact that you’ve regained your power over him. His priorities were definitely fucked, but he didn’t even care; he could clean himself up later, but the damage to his ego would take longer to repair.

Your hands fly to your mouth in shock, eyes widening as you process what’s just happened, “Oh, Heeseung…” you mumble into the palm of your hands.

He throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut as he runs a hand down his face, “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding.”

“It’s okay! It happens! No big deal!” You try to reassure him, but it goes in one ear and out the other.

Sure it happens and maybe it isn’t a big deal, but it is for Heeseung. He’s not the type to bust a nut over someone squirming around in his lap for ten minutes, this shit was fucking insanity.

“I’m seriously not like this, I’m just overly-sensitive when I’m high. I swear, I-”

“It’s fine, Heeseung,” you interrupt, standing from his lap, “if anything, I’m flattered! Why don’t you, uh, get cleaned up and I’ll see you later?”

“YN, come on, don’t do this.” He pleads, following you and you make your way towards the sliding door. 

“I told you, it’s fine! I’m not like,” you pause, opening the door with a loud grunt, “mad or weirded out or anything.”

You slip back into the living room, Heeseung hot on your tail with every step. “Let me make it up to you!”

You sigh, “Honestly, I don’t think you have it in you to do that right now.”

“I do! Just let me, please.”

“Heeseung, please drop it. I said it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, at least let me eat you out or something!”

“Heeseung!” Your eyes widen at his lewd, shameless offer, “Lower your voice! We’re in a fucking party surrounded by people!”

He smacks his teeth, “I don’t care. Please, YN.”

“You don’t have to make it up to me, you do not owe me anything.”

A beat of silence passes, then he says, “Then do it for me. Please.”

Even though Heeseung was the one literally begging to go down for you, there is a possibility of him having some sort of power over you; or maybe you just have a soft spot for him. Either way, you end up lying in his bed twenty minutes later, skirt bunched up around your waist as Heeseung’s wet tongue circles your clit, desperate attempt at coaxing a second orgasm from you.

He hadn’t even realized he’d grown hard again just from eating you out, and would likely end up cuuming in his boxers again just from doing this.

“Fuck,” he moans into your folds, pulling away slightly to pepper kisses on your inner thighs, “been waiting so fucking long for this.”

“Yeah?” You question, your grip on Heeseung’s hair tightening.

This earns a low groan from him as he nods against your skin, “You have no idea.”

Deciding he’s spent enough time away from your cunt, his lips make their way back onto you; his tongue falls flat against you, dragging your wetness upwards towards your swollen clit before wrapping his lips around the sensitive bud.

Your body shivers, a beam of sweat dripping down your forehead as your second orgasm approaches. You’ve been eaten out before, countless times, but never like this. It was almost as if Heeseung was doing it for his own pleasure rather than your.

He teases your entrance with his finger before sliding two of them in with ease, curling them upwards and immediately hitting the spot you needed him the most.

“H-Heeseung…hold on…”

He hums, but he’s not really listening, too occupied with kitten-licking your clit and pumping his fingers in and out of you. The knot in your stomach finally snaps and you’re gushing against his hands and mouth, Heeseung only takes this as a sign to continue lapping at your cunt. You have to literally grab him by the hair and drag him away from you.

He stares up at you, pupils blown wide and his chin coated in your juices, but he definitely looks happy. “What?” he asks.

You struggle to catch your breath, “You’re hard again?”

He looks down at his crotch momentarily before shrugging, “I guess.”

“You…don’t you wanna do something about that?”

His eyes flash down to your cunt for a split second, “It can wait.”

You scoff, “Well, I need a minute.”

Heeseung nods in agreement, impatiently drumming his fingers on his bed as you flop against his mattress. “Ready?” He asks once a minute has passed.

“No.”

He sighs, then sighs again, and again and again until you let out a frustrated groan. “Go get me a glass of fucking water.”

A part of me doesn’t push for any more answers, because it’s the same part of me that sees me as smaller than him. Jae being a lawyer and ambitious to the bone is exactly what my parents always wanted me to be. Yet, I broke their dream, making me feel like I dont have much say in whatever ‘work’ he’s doing.

Our relationship was a neat courtship my family practically orchestrated, especially after I refused to go to law school. If I don't want to go to law school and take over my father’s law firm, then my husband will. For them, it was a perfect plan: a year of dating, graduation, and then a wedding that was rushed by encouragement and subtle threats from my mother. 

Now we're honeymooners, supposedly, with a trip across the Mediterranean. All paid by my parents; it’s either a grand gesture or a bribe. I can’t tell anymore. It gives me a headache each time I try to understand and anticipate their hidden schemes. I don’t even want to think about it, not right now. 

Not when the gorgeous sea stretched across from me. My fingers wrap around my camera that’s strapped to my neck, itching to capture new photos. To capture the blues of the sea, the sharp contrast of sails against the sky, the worn wood of the dock. 

Eventually, the queue started moving. As we were walking up the small stairs that led to the yacht, I was looking around, trying to find the fastest way that could lead me to the outer deck. 

Once we were all on board and waiting for more instructions, I didn't want to waste any more time and turned to Jae, “I need to use the bathroom,” I mumbled an excuse before slipping away. It didn't matter what I said, it all fell to deaf ears anyways. 

A buzz of excitement was rushing through me as I wandered the maze of the yacht’s corridors. It then occurred to me how the yacht seems much larger from the inside. Regardless, it was strangely silent for it’s size. 

Eventually I found it, a wide doorway with a heavy door that led to the outer deck. A much more expansive view of the sea and the scent of salt hit me. The water sparked under the sun, soft waves could be heard with the seagulls, just much closer now. I took the opportunity immediately, pulling my camera to my face and started snapping pictures. 

As I was turning around and taking pictures, my lens landed on someone. I idiotically froze, examining him from my camera. He was completely drenched, wearing nothing but swimming shorts that were hanging low on his narrow hips. His hair was pushed back with some of it sticking to his forehead in lazy waves, droplets of seawater dropping from his face and chest. He was standing above me, adjusting something on the mast.

My camera shutter clicked before I could control my finger on it, or before I could even think. The sound made him glance down, making us lock eyes. Great, not even five minutes on deck and I’m already the creep with a zoom lens. He was clearly amused, a smile on his face and a raised, questioning brow, waiting for an explanation. 

“I’m so sorry — I didn't mean to — I was taking pictures of the sea and —” I stammered, trying to clear my bruised image. He started laughing, “It’s okay,” he called down, eyes twinkling. “If I’d known there was a photo shoot happening, I would’ve struck a better pose.” he teased, getting down.

Heat crept up my cheeks as I let out a shy chuckle out of embarrassment. Now he's much closer, “Name’s Heeseung,” he introduced himself, sticking out his hand, with the corners of his mouth still curved in the same playful smile. I hesitated for a beat, trying not to stare — trying being the key word — any lower than his face. I reached out and shook his calloused and slightly damp hand. 

“Y/N,” I replied, returning his smile, though mine came with a side of flustered panic. The second he saw me smiling, his eyes softened, becoming warmer now. 

My own eyes went down, noticing that he was now holding my hand. I cleared my throat, “I need to get back, the Captain will come any minute now.” I said, pointing to the door I just passed through. He nodded in acknowledgement, “right, right. He sounds important. Better not make him wait.” he chuckled, making his grip on my hand much looser.

He gave me one last smile before returning back to the ropes he’d been fixing. I went back through the maze of hallways, cheeks still burning, heart rattling like my camera in my carry-on. 

By the time I found Jae again, he was still on his phone. Unbothered, of course. I sat next to him and started to gaze at him, in deep thought. The complete indifference is infuriating. I took a deep breath — probably out of annoyance — and looked down at my camera. 

Moments later, the rest of the passengers had gathered for the Captain’s welcome announcement. As the applause started, I pulled my eyes from my camera’s small screen to look at my surroundings. There he was: Heeseung, but dressed sharply now. A crisp pearly uniform of a Captain with golden stripes stitched on his sleeves and a hat tucked under his arm. 

The horror of my mistake started to dawn on me. That's definitely the same guy I accidentally photographed shirtless ten minutes ago. The fucking Captain of the yacht i will be on for months. 

He moved confidently, pausing at the front of the crowd with a practiced smile. He greeted us, voice calm, deep, a little too charming for someone who commands a floating hotel. Our eyes landed on each other again, for a beat too long. He gave me a tiny, knowing smile. Like he was trying not to laugh at some inside joke only the two of us knew: the accidental playboy bunny photoshoot joke.

He dipped his head in a little bow. The kind that was half-respectful, half... teasing? In a blind panic, I smiled and awkwardly waved back. 

I felt Jae’s eyes snapped at me, finally paying attention to me. However, it wasn’t affection — it was the kind of attention that prickled on my skin, cold and critical. He stayed silent, waiting until the announcement ended. When Heeseung said his final words, the yacht’s engines hummed beneath our feet, and we were off. 

As the crowd dispersed, Jae’s head turned slightly toward me, jaw clenched. “So, you know the Captain now?” he accused, not really a question.

“Huh? I ran into him earlier on the deck. He startled me. That’s all.” I said, confused by his switch of moods. His eyes were drawing daggers at me, but didn’t argue. He just turned away with our luggage, “I'm going to find our room.” he said, not even giving me a glance.

What the fuck is up his ass? I stayed planted where I was, letting the sea air try to cool the heat that's rising to my face, this time however it’s from frustration and not embarrassment. I hated how quickly he could make me feel small, guilty about every ‘misstep’, forcing me to defend myself for things I shouldn't need to defend myself for. What a good note to start our honeymoon with.

I stood up and went closer to the sea, near the railing, hoping to drown out all other sounds. The blues of the sky and water were so clear, they did not seem real. But with every passing minute the tilting became stronger, longer, slower. Soft waves rolled beneath my feet, it's like the yacht was inhaling and exhaling. 

Another deep lurch from the boat and suddenly, I felt like a human snow globe. My mouth went dry. My insides sloshed and my knees wobbled. I clutched the railing, my feet shifted to balance and my stomach responded with a gentle protest. 

Gripping my camera, I adjusted the lens and started snapping pictures, trying to shake it off. I took a deep breath and focused on the horizon. Surprisingly the nausea went down, the camera’s viewfinder anchored me somehow.

An amused voice from behind broke me out of my own little bubble, “Didn’t expect to see you this soon. Or this pale."

I turned — a little too fast — and found Heeseung with his hands on his suit pockets. The wind tugged at his hair to free it from the tight, neat hairstyle that he had 10 minutes ago in front of the passagers. 

The moment I was no longer looking into the camera, my stomach alarmed me again. “Oh god,” I whispered, holding my hand to my mouth, trying to fight the nausea again. 

He stepped closer, “you get seasick?” he asked, much gentler now. I nodded miserably, “apparently,” I said from behind my hand, afraid to empty out what I ate for breakfast. He huffed a laugh, carefully reaching out for my hand to softly press his thumb against my wrist. 

I gave him a look, “Unless you’re reading my palm to tell me I’m dying, what are you doing?” I asked, wary. My heart started, mortified at his closeness. I didn't know that my accidental boudoir, swimwear catalogue model would find me so quickly. 

He laughed full heartedly now, “My sister used to get seasick all the time when I brought her with me. Pressing the sea sickness pressure point helps.”

“You’re weird.” 

“Oh?” he tilted his head, amused that I’m arguing in this weak state of mine. “I can stop.” he jokingly threatened. I hesitated, it was actually working, “... keep pressing.”

He chuckled, putting a light hand on my shoulder, “Come on. I’ll make you some ginger tea.” he said reassuringly. I was becoming weaker because of the nausea and the embarrassment, making me just accept the idea of some tea.

He led me down a couple narrow hallways toward the galley, while the same creaking of the yacht continued beneath our feet in a steady rhythm. He was very familiar with the kitchen, putting stuff away to clear an area on the counter for me. 

I dizzily watched him putting on the kettle, “I swear, if this tea actually helps, I’m going to start suspecting you’re some kind of sea witch,” I said, plopping down on a stool near the counter, surrendering to the misery of nausea to swallow me whole. I closed my eyes, trying and failing to stop the movement.

He laughed while finding a clean mug for me, “Sea witch is a new one. I usually get a pirate.” With my closed eyes, I tried to imagine him as a pirate then as a sea witch, making me fall in a fit of laughter and him joining. 

Eventually the laughter died down and the kettle finished boiling. “I feel like I’ve been kidnapped and sentenced to a floating prison,” I muttered, watching him add the honey, the tea bag and then the water to the mug — each motion slow, deliberate. He moved like someone who wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere. Envy came through me, I was envious of that kind of ease. Compared to him, I was all sharp edges and a ball of nervous energy. Always bracing for the next comment, the next disappointment.

Two crewmates passing by overheard me, wearing similar uniforms to Heeseung but in navy and less golden stitched strips. “She’s not wrong,” one of them said, laughing. They started walking closer, seeing the one sided tea ceremony. “Oh, someone is seasick.” the other said, smiling. They were all clearly comfortable with each other, like a family.

“That reminds me, tell her about the time you threw up on the engine, Cap,” the other one added, smiling ear to ear. Without turning, Heeseung said calmly but with a warning tone, “Leave before I assign both of you dish duty for three days.” 

They vanished with snickers echoing behind them. Heeseung finally placed a mug in front of me, steam curled into the air. “Drink slowly,” he said, “no eye contact with the ocean.” I smiled and mumbled a ‘thank you’.

I took a careful sip, “do you do this for all your seasick guests?” I pushed, flattered by the pampering.

He leaned against the counter, watching me and mirroring my amusement, “Only the ones who call my boat a prison.”

“Correction,” I said, mock-serious, “a very charming prison. With surprisingly good customer service.” I said, backing up my case. He snorted, shaking his head. He watched me take a couple of more sips, seeing the color back to my face with a smile. I guess the tea actually worked.

-⚓︎-

When I pulled my head from under the pool water, my eyes immediately found Jae. Lounging on the nearby chairs, fully clothed with a laptop open. It's been a couple of days into the trip, and it seems like the more time that passes, the more he closes into himself. Slowly becoming colder and colder to me. 

I thought that rather than leaving him cooped up in our room, I could get us into the yacht’s pool. Maybe that could break the ice between us. But no, he found a chair with an umbrella and stayed far away from me. 

I observed him for a moment, the frown on my face grew as I watched his rapid tapping on the keyboard. He's genuinely so engulfed in whatever he's looking at, and not our honeymoon, not me. I silently swam to the edge of the pool and hauled myself out. 

I could see that he saw me walking towards me, even while he's wearing sunglasses, but he refused to acknowledge me. His lips tightened as I neared him. “Do you want a drink?” I asked, trying my hardest to put on a sweet voice. 

“I'm good,” he replied harshly. Dick, if you could call that a reply. If he could, he would've spat on my face. I huffed, took my small towel and camera from beside him and walked away. Another failed attempt to save this rushed, half-assed relationship.

I started drying my hair as I walked barefoot across the teak deck to get to the outdoor bar. I smiled back at the bartender and scanned the menu quickly, “I will get a mint lemonade, please.” I finally picked. I sat on a stool chair, placing my camera in front of me. I stared at my turned off camera, letting my mind wander somewhere else while the bartender rummaged around in front of me making my drink. 

What seemed like out of nowhere, Heeseung appeared next to me, cutting off my train of thoughts, “hey,” he greeted me, startling me a little. God, I was really in my mind today. He gave me that same easy smile before ordering a Coke. The bartender seemed flustered with Heeseung around. Her cheeks pink, nodding immediately at his words, her hands moving a little quicker, almost fumbling with the glassware. 

“Didn't expect to see you in the pool.” he said, sitting on the stool next to me. I chuckled dryly, “didn't expect to get ignored in it either.” He raised a questioning brow at me, I shrugged in response, almost in defeat. He turned his head ever so slightly to also find Jae, still on the chair and on that damn laptop. 

Silence settled between us as our drinks came. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, just loaded. After a beat, he nodded at my camera, “any new ones? Or are you giving the camera a vacation too?” 

I laughed, “not a chance, it's never on a break.” I said, pulling the camera to me and turning it on. He leaned in as I flipped through the photos I had on the memory card. He smelled like sun-bathed linen, clean and comforting. Our arms barely brushed against each other, his warmth much closer now, making my heart skip a beat.

My photos were very normal, at least in my eyes: shots of the sea at golden hour, a bird mid-flight, poolside shadows, drifting towels. Nevertheless, he was very intrigued, genuinely complimenting each one. 

My fingers froze when a certain photo popped up. It’s blurry, but unmistakable: it was Jae hunched over his phone, jaw tight. I wanted to skip it, but Heeseung’s finger gently tapped the screen before I could do anything, “your boyfriend?” he asked, more like recognizing him. 

“My husband.” I corrected, almost automatically. My eyes were glued to the camera’s little screen, but Heeseung's eyes scanned over to Jae again. Then it's like the puzzle pieces click together for Heeseung, “you're on your honeymoon?” he asked, softer now.

“Supposedly.” I whispered. He slowly nodded, didn't pry nor pity me, to which I'm grateful. 

“Don’t worry, I have seen worse honeymoons while sailing.” he comforted, lighting the mood. I snorted, half of me believes him, the other half doesn’t. I want to push my newlywed husband into the ocean water with his laptop, how much worse can it get?

-*-

Later that evening, when I finally got into our room, Jae proved to me just how much worse he can make it. He was tense from the moment I walked in, “Where have you been?” he asked, his voice low, accusatory, again. I frowned at his clearly stupid question. Where else would I be when we’re both stuck on a floating log in the middle of the ocean? 

I decided to keep that answer to myself to not make him angrier, I had enough of his bitching for today, “I don’t know… just checking out what they have on this yacht.” I responded, placing my carry on and camera on the small side table near the entry of the room.

“Dont fuck with me, Y/N. i know you were with him.” he started to raise his voice, getting closer to my face.

“Who are you talking about? I was just–” 

“Don’t lie to me.” he yelled and got closer to my face, knocking over that small table in the process. His frustration boils over, raw and wild as he was fishing through his pockets for something. My eyes were glued to my belongings on the floor, to my camera on the floor. 

My broken camera. The object that captured my world, now shattered and silent.

“I need a smoke,” he said before placing a cig between his lips, walking towards our room’s balcony. I sank to my knees, hands trembling as I started picking up the different pieces of my camera that were scattered across the broken glass of the lens. My eyes are glassy and unfocused from the tears, blurring the edges of everything I see. 

I stepped outside of our room, feeling too suffocated inside. I needed fresh air, and if all I'm getting is salty fresh air, so be it. The narrow yacht hallways are dimly lit but the atmosphere was tense, I felt tense. I stared for a moment at the ocean, it’s not as glimmerly when the sun was shining above it. In fact, I can barely see anything in front of me. 

With a heavy heart and a broken camera, I started aimlessly walking around the dock, between the quiet halls, looping back to familiar places multiple times. It was silent, not a soul in sight. Until I heard a hum of equipment above the hum of the yacht’s engine.

My eyes followed the buzz, landing on a well lit room, below the deck. The sound of tools being fiddled with was evident. This sounds exactly like a horror movie, but not a single bone in my body cares anymore. What is the point of this ‘trip’ without my camera? 

I approached the door frame, and I found him, but with his back turned to me and spare parts scattered around him like puzzle pieces. I raise my hand to knock on the door, not wanting to scare him at one in the morning. 

Heeseung looked behind him, frowning in confusion on who would be here at this hour. He smiled for a moment when he saw it was me, but then frowned again when he looked at my completely heartbroken, tear stained face. His eyes fall to my camera — more like pieces of plastic and metal — in my hands.

“What happened?” he asked, worry on his face, gesturing to me to come in. 

I paused for a moment, not wanting to tell him the truth, “I tripped and it fell from my hands,” I lied, showing him the chunks in my hands. 

He nodded without asking any further questions. “Alright, let me see what I can do.“ he said, taking the parts from me. The stark difference between Jae's yelling voice and Heeseung’s comforting reassurance made the tears spill out even more. “Don’t cry,” he cooed, his voice was gentle as he slowly pushed my hair that was stuck to my face. I feel pathetic, probably look the part too…

“Oh love, I promise it’s not worth crying over.” he whispered, taking me into his arms. I wrap my arms around his chest, silently crying into his shirt, letting his smell of sea breeze consume me. He was like a warm exhale from whatever nightmare I was living. 

-*-

It's been ten minutes since I have been sitting quietly next to him, watching him treat the camera as gently and as carefully as calloused hands can be. I anxiously stared back and forth between him and the camera. The echo tools clinking together echoed through the workshop. 

Finally, he sighed, running his hand through his hair, “I'm sorry, pretty. It's too far gone to be fixed.” I let my shoulders slump down in disappointment, “I guess I have to only rely on your ginger tea and that magic ‘pressure point’ trick thing.” I said flatly, trying not to sound too sulky.

He chuckled softly at that, giving me a small, sympathetic smile. “I told you, I'm certified,” he said in a fake-serious tone.

“Oh, wow. A certified sea witch. You really are something.” I mocked further, making both of us laugh. The silence that followed didn’t weigh heavy, but it was peaceful. He started to put away some of the tools he pulled out and I looked over at the only porthole, spotting the stars in the sky and trying to make out the different shapes.

“Did they ever teach you about constellation names when you were becoming a Captain?” I asked before thinking twice.

He followed my gaze through the small window, “of course they did. We went through serious, rigorous training,” he said with a firm voice, “that one is the ‘Dancing Noodle’, very rare. And that one is the ‘Pizza Slice’, my personal favorite.” he continued, talking as if he’s actually teaching me something new. 

I frown at the names, really letting them sink in for a moment. Then I blinked at him, “you're making those up.” I said, narrowing my eyes at him with a smile. He chuckled, “you believe me for a second there.”

We stayed like that for a while, side by side, our shoulders just barely touching as the made-up constellations drifted lazily above us. No pressure to talk, no weight in the quiet—just an easy, quiet kind of closeness that didn’t ask for anything more.

Without saying a word, he reached over to the broken camera pieces and started to put them in a small cotton bag. I slowly joined him, “next time I drop something, I hope it's Jae’s laptop.” I mumbled, laughing at my own joke. Heeseung let out a low whistle while chuckling, “make sure I'm nearby, i might actually help you pull it off.”

-⚓︎-

A few days slipped by in a blur of sunrises and restless nights. The yacht swayed in a slow, cradling rhythm, like it was trying to rock me to sleep, like it was begging me to sleep. The past few nights, sleep barely touched me — my mind kept dragging me through a maze of torturous memories, jumping from one thought to another, refusing to let me rest.

I sat on the edge of some stairs near the outer deck, staring out to the new sunrise that is marking a new day — wishing I could capture it on my camera. I could feel my heart beating in fury when I relive that moment with Jae. My fingers nervously twist at my wedding ring — out of habit now when I think of him, yet my eyes avoid looking at it. The ring was stunning, really. Nevertheless, it makes me tense up and shiver uncomfortably each time I glanced at it. 

I avoided our room as much as possible.Not out of fear of running into Jae, but because the memory of that night clung to the walls, too rough to face. All I seemed capable of was replaying our vows in my head, over and over, trying to hear some truth in them. As if listening hard enough might reveal some hidden truth I missed the first time. 

I should be asleep beside my husband right now. Instead, I’m lying here wide awake, trying to remember what exactly made me say ‘yes’.

Maybe it wasn’t about love — maybe it was about proving something. My mom smiled so wide at the wedding, like it meant everything had finally fallen into place. The wedding wasn’t anything like the one I’d pictured growing up. Maybe I said yes to Jae because I wanted to prove to my parents I could still be someone they’d be proud of. They already thought I gave up on my future when I didn't go to law school. What will they say when they find out this ‘perfect marriage’ is unraveling as well?

I inhaled deeply, and held that breath in my chest for a moment before pushing all these thoughts away. I allowed my feet to carry me forward, wandering aimlessly through the yacht’s quiet corridors, letting the hush of the sea fill the silence between my thoughts. 

Until I stumbled into a small kitchen nook tucked into the side of the yacht. The soft clatter of a knife against the cutting board greets me, a little louder than the quiet hum of the sea outside. Heeseung was already there — barefoot, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair still tousled from sleep. There’s a calm ease in the way he moves, like he belongs here, like the ocean is second nature to him. The morning golden light spills across his features. 

For a moment, I just stood there, watching him and his smooth chopping — unsure if it’s the sway of the yacht or the sight of him that makes my heart flutter.

“You have a staring problem,” he teased but not once looking up. 

I let out a breathy laugh, the humor catching me by surprise, a stark difference from the ruminating monologue that has been going off in my mind, “comes with being a photographer,” I said, trying to match his tone. 

He looked up from the strawberries he was chopping, his small smile was warm as always. “Are you hungry? I can whip something up — personalized, gourmet, five-star level,” he said playfully, but the offer was genuine. “I thought you just drove the boat,” I said, stepping closer to lean against the counter.

He chuckled, “tour guide, chef, mechanist… comes with being a Captain.” he said, holding up a strawberry near my lips. I opened my mouth and took it without thinking. My lips brushed his fingertips for the briefest moment, sending a quick, unexpected rush through my chest. As I chewed, the sweetness burst on my tongue — and so did the realization of how close we were. 

“You’d be surprised how many emergencies want to happen before 8 a.m.” he went on, like nothing had happened. So either meant he didn’t notice... or he was very, very good at pretending. Is an actor also on the list of required competence to be a Captain?

I gave him a look, one eyebrow raised. “Define emergency.”

With a grin, he leaned back slightly to get some other fruits from behind the counter, “once had a guest call the front desk at 5 a.m. screaming about a ‘hostile sea creature’ in her room.” I blinked, completely curious now. 

He snorted, remembering the story, “it turns out a poor fish had launched through her window right at the crack of dawn. She locked herself in the bathroom and asked me to ‘evacuate the beast’.”

I nearly choked on my strawberry. “Evacuate the beast?”

“Oh, she wanted me to bring the radio back up like it was a hostage situation.”

I was laughing now. Really laughing, the first time in days it didn’t feel forced. “And did you save the day?”

“Of course, Captain of the year.” he said, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. He then looked at me with that calm glint in his eyes, “so, in comparison, you're a dream guest.”

I chuckled, “A dream guest who spends her days sulking around your yacht.” I admitted, guilt dug deep in my chest for always being the Debbie downer. He shrugged, “You laugh at my jokes. That buys you at least three stars.” he said, disappearing behind the counter.

“Oh yeah? out of how many?” I challenged, leaning my elbow on the counter, chin in my palm. “For you?” He called from down below, “three stars out of three stars.” playfulness in his voice being evident. Something about the way he said it, so light and easy, made my heart dance and lifted the heaviness from my mind.

The shine of the dawn sun came through the big windows near us, the ray of light hitting my face and my wedding band that is still circling my finger. My smile faltered just slightly. Before I could get lost in it again, Heeseung reappeared and tapped the cutting board with his knife. “Come on, helper. If you’re staying in my kitchen, you’re getting a task.”

I snapped out of my daydreaming and gave him a mock salute. “Yes, chef. I mean Captain, I mean chef.” 

He rolled his eyes, laughing as he slid the cutting board my way. “Start with that before you get promoted to anything sharper.” he said before turning around to start something on the big stove.

I pondered on my ring for a minute. Without a word, I slipped it off my finger, the cool metal gilded against my skin. I tucked it into my pocket quietly, like I was setting down a weight no one else could see. 

As I picked up a strawberry and began slicing, the warmth of the sun settled on my skin, grounding me. The gentle rhythm of the waves, the clink of utensils, and Heeseung humming some unrecognizable tune filled the silence between us.

-*-

By late morning, after breakfast service rush winded down, the weather starts to turn. I stood outside, a little away from the other passengers. The skies dimed the sun to a moody gray, and the once-gentle sway of the yacht grows slightly more forceful. With the wave rolling much harsher, my stomach twists sharply, warning me. I blinked hard, trying to breathe through it, steadying myself against the railing. If that dick didn't break my camera…

That's when my phone buzzes in my pockets with my ring still in there. I delved in my jean shorts, scrabbling and trying to focus my vision to see who it is.

"Your father and I were watching the wedding videos again. I hope you're remembering to smile more in your photos. you looked tired in the last ones.” - "mom <3", delivered 10 sec ago

I stared at it, the words tilting something loose inside me. Something about it… the timing, the usual perfectionism wrapped in love. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. It all makes my throat tighten and burn even more. The nausea surges like a tide. Eventually, it all came out. The motion of the sea and the weight of everything on my chest finally tipping over. 

Then, footsteps.

Heeseung appears, calm but concerned. His brows furrowed as he spotted me hunched near the trash bin. Bless whoever designed this yacht for having a trash bin here. 

He doesn’t say anything. Just kneels quietly and sits besides me with hesitation. One hand gently sweeped my hair away from my face and the other one held a small towel to my mouth to clean up. “How hot do I look right now?” I muttered with a voice hoarse, trying to muster a bit of humor through the haze of nausea.

He gave a crooked smile — soft, endeared, “If this is you at your worst, then I’m in trouble.” he said, still dabbing gently away at my chin.

A fragile pause stretched between us, he sat next to me while I clutched my stomach. I swallow hard, having everything hit me like a brick wall. Then, as if a switch had flipped, My eyes let quiet, inevitable tears slip down my cheeks. I didn’t bother wiping them away. They're not from sadness, but from exhaustion. I leaned into his shoulder, too tired to think twice about it. “I’m sorry…” my voice barely over a whisper.

He wraps an arm gently around me, and presses a soft kiss to the top of my head. “Shhh,” he murmured, his voice steady and low. “There is nothing to be sorry about.”

-⚓︎-

The clock ticks somewhere, soft and distant. I finally sunk into the sheets of our bed, the feeling of loneliness hit me — though fatigue was stronger. Heeseung pushed me to go to sleep many hours ago… maybe twelve hours? Or was it ten? I can't remember how long I was outside. All i do remember is him walking me to the room, brushing my hair and putting me to bed.

The sheets were cold, and still looked untouched on the other side, Jae’s side. There was a trace of him through a faint smell of his cologne and his cigs that was clinging to his pillow.

I slowly sat up with my head pounding, syncing with my heartbeat that I could feel behind my forehead. The soft glow of his phone screen barely illuminates the dark room, the time stares back at me: 3:11 a.m. I could see Jae’s silhouette out on the balcony, the tiny flare of his cigarette being the second source of light.

My eyes burn from exhaustion that I can't quite sleep off. So I just roll over, hugging my pillow for warmth and deliberately avoiding his. Avoiding him. His smell was repulsing enough for me now. I could hear his phone buzzing, altering him for a notification. Every ding felt like a punishment, a reminder of how easily he could stay connected to the world — just not to me.

The days started to officially blur together, two weeks of mindlessly walking around the yacht, quietly watching the sunrises and sunsets alone, picking at meals, my only source of conversation being the bartenders and servers. I started feeling like a host more than a guest on this yacht. 

It was simple, really. I fell into a routine: during the day I'm alone on the deck, during the night I would pretend to sleep while he slips into the room late, smelling like salt and smoke. He’s like a stranger now — someone just passing through. 

“You don’t even try to lie anymore.” I said before I could stop myself. Though it was barely above a whisper, it barely left my lips. He lets out a tired breath, annoyed more than anything else, “don’t start, Y/N. Not now.” he said before a click of a door, disappearing again.

He made clear, time and time again, that he’d already emotionally checked out. It felt like a punch to the chest, which was funny. I felt the same and did the same, but it still hurts. Being forgotten by someone you didn’t even want to marry should’ve been easier. 

-*- 

One early morning, I found myself curled up on one of the lounge chairs, knees pulled to my chest, barely awake. A half-full cup of cold coffee rested in my hands. The ocean stretched endlessly ahead, quiet and soft in the pale light of dawn. It looked exactly the same as it had yesterday… and the day before. And yet, I stared like it might eventually show me something new. 

The yacht was docked near a quiet island. It was like a pause in the yacht’s slow route. The sea was clearer out here. Less churned up. Bluer, like it hadn’t been bothered in hours. It felt like the world had finally lowered its voice.

Footsteps padded softly across the deck, not rushed or hesitant. I didn’t have to look up to know it was Heeseung. He stopped beside me, “that coffee’s seen better hours,” he said softly. I turned my head and found him tilting his head a little, studying me. His hair damp and curling slightly at the ends, like he’d just come from a rinse or a swim, again. He wore a plain white T-shirt, a little too thin, already catching the breeze and clinging lightly to his skin.

“So have I,” I mumbled, giving him a small, tired smile. He returned it — gentle, not too wide. Just enough to let me feel it. He glanced toward the horizon and then back at me. “Come swim with me.” he said, quietly, like a suggestion, not a demand.

I blinked up at him. “Right now?”

He nodded. “There’s a spot I know here. It’s quiet. Clear water.”

I looked down at my coffee, at my bare feet curled against the chair and at the sky that hadn’t quite woken up. “I’m not exactly good company right now,” I admitted with that kind of honesty that slips out when you’re too tired to filter anything. 

“That’s okay,” he said, his voice low and kind. “I figured misery loves company, and I’m excellent company.”

I let out a soft breath, almost a laugh. I nodded and then pointed toward the cabins. “Give me five minutes. Maybe six. I have to remember where I planted my bikini.” 

He grinned, the expression soft and grateful, “I’ll start the boat.”

A couple minutes later, I found him standing outside and waiting for me. His arms crossed, pretending not to look impatient, but failing just a little. The morning light brushing against his profile like it had missed him too. As his eyes met mine, he gave me a once-over. Not in a way that made me shrink, just a quick scan to make sure I was awake enough, here enough. He stepped closer to the edge, making me take his warm, offered hand so I could step off onto a smaller boat. 

As we pulled away from the yacht, the noise of the world seemed to fade even more. There was no harsh engine roaring, just the hum of the sea and the occasional creak of the boat shifting beneath us. The breeze brushed through my hair, letting me take a deep breath. We didn’t talk much, but it wasn’t silence I hated. I sat across from him, arms around my knees, watching the ripples we left behind.

“Are you always this mysterious?” he asked after a minute, his voice light but not mocking. He never took his eyes away from the steering wheel or the ocean, “waking up early, staring at the sea.” I glanced at him, the wind teasing a strand of hair into my mouth, “Only when I haven’t slept properly in two weeks.”

He made a face that was part wince, part sympathy, “insomnia is one hell of a bitch.” he said, much quieter. “What about you?” I asked, shifting to face him a little more, “haven’t seen you in a minute… “ I threw back the questions at him. Honestly, I miss his presence more than anything. 

He smiled, a little sheepish while his eyes were still on the horizon. He gave a small shrug, “Had a few shifts, maintenance stuff…. steering that floating palace doesn’t come with an autopilot button.”

“Mm,” I said, “so you have been avoiding me.” I continued with a teasing voice. He looked at me, frowning, genuinely confused. “Now, why would I avoid you?” I smiled a smile that didn't reach my eyes, “I don’t know… maybe because I’m becoming annoying to be around.”

He tilted his head slightly, immediately shaking his head. “You’re not. You’re just full.”

“Full?”

“Of thoughts,” he said, nodding understandingly, “Stories. Feelings. Things you don’t say out loud.” I blinked, then grinned. “Okay, Dr. Freud. So you’re a captain, tour guide, chef, mechanist… and a psychoanalyst. How long is your resume?”

He laughed, head tipping back slightly, the sound carried off by the sea breeze. I laughed too, this time without holding anything back. The kind that came from somewhere small but real, somewhere I hadn’t reached in a while. We didn’t say much after that, the silence between us settled easily. Just the water lapping at the boat with both of us soaking in the sun.

Eventually, Heeseung slowed the boat with a practiced flick of his wrist, easing the throttle down until the engine softened to a low purr and then quieted altogether. The boat drifted for a moment, rocking gently in the clear water. He squinted slightly out at the horizon. “This is the spot,” he said quietly, as if he didn’t want to break the calm. The world around us felt hushed, just the endless blue and the faint call of seabirds somewhere far off.

He stood up then and tugged his shirt off in one motion, revealing a lean back scattered with faded freckles, the kind of tan that came from years at sea, not vacations. He tossed the shirt onto the bench behind him and stepped to the edge of the boat. Then, without a warning, he dove cleanly into the water, slicing through the surface with ease. 

I followed to the edge, letting my feet slip into the water below. It was cool, sharp and soft all at once. My eyes trailed after Heeseung as he swam effortlessly through the glittering water. The sun caught his wet hair while he had an unguarded grin on his face. After diving back in the water, he resurfaced near my feet, shaking his head and splashing water onto me in the process. “You know these are trying to kill each other, right?” he asked, wadling closer.

“Huh?”

“Your anklets,” he said. “Here, hold still.”

Before I could argue, his hands were already gently at my ankle, fingers deftly working the knots apart. I quieted down and watched how gentle he was with me. My eyes fell to his face: the curve of his lashes, still damp from the water; the way his brows furrowed slightly in concentration. The sun made his skin glow warm and gold, and I could see the faint trail of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he was holding back a thought he wouldn’t say aloud.

I wasn’t used to this kind of attention — quiet, thoughtful, without expectation. I wasn’t used to someone looking after me in ways that didn’t have to be spoken. His fingers brushed against my skin as he finished undoing the knot, and I felt that touch everywhere. 

“That's a cute one,” he said, holding one of my anklet’s charms between his fingers, “th little star… looks like it’s been with you a while.” I glanced down at the worn out charm, a bit dulled at the edges. “Yeah. My mom gave it to me when I was sixteen,” I said, the words coming easily, “she said I always had my head in the clouds, and this was supposed to keep a piece of the sky with me.”

He looked up at me then, his expression soft and focused, “she sounds like someone who paid attention.”

My next words sat heavy on my chest, “my parents did in their own way. Her and my dad…” I hesitated, “they both had their ways with everything. They were loud and messy. Nothing was ever quiet with them. Two lawyers being married isn’t easy…”

I laughed quietly, “but they love each other. A lot. there was never a moment where I doubted that they wanted each other.” I said, feeling the weight of the contrast between my situation and theirs press against my ribs. I looked away and then down at the water lapping against the side of the boat. 

There was a pause. The kind that wasn’t awkward, just honest. He let the charm go gently, his fingers brushing against my skin one last time. “But not with Jae?” he whispered, almost afraid to bring up the topic.

“With him…” I said, taking a deep breath, “I think him and I are the opposite of my parents. Our relationship is quiet, we never really fought. He is the lawyer, I was the business student who really just wanted to take photos for a living.” I gave a half-laugh, mostly laughing at myself, “my parents run a firm together. Big, loud courtroom people. They wanted me to follow in their footsteps, take over one day. But I didn’t want that for me. Photography was the only thing that ever felt like mine.” I paused, eyes on the horizon, “we made a deal, a common ground for everyone: I go to business school and keep my cameras as a hobby.”

I glanced at Heeseung, then looked down again at my feet in the water, “I started dating Jae near the end of my days at uni. He didn’t even tell me he was studying law at first. I found out a couple months in. My parents found out too. They adored him — like finally, a win in their eyes. And when we were both close to graduating, they really pushed for this marriage. Told me it made sense. Said I was lucky and shouldn't throw this chance away.” 

A beat passed. “And I guess I thought that agreeing to marry him would fix things with my parents, or at least keep things from breaking more. If I couldn’t give them the daughter they wanted, maybe I could give them the son-in-law they adored. So I said ‘yes’.” 

I let the words settle between us. “I didn’t realize how much of myself I’d lose in the process.” I swallowed. “I liked him, I really did.” I said, much softer. 

He was quiet for a long moment, I could feel that he was in deep thought. “You know…” he broke the silence before pushing himself up from the water to sit next to me on the edge of the boat, “there is a kind of grief from when you do everything right, but things still end up in the wrong place.” he said, his voice was low, intimate. I looked at him, but his gaze was on the water. 

“My dad was in the navy,” he continued with a faint smile on his lips, “Whole family thought I’d follow. Even had a spot lined up in a maritime academy. But I hated those uniforms, the structure, being told how to breathe.” He chuckled, “so instead, I worked every odd job I could until I bought my first boat. Treated her like my first born.” 

I snorted at that, making him shoot me a mock-offended look before laughing himself, “she broke down every third week and sank twice. But she was mine, so I pushed through,” He glanced over, meeting my eyes. “Until I figured out how to do this full-time. Climbed my way up to become a Captain of a yacht… but if I’m being honest, there are things I haven't mastered yet.”

I smiled, a little surprised. “That’s brave of you to drive the damn yacht then,”

He laughed, “maybe. Or maybe I was just stupid enough to not care and still did it.” he said before looking over at me. His voice softened again, “but you… you care. You tried to carry all of it: your parents’ hopes, Jae’s silence, even your own guilt. Like you’re sorry for not wanting the life they picked out for you.” My breath caught slightly in my chest. “But you don't owe them your whole self,” he added, “loving people doesn’t mean burying parts of yourself for them.” 

I smiled, “that easy, huh?” playful sarcasm laced my voice, but his words rang in my head. He gave a shrug, eyes warm. “Worth a shot.”

I looked at him for a moment, “even when you say the opposite, you always sound like you’ve figured it all out,” I said. He laughed under his breath, shaking his head, “I’m winging it constantly. The only thing I’m halfway decent at is pretending I know what I’m doing.” 

I smiled, “you fake it well.” 

There was a pause, then he glanced toward the water, a softness settling into his expression, “there’s one person I try not to fake it with, though.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, nudging him lightly with my knee. “Who’s that?”

“My little sister,” his voice dropped a little, like he was letting me in on something private. “She is living back home with my mom. I helped raise her for a bit.” 

My smile faded into something gentler, “You don’t talk about her much.” I said. He nodded, “yeah, I don’t. She's too precious for that. She's smart, moody, sharp as hell. You know, the full teenage package.” He looked down at his hands, then grinned, “I keep writing to her about how many times i fuck up, but she also thinks I got it all figured out.”

“Writing?” I asked, blinking. He looked sheepish, “yeah. We write to each other, like actual letters.”

Seeing the Captain who gives orders to his crew being this sentimental was unexpectedly charming. I smiled softly, “that’s adorable.” He shrugged like it was nothing, but the way his fingers absently traced the edge of the boat said otherwise. “She tells me about her crushes. I tell her about the ‘hostile sea creatures’.”

We laughed together, the sound light between us. “I like that,” I said quietly, “you writing letters.” He turned to me again, this time with a small smile that reached all the way to his eyes, “you saying that makes me want to send one to you, just to prove I’ve got good stationery.” 

I raised an eyebrow at him before giggling, “sounds like an excuse to get me as your pen pal.”

-*-

Spending the whole day with Heeseung hadn’t exactly been my plan. After sunset, the night wrapped around the island like a soft blanket while the sky was a vast canvas of twinkling stars. Hee had roped me into joining the crew’s beach bonfire with a very persuasive smile and arguments. The crew had gathered a fire pit on the beach near the edge of the sand, letting its flame start crackling. A handful of passengers lounged nearby, their laughter and chatter blending with the gentle sound of waves kissing the shore.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced at it to find it to be a message from Jae. 

“taking a call” - "J.", delivered 1 hour ago

Just those simple words and nothing else. No follow-up, no check-in, no ‘wish you were next to me’ messages like he used to when we first dated. I stared at the screen for a second longer than I should’ve, then tucked it back into my pocket without replying. I refused to think about him, tonight wasn’t for him. 

Hee introduced me to the crew, it was with easy smiles and no formalities — just nicknames and laughter. One of the crew members leaned in to me once she saw that Heeseung had turned his back to us, “so you’re the one our Captain’s been all mysterious about,” she said with a genuine, excited smile while handing me a stick with a perfectly speared marshmallow.

Another crew member was sitting next to us chimed in, “Cap’s got a type.” he said, grinning over his beer bottle.

I chuckled, a little flustered, trying to come up with something to say but Heeseung beat me to it. “Keep talking,” he warned him with sharp eyes, but there was humor under them, “and I’ll have you scrubbing the deck until sunrise.” The group erupted into laughter, that same crewmate groaning dramatically.

The rhythm of the waves and firelight could be heard next to their teasing. I leaned back slightly, absorbing the setting. Maybe it was how no one here asked about my credentials, what I studied — or my complete lack of a job. Maybe it was how the air felt softer on this island, or how I hadn’t smiled this much in weeks. I'm not sure, but it allowed me to let myself just exist. Not as someone’s daughter, not as someone’s wife — just me. 

The fire crackled loud and golden in the middle of our little circle on the beach, casting flickering shadows on everyone’s faces. I kicked off my sandals, feeling the cool, soft sand sift between my toes. I settled closer to the fire with my stick that had a slightly charred marshmallow. The sweetness melted in my mouth as laughter bubbled up from inside me — light, unexpected and utterly freeing.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, I wasn’t thinking about Jae, or my parents, or the ring still hidden in my drawer. All that mattered was the warmth of the fire, the softness of the night. 

Hee was right in front of me, sitting casually on the made shift benches with his legs stretched out, his eyes never leaving me. There was something in the way he watched — quiet, steady, like he was memorizing me and the way the firelight flickered in my eyes. He was impossible to ignore. I caught him once, and he gave me a small, shy grin, the kind that made my heart skip just a little.

Eventually, someone from the crew jumped up. “Alright! I suggest a ten-minute crab hunt. Whoever brings back the biggest crab wins a ‘no cleanup duty’ pass for the next three nights.” Some people groaned and others laughed, but they all scattered into the darkness with makeshift flashlights and empty cups. Within seconds, the bonfire was mostly empty. I stayed seated, completely focused on making the perfect s’mores.

I caught him watching me again, “planning to write a letter about my marshmallow roasting skills?” I teased. 

The fire crackled between us, casting gold along his jawline as he smirked. “I’m trying to infer how you like your s’mores,” he said. The fire rustled between us as I caught the sparkle in his eyes that made my heart race just a bit faster.

I glanced at the sad marshmallow bubbling on the end of my stick. “I don't like them burnt,” I explained, pointing to the stick. “They need to be in this ‘slightly touched’ zone, you know? Like golden. Perfectly golden.”

“Hm right, right.” he said, leaning in slightly to inspect, “but… I think you’re in the ‘charcoal’ zone.”

I gasped. “Oh, fuck off! Stop distracting me!” I said, taking off the fire as he tried to stifle a laugh. “You’re sabotaging,” I muttered, trying to take the marshmallow off the stick only for it to fall into the flames, catching on fire completely. 

“Here,” he said, reaching over and offering his own — perfectly golden, like he’d been roasting it with a slow kind of intention. “Take mine.”

I smiled and took it slowly by sandwiching his marshmallow between graham crackers and chocolate squares. It melted slightly at the edges, giving it that gooey look. He watched me with that same quiet amusement, his chin resting on his hand like he had all the time in the world just to roast marshmallows for me.

I lifted it to my mouth and took the first bite. I couldn’t help the soft groan that escaped, “okay, wow,” I said, covering it with the back of my hand. “That’s actually stupid good.” Without thinking, I turned to him and lifted the s’more up. “Here. You have to try it,” I said, holding it out between us. 

He hesitated for half a second, then leaned in, biting right next to my own bite. His hands closed gently around mine, steadying my grip on the s’more while his lips brushing just past my knuckles. He chewed thoughtfully, “Mm, you were right.” he said in between bites. 

As I was beaming in pride at my s’mores, he reached up and flicked a tiny smudge of chocolate from the corner of my mouth, his fingers lingering. I caught his gaze with my cheeks heating up. Slowly, he slipped that chocolate trace into his own mouth, a satisfied smile was clear on his lips, “looks like you’ve got chocolate,” he teased softly.

I laughed, trying to calm down my fast heart beat, “guess I’ll have to keep you around to clean up my messes.”

He raised his brows, a slow, amused smile tugging at his lips. He definitely heard and understood something else. I realized the gravity of my word vomit, “oh my god, no! I mean—no, not like that! I just—" I said, digging myself deeper and stumbling over my words.

Mortified, I groaned and buried my face in my hands. “Oh my god,” I mumbled into my palms, “I’m never speaking again.” My skin burned, my shoulders curled inward like I could disappear right into the sand. All I could hear was his laughter as he wrapped an arm around me, pulling me gently into his side. I didn’t resist, I just let myself fall into the space he made for me. The sound of the fire clattering filled the night air, mingling with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat pressed softly against my shoulder.

-⚓︎-

The days are passing by more gently now. I found myself lingering near the crew more often, picking up the inside jokes from the kitchen staff, helping arrange coffee cups when I got bored. It was easier than being alone, easier than sitting in a room that still smelled like a stranger. 

I would also helped Hee with breakfast… sometimes even lunch and dinner if I’m being honest. He started taking me around to the little shops and markets on every island we stopped at — weaving through narrow aisles of handmade jewelry, coconut soaps, woven sarongs, and sun-bleached postcards. 

He never rushed me. Just watched me browse, fascinated, occasionally holding things up and asking my opinion on them. I didn’t mean to spend so much time with Heeseung. Our moments weren’t planned, they just… happened, like we were accidentally orbiting each other.

One night I sat outside on a bench of a quiet deck at the back of the yacht. The stars were soft above me, and the sea was unusually still, like it was holding its breath. I had my knees tucked up under me, a tiny bottle of nail polish — a soft, ocean-glass green that Hee picked out ‘because it reminded him of seafoam and me half-asleep’ — balanced on the wood between my ankles. I’d gotten two fingers done, smudged but salvageable, before things started going sideways.

“Is this a manicure or a wrestling match?” a voice called, warm and familiar. I looked up to find him walking over, arms crossed and grinning.

“I’m trying,” I sighed with a smile, holding up my left hand. He came closer and sat in front of me, settling down right in front of me, the bench wide enough so that my legs fit between his. The closeness was becoming natural, his knees lightly brushing mine. “Want me to help?”

I hesitated, only for a second, before nodding and handing over the tiny bottle. He took it gently, and then took my hand just as gently. The way he cradled my hand was tender yet deliberate. He fell into silence as he focused, I watched him more than I should have. “Are you good at this because you have a sister?” I asked, tilting my head slightly.

He glanced up, smirking, “keeping notes on me?”

“Maybe.”

When he finished, he didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned in a little, blowing softly over the fresh polish. As his fingers were still holding mine, I looked up where I met his eyes. Everything slows down, just enough to make a decision.

He was leaning in closer to my lips, I couldn't seem to pull away. So I lifted my index finger and pressed it gently against his soft lips, stopping him from getting closer. My heart practically sprinted in my chest at this point. “As much as I want to…” I said, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m still married.”

“I know…” his voice was quiet, carrying a weight that made the space between us feel fragile. His eyes held no anger or bitterness—just a quiet sadness, silently mourning a future that might never be. 

With a small, almost apologetic smile, he added, “I’m not trying to be the reason you forget that,” he finally let go of my hand, the warmth slipping away. “But I can’t keep showing up like this, not when I’m starting to fall for you. And I think you already know that.” His words hit harder than I expected, my breath hitched again.

He reached into his pockets, “I brought you something,” he said, and pulled out a camera. It was older, not sleek or shiny, but clearly loved — scuffed around the edges, worn in a way that felt personal. “It’s not fancy,” he admitted, placing it gently in my hands. “But it’s mine. Thought maybe…  you’d want to take pictures again.” I stared at it, speechless.

By the time I looked up, he was already walking away, the soft deck lights casting a shadow behind him. I stayed there, sitting in the quiet while the camera felt heavy in my lap. A lump formed in my throat, and I felt tears gathering at the edges of my eyes. Tears I didn’t know if I wanted to shed or hold back.

-⚓︎-

He’s been watching me from a distance for maybe a week — never close enough to speak, but always near enough that I can feel his eyes on me. He probably thinks I don’t notice, but once you’ve grown used to his attention, it’s hard to ignore it. I see it in the little things, like how he would leave the kettle of ginger tea waiting for me in the kitchen, my spot on the outer deck always arranged how I like.

However, the air between us stays heavy, thick with all the things we’re both too afraid to say aloud. Like we’re carrying a weight neither of us wants to name. Since that night — the night of ‘almost’, where we didn’t quite cross the line — there hasn’t been a single word exchanged. A silent barrier has settled between us.

One afternoon on the deck, while I’m adjusting the lens of his camera, trying to focus and stay focused, I catch movement in my periphery. I glance up, and there he is. Heeseung, standing on the upper deck, bathed in pale light like the day itself hasn’t quite decided whether it wants to be soft or sharp. His arms are crossed over the railing, eyes already on me. Our gazes collide — just for a second before I look away.

The silence between Jae and I had always felt empty. Like two people ignoring the fact that they’d built a life on top of separate islands. But the silence between Heeseung and I does not feel empty. It feels like questions and answers we are too afraid to ask and respond to. 

Even from far away, even without a word, he sees me more clearly than Jae ever did. 

I sat in my cabin alone that evening, the ocean murmuring just beyond the walls. The little camera sat warm in my hands, his camera. I had only meant to scroll through the shots I’d taken earlier that day: a dock at sunrise, a blur of passing sails. 

But somewhere along the way, I must’ve flicked too far, because suddenly I was looking at photos I didn’t take. They were older ones, tucked into the memory card.

The first was a blurry photo of a girl standing on a rocky shoreline, maybe his sister? or someone close? She’s caught mid-laugh, hair tangled by the wind, the kind of candid photo that feels like a stolen moment. Then a handful of quiet landscapes with the soft curves of a dock.It all felt like a time capsule that I had no clue what was inside. I kept clicking, slowly, as if each image might say something he never told me out loud. 

And then, a self-timer shot. Young Heeseung, covered in sand, smiling crookedly and sitting beside a half-repaired boat engine. He looks lighter there, like the weight he carries now wasn’t on his shoulders yet. Something tugged in my chest, sharp and strange. I stare at that photo for longer than I should. It feels like a glimpse of someone I’m only just beginning to understand. 

My thumb hovered over the button to keep scrolling, but I stopped — feeling like I cracked open his diary without meaning to. This feels too private for me to continue looking at. So I just turned the camera off and didn't dare delete a single photo. 

-⚓︎-

Another evening, we were back in our cabin after dinner. The kind of dinner where we barely spoke and I just pushed food around my plate. Jae had excused himself to take a shower. I nodded, barely looking up from my phone, though I hadn’t really been looking at anything, my thumb kept scrolling through nothing. The silence between us stayed in that familiar state.

He left his phone on the nightstand, as usual. Face up with the screen black. I didn’t look at first. But the moment the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, a notification popped up. I don’t know why I froze and just… stared at it. but something in me stirred, low and uneasy. My heart thumped, like a quiet knock against a door I didn’t want to open. 

Curiosity isn’t always innocent. Sometimes, it’s instinct. Sometimes, it’s the body begging the heart to wake up and listen.

My fingers moved before I could reason with them. Just check, prove yourself wrong. That’s what I told myself as I picked it up. It was completely unlocked. I have never checked his phone before during college. Not even once. I never had a reason to, he never gave me a reason to.

But I wasn’t wrong. Her name was saved so neatly under ‘Coworker’. Of course, what a dumbass move. The messages were all there, unfolded one by one. They were scattered, careless. 

“Had fun last night.”  - "me", delivered 2 weeks ago

“Wish I was waking up next to you.” - "me", delivered 1 month ago

“Can’t wait for when she’s not around.” - "Coworker", delivered 1 week ago

I sat there frozen and reading them.  Message after message. Pet names. Late-night plans. My eyes burned before the tears even started. Then came the photos, from him and her. Her body posed, shared like a secret. The kind of photos you send when you're sure someone wants you. He did, he wanted her. 

My chest cracked open. I didn’t cry, not yet, but I could feel something inside me crumble. My breath hitched, sharp and involuntary, and I swallowed down a sob — not loud, but it cracked through me like a branch snapping under pressure. Just enough that if he was listening from behind the door, he would’ve heard. 

The shower turned on a second later. Loud and unbothered. 

I stood, slowly, wiping at my face with the back of my hand. “I’m going out for air.” I called out, my voice came out small and shaky. Nothing from him, just the sound of the water. I'm not even sure if he heard me, I don't even care anymore.

The door clicked shut behind me with a softness that didn’t match the way my heart was breaking. I stepped out into the open night, barefoot and numb, the hum of the yacht beneath me like a ghost’s heartbeat. The deck was quiet, empty. Everyone else was tucked away in their cabins, blissfully unaware.

The air was thick with salt and warmth, a strange mix for this late in the evening. The breeze was gentle, brushing past me like it already knew I was fragile tonight. He really fucked me over once i was finally feeling somewhat okay. 

I walked until I reached the railing, curling my fingers around the cool metal. The sea stretched out in front of me — black, endless, glittered faintly with starlight. It felt like looking into something eternal, something that swallowed secrets for a living.

My chest ached in that dull, splintering way. The tears didn’t fall yet, they just sat there heavy. I didn’t know how long I stood there like that — body still, soul unraveling — until I heard footsteps behind me. 

“I figured I’d find you out here,” Heeseung said, his voice as gentle as I remember it. didn’t turn around. I couldn’t. My glassy eyes were glued to the water like it might pull me in and keep me. 

My voice barely came out when I whispered, “He’s cheating.”

Heeseung didn’t move at first. Just stood there, jaw set, his hands curling slightly at his sides like he didn’t trust them not to do something reckless. He walked toward me slowly, carefully, like I might shatter if he moved too fast. He looked at me like he wanted to say a hundred things but wasn’t sure where to start.

Then, without a word, he reached up and cradled my face gently between his calloused hands. His thumbs brushed beneath my eyes, catching the tears I didn’t have the energy to hide. “Oh, sweetheart…” he murmured, “you didn’t deserve this.”

And God, the way he said it. Like it physically hurt him to witness it. Like if he could’ve taken even a fraction of it off my shoulders, he would’ve done it without thinking.

My throat tightened then my knees nearly buckled. He pulled me into him before I could fall apart completely, his arms wrapping around me. Like he’d been waiting to hold me long before he was ever allowed to. I buried my face in his chest and cried — really cried. I feel like nothing could’ve prepared me for that. The beteral was a sharp stab into my heart, my lungs, my stomach, everywhere.

Eventually my sobs calmed down, but my tears didn’t stop. He continued to hold me, not saying anything and just brushing my hair with his hand. 

In the quiet that followed, a soft melody floated through the air from afar. Faint romantic jazz tune started playing, reminding me of warm candlelight and open windows. Probably leftover from the dinner service playlist. 

He shifted slightly, just enough to speak into my hair, “wanna dance?” he asked. I blinked up at him through tears, half-laughing, half-sniffling. “You’re joking.”

But he wasn’t, he gave me that little crooked smile of his. “Completely serious.” I stared at him… this man with the softest eyes, the worst timing and maybe the best heart.

“You do realize I have the coordination of a baby giraffe, right?” I said, raising a brow. “That’s okay,” he murmured, already taking my hand. “I’ve always wanted to dance with a giraffe.” A laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it.

We swayed gently and stupidly on the deck, offbeat. The music was too slow for how fast my heart was racing. The moon hung low, silver and swollen above us, like even it had paused to watch. His hand fit so easily against my waist, like it belonged there. 

I tripped over his foot once and laughed, heat rushing to my cheeks. “You’re doing perfect,” he said softly before spinning me, making my stomach flip. I landed back in his arms and looked up, he was already watching me. 

“Can I kiss you now?” His voice was low, careful but honest. I giggled, breathless. Like I was a teenager again, falling for someone for the very first time. I nodded.

When he kissed me, all the tangled knots of doubt and guilt that had been twisting inside me suddenly loosened. In that moment, nothing else existed — just the softness of his lips and the quiet promise that I deserve this kind of gentle kindness.

-⚓︎-

The hallway outside the cabins carried that familiar, soothing scent: a mix of saltwater and aged teakwood. I had just stepped out from the crew’s rec room, the faint echo of laughter still on my lips. It wasn’t loud laughter — just the kind that slips out when you finally forget how heavy you’ve been feeling.

I started turning a corner completely forgetting that it led to our shared room, making me almost crash right into someone. Into him, Jae. I stumbled back a step, startled. His body was rigid, blocking the hallway like a wall I hadn’t prepared to face. His eyes locked onto mine instantly — sharp, burning, already full of accusation. He didn’t even blink. 

“Where the hell were you?” he snapped, the words had been sitting on his tongue all night, waiting to bite.

“I was — just talking to —”

“With who?” he cut me off, his words lashed out like a whip. “That Captain again? You think this is funny? Are you trying to humiliate me in front of everyone?” His voice was low to not cause a scene but it was still cruel, laced with something uglier than anger. 

I flinched, stepping back as my heart began pounding in my chest. The corridor suddenly felt too narrow, too quiet. “We’re married, Y/N, remember that?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” I whispered. He scoffed, eyes narrowing. He subtly shifted in his posture, his hand wanting to reach and grab my arm.

“That’s enough.” said a voice from behind me — calm, but with a cold edge that sent a shiver down my spine. I turned and saw Heeseung standing there, his eyes locked onto Jae with an intensity that didn’t scream anger, but radiated quiet control.

Jae’s sneer deepened as he met Heeseung’s gaze. “Oh, you again,” he spat, voice thick with disdain. “This is between my wife and I.”

“Not when it happens on my boat.” Heeseung stepped forward, his tone sharp as a knife. “You’re not raising your voice at anyone here. So either you leave now, or I’ll personally escort you back to your room.” Heeseung took another step closer, creating space between Jae and I, voice dropping even further into an absolute command. “And it’s ‘Captain’ to you.”

The air thickened with silence, heavy and suffocating. Jae’s jaw clenched tightly, his eyes flicking between Heeseung and me, weighing his options. I drifted a little closer to Heeseung’s side, like my body already knew where safety was. After a long beat, Jae spun on his heel, muttering a curse under his breath as he stalked away, the echo of his footsteps fading down the hall.

Heeseung turned toward me, the hardness in his gaze softened immediately, “are you okay?” he asked as his hands found my shoulders, firm but gentle  —  grounding me back into my body. I nodded, exhaling a breath I didn't know I was holding.

His eyes searched mine for a long patient moment, before he ran a hand through his hair in that restless way he had when something was bothering him. “You’re not staying in that room anymore,” he said at last. His voice was calm, but the edge of resolve in it left no room for argument. It was not a suggestion nor a question. 

I furrowed my brows, confusion blooming. “What do you mean?”

He gave me a small, almost shy smile. “I’ve arranged a bigger, nicer suite for you. Portside. The windows are bigger — should help with the nausea.” His gaze flicked down to the camera strap resting lightly against my neck, and he added, “Better light, too.”

I opened my mouth to protest, “You didn’t have to —”

But he cut me off gently, shaking his head. “I know. But I wanted to.”

-*-

Later that night, I found Heeseung sitting quietly in the corner of the lounge, the soft glow of a single lamp casting gentle shadows across his face. He was writing a letter, his pen moving steadily over the paper as if each word mattered more than the last. The calmness in his posture made the restless sea outside feel even louder in comparison.

I settled a little ways off, careful not to disturb him. The soft hum of the yacht and the gentle rocking beneath us filled the quiet space between. Quietly, I lifted my camera and began snapping photos — the dark, endless ocean stretching beyond the windows, the way the moonlight danced on the water’s surface.

Then, I turned my lens toward Heeseung. There he was, sitting still and lost in deep thought. The soft glow of the cabin lights tracing the lines of his face, the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his eyes seemed to hold intimate secrets. There was something tender and almost vulnerable about him in that dim light, so different from the strong, commanding Captain others usually saw.

After a while, I lowered the camera and glanced over at him. The soft click of the shutter had stopped. “Do you think your sister would like me?” I asked, barely above a whisper, my voice daring to break the moment.

He paused mid-sentence, pen hovering above the page and looked up at me. A small smile tugging at his lips, “I think,” he said, eyes holding mine, “she’d love you.” I blinked, caught off guard by how certain he sounded. 

“She’d ask a million questions about your camera,” he chuckled, eyes crinkling, “she’d probably beg you to teach her everything. And she’d keep every single photo you give her.” The image he’d painted lingered in my mind — vivid and stubborn in the best way. I couldn’t help the small giggle that slipped out, “she sounds amazing.”

From his smile, I could see how deeply he missed her — how much space she took up in his heart even from far away.

When he finished the letter, I stayed quiet, watching the gentle curl of his handwriting dry against the paper. Then, without saying much, I moved to the little corner printer and pulled up the shots I’d taken.  The little frozen pieces of our quiet world. I printed them slowly, one by one, letting the ink set before I tucked them into the envelope beside his letter. It's like adding pieces of this quiet, shared world I wanted his sister to know about.

I wanted her to see this version of him. I wanted her to see what I saw. 

-⚓︎-

A couple of months slipped through my fingers. Slowly at first, then all at once. The days stretched with ease, filled with quiet days and evenings, wandering island towns, and a sense of freedom I hadn’t realized I’d been craving. I would wake up with sea salt in my hair, my camera tucked somewhere beside me while I'm tucked in Heeseung’s arms. 

Some nights, I’d quietly slip into his captain’s cabin, and other times, he’d be the one falling asleep in mine — as if drawn by some invisible thread.  We’d lie there in the low lamplight, tangled under the soft blankets and sharing soft laughter. Hours would stretch and blur, until sleep pulled us under. I’d rest my head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart as we drifted off, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of those stolen moments.

I’d fallen into a daily rhythm, one that didn’t revolve around Jae anymore. He stopped being the center of my orbit. His absence didn’t echo as loudly as I thought it would. In fact, he’d gotten off the yacht a few stops ago, saying something vague about needing to ‘handle things back home’. I just nodded, like I always had, and let him go.

I tried, for a while, to come up with reasons for why he cheated. Maybeitwas to comfort myself, maybe to make sense of why someone who promised forever could turn around and betray it so carelessly. But all it did was make me more confused and frustrated. So I let that go as well, making me able to breathe again.

I was waiting at a small day bar for my two drink orders — one for me, one for Hee — until my phone buzzed with a new message in the pocket of my shorts. 

“I’ll have the divorce papers sent.” - "J.", delivered 30 sec ago

That was it, one line with no apologies or explanations. Just a clean, clinical statement like we were parting ways on a business deal. I stared at the message for a long time, rereading it once… then twice. I didn’t reply. Instead, I slipped my phone back into the pocket of my jean shorts, feeling strangely detached. The tears I expected never came; instead, an unexpected, hollow laugh bubbled up.

When I found Heeseung, he was in the middle of a story on the lower deck, surrounded by a few of the younger crew members. Their laughter filled the air, warm and unguarded, spilling out in waves as they doubled over with amusement. I waited patiently for the moment to settle before stepping closer, sliding the cool drink into his hand. Our fingers brushed briefly — a light, familiar touch that had become comforting over time. Without hesitation, he draped an arm around my shoulders, the gesture so natural it felt like second skin.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, meant for me and only me.  I nodded, “yeah.” And before I could think too much about it, before doubt had any time to creep in, he leaned down and caught my lips in a kiss. Soft, unrushed, honest. I smiled against his lips, making him kiss the edge of it.

Somehow, this made me feel more like forever than anything I had before. It hit me, somewhere between the warmth of his arm around my shoulders and the echo of laughter still hanging in the air — this was it. This was my real honeymoon. 

-*-

Later, when it was just us sitting near the bow, he had his feet propped up and my thighs rested on his lap. The sea reflects burnt orange from the sun’s descent. He nudged my side with his shoulder, “be honest… was it really an accident when you started taking photos of me in the beginning?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the shift, then laughed lightly. “Are you fishing for compliments now, Captain?”

He sipped his drink, playing innocent. “I just remember you were supposed to be taking shots of the shoreline, and somehow I ended up as the main subject.”

“You looked ridiculous,” I laughed. “That was not an accident. I needed proof.” 

He leaned in again, close enough that his hair brushed my temple. “So you admit it.”

I shook my head and rested back against his shoulder, “you’re impossible.”

-⚓︎-

The sun was high, the yacht gliding slow along a stretch of endless blue. Hee had been tied up with boat maintenance and supply runs the past couple days, leaving me to drift through the hours on my own and to organise our photos on my laptop. 

I was curled on one of the deck chairs with his T-shirt over my shoulders and my camera on my side when an email popped up on my screen, interrupting the peace. I read the email’s subject: ‘Photography Assistant Position – Offer Letter Attached’.

I remembered applying to the job months ago — just one of many desperate clicks late at night, back when I still thought distraction might save me. I never expected a reply. Definitely not now. Not when everything had finally started to feel real.

It was nothing prestigious or glossy. But it was something tangible, mine. I read the whole email many times, and my heart twisted at each word in the way it only does when something good and something hard arrive at the exact same time.

I found Heeseung later that night, sitting alone near the back of the yacht, humming quietly to himself as he watched the waves roll and break beneath the silver wash of moonlight. I sat beside him, reached for his hands, and told him everything — about the email, about the job, about how long I’d wanted it, about how I couldn’t afford to miss this opportunity. 

He listened without interrupting, his thumb tracing quiet circles over my knuckles. When I finally stopped talking, he let go of my hands only to cup my face, his palms warm and steady against my cheeks. He kissed them both — soft, slow — before resting his forehead against mine. “I’m so happy for you, my love,” he said.

And he meant it. I could hear it in his voice. Even as his words cracked slightly at the edges, caught somewhere deeper than his throat.

We didn’t really talk about what it meant. We didn’t ask the hard questions like ‘what now?’ or ‘what if…’. Instead, we promised to just enjoy the time we had left. Like it wouldn’t hurt later, like it wasn’t already starting to.

-*-

A couple of days later, we arrived at a tiny island with a quiet beach stop. The village was small, almost forgotten — no paved roads, just soft sand paths. Kids ran barefoot, their laughter bubbling through the warm air like music. I wandered alongside Heeseung, completely absorbed in the peaceful simplicity of it all. So absorbed, in fact, that I forgot to put on sunscreen.

“Hey,” Heeseung’s voice caught up to me as we passed a fruit stall bursting with ripe mangoes. He glanced at my shoulders, concern flickering in his eyes. “Your shoulders are turning red.”

I gave him a distracted smile, my eyes lingering on the vibrant baskets overflowing with ripe fruit. The colors and scents pulled me in, and I barely registered his words. Without missing a beat, he reached into my small backpack and carefully pulled out my sunscreen tube, already warmed from sitting in the sun.

He squeezed some into his hands and reached out gently, “hold still.” His fingers moved slow, soft against my skin, trailing cool across my slightly sunburnt shoulders. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting myself memorize the way he touched me. 

After a few seconds, I whispered, “You missed a spot.”

Without looking up, he grinned. “You’re just saying that to make me nervous.” We laughed quietly, like we always did.

-⚓︎-

The last day stretched long and slow, the sun dipping low. The sky melted into soft pinks and yellow, casting a quiet glow across the beach. We found ourselves sitting on the warm sand, the sea whispering gently beside us. It felt like one of those perfect, quiet moments that I never wanted to end.

He turned a small seashell over in his hand, brushing off a bit of sand before holding it out between us. “Whisper a promise into this,” he said, that familiar playful smile tugging at his lips.

I raised a brow, amused. “Promise, huh? What kind of promise?”

“Anything,” he shrugged. “Just something you want the ocean to keep safe.”

I leaned in, brought my lips closer to the curve of the seashell in his hand, “I promise to never tell anyone you cried during that dolphin documentary.” He laughed, nudging my shoulder, the sound soft against the hush of the waves.

Then he took his own shell, leaned in, “I promise not to make fun of your flip-flop tan lines.” he whispered. “Oh my god,” I groaned, laughing. “They’re not that bad.” 

Our laughter trailed behind us as we tossed our shells into the tide. After a couple silly promises, his expression shifted — his smile became something quieter. He picked up another shell, held it for a beat. “Promise me you’ll come back.” His voice dropped, serious but gentle. 

I stared at him, heart stumbling in my chest. Without answering, I reached for a shell of my own, pressed it to my lips, and whispered just loud enough for the wind to hear, “I promise.”

He kissed me, slow and certain, like he meant to leave the shape of his lips behind for when I was gone. His hand curled gently around my cheek, thumb brushing just beneath my eye like he was memorizing me, again, for what it seemed like for the Nth time ever since I told him about me leaving.

When we pulled apart, we dug a shallow hollow in the warm sand. Carefully, we placed the two shells in the little nest we’d made — his and mine. A small, secret vow tucked into the earth. And as the waves crept closer and the sky deepened into dusk, I found myself hoping, truly hoping, that the ocean knew how to keep that promise.

-⚓︎-

The port looked softer in the morning light. Everything was bathed in that delicate, yellow hush that only early hours seem to know. As if the world was holding its breath for just a little longer. Heeseung had already helped load my duffel and suitcase into the back of the taxi with a thud from the trunk. Behind him, the yacht swayed gently with the tide, quiet and steady — like it knew it was time to let go as well. 

He stood a few feet away, hands tucked in his pockets, his expression unreadable. Not quite smiling, not quite sad. When he finally stepped forward and pulled me into a hug, he held me a little too tightly — the same way he had last night as we fell asleep. His arm wrapped around me like he was afraid I might vanish in the dark, unsure when he’d be allowed to do so again.

Right against my ear, he whispered, “If I said ‘I love you’, would it make this harder?”

I swallowed hard, the words catching somewhere in my throat. My fingers clutched at the fabric of his uniform — the pearly white collar warm beneath my hands, familiar now. Safe. I blinked fast, the world blurring at the edges. He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes searching, flicking between mine.

“We will say it next time we see each other. And we will mean it then, too.” I said, trying my best not to cry. I refused to let his last memory of me be of me crying. My breath left me in a quiet, aching rush. I reached for him as his lips found mine, before I could fall apart completely. This kiss was wrapped in promise, gratitude and love that arrived too late, but still managed to bloom anyway.

It took everything in me to step back. My arms felt heavy, like they didn’t want to leave the space. He didn’t try to stop me. Just reached for my hand one last time, the way he always did, and pressed his lips to the back of it, soft and lingering. When he pulled away, I felt the slip of paper between my fingers.

A folded letter. “Read it later,” he said quietly. His smile wavered — still tender, but this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I started to reach into my pocket, fingertips brushing against the familiar shape of his camera. “I should give this back—” I began, but before I could finish, he gently covered my hand with his. He didn’t say anything right away, just shook his head. “Don’t,” he said softly. “It’s yours now.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles. 

He opened the taxi door for me, his fingertips grazing my back as I slid into the seat. The door closed with a click that felt too final, echoing. The engine hummed to life beneath me as I saw his face one last time. Through the glass, I saw him step back. One hand raised, a small wave. Just before I turned the corner, he brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them, then blew the kiss toward me.

A few minutes into the drive, I couldn’t wait any longer. With trembling fingers, I unfolded the letter he’d slipped into my hand — the paper soft and slightly creased, like it had been held, rewritten, maybe even second-guessed a few times. His handwriting stared back at me. 

The tears came fast, just quietly streaking down my cheeks. I pressed the letter to my chest when I finished, as if holding it close could keep something from slipping away.

My dearest and only love, I told myself I wouldn’t write anything. That I’d let you go silently. I’ve always been terrible at goodbyes, and worse at holding back when my heart's already made up. You changed me more than I thought was possible. Gently at first, then all-consuming.  I know you're leaving for something you've always wanted, and there's nothing about that I can ever hold against you. Still. It doesn't make it any easier. No words could ever fully hold how much I’ll miss you.  I’ll be right where you left me.  With all that I am, — Your Captain.

A smear of green, across your arm, your ribs, your stomach.

You stared at it, confused. It looked like paint. Wet, sticky, and clinging to the fabric of your skeleton costume like it belonged there. You blinked once, twice, before dragging your gaze upward, locking eyes with the culprit.

“Oh, shit.”

He was green. No, really, he was covered in it, from his jawline to his collarbone, down his arms, streaked across his hands. He was, in fact, one of the Ninja Turtles.

“Are you radioactive?” you asked, because that felt like a genuine concern at this point.

Heeseung—though you didn’t know his name yet—blinked at you, then looked down at his own arm as if just realizing that, yeah, maybe painting his entire body for a costume wasn’t the best idea. “I, uh—fuck, I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t think what?” you repeated, glancing down at your once-pristine skeleton costume. “That maybe body paint takes a while to dry?”

“No, see, I thought it was dry. I waited, like, an hour before putting the costume on.” He sounded both defensive and regretful, like someone who had just now realized the full extent of their mistake.

You sighed, poking at the stain. “Well, congrats. You’ve officially made me the first skeleton in history to die of green slime exposure.”

He let out a breath of laughter, then scratched the back of his neck—a habit you’d later come to recognize as his go-to nervous tic. “On the bright side… at least now you match me?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re trying to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

“Not even a little.”

A slow grin spread across his face, lopsided and teasing. “Damn. Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

And he did.

That was the beginning of it, you suppose. A stupid mistake, an even stupider conversation, and a boy painted green who somehow managed to wedge himself into your life like he belonged there. You didn’t know then that he’d become your best friend. That in three years, you’d be sitting next to him in a car at two in the morning, singing along to songs you didn't really know. That you’d learn the exact way he liked his coffee, the rhythm of his breath when he fell asleep next to you on your couch, the way he always looked at you like he was on the verge of saying something important but never quite did.

No, back then, all you knew was that he was an idiot. And that, somehow, against all odds—you kind of liked him anyway. But you and Heeseung became friends by accident.

It wasn’t an immediate thing, not like some cosmic force snapped its fingers and tied the two of you together. No, it was slower than that, more like a series of small collisions, a gradual intertwining of orbits. And most of it had to do with Yunjin.

You and Yunjin had been friends since the beginning of college. One of those friendships that happens fast, like flipping a switch. One day, you were just two people forced into the same group project, and the next, you were sneaking snacks into late-night study sessions, texting each other memes at 3 a.m., and laughing until your stomach hurt over things that weren’t even that funny. She was the kind of person you felt like you had known forever, even though it had only been a few years.

But somehow, despite all that time, you had never actually registered who she lived with. You knew she had a roommate—she’d mentioned him in passing a few times, usually accompanied by an exasperated sigh or an eye roll—but you had never put much thought into it. The guy could’ve been a faceless NPC for all you cared. Just a background character in the world of Yunjin’s apartment. Until one fateful Tuesday afternoon.

You had gone over to Yunjin’s place to work on a mind-numbing, soul-draining research paper, and the two of you were sitting cross-legged on her living room floor. The atmosphere was calm, quiet—at least, until the front door swung open with the force of someone dramatically entering a scene in a sitcom.

“YUNJIN,” a voice rang through the apartment, loud and excited. “I JUST BOUGHT ZELDA: BREATH OF THE WILD. I NEED TO PLAY IT IMMEDIATELY.”

You barely had time to process before the source of the chaos came bounding into the room. A guy, slightly breathless from what must have been a very passionate journey home, clutching a Nintendo Switch game case like it was the most important thing in the world.

And he was green.

Well, not literally—he wasn’t still covered in body paint—but your brain made the connection instantly. The excitement, the unfiltered enthusiasm, the slight air of someone who had been making questionable life decisions since birth.

It clicked.

“Oh my god,” you blurted. “You’re the Ninja Turtle guy.”

Heeseung froze mid-step, eyes flickering to you like he was only now realizing there was another person in the room. For a second, he just stared, lips parted in muted shock, like you had just caught him committing a crime.

Then, in a tone that was both confused and slightly mortified, he said, “Oh. Uh. Yeah. That’s me.”

You squinted at him, taking in the full picture—the messy hair, the slightly wrinkled hoodie, the expression of someone who had absolutely not been expecting to relive his Halloween mistakes today. Then, you turned to Yunjin.

“You live with the Ninja Turtle guy?”

Yunjin, who had been watching this interaction unfold with barely concealed amusement, grinned. “I guess.”

Heeseung cleared his throat, regaining some of his composure. “For the record, my name is Heeseung.”

“Really?” you said, nodding slowly. “I thought your name was Donatello”

He looked mildly offended. “Excuse me?”

“Well,” you said, gesturing vaguely, “I feel like I at least deserve to know which turtle was responsible for my suffering. I thought it was Donatello.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes but played along. “Leonardo. Sunghoon was Raphael, Beomgyu was Michelangelo, and Jake was Donatello.”

You considered this for a second, then turned back to Yunjin. “I can’t believe you live with Leonardo.”

Yunjin, deadpan, replied, “Trust me, I can’t either.”

And that was the second collision.

You didn’t know it then, but this was how it would always be with Heeseung—dramatic entrances, loud declarations, and an energy that burst into the room like an unexpected firework. You had met him twice now, and both times, he had been the human embodiment of chaos. But for some reason, that chaos felt a little less like a background character now. And after that day, Heeseung stopped being just Yunjin’s roommate.

You started seeing him everywhere. Not because you were seeking him out—not at first, anyway—but because he had a tendency to appear in your life like some kind of recurring side character in a sitcom. You’d be minding your own business in Yunjin’s apartment, and he’d burst through the door, ranting about how someone stole his favorite study spot in the library. You’d go to grab coffee before class, and there he’d be, dramatically arguing with the barista about why oat milk was a scam. He just kept showing up, like the universe had decided that, for better or worse, he was part of your story now.

And then, you found out you had a class together. It wasn’t a real class. Not in the sense that it required effort or critical thinking. It was one of those ridiculous elective courses that the university offered purely to fill up credit requirements—something slapped onto the catalog as an afterthought, designed for students who were too lazy or too exhausted to take anything serious.

You had signed up for it without even reading the description, choosing it solely because it fit into your schedule and had a reputation for being an easy A. Heeseung, apparently, had done the same.

That was how the two of you ended up in "The Philosophy of Memes and Internet Culture."

The class was exactly as stupid as it sounded. The professor was a guy in his late 40s who still said things like “epic fail” unironically. The syllabus included assignments like “analyzing the impact of Vine on modern humor” and “writing a 500-word essay on the evolution of the Rickroll.” It was the kind of class that could only exist in a university desperate to appear progressive and relevant, and you were 90% sure the school administration had no idea it was happening.

It was, in short, the best class either of you had ever taken.

You and Heeseung immediately became the worst students in the room. Not because you weren’t paying attention, but because you were paying attention too much—finding everything so absurdly hilarious that neither of you could take it seriously. Every lecture felt like a fever dream. Every assignment was an excuse to see how much nonsense you could get away with before the professor caught on.

And then, of course, came the group project. It was a simple assignment: pick a meme, trace its origins, and present its cultural impact. Most people chose something predictable—Doge, Grumpy Cat, Distracted Boyfriend.

You and Heeseung, however, chose Shrek. More specifically, you chose Shrek’s cultural legacy as an ironic meme figure.

It was supposed to be a joke. A way to entertain yourselves in a class that was already ridiculous. But the further you got into your research, the more serious it became.

Somewhere along the way, you and Heeseung stopped just pretending to care and actually started caring. You spent hours deep-diving into obscure Shrek forums, analyzing the rise of “Shrek is Love, Shrek is Life” discourse, debating whether or not the character’s internet resurgence was fueled by genuine appreciation or detached irony. You became scholars of the Shrek Renaissance.

The night before your presentation, you were in Yunjin’s apartment, sitting on the floor with your laptops open, surrounded by a mess of half-empty snack bags and unfinished slides. The clock blinked 2:37 AM, and neither of you had any business still being awake.

Heeseung was slouched against the couch, staring at his screen with the expression of a man who had seen too much. “I think I know too much about Shrek,” he said, voice hollow.

You let out a dramatic sigh, rubbing your temples. “Yeah. We flew too close to the sun on this one.” There was a beat of silence.

Then, Heeseung slowly turned his laptop around, revealing a slide titled ‘Shrek and the Post-Ironic Era of Internet Humor: A Critical Analysis.’ And for some reason, that was it. That was the moment you broke.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the fact that you had just spent the past three hours watching deep-fried Shrek memes with Gregorian chants in the background. Maybe it was just the sheer, stupid absurdity of the entire situation. But suddenly, you were laughing.

Not just laughing—cackling. The kind of breathless, full-body laughter that made your stomach hurt. That made you feel like you were going to die right there on Yunjin’s living room floor, lost to the void of Shrek academia.

And Heeseung—poor, equally sleep-deprived Heeseung—was right there with you. He doubled over, gasping for air, his head nearly colliding with your shoulder as he choked out, “We’re never recovering from this.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You turned to him, trying to catch your breath, and found him already looking at you. His eyes were crinkled at the edges, his cheeks flushed from laughter, his whole body still shaking slightly from the aftermath. And for a moment—just a moment—you thought, this is nice.

Not just the laughing. Not just the inside jokes and the chaos.

But him.

You pushed the thought away before it could settle.

Because, at the end of the day, Heeseung was your friend. Your dumbass friend who still had green body paint under his fingernails two weeks after Halloween. Who got irrationally angry at mobile game ads. Who had just spent the last six hours dissecting Shrek memes with you like it was a matter of academic integrity.

And that was all he was.

Right?

Heeseung, on the other hand, wasn’t sure when it started. That feeling.

That weird, stupid, barely-there feeling. The one that sat quietly in the back of his mind, like a notification he refused to check. Like a waiting room. A vague, almost imperceptible awareness that he enjoyed your company a little too much—that your laugh had started to feel like background music in his life, something he didn’t know he needed until it was gone.

Not that it meant anything. Obviously.

He liked lots of people. He was a social guy. He made friends easily, enjoyed being around them, and—despite Yunjin’s many accusations—was not emotionally repressed. He just… liked the things you liked. That was normal.

It was normal that he started watching that terrible reality show you always talked about, even though he swore he hated it. It was normal that he got a random impulse to buy you a weirdly specific snack he saw at the store because “it just screamed your vibe.” It was normal that he sent you voice notes every time he saw something even remotely related to Shrek, even months after your presentation.

That was just friendship. Which was why, as a friend, he invited you to an arcade.

It was one of those places that felt like it had been stuck in time since the 90s—neon lights, sticky floors, a vague smell of burnt popcorn in the air. The kind of place that probably hadn’t passed a health inspection in years, but had an undeniable charm to it. You were too good at skee-ball.

It was honestly annoying. Heeseung had challenged you three times, and each time, you had obliterated him without breaking a sweat. It wasn’t even close. “You’re cheating,” he accused, arms crossed as he watched you land another perfect shot.

You grinned, tossing the last ball effortlessly. “You’re just mad because you suck.”

“I don’t suck,” he argued. “This game is just—rigged. The physics are all off.”

“Oh my god. Did you just say ‘the physics are off’ in a skee-ball game?”

“Yes,” he said, completely serious. “I am a man of logic and reason.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Sure. Okay. Man of logic and reason. If you’re so smart, let’s see how well you do at Dance Dance Revolution.”

Heeseung froze. “I—uh—what?”

“Come on,” you said, already dragging him toward the machine. “Let’s see those skills.”

Here was the thing about Heeseung: he was good at a lot of things. He could play video games for hours without blinking. He could talk his way out of almost any bad situation. He could even recite the entire “All Star” lyrics from memory.

But he could not dance. At all. And that became painfully clear the second the game started.

Heeseung missed every step. Every single one. While you moved effortlessly, barely even glancing at the screen, he was flailing. His feet weren’t in sync with his brain. His arms kept jerking awkwardly, and he could hear you laughing beside him, and somehow, that made it worse.

By the time the game ended, Heeseung was defeated. He doubled over, hands on his knees, gasping dramatically. “I think I died,” he announced.

You patted his back. “You fought bravely.”

He looked up at you then, about to retort, but the words got lost somewhere in his throat. Because you were smiling at him—really smiling. Your eyes were crinkled at the edges, your face still flushed from laughing. The neon lights flickered against your skin, casting everything in shades of blue and pink, making you look—

Well. Heeseung swallowed. That weird, stupid, barely-there feeling? Yeah. It was there.

But you were just his friend.

So, when Beomgyu casually mentioned, in the most offhanded, unbothered way possible, that he thought you were cute, Heeseung should’ve just let it go. But he didn’t.

“You think she’s what?”

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “Cute. You know, in a hot way.”

Heeseung felt something in his chest twist. It was irrational. Objectively, completely irrational. Because, yeah, you were cute. That wasn’t news to him. He had eyes. He was aware. He had just… never thought about the fact that other people might also be aware.

Heeseung almost laughed. It was a knee-jerk reaction, the kind of dry, disbelieving scoff that came when someone said something so absurd it didn’t even process at first. But then, Beomgyu kept talking.

“I was thinking of asking her out.”

And Heeseung felt it. That twist, low and tight, in the pit of his stomach.

He blinked at Beomgyu, waiting for the usual rush of banter to kick in, for the easy teasing to roll off his tongue. But for some reason, his mouth felt dry. Beomgyu liked you. Beomgyu thought you were cute. Beomgyu wanted to date you.

It wasn’t that wild of a concept. People liked you all the time. You were funny and charming in that effortlessly chaotic way, the kind of person who made friends in the span of a single conversation. It made sense that Beomgyu, out of all people, would look at you and go, Yeah, she’s my type.

And it wasn’t like Heeseung had a say in the matter. So he shrugged, leaning back against the couch, and said, “Yeah, good for you, man. Good for you”

And that should’ve been the end of it. Except. Beomgyu actually did ask you out. And the worst part? You said yes.

At first, Heeseung didn’t think much of it. He was fine. It was fine.

So what if you had gone out with Beomgyu last Friday and came back looking kind of flushed, kind of happy? So what if, the next time he saw you, you had that soft, secretive look in your eyes, the one that said you were thinking about something that made your stomach twist in the good way?

So what. You weren’t dating. You weren’t his. And he sure as hell wasn’t jealous. Except then it wasn’t just one date. Because you went out again. And again. And again. And suddenly, Beomgyu wasn’t just one of Heeseung’s friends anymore—he was the guy you were seeing. And that, for some reason, was so much worse.

The thing about Beomgyu was that he was annoying. Like, Heeseung had always known this, but now, for the first time in his life, it felt personal. “Dude,” Beomgyu groaned, stretching his arms behind his head as they sat in their usual spot in the campus lounge. “Y/N is so fun, bro. Like, actually so fun.”

Heeseung clenched his jaw. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. She’s, like… different.” Heeseung made a face. “No, I’m serious,” Beomgyu whined. “She’s not like other girls.”

I’m gonna walk into traffic, Heeseung thought.

“No, like—” Beomgyu hesitated, looking off into the distance. “She’s just cool, you know?”

And Heeseung didn’t know why that pissed him off. Maybe because he knew that already. He had always known that. He had known it before Beomgyu, before any of these dates, before whatever the hell this was.

He had known it since the night he met you. Since the moment you called him Donatello when he was, in fact, Leonardo. Since the first time you said his name with that teasing edge, like you were permanently in on some joke he didn’t even realize he was making.

So, yeah. Maybe he didn’t like hearing Beomgyu say it like he had discovered it first.

But whatever. Heeseung let it go. Because it wasn’t like this was going to last forever. And then, it didn’t.

One day, you walked into Yunjin’s apartment, kicked your shoes off in a way that sent one flying across the room, and threw yourself onto the couch with all the weight of someone carrying a great and terrible burden.

Heeseung, sitting on the floor, scrolled mindlessly through his phone, pretending he hadn’t immediately noticed you. But then, you sighed. A deep, world-weary, existentially exhausted sigh.

Yunjin looked up from where she was painting her nails. “Jesus,” she muttered. “What.”

You groaned, stuffing your face into a pillow. “I think I’m over it.”

Heeseung’s thumb froze mid-scroll. Casual. He had to be casual. So, without looking up, he mumbled, “Over what?”

Another dramatic sigh. You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to life itself. “Beomgyu.”

Heeseung blinked. Okay.

Yunjin, who had been the biggest advocate of this whole thing, frowned. “Wait, what do you mean? You were literally texting him heart emojis yesterday.”

“I don’t know.” You stretched out your legs like the weight of your own existence was exhausting you. “I just… don’t feel like it anymore.”

Yunjin gave you a look. “Like, what? He’s a hobby you got bored of?”

“No! It’s just—” You hesitated, pressing your lips together. “Like, I liked the idea of him. And at first, it was fun. But then, the more time we spent together, the more I realized… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

You exhaled, shutting your eyes. “I feel like I was trying to make myself like him the way I was supposed to. But it just wasn’t working.”

And that was when Heeseung’s grip on his phone tightened. He forced himself to keep his face neutral, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you. “The way you were supposed to?”

You turned your head towards him. “Yeah. Like, Beomgyu is great, okay? He’s funny, and he’s cute, and he’s nice, and I should like him.” You paused, expression softening. “But every time he kissed me, I just…”

You trailed off, lost in thought. Heeseung swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He wasn’t sure why.

Yunjin made a gagging noise. “Okay, ew. Please don’t get all sentimental about kissing Beomgyu on my couch.”

You laughed, pushing her half-heartedly with your foot. “I’m just saying—it’s not clicking. You ever get that? Like, you try to like someone, but no matter how much you do, it just doesn’t fit?”

And the way you looked at Heeseung when you asked that—like you expected him to understand—made something in his chest tighten. Because yeah. He knew exactly what that felt like. He just… couldn’t say it.

So he swallowed, rolling his shoulders back, and forced a small smirk. “Damn,” he said, voice light. “Tough loss for Beomgyu.”

You let out a soft huff of laughter. “Yeah.” Then, a pause. “Guess I’m single again.”

Something in Heeseung’s chest lurched. But he just nodded, keeping his expression neutral, easy, unfazed. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like it didn’t change everything.

A few weeks later, Heeseung showed up at your apartment. It was raining that day.

Not in a dramatic, cinematic way, but in that soft, half-hearted drizzle that made everything look just a little bit duller. The sky was gray, the streets were damp, and Heeseung had definitely stepped into at least two puddles on his way up to your place.

Which, in his opinion, was already way too much effort just to fix your stupid kitchen cabinet.

“Okay, I just wanna say,” he announced as soon as you let him in, dragging his slightly-wet socks across your floor, “I don’t know how the hell you managed to completely detach a cabinet door, but honestly? I’m kind of impressed.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping aside to let him in. “Are you gonna help me or are you gonna make fun of me?”

“Oh, I’m definitely gonna make fun of you.” He grinned, toeing off his shoes before making his way to your kitchen. “But I’ll fix it after.”

You followed behind him, crossing your arms as you watched him inspect the broken cabinet. It wasn’t like you had meant to break it. You had simply been existing in your own kitchen, minding your own business, when the handle somehow got caught on the sleeve of your hoodie—one tug too strong, and suddenly the door was in your hands instead of on its hinges.

“I literally don’t understand how this happened,” Heeseung muttered, crouching down to assess the damage.

“Okay, handyman,” you shot back. “Can you fix it or not?”

Heeseung snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, let me just—” He held out a hand. “Pass me my phone.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“My hands are kinda full,” he said, nodding towards the cabinet door that he was currently balancing on one knee. “Look up how to fix this real quick.”

You huffed but grabbed his phone from the counter, unlocking it without thinking as you leaned against the kitchen island. You didn’t love the idea of looking up a YouTube tutorial like some kind of DIY newbie, but considering that Heeseung was already physically here fixing your problem for you, you figured you could at least meet him halfway.

So, with one hand holding his phone, you typed "how to reattach cabinet door" into the search bar—

And then, your thumb froze. Because right there, at the top of the screen, was a notification. A message. From Chaewon. Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know who Chaewon was. Of course, you did. You weren’t stupid. Chaewon was his ex.

The one he never really talked about. The one who had, at one point, been a name you’d only heard in passing, just a piece of his past that you had no real reason to care about. Except… you did.

Because now, here she was. On his screen. Texting him. And suddenly, you felt fucking ridiculous. Because why were you even reacting like this? It wasn’t like he was your boyfriend. It wasn’t like he owed you an explanation. So, then… why did it feel like this?

You forced yourself to look away from the message, pressing the YouTube link on the screen as if nothing had happened. But something had. Because when Heeseung glanced at you, waiting for your next words, you just… couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

“Uh.” You cleared your throat, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your voice didn’t sound normal. “It says you need a screwdriver.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow at your abrupt shift in tone, but he didn’t question it. “Okay,” he said slowly, getting up to grab one from his bag.

You took the moment to shove his phone back onto the counter, clenching your jaw as you crossed your arms tighter over your chest. It was fine. You were fine.

“Hey.” His voice cut through the air, slightly muffled as he rummaged through his bag. “Can you hold this while I—”

“No, it’s fine.” The words came out too fast, too stiff.

And Heeseung noticed. He glanced at you, pausing with the screwdriver halfway in his grip. “You good?”

You forced out a laugh. “Yeah. Why?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, tilting his head. “You just got all weird all of a sudden.”

“I didn’t.”

“You definitely did.”

You exhaled sharply, schooling your expression into something that wasn’t betrayal or insecurity or whatever dumb thing was currently buzzing inside your head. “I’m just tired.”

It wasn’t a total lie. Heeseung didn’t look fully convinced, but he didn’t push. He just hummed under his breath, turning back to the cabinet as he started working again.

And maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was irrational. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The notification. The name. The way your stomach had twisted on instinct before you even had a chance to tell yourself it didn’t matter.

Because maybe… Maybe it did.

The next time you’re at Yunjin’s apartment, Heeseung isn’t there.

It’s not intentional, not entirely. Maybe there’s a small, petty part of you that’s relieved when Yunjin mentions he’s out, like the universe decided to grant you a break from the exhausting push and pull of whatever this thing is between you. But mostly, you’re just here because you always are.

There’s an old episode of some dating reality show playing in the background, and Yunjin barely glances at it as she paints her toenails a shade of red so deep it’s almost brown. You pick at the hem of your sleeve, casual, too casual, before finally asking, “Does Heeseung still see Chaewon?”

Yunjin snorts, like it’s the dumbest thing she’s heard all day. “God, I hope not.”

Something in your stomach untwists just slightly, but you don’t let the relief settle. You just raise an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “What happened with them, anyway?”

Yunjin pauses, her brush hovering mid-air. She gives you a look. The kind that says she sees through you. The kind that makes your skin prickle with the discomfort of being known. But then she sighs, leans back against the couch, and says, “They burned out.”

You blink. “That’s it?”

Yunjin tilts her head. “You ever leave a candle burning too long?” She dips the brush back into the bottle, shaking her head. “They were good until they weren’t. And when they weren’t, it was obvious. Chaewon got tired of waiting for him to catch up.”

You frown. “Catch up?”

Yunjin shrugs. “She loved him first. And she wanted him to love her back just as fast, just as much. But Heeseung…” She sighs, blowing lightly on her nails. “Heeseung takes his time. He doesn’t fall in love all at once, he kind of… eases into it. Like the dumbass that he is.”

Your chest tightens.

Because you think about the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. About the way he always notices when you’re cold before you even say anything. And then you think about the way he doesn’t say anything. About the way he’s always on the edge of something, always almost.

Yunjin is watching you. You can feel it. And you know, you just know, she’s about to say something that’s going to ruin you.

So you get up, stretch your arms above your head like you can shake the weight of this conversation off your skin. “Right. Well. That was fun. Thanks for the gossip.”

Yunjin smirks. “You’re so fucking obvious.” You ignore her, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table. But before you can shove it in your mouth, she says, “Heeseung’s not stupid, you know. He just doesn’t like to move until he’s sure.”

You pause. And because you’re you, and because this is Heeseung, and because everything about this whole thing is a goddamn waiting game— You pretend you don’t hear her.

And then it’s 2:14 a.m. when your phone buzzes.

You’re half-asleep, curled up in bed, the glow of your screen slicing through the darkness. You squint at it, groggy, before reading the message.

heeseung: you awake? heeseung: also. do u want mcdonalds

You blink. Then again. You type out a response with fingers that still feel half-dead from sleep.

you: is that even a question heeseung: valid. be outside in 10

And just like that, you’re stepping into your slides, and slipping out the door like this is the most normal thing in the world. Because with Heeseung, it kind of is.

The streetlights cast long, tired shadows across the pavement, and the air is that weird mix of crisp and stale that only exists at this hour, like the city itself is pausing, caught between the last breath of night and the first inhale of morning.

Heeseung’s car rolls up exactly nine minutes later, music already playing low through the speakers. When you slide into the passenger seat, he barely even looks at you before reaching into the back and tossing you his hoodie.

“You’re gonna get cold,” he says simply.

You huff, but you put it on. It smells like him—faint detergent, something vaguely woody, and the unmistakable scent of McDonald’s fries from however many late-night runs have preceded this one.

Heeseung pulls out onto the street, the familiar hum of the engine settling between you. He’s got one hand lazily resting on the steering wheel, and there’s a soft shadow of exhaustion under his eyes, but he still looks… at ease.

It’s quiet for a while. Comfortable. The kind of silence that doesn’t feel like it needs filling.

Then, as he turns onto the main road, he says, “You ever think about how weird time is?”

You glance at him. “That’s an insane way to start a conversation.”

“I’m serious,” he laughs, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “Like, right now. It’s 2:30 a.m. for us, but somewhere else, it’s a normal afternoon. Someone’s getting lunch, someone’s going to work. And here we are, about to eat McNuggets in a parking lot.”

You hum. “I feel like this is your way of convincing me that time isn’t real.”

He nods solemnly. “Nothing is real.”

“Except McNuggets.”

“Exactly.”

A beat passes, the soft rumble of the tires against the road the only sound for a moment. Then, quieter, more thoughtful, Heeseung asks, “Where do you think you’ll be in a year?”

The question catches you off guard. You tilt your head, thinking. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I mean, I have plans, but… life never really goes how you expect it to, does it?”

Heeseung exhales a small laugh. “No. It really doesn’t.”

You hesitate before adding, “Where do you think you’ll be?”

He takes a moment. His grip on the steering wheel tightens just slightly, like he’s holding onto the words before letting them go. “I don’t know either.” He pauses, then glances at you with something unreadable in his eyes. “I just hope I’m somewhere that still feels like home.”

You feel something shift. A small, almost imperceptible weight settling between the two of you.

And maybe it’s the hour. Maybe it’s the fact that your brain isn’t fully awake yet. Or maybe it’s just him—this version of Heeseung that only exists at 2:30 a.m., the one who speaks in half-truths and unspoken things. But you suddenly feel like you understand exactly what he means.

The McDonald’s drive-thru is basically empty when you pull in. The girl at the window looks like she hates her job, and Heeseung, being Heeseung, makes it his personal mission to get her to smile.

“Are McFlurries still a scam?” he asks solemnly.

The girl raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You mean, is the machine broken?”

“Yeah.”

“Obviously.”

Heeseung sighs. “I knew it. A tragedy, really.”

Her lips twitch—just barely—but he sees it. He shoots you a triumphant look as he pulls forward.

With the food secured, he parks in a near-empty lot. There’s something about eating fast food in a car past midnight that makes it taste ten times better—something about the way the city is so still, like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you and the glow of the dashboard lights.

For a while, you just eat in silence, the occasional rustle of a fry bag or the quiet click of a sauce container the only noise. Then Heeseung says, “If you could live in any movie, which one would it be?”

You think for a moment. “Probably something stupid and fun. Like… a rom-com where everything works out in the end.”

Heeseung snorts. “Yeah? You want to be the main character that badly?”

“Obviously.”

He grins, dipping a fry into his BBQ sauce. “You’d be the chaotic best friend, though.”

You throw a fry at him. He catches it in his mouth.

“What about you?” you ask, popping a nugget into your mouth.

Heeseung leans back against the seat, thinking. “I don’t know. Something small. Quiet. One of those movies where nothing really happens, but it still makes you feel something.”

You tilt your head. “Like a waiting room.”

Heeseung turns to you. “What?”

“A waiting room,” you say, like it’s obvious. “That’s what those movies feel like. Like something is about to happen, but you don’t know what, and maybe it’s okay if nothing does.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Then he smiles. And it’s not his usual grin, not the teasing, lopsided smirk. It’s something smaller, softer. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Like a waiting room.”

Neither of you say anything after that. The city hums in the background, neon lights bleeding into the darkness, the last remnants of fries sitting forgotten between you.

And then, a party. Not the kind you remember from three years ago, not the one where you met a boy covered in green body paint who changed your life without even meaning to. But still, a party. The music is just as loud, the air just as thick with heat and laughter, the night just as full of things waiting to happen.

You’re not sure why you came. Yunjin had begged, of course, had stood in your doorway with her most dramatic expression, wailing about how you never do anything fun anymore. But even then, you could have said no. You could have curled up in your apartment, wrapped yourself in something soft and safe, ignored the way your stomach flipped when you thought, what if Heeseung is there?

But you didn’t.

And now, you’re here, standing in the middle of someone’s too-small living room, holding a lukewarm drink, feeling like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit. And then, you hear your name.

It cuts through the music, through the laughter, through the static in your brain. It pulls you toward the kitchen, toward the familiar lilt of a voice you know better than your own. And there he is. Heeseung.

Standing in front of the fridge, cracking open a beer, wearing a faded t-shirt and jeans that hang just right. His hair is a little messy, his eyes a little bright, and when he sees you, he grins—that same lopsided, teasing, dangerous smile.

"Look who finally decided to show up," he says, raising his drink in a mock toast.

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of whatever’s in your cup. "Don’t make a big deal out of it."

Heeseung hums, leaning against the counter. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

But he’s looking at you like it is a big deal. Like maybe he’s been waiting for you all night. Like maybe he always is.

Hours pass, the party moves around you—people spilling in and out of rooms, music shifting from one song to the next—but you and Heeseung stay where you are, orbiting around each other.

At some point, someone suggests a game. Cards, or maybe something more ridiculous—something designed to make people confess things they wouldn’t say otherwise. You should say no. You should step away before you find yourself caught in something you can’t get out of.

But you don’t. You sit next to Heeseung on the floor, close enough that your knees touch. The game starts, questions fly, people laugh. And then—

Jake turns to you. "Alright, Y/N. Who was your first college crush?"

You blink. "What?"

The group whoops in unison. Jungwon throws an arm around your shoulder. "Come on, don’t be shy."

Your throat goes dry. Your eyes flicker to Heeseung, just for a second, but it’s enough. His smirk twitches—just barely, just enough to be noticeable—and suddenly, you know you have to get out of this.

You clear your throat, reaching for your drink. "I think I’ve blocked it out," you lie.

A chorus of boos erupts, but the game moves on. The moment passes. But beside you, Heeseung is watching you, his fingers tapping against his knee, like he’s putting something together. You pretend not to notice.

Later, when the party has blurred into something soft and distant, when most people are drunk or half-asleep, when the night has stretched itself out into something too fragile to hold forever, Heeseung finds you on the balcony.

You’re leaning against the railing, breathing in the cool air, staring out at the city lights. "You hiding from me?"

You don’t turn around. "You think everything’s about you, don’t you?"

He laughs—soft, amused, something warm threading through the sound. "It usually is."

You roll your eyes, but then he’s beside you, resting his forearms on the railing, close enough that you can feel the heat of him even through the night air.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The music inside is muffled now, the party nothing more than background noise. The city stretches out before you, endless and alive, full of people who have no idea that this moment is happening.

And then, quietly, Heeseung asks, "You really don’t remember your first college crush?"

Your fingers tighten slightly around the railing. You exhale. "I remember."

A pause. "Yeah?"

You glance at him. He’s watching you, expression unreadable, something deep and knowing in his eyes. You swallow. "Yeah."

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, and for a second, you think—Is he going to ask? Does he already know? But he doesn’t.

He just nods, looking back at the skyline, and says, "Me too."

And somehow, that’s worse. Because you think—no, you know—that he’s not talking about some early college memory, some long-forgotten infatuation.

He’s talking about you.

And for the first time, you wonder if this thing between you—this waiting, this almost, this three years of something unspoken—has been more obvious than you thought. You wonder if maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one waiting.

One month later. The thing about time is that it moves whether you’re ready or not. It stretches, it folds, it carries you forward even when you feel like you’re standing still.

And ever since the party, things with Heeseung have been… different. Not in an obvious way. Not in the way that people would notice, not in the way that Yunjin would tease you about over breakfast. But in the small things.

In the way his eyes linger just a little too long. In the way your stomach flips when he says your name. In the way every conversation feels like it’s balancing on the edge of something you can’t name.

Because you and Heeseung have always been close, always been drawn together like something written into the universe itself. But now? Now, it feels different. Like someone turned up the volume on something you didn’t even realize was playing in the background.

And the worst part? Neither of you are talking about it.

Instead, you’re doing what you do best—pretending. Pretending that nothing is different, that things are still light and easy, that three years of something unspoken aren’t finally starting to spill over the edges.

Until one day, when you’re sitting on Yunjin’s couch, your phone rings. It’s your mother. You hesitate before answering, already bracing yourself for whatever she’s about to say.

And the moment you put your phone down, you groan, collapsing onto the couch, like the weight of the conversation is physically pressing down on you. Heeseung and Yunjin are both looking at you expectantly, their attention fully on you in a way that makes you regret opening your mouth at all. But it’s too late now, so you just exhale, pressing your fingers against your temples before muttering, "My mom called."

Yunjin snorts. "Yeah, we got that much. What did she want?"

You roll your eyes, but the annoyance in your chest is directed at yourself more than anything else. "There’s a wedding. My cousin’s. Next weekend."

Heeseung, who had been absentmindedly rolling a bottle cap between his fingers, finally glances up, eyes curious. "You going?"

"Yeah." You sigh again. "Didn’t really have a choice. If I said no, she would’ve found a way to guilt-trip me into oblivion."

Yunjin grins knowingly. "Classic mom move."

You hum in agreement, then hesitate, picking at the hem of your sleeve. "And then she made it weird," you mutter.

Heeseung raises an eyebrow, shifting slightly on the couch so he’s facing you more fully. "How weird?"

You pause for a second, then groan, throwing your head back. "She brought up the fact that I’ve never brought a boyfriend to anything."

Yunjin cackles. She actually leans forward, hands on her knees, cackling. "Oh my God," she wheezes. "That’s so embarrassing for you."

You glare. "Thank you, Yunjin, for your endless support."

But Heeseung doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tease. He just tilts his head, watching you with an unreadable expression. "She said that?"

You nod, rubbing your temples. "Yeah. She was all, ‘You can bring someone, you know,’ and then just immediately went for the ‘You’ve never brought a boyfriend to anything,’ like I don’t already know that."

Yunjin wipes a fake tear from her eye, still far too entertained. "Damn. She really called you out like that."

"Okay," you deadpan, "I think we’ve established that this is humiliating for me. Can we move on?"

But Yunjin grins, her eyes practically glowing with mischief, and that’s when you know you should have never said anything at all. "Well," she says, stretching out the word, "if it bothers you that much… you could always bring Heeseung."

Silence.

You feel it immediately—the way the air shifts, the way your stomach twists, the way your breath catches for just a second too long. You don’t look at Heeseung. You can’t.

Instead, you scoff, shoving her shoulder. "Oh my God, shut up."

"I’m serious!" she laughs. "It makes sense, doesn’t it? You need a date. Heeseung’s around."

Heeseung is silent. And that—that’s what makes your chest tighten. Because Heeseung is never silent.

You finally force yourself to glance at him, just a flicker, just to see how he’s reacting to this. And when you do, you find him already looking at you—his expression unreadable, his fingers stilling where they had been absently playing with the bottle cap.

Something tightens in your throat. Because it’s one thing to laugh it off. It’s one thing to pretend this isn’t something charged, something delicate, something that feels like standing on the edge of something too big to name.

But Heeseung isn’t laughing.

When you open the door on the wedding day, Heeseung is already leaning against his car, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks, looking entirely too good for someone who is supposed to be doing you a favor. His hair is neat but still has that slight, careless tousle to it, his sleeves are pushed up just enough to reveal his forearms, and his black dress shirt is criminally well-fitted.

You try very hard not to notice any of that. But Heeseung is looking at you like you just stopped time.

It’s not obvious—he doesn’t say anything right away, doesn’t let his jaw drop like some kind of movie cliché—but his fingers twitch slightly where they’re resting in his pockets, and his throat bobs as he swallows. His eyes move over you in a way that isn’t just admiration but something deeper, something heavier, something that makes your chest feel too tight.

You pretend not to notice that, either. Instead, you lift an eyebrow, shifting your weight onto one foot. "You gonna open the door for me, or are you just gonna stand there?"

Heeseung blinks, snapping out of it. He clears his throat, pushing off the car, his usual smirk creeping back into place. "Right, yeah. My bad."

You roll your eyes, but your face feels warm anyway. The ride starts out easy. The hum of the road fills the space between you, the occasional comment about the directions or a song playing on the radio breaking the silence.

"You, uh," Heeseung starts, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "You sure your mom’s gonna be cool with me coming?"

You blink. "What? Yeah, of course. I already told her."

He raises an eyebrow. "You told her?"

"Yeah," you say, adjusting the hem of your dress. "I mean, I talk about you all the time, so it’s not like it’s weird or anything."

Silence. You don’t notice it at first, but when you glance over, Heeseung is staring straight ahead, gripping the wheel a little tighter than before.

And the thing is—Heeseung is not someone who gets flustered easily. He doesn’t trip over his words, doesn’t get all weird when people talk about him. But now, he’s sitting there, completely silent, like his brain just blue-screened.

Because you talk about him all the time. To your mom. His ears burn at the thought.

Because it’s one thing to be close. It’s one thing to be your best friend, to be the person you go to for late-night McDonald’s runs and life-altering conversations on balconies. But it’s another thing entirely to know that he exists in your life even when he’s not there.

That when you’re on the phone with your mom, when you’re recounting your day, when you’re talking about the people who matter—he’s there. And it’s so stupid how much that does to him.

He coughs, forcing himself to sound normal. "Oh. Cool. Yeah. That’s cool."

You snort. "I told her you’re my friend, and that’s it."

Heeseung hums, tapping his fingers on the wheel again. "Yeah. Right."

But for some reason, the word friend doesn’t sit right in his mouth.

The wedding is beautiful. Not in the over-the-top, fairytale kind of way, but in the way that feels real. The ceremony is held outdoors, the late afternoon light draping everything in gold, the air carrying the soft hum of laughter and clinking glasses. There are flowers on every table, music drifting lazily through the air, and a warmth that lingers beneath the chatter of distant relatives catching up.

And you almost forget that you’re here with Heeseung. Almost. Except—you can feel him.

You can feel him next to you at the table, the warmth of his presence settling into your skin. You can feel the way his hand brushes against yours when he reaches for something, the way his eyes flicker toward you when he hears you laugh.

And the worst part is that he looks good as hell.

It’s almost unfair, the way he carries himself. The way his sleeves are still rolled up, the way his shirt is slightly undone at the collar, the way he leans back in his chair, legs stretched out, watching everything unfold like he belongs here.

And for the first time in a long time you don’t know where you stand with him.

Because this is Heeseung. The boy who sends you Shrek memes at 2 a.m. The boy who once argued with a barista about oat milk for a full five minutes. The boy who makes you laugh until you can’t breathe.

But right now? Right now, he’s something else, too. Something that makes your stomach flip. Something that makes you forget how to breathe.

The music shifts. It’s not immediate—not some grand, dramatic moment where the world slows down—but you feel it.

The moment the first notes of the song drift through the air, you feel it in your chest. Like something tightening. Like something pulling at a thread you don’t want to unravel. Because you know this song. Of course you know this song. And so does he.

You don’t even have to look at Heeseung to know he recognizes it too. That he knows exactly what’s playing, that he knows how much you love her, that he knows you’ve played this song before—in his car, in your apartment, in the quiet spaces between friendship and something else.

You know he knows. And yet, he still turns to you, his voice a low murmur beneath the hum of conversation. “Phoebe Bridgers,” he says.

You swallow. “Yeah.” Heeseung hums, watching you carefully. His fingers drum lightly against the table, slow and steady, in time with the beat of the song. Then, after a second—

"You should dance with me."

You blink. You blink again. Your stomach twists. “What?”

Heeseung shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t mean anything. “You love this song.”

Which—okay. That’s true. But this is not a song you dance to. This is a song you listen to alone, in your room, in the quiet, when it’s too late and you’re too restless and you’re thinking about things you shouldn’t be thinking about.

This is not a wedding song. And yet, Heeseung is still looking at you like that, like this is a dare, like he’s waiting for you to say no, to call him out, to pull away before it’s too late.

And yet, his hand is outstretched, waiting, patient, warm. And yet— You take it. You don’t think, you just do it, just let yourself be pulled. And Heeseung holds you like he’s afraid to press too hard.

One hand on your waist. The other clasping yours loosely, like he’s letting you decide how close to be. Like he’s still waiting for you to laugh and push him away and say, ‘This is so stupid’.

But you don’t. You just breathe. You just exist here, in this moment, with him.

If you were a waiting room, I would never see a doctor I would sit there with my first-aid kit and bleed

Your throat tightens. Because God, this song.

Because you know every lyric by heart, because you know what it means, because there’s something about it that always makes you feel like you’re standing in the middle of something you’ll never quite have.

And now, here you are, dancing to it with him.

Heeseung exhales softly, tilting his head toward you. “You ever think about that?”

You blink. “Think about what?”

His fingers twitch slightly against your waist. “How music reminds you of people.”

Your stomach flips. Because of course you do. Of course, you think about it. Of course, this song, this moment, this whole damn night is going to be tied to him now, forever, no matter what happens after.

You nod. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “I think about it.”

Heeseung hums, like that makes sense. Like he already knew what you were going to say. Then—

"Does this song remind you of me?"

Your breath catches. The air between you thickens.

Because that shouldn’t be a question. Because he already knows the answer. Because you’re standing here with him, swaying to a song that makes your chest ache, and you know, you know he hears the lyrics just as clearly as you do.

I wanna be the broken love song that feeds your misery.

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to sound normal. “Maybe.”

His lips twitch. “Maybe?”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Heeseung laughs, soft, breathless. And God, you hate him.

You hate the way he makes everything feel like a game, like he’s always hovering right at the edge of something and waiting for you to push him over. You hate that it’s working.

And when broken bodies are washed ashore—who am I to ask for more?

You shiver. Because this is the part of the song that gets to you every time. Because who are you to ask for more?

Who are you to ask for something that maybe, just maybe, was never meant to be yours? But then Heeseung, of all people, says “I think this song reminds me of you, too.”

Your heart stops. You look at him, and he’s already looking at you, and suddenly this doesn’t feel like pretending anymore.

This doesn’t feel like something you can laugh off. Because Heeseung is serious.

Because his hand is still on your waist, his fingers still brushing against the fabric of your dress, his breath still warm against your cheek, and you don’t know how to go back from this. You don’t know if you want to.

Heeseung shifts slightly, his grip tightening for just a second. “You ever think about it?”

You blink. “Think about what?”

Heeseung hesitates, his eyes flickering over your face. His jaw tightens—just barely.

"Us."

Your stomach drops.

Because he says it so simply, like it’s nothing, like it’s a passing thought, like he hasn’t just destroyed your entire world in one syllable. Us. The word sits heavy in the air between you, impossible to ignore, impossible to pretend you didn’t hear.