Are’s fic recs

Months ago, you had heard about the gruesome passing of Dorcas Meadowes—you weren’t necessarily close friends with the girl, despite being sorted in the same House, but you would grieve where grief is due. 

YOUR FIRST LIFE came to an abrupt end at the age of nineteen, in a quaint coffeehouse where the owner knew your name and the baristas wore a sunlit grin everyday. That day, no one had expected for Death Eaters to wreak havoc in Diagon Alley—it could have been anticipated, if only the Ministry was competent during the onset of the war. But with the extensive list of Muggleborn and half-blood casualties after that incident,  Ministry officials had no choice but to restrict certain areas and propose the ‘lesser-breeds’ go into hiding for their safety. This alluded to many families; most condemned to be blood-traitors. 

(There had been fleeting whispers of her dying at the wand of Voldemort himself.) 

Then, you’d woken up in the four walls of your dormitory. The sensation of being ever-so cruelly struck by the killing curse burning in your chest—a scorching fire, yet bitterly cold all the same. You had sobbed wretchedly, curled up in a shuddering ball of tears until your roommates had called for the prefects. It got worse when they tried to console you—you felt everything still. The panicked cries and screams of the wounded ceaselessly echoing in your head.  You remembered the shards of glass sinking into your skin as you dove for cover, Unforgivables apathetically hurled in every direction. 

It was not until Madam Pomfrey administered a Calming Draught and an elixir for dreamless sleep that you finally went out like a light extinguished.

Your second life was relatively longer—you had spent it under the supervision of mind healers at St. Mungo’s, after all. For the next thirty years, you’d been confined to a ward on the fourth floor. (Later, you would share this space with a couple who went by the names of Alice and Frank Longbottom.) Regardless of the bleak walls, it was not so bad. The quilts were warm and the assigned matron, Madam Strout, was kind and fussed over you regularly. While the healers had done everything they could, you continued to struggle with discerning what appeared to be your ‘first life.’ (Which one was your true reality? The first? Or the second?) Eventually, all the poking and prodding wore you down. Your fingertips had bruised and brittled. You could not look over your shoulder in fear of finding a Death Eater staring back at you. Night terrors plagued your dreams. 

(Your parents who had always embraced you with loving arms—they could not look you in the eyes now.) 

Memories bled into newer memories as the days went by. You haunted the corridors with a plagued stare, quickly becoming a woeful canard amongst the residents of the hospital. ‘The hysteric fortune teller,’ they called you. You who spoke of wars and rebellion at the age of twelve—but whose words nobody cared for when Voldemort began rising to power. You who’d gone mad and overwrought. In the end, you believed everyone else. 

(See? It must have been all in your head—a wayward spell that unfortunately damaged your memories.)

You’re unsure of how you died, but perhaps, you were never even alive in the first place. There was only so much Draught of Peace you could take before you inevitably became a soulless, sleep-walking husk of a person.

You woke up in the Gryffindor tower once more—this time, you’re careful enough to smother your cries.   

If you flinched every time Marlene McKinnon coarsely bellowed Dorcas’s name in the middle of the school hallways, or if you averted your gaze at the sight of Alice Fortescue and Frank Longbottom’s intertwined hands—it was nobody’s business but your own. In this life, you kept your head down, breezing through your homework and exams—although you had seen no purpose in it, at this point. Each morning that you woke up, you wondered if this was a favor from the Gods, or a relentless hell so meticulously-crafted for you.  

(But what sins had you committed for them to spit on you as they had done? Surely, you would be granted peace after two deaths.)

You could not tell your family, nor could you ask anyone else in Hogwarts if they remembered fragments of their past lives—for the last time you had done that, you were met with vindictive laughter and cruel gazes. 

(At that moment, you had understood Xenophilius Lovegood a little bit more. You never knew how many sought to trample on the wallflowers of the castle.) 

And so, you’d kept your head down until the end of your time in the castle. You stayed away from Diagon Alley and surrounding areas, and you willed yourself to perfect the art of apparating—a skill you wished that you had learned earlier. 

On the first of November 1981, witches and wizards had come to celebrate the fall of Lord Voldemort—which ultimately meant the death of James and Lily Potter. (You could not come to their funeral the first time around, seeing as you were chained to your hospital mattress that day, inebriated on the third dreamless sleep potion administered to you.) 

Under the eyes of St. Jerome, you laid bouquets of white roses and dahlias on their tombstones. 

“Wherever your souls are now, I hope you find each other and unearth peace,” you whispered to the two names engraved on the slate, hands clasped together as you rested on the grass. The winds had been cold and biting, a testament to the looming winter that would sweep away the tears on their graves. Like Dorcas Meadows, you did not interact much with James and Lily—but more than anyone, you knew how death was no easy enemy to conquer.

(You hoped their orphaned son would live a life that would not take him too early.)

A few months later, you met your demise to a werewolf named Fenrir Greyback. 

As you bled out on the grassfields, you wished for Death to come and take you faster.

When you awakened, it was in the same bed and the same dusty ceiling. 

There was nothing you could do but go back to sleep this time around.

After dying pathetically for a third time, a stubborn part of you wanted to fight back—so you did. 

Unlike your previous lives, you joined the Dueling Club, supervised by Professor Flitwick himself. Your wand work was clumsy and you stumbled on your incantations. You could not lift your wand without remembering a coffee shop laid to ruin and wreckage or the hardened gaze of Greyback as he sank his teeth into your neck. The times were merciless, your dance with Death even more—but you would not die helplessly again. 

As you lay in your bed, muscles aching from dueling practice, you had realized one thing. 

You did not want to stain your hands with the blood of another—having grown tired of the Reaper and his antics. If the Gods would not let you rest, then you would not let them take anyone else. 

After all, you had the stubbornness of a Gryffindor lion. 

For the next six years or so, you devoured your textbooks on charms and healing spells, refining your spellwork until your tongue grew numb and your wrists became sore. When the time came, you followed James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Lily Evans, and many more, in joining the Order of the Phoenix. (Perhaps you should have realized earlier that you all were just wide-eyed children on both sides, forced to partake in a war that should have never been yours to fight.) 

The First Wizarding War transfigured the years into a blur of mourning, surviving, and fighting in alleys now-bloodied. Even the sun hid behind the clouds, for brothers began turning on one another. You could only find solace in the fact you had kept Dorcas away from Voldemort’s clutches, volunteering to go in her stead during incursions, and Marlene McKinnon alive for another day to see her family.

But for how long could you cheat fate? 

Hours before your death, you found yourself in a forest clearing. The campsite was filled with witches and wizards afflicted with severe hexes and curses—a few of Dumbledore’s best fighters screaming in agony from the Cruciatus. 

There you found Remus Lupin, bruised and worse for wear, attempting to wrap a bandage around his shoulders in an empty tent. 

“You look like you’ve seen better days,” you said in a soft greeting, stepping inside the tent with a forced smile, your collection of potions and jars of herbal pastes jostling in your leather satchel. 

Remus chuckled tiredly. “Haven’t we all?” 

You gently pried the bandage from his trembling hands and maneuvering yourself at his back. You stifled the urge to cry at the sight of his scars—so violently red against his pallid skin. Compared to your previous lives, you had developed a friendship with Remus and his group of bold marauders—a camaraderie as true as it could be in dire times. (And if providence had been kinder, you could have dared to want more than just friendship.) You poured drops of Dittany onto his shallower wounds, murmuring empty words of comfort as he flinched and hissed.

“It’s Peter,” he rasped, abruptly holding onto your wrist as you turned to leave. “He’s been missing for hours. Please. I don’t know what I’d. . . what I’d do if. . . if. . .”

You squeezed his hand. “I’ll find him, Remus. Don’t worry.”

True to your word, you had found Peter at sundown deep within the forest. There was an unsettling quietude that hung in the air as you trudged to his side. He was kneeling on the muddy ground, head hanging low. It’s only then that you noticed the body laying still in his arms. Violent chills slithered down your spine as you recognized the woman in his embrace. 

“Mary!” you cried out, hurrying to them as fast as you could. 

“What happened?” you asked frantically, hands in a desperate search for a pulse. When you were met with no answer, you pressed again more heatedly. “Peter! Look at me!” You gripped his chin, heart hammering in your chest. “You have to tell me what happened! I can’t. . . I can’t help her if I don’t know what hit her.” Droplets of tears fell from your eyes down to Mary’s pale cheeks. “I can’t. . . I need—please. . .”

Bloodshot eyes stared back at you. “I. . . I didn’t want to do it.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, burying his head into the crook of Mary’s neck. “I was so, so scared.”

“Peter, what are you talking about?” You grimaced impatiently when Peter lifted his gaze—but he was not looking at you, rather behind you.

The answer to your question was a killing curse to the back.

An unseen rustle in the bushes that you should have paid attention to, a cloaked figure darker than any shadow; a Death Eater that’d come to ensnare you in a perfectly-laid trap. 

(Damn it!)

(Damn it all to Hell!)

You awoke to the sound of your screaming and your limbs thrashing in the bed you’ve grown to despise. There was nary a remorse in your body as your roommates wailed at the sight of your nails drawing blood from your arms. Later that morning, the common room would be filled with talks of your faraway gaze and your scratched-up flesh. 

You could not take it anymore.

In your fifth life, you had sought peace—or rather, the most beautiful mockery of it. 

You decided to give up your magic to chase a semblance of normalcy. No more wands, no more moving portraits, no more jinxes and pranks, no more owls and wizard robes. Most of all, no more war. (‘But it did not work like that’, Death laughed.) In this life, you wanted what was denied of you in the previous ones.

A family.

A happy ending.

Bitterly enough, the Gods saw fit to give you only one of the two. 

You married a Muggle, to your parents’ dismay. He was nice and compassionate—a distant contrast to the ongoing turmoil of the wizarding world. But you could not bring yourself to feel guilt. You had been stripped of everything, which included the privilege to die and lay your soul to rest in perpetuity. 

(Who were you, if not a dead man walking?)

Over the years, you would have three children with your husband—three beautiful children born from love, in a world that would not actively seek to take them from you. You raised them all to adulthood, hoping they would not fault you for finding relief at the lack of magic in their veins. Their names were Kinsley, Piper, and Avery—and you had adored every inch of them, from their striking eyes to the tips of their stubby fingers. 

On your deathbed, you were surrounded by your grandchildren and your great-grandchildren. An image you held close to your heart as your vision began to deteriorate. 

Just this once, you prayed to all that would hear. 

Let me die surrounded by my family.

At the age of ninety-one, you drew your final breath.

And when you opened your eyes, you were back in Hogwarts for the sixth time.

TO SIRIUS BLACK, you are a curious little wallflower, albeit a withering one—you who blend among the crowd, with a sad gaze in your eyes and the fretful twisting of your fingers. He doesn’t know why he’s particularly drawn to you—but perhaps he understands, more than anyone, the hesitance of taking up space in fear of punishment for one wrong move. But you look so lost, meandering along the corridors like the ghosts of the castle—but even the spirits seem more alive and colorful than you. 

“What is it that they have taken from you?” Sirius wants to ask. 

(What judgment has fate placed upon you so—for you to cry each morning?) 

There is a raging urge in his veins to reach over and wipe your tears away, but what can he do as a stranger, if not watch powerlessly as you fade into the background? 

His fingers feel like they might fall off if they do not entwine with yours. He wants to offer up his shoulders to carry the burdens that weigh down on a creature as lovely as you. 

There are times when he and the other Gryffindors catch you crying at the long tables of the Great Hall. 

“O-Oh, was I?” Your reply is quiet. Resigned. Sirius has never felt his heart break more than in that moment. You move to weakly swipe at your tears. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. . .” 

“It’s alright, really,” Lily says, her voice strained, the words lodged in her throat. Under the table, she seeks James’s hand for comfort. (How can someone appear to be so lonely and defeated?) “We all have those days.”

“Yes.” You blink away the fresh tears pricking at your eyes, mindlessly pulling at the threads of your woven bandages, a weary chuckle falling from the cracked skin of your lips. “Except, it seems the days never end for me.”  

Lily stays silent. 

Sirius shares a look with Remus from across the table, an unspoken question hanging between the animagus and the werewolf.

How do their voices call out to the one who so faithfully believes that the world has abandoned them?

But Sirius Black is determined and unyielding—what good of a prankster would he be if he could not bring a smile upon your beautiful face? 

He gets his chance during Transfiguration class, when McGonagall instructs the class to pair-up for an activity in turning miniature statues into birds. Predictably, you don’t move a muscle, staring ever-so intently at the sights beyond the classroom windows that you don’t notice the professor observing you worriedly—her lips tightly pressed and her eyes wrinkled with concern. Sirius slams his buttocks onto the wooden chair next to you; the sound of chair legs screeching bounces off the cobblestone walls.

“Hullo, partner.” Sirius grins as he offers you an enthusiastic wave, his dark curls floundering with his energy. He feels the gazes of his best mates boring into his back, but decides to ignore it for now—Remus can live without him for one class. In his mind—a perfectly-reasonable logic for an eleven-year-old, mind you—he figures that you would find class more entertaining if you had the right company. And, Sirius is wonderful company. 

You stare at him with furrowed brows and Sirius wishes nothing more than to bring fire to your eyes. “Partner?” you repeat, a tinge of confusion in your voice—a deafening cadence to his ears, as for once, it is not desolation that laces your words. 

“Partner,” Sirius affirms with a nod of his head, barely paying heed to McGonagall’s directions at the front of the room—but noting the mention of a prize for the pair who would successfully cast the spell for longer than ten minutes. He takes your silence for uncertainty, and replies with a light-hearted scoff—finding the pout on your lips adorable. “I’ll have you know I’m a bloody master at Transfiguration. Not even James could match me in this class—okay, maybe he could, but that’s not important, is it? Point is, with me at your side, Minnie will have no choice but to give us a hundred points!” 

From the frown on your lips, Sirius gathers that you’re unimpressed by him—a first, but not a total setback. 

He seizes the small box of porcelain figurines before you can blink, a wry smile on his face as he wrangles a boastful laugh from his throat. “Ready to have your mind blown? I’ve been practicing this spell since last night. There’s no way I’m getting this wrong.” 

“Oh, I’m Sirius Black, by the way—at your service.” He holds out his hand for you to shake, wondering what your palm would feel like in his. Cold? Warm to touch? Or, perhaps, a perfect fit—just as Lily’s hand feels laced with his?

He doesn’t find the answer to his question. Instead, you draw your wand from your robe pocket, and point the tip of the wood at the earthenware at Sirius’s grasp. 

“Avifors,” you recite delicately—such a flawless incantation that Sirius hears Merlin himself weeping in the depths of his grave. 

The figurine grows feathers and a beak—Sirius and the rest of the students can only watch as the weebill flutters its wings and soars through the roof. 

He’s stupefied. Breathless, one might say. But not because of your little trick—rather, the growing smile on your lips as you watch the bird fly across the room. Your eyes flicker with mischief, and like a man on the edge of a cliff—what is Sirius Black to do, but fall? 

THE END OF YOUR first-year at Hogwarts draws near, and so does the springtime—a coveted season for lily flowers to bloom. The April winds find you out by the lake edge, swinging your legs idly on a marble stone bench where the cypress vines grow along the cracks. Songbirds fly overhead as the daylight glistens on the surface of the Black Lake, a beech tree in the near distance, butterflies dancing past the gnarled trunk. Pollen floats like dust in a cupboard under a staircase. Ducklings waddle after their mother as riverine rabbits scurry on into the tall, purple nettles. On days like this, you find it easier to settle into your new life—but, perhaps, you have your friends to thank for that. 

Yet, as you find yourself wanting to reach out to their outstretched hands, flashes of children with your hair, your eyes, cheekbones whittled to resemble your own, haunt you. Their pure and gentle temperaments, painfully akin to their father’s. You mourn them every day. Their names are forever inscribed in the locket of your soul. (You did not find it fair—you who live again, and they who disappear forever. An existence that would cease to be—all because you fear what awaits you in this life. Why must it be you who should walk this land with a body scarred by wounds no one else can see? Why must it be you who mourns the loss of your family, your friends, and all your loved ones—everyone murdered by the Gods who spit on the five graves with your name written on it? Why? Why?)

Do you dare to live a life without them? Is it fair to deprive them of a chance of being a family while you waste away on the Isles? You may have lived multiple lifetimes, but not once have you been given the answers you seek. 

You will not find happiness without them; it is as you deserve. 

(For why else would Death torment you so if you are seen as innocent in their eyes?)

“How did I know I’d find you here?” A sing-song voice emerges from the trees, and you’ve no need to turn your head—the sound of Lily’s bright cadence is one you’re familiar with. But, somehow, you’ve grown fond of her voice, more acquainted with her smile and laugh than you’ve ever been in the last five lives. (You have to wonder if this friendship is one you’re permitted to enjoy.) Her grin is blinding, more so than the afternoon sun behind her. Lily’s wavy hair falls over her shoulder as she plops down on the empty space beside you. “We didn’t see you at lunch today,” she says, looking ahead, the warmth of her hand inching closer to your own. “I figured you didn’t want a bunch of whiffy boys around.”

Then, she looks around, searching for any prying ears, a stream of giggles falling from her lips. “Although, I must warn you—their pockets are loaded with food stolen from the hall, saying they’d give it to you when you returned to the tower. But I think Minnie caught onto them.” She chortles, a fond gaze in her eyes. 

You hum in thought, a smile unknowingly pulling at your lips. “Thank you, Lily. It’s sweet of you to come and find me.” 

She harrumphs light-heartedly, snootily lifting up her nose. “Don’t get too used to it. We’re only just best friends, after all.”

A silence encompasses the two of you, sitting under the shade, pink fingers shyly intertwined. Lily allows the minutes to flow by like a breeze on the waters, until she stares at you with thick emotions flickering in her emerald eyes. She nibbles on her bottom lip, long lashes kissing her eyelids. “Are. . . Are you alright? Is it one of those days again?”

You grin at her question, impishly nudging her legs with yours. It’s a gesture you deeply appreciate—befriending you and growing closer to you in ways you imagine are never in your cards. But Lily is only eleven, and you will not act upon your selfishness. (But, maybe—just maybe—you are allowed to relish in their company until you are called once again to your deathbed. In the next life, they might not know your name as they do now, and the revelation frightens you immensely.)

“I’m okay,” you say, a gnawing lie that sounds unconvincing to even your own ears. You stare at the flock of swans diving in the lake. “I was just missing a few friends back home.” You remember the toddlers that you used to call your own—their spittled possessiveness toward anyone who dared to snatch your attention away from them. “I don’t know if they would be happy with me going off on my own adventure,” you say, sparing Lily a knowing look. “They are—erm—Muggles.” 

“Oh.” Lily nods, mulling over your words. “Tuney. . . my sister. She sort of resents me ever since I left for Hogwarts. We live a world apart, and it barely helps that she ignores me during the holidays.” She sighs, averting her gaze elsewhere, a grimace pulling at her mouth. “Sometimes I wonder if all of this was never meant for me. That I was just a fluke. Why do I have magic and not her? Any day now, I expect for McGonagall to come and ask me to pack my bags and head straight home.” 

“But,” says Lily, her eyes resolute and her fire unwavering, “until that day comes, I will enjoy every bit of this world as I can. Tuney will just have to deal with that.” She offers you a mellow smile—a likeness to a kind husband that you had once in a past lifetime. “Besides, I think those who truly love us will understand the paths we must take. Even if it means parting ways for a long time. Your friends will not blame you; they’ll want you to live truly and freely.” 

Her words sink deep into your bones, and you can’t help but let out a hearty laugh. You simper at the confused tilt of her head. “Wise words, Lily Marie Evans. Are you sure you’re only twelve?” 

Lily beams. “Mum likes to tune into the Sunday motivational-talk channels.”

(“The ones we love never really leave us, do they?” Sirius Black will tell you one day, when you’ve bared to him the truth of your lives, and he looks at you no differently than he has before—with all the adoration and fondness of his heart.)

Later, before you and Lily make your way back to the castle, you pick three flowers among the chicory weeds. She stays behind as you kneel by the riverside. For the children you have loved, and will continue to love for eternity. Droplets of tears fall onto the water, joining the floating blue petals. “I’m sorry that I cannot find you as you are,” you whisper, a heavy weight lifting from your shoulders. “But I hope that we meet again in this life, whichever names you may take.” 

(After all, what love is stronger than one that perseveres across endless lifetimes?)

You carry them in your heart—letting cherished memories remain as such. Otherwise, you’ll be chasing what can never be again. It would be an injustice to their names to try and replicate a shallow imitation of them. They deserve more than that—to be treated like a pawn in Death’s game. They were alive and you will honor them befittingly.

You bid them goodbye and allow the tethers of their soul to untangle from your grasp. 

It is the most difficult farewell—and yet, the easiest act of mercy you have ever carried out.

‘THE FLAP OF a butterfly’s wings can evoke a hurricane in the next world over.’ 

This is a phrase you’ve come to be familiar with over the span of your numerous lives. It has never been truer than the moment you step outside the infirmary to find a group of mismatched Gryffindors waiting for you in the halls. Their heads snap in attention at the sound of your footfalls. In an instant, you’re crowded with their questions and worries—but you find it endearing, the way your friends fuss over you. It’s certainly a welcome change from a past spent by your lonesome in the castle. (You only wonder what makes this life so different from the rest? Why is everything changing without you noticing? What will be taken from you for this deviation in time?) 

“How did it go?” James asks, now seventeen and captain of the Quidditch team, wavy tendrils of brown hair swooping over his round glasses. The broad of his chest fills out his red and yellow jumper, crocheted by Lily over the yule break—the five of you, including Peter, Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas, have matching sweaters as well. 

Except, you like to tease them with a jest that Lily made yours with the most love—as no one else had the pattern of a capybara with an apple on its head. 

“Well enough,” you answer, patting his shoulder with a tired smile that reaches your eyes—for how could one not cheer up in the face of James Fleamont Potter? That would be saying the skies do not brighten in the company of the sun. 

By incontestable decree of Poppy Pomfrey, the headstrong matron of the castle, you are required to meet with a mediwitch from St. Mungo’s twice a week, since the start of your fifth-year. Healer Robbins floos to Hogwarts on Wednesdays and Saturdays to check up on your health, physically and mentally. Of course, you don’t divulge anything about your time-traveling dilemmas, lest you end up confined to a hospital ward again for the rest of your years. But you do end up addressing—albeit, begrudgingly—the dried tear stains on your pillowcase every morning, your wayward habit of purposefully missing meals, or your tendency to withdraw yourself from your peers on certain days—which coincidentally happen to be the anniversary dates of your deaths. (If no one would grieve for you, then you’d do it alone.) 

Who’d have thought that healing would be much more tortuous than hurting in the quietude of your room?

But one thing is for certain—this is a suffering you will endure with greed and hunger. 

For today’s session, Healer Robbins suggests you proactively live in the present more—which is easier said than done. 

“Although, she did tell me to stop slouching all the time,” you inform James, scrunching your nose in feigned offense, to which he replies with a hearty chuckle, pulling you into his embrace for a side hug. You burrow your nose in his scent of oakmoss and orris root, a lingering touch of broom polish as well—you feel the warmth of his hand splayed out on your back, and hide your grin into his chest. 

“Well, someone had to tell you,” says Regulus Black with a scoff, arms crossed over his chest, yet no genuine heat in his trenchant eyes. He looks pleased that you return unharmed from your meeting with Healer Robbins. Funnily enough, you’ve no doubt that the famed Black temper would emerge should you utter so much as a single word against the mediwitch. (You like her, though. Some days, Robbins lovingly spiels about her clumsy-footed wife—and in return, you talk about your sad feelings. Eurgh. Talk about a fair exchange.)

Among the many divergences in this life, one of them is the unforeseen friendship you have forged with Regulus Arcturus Black. But that story begins with Xenophilius Lovegood, when you stumble upon him in the Forbidden Forest chasing after a family of bowtruckles with a fervid expression and a journal in one hand. You protect him from foul-mouthed Ravenclaws, and he allows you to tag along in his woodland escapades—including a lifelong access to the kitchens beyond curfew. His lack of regard for personal safety is both endearing and maddening, you realize early on. One stormy night, you chase Xenophilius into the forest—he is barefoot, following the Mooncalf hoofprints, as you spit out strings of expletives and mouthfuls of rain. That is where you find Regulus, groaning in pain and carrying a burden that is much too heavy for a fifteen-year-old. 

Then, a year later, they decide to give you a heart-attack when you discover that Pandora and Xenophilius have taken Regulus under their wing—figuratively and literally. And, most of all, romantically.

You’re more speechless than Sirius had been when you catch him one fateful evening.

(“Don’t do it, Sirius Black,” you greet, startling the ebony-haired boy as you step out from the shadows. The common room is silent, save for the crackling embers in the fireplace. You stare at the sixteen-year-old with a vehement resolve, your hands curled into fists. If there is one fixed event you had to live through over and over again, it is the news of Severus Snape being nearly mauled to death by a creature so feared and gruesome. You will not let it happen in this life. His eyes flicker with shame amongst a sea of gray, and he knows that you know about his abhorrent idea of a ‘prank.’ 

You sigh, taking another step forward, hand coming to rest on his tense shoulder. “Let it go, Sirius. It’s not worth it. Bringing someone to harm is never worth it. If he dies, his blood will be on your hands—and you don’t want that, trust me. Be kind to him, Sirius—and even kinder to your brother. The two of you are all each other has.”

“Not true,” Sirius whispers back, almost afraid, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheeks. “I have you, Prongs, Lily, and Rem.”

“And Remus is exactly who we should be with right now,” you reply with a harsh glare. “Not in the common rooms trying to one-up Snape because of some childish rivalry.” With a long sigh and a shake of your head, you push back the dark curls from his face. “The times are cruel, Sirius. We must hold onto what we can.”

His forehead will fall onto your shoulder, and your shirt will be soaked with his tears, but you realize that you will hold him, and all those who’ve captured your heart, until Death himself pries you away from their embrace.) 

But, it all pales in comparison to the horror in Sirius’s eyes when you point at Regulus and Peter, as you utter with absolute conviction, “They are my dearest friends.”

While Peter may have been a traitor in another life, a murderer with blood and guilt staining his hands—he is only a skittish boy in this one. A timid student who hides behind the shadows of his friends. You will not let him go down that path again. The Peter Pettigrew you currently know is a mousy little thing, pun intended, who sneaks in a pouch of sugared jelly worms in the library for you and him to enjoy whilst copying off each other’s Arithmancy homework—you two automatically get perfect marks, seeing as you’ve went through school multiple lifetimes already. Truthfully, when you see him tongue-tied before Mary Macdonald, you can’t envision anything else than a lifeless body and a man apologizing for his sins. But it is hardly fair to condemn Peter for the sins of a life he has not lived—and will never live through, if you have anything to say about. 

A lion protects their pride, and that is what you shall do. Even if it tears you apart in the process. (Healer Robbins won’t be so pleased about that, though.) 

But, perhaps, the most unexpected surprise you’ve received this year is—shockingly—not the news of Dorcas and Marlene dating, and neither is Alice and Frank’s relationship as you have already known that since your first life. It is James, Remus, Lily, and Sirius announcing to the world, with a poorly-written poem for a gnome to recite on Valentine’s Day—courtesy of James Potter himself—that the four of them are in love. In all five lives, that has never happened. Not even Lucius Malfoy can call into question the genuineness of their devotion to one another—and he will not dare to do so in your presence, otherwise he’d find himself at the mercy of you and Narcissa Black.

The four of them are happy as one, and you would die to ensure they stay together until the end of their time. Dark lords be damned. 

An even bigger shock comes when their affection for each other unspokenly extends to you. Not in a manner that equals their rambunctious gestures—because the Marauders don’t do anything half-arsed. (And if they fall in love, they fall without fear.) But in a way that is quiet yet intense, ever-so mindful of your walls—with an intention to break them down slowly and only with your utmost permission. They leave you confused with each day that passes. (You fear that they think you pitiful for having not found a significant other.)

(For months now, your heart is set aflutter just by the sound of their voices—if they look at you as a token charity case, it would tear you apart.) 

Forehead kisses, hand-holding in the corridors, late nights in the kitchen—tipsy on gillywater and the scathe of each other’s touch. Picnics by the lake, bodies intertwined where no one knows where they begin or end. Ventures in the library where not a soul is paying attention to the passages of their textbooks—hushed giggles turning into unrestrained laughter until Madam Pince rounds the corner and has you all thrown out. (How long has it been since you felt so free?) It’s the little things, like your fingers brushing against theirs as you walk side-by-side, or the soft glint in their eyes as they stare at you from across the room—as though you are a jewel to behold. 

It is one thing to know that you are living a life after life—but it is another thing entirely to feel alive when they are nearby. 

You are alive when Remus relaxes on the carpeted floor of the Gryffindor tower, and as you lay on the velvet couch, he draws protection runes on your palm with his finger. When he thinks you’re asleep, he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. When the nights are unbearably long and you find a safe haven in his embrace, and he in yours.

You are alive when James cages you in a bear hug after an intense Quidditch match against Slytherin, limp tendrils of hair clinging to his sweat-soaked skin, pressing a series of fervent kisses to the side of your head until his voice is louder than the cries of victory coming from the cheering stands. 

(“Lay back down, James Fleamont Potter,” you command tersely as you push him onto the infirmary bed. You narrow your eyes at the bandages wrapped around his arms and neck, as though it’d personally wronged you. “Don’t even think about getting up,” you quickly add when you notice his droopy eyes staring at the doors—where Sirius, Remus, and Peter have gone off for a night of mischief. With an exaggerated sigh, James will roll his eyes before pulling you into the bed with him.) 

You are alive when Lily scours the Great Hall in the mornings, hair fussed from sleep and her face bare, and when her eyes finally land on you—none misses the way she lights up blindingly, as if she were a poppy flower emerging from the forest floors and all her petals are curling towards the sun. She bounds over to you with a smile that draws everyone in the room to her. And your heart will have no choice but to swell three times its size when Lily falls asleep mid-meal, snoring with her neck bent and a spoon dangling from her mouth. 

You are alive when Sirius dashes across the room to claim you as his Potions partner. He’ll spend the rest of the class with a triumphant grin on his face—sitting on a rickety chair as he lazily admires the view of your backside. And may the Gods help the poor soul who dares to question your work. 

(“See that lovely creature over there?” Sirius will say with a dangerous lilt to his voice, pointing to you who’s quite busy squabbling with Severus and Barty Jr. over frog legs. “They will be the greatest apothecary to ever walk the wizarding world—so watch your tongue, mate.”) 

They are your limbs, the blood in your veins—the ache in your heart. The fires of your soul. And when they are near, you are finally whole. (Healer Robbins certainly won’t like that, either—but this is a thought you shall selfishly keep for yourself.) 

That is why you had come to a decision at the beginning of the year.

“I need to tell you all something,” you say, breaking out of your stupor and finally meeting everyone’s eyes. You meet Sirius’s gaze from where he leans against the wall, his attention on you—and only you. You reckon he notices the way you’re fidgeting nervously with your fingers, gnawing on your lip as you suck in a deep breath. It’s similar to the way he acted when he first told the group about his intentions to run away from his mother. Healer Robbins told you earlier to not dwell on the past—it’s only a thing that time-travelers do, she had said. You suppose there’s no better way to exercise honesty than to tell your loved ones about the secret you have been keeping for the last five lifetimes. You just hope they won’t look at you differently when all is said and done. 

Marlene’s gaze worriedly flickers from you and to the infirmary doors. “Has the mediwitch said something?” 

You shake your head. “There’s something you should know about me.”

Like a badly-written joke, a pack of lions, a snake, and a badger follows you into an empty classroom. They watch with furrowed brows as you cast a silencing charm over the room. You feel the weight of their curiosity as you take a seat in the center, drumming your nails on your lap as everyone moves to do the same. Remus wordlessly takes the seat next to you, as though being by your side is a natural phenomenon—like the shores never straying from the sand. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze and you return his kindness with a weary smile. You look at the protective circle that’s somehow formed around you. Marlene, Dorcas, Mary, Xenophilius, Regulus, Lily and the Marauders. (Since when did you gain a family like this in such a short time?) 

“Where do I even begin?” you ask with a shuddery breath. “It might get a bit intense. . . and sad, and I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you. So it’s okay if you aren’t prepared to take this all in yet. I’d understand.” 

“What one of us goes through, we all go through together,” Dorcas vows with her head high. “It’s not the first time we’ve done this, love,” she says, looking at everyone else in the room. “We’re here for you. Always have been. It’s what friends are for, aren’t they? You taught us that. Let us return the favor now.” 

You laugh wetly, eyes crinkling with gratitude. “I suppose you’re right.” 

There is no time like the present.

And if all goes awry, you probably might just jump out of a window and reset everything. (You wouldn’t, really. This life is precious to you more than anything in the world.)

You close your eyes and draw air into your lungs.

No time like the present.

“When I first died, I was only nineteen.” Despite the pinched expressions and soft gasps, you force the words out. You have to. Otherwise, the tale of your lives will be buried with you forever. This is the first time you have ever said the words aloud. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying. “Death Eaters came to Diagon Alley. It all happened so fast, next thing I knew the killing curse was cast straight at me.” 

Regulus flinches, and you offer him an apologetic grimace. 

“But that wasn’t the end,” you continue amidst their horrified wide-eyes—feeling Remus tighten his hold on your hand. You chuckle bitterly. “If it had been, maybe it all would’ve hurt less. When I woke up, I was back in the Gryffindor tower.” 

“What?” Lily frowns as a shadow is cast over her eyes. “But how?” 

“I wish I knew,” you reply with a lodge in your throat, eyes thick with incoming tears. “I really wish I knew. But I woke up back in Hogwarts. I was alive again. Somehow, someway, I was alive. But I was dying.” You shut your eyes, head craning to the ceilings as you swallow back a sob. “Have you felt what it’s like to be burnt alive? That’s what the killing curse is like. And I feel it everyday. When I told the nurses this, I was sent straight to St. Mungo’s. They could not heal what was not found in my body. They called me mad. And there was nothing I could do but believe them. It was like that until I died on an infirmary bed, leather straps around my wrists and legs, forbidden to leave the ward and feel even the sunlight on my face. I was deemed a threat to the others and myself.” 

Lily beats you to the punch and cries into her hands—the harrowing sound torn from her throat. Mary, with her own stream of tears, pulls Lily into a hug. 

“I-I told you it was ugly,” you say timidly, averting your gaze out of remorse. “We can stop here if you’d like.”

“We’re staying,” says Lily with a guttural edge to her words, eyes quickly growing red. 

“Then, in my third life, I died by a. . . Greyback—it was Greyback who killed me.” You intertwine your fingers with Remus’s, who’s gone ashen from the reveal. “It’s alright.”

“The bloody hell do you mean it’s alright?” James bellows, running a hand through his hair as he tears himself from his seat, chest heaving up and down. “None of this is alright! How could you say that? We. . .We should tell Dumbledore or something—or anyone! This shouldn’t have happened to you—it’s just too cruel. . .” 

“I know,” you acquiesce with a low hang of your head. “I know.”

Sirius exhales jaggedly. “Was that the last of it? Of your. . . your deaths?”

“No.” You stare at him with regret. “In my fourth life, I died in a Death Eater ambush.” 

Xenophilius looks like he might faint any second. 

“But in my fifth life, I met some people in the Muggle world,” you explain, remembering kind eyes and wide smiles, a family made in a home far away from magic and wars. “I loved them dearly. When I thought I was being punished by Gods, they gave me peace. They taught me unconditional love and I. . .” You let the tears drip onto your skirt. “I might never find them again, but I’ll never forget them for as long as I live. It was the only death given to me without pain.”

You watch as Lily’s doe-eyes flicker with realization. Three flowers in a watery grave. 

“And here I am now. The end,” you say, forcing a crooked grin as you brush the dust off your school robes. 

No one moves a muscle for the next few minutes. 

You freeze in fear. 

(Have you upset them? Do they see only a talking corpse now?)

The room is suffocatingly quiet and you can’t bear to see the pity or judgment in their eyes—so you run out of the room as though Death himself was hot on your heels. 

They are right behind you—of course, they are. (Where a part of their soul goes, they will follow.)

“Are you angry?” You quietly ask, wrapping your arms around your waist—afraid to turn around and face them. “I would not blame you if you are.” 

“No, not mad. Never.” Lily falls into place by your side, hovering but never stepping past your erected borders. “Maybe at the circumstances. It’s all so unfair. I’m. . . We’re just upset that you had to live through that all alone. To die over and over. I can’t imagine how much it must have hurt each time.” 

You nod, swallowing the urge to crumble on the floor. “Then you’ll understand why. . . why you and I—all of us—I can’t be with you.”

Remus frowns, stepping forward to reach out to you. “What?” 

“Don’t make this any harder than this has to be, please,” you beg, voice hoarse and hands trembling. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sirius presses further, a bitter acid to his words. He looks frightened, almost—guilt instantly pools in your stomach.  

“Don’t you see? Everything is changing!” You exclaim, grateful that you’ve chosen the abandoned corridors of the castle where no one dares to venture on a sunny day. “I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s to happen next! I’d rather die again than let any of you get hurt.”

“Then don’t!” shouts James, veins straining against his neck, tears of his own glistening within his hazel eyes. “I would rather die than pretend none of what I feel—what we feel—for you isn’t real.” 

“You don’t know what you’re saying, James,” you retort with a sharp scoff. “I’ve no need for a relationship that’s borne from pity or charity.” 

“Pity?” Lily echoes incredulously. “You think I’ve confused love for pity? Is that how low you think of us? After all that we’ve been through?”

“Are you stupid?” Sirius bites back. 

“Excuse me?” you shriek. “Must I spell it out for you? I’m trying to protect you! I am cursed!”

“Not anymore than I am!” Remus bellows with his fists tightly clenched, his canines laid bare and his cheeks lit ablaze. “If you’re cursed, I must be damned. Why can’t you allow yourself the same grace that you’ve given us?” 

You wilt. “I can’t do it, Remus. I just can’t. If I die again, and everything resets—don’t you know how much it will kill me if we start as strangers again?” 

Remus encases you in his warmth, an embrace that promises to keep you safe from all harm. (What good of a monster would he be if he can’t rip apart your fears for you?) “Then we will find you in that life. And every life after that. We’ll use a pensieve, or anything at all—just so we don’t forget.”

You melt in his arms, bathing in his scent of caraway and bergamot. You feel Remus placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “All these things I know. All these lives I’ve lived through. What if I ruin everything in this life?” 

“Then do it,” Lily provokes stubbornly. 

“Ruin me,” James pleads raspingly—a falter in his steps as though he’d get on his knees and beg in an instant just for you to stay with them. “Ruin me as much as you’d like. You would be the most beautiful devastation of my life.” 

And so, you choose them. 

For there was never any other option from the start.

YOU WAKE UP in the dead of the night, sunken in a mattress that is one too small for five people to fit in, leafy vines and fairy lights wrapped around the posters of the bed. Sometime during the night, Lily had thieved the wool blanket for herself. You rest in between her and Sirius, their snores echoing into your ears as the grasshoppers chirp outside. The potted plants will swing from the ceiling as the evening breeze passes by. (You’ll scold James in the morning for leaving the windows open again.) By your feet, is a fat Tabby cat with one eye named Tuna. (Full name: Tuna Belly.) There are moving pictures on the flower-plastered wall, a testament to the life you share—and the life you have fought hard for. Ruffled pillows are strewn across the carpeted floor. Parchments and notes lay askew on the desk table across the room—Remus’s jittery preparation for his first day next week as Hogwarts’s newest professor. 

Remus will catch you wide awake and tuck you into his chest, murmuring, “Rest now. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow for Wormy’s wedding.” 

You’ll hum and relinquish your thoughts for the night, holding onto James hand over Remus’s belly. “I love you,” you’ll whisper. 

Remus will say it back without hesitation—and you know the others feel exactly the same. 

Minutes later, the door will creak open and a tiny shadow will come crawling into the bed, knocking into everyone’s knees and stomach. It’s a little Harry who’s three years old now. He curls under your neck and you will hold him with all the love that six lifetimes can offer and more. 

When you close your eyes, it is a comforting darkness that envelopes you.

(Somewhere in a castle beyond valleys and lakes, locked away in the dusty shelves of Dumbledore’s cupboards, sits a broken Time-Turner that finally stops ticking.)

The corridors of Hogwarts were always bustling, but today they felt like they were closing in on you. The stone walls seemed taller, the chatter of students louder, and every footstep echoed like the drum of your nerves. Your heart had been doing this strange, jittery dance since you woke up this morning, but now it was practically clawing at your ribcage, desperate to escape. You clutched the strap of your bag tighter, trying to steady your breathing.

This was stupid. Absolutely, horrendously stupid. Who in their right mind walked up to James Potter — James Potter, Quidditch captain, prankster extraordinaire, boy who had half the school trailing after him like he was the bloody North Star — and confessed to liking him? You. Apparently, you. Because your crush had been gnawing at you since third year, and it was fifth year now. Two years of stolen glances, of catching yourself smiling at his laugh across the Great Hall, of blushing whenever his hand brushed yours when passing a parchment in Charms.

Two years was too long. You couldn’t keep it bottled up anymore.

You spotted him at the end of the corridor, lounging against the wall with his gang — the Marauders. Sirius Black was telling a story with his hands waving wildly, Remus Lupin was pretending not to listen while clearly listening, and Peter Pettigrew was laughing a little too hard. And James… James was just there, all messy hair and bright eyes, twirling his wand between his fingers like he didn’t have a care in the world.

You should walk away. Run, even. But your feet kept carrying you forward, like some unseen force was pulling you closer. Your palms were sweaty. Your mouth dry. With every step, doubt gnawed deeper. What if he laughed? What if Sirius laughed? What if they all laughed? What if he said no in that casual, dismissive way James Potter was known for, and you had to carry that rejection like a scar forever?

But then he looked up. His hazel eyes flicked to you, a blink of recognition — you were the Hufflepuff he’d seen in Charms, right? The one who always smiled when someone asked you for help with notes. Not exactly on his radar, but not a stranger either.

“Uh—hi,” you managed, your voice trembling like a string about to snap. The Marauders stilled, turning to look at you, their pack-like attention unnerving.

James tilted his head, a polite smile tugging at his lips. “Hey. You’re—uh—y/l/n, right?”

Your heart swelled stupidly just because he remembered your surname. You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Right. That’s me. So, um…” You swallowed. The words lodged in your throat like stubborn stones. This was it — your point of no return. “I… I like you. Like—like like you. And I was wondering if maybe… you’d want to go out with me sometime?”

Silence.

Absolute silence. Even Sirius stopped mid-gesture. The air felt thick, heavy with expectation. Your stomach flipped so violently you thought you might be sick.

James blinked. Hard. Like his brain had blue-screened. What? His inner voice was a jumble of disbelief. He’d been confessed to plenty of times — it wasn’t new — but the way you said it, nervous and honest, it wasn’t coated in flirtation or games. Just… you. Sweet, straightforward, vulnerable. Cute, even.

But still. His first instinct screamed no. He didn’t know you. Not really. And James Potter didn’t go out with girls he didn’t know. He dated girls who were loud, dazzling, popular — not quiet Hufflepuffs who looked like they might cry if he so much as frowned.

Except there you were, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and hopeful, waiting like the world depended on his answer.

His smile faltered. He felt a twinge of something he didn’t expect: guilt. He didn’t like the idea of crushing that hopeful look. James Potter feeling bad for rejecting someone? What the hell.

So the word slipped out before he could stop it. “Yes.”

Your breath caught. Relief and joy rushed through you like sunlight after a storm. “Really? I—um—great. Maybe Hogsmeade this weekend? Ice cream? At Fortescue’s?”

“Yeah, sure,” James said, scratching the back of his neck, trying to play it casual. “Sounds fine.”

You grinned. A wide, radiant smile that made something warm stir in his chest, even though he’d meant the yes out of pity. “Okay! I’ll—I’ll see you then.”

You turned and hurried off before your nerves could collapse entirely, your heart still hammering but now with excitement instead of dread.

The second you were out of earshot, Sirius doubled over. “Merlin’s beard, Prongs, what the fuck was that?” His laugh was sharp and disbelieving. Remus was biting back a smile, Peter snorted into his sleeve.

James frowned. “What?”

“You just agreed to go on a date with her!” Sirius cackled. “You don’t even know her!”

“I didn’t want to crush her in front of everyone,” James defended, crossing his arms, but even as he said it, he sounded uncertain.

Remus arched a brow. “So your solution was to say yes?”

James shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

The weekend came faster than you expected. The crisp bite of autumn hung in the air as you made your way down to Hogsmeade. Leaves crunched under your boots, and you clutched your scarf closer to your neck. You were nervous again, but less so now — he’d said yes. That had to mean something. Maybe, just maybe, this could work.

James was already waiting outside Honeydukes, hands stuffed into his pockets, hair as messy as ever. He spotted you and gave a little wave, his smile easy but not quite warm.

“Hey,” you said, breath puffing white in the chilly air.

“Hey. Ready?”

You nodded, and together you walked toward Fortescue’s. Conversation stumbled at first. You filled the silence with small chatter — classes, professors, funny little things you’d noticed. James listened more than he spoke, tossing in comments now and then. He wasn’t cold, just… reserved. But you didn’t mind. You were talkative enough for both of you, and slowly, the tension eased.

Inside the ice cream parlour, you ordered something sweet and colorful, while James opted for a simple chocolate. You laughed when you got cream on your nose, and he chuckled softly, shaking his head as he handed you a napkin. That little moment lingered between you, unexpectedly gentle.

Afterward, you wandered the village. He bought butterbeer, and you insisted on paying him back, which made him grin for real. The two of you ended up walking back toward Hogwarts as the sky shifted into dusky shades of orange and purple, leaves swirling in the wind.

You talked about your favorite spots in the castle, about how autumn was the best season, about how you liked the quiet corners of the library because they smelled like parchment and ink. James listened, really listened, and found himself thinking you weren’t half bad company. Sweet. Kind. Easy to be around.

By the time you reached the castle gates, your nerves had melted into something softer. It hadn’t been a disaster. Far from it. You smiled at him, shy but genuine. “Thanks for today. I had a really nice time.”

James, to his own surprise, didn’t have to force his smile. “Yeah. Me too.”

And for the first time since he’d blurted out that impulsive ‘yes,’ he didn’t feel like it had been such a bad idea after all.

You still couldn’t believe it. Every time you walked into the Great Hall and James Potter’s hand found yours, every time he smiled that crooked grin and tugged you toward the Gryffindor table instead of letting you drift toward Hufflepuff’s, it felt unreal. You — quiet, bookish, never-in-the-spotlight you — dating James Potter, golden boy of Hogwarts. The whispers that followed you were proof enough. You caught the stares, the nudges, the murmurs: James Potter? With her? And every time, you felt a cocktail of nerves and giddy disbelief bubbling in your chest.

You tried not to let it show, but sometimes, when he leaned close to whisper a joke only you could hear, your smile betrayed you. You’d never imagined this, never dared hope beyond that reckless confession in the corridor. And yet, here you were.

James, though… James was struggling. Not that he let it slip easily. To you, he was the attentive boyfriend — not overwhelming, not overly sweet, but present. He held your hand when you walked together, he walked you down to the entrance of the Hufflepuff common room after late-night study sessions, he even nudged your pumpkin juice closer at breakfast like he’d always been looking out for you. It was enough to make your heart race.

But inside, James was a mess.

The thing was — he liked you. Against his own expectations. Not love, not the wild, star-scorched sort of affection he dreamed of giving someone someday, but a softness had crept in where he thought there’d be nothing. You were easy to talk to, easy to laugh with, easy to just… exist around. And that scared him more than it should have.

Sirius didn’t bother to hide his opinions. “You’ve got to tell her, mate. If you’re not serious, she deserves to know.”

Remus echoed the same, albeit quieter, gentler. “It’ll hurt less if you’re honest now than later.”

Even Peter muttered something like, “Yeah, feels wrong, James.”

But James couldn’t do it. Because every time you looked at him with those warm, hopeful eyes, the words lodged in his throat. He didn’t want to see them dim, didn’t want to hear your voice falter with disappointment. So he told himself lies that tasted like honey: he’d give it a month, see how it went, break it off gently if it didn’t work. No one would get hurt. Right?

He wanted to believe that.

Days slipped by in a haze of autumn gold. You sat with him at the Gryffindor table, feeling simultaneously out of place and exactly where you wanted to be. Gryffindors welcomed you in their own chaotic way — loud chatter, flying toast, Sirius cracking jokes across the table until you laughed so hard pumpkin juice nearly came out your nose. And through it all, James’s hand lingered on your knee under the table, grounding you.

At night, when he walked you down to the cozy entrance of the Hufflepuff basement, you could hardly believe the picture you made: James Potter, messy hair catching torchlight, grinning at you as though escorting you was the most natural thing in the world. You sometimes hesitated before slipping inside, half-expecting him to vanish into smoke when you blinked.

“Goodnight,” you whispered one evening, clutching your books to your chest. “Thank you for walking me.”

James shrugged, too casual, hiding the way his chest tightened. “Of course. Can’t have you getting ambushed by Peeves, can we?”

You laughed, the sound bright and genuine, and James found himself staring a moment too long. He liked that sound. More than he wanted to admit.

But when he crawled back into the Gryffindor dorms, Sirius was waiting. Arms crossed, smirk sharp. “You’re doomed, Prongs.”

James groaned, collapsing onto his bed. “I’m fine.”

“You like her.”

“I—no, I don’t. Not like that.” But the denial felt thin, weak. James rolled over, staring at the canopy. “She’s fine. Sweet. I’ll give it a month and if it's still like this then I’ll… I’ll break it off. Nicely.”

Remus’s voice drifted from the corner, quiet but firm. “It won’t be nice for her, James. You can’t make it painless.”

James shut his eyes. He knew they were right. But he also knew he couldn’t bring himself to tell you yet. Not when you were smiling at him like he was your entire world.

And Merlin help him — part of him didn’t want to let go.

Every moment with you was another thread tying him down. He found himself watching you more often — the way you furrowed your brows when concentrating in class, the way you always shared your notes with anyone who asked, the way your laughter came easily, without calculation. It wasn’t dazzling or dramatic, but it was real. And James was starting to realize he liked real more than he thought he did.

But beneath it all, the guilt festered. Every time you leaned into him in the common room, every time you brushed his arm with yours at breakfast, every time you kissed his cheek before ducking into class — James felt the weight of the truth he wasn’t telling you. He liked you, yes. But not in the way you deserved.

And yet, when you turned to him one evening under the autumn stars, whispering, “I can’t believe this is real,” he only smiled back and pulled you closer, even though his chest ached with the lie.

Three weeks slipped by like a dream. You had never known happiness could feel this simple — like sunlight spilling through autumn leaves, like laughter echoing across the Black Lake, like stolen glances that made your cheeks burn long after. Everything with James felt… amazing. Better than you ever dared to imagine. The stares, the whispers, the disbelief of others melted into nothing whenever his hand found yours. For once, you didn’t doubt yourself. For once, you allowed yourself to believe you were enough.

You thought things were going strong. And they were. Only stronger than you realized — because James Potter had fallen, hard.

It started quietly. At first, James told himself he was just indulging the sweetness of it, just giving you — and himself — time. But somewhere between the picnics by the lake and the butterbeer dates in Hogsmeade, he found himself grinning when you weren’t looking. He found himself replaying your laugh in his head when he was meant to be studying. He found himself reaching for you automatically, as though his body had decided it was no longer complete without you pressed against his side.

He was doomed. And he knew it.

The day it hit him hardest was the skating picnic.

The lake had frozen over early that year, the ice shimmering like glass under the pale winter sun. You’d brought a basket of food wrapped in cheerful yellow cloth, insisting on a picnic even in the cold. James teased you endlessly about it, but he carried the basket anyway, secretly delighted just to see you so determined.

After you ate, you’d both strapped on skates and ventured onto the ice. You wobbled almost immediately, clutching at his arm, and James laughed so hard he nearly toppled with you. “You’re hopeless,” he teased, but he didn’t let go. Not once. Every time you slipped, his hand was there, steady and sure.

“Stop laughing at me!” you squeaked, cheeks flushed from cold and embarrassment.

“I can’t,” James managed between chuckles. “You’re too cute when you fall.”

You swatted at him, but your grin gave you away. And then — without warning — your skate slid too far, your balance gave out, and you tumbled forward. James’s reflexes kicked in instantly. His hands shot out, gripping your waist, hauling you back against him before you could crash to the ice.

The world seemed to still.

Your palms pressed against his chest, his heartbeat pounding beneath your touch. His hands remained at your waist, fingers curling tighter, unwilling to let you go. The laughter faded from his lips as his hazel eyes locked on yours. Wide. Intense. Hungry.

And then he kissed you.

Not the hesitant brush of lips you’d sometimes imagined, not the tentative peck of teenagers figuring it out. No — this was James Potter, undone. He tilted his head and closed the gap with a desperation that startled you. His lips were warm against the winter chill, his kiss deep and claiming. One hand slid up your back, anchoring you to him, while the other tightened at your waist as though he feared you might vanish if he didn’t hold you close enough.

You melted into him, the shock giving way to something hotter, wilder. The ice beneath your skates, the laughter of distant students, the entire world blurred until there was nothing left but him. His mouth moved against yours like you were the only thing that mattered. Because to James, in that moment, you were.

When he finally pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, “Bloody hell.” His grin was dazed, his hair messier than ever, and his eyes shone like he’d just discovered a secret he wanted to keep forever.

You giggled softly, unable to find words. Instead, you leaned in and kissed him again, quick but certain, and James Potter knew he was gone for good.

Of course, the Marauders noticed.

Sirius caught James staring at you during breakfast, toast forgotten in his hand, and nearly spat out his pumpkin juice laughing. “Merlin’s balls, Prongs, you’re gone. Absolutely finished. Look at you — all heart eyes over there.”

James shoved him, scowling but blushing all the same. “Shut it, Padfoot.”

Remus only smiled knowingly over his book. “It suits you, James. She suits you.”

Even Peter piped up, grinning. “She makes you less annoying. We like her.”

And though they teased him relentlessly, none of them could deny the truth: you were good for him. Better than good. For once, James Potter wasn’t all bravado and antics. He was softer. Warmer. Happier.

And for once, you weren’t just the quiet Hufflepuff with her nose in a book. You were the girl James Potter couldn’t stop thinking about, the girl who’d stumbled into his orbit and made herself indispensable.

Three weeks in, you thought everything was perfect.

Three weeks in, James knew he was ruined.

And he couldn’t bring himself to mind one bit.

The walk back from the Quidditch pitch should’ve been nothing. A normal, golden afternoon — James changing after practice, you slipping away to fetch him water, the autumn sun still hanging low and warm. But instead, it became the day your chest hollowed out, the day you realized how foolishly you had believed in fairytales.

You hadn’t meant to overhear. You had rounded the corner with two chilled bottles in hand, only to catch the echo of laughter — Sirius’s sharp bark, Remus’s steadier murmur, Peter’s giggle threading through. Then James’s voice, low, defensive, fraying at the edges.

“She asked me out — what was I supposed to do? Say no to her face?”

And Sirius’s reply, “Prongs, you said yes out of pity. That’s rotten.”

Your breath stuck. The water felt heavy in your grip. Pity. The word burned into your ears, etched into the soft parts of you that had been glowing these last weeks. Pity. You waited, praying for a contradiction — for James to scoff, to say, No, that’s not it, I like her. But you didn’t stay long enough to hear the rest. You fled, water bottles still clutched tight, shame and disbelief dragging you down.

By the time you collapsed in your dorm that night, the bottles were nowhere near James. The water never reached him.

—

The next morning felt different. You sat at the Hufflepuff table for the first time since you’d begun dating. You felt their curious eyes, heard their whispered questions, but ignored them. James noticed instantly from across the Great Hall. His head jerked toward you, brows furrowing, confusion flickering like a candle flame. For weeks you’d been glued to his side, laughter spilling between you both. Now you didn’t even glance at him. He shifted, restless, picking at his toast, pretending to listen to Sirius.

Maybe she just wants to sit with her own friends today, he told himself. But the unease pooled in his stomach.

After breakfast, he caught you before you could vanish. “Hey—” his voice soft, uncertain, relief creeping in as he finally had you close. “I was looking for you last night. Where’d you go? You didn’t bring the—”

You cut him off. Your tone was sharp enough to slice him open. “Out of pity, right?”

James froze. The words hit him harder than any Bludger could. His heart tripped in his chest, his throat went dry. He blinked at you, panicked, uncomprehending. “What? No, I— how did you—”

You laughed, a sound brittle and cracked. “Doesn’t matter how. I heard enough.”

James felt everything tilting. He reached for you, desperation flooding his veins. “No, listen to me, it wasn’t— it isn’t— I never meant—”

“Don’t.” You stepped back before his hand could brush yours. Your stomach churned, your vision blurred. Anger at yourself sharpened your words. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve known this wasn’t real. James Potter doesn’t date Hufflepuff nobodies unless he feels sorry for them.”

The words gutted him. His mouth opened, but nothing came out at first — just the ache. Then, frantic, “That’s not true. I swear, it’s not what you think. Please—”

Your chest rose and fell, ragged. “Stop. Just stop. Whatever this was, it’s over.”

He shook his head violently, his voice cracking. “No, no, you don’t understand— I— I like you, I do—”

You laughed again, wetter this time, your throat thick. “Don’t lie now, James. Don’t make it worse.”

The finality in your tone shattered him. He stumbled closer, eyes wide, pleading. “I’m not lying. Please. Give me a chance to—”

But you cut him off again, your voice trembling. “We’re done. I don’t want to be the pity project anymore.”

The silence after hung heavy, unbearable. James’s hands hovered uselessly in the air, empty. His chest heaved like he’d run ten laps around the pitch. He wanted to scream, to grab time itself and rewind it, to make you hear the part you hadn’t stayed for: how the pity had burned away weeks ago, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you, how you had become his favorite part of every day.

But you were already turning away.

“Please,” he whispered hoarsely, one last time, like the word could anchor you to him. “Please, don’t—”

You didn’t look back. The corridor swallowed you whole, leaving him stranded, hollow.

James stood there until his knees buckled. He leaned against the stone wall, head dropping into his hands. His chest hurt like someone had hexed him open. The bottle of water you had meant to bring him — the simple gesture that should’ve been nothing — never left his thoughts.

He didn’t even notice when Sirius found him minutes later. “Prongs?”

James lifted his head, eyes red, jaw tight. For once, Sirius didn’t smirk or tease. He just clapped a hand on James’s shoulder, steady and silent, as if holding him up when he couldn’t stand on his own.

Because James Potter — golden boy, Quidditch captain, Marauder — had just lost the one person who made him feel more than all of that combined. And it was his fault.

James Potter had never known desperation like this.

It started small: letters. Neat at first, written late at night under the soft glow of his wand. Please, just let me explain. Please talk to me. By the third day, his handwriting had grown jagged, his quill blotting ink with every frantic word. He sent them with owls, slipped them into your bag, folded them between the pages of books he knew you’d borrow from the library. Every single one came back unopened — sometimes still sealed, sometimes crumpled, sometimes left on the floor outside the Hufflepuff common room for him to find like a reminder of your rejection.

He started waiting. First between classes, leaning casually against the stone walls, pretending he wasn’t searching for your face in every crowd. Then outside your common room, long after curfew, until his legs ached from standing. Sometimes he’d sit on the floor, running a hand through his hair until it stuck up worse than usual, hoping you’d appear. You never did.

The Marauders noticed. Of course they did. Sirius ribbed him at first, until James snapped so hard Sirius’s smirk dropped. Remus tried to soothe, told him he needed to give you space. Peter avoided his eyes. But James couldn’t stop. Every corridor without you felt hollow. Every meal you spent at the Hufflepuff table tore another piece of him away.

He cornered you once in the library. You slipped away before he even opened his mouth. Another time, he chased you down a hallway, calling your name until his voice broke, only to watch you vanish around the corner. Each rejection left him more frayed, more undone.

By the second week, James Potter — Quidditch captain, prankster king, golden boy of Gryffindor — looked wrecked. Shadows bruised the skin under his eyes. His laugh had vanished. He walked the castle like a ghost.

—

The Astronomy Tower was supposed to be your escape. Late at night, long after curfew, when the castle slept and the stars stretched endless above, you climbed the spiraling stairs to breathe. You wanted distance, a quiet place to unravel without being seen.

But when you pushed open the heavy door, you weren’t alone.

James stood at the railing, hunched, shoulders drawn tight like he was carrying something too heavy to set down. His broom-calloused hands gripped the stone ledge, knuckles white, and for a moment you thought about leaving, slipping back into the shadows before he noticed.

You turned on your heel. But you weren’t fast enough.

His hand shot out, closing around your wrist. The touch was hot, trembling. “Wait.”

“James—” you started, sharp, but he tugged gently, then harder, pulling you around until you faced him. The stars spilled silver across his face, highlighting the redness in his eyes, the raw ache carved into every line. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He looked broken.

Your stomach flipped. You tried to pull free. “Let go.”

He didn’t. His grip tightened, not hurting, but desperate, anchoring you in place. His other hand came up to your waist, hesitant at first, then clutching like he was afraid you’d disappear. Your body was nearly flush against his, your heart thudding wildly as he bent close, his forehead nearly brushing yours.

“No,” he rasped, voice shredded. “No, you’re going to hear me this time.”

You stiffened, anger rising with your panic. “James, I don’t want—”

His breath hitched, chest heaving against yours. “Please,” he broke in, the word hoarse, torn straight from his throat. “Please. I can’t— I can’t lose you without telling you everything.”

The rawness in his voice stole yours for a moment. He pressed on, eyes locked to yours, glassy and frantic.

“Yes, it started wrong. I was an idiot, a coward— I didn’t know what to do when you asked me out, and I said yes without thinking. I thought— Merlin, I thought it’d be a week, maybe two, and then I’d let you go gently so you wouldn’t get hurt. That’s what I told them. That’s what you heard. But that’s not— that’s not the end of it.”

You shook your head, trying to step back, but his grip on your wrist held. He leaned closer, voice cracking as it tumbled out faster, desperate.

“Because then you smiled at me. And you laughed with me. And you sat with me at every meal and walked me back to my tower like it was the most natural thing in the world. You— you listened. No one listens to me, not really, but you did. And suddenly it wasn’t pity, it wasn’t some bloody joke, it was everything. You were everything. I fell, harder than I’ve ever fallen for anything, and I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Your throat tightened, but you swallowed it down, shaking your head again. “James—”

“I’ve called for you in every stupid way I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking fully now. “Letters, hallways, waiting outside your common room like some lovesick fool. Do you know how many times I’ve stood there hoping you’d open the door? I would’ve stood there all night if it meant seeing you. I don’t care if it’s pathetic. I don’t care if I look like an idiot. I just— I can’t stand this silence. I can’t stand not having you.”

His forehead dropped against yours, his breath ragged. His hand on your waist clenched tighter, like he needed proof you were real. “I love you. I didn’t know it at first, but I do. And I’ll spend every bloody day proving it to you if you let me. Please. Please, if you can’t give me another chance, at least— at least forgive me.”

Your eyes burned. You hated the ache in your chest, the way his words cracked you open. You wanted to pull free, to run, to protect yourself. But his desperation held you rooted, trembling under the weight of everything he’d just confessed.

For the first time since you’d walked away, James Potter wasn’t the golden boy, the untouchable heartthrob. He was just a boy. A boy with tear-streaked cheeks, clutching you like you were air, begging you not to leave.

And Merlin help you, you couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at you like that.

James’s forehead pressed to yours, his chest heaving, his voice trembling with the force of everything he had spilled. For a long moment, the only sound was his breathing — uneven, desperate — and the steady thud of your heart that seemed far too loud in the quiet tower.

Your throat burned. You hated him for breaking you, hated yourself for still feeling the pull of him even now. His hand was warm around your wrist, his grip at your waist almost painful in its need. He was shaking. James Potter, who never faltered, who shone so brightly that everyone else bent toward his orbit — was shaking.

“I love you,” he whispered again, quieter this time, like the words themselves were fragile. “Please. Don’t walk away.”

Tears pricked your eyes. You had imagined this moment a hundred times in the past weeks — what you would say if he tried, how strong you would be. But now, standing here with him undone before you, the edges of your anger softened into something else. Something raw. Something human.

Slowly, you lifted your free hand, hesitating before brushing your fingers against his jaw. His breath caught. His eyes, wide and red-rimmed, searched yours like he was terrified of what you’d say.

“You’re an idiot,” you whispered, voice breaking. “A selfish, reckless idiot who should’ve told me the truth from the start.”

“I know.” His answer was immediate, fervent. “I know. I was a coward. I was wrong. I’ll never stop being sorry for it.”

Your chest ached. “You hurt me.”

He nodded, swallowing hard, his grip loosening just enough to let you pull back if you wanted. “I know. And if you never want me again, I’ll accept it. But I need you to know — there’s no pity anymore. Just you. Just… love.”

The last word cracked something inside you. Because even after all the pain, after the nights of doubt and the weeks of silence, you believed him. Not because he was James Potter, golden boy, but because he was James — tear-stained, broken, trembling — and he was laying himself bare.

You exhaled shakily, then leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. “I forgive you,” you whispered, and the weight in your chest eased for the first time in weeks. “But you’d better spend the rest of your life proving it.”

The laugh that broke from him was wet, choked, disbelieving. Relief washed over his face in waves, and before you could say another word, his lips were on yours. The kiss was desperate at first, then softer, reverent — like he was pouring every apology, every promise into it. His hand at your waist slid around to your back, holding you close like he never meant to let go again.

When you finally pulled away, his forehead stayed against yours, his grin small but luminous through the tears. “Deal,” he breathed. “Every day. For as long as you’ll let me.”

For the first time since the world had splintered, you let yourself smile. And in the quiet of the Astronomy Tower, beneath the vast stretch of stars, James Potter held you like he’d finally found his way home.

He was the untouchable student-teacher back in high school. Brilliant, cool, older. You signed up for an advanced electronics module just to watch him from the back of the room. He never noticed you. But when you heard he was continuing his research at N.C.T., your path became clear.

He was now a fourth-year. You were a freshman. But you approached him.

And that's when the illusion broke. Your fathers words more clear…

This wasn't the polished Jeno from the classroom. At university, he was freer, louder, effortlessly popular and surrounded by geniuses who somehow made brilliance look cool. When you tried to join that world, you didn't just fail and not fit in… you became a joke. Your fathers words more clear…

Still, you couldn’t walk away. You wanted to be noticed. So, you changed. You dimmed your light. Bit your tongue. Dumbed yourself down. The world didn't want another 'clever girl'.

Six months in, and you were unraveling. Your once-perfect grades were slipping. Your life revolved around keeping up this version of yourself, the one built for admiration, not achievement.

The girl in the mirror wore thick eyeliner, overdrawn lips, and clothes that barely covered anything; short skirts, crop tops, anything that screamed confidence. You worked for the body, starved just enough to keep it. And for the first time, you had something real: friends. Chaerong and Eunjung — pretty, popular, and perfectly pastel and aesthetic. They taught you how to belong. Or at least, how to perform belonging. But beneath the surface, the cracks were growing… and the insecurity kept showing…

But… you still had to push. Jeno… would be in arms reach if you kept pushing.

At 13h23, you're sitting by the diner window, legs crossed just right, hair curled to perfection, you watched your reflection in the glass more than the world outside. You look cool and untouchable… the things you had to do to get to this post is all worth it, if it leads you to Jeno.

But for now, none of it mattered because he still hasn't noticed you.

"What do I have to do next for Lee Jeno to finally look my way and want me?" You frown, breaking your gaze from the reflection in the window and turning back to your friends at the table.

Chaerong bounces excitedly in her seat. Chaerong is a girls girl- always pumped in supporting or helping out in anyway that she can. "You could sign up for the cheering team. Basketball season’s coming up. If you make the team, you’ll have access to him all the time!"

Eunjung taps her chin thoughtfully before her eyes brighten. Eunjung loves the color blue - her style is always draped in it- so as she speaks, you wonder how she made blue light lipstick work. "How about we go to that party Mark’s hosting. When we find Jeno, we'll get you alone with him, and then you can fuck him and make him pussy drunk so hard that he simps on you.”

"Could work," Chaerong nods and then looks at you. "His party is this Friday. How's your body after being with Jaemin?"

You slump back in your seat, trying not to roll your eyes at their strategies. "Does everything have to be like, about sex? Jaemin was so rough, I don't think I can do another guy any time soon."

"Come on, you're a grown adult," Eunjung adds with a smirk. "If you can't handle Jaemin, how will you handle Jeno? I heard his huge."

"But I want him to like me without me having to get in his pants. Besides, that plan of going to Mark's party and getting Jeno alone with me, is already tough because I can't even get Jeno alone with me for more than 5 minutes. This isn't some high school drama where things just happen and he falls into my lap. Jeno is so hard to get." You grunt, leaning forward and poking at your olive and tomato salad.

Eunjung folds her arms, unimpressed. "If you know this isn't high school, then why are you chasing after him? Like, hello, he isn't the only hot senior here."

Chaerong's face lights up. "Yeah, and don't forget the first years are pretty hot too. Did you see that guy? What's his name—wait—" She snaps her fingers and closes her eyes, thinking hard. "Ah—Jisung!”

"Ew," you say with a frown, causing them both to laugh.

"Oh come on," Eunjung chimes in, sipping her milkshake. "He's on the basketball team. Have you seen Haechan? Jaehyun? Now those guys are lookers."

"Are you serious?" You stare at them in disbelief. "I pour out my broken soul and you're talking about other guys? You don't get it. I don't want those other soggy sweatpants guys who only think about basketball, parties, and drugs. I want him because he's hot and smart. He's Lee Jeno. The man who can do everything."

Chaerong pops a piece of bubble gum into her mouth and twirls a strand of her dark hair. "Babes, you just have to accept that he's untouchable."

"Plus, he's older than you. A lot older. Practically in his sixties." Eunjung rolls her eyes.

You scowl, shutting down as you quietly munch on your salad, feeling disheartened. "You guys just, like… suck. Hardcore."

Chaerong and Eunjung exchange concerned looks. Chaerong places a comforting hand over yours. "Okay, how about this? Change your hair color to blonde. It's hot in America right now, I heard. Give yourself that Sabrina Carpenter vibe. Blue contact lenses, guys are into that. And you should take charge- come on, I have some wigs in my car."

Before you can say anything else, they're already getting up, skirts swishing, crop tops tight, leaving the diner without even finishing their food. You quickly get up following behind them. "Hold up-" Maybe this time, it'll work. You're so close to Jeno.

Across the room, Renjun rubs his temple in frustration as Chenle gets up from his seat opposite him and walks over to the empty table that was occupied by the girls. He picks something up, then returns with a sly grin. "They're so dumb. They didn't even notice the mic." Taking a seat across from Renjun, he removes his earpiece prompting Renjun to do the same handing it back to him. An earpiece which forced Renjun to eavesdrop on those girls. "What did you think? Better yet, how did it make you feel?"

"I should've been on a fucking island by now, sipping on dry martinis and peeling off bikinis, not listening to hopes and dreams of prostitutes." Renjun sarcastically lets out, wondering how on earth he was convinced to give up his 30-minute free time for this. "To be honest, I'm listing off ways to kill you Zhong Chenle."

Chenle is in instant chuckles causing Renjun to glare. They're complete polar opposites, with Chenle being a ray of sunshine, and Renjun's whole vibe being descended form hell. Chenle always laughing and smiling, Renjun frowning and sarcastic in everyway. "You didn't find that conversation interesting?" Chenle poses, zipping up his miniature microphone and earpiece back in his case. "What did you think?" he asks again.

"We were supposed to be reporting on wild storms in Japan." Renjun blankly answers, composing himself not to get violent with every chuckle that leaves Chenle's lips. "Did it not occur to you, that I don't want to document on people."

Chenle's lips stretch to his usual eminent smile as he motions for Renjun to calm down. "First of all this is a 'pairs project', lecturer said to make decisions 'together'. You chose that on your own. I at least involved you in the idea I have."

Renjun continues to rub his temple shutting his eyes, face panned downwards. If he could, he would hurt Chenle badly. But he can't, overwise he'd fail and that would suck.

"By the way, loved how you cut your hair short-"

"Shut up, let me think." Renjun barely raises his voice, still the words pierce into Chenle's ears. Intimidating, yet for Chenle, he always found the angry boy comical. Meanwhile Renjun 'meditates' on things that are pure, admirable and angelic- things that will get his mind off from thinking about killing Chenle. When he finally opens his eyes to the jubilant young man Chenle, the feelings of punching his face return. But he digresses. "I have questions." Renjun starts, already feeling hot and loathsome again. "Why on earth would you make us give up hail storms in Japan for these girls? Was there nothing else that you could've chosen for us to do? Do I look like I'm in the mood to eavesdrop on shit like this?"

"Wow-" Chenle holds in his fits of laughter. Renjun rolls his eyes getting up from his seat and heading out. "Where are you going?"

"My class is about to start, and I want to clear my head." Renjun exits the mini diner, pulling out his cigarette pack, immediately thrusting a single bud in between his lips grunting by the heat of the sun.

"You're one ironic bastard." Chenle follows beside him. "Talk about the safety of wildlife and you're out here pontificating it."

Renjun ignores Chenle, lighting up the tip of his bud covering it, protecting the wind that blows. Once it catches fire, Renjun's quick to inhale and exhale through his nose- the itching calming down, the irritations fades for a bit. "My afternoon dose of nicotine doesn't pollute the earth. Now tell me, why I should agree to this stupid project? Hailstorm in Japan had no people involved and was highly favorable by me. And what the hell where those girls even talking about?"

"Need I remind you this is a capstone collaborations class." Chenle states matter-of-factly. "You as the engineering student are required to take it to improve your communication. I on the other hand I'm a strong writer and a people's person and can help you achieve that. Which is why we should be reporting on these girls. See it like this, we are in a prestigious university specializing in media, society and technology. We've got standards to uphold. Now once in a while, the school surprises us with students like Y/n. I heard she graduated top of her class- but here, her grades are on life support. She's clearly dumb, thinking she's the shit, but what interests me is her pursuit of Jeno. In a communications class, we're always pressed to make headlines - so my suggestion is that we take the negative approach. It'll still make headlines and give us our marks even though it's dirty."

Despite the smirk on Chenle's face, Renjun is dumbfounded. Can the world get anymore darker? "You've picked your target- what's her name?"

Chenle says your name, and Renjun sighs. "Poor girl is the focus on this sick project. If I say I don't want to be a part of this, and you're free to do whatever you want, will you still allow me to put my name when you're submitting?"

Chenle grins proudly. "Of course, you needn't worry about dirty work. What I want you to do is get statistics about body counts of f-"

"What exactly are you up to?" Renjun exhales sharply, turning toward him. "From their conversation, I picked up they're first years. What business do you have with them? Seriously. I need to know—I’m not about to have my name tied to a criminal."

Chenle just shrugs, that usual playful grin tugging at his lips. "Nothing bad-"

Renjun rolls his eyes. "Whatever. You’ve got my email. Just send me my part of the work—I’ll finish it."

The truth is, Renjun hasn’t dropped Chenle as a partner because, despite his annoying attitude, he’s actually brilliant. He’s made headlines both inside and outside the university. Partnering with a golden student like him? That’s a guaranteed perfect score, and that's what Renjun likes to collect - especially for a class he was forced to join against his will.

"Injun! What’s up?" Renjun’s shoulder jerk slightly as someone bumps into him mid-walk. He doesn’t even have to look, he already knows. Lee Jeno.

Unlike Renjun, who’s almost always dressed in black and carries the energy of someone permanently irritated, Jeno is his complete opposite, bright, effortlessly charismatic, and annoyingly easy to like. He's popular not just for his sharp mind, but also for his physique and presence on the university basketball team. The guy’s a walking triple threat.

And unfortunately, he’s also Renjun’s best friend.

"You look pissed. What happened? I left you for two minutes and you were totally chill."

"Jeno, does it ever occur to you that the sun irritates my skin, and when I'm dressed in leather jackets - your arm should be kept away from me. I'm freaking burning—"

"The fuck, that's not my problem." Jeno laughs. "Yho listen, I've got training after classes. Basketball season has come forth. Coach might kill me, haven't worked out all this semester."

As they head to engineering theory, students greet Jeno left and right. He replies effortlessly, all charm and ease. No one greets Renjun. They just look away, or make room like he carries some contagious plague. That’s fine. He prefers it that way. The fewer interactions, the better.

Then he sees you… you're a literal bombshell. Eye candy… Blonde. Fake blonde. A dumb, desperate attempt to get Jeno’s attention. Rejun hears Jeno sigh. "Sucks to be cool." Renjun mutters.

"It doesn’t," Jeno replies. "Some people… suck. Hate this girl, she's so desperate-"

You stop Jeno in the hallway, blocking his path. "Hey, Jeno."

"Hi Y/n." Jeno against his will stops and greets you. Tiredly.

"I sent you a text, and you didn't text back. Why?" You ask, your tone flirtatious. He gives the usual excuse, practice, homework. He's still trying to be polite, but distant. You don't take the hint. "Couldn't you text that back? You left me on read."

Jeno rolls his head around his neck, trying to pass you. "You're not my girlfriend. I don't owe you that. Look, I've got class. See you later." Renjun watches as Jeno brushes past, annoyed. Jeno catches up with Renjun and furrows his brows. "I'm surprised you didn't leave," Jeno says.

"It was entertaining," Renjun replies, already removing his bag and handing it to Jeno. "Save me a seat. I'll be back."

"Liar. You just want to finish your cigarette." Jeno laughs and jogs off. Renjun then remembers he's still holding onto his cigarette. Renjun checks the time, yeah, they’re late, but his bud was still fresh and he needed to finish it, not to waste it. He turns back just in time to see you entering the co-ed bathroom.

He follows.

You don't notice him. When you step out of the stall, eyes red, wig clutched in your hand, he's already at the sink. You wash your hands, stuffing the wig into your bag like it might erase what just happened.

Renjun takes it out again.

"Hey-" you protest in shock of the sudden hand that reaches in your personal space. "Give that back-"

He holds it high, unimpressed. You look weak… pathetic. It's so pitiful that he tosses the wig back into your bag. "You weren’t always like this," he mutters.

You furrow your brows by his words. "You don’t know me. Go away." But then you stop. You blink, tears still drying. Your voice softens. "You're Jeno’s friend, right?"

Renjun lifts a brow.

"Maybe you could help me," you say. "Help him notice me. Please?"

He doesn't answer directly. "You are an idiot." With that, he turns and walks out. He remembers you…

Back in high school, he was a senior when you joined as a junior. Immediately recognized as a brilliant student. He never paid you much attention, just knew you as the quiet, nerdy type who always ended up sitting in his usual smoking spot. Alone.

Now here you are again. And somehow, he’s paired with Chenle to write a report about you. How unlucky.

So unlucky that he actually has a nightmare… Renjun’s nightmare… begins that night when he goes to bed as himself.

But in the morning he wakes up to a pink ceiling. He wakes up as you.

And it's so unlucky, because… it's not a nightmare. It's real.

8:49 AM - Tuesday

What the hell is going on?

You groan, twisting uncomfortably on a bed that doesn’t feel like yours. Your throat is parched, and your ears are bleeding from being blasted with rock music. You rip off the headphones…. headphones? And sit up slowly, dazed. The blanket wrapped around you is huge, grey, and smells like cigarettes. Gross. You try to stand, but the weight of the blanket trips you and you collapse to the floor. Then it hits you- grey carpet?

You glance around in confusion. Did you sleep with someone last night? The walls are dull, the curtains shut tight, and the air smells like stale smoke. This isn't your room. It doesn't even feel like your house. You stagger over to the curtains and yank them open. As light floods in, your eyes catch something that makes your blood freeze- a mirror. You step closer, slowly. Your reflection stares back at you- but it isn't yours. You blink. You squint. You touch your face.

What. The. Hell?

That's not your face. That's a guy's face. You stumble back, then rush toward the mirror again, heart pounding. "Am I a… man?"

No. Wait. This can't be real. You are a man.

Your chest rises and falls quickly as panic sinks in. You blink hard, slap yourself across the cheek. Still there. Still him. You cough from the dry air, waving a hand in front of your face as your eyes drift down to your body. And then you feel it. A shift. A twitch. A sudden, heavy presence in your pants. You freeze.

"No way," you whisper. You close your eyes, hesitate, then slowly slide a hand down your waistband. You cringe. Hair. Skin. Something thick and soft… Oh no. It's real. It’s yours. It's attached. It’s… twitching?

You rip your hand out like it burned you. "Where the hell is my vagina…" you mutter miserably, staring in horror at the mirror. No tears come out, even though you're about to collapse. You try screaming, but the voice that comes out is deep. Hoarse. Not yours. It terrifies you more than anything else. You cough hard, gripping the edge of the bed. This can't be real. You press your hands to your face, then look back at the mirror. You pull your- his short hair back.

Short. Black. Masculine.

You gasp. "Oh my god. I'm him. I'M HIM!"

You bolt to the door, fling it open, and run out into a bright hallway. The air smells fresh out here. It makes no sense, his room was a smoke-filled oven.

"Hello?" you call, voice echoing. "Is anybody here?"

You wander aimlessly, taking turns at random, trying to make sense of where you are. The house is big. Bigger than your dorm room. Definitely not a dorm. You're about to round a corner when someone nearly walks into you, a short woman with dark hair. You freeze. So does she.

"I-Is there a problem?" she asks, clearly startled.

Your brain stutters. "Uhm… good morning."

She blinks, then smiles faintly. "Oh. Good morning, my son. Are you okay? I heard you screaming and thought it might be another… well, never mind. I'm talking too much. You probably want me to leave.”

Son? This woman is his mom? She looks like she's trying not to upset you. Why does she seem afraid? But you don’t have time to unpack that now. "Ma'am… I mean mum… mother?" you blurt out, but by her confused face you stick to; mum. "Mum- I need you to tell me something."

She tilts her head, concerned.

"What's my name?" you ask breathlessly. "Like… my real, birth name?"

She looks confused but eventually answers, hesitantly. "Renjun. Huang Renjun?"

You blink. "I knew it." You turn to leave, but quickly spin back around. "Mum?"

She looks more confused than ever, a little unsure. "Y-Yes?"

"Could you, like… drop me off at school?" you ask, trying to soften your voice, though your throat still sounds dry and raspy. You cough- loud and rough. Ugh. Why does this body feel like it hasn't had water in days?

Her eyes widen. "You want me to drop you off at school?"

You nod, but she stares in disbelief. "My son… are you feeling okay? Did I do something wrong? Do you want to humiliate me again?"

Again? Oh no. That's right. You're in the body of Renjun- Jeno's friend but also known around campus as; number one misanthrope, full-time cynic, part-time emotional terrorist. Great.

You clutch your chest a little and lean down to hug the petite woman in front of you. She flinches at first, clearly not used to affection. If you had a mum like this, you'd be doing everything to make her proud. But your own mum's been gone for as long as you can remember… replaced by your father's idea of a half-naked new wife, who somehow counts as your stepmother. Not the best influence, but… you still want to be like her, so that your father can… acknowledge you.

"R-Renjun, dear?"

This woman is so gentle. You tighten the hug a little.

"Yes, Mum," you reply, though your voice still sounds like it needs a lung transplant. You cough out-

When you pull back, her eyes are misty. "You really want me to drop you off?"

"I'd love that," you smile, an actual, warm smile. It lights up her entire face as she wraps you in another hug, it's hesitant but she gives into it.

"I hope I’m not dreaming," she whispers with a chuckle. "Alright, my son. Go change. I'll make some tea. Do you… want some?"

"Yeah, def— I mean, definitely," you nod, mentally scolding yourself for slipping into slang. This dude's voice can't pull off 'def.' Back in Renjun’s room, you open the drawers and sigh. Black. More black. Grey. Dark grey. Is this a fashion statement or a mental breakdown? You pull out a pair of black shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. Basic. Boring. "Wow, this guy really said ‘depression, but make it wearable.’"

Still, it'll do. You need a shower. Wandering through the hallways, you finally find the bathroom. You take a deep breath. If you don't shower, you'll stink. If you do, well… you'll have to deal with everything… but it's not like you've never seen a penis before…

"Still could be a dream,” you mumble when feeling the cold floors of the bathroom. "Once I open the tap, I'll wake up." You turn the water on. Hot. Steamy. Real. You sigh. Clothes come off and you feel… naked. You step in. Nope. Still not dreaming. You force yourself to bathe. You've got this. A moment later you giggle swinging your hips side to side, liking the flap and smacking sounds it makes. You even attempt a helicopter. "Wow."

A while later, you're dressed and freshly showered. You step outside where Renjun's mum is waiting. You sit in the front seat, avoiding to speak as she plays music… proudly to avoid conversation as she still seems hesitant and nervous.

"Thanks, Mum," you say, stepping into the sunlight and out the car. "Have a good day."

"Oh- uh. Y-you too," she replies, looking genuinely happy.

You close the door behind you and head toward the school building, surrounded by other students. The courtyard is already buzzing with life. Your mind drifts.

If you're here and in his body… then he's in your body. Which means one SIMPLE YET HUGE PROBLEM — you swapped bodies….

"Why the hell are you so late? I've missed out on 2 classes waiting here for you!" You hear someone yell- clearly at you. So you spin around.

And there 'you' are. Short. Furious. Wearing the most tragic outfit in the history of first impressions: bright blue skinny jeans and an orange t-shirt. Your hair is pulled back in a limp, awkward ponytail. No makeup. No accessories. No effort. It's like looking at a mirror of yourself in highschool!

You gasp in horror. "What are you wearing?!"

She- he- Renjun -in-your-body glares daggers at you. You can only stare at your face… that's being controlled by Renjun. "Why are you so angry? You didn't even put on makeup?!" you try to yell, but the cough shows your weaknesses.

Before you can answer, he (in your short petite feminin body) punches you in the stomach.

You groan. "Ow!" Despite having a manly body, the impact is still so severe.

"Get a grip of yourself, you fool!" Then, with a death grip you know too well— because it's your own nails… well now on him… he grabs your arm and drags you behind him. Everyone’s watching. Oh god, everyone is watching you… well him in your body drag you like a scene straight out of a movie.

[A/n: Renjun in your body will still be referred to as 'he', and you in Renjun's body will be referred to as 'you'.]

He nearly slams open the door to the one building you've never entered in before. Engineering Theory. But today is no ordinary day- so you can only hope that all of this is a nightmare. The lecturer barely spares you a glance before shifting his eyes down to the furious girl stomping in, dragging you to the back of the class. The lecturer says nothing and resumes teaching, while the petite girl- Renjun in your body- throws a death glare at you.

"Bag. Now," he hisses, voice low and sharp. Making you wonder how on earth your tiny cute voice could ever sound like that. But since he's piloting your body- he's making you see yourself… in a new freaky way. You toss his bag at the table. While he yanks it open with such brute force causing a few students look back.

"Yho, Renjun, what's happening?"

You jump when someone nudges your shoulder. You turn and nearly melt in your seat when you see Jeno smiling at you… This really has to be a dream! Will you finally wake up if you hug him? Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, wanting to wake up! But at the same time you're truly hoping to never wake up from this dream. Especially if it means Lee Jeno is smiling at you. Well not you but Renjun- but who cares!

You're hugging Lee Jeno.

But it doesn't last. The grip on your shoulder is suddenly ripped away by an angry, very small, very scary girl—Renjun is actually making your body look so scary…. You stare at his own furious face now twisted into an expression you've never even seen in the mirror. Okay, your nails are deadly… But the face… Deadlier.

"Where. Are. My. Books." he growls, each word slicing through you like a blade.

You gulp and try to gently touch his shoulder, but he slams his hand onto the desk—hard. "Where are they?!"

"They were heavy!" You whisper yell, trying to calm him in your body down- your throat feeling so raspy and sore. "My back was sore—"

"Renjun and company." The lecturer finally voices out. "You're interrupting my class."

"Don't speak," Renjun in your body hisses out, barely containing himself. “Don't speak. Don't think. Don't touch anyone again. Listen. Learn. And don't even breathe."

You slump back in your chair, scared. You turn towards Jeno again, trying to recover. But Jeno leans away. "You're being odd."

You're frozen in your seat, not even paying attention to what is being taught, and you can bet that Renjun is also not paying attention, because he's rubbing his forehead. And after what feels like forever the class ends-

"I think I'll catch you later, bro… You're acting strange and hanging out with the weirdo. Later."

No! You panic. This is like a silver platter. Your one chance to hang out with Jeno. You attempt to follow him - "Ya! Y/n!" but Renjun calls you back. "If you use my mouth to say another dumb thing," Renjun whispers coldly, "I will break this body so badly, you'll need a wheelchair."

He gets up and walks ahead to the front, approaching the lecturer. You trail behind, shoulders sagging. Your throat still burns. You want to cry, but for some reason, this body won’t let you. It's like the muscles are too stubborn for tears.

"Mr. Huang," the lecturer sighs, "Care to explain why this girl is 'begging' for more time on your behalf?"

You freeze… because the thought of being in Renjun's body is still so bizarre and crazy. "Uh…"

Renjun however in your body, groans and facepalms, then steps in. "Because, Byung, 'Renjun' is an idiot who couldn't get out of bed this morning with his brain. But all pride aside, he tried to submit it yesterday, but you said no. So do us a favor and—"

Before Renjun can finish, you cup a hand over his mouth. Which is a mistake, because he immediately tries to claw at you, but thankfully in this body you're stronger.

"Sir," you begin, forcing your best polite tone, "I thought letting her speak would help, but clearly it's not. Look, it was an honest mistake. I think we both know I’m your top student. I take your work seriously."

Renjun stomps on your foot, but you shift to block it, still smiling. The lecturer looking at you confused. "Did you just call me 'sir'?

"Please… just one more day." You end up saying.

The lecturer eyes you suspiciously. "You have officially traumatized me Huang Renjun. Fine. Email it by tonight and hand in print copy tomorrow, or I'm giving your spot to someone else."

You let Renjun in your body go, and you breathe out. He's furious and stomps your foot. "Don't you dare ever 'manhandle' me again," he grunts from your body, voice low and sharp.

"Please leave my class." The lecturer says, obviously not in the mood to deal with the both of you any longer.

-

"Are you angry with me?" you cough out, looking his way. He doesn't answer, just bounces his foot rapidly on the ground, his expression tight.

You cough again, glancing down at your shorts, still adjusting to being in this unfamiliar body.

"I'm sorr—"

"Shut up." he groans out.

You're sitting behind the building facility on campus grounds, watching students stroll across the open field, some eating, some studying, others heading into the building. You've never been to this side of campus before. It feels completely foreign… but oddly, Renjun's brain seems to know exactly where everything is. Like there's a quiet GPS guiding you.

You try to keep your cough quiet- but it keeps coming out, causing you so much irritation.

"For crying out loud." Then suddenly, Renjun calls out; "Hey Mark. I need a lighter and cigarette."

You blink, startled, as one of the more popular guys, Mark, makes his way over, ditching two friends coming closer.

"Sup girly." Mark looks at Renjun up and down confused, and then turns to you. "Sup Renjun. This your girlfriend-"

"I will kill you if you touch me," Renjun growls stopping Mark from getting his hands around him, and it's so threatening you instinctively flinch where you sit. His tone in your voice comes out with terrifying sharpness. "Do you have a cigarette and lighter? Yes or no."

Mark laughs awkwardly but pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter that looks like a pen. He glances at you, confused. You quickly look away. But Mark comes to sit over next to you. "Yho, Renjun, you with this girl?" he whispers.

You glance over at your own body—Renjun, who looks visibly annoyed and pissed off, probably stunned at being ignored. You try to hold it together.

"Just give her what she wants," you mutter, your tone in Renjun's voice makes him sound whiney- to which Mark leans back and just stares. Oh no, even Renjun has his mouth wide open. "Before 'she' bites my head off. Please give it to him- I mean her."

Mark gives both of you a look, then hands over the pack. Renjun, takes one cigarette, lights it, and waves him away.

"Beat it."

"You've got a bad mouth, girly. See you, Renjun," Mark mutters, stuffing the pack and pen back into his pocket when Renjun gives him back his stuff. Mark walks off, not forgetting to throw one more strange look at the both of you. "Weird."

"Cool pen, by the way," you call after him. He smirks at you. "I like how it’s both a lighter and a pen."

"Yeah?" Mark starts walking back toward you, but Renjun immediately rises and steps in front of you, blocking his path.

"I said. Beat. It." He glowers. You feel like shrinking into the ground. He's embarrassing you so badly, it's not even funny.

"Dang, girl. You need to chill." Mark huffs and finally walks away for good.

Then Renjun turns to you, holding the cigarette out. "Here. Take it before the fire burns it all out."

You hesitate. "No, sorry, I don't smoke-"

"But I do. And right about now, I bet your lungs are burning. This'll stop the itching and coughs." Renjun narrows his eyes and adds, with the kind of venom only he's are capable of, "Take it or I'll force it down your throat." You hurriedly take the thin, scorching bud from him. "Inhale. Breathe it in. Exhale. Let it out."

You do as told, but immediately double over coughing as it's your first time smoking. The smoke scraping down your throat on all the wrong pipes. You feel like you're dying- actual tears begin to form- But that look he gives you… is worse than death, so you try again. This time, carefully sending the smoke down the right pipe, you inhale deeper. The heat stings all the way into your lungs. You exhale slowly, coughing only a little… bit it feels better.

"That was better," Renjun says calmly, now sitting beside you with his legs wide open. Come to think of it, you're sitting with your legs closed by habit. "Now let's get down to business."

You lean back, cigarette dangling from your fingers. "How long do I have to smoke this-"

"Shut up and focus. I sat up all morning trying to figure this out. I searched Google, AI for anything about body switches but came up empty."

You blink. "No wonder you look like crap in my body. I hate that you actually walked out the house like that- do you know embarrassing you look right now-" you add under your breath.

"For fuck sakes, I said shut up." He snaps his head toward you. "Listen. I'm not in mood." But the way he says it makes you nearly laugh.

"You think this is funny?"

"No," you reply, chuckling and then stopping instantly. "I just… I didn't know I could look so threatening, you know? I'm actually scared to sit next to myself right now."

Renjun sighs through. "Can you fucking focus? Why are we like this?"

"You know how they say words have power?" you offer. "Could be one of those things. I’ve seen this kind of stuff in movies. It usually starts with someone saying something they didn’t mean. Maybe you said you wanted to be me—"

"In what word would I want to be you? There's no way in hell those words left my mouth," he snaps. "A whole me being female? There's no such. And you of all people-"

"Harsh—"

"Harsh but true."

You exhale a plume of smoke, getting used to the rhythm. It's like your very own inhaler. "This has to be a dream."

Renjun rolls his eyes. "Clearly this isn't a dream," he mutters. "So maybe try using my brain to think for once."

You fold your arms and nod. But it's so hard to think of anything… especially since this is still so unbelievable. "I've got nothing. I just can't believe that this happened to me… This has to be a dream."

"Well you have to think of something before I lose my mind." he stresses.

You frown. "Why me? Why don't we join our brains together?"

Renjun snorts a sarcastic laugh. "Unfortunately we can't do that, because you don't have a brain. And I can prove that's true because I'm in your literal stupid body. You're dumb. Unable to think about anything else but 'Jeno'." Renjun says flatly.

"You don't have to be mean all the time. I didn't ask to be you either. I don't know why this is happening. And I don't like how you're acting like it's my fault." you timidly state, slowly being annoyed at how he's discarding you, your thoughts and body.

"Ugh, just shut up if you don't have anything 'intelligent' to say."

And that hurts. "Fine." You huff in his body and get up.

"And where the hell do you think you're going?"

"You're so toxic and mean and I don't appreciate it. I need space."

Renjun can only watch as his body—occupied by you—walks away. He's furious, tempted to pick up a stone and hurl it at you. But instead, he forces himself to calm down. "Hell this can't be happening," he mutters. "If she doesn't want to figure it out, I have to." Grabbing the bag he packed, Renjun heads to the student center, hoping to find some peace and quiet to think things through.

Meanwhile, you wander over to the mini diner you've always loved. Thankfully, your girls are already there.

"Hi, girls." You sadly greet. "I'm having the worst day ever," you say with a dramatic sigh.

Chaerong and Eunjung stare as 'Renjun' plops down in the seat you always sit in.

"Uhm… hi," Chaerong says, feeling the awkward silence that follows. "Can we help you?"

You exhale sharply, suddenly remembering, again, that you're in Renjun's body. You rub your face in frustration. "This can't be happening. He's so mean and rude. He thinks I only think of Jeno? He's out there ruining my image- he doesn't know how hard I work or pour out myself just to be the way I am. This has to be a dream." you slump forward… but the girls can only see Renjun and how he's moping around.

"Are you like… high or something?" Eunjung asks before she points with her perfectly long blue manicured nails to the reception area where's there's a mini bar. "The bar is that side,"

You sit up, and dry your tearless eyes. Renjun's body surely doesn't know how to cry. "Okay I'm sorry. You guys are like, probably confused, but I'm Y/n. I woke up in this body." They stare at you with eyes of bewilderment, before they look at each other.

Eunjung looks at you up and down, with a forced smirk. "Is this some joke? Again, the bar is there."

"No." You shake your head, sighing out. "I know this voice and appearance is confusing, but it really is me."

"You're being sarcastic right." This time Chaerong asks. "Is this some hidden camera prank? Or something? Why are you here?"

"I'm not even like, bluffing." You lean over the table. You just need the support of your friends- especially when you're in this body where the lungs are dry, tears refuse to manifest and worst of all you've got a groin that's itching and won't stay in one place. "I'll prove it."

"Hey this isn't funny, you're getting too comfortable. Please, disappear." You lock eyes with Eunjung, who's starting to look more uneasy by the second. "Evaporate or something,"

"It really is me, Y/n. I'm your best friend, remember?"

She rolls her eyes. "Please go away."

But you persist- something in you feels so nervous. You can hear your heart beating so fast, but you ignore it and try to get your friends attention. "Please just listen, it'll make sense if you listen. I know everything about you, like how your favourite colour is blue and how you dress light blue when you're happy and dark blue when you're upset. I know every single secret, like how you lied about being sick to skip that important test and went to the mall instead. I know every guy you slept just in the beginning of this year— not just the ones you brag about, but the ones you begged me to forget. Or-" You don’t stop, especially when she leans back in distraught and folds her arms with a suspicious brow. "I know about the time you spread rumors about the new girl just because you were jealous she got the lecturers attention. I know that you even had sex with him in his classroom when no one was around. I know you cheated on that last group project and got your parents to help you bribe the lecturer to forge your marks. You got hacked last semester causing all your nudes to be exposed-"

Something in you tells you to stop- but like word vomit, the words keeping coming out, because you just want for them to believe you. You’re panicking, feeling overwhelmed that the secrets keep pouring out against your will.

"And you once told me that you're jealous of me, and how all the guys want me, but I turn then down because I like Jeno and I respect our friendship, and you're grateful for that. Chicks before dicks remember? I know you tried to turn Chaerong against everyone else, stirring up drama just to keep people distracted from her big boobs- you even slept with her boyfriend-"

Eunjung’s eyes flash, disbelief turning to anger. Without warning, she grabs the glass beside her and hurls it toward you, water splashing everywhere. You jolt shielding yourself even though it's too late. You look down, your pants now being moist by the cold water… the lemon water. Eunjung glares, chest heaving. Her voice is low, venomous.

"Fuck you." she grumbles, voice low and bitter. "Did Y/n tell you all of that? What a fucking bitch-"

You quickly stand up and shake your head. "No- no- it's not like that- I'm Y/n-"

"You're sick!" She yells and steps closer, eyes locked onto yours, blazing with fury. "I don't know why she'd want to tear our friendship apart but since she put all my secrets on blast- tell her I understand why her father turned his back on her. Because she a conniving snitch." Her words hit like bricks. "She's a phony. A greedy motherfucker. A slut. A snake. A liar. A bitch. I don’t know what game you're playing- with her or with me, but you crossed the wrong one. This prank wasn't funny. She's so desperate for attention she even came to you? Oh fuck her."

The silence that follows is troubling, her words hanging in the air like smoke after a fire.

"It’s… not true, right?" Chaerong’s voice trembles, cracking through the tension. Eunjung scoffs, her chair screeches against the floor. She storms off and slams the door on her way out, hard enough to startle even the waiter, who turns toward your table with a glare.

"Sorry," Chaerong mumbles, shrinking under the weight of the moment. You glance at her, she’s biting her lip, trying not to look too hurt, but it shows. She lets out a sad, breathy chuckle. "I always knew Eunjung was a bitch. I just never understood why Y/N liked her so much." She looks at you. "Hey… did Y/n really say all that? Is it true?"

"I'm…" You're still stunned… still trying to process the fact that you were just humiliated, publicly drenched, and called every vile name under the sun. "Did she really say… that my father turned his back on me because I'm a liar and a snitch?"

Chaerong glances around, then back at you. She cautiously clears her throat. "Uhm. I think she meant for you to pass that on… to Y/n. So what's the deal? Why’d Y/n tell you that?"

You can only shake your head, dread pooling in your stomach. "I'm Y/n…" And you watch how Chaerong's gaze tries to look sympathetic but you can tell she's judging. You hate this body. You hate living like this. "I have to go-"

"No, stay." Chaerong reaches out and grabs your hand, her touch gentle. She slides into the seat beside you and picks up a napkin, carefully wiping the water from your face. "Okay fine… you're Y/n. I believe you."

"Really?" You ask sadly, even though you know she's just saying that, probably to find out what secrets 'Y/n told Renjun about her.' You're not a fool.

"Yeah," she nods, buying into her own lie, her arms nervously on her lap. "Now, I don't know what's going on, but please… tell me what Y/n… I mean what you… think about me…"

"I can't," you whisper, defeated. They don’t believe you- not really. They don’t see you as Y/n. Just Renjun, a guy who's now somehow wrecked your own reputation and you might just ruin his own too. "Chaerong… can you just tell her I was lying?" Your voice cracks… but in Renjun's tone, it just sounds like his throat his dry. You need a cigarette to stop this anxious nervous ticks you're suddenly getting. Is this what all smokers go through? "That I just… guessed those things. It's not true."

"You know my name?" She studies you for a long moment, searching your face. "Well, tell Y/n that was a low blow." Her voice hardens. "And that… she must've forget that we were always there for her. We never judged her for wanting to fit in with us. For her to go around telling our secrets to you… I don’t know what kind of game this is, but it’s not funny. It's like rude of her, disrespectful. Even if it's for a project." She shakes her head. "It just proves that she’s so desperate for attention that she'll do anything. Nobody actually likes her when she's like that. It's… giving serious daddy issues, lack of affection."

With nothing but shame left in you, you get up with your bag and head out the mini diner. You don't know where to go, but you try to keep your head down and look for some shade.

On the other side of the building, Renjun in your body sits slouched and typing rapidly, eyes glued to the computer screen in front of him. He's doing his assignment for his Engineering Theology class, because he fears that the worst is yet to come if he and you don't figure out how to swap back. He doesn't want to be trapped in your body.

Despite Renjun knowing you just as Jeno's obsessive stalker - you also have your own reputation around campus. You're pretty popular to get in bed with, and most guys on campus know you as the 'Tip Girl'. Apparently, anyone could tip you on information they had about Jeno and in return you'd do them a 'favour'.

So the shock on Renjun's face, when some random guy came up to him and told him that Jeno needs a tutor for a certain subject and after that, they guy expected Renjun… or your body to kiss him… Which was horrendous; "I will shove a knife down your throat if you ever touch me again." Renjun made it clear that today 'your body' would not be touched by anyone at all.

That was enough for the guy to call Renjun in your body a bitch and walk away.

While it was annoying being short, female, and 'well-known', he liked the perks of being aggressive and nobody would hit him because he's a girl. He groans lowly when suddenly the chair across from him is being pulled open, and someone greets him. He hears your name and sighs. However his eyebrows furrow for a bit when seeing the person. "Chenle?"

"So you remember my name today?" Chenle smirks, before licking his lips and giving you an interested up and down look. "You look… different today. May I take a seat?"

"No you may not, I'm busy. Go away." Renjun instantly shoots the offer down. He looks back to the computer, typing out a new paragraph hoping to gain back his focus. But it's too late, because Renjun doesn't intend to leave.

"What's with the attitude?" Chenle smirks. "I thought you want me."

"You?" Renjun scoffs and deadpans. "I want Jeno." he even feels so wrong saying that. "No homo."

"What?" Chenle squints his eyes, but Renjun shakes his head.

"Can you please go, you're disturbing my focus."

"But I've got news about Jeno-"

"Listen, if I tell you to leave one more time and you don't get off your behind and walk away, I will jump across this table and stab you with this keyboard, or strangle you with this wire mouse. So piss off." Renjun is so firm in his words, that loitering students peek at the altercation. Chenle surely isn't expecting that, as he snickers in annoyance before getting up.

"Bitch." Chenle mummers.

Yet, Renjun snaps his fingers and leans on the table, remembering something. "On second thought, sit, I want to ask you something."

"Are you on your periods-"

"Shut up and listen." Renjun rubs his temple before running his hand through his hair- however upon remembering that he's in your body and that your hair is long - his fingers get stuck in the ponytail, he untangles it. But then begins running his hand through your hair… loving it's texture. For a moment he gets sidetracked- but when seeing Chenle squint his eyes, Renjun gets back on track. "I heard you're writing a project about me."

Chenle is stunned for a split second, but composes himself. "As if."

"Don't lie to me." Renjun folds his arms, using your face to his own advantage to mimic a serious expression. "Renjun told me. He said you're obsessed with me. Aren't you a senior?"

Chenle is baffled and confused, he can only wonder what the hell is wrong with you today? "Y/n are you okay? What do you mean Renjun told you? Do you even know who Renjun is?"

"Yes. Today he's in my body and I'm in his body. So everything I'm saying is Renjun speaking through me." Renjun says it in the most sarcastic and unbelievable way, but still saying the truth, hoping to get Chenle's insight. "You want to humiliate me, but Renjun told me everything and that I should watch my back. So I'm going to be careful around you. Whatever relationship we had in the past, is over."

Chenle scoffs, getting up. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you smoked or slept with him. I'm leaving. You're weird today. See you later- when 'Renjun's not in your body'."

"But he is." Renjun goes on. "What would you make of that?"

"That you're high? Or bisexual, I don't know. You're having weird fantasies today."

"Just give me your input on that. Conscious swapping, or body swapping." Renjun pleads in a desperate tone, also playing with your vocal chords. You could be really whiny, and although it annoyed Renjun, he loved using your vocal chords. It was like a new superpower.

But to Chenle, he's just staring at 'you'… like you grew a third head. "Okay… what's in it for me, if I entertain your weird behaviour today?"

Renjun isn't so keen to find out what 'relationship' you have with him… especially since you're a 'tip girl'… but he does want an outsiders opinion. "I'll tell you what Renjun really said about you."

Chenle gives it a thought, before taking a seat again and folding his arms. "You'll tell me that and give me a kiss."

Renjun twists his face, but fakes a smile. The longer he stays in your body, the more he begins to feel uncomfortable at how… guys feel that they… can own you. "Okay." Renjun says tightly. Chenle taps 'your' chin - Renjun smacks his hand away. "Cheating."

"Fine. Swapping bodies and conscious… assuming this is for a project, did Renjun put you up to this? Did he tell you to 'act' and imitate him and his behavior and get responses of people from campus? Because now that we're on the topic, you're doing a pretty good job. Jeno said you stormed in his class earlier, and Renjun was also being… odd. Did you and Rejun speak about some project of your own to fool the campus or what? Wait maybe he's trying to come up with a better proposal then the one I offered to him."

Renjun sighs and rubs his head, imitating how he's heard you talk to your friends and Jeno. "Like, I asked you, a question. But you're like, not answering? What's up with that?" even though it's how Y/n talks, Chenle snickers when realizing it sounds forced.

Chenle pulls the chair back again, interested, he slouches into it, arms crossed, expression sharpening like he’s about to give a TED Talk. "This is interesting. I'll talk to him later. But fine. Conscious swapping…" he begins, slowly, thoughtfully. "I'd say it's like body hijacking."

Renjun furrows his brows. "Body… hijack?"

"Like mind transplant. Have you watched 'Freaky Friday' or like… 'Back to the future'? Those movies share similar concepts.” Chenle says with a small grin. "I'm actually impressed you got him in on the project- is this his project or yours? And what did you promise to give him afterwards? Some booty? Because heaven knows, that guy needs to get laid. I can't think of any reason why he'd willingly come to ask you a favour. It must be really good, otherwise you wouldn't be this committed to acting like him."

Renjun bites his lip in anger, fidgeting with his chin. While he's angry, Chenle is impressed at 'your' performance. Of course he's not going to buy the story that Renjun is in your body- he just thinks you're awfully good at mimicking the guy who's constantly stoned.

"So what what's the story you guys are selling?"

Renjun sighs. "You have deviated from the topic. What similar concepts do 'Back to the future' and 'Freaky Friday' have?"

"Oh, in 'Freaky Friday' the mother and daughter literally switch bodies, forcing them to live each other's lives. This creates some deep sense of empathy, they understand each other’s struggles, flaws, and pressures." Chenle explains the movie. "And in 'Back to the Future' Marty goes back in time and sees his parents as teenagers, giving him insight into their choices and personalities. He realizes his actions impact their future, and he begins to understand them as people, not just 'parents.'"

"I'm aware of the plot, you didn't have to explain it." Renjun grunts and adds sarcastically. "But gee since you did, why not make a whole video essay."

Chenle shakes his head, suddenly feeling oddly familiar. Your impressions of Renjun are spot on- is what he thinks. "All right, I'll play along. The shared concept is that understanding others requires walking in their shoes, literally or figuratively." Chenle says. "So while you're 'acting' like Renjun, what you should acually be doing is that Renjun in your body should actually be trying to understand you."

"That makes no fucking sense. Why would I want to under her? How about going back to my body?"

"Hey," Chenle shrugs with his arms up. "Makes sense to me. Renjun has to get in your mind, see you and how you actually are, not what people see. And hopefully you 'might' go back to your body. Hey, that's actually our project." Chenle snaps his fingers in though. "It's not the same angle but Renjun and I, aren't trying to trick you okay. I don't know what he told you, but I just want to understand why you're so hooked on Jeno. So, cut the acting, how did Renjun approach you?"

Renjun thinks back… "To be frank with you. I saw her having a breakdown in the bathroom about Jeno. I just watched her… And then I went my separate way, and then the next morning, today—bam. New body."

Chenle raises an eyebrow. "So what? You think it was a mix of emotional overload? That's oddly specific and completely vague," he says flatly, though something shifts behind his eyes. Curiosity? Recognition?

Renjun notices. "What?"

Chenle shrugs, but doesn’t meet his gaze. "Nothing. Just… thinking. Do you think if I go to Renjun he might…" Chenle snickers a little. "Talk like Y/n? That would be a sight to see."

"He will." Renjun stares. "Would I fake being in a girl’s body and walk around campus threatening people with keyboards for fun?"

Chenle sits back. "Renjun would. And if he's told you to do it to make it believable, I must say you're doing a good job. The whole no makeup, crazy fit is on point if Renjun was in your body. Plus he doesn't like being social. If this is a prank, it's the most elaborate one ever.”

Renjun watches him for a beat. "So you do believe me?"

Chenle holds up a finger. "Didn't say that. But I believe something messed up is going on. Especially if you tagged with Renjun. I'm curious as to what he told you?" He glances around and lowers his voice. "I'll go look for him? What time are you finishing class today, 4? 5?"

"Don't care. I'll go with you." Renjun saves his work in a file and sends it to his own account. He'll carry on later.

The first spot that Renjun and Chenle go to look for 'you' is at the diner that you're always at with your friends. However only one of your friends is there. She's seated quietly, spaced out, until Renjun takes initiative and walks over to her. "Hey."

Chaerong looks up in confusion and then shock. "Y/n?" Renjun rolls his eyes, remembering he's in your bodies. "Why do you look like that?"

Renjun sighs, not in the mood to socialize or even explain. "Have you seen Renjun?" He ignores your question.

"Yes actually." she folds her arms and stands up, literally being Renjun's height… and he remembers that you're short and he hates that. "He came in here, trying to pretend that he was you and spilled a whole of bunch of secrets. Are you sleeping with him?"

Chenle chuckles. "How big is this scale?"

Renjun sighs and thinks for a second. "So where did he go?"

"I don't know, but you should actually be worried about Eun-"

"Oh wait, I'll call myself." Renjun takes out your phone and sighs when remembering why he couldn't use your phone. He didn't know the password. "Chenle give me your phone." Once Chenle gives the phone, Renjun dials his number and puts it to his ear.

Thankfully after a few rings it connects. "Thank goodness. Hey, where are you? It's urgent."

"I'm not going to tell you where I am, I just want to wake up from this stupid dream."

Renjun is so surprised to hear his own voice… crying and sniffing out. "The fuck are you crying about? Meet me right now at that stupid diner you and your friends always at." and with that, he cuts the call and hands it back to Chenle. "And now we wait."

Chaerong is so confused, while Chenle is entertained. He thought his project was interesting, but this is another scale. "Did you actually boss Renjun here and he caved? How big is this scale?"

"Yeah, she's here." Renjun suddenly looks to Chaerong as she gets off the phone. "Eunjung is coming. She's really pissed off about what you told Renjun."

Renjun rolls his eyes and then massages his forehead. The hell are you doing in his body? "Do me a favour and just shut up."

Chaerong is surprised and Chenle laughs, being truly entertained.

-

You dust your pants from sitting on the ground against a tree, and then dry your eyes. You just want to wake up, this 'dream' is going on for too long, and you don't like how everyone has a conscious of they're on and you're swapped with Renjun. What could've even lead to this?

As you walk to the diner, your head begins thinking. Perhaps you and Renjun swapped because of some important lesson… You don't know what to learn from Renjun, you don't even know who he is. You've never met this guy or crossed paths with him before… wait. You remember him… you were in the same high school. He was a senior and you were a junior. Just like now. He was always with the stoner kids who smoked and got high, but sometimes he got high on his own. He liked going to the abandoned building, behind the school to smoke… and that's where you'd meet him. Never really interacted. He'd walk past you and to his own corner smoking while you did your work. Going down memory lane, you get saddened when thinking of yourself and how 'clever' you were. Renjun literally came to school today in your body looking like the 'high school' version of yourself and you hated that sight.

You can just hope that he isn't doing any more embarrassing things with your body-

Your eyes enlarge when walking on the campus grounds, and from a distance you see Renjun fighting with Eunjung! and a circle forming around them. The whole scene is chaotic- you watch Eunjung claw and grab hair- and Renjun in your body is fiercely balling his fists and punching Eunjung on the chest- kicking her stomach- it's horrendous. You see phones swiping out and recording- and all you can think about is how Renjun is ruining your image!

A while ago, in the diner, Eunjung entered all heated and annoyed. Renjun in your body, Chenle flirting with Chaerong all looked up- knowing that same type of drama was going to be unleashed. Chenle wasn't really interested, but when he saw how 'you' didn't look like you cared - he wondered really, how far you would go on to acting like Renjun.

"What the hell was that about? Spilling all my secrets to Renjun? Do I look like some type of project?" Eunjung grabbed Renjun by the hair- but neither was Renjun having it. He hated being touched. He hated it so much with a passion that he snaped and pulled his hair back and then planting the first slap.

"Don't touch me." he hissed.

Chaerong tried to stop it, seeing that something was not right with 'you' today. You actually slapped Eunjung. "Y/n that wasn't cool." But before it could escalate a waiter from the diner finally kicked all of you out. Renjun walked out first, but as stepped out the door Eunjung didn't hesitate to pull Renjun back by his long hair. Renjun fell on the ground- cursed your tiny body for being so fragile- but was already enraged from being touched that he lunged at Eunjung. His eyes widened and he didn't hold back either- normally this would be wrong. A guy hitting a girl- but right now, being in your body was advantageous. Two girls fighting and nobody stopping it.

Not even Chenle, who got out his phone and recorded with a laugh.

That's how the circle was formed- in your mind as you're running to the scene, you can only guess that Eunjung started the fight because of what you in Renjun's body said to her. So you're quick to separate her from Renjun- but Renjun only uses that as an opportunity to punch her in the gut.

"I dare you to hit me again!" he yells.

However that makes you mad, and you turn around rapidly giving Renjun a backhand slap in the face. "Stop hitting my friend! Stop being mean! You're ruining my reputation!"

With the amount of strength you used to hit Renjun, Renjun falls down. The cheers around stop only for a second before the crowd hypes up again. To you, you're just utilizing his own strength against him- but to the watchers around… they just witnessed a guy slapping a girl so hard that she fell.

Renjun is about to give you a piece of his mind- but he pauses when seeing Chaerong rush up to you and then give you such a hard slap. "How dare you touch my friend!? You stupid fuck!" Not just her, but Eunjung and even Chenle step in front of you… in Renjun's body. Not only them, a bunch of guys step forward pushing you back.

"Ya Renjun- you think you're cool hitting a girl?" They're now pushing you back- calling you names. You're surprised and feel so anxious- claustrophobic heart beating so fast. You recognize some of the guys as people you've slept with, but how they're looking at you now is terrifying- like they're going to beat you. "You don't hit women."

Renjun on the ground, can only watch in complete stun. Eunjung comes to him and helps him up- and that's when it hits him- that he's in your body and you slapped him, so everyone is thinking that a guy hit you publicly. "Are you okay? He's a jerk. Whatever he made you do, we'll get him back. Are you okay?"

But he removes his arm from her and walks through the crowd pushing until he sees you- his face is so pitiful and pathetic that he curses and grunts, grabbing your hand and pulling you away. "Piss off! He didn't really mean it." Renjun in your body ends up saying and drags you behind him away from the crowd that was so heavy and tension filled. While he's trying to get away - he doesn't notice that you're literally struggling to breathe. Even though you're following - forcing your legs to move- you're heart beat is literally over the roof.

Walking a bit faster and with you not resisting, Renjun is able to get away from the crowd and campus grounds, disappearing into an Engineering building and then to the co-ed bathroom.

Finally you guys are alone.

He turns around and sees you- himself struggling to breath. Automatically he searches his pockets for cigarettes - but remembers he's in your body and has nothing. He tries to look in your pockets and grunts that you didn't pack his pack. He sighs seeing you have some sort of panic attack and you're struggling to breath- being a crying mess. You burst into tears- and it shocks Renjun to see such a sight.

"Hey, hey, hey," he leans down beside you, as you're clutching your chest and wheezing out- he's so nervous watching you panic like that in his body. He can only guess the types of emotions surfacing and then holds onto your shoulders and looks at you in the eyes. "Calm down, and breath okay-"

But you're whaling, in his body and it's making him hesitant and agitated. "No! You're ruining my life and everyone is against me- and everyone hates me- I hate this dream! I hate myself! I hate myself so much- why can't I do things right! Why is this only happening to me? Why can't I even not be a laughing stock-"

"Hey," Renjun holds your head trying to look into your eyes… but it's painful when he's looking at himself like this. "No one hates you, just calm down and breath-" You try to resist him but he firmly speaks and holds your head and massages your hair. "Y/n look at me, look at me." his voice tries- he really tries to be tender and soft and sweet "Y/n it's okay-" but you don't want to listen.

You push his hands away trying to get up on your feet- with a weak form, shivering and trembling-you try to leave the bathroom - only to stop half way when seeing Jeno. Now you're hyperventilating. You step back- nearly falling down- But Jeno holds onto you.

Jeno watched the fight happen, but when he saw Renjun slap you, he couldn't help but try to catch up and try to speak to his friend who was acting unusual today. He lost track of you guys, but then headed in the co-ed bathroom, knowing it's the bathroom that people avoided because it's co-ed. That's probably where Renjun was. So to enter the bathroom and see 'Renjun' his best friend literally being swamped and drenched in tears, crying with you standing there in the back is really nerve wrecking and unyielding.

"Hey man, hey," Jeno pats his back. "What's going on? Renjun talk to me."

"She's having… I mean he's having a panic attack or something?" Renjun tries to provide insight on the little he gathered. Jeno then glares at you- but doesn't know that Renjun in your body is just as confused.

"What the fuck did you do?"

"Nothing." Renjun responds, but then remembers that Y/n likes Jeno. "Just hug her- I mean him. He's freaking out. Do something Jeno-"

Jeno, does as told. He doesn't even need to be told twice- his best friend looks like a mess right now. As he lays his arms around Renjun in a bro hug, trying to calm him down, he's surprised to feel 'Renjun' hug him back tighter and weeping out like his life depends on it. Something's really wrong. "Breathe man, breathe." He remembers how he once saw Renjun like this, a long time ago.

But when Jeno makes eye contact with 'you' - he scowls and then pats 'Renjun's' back. "Let's get out of here."

Renjun watches as Jeno drags you out of the bathroom. He didn't know he was holding in such a long breath until he's alone in. His fingers are still balled in a fist from the heavy tension of everything falling out of place. It's really hitting him in the face now that he actually swapped bodies with you. After you've calmed down, he needs to talk to you. Maybe Chenle's hypothesis was right. Swapping conscious literally means walking in the person's shoes. But Renjun… doesn't know if he's ready to do that.

By now he'd have the urge or desire to smoke, but being in a healthy body… he doesn't feel that urge. He's just hungry… he didn't even eat today. He begins walking out, head down, hands in his pocket- mind empty and blank. Until-

"Hey,"

He looks up. Two girls. Your friends. Eunjung and Chaerong. He wants to ignore and walk past, yet they speak. "Sorry about earlier…" the girl, Eunjung in blue clothes says. Her hands are fidgeting against each other and then she looks to Chaerong. "Chae said that today you weren't in a mood and you might have gotten yourself in some trouble with Renjun that's why you were so iffy and moody. I shouldn't have hit you. I'm so sorry."

Renjun looks down. The image of the fight, feels so far away from him now. He's about to apologize, yet he's surprised when the two girls go on either side of him, Chaerong on he left and Eunjung on the right. Chaerong now speaks. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He's tempted to swing his arms away… but when remembering you- and how you yelled that he ruined his reputation, he reconsiders and sighs. Eunjung then speaks. "If you don't want, it's okay. We can go to the mall, get some clothes, food, anything. Just talk to us, we can handle it. We're friends remember?"

"Yeah, and friends fight and make up." Chaerong adds. "I hate seeing you guys fight. Just as much as I hated seeing that fucker Renjun slap you. Who the hell does he think he is?"

"He's such a douche."

Renjun hears the insults and for once, he's not even irritated by it, so he simply follows along as these girls take him towards a car. This morning after waking up in your body- he was so enraged and put on whatever he found and rushed to school on foot- because you live in the dorms. It didn't really hit him hard that he was in you- all he knew was that he was late for his classes. This reality is actually dark… he was angry because all he wanted to do was get back inside his body. But now, after seeing how guys treat him in your body, how he's literally got your 2 friends supporting him… he can't help but actually dwell in how… 'comforting' it feels.

He takes a seat in the front seat and wonders how you're doing. Because that was truly a scary experience. "Don't you guys have class?"

Eunjung snorts a laugh. "Uhm, we finished at 12 today, I thought you wanted to try out of cheer practice?"

"Oh." Renjun mumbles and looks out the window just letting the music play and the two girls trying to brighten 'your' mood.

"Cheer up babes, 'cause we're gonna go-" Eunjung states with a smile and then both her and Chaerong yell out; "SHOPPING!"

He can only jolt and hold a forced smile. Great. He's got the whole afternoon with them.

-

Elsewhere in the schools around 14h00 pm, heavy running footsteps echo around the in-door gymnasium as you're seated on the bleachers in the far back, having full view of the basketball boys in their sweatpants and shorts running around and bouncing the ball around. The experience is so surreal. Having the basketball team boys be nice to you because you're in Renjun's body feels heavenly. Before practice Mark and Jeno get you some cigerrates and energizing drinks, and during practice the couch asks you what you think of the 'form of the boys' and you honestly don't know how Renjun would answer this, so you try to keep it subtle. After all, boys who shunned you, were now checking in on you.

Word around the basketball team is that Jeno's stalker aka you pushed Renjun to a limit. And because of that, your reputation around them has literally struck rock bottom. It's devastating but, you can hardly care about that (at least for now) because they're literally trying to make sure Renjun doesn't feel like shit. And what makes this moment more magical is that Jeno is the one who's making sure that you're well being is safe.

So you're happy when they finally have another 10 minute break and Jeno, Mark and Jaemin come up the benches and relax themselves around you. You're literally inside, and you feel happy… but you don't want to blow your cover or make Renjun look weirder… instead you just… allow yourself to be your… old self. Natural and smart. And the smart move right now is to act like Renjun. Jaemin and Jeno talk basket ball about how their couch is crazy for making them run crazy laps around the gym, and Mark is eating some chips while texting on his phone.

"Party at my house this Friday, 21h00 pm, are you guys in?" Mark asks.

"I'm down," Jeno says, finally taking his seat next to you. Jeno with a towel around his neck as well as water bottle in hand was standing on the bleachers looking down at you… observing how you were. And seeing you relaxed, he settles besides you.

"Heard you beat up that Y/n girl," Mark says when Jaemin states he'll be coming. "This morning you should've seen them, all cozy in the smokers area. She was throwing demands at him and threatened to stab me. Such a bitch, so what happened?"

All their attention is on you. You look around, and then your eyes land on Jeno. The way he looks at you… no, at Renjun like a friend who's literally dear to him, give you goosebumps. You look away and clear your throat. "Nothing."

"It wasn't nothing," Jeno shakes his head, he looks equally as upset. "You don't slap anyone without a reason. What did she do? I promise next time I see her, I'll give her a piece of my mind,"

"No please don't." You say, and then sigh out… you have to remember not to look desperate like yourself… you have to be Renjun. So you try to think of a fast excuse. "She just… triggered something in me. I didn't mean to slap her… I guess I was overwhelmed today." The excuse turns out to be half of the truth… and they believe it.

Jaemin asks a follow up question. "I noticed this morning you came with your mum. I take it that's where the trouble started?"

Renjun's mum was so nice… and you don't know the story of why Renjun's mean to his mum, so you just shrug. This time Mark bumps a fist on your knee. "Chill man. She's on thin ice now, we'll keep a watch on her. Yho, do you guys want some fries or something, I'm starving."

Jaemin gets up with a chortle. "When are you not, let's go get something before couch calls us back. Jeno, you want anything? Renjy?"

You shake your head and Jeno throws a thumbs up. "We're good,"

You're literally alone with Jeno, a moment you've truly always waited for… yet it's being blocked by the weighing fact that a second ago they literally ostracized you… again. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go for it."

"Why don't you like her?" the question comes out timid from your mouth. You can't even look at him. You just want to run, but you're feeling warm and just want to hear his answer.

"You know why. The fact that she made you act out, is another reason to add to my list." Jeno mumbles and then leans back on the bleacher, he then looks to you. The eye contact has you blushing and you quickly look away. "Are you good though?"

"I'm better." You mutter and clear your throat. "So, remind me again why you don't like her?"

Jeno doesn't say anything, wondering where this question is leading to, so he answers.

"She's… fake."

Jeno forces himself to think of you, which causes him to grunt.

"I hate when people wear masks. It's why I like you so much," Jeno motions to you… Renjun. "Your - neck slice cut throat- honesty makes me know that you'll never lie to me. Someone like her… who's slept with nearly all the basketball team members- speaking of which Jaemin told me he slept with her. Can you believe it?" Jeno shakes his head, disappointment over his face, and your shoulders sink in shame. "I feel like she's trying to leach onto me for my status and popularity, but I'm not gonna let that happen. I've got a future I want to maintain. I've got an internship offering me permanent placement and I can't let myself be distracted in her bs. I don't need that kind of drama from a crazy stalker bitch, I already have Kisum on my ass asking me why I'm not asking her to be my girlfriend. These girls just don't understand that I didn't come here to play, I came here to learn and study. I don't even know how she got in the school, but she's just bad news. And what she did to you, proves it. I'm not about to let myself be involved with that thing. Plastic and fake."

The embarrassment is overwhelming, you want to run and hide. You want to fold yourself in a ball and cry out because Jeno is… cruel. But honest. He doesn't even like you. It doesn't even sound like he respects you one bit. He called you a 'thing', 'plastic' and 'fake' who sleeps around… It's embarrassing. To be seen… but then not really be seen. He doesn't understand that you only did all that for him- because you thought it's what he wants. But… after hearing him. You're embarrassed.

Trying to bounce back and redeem yourself, you clear your throat and speak. "You know… she's actually smart."

Jeno snorts out a chuckle. "Okay and what?"

It's a jab to your heart. He's just like your father. Your father who said: 'So what? You're clever? A million other people are clever, have personality, achieve their bucket lists. What do you have? What have you done? Nothing.'

You can only gulp down and remain silent. No words to add. You don't want to hear what else he thinks of you. "And since when do you ask about her? Didn't she just piss you off?"

"Yeah she did. She pisses me off everyday. How she tries to please everyone but people take advantage of her. You won't even believe half the things she did. It's just been six months but she's changed herself completely and still, what does she have to show for it? Nothing. Sleeping around is even the tip of the ice-burg. Literally offering herself is desperate and pathetic, but she starves herself trying to fit in to society." You mumble… now talking about yourself. Venting out uncontrollably. Word vomit. Feeling nervous.

"No one's asking her to do that though," Jeno adds in, cutting in with distaste. "That's what I hate about girls sometimes. She's literally in the world's most prestigeous university, and she still choses to whore around wanting to fit in. This isn't high school anymore." Jeno shakes his head, using his towel to rub his hair.

And unintentionally you ask; "Do you think you'd give her a chance if she… become clever?"

Jeno's thoughts pause for a second. You hesitantly look at him, catching him in thought. Your heart drops when he shakes his head. "With everything you've just said, sounds like she's imature. I want stability right now. I'm not looking to build a relationship with someone who's still searching for themselves. That's not my forte. Sounds like a stressful relationship." Jeno shrugs her shoulders. "It actually sounds sad. Poor thing."

You're slumped in your seat, quiet. The space between you and Jeno is so close, but you know his heart is far away from you. He'll never feel the same way… and you don't know if you can make him change or feel for you the same way. Even though it feels like a slap to your face, the same way your father dismisses you… Jeno's still… kind. Lovable. Being in Renjun, has allowed you that privilege to know what's in Jeno's head. "You're actually… not so bad." you mutter shyly.

Jeno chuckles lowly and turns to you- you're surprised when he pinches your cheeks shaking it. "What's up with you today? Now I'm really curious at what she said to you to have you all soft and sentimental."

You nervously chuckle and blush. "What? You want me to threaten to stab you?"

"For once, I actually miss you saying that."

"Oh shut up." you say, you've heard Renjun say that so many times and you playfully flung Jeno's hands away from your face- even though it was soft. You're surprised to see him, actually have fun with you… he deeply cares for Renjun as a brother. "So tell me… I mean remind me. How'd we become friends?"

Jeno's brows furrow for a second, a longing smile comes on his face. "Throwing me down memory lane?"

"I mean… aren't you tired of me?" you ask, wondering how Renjun gets to be so lucky. "I'm mean, all the time."

"But you're real." Jeno smiles. "That's all I ask for. But to be honest, you're my best friend dude. We've known each other since the day your dad left. I mean, I don't say it much but you're like my brother."

Renjun's father left? You simply hum and look away, taking a deep breath and focusing on the court. "Thanks Jeno,"

"You're so soft today," you hear Jeno mumble before he gets up. "Didn't know how much I missed you being… human." he smiles and then jogs down the steps. "Are you gonna wait for me?"

"Uh…" you don't know what to do next, you don't know where to go. "I'll see."

"Ayt, cool."

-

These girls aren't Jeno, they're not the basketball team, and they're definitely not Chenle. They're just girls. Doing literal girl things. Renjun thought that coming here would help him clear his head, as well as 'restore' your image. But now, standing here at the mall in the middle of a clothes store, he hates every second of it. His legs ache from all the walking, and his ears are ringing from the endless chattering and giggling conversations that he'd rip his eardrums out than keep listening to. He can't even remember the last time he spent this much time around a girl. He's always been the type to dismiss anyone who tried to shoot their shot. But he's doing this. All of it. Just to 'fix' your image with your friends.

He’s never said this out loud, maybe not even to himself, but there’s a part of him he buried a long time ago. Shut it out. Forced himself to never cry, never feel. He was so sure he’d hardened himself enough to never break, to be numb. But seeing those tears spill out… from you… piloting his body… The memory of watching himself cry- really cry- is still sitting heavy in his mind. And it hurt.

It shook him. That’s when he realized something serious: he never really healed. He just closed the door and pretended the room wasn't there. And now, he's scared. Scared that the longer you stay in his body, the more you'll tear down walls he's spent years building. And he doesn't want that.

"I hate my ass," Eunjung looks at the mirror after trying on a skirt. To Renjun it looks fine, but he's not about to voice his comment and cause discord amongst the girls who're trying to cheer him up… trying to cheer you up. He plays your role and stays quiet, folding his arms. Other times one of the two gets him something, saying it'll look cute. And just to keep the peace, Renjun tries it on. They comment, and he removes it and 'Ka-ching'- it's bought. They go from store to store doing the same things. It's never ending.

So to keep himself from losing his mind, he clears his throat. "How long… are we going to… like keep this up?" he hopes it comes off in a gentle tone, but judging from how they look at him, he knows he probably offended their 'lust to shop'. "Sorry." he ends up saying. "Forget I said anything."

Chaerong sighs and then raises her hand. "Foods on me. Let's go eat."

"Great." Renjun forces out. Not long after, they take a seat in a restaurant that's almost vacant. Afternoon rush isn't chaotic here. They're able to order and receive their food fast.

"Okay girl," Eunjung starts when they finally place Renjun's food down. Braised ribs, creamy pasta and a whole sliced Pizza.

Renjun begins to season his pizza, being so hungry, until he looks up at Eunjung. "What?"

"What's wrong with you today?" She asks. "You're dressed… funny. No makeup… Hanging out with Renjun. The whole fight and now this… are you not on a diet?"

Renjun pauses and then shrugs. "Stress eating."

"What're you stressed about?" Chaerong asks this time, and Renjun notices that both the girls only have salads on their plates. He holds his tongue back, from spitting out any sarcastic comment. He's already established that your friends can't handle sarcasm well.

He leans forward, deciding to be honest. Because that's his strong suite. Honesty being the best policy. "I… woke up on the wrong side of the bed, almost like my soul was swapped. Bumped into Renjun and I felt bitter ever since then. I'm fine now. Sorry again for the fight." he quickly says, dismissive and brushes everything under the rug like it was nothing. He just wants to finish eating and go away from here, preferable his home, to wait for you. He doesn't intend on being friends with your friends, he already knows he's got nothing in common with them. So there's no point wasting in talking to them.

Chaerong hums, taking a bite of her avocado salad. "That's almost like what Renjun said. He was like, I'm Y/n and I can prove it. And then… he started blasting out a bunch of Eunjung's secrets, it wasn't pretty."

"Of course she'd do that." Renjun chortles lowly, getting a glimpse of your thoughts. "I'm guessing it didn't play out well, which is why you fought with 'me'. Well, did you guys sort it out?" he looks between the two girls and eats his pizza.

"Sort what?" Eunjung asks drinking her maccha.

"I'm guessing 'Renjun' exposing secrets meant he said… something that made you angry."

Eunjung tries not to be upset, but with how her tongue is moving around the corners of her mouth, Renjun can tell that she's still upset. And then she speaks. "The problem is between you and me. Not Chaerong. So I've gotta ask… Why… why did you tell him all those things about me? I'm trying to understand, and like wrap my head around it. But honestly that wasn't cool. Even if you woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and felt like your conscious was swapped, you hurt my feelings."

"Sorry." Renjun says, continuing to eat on the pasta with hunger. Wanting to dismiss the topic, but Eunjung isn't having it.

"No you're not sorry-"

"Eunj-"

"No Chaerong, I have to say this." Eunjung cuts off and stares at Renjun. It's how on the outside when she's looking at 'Y/n's outer shell, she looks closed off'. "You're pushing us away again. Why? Come on Y/n, we always tell you everything, because we trust you. But you… you never open up to us. It sucks because you know all our secrets and we trust you with them, but you don't trust us with yours."

Renjun sighs inwardly… this suddenly turned confrontational, and he hated that. So out of habit he deflects. "I'm sorry I don't feel like opening up to you. I hope I can become better-"

"Stop saying sorry, I'm really getting annoyed now."

Renjun refrains from rolling his eyes. It feels like it'll take long to eat, so he brushes his hair. "Look, honestly speaking I don't like to open up." he speaks as Renjun, himself instead of you. Because if you don't want to open up, it probably means you're in the same bought as him. "The last time I opened up, I was betrayed by the people who quote on quote love me. Opening up, and doing this whole 'trust me and I'll trust you' shit is so fucking wrong. You want me to be honest with you, but the truth is you'd probably never understand if I told you my thoughts. Opening up to people usually only leads or ends up to being hurt. Just like you. Do I look like I want to get hurt again? Think for a second. When you see 'Y/n' she looks needy and annoying - if she opened up you'd all probably be bored out of your fucking mind."

"Why do you always downgrade yourself like that?" Chaerong cuts Renjun. "It's not sexy to have doubts, and insecurities. And what do you mean we can't handle it if you told us your thoughts. We're not dumb, we see the world for what it is. Yes it's not perfect, and we'll end up hurting each other, but it's all part of the human package. You're speaking like someone who just got dumped-" and then her eyes widen. So do Eunjung…

"Did Jeno… say something to you? Hurt you? Betray you?"

Renjun rolls his eyes. "See what I mean? You guys think it's about Jeno, but I'm letting you know that I'm the one in pain from opening up, from trying to live in this human package. I just don't want to delude myself that people will always be there for me. And to top it of, with Jeno, I don't really think we'll remain friends once collage is over. He's just here now because we've always gone to the same school. After this, the line splits." he's so deep in his words, until he realizes that he's spoken too much and that the girls are flabbergasted. "I'm sorry. I meant, Jeno and I will never work out. He hates my guts. It's time Y/n… it's time that I see that. Anyway, thanks for the meal. I've lost my appetite. I'll order a ride home."

"Wait I'll drop you, we live together-" Eunjung looks at Renjun in confusion.

But Renjun beats her to it. "Oh another thing, do you guys know what my password is?" Renjun brings out your phone and shows it to them. "It's a pattern but I can't remember. And don't stress yourself I'm not going back to the dorms, I'm going home."

"To your father?" Chaerong raises her brows.

"Oh she's got a father? No." Renjun gets happy with Chaerong unlocks the phone with a simple 'J' pattern. "Let me guess, 'J' for 'Jeno'. Wow. Anyway, I'll see you guys later. Bye."

Renjun is out of the store leaving the two girls completely baffled and speechless. Unlike Eunjung who goes off on another rent, Chaerong feels like she's losing her mind. Because the thought that passes her is… not normal. "What… they're not lying."

"Who's not lying?" Eunjung asks.

"You mean to tell me that wasn't weird? Speaking in third person when talking about herself? Not interested in shopping? That's literally healing for all of us. Always saying sorry… and what about Renjun today… he…" Chaerong sounds dumb, but suddenly she remembers how you were. You… came with Chenle and then forcefully called Renjun… "Eunjung what if really they swapped bodies?"

Eunjung rolls her eyes. "You really are dumb."

Chaerong quietens down, before she quickly gets up packing up her bag. "I'll go too."

"What?"

"Yeah, I just don't think I'm ready to sit with you, when you think nothings wrong between us. According to what 'Y/n' said today, you slept with my boyfriend behind my back."

"That- wasn't true." Eunjung's eyes darken, but Chaerong rolls her eyes muttering a whatever before she leaves, trying to catch up to… 'you'. She quickly spots with your ugly outfit, and as she hurries over to you in her heels- she notices how you walk and the more she thinks about it, the more it makes sense. It's the only sense that makes sense- you guys really did swap. It sounds dumb, she's well aware, but then today that wasn't you. She's always wanted your validation- and when she thinks of how you… maybe in Renjun's body, how you tried to prove that it was you- she recalls how Renjun's voice even cracked. Heck, Renjun doesn't even know your name- and not once during this whole mall scene did Y/n call your name- which only proves that Renjun is in you, and you are in Renjun- she feels crazy. Her thoughts sounds crazy- but when she finally taps 'your' shoulder- she smiles.

"I actually believe you."

Renjun turns around being surprised that Chaerong chased after him. "Hey I told you I have to go."

"I know," she says and then motions for the way. "Let's walk together. I want to ask you something."

"Again?"

"You're Renjun." Chaerong cuts straight to it. Renjun pauses, and looks at her. He doesn't know what to say, but then something in him feels relieved in hearing his name. "This is just a test, but what is my name?"

Renjun blinks. "Wait. You believe I'm Renjun?"

"I have to." Chaerong looks at Renjun up and down. "I don't know what's going on- it sounds so crazy, but I want you to know that I believe you… and please also tell Y/n that I said that. Poor girl. All alone… and I slapped her. She's struggling on her own. So are you going to order that ride? You can do two stops."

-

The time is 19h00 when Renjun finally reaches his home. Not your dorm room, but his home. He pants out being out of breath. For someone so fit Renjun is disappointed in your cardio. "She can't be skinny and not run." he walks up a few stairs before taking a seat on the steps to his house. As long as he's home. Hopefully you're also inside. He keeps trying to catch his breath, but he can't help but smile. He was supposed to go straight home, but after the girl Chaerong confessed to believing him- he suddenly felt hungry again. Together they went to another restaurant. Renjun felt good actually talking as 'himself' - he asked questions…

"Why is Y/n a tip girl?" - "Do you know that she sleeps around a lot?" - "Why is she so obsessed with Jeno?"

All valuable questions. Only except Chaerong was equally shocked hearing the questions. Renjun explained his experience of being in your body, and how he had to fend of horny guys - and Chaerong admitted to feeling bad on never actually picking up on the cycle you gone down in. Renjun found himself feeling bad for you… and also for Chaerong. After eating, he made sure that she went home well. Even though being in a petite girl's body, he felt the need to make sure that Chaerong went home well safe. He could've ordered a ride home, because he knew the address and also the password to your phone… but he just wanted to walk home.

Which was a huge mistake- because by the time he realized that, your phone had powered off. Forcing him to walk. A few times some guys offered to give him a lift - but because he was in your body, he didn't want to take chances and then get you hurt… you've already been through a lot and Renjun didn't want to… hurt you.

In some way… you were like him. Only a little. Your experiences as a girl were way more advanced then himself being in his boy body. Nonetheless as he walked, he prepared his speech and tone - to ask you serious questions but not in a confrontational way, but in a way that would make sure you're alright. He really didn't want to see himself cry again. So after resting, he gets up and walks to the door knocking it, pressing the buzzer.

The door opens up and his eyes darken. Of course he knew that coming here would mean seeing 'her', but he was hoping you'd open the door. Not… her.

"Oh, hello dear? Are you lost?"

"I'm here for Y/n… I mean. Renjun." his tone darkens out of habit, and something in his mother tightens. She doesn't know why… but she felt… this strong emotional distate which resembled to how Renjun treated her. She's left at the door blinking for a while, before tightly smiling.

"I'll get him." In her head, all she can think about is how Renjun literally has friends who are probably like him. Walking up the stairs, he carefully knocks on the door. "Renjun? Someone's here for you."

The door opens- smoke wafting out. "Oh sorry." you smile and wave the air awkwardly. "Sorry about that. You said someone's here for me?" you're eyes widen when seeing… Renjun. "Renjun you're here-"

Renjun's mum jolts up in fear by the unknown presence beside her. "Oh sorry- oh dear you scared me."

Renjun can only glare at her. A glare so strong that even you can tell that it's full of… hate. You clear your throat, noticing that Renjun's mother also shrinks and looks at Renjun… with unease and fear. The same fear you saw on her this morning, is the same she has now. "It's okay mum, this is my friend. Don't mind her." you quickly grab Renjun's arm and pull him in the room. You're surprised by how light he is… how light you are. Once in the room, you shut the door and lock it. Finally being alone with Renjun. You wonder if he's going to be mad that you man-handled him, so you prepare for him to shout again.

Renjun coughs out- and walks to the curtains. He pulls it open allowing air to leave. "So this is what none smokers smell. Fuck, it's horrible." Renjun mummers to himself, feeling congested from the smoke stench. "Did you light one up just now?" Hearing no response from your end, Renjun turns his head.

In his dark room, only illuminated by the bed side lamp, he notices you near the door looking so stiff. The light casts a shadow against the other side of your face, showcasing that you've guarded yourself. Your fingers interlocked with each other, head down. Renjun calls out your name, but you nervously scratch the palm of your hands looking hesitant. He sighs… he didn't even do much and it looks like he's already scared you. His eyes simmer down the intensity into something… soft and then he turns to you again.

"I'm not gonna hurt you." he says, reassuringly. "I promise."

Your eyes examine and analyze his face. He looks authentic and honest. You manage a tight lipped smiled and nod. "Okay… so I guess you're here to… talk."

"We need to." Despite being in his room, and falling into the bean bag as comfort, being in your body - he looks towards you to make sure that you're also comfortable. But you look so uncomfortably guarded. "Hey feel free," Renjun ends up saying turning around on the bean bag. "Why don't you sit on the bed, or chair, where ever you want… and tell me how your day went?"

You sit down on the edge of the bed, facing away from him. "I tried to think of ways we can swap back and I found out-" your mouth begins to blurt, but Renjun shakes his head.

"That's not what I asked you…" Renjun interrupts softly, looking at your back. "Look Y/n… I'm…"

Renjun tries to find the words. For some reason, the only thing he can think of in his mind, is how sensitive you are and how you can't handle sarcasm, so he'll have to talk to you without any brute… to prevent you catching feelings or even having another panic attack. So he humbles down.

"I'm really sorry for what I did today. My own actions in your body… as well as my words. I… provoked you." Renjun scratches his head awkwardly and looks down. "I didn't mean to ruin your image, or make you cry. I'm sorry about that. It's not your fault that we're like this, and I understand that now. I shouldn't have been so mean. You've… gone through a lot, and it wasn't my place to assume thigs about you or take out my anger on you… uh, I made up with your friends. I tried with the girl who wears blue, but she's a dead end. But your friend Chaerong- I think that's her name, she forgave you, and also she really believes that we've swapped. Maybe the only person who believes that. She sincerely wanted you to know that to. And… all I'm trying to say that, I'm open to anything… in trying to… understand what's going on. So please… can we start again? I want to know about… your day and what you experienced in my body. Or if that's heavy… you can just tell me about you, and I'll listen. I won't be mean… I promise."

Your head turns to look at him, his eyes showing signs of tenderness as well as transparency. And honestly, seeing your face look like that, you can only think of Jeno and how he and everyone else sees you.

"Jeno hates me." you whisper, your throat feeling clogged. "Not just him, but everyone… I always told myself that if I can't be loved for being smart, then maybe I can be loved for being popular, sexy and cool. And I brainwashed myself into believing that when Jeno will finally want me for… being all those things… that I will finally be valuable, accepted… valid. However, today I realized that my entire effort to be liked, to change myself for Jeno… was futile and pathetic. He saw me the same way my father sees me. As nothing. Jeno called me a thing… plastic… fake… slut… the list went on."

Renjun watches how saddened your face gets, you can't even look up anymore. You hold your chest, recalling how that made you feel.

"There was nothing but distaste in his eyes for me. I just wanted to dig a whole and die… because no one likes me. Even in his tone, he said what I did was pathetic. The fear I had of being seen as on object has come true. Even worse? The man I so badly wanted to impress most didn't even see my humanity. Even when I try… I'm still not enough and I don't know what to do."

"He doesn't know you," Renjun mutters out quietly, you let out a soft painful laugh.

"I don't know me either." You sniff. "I'm a desperate whore. I seek attention. I try to be someone I'm not. And I fail. All the time. No one ever sees me- truly. They objectify me because I'm so eager to just be anything they want…"

Renjun shakes his head. "It's not sexy to put yourself down like that." Renjun is surprised to say a line that Chaerong said, even you look at him feeling familiarity to the words, but the words stand. "I saw the way you hugged him when you were having a panic attack. That wasn't a hug of a stalker or whore… that was a hug that… practically begged for affection… for love… a real life connection to somebody. I don't know if you'll find that in Jeno, but I hope you do. I don't know about your father either, but hearing you say all that…." Renjun pauses and tries not to sound judgemental. So he changes his approach. "Being in your body today… as I tried to fend for your sexuality, I noticed how… lonely you were. Despite all the guys, and your friends, and the attention, you're lonely. I'm not saying I've got the answers, I don't, but I want you to know that if you are just yourself you won't be alone."

You shake your head. "That's not true. It's why I changed. I was 'clever'. My mum nurtured my talents, encouraged me to study said that it would open doors for me, and I'll be loved. But I wasn't. I was invisible. I was myself but I was still so invisible. And when she died, my father told me that there's a million other clever people, and they've got personality." you hiccup and your voice cracks. "He said I've got nothing. Nothing. And he was right. When I stopped being myself, and started being what the world wants… what my dad wants… what Jeno wants… I got friends, popularity-" the tears shine brightly in your eyes. Tears that look like little stars that failed to shine.

"But none of that is real. And you're wrong, when you were clever, you number one supporter was your mother… It sounds like she cared enough to nurturer your gift. That must mean something…" Renjun speaks gently. "But now she's gone, and out of all your friends, how many of them really know you? Know that you get harassed by horny guys? How many of them really know that your father is a stupid jerk for not supporting you? How many of them have even held you, and assured you that everything is alright- even when it's not alright. You've built a shallow life, that's not connection, that's a cruel… there's no words I can say without being mean or sarcastic, but that's life squeezing back the lemonde on your face. You don't deserve that. You really don't. And I'm sure that, if you are yourself, it may not be the whole world, but they'll be even one person in your corner… it's no longer your mother, but being yourself allows you to have at least one real connection. Look at me, I'm mean and rude as hell, yet I've got someone like Jeno in my corner."

You wipe your eyes, hicup and try to compose yourself, breathing out. Renjun allows you to have that moment of silence, and when you finally speak, he's ready to give you advice as best as he can… he's even surprised of how open he's being. The words of 'wisdom' pour out of his mouth so effortlessly, hoping that you believe that. He can only imagine that you guys won't swap back if you remain in your insecurity. To swap back, perhaps something in your life has to change.

"You're so lucky. And in this moment, I'd kill to have your life." she chuckles, her words maing Renjun to focus back on her. "Jeno admires you, loves you. Your mother, even though you don't like her, she adores you and wants that connection. Even your lecturers respect you. You've got guys constantly checking on your mental health. You smoke but they don't judge you. Offering breath mints, suggesting remedies and syrups. I've never… seen guys be so kind the way they were. I coughed today and was so surprised to see how many people asked if you needed a cigarette or water. Small things like that broke me down… and I cried because I can't have that. When you fought in my body with my friend, no body even paid attention. They took videos and laughed and cheered us on… but I saw how, I in you body, when I slapped you- the way everyone reacted was different…. Even after I hit you- people looked at you and tried to stop you. That's some kind of support. Someone trying to pull you back in line, and remind you of morals. Your friends kept trying to assure you that you were fine and not in the wrong. I've never felt… like that today. When I allowed myself to be you and not think of me… there was brotherhood and friendships so pure. You don't realize how lucky you are."

Renjun is tongue tied, surprised by what you've said about him. And of course your words make sense, and he can visualize it. It's just… he's never really allowed himself to care. To notice all the things you noticed.

"Your life is so much better-"

"Shut u- I mean… It's not. My life is not better." Renjun shakes his head. Wanting to shut you down. He looks down, and that only fuels you.

"Yes it is. You just don't want to see that you have that connection, that you're telling me about. You're yourself and have so many people care about you. Why do you shut them out? And being with your mum today this whole afternoon… I just realized that you like to create your own problems, and threaten them, and push them away. All they want to do is love you, shower you with love. But your meanness and sarcasm, pushes people away."

"I push them all away, before they can get the chance to push me away first." Renjun snaps, but he reclaims his composure and breaks free of the spell of softness. He then folds his arms. Blocking your words that are now flying all over. He shakes his head. "They're all liars. Watching you in my body was a nightmare. You… cried in my body and unlocked emotions in me that I thought were locked forever. That's weakness that I don't want anybody seeing. Because if they do, they'll leave me. Take advantage. And what you're saying about Jeno? He'll leave me to. It's the circle of life, we're only here for now, our next stage of life won't involve the same people. It's just temporary and there's nothing deep about it."

"I feel like you're just being… ungrateful for all that you have." you find the courage to say, as you cross your legs. "You purposely try to destroy your lungs, you dress like you don't want affection from anybody - not even the sun. You move through your life with problems you've created for yourself."

Renjun gets his head down. Speechless, because he doesn't want to talk about it, or deal with it. In his silence, your shoulders sag and you also keep quiet. You don't know why you swapped places, but you actually feel good, talking like this… feeling free to speak with the one person who can hardly give 2 flying pigs, but still understand he's in the same boat as you.

"Maybe you're right." Renjun's voice fades back in, allowing the room to no longer be quiet. "I have it easy."

You shake your head… "It's not that you have it easy, it's how you don't have to fake anything. Although you hide yourself and cover up your weaknesses, you… don't want to actually feel connection. And that's what sad."

"No it's useless. You need that connection to satisfy your insecurities and fill yourself up. I'm fine. I closed that door to my emotions, because I've seen the darkness in humans. Even the 'good' humans that you're praising like my mother- you don't know that they also have a darkside. So when I close my heart, it's to them for who they really are. You don't get it." Renjun mummers, in anger. "I don't want for people to feel pity for me, and then laugh behind closed doors about me. I'd prefer to just be by my self. Because only I can understand what I've gone through. People are overrated. They hurt you… and you're still wanting to give them a chance?"

"Isn't that what you told me to do?"

Renjun scoffs with an annoyed chuckle. "That's because you deserve kindness. Man treat you like trash, kiss you, grope you, and think they can own you. But inside of you, you're presumably intelligent and could possibly go far. It pisses me off that I'm only finding this out now, I would've loved being inside of an intelligent young lady who knows that she's worth more. So what if there's a million other clever people - they're not you. You are unique, you could make a difference. And even if you don't, you can be someone's inspiration. I'm the way that I am, because you're right, I don't like or trust people, because they always hurt me, and they always leave me. If you are just yourself, no one is going to leave you- they'll ignore you yes, but those that will come- especially since you're a girl, they'll stay and try to help you reach your full potential. I on the other hand… I don't need that. I don't need people. I just want to live the course of my life, and until my bad luck catches up and I can finally die-"

"Don't say that." You whisper.

Renjun rolls his eyes, and he suddenly leans forward from the bean bag, legs apart, hands pressed together and head down. He can feel his heart beating in his throat at the thought of opening up. The doors he shut are opening up again, and he doesn't want to peak inside. He's nervous about speaking this story out loud… but it's necessary. Especially because there's nothing else they can do about this swap except tell each other stories about themselves and listen… You already did a good job of… being vulnerable. It's only fair he does the same. So with one lick over his lips he exhales.

"My father… beat me up. He used to beat me up. Not the casual beatings of when you're wrong, they were full on beatings of anything and everything. I looked at him too long once and he beat me up. I didn't react to being beaten- he beat me to a pulp again."

Hearing those words, your guard drops again. You fix your eyes on his being. It's like he got smaller… head down and hands shaking. You stay quiet, because you have no experience in this domain.

"I hated him so much. But I couldn't do anything about it. I was small, young and weak. And I grew up thinking that I deserved to be beat." Renjun shrugs his shoulders. "Every beating left a scare… you know our home was renovated but, I didn't want them to touch my room. These old carpets, dusty walls… heavy curtains are reminders everyday of what happened to me in this room. Every stain tells you a story of why I was beaten." Renjun looks up, his lips dry as he stares at a specific spot on the wall.

You turn your head to the wall, and you notice it. After getting back home from watching the basketball practice, you explored Renjun's room and tried to wonder what type of person he is. You didn't find anything aside from his pack of cigarettes and that loved darkness. But now, seeing this indent on the wall, your heart almost breaks thinking of Renjun being beaten… You get up and walk to it… you place your finger on it… and it feels so sensitive. Looking back to Renjun, you're not even surprised when seeing some tears escape his eyes. He tries to brush it off, wiping the tears and sniffing.

"I… never wanted to forget how I… called out to my mother. Cried out for her to help me. Everyday. But… she always watched. Never fought back. Never fought for me." Renjun points his chest and looks down. "Whenever she screamed- I would run to her, try and protect her… with my weak muscles. I took beatings for her, she… never did that for me. She only watched, and chose him all the time. And she's supposed to be my 'mum' right? My whole life in this house, I only learnt to hate my mother and father."

Your heart breaks as you lean on the wall.

Renjun gulps and punches his fist in his other hand, before agitatedly running a hand through his hair. "I… My father broke my body right before her eyes, and all she could do was watch, and worse, she wanted me to pretend I was okay when going to school. I never showed any weaknesses in class, because I didn't want for my father to find out and then beat me again. Back then I didn't want CPS to take away my father, in some twisted way I convinced myself that I needed him. My own father beat me up because I left a spoon in the sink, or dropped a battery on the ground- he… hit me, however I still thought that I needed him. Blood poured on these carpets and she never once stepped foot in my room to check on me. She always… picked him… Ran to him. Begged him to stay, to forgive us. Forgive us for being an ungrateful family. She… was evil." Renjun's lips tremble. "After my father bashed my head against that wall, I told myself that… if I make it out alive… I'll never forgive her. Never ever." he sighs. "And then… out of nowhere… another woman showed up to our door. A girlfriend that he had cheated on my mother with. She was pregnant. And she began staying with us. It was a slap to my mothers face to see a young woman make my father so 'affectionate'. It got to the point where my mother was a maid in the house. I was already a smoker, so they never wanted me around the girlfriend who had a child. Our lives were hell - I was still getting beat up for upsetting his precious mistress. And when she had a miscarriage, the hell my father poured down on this house…"

Renjun gulps and gets up, he walks to the curtains and pulls it back… hands trembling… your eyes pop out again, the wall cracked and broken, the carpet with dried visible blood patches. You turn your gaze to Renjun, he's got his eyes on the spot… and as you watch him, it looks like he's re-living the scene in his head. You end up getting up and shaking your head… you cover the wall and move Renjun away from the spot. You… you get him in a hug. Tightly feeling your heart pieces break. "Don't… don't do that to yourself Renjun. Don't hurt yourself all over again."

Renjun's tears fall out. "Why wasn't I enough to keep my family together? A son is supposed to be the pride and joy of the family, so why did I fail? I was a good kid. Got good grades. But they… hated me. Those were my thoughts. After that night, my father left for good. And I realized something about the world, about it's people." Renjun doesn't have to say what he realized, because you also realized it. "I've never seen him ever again. My mother was now alone. Broken. A mess. But I never wanted to help her. I stuck to my promise. Never forgave her. She wasn't there for me. Why should I be there for her? I will watch her suffer alone in this house- so that she knows what it's like to be alone even though someone is in the house."

"Renjun…" you whisper out, you pull him out of the hug and then place your hand over his face, wiping on his tear. It's weird because it's your face, crying, but it's his emotions overpouring. He doesn't look at you- he swats your hand away and then sits on the bed looking out to the window.

You take a seat on the bed, next to him… understanding washing over you. He's gone through a lot. And his personality suddenly makes sense. His smoking is a slow form of self punishment… almost like a ritual that reminds him of his father, but has twisted into… self-hate.

After a whole while of silence, you finally turn to Renjun. Something feels so familiar… you're looking down at him, and he looks like you… you're mother never failed to assure. So carefully, you wrap your arm around him, scoot closer and look out the window. "What do we do now?"

Renjun looks down… "I guess we wait for tomorrow." Renjun sighs and then taps your hand on your shoulder… trying to indicate that it's okay. He then gets up. "I'll be going back now. Oh yeah." Renjun turns and hands you your phone. "Sorry it's low battery."

"I charged yours." you laugh a little and exchange phones. He begins to request on his phone for a ride, but you're so awkward. After a heartfelt moment, you feel that you need to discuss swapping back. Yet he seems so ready to go home. "Uhm, wait." you courageously hold your hand out. "I… did you manage to hand in your project?"

Renjun shakes his head. "No. I'm hoping tomorrow we swap back, hopefully I can get back to my miserable life."

"You don't have to go now." you tell him, and get up from the bed. "Your laptop is here, you can just do the work now and save yourself the troubles of tomorrow."

Renjun walks to his laptop and puts it inside the bag he carried, but you stop him again. "Can you just stay?"

He thought you were just acting weird, now hearing you ask him to stay is confirmation that something else is on your mind. He then puts down the bag and goes back to the bean bag. "Say what you want to say," he mummers.

"I was thinking…" you say quickly, not wanting to waste his time, he already looks like he wants to bolt again. "We could watch some body-swap movies. Try to make sense of this. I even talked to ChatGPT and gemini and even asked your mum… what would she think. Anyway, in summary all their answers said we should explore all possible causes. At first, I thought it might've been the co-ed bathroom where we met up, but tons of people use that bathroom and don't swap."

You pause, watching his face. No reaction.

"We've never interacted before. All I really know is that you're Jeno’s friend and that we went to the same high school. I don't even know if you remember me…" You glance away, then back at him. "Anyway, after you're done with your assignment, I thought maybe we could watch some of those movies together. Just to see what they say about all this. Maybe this is just a glitch in reality. Maybe tomorrow we'll wake up back in our bodies, like nothing ever happened. But if not… at least the movies might give us some kind of clue. Or rules. I make a list."

There's a lot for Renjun to unpack in what you've said, and this time it looks like you've taken it seriously. You really analyzed that situation. So all he can do, is nod. Getting himself comfortable in his room, Renjun brings out his laptop, sits by his desk area and begins working, while you charge your phone and tell him that you're going to help out his mother in the kithen by preparing something for you. "And I won't… disrespect you and talk to your mum…"

"No it's okay." Renjun mumbles typing on his laptop. "Talk to her if you want."

You nod and leave. A couple of hours pass by and you're back in Renjun's room. He's laying flat on the bed with some sandwiches you made, while you're seated on the bean bag, both your attentions on the first movie that plays. Your Name (Kimi no Na wa). Renjun has always hated anime because to him it looks like a cartoon- but keeping his mouth quiet he just decides to watch for the sake of understanding their situation.

Renjun's perk up, hearing you laugh at some scenes… singing to some songs, looking peaceful. Seeing himself in that light, looking like all the stress has been lifted from his shoulders is… something that tugs at his heart. It's almost beautiful.

It's a whole movie marathon, with Freak Friday playing, The Butterfly Effect, Seoul Switch (K-drama web series), The Cobbler and even Back to the future, which reminds Renjun about what Chenle says. There's so many movies about this type of event, and Renjun really tries to pay attention to the messages, all similar, but one keeps him… fearful.

He looks at you again… are you his… soulmate? There's no way. He shakes his head - and you turn to him.

"What you don't think he's right?" you ask, refering to the movie and Renjun looks up seeing the characters having an intense argument. "I think he's right,"

"No sorry, I was just thinking,"

"Okay," you smile and look back to the screen. Yet Renjun continues to think in his thoughts and not watch the movie. If you're his soulmate… and nothing physically triggered your conscious to swap then…

"What if-" Renjun starts, when another movie finishes, he doesn't look at you, but remains fixed on the thought. "If Marty’s actions could change the entire course of his family’s lives, maybe our… future selves swapped us to fix something about ourselves… or each other…before it’s too late."

You think on his words, and glance up. "Future selves?"

"Yeah," Renjun crosses his legs and sits up on the bed. "This might be about making us better people, by forcing us to live the other's worst moments. I mean, you opened up about your father, and I opened up about my mother. Maybe… we're supposed to… overcome it."

You smile lightheartedly. "Then that's just cruel."

Renjun looks up. "C-cruel?"

You nod. "Life is about experiencing things and realizing our stupid mistakes at our own time. Like today after what happened with Jeno. I'm ready to move on… try and not… make myself a bigger fool. But for you… if your future self is forcing you to move on now, and forget… it's cruel. Because you're not ready…"

Renjun's head twists for a second. "What makes you think I'm not ready to let go?"

You open your mouth, but then shake your head and look away. "It's fine, let's just watch another movie,"

"No, wait. You don't think I want to be better?"

"I think…" you bite your lip. "That you want to die. That you don't want to live. You smoke, push people away because you don't want to get hurt… you're just moving through life with no clear aim to connect. You… purposely anchor yourself down. To me that's… not wanting to get better. And what's in that life? You alone…"

In that moment, Renjun's thoughts are as clear as ever. Seeing his face, and how throughout the movies you looked like all the weight was gone from your shoulders, and you laughed without a care, you were happy… Renjun makes a conscious choice that he'd like for his body to really be like that, he'd like for his emotions to serve and heal his body. "I don't know about trusting people again… but I want to… I want to be happy. I want to feel, like I wasn't burden of shame. I want to connect… to myself first before I let anyone in. I just… don't know how. And I don't want to be tricked."

You listen, and from your heart, you know your words are true when you speak. "As I'm in your body… I won't trick you. I've literally lost my self respect, but I'm not dumb enough to give up on life. I would… want us to connect. Because right now, we're the only ones experiencing this. So… if tomorrow we're still like this, I'll… show you how to connect to yourself."

Renjun sadly smiles, you're so thoughtful. "Don't you have to… worry about yourself and image?"

You smile and look away. "Nobody cares about me. And if… I take your advice about being myself… then I guess that tomorrow, you can dress my body however and I'll make the effort to hit the books again, and work hard to be 'clever'."

Renjun hums. It's a sweet moment between you both, and he doesn't want to ruin it. "Why do you use the word clever? Why not intelligent or smart, or… something else? I think if you want to change, you have to stop looking down on that word like it's an anchor of sorrow."

You bite the inside of your lip before agreeing. "Okay. And I think… if you want to change, you should… stop smoking- but it feels so good and," you pout, causing Renjun to chuckle.

"In your body, I have never felt more healthier in my life- speaking of which- how is it that you're skinny but can't run? We've gotta change that, you need to be healthy, and not just skinny. If I'm in your body tomorrow, I'll train it."

You chortle. "And teach me how to fight. I could never throw a punch the way you did… Is… can I ask? Is that why you don't like people touching you? You're afraid they might hit you… or beat you like your dad?"

Renjun shakes his head. "I don't like people touching me, because it makes me feel like I’m not in control. Like they can get too close before I even realize it…. why do you… sleep around? Was it only because of Jeno?"

You scoff and breathe out. "I guess you were right about that hug… I don't sleep around because I like sex. It's about proving that I was worth wanting. My step mum dresses like a hooker and my dad loves her. So, I dressed up like that…. and the way the guys would line up for me… made me feel wanted. And Jeno…. now that I think of it… it's like I was chasing rejection… because it feels familiar, you know. Just like how my father never saw me… Jeno never saw me and I just… if I can sleep with him then maybe I was never unworthy to begin with, was my thinking. Everyone but Jeno wanted to sleep with me, and it proves my father was right."

"Your father is a jerk." Renjun says. "Is he still alive?" Renjun smirks. "Then if I'm in your body tomorrow, I'll prove him wrong. That you are worthy."

You smile, and for moment you're both staring into each other's eyes. You look away and to the screen, realizing the time… it's already tomorrow, but you're still in his body. "Well… I guess we can go and sleep then. And we can start on fresh pages. I'll sleep on the bean bag,"

Renjun scoffs. "No, you can take the bed. You're literally a guest,"

"Idiot," you laugh. "Don't you see that you're in my body, my body needs fresh sleep and comfortable pillows. Your body can sleep on the bean bag and you'll be fine."

"That was… not even funny." Renjun says, and for some reason you laugh.

You carefully and awkwardly begin to move past each other, preparing to sleep. But before you sleep, you drag Renjun to the bathroom to wash up. You fetch some water and then finally. You're both in his room. Despite the sleeping arrangement, you sleep on one side of the bed while he sleeps on the opposite side.

-

"Okay remember." Renjun says when your shared ride approaches school. "Eyes down, voices low, we talk only to each other, not the world."

You nod. "Got it. Only speak if it's safe, only to each other. Today no one else matters."

"Yeah, we just need to blend in, breathe and try to bond. Stay away from the noise."

You laugh a little. "Yeah, stay away from Jeno, I got it. No slip-ups, no side chats, just us."

"Also if you can, stay away from Chenle. He's a creep." Renjun adds. "I told him we've swapped places, and he kept thinking it's a joke and project, most likely he'll want to see how you act like me. But our rules are simple, play the part, protect the secret."

"After classes we should go shopping. Your wardrobe needs to change." You tell Renjun as the car ride finally stops on campus grounds and you get out. "What's your favorite colour?"

Renjun in your body rolls his eyes. "Colours are so overrated." After giving him a tight look, he grunts out. "Fine… yellow." you smile. "Alright, see you after class."

You both part ways going to your respective classes.

This morning, you and Renjun had a talk about some rules and agreements. After you woke up, you showered and changed into black clothes, you then went on a ride with Renjun back to your dorm. He showered, and you picked out clothes for him. Nothing revealing, but at least fashionable. Eunjung was shocked seeing Renjun in the room, but you both ignored her.

Today at least Renjun looked cute. Black jeans and a simple pink t-shirt tucked in. You did his hair, braided it down, because Renjun didn't know how to deal with it, and you put on light makeup on his face. Nothing dramatic like you're used to, just lipstick and some mascara and a dab to your brows. "Cute." he murmured, making you feel happy. You didn't want to draw attention to yourself, and neither did Renjun. The plan was simple, go to school and instead of him attending your classes, he'd attend his own classes.

Which is why, as he's in your body, he doesn't follow Jeno to the backseat, but takes the front seat. Keeping it lowkey. The lecturer notices… but he doesn't pay mind.

And on the other side of the building, you attempt to stay away from your friends as you're in Renjun's body. You got to your classes, some people give you odd looks, but you focus on actually paying attention in class.

The mantra for today, for the both of you is: The less they see, the less they know.

You don't know what the day will bring, but at long as you and Renjun are on the same page today, you'll see how everything plays out.

And boy is it confusing to the rest of the world, your college campus. Renjun in your body avoids the male gaze and any guy who comes your way. He's cut throat in sarcasm to avoid any interactions. And you in his body - against your will avoid Jeno even though he tries to talk to you. When your classes are all done, you wait for Renjun by the smokers side. You bring out your cigarette and wonder about quitting for him. And finally around 2 pm he's finally done.

"There you are." he stops running in the opposite direction and walks to you. A smile on his face. "How'd it go?"

"Success," you smile and get up, blowing the smoke away from his face. "I didn't speak to anyone, even Jeno. I ran away from Chenle. Kept to myself and focused in my classes, and took notes." you point to your bag. "And you?"

Renjun nods. "Good. I stayed away from the girls and pushed away every guy."

"Perfect." You smile and hold your hand out. He looks around, and takes it. "Phase 1 is done, alienate the world. Phase 2, bonding."

"Renjun."

"Yes?" you and Renjun both say and turn to the side. A confused Jeno stands in confusion watching the both of you. You and Renjun both hesitate, stuttering and letting go of each other's hand. Before Renjun in your body nudges you and his head. "Oh, yeah. I'm Renjun. Yes?" You look to Jeno and then at Renjun and then lean in close to his ear. "Should we leave?"

Renjun wants to palm his face, but finds himself agreeing. "Sorry pal we're in a rush."

"Yeah, what she said." You tightly smile, and allow Renjun to grab your wrist and you both move away. Once you're away from Jeno, you breath out. "He just won't quite."

"Yeah that's Jeno. But that's not our priority." Renjun mentions and then folds his arms, as you're both walking to the exit of the school gates. "Where were we?"

"Shopping!" You let out in a sing song voice.

"Y/n?"

You and Renjun both snap to the side, seeing Chaerong. "Uhm, you guys are going shopping? I can come along,"

"It's okay, it's kind of a… date. Alone, together." Renjun says, trying to walk away with you following.

But Chaerong doesn't stop. "Are you guys still swapped? I haven't told anyone, not even Eunjung… pretty please can I tag along?" she clasps her hands together and instead of moving to Renjun, she moves to you. And calls your name. "Y/n pretty please? I will chip in, and help in anyway that I can…"

Your mouth is gapped open and you can only look at Renjun… but then you somberly turn to Chaerong. "I'm sorry Chae, as much as I'd love that… we… really need this time alone. Maybe next time?" She's sad, but Renjun pulls you away before you can even catch her face drop even lower. "That was so hard,"

"You handled that well," Renjun voices out well. "And besides, it's not like the world has ended. We'll see her tomorrow, today it's about us. And finding out about each other."

"Don't make it sound like forced bonding." You let him know, as he begins to request a ride to the mall. "We're going to have a good time, in getting to know each other. And we can do that… through shopping. Not only for clothes, but everything else."

Renjun fears being alone with you, on the quest to healing from his own trauma, as well as rebuilding emotional connections he abandoned, but he keeps reminding himself that this is all his idea. He's idea to try and move away from self-hatred to self-awareness for both of them. At the same time, making each other laugh and have fun away from the life that has kept them miserable.

Renjun lowers his phone slightly and exhales through his nose. He's scared not of the mall, not even of you but of what this day could mean. He's never really let anyone in. Not like this. Not voluntarily. But this whole thing was his idea, wasn't it? To stop hiding behind sarcasm and cigarettes. To face the mirror… even if that mirror was you. Especially because it was you.

In the car ride, you sit beside him and stare out the window. "Oh look, yellow roses," you say, pointing out. Then after a pause, you glance his way. "Why do you like the color yellow?"

He doesn't answer immediately. "Uhm… no reason," he finally mutters. "It looks bright."

You smile, not because the answer is funny, but because it's honest. You can hear it, the subtle longing behind the word bright. "In colour study, yellow represents joy, positivity, hope, creativity and intellect."

"That's nice to know," he smiles. "What's your favourite colour? Pink?" he points to his t-shirt.

"How did you know?" you answer sarcastically, before snickering. "I actually like green. I remember I loved nature and the colour just looked peaceful."

The mall is busy but not loud. Inside, your voices blend into the crowd but not your presence. Together, you somehow carve out a pocket of peace. In a small clothing store, you start pulling pieces for his body and you try it on. You hold up a soft yellow sweatshirt and squint at it. "This? Yes. This screams you."

Renjun groans dramatically. "I'll look like a banana."

"A happy banana," you say, tossing it into his arms. It's weird how he's in your body but he's less enthusiastic about shopping and you are. "I never knew boys clothes were so… casual. Do you like art? Like shirts with art styles and all that. Look at that one-" The shirt literally says: 'Mentally gone, physically here.'

"That's literally our situation." You both laugh.

Later, inside a tiny karaoke booth tucked in a corner of the arcade section, he begins messing around with the song queue, he loves to sing, but with your voice the notes land flatly. But when you suddenly pick up the mic and chose a song- your first note has you freezing… before Renjun sings for you- prompting you to carry on. You sing, with Renjun's voice. But it doesn’t sound like that. His voice is clean, heartfelt, and full of restraint - not like someone showing off, but like someone letting something out.

You freeze, then slowly smile. "Renjun… You can sing," you breathe, and he flushes a little. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugs. "I thought everyone can… but I guess now after hearing you and your out of tune voice, I can sing…"

You keep singing, suddenly feeling in love with the voice. It's harmonic, melodic and peaceful. You sing your favourite songs. Renjun takes a seat and smiles watching you use his voice harmony, and his head turns to his phone. He picks it up and begins recording this moment. Especially when you do such a powerful highnote. "Wow… that's incredible." like he didn’t expect that either. For the next twenty minutes, it becomes a weird, spontaneous duet — your voice isn't that good, but Renjun still sings. One out of key the other in tune, but it sounds so beautiful.

Later, wandering through a quiet indoor art exhibit, the tone shifts again. It's dimly lit, the walls lined with local artists’ work. Renjun stops in front of one painting, a faceless figure reaching toward its reflection, only the reflection is smiling. "That's us," he whispers.

You hum in agreement beside him, arms crossed, eyes soft. He steps forward to another painting — tangled black lines over a hazy silhouette. "You like art…"

There's a pause. Then he says, quietly, "I draw. A bit."

You turn toward him sharply. "Really?"

He clears his throat. "I just don't show people."

You're quiet for a second. "I'd love to see it sometime. When I go back to your room I'll search for them,"

He doesn't say yes. But he doesn’t say no either. "Under the bed, you'll find a file with drawings,"

And by the time you're home, you check under the bed, and find it. Going through each drawing, you smile and snap some pictures before sending him a message.

Y/n: Literally a masterpiece Renjun: Why aren't you sleeping, do you see the time? thnx Y/n: I'll sleep later, you're a night owl.

After searching through the pictures, you end up neatly folding the new clothes into the wardrobe. And just before you sleep, you put on the cigarette patch on your stomach, apparently this helps to reduce smoking habits.

The next day slips by with you and Renjun doing the same things, avoiding everyone but each other. Even going to the library to avoid anyone who wants to talk, both your friends and his friends.

"I don't mean to say it," Renjun starts. "But they're a bad influence. They mean well, but they're not good for you."

"I'm beginning to see that," you say after seeing the message that Eunjung sent you, saying that Mark allowed for you and Chaerong to come to his party. She got connections to the party by asking one guy to sleep with you- You type back a message telling her that you're not interested in the party any more. Especially since, your sight on Jeno has changed.

"Speaking of party," you look to him as he eats. "Don't you miss being with Jeno?"

"He asked me in a text last night, why I'm suddenly hanging out with you." Renjun mumbles and then shrugs. "I said you're fun, now he thinks I want to sleep with you."

You look at Renjun trying to read his expression. "He can think what he wants. Besides, this might not be forever, and hopefully then I can brush it under the mat,"

"You're breaking a rule," you let out in a singing way.

He chuckles when hearing you sing. "Yeah, but my friendship with Jeno is on hold for now. And I wasn't joking, you're fun to be around. Especially now that you're smart."

"Funny,"

"By the way, I like the sweater." Renjun points to what you're wearing on his body. It's the jersey you bought for him yesterday. A black jersey that has a happy face in yellow on it.

Evening comes and you're sitting in your dorm room with Renjun on the bed on his laptop. You didn't want to go home, you wanted to help him have a set of clothes for the week. But as you're doing your homework, your heart drops upon staring at an online pop quiz for one of your modules. "I'm going to mess this up," you mumble.

"No, you're not," Renjun simply says, even though he doesn't know what you're talking about. You tell him about how in one of your classes, a pop up quiz was given, and you needed to complete it in 30 minutes. But the problem is that, you haven't studied in so long - you recently picked up on the habit, and you haven't been all caught up. "Just stop second-guessing. Anything you remember, just tick it." Renjun encourages you, half-heartedly while doing his own assignment.

You glance up at him, something flickering in your eyes, seeing him in your body look so focused and doing his work, makes your spine straighter, preparing yourself. "I can do this." And then you do it, the quiz. You take your time, second-guess a few answers, but mostly… you're surprised that you know a lot of the answers. And when you're done the quiz that was out of 90, you wait for the results to appear. Anxiously you wait, while recalling some of the questions and going to check on the e-textbook.

"Renjun," you whisper when the results come in after almost 30 minutes of waiting. He's doing he's own project, typing out rapidly, yet when hearing you call him, he looks to you.

"What?"

You smile and turn your laptop screen to him. "I got ninety-two percent." you cheer in a whispering tone.

His stone face breaks into a smiles. Full, genuine, proud. "See? You're already one ticket away from flying to an island and building a rocket to the moon. Well done, I'm proud of you.”

It means more than it should, hearing that compliment from him in your body… Or maybe it means more because it's him.

Friday arrives too soon. Everyone's buzzing about Mark's party, flyers everywhere, whispers in the halls. You and Renjun are both well aware of the event. Renjun even gets a message from Jeno reminding him to show up. But over lunch time, Renjun puts his spoon down and looks at you across the table.

"Let's not go," he says.

You blink. "To the party?"

“Yeah. Let's just… get away. Go on a picnic or something."

"Picnic?" You smile. "I thought you're getting tired of hanging with me. You hardly say anything now…"

He tilts his head to the side. "I'm not bored, just don't have much to say. Plus it's comfortable being with you. I don't feel on guard anymore. Come on, just us. No noise. Just sun, grass, food… maybe music. I want quiet.”

You raise an eyebrow, but hum out in thought.

He shrugs. trying to appeal to your needs. "Didn't you say you love nature? We can go to a park. I'll buy with my card…"

You're quiet for a second, processing, but inside you've already said yes. It's just the silence and watching Renjun try to persuad you is entertaining. Then you smile. "Okay. A picnic."

It's simple, just the two of you, still swapped, lying on a checkered blanket in a small park just outside the city. "The amount of uber rides we've had alone in this week is crazy."

"I'm running low on cash." he mumbles.

"What do you even do?" you ask curiously. "I don't see you telling me to go to work or any side hustles."

Renjun hides a grin. "Oh actually, a bunch of your lover boys keep sending you money in your account. I haven't used it… but just letting you know. Anyway, I work remotly. Remember my lectuerer who told me I have to complete an assignment? Yeah well, he had a post open for an engineering research lab assistant. And I got it. So before I was just an intern. Now I'm full time."

"Nice." you clap. "So that's why you're always on your laptop. Does it pay daily, weekly or monthly?"

"Daily. So for every research essay I complete in a day, I get about 500."

For the picnic, Renjun brought snacks, a small speaker, and his sketchbook. The sunlight filters through the trees. Your voices are soft, you sing with his voice, as he draws. You're surprised that even though he's in your body, he's able to draw well. He draws the scenery, with the little people on the Friday afternoon relaxing around.

You lay on the ground with your eyes closed… you're singing faintly under your breath, not even aware of it at first. He glances over at you, and something about the way you tilt your head toward the sky makes him draw again. But… he wants to draw you, so he brings out his phone and opens the camera. Directing it on the selfie mood, he angles his head towards the sky, closing his eyes and he snaps a photo of himself, but getting lost while looking at the pictures in your eyes, he snaps a few more photos, being natural, and even smiling.

Being satisfied with the pictures… he draws this time, with more care. The phone is planted on the ground while he holds the pencil tightly in his hand, sketching.

After a while, you lean over. "Let me see."

He turns the sketchbook around, a proud smile on his face.

It's you. Without colour, different poses, but unmistakably you. Laughing, looking peaceful. Light.

"You drew me?" You sit up looking happy. Renjun is happy seeing a smile over his face. "You made me look… pretty. Even without makeup." you whisper.

"That's what I see," he replies.

You look at each other for a long moment. No jokes. No sarcasm. Just silence and sincerity.

And for once, neither of you feels the need to look away.

SATURDAY.

"Okay man, what's going on?"

Jeno bursts into your room. You jolt upright from under the covers… half-asleep, groggy, hair a mess, just awake enough to squint at him as he throws open your curtains, flooding the room with harsh light. He drops into the desk chair like he owns it, legs sprawled.

"Why didn't you come to the party?"

You blink, brows furrowing. "It's too early for this."

Jeno ignores the remark, pushing forward. "Injun, what"s going on with you?" His tone shifts, less friendly, more demanding. "You're avoiding me. You're hanging out with the weirdo. Dressing up, acting soft, like— like you're someone else. Don't tell me you two are getting close?"

You say nothing. You don't flinch, don't move, just look at him. Your brain tries to process his words. He really came here to… Complain to Renjun… You don't know how to handle this, so you just stay silent.

However that silence… it rattles him. Renjun doesn't stay silent… He's always one sarcastic comment away from being rude, but Jeno's jaw clutches when staring at Renjun and Renjun is dead silent. He leans forward, squinting like he's trying to dig the truth out of 'Renjun' with his eyes.

"She's not like you. You guys have nothing in common," Jeno continues, wondering if his friend is really falling in love with you or something. "She's messy, dude. Chaotic. Has all this… baggage of trouble. Probably has STDs. I don't get why you're wasting time. She's not your type— hell, no one's your type, you're not even like this. You’ve been acting weird."

You sit up fully now, planting your feet on the ground. Still, you don't respond. You let the silence linger, allowing him to keep speculating. He keeps going, and for the first time you actually wonder what you saw in this guy. He's so… Annoying.

"You two are what now? Dating? You're gonna what — fall for her and drop everything we built over some pretty face and broken past? Don't joke around with her, you don't want to involve yourself with someone like her. You're not like this."

You finally speak. "Why is it so bad to be with her?" Jeno pauses, being thrown off guard. You're not raising your voice. You're calm, steady and clear. "And why is that such a damn insult? You don't even know her." You look him in the eye, shoulders squared. "She's stupid for even liking someone like you- who only cares about himself. She's smart. Brave for putting herself through all of this, but still being able to make it out alive. Yeah, she's had a rough path. So what? All of us have. You act like you're some saint who's perfect. Like you haven't hurt people. Like you didn't ignore her all semester just because it was easier to act like you were better. Well guess what Jeno, you're not. So stop acting like it's the end of the world because I like her."

Jeno opens his mouth, but you don't let him speak.

"She's more than the version of you built in your head. And I'm more than whoever you think I was supposed to be. Maybe you should stop trying to control people and put them in boxes." Silence from him. He's just looking at you stubbed. Then you tilt your head, voice dry. "And for crying out loud, can you get the hell out of my room? It's Saturday and too early for this."

Jeno stares at you, no words, no comeback. Just disbelief flickering behind his eyes. Like he doesn't recognize this Renjun in front of him. And maybe he doesn't. He stands slowly, almost confused, brushing out of the room when watching Renjun get back on his bed. And right outside the bedroom door, he bumps into someone…

Renjun in your body who entered the house with the spare key, can only watch in shock as he sees Jeno. But Jeno only blinks. "What the hell?" Renjun freezes, his eyes flick from Jeno to the hallway, like he's considering walking away. Avoiding confrontation. He even gives a polite bow and tries to pass.

But Jeno steps in his way.

"You think this is funny?" Jeno scoffs. "First you start acting brand new, now you're walking around like you own the place? Stop playing games with my friend- I know what you're really after, and that's me. Get this through your thick skull- we are never going to be an item. So fucking stop messing around and sleeping around with all of my friends."

Renjun doesn't respond right away. His jaw tenses, but he holds back. Last time after speaking with you, Renjun knows that you're starting to see Jeno differently and that you're no longer interested in him. So Renjun can only wonder what Jeno thinks of you hanging around with him- Renjun. Still trying to keep things from escalating, Renjun just nods. He knows Jeno doesn't like you, and he wants to refrain from causing Jeno to say anything harsh to your face. Besides… if Jeno is here that means he must've spoken to you (in his body) already. So Renjun sidesteps again trying to walk away.

Yet Jeno pushes him. Not hard. But enough. "Ya- I'm talking to you." Enough to cross a line.

Renjun straightens, lifts his eyes, and finally speaks, voice sharp, low. "Don't touch me." Jeno blinks. "Can't you take a hint and just leave us alone? Not everything is about you. I'm here for Renjun not you,"

"You slut-" Jeno slams Renjun against the wall - but Renjun pushes him back with all the strength your little body can produce.

"Don't fucking call her that again or else I'll—"

"Stop." Renjun holds his speech when hearing your voice… you're standing outside the bedroom looking at them. "Jeno just leave "

Jeno scoffs in disbelief. "You can't be serious man. You're chasing me out, for this slut? You think she's worth it? She's nothing but a bitch-"

"Don't call her a bitch or a slut." Renjun shoves Jeno back- speaking up for you. But to Jeno it looks like you're talking about yourself in the third person.

Renjun has never fought with Jeno before, but hearing Jeno be so mean to 'you' right to your face doesn't sit right with him.

Jeno clenches his jaw, chest rising like he's about to shout- and worse he lifts up his hand to hit 'you' aka Renjun in your body- but he doesn't. He just stares deep into Renjun's eyes, stunned, and then without another word, he storms off down the hall, footsteps loud and uneven. Renjun exhales. He doesn't move for a moment. He just stands there still, quiet, fists relaxed at his sides.

"Don't listen to him. You're not a slut or bitch."

Then, slowly, he turns to you. A little smile coats your lips as you move towards him. You exchange a glance. Neither of you speaks, you only pat his back and then push him towards the room. "It's too early for communication, so let's go and sleep. At least an hour."

Renjun steps in, and you both let the door close behind him. You get on the bed, and Renjun removes his shoes joining you. Back to back… While he closes his eyes, trying to relax himself, you end up opening your eyes to watch him in your body. Renjun despite not being tired ends up falling asleep… You sink closer to him, smiling when realizing that… you stood up to Jeno… well Renjun in your body stood up to Jeno. He wasn't taking any disrespectful comment from his friend… and that makes you happy. A part of you feels respected and that he's helped you maintain your dignity.

"Thank you, Renjun."

-

A WEEK LATER.

You and Renjun walk together on campus, matching each other's pace. You roll your eyes when he stops to tie your shoelace his way, he says it's 'more efficient.' To others, when they see a girl going down to tie the male shoes, they wonder what's going on between the both of you. Flaunting… chemistry publicly on campus grounds. Avoiding Jeno and your friends and just indulging in each other's presence. You teach him how to do your eyeliner, and he ruins it halfway through, laughing while apologizing like it's some sort of high-stakes surgery.

At night, you both work in the same room, you prefer for him to come over and be with you in his room… Because you don't like being alone. Music hums low. You're hunched over your laptop doing one of your essays. He's sketching in his book using his hands. The silence isn't awkward anymore, it's full. Complete. A shared kind of peace. He's teaching you how to pace yourself, encourages you to use your talents and knowledge. You're reminding him how to breathe, trust without feeling like he'll be betrayed. It's not perfect, but it does get you guys closer.

Renjun in your body still forgets you have a chocolate allergy, and gets surprised when he eats it and suddenly your lips gets puffy. You still struggle to keep a straight face when telling Renjun how impressive his body is. You expose yourself and tell him that you always do the 'helicopter' whenever you bath. Renjun shamelessly admits that he usually masterbates in his body - but ever since the swap he's been holding himself back to not touch your body… but he failed as some point and masterbated. You laugh finding his embarrassed face - hilarious. You've never seen yourself look so embarrassed.

There's a rhythm now. A strange, beautiful rhythm. One night, while you're mid-laugh about some pictures you took of him wearing a yellow robe holding yellow balloon flowers, "I took a bunch of selfies." You comment upside down on Renjun's bed. "You know, you've actually got a beautiful face card."

Renjun smiles. "I get it from my mum," And it's little talks like this, where Renjun slowly admits that he's willing to forgive his mum… he just needs time. You tell him that his mother seems happier ever since you started talking more and more to her- plus his mother has also been doing some healing and has found her strength. She's trying and Renjun acknowledges that. Meanwhile in your path with your father, you just avoid him- as Renjun says it's the best type of revenge, you'll laugh in his face when you're successful. And you chose to believe that and work hard. By now, you guys have been in each other's bodies for 2 weeks.

Even at school, lectures take note of how your mark's have changed. Renjun tells you about how a lecturer stopped him to ask if he was interested in joining a learnership program on recommendation. Renjun has moments when he's so proud of who you've become.

However… Sometimes… It's not all sunshine… Under it all, Renjun starts to unravel. The truth sits like a stone in his chest. Each passing day is a reminder: 'What if we never go back? What if I'm just… trapped here?'

Renjun snaps one day. You're in his room doing an assignment and he's looking out the window. "I don't want to be stuck in your body." The words come out sharp. Colder than he means. He looks at you, you're stunned only for a moment, but then you shrink. The air tightens between you.

"It's not like I know how to go back… We've tried everything…" You mutter out, placing your pen down. You've avoided these thoughts, simply because you never knew what else to do. So for him to say it out loud and angrily… has you holding yourself together. Preparing for his mean words…

"I'm sorry," he mutters, avoiding the route to use violent words. "It's just… I can't handle being in your body anymore. Exams are coming and…"

The moment has already fallen apart. He storms off before you can respond. He's frustrated and confused. When will this end? It's not that he hates being in your body… He hates that he's developing feelings for you, but instead of experiencing it in his body, he's experiencing it in your body. This doesn't make sense. This isn't how love is supposed to be… and what if you don't feel the same way? What if…

They've been getting too comfortable in this position… and Renjun doesn't like it. Something has to change. And as he storms out of the house, he takes a breath of fresh air - letting all the air fill his lungs. He likes breathing, he likes living, he likes you… but he wants to experience it in his own body. He wants this change in his own body… "God if you're out there, please… Let us love each other properly. Swap us back." he lays on the ground… looking at the stars.

You watch him from the bedroom window and also looking up to the stairs. After a while, you go outside and carry him back in the room. He doesn't move, he's fast asleep.

-

The next morning Renjun wakes up with sunlight warming his face. His sheets smell familiar….

His room.

His bed.

His body—

But when he lifts the covers and sees the same frame, your frame and boobs— he groans out loud. With no energy to tackle the day, he drags himself out of bed and follows the faint clatter of dishes in to the kitchen. There, he sees you… sitting across from his mother, eating breakfast and chatting.

"We should do that some day," You laugh while eating the cereal. "Book an island, just us two and destress- reconcile and everything."

He tenses up when seeing his mother look up at him. He was just standing by the doorway, loving the sight of his mother and him… he can feel it now. He's ready to forgive her… "Oh… Good morning dear. I made some breakfast, are you hungry? Casual cereal but with a dash of some strawberries and pancakes…"

You look at Renjun with pleading eyes. But he simply nods, holding a little smile. "Smells nice. So, what were you guys talking about? Travelling?"

You laugh softly. "Mum here was telling me that forgiveness is a practice," you say, your voice careful, but warm. "You just try to understand someone's pain enough that you stop holding it against them. So then she told me about a resort in some island that actually just focuses on that. So instead of being there with a group, we were thinking just us two,"

His mother hums and looks grateful. "I'm really glad you… forgave me,” she says, smiling in your direction… and Renjun swallows hard. That word hits him, is this what it would look like to finally forgive his mother? "You've always been precious to me, and I promise that I will make things right. I won't hurt anymore."

He sits down without a word. Listens to the rest of breakfast with a new silence. And in that silence, he promises: 'When I get back… I’ll forgive her. For real. She deserves that.'

-

Sunday comes in, and you and Renjun are at a park, near a still pong, watching ducks skimming lazily across the water's surface.

"What if we never go back?" Renjun asks again, and you 'shhshh' him.

"No thinking Renjun," you quietly say. "Just enjoy the view."

The sky is soft, pale blue. Everything is quiet. You both sit side-by-side on the grass, knees almost touching. There's no rush, no noise, just the quiet hush of nature doing its thing. A third week has passed, but still you guys were in each other's bodies. No more movies could tell you guys what was wrong or how you could switch back, the reality was much more darker… having no idea what to do next but wait and see what the next day would bring. Either you swapped back, or you continued in each other's lives.

"You know, if I think of a movie… Titanic. Rose and Jack in their last breathes, thanked each other and encouraged each other a long life… maybe… this is all happening, just so we can look at each other… see each other grow… and then… forgive each other and say thank you."

Renjun thinks on your words… after a while with nothing left to lose, Renjun speaks, eyes fixed on the pond. "Thank you," he says. You turn to look at him. "For this. All of this. The swap. The chaos… I've learnt a lot… about you, about myself. I didn't expect that. I didn't know I needed it.”

You say nothing at first. Just nod, eyes tracing a duck gliding by. Then, you breathe out slowly. Heart beating fast. "I like you, a lot." It’s barely louder than a whisper, but it lands with weight.

Renjun turns to you, a small smile rising with a short chuckle he places his hand over yours. "I like you too. A lot more."

You smile at each other. That long, knowing smile that stretches all the way into your chests. And as the sun dips slightly lower, casting gold across the pond, Renjun leans in… and kisses you. It's gentle. Certain. A soft press of lips that says a lot of things…

"Well… even when we do wake up as ourselves next time… I promise I'll like you the same way."

You chortle. "No sarcasms?"

"Ah, that's my oxygen. Do you know how many comebacks have been blooming in my mind?" you laugh at his foolishness. "I've got sarcasm throwbacks for years now."

That night, in each others own room, sleep comes like a curtain after an ending of a show. You fall asleep deeply… and for the first time in weeks, you're both as peace. Darkness clouds your minds… drifting into a dream state so deep.

FUTURE PRESENT YEAR: 2058

You glance over at Renjun, who’s walking back to the seat beside you as he stares at the console and then goes onto typing on his laptop some codes. His crisp lab coat slightly rumpled, dark hair falling over his forehead. The years had been kind to him, his eyes still sharp, but softer now when they catch yours staring at him. His lip twitches slightly. "What?"

"You know, if you asked me, I wouldn't mind staying in your handsome body for the rest of my life. I loved the benefits that came with being you," you tease, folding your arms and grinning.

Renjun smirks, shaking his head. "If you'd stayed me forever, you would've missed out on everything life had in store for you. And let’s be honest, your glow-up was way hotter than mine,"

You laugh, the sound light and genuine. Your white floral dress sways as you swing your chair closer to him, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

Renjun was a scientist at Dream Corp, where AI and time technology merged to explore consciousness. His team's latest breakthrough: cognitive transposition, aka the ethical, AI-guided swapping of minds across timelines. In one experiment, he swapped the consciousness of a boy and a girl from the past, each trapped in their own identity struggles. The goal wasn't just scientific curiosity, but to prove that identity could adapt, evolve, and even heal through different perspective.

Then Renjun made a personal choice, to swap consciousness with you. By then, you two were already in love, even married, and with your full consent, the swap began. He documented how both of you were lost in yourselves. The swap wasn't just data—it was a way to understand each other, and perhaps, finally, yourselves.

"So what are you doing now? You're going to make them swap back?"

Renjun nods his head. "Yep, as protocol. I can't leave them for another week, they'll mess up timelines. Besides, I think I now understood why I suddenly had feelings for you. The long dream played a huge part in that,"

"It sucks, because now when they go back they won't remember how much healing they went through…"

Renjun smiles. "That's the beauty of timelines. We think they won't remember, but in the present, they'll feel echoes. Little reminders. Sometimes people just wake up and want to change. That's what happened to us. That's why I chose to go back to that specific timeline, because it's in there, that change felt like it was only in the dream."

You both turn back to the hologram, watching the awkward, younger versions of yourselves still sleeping as the machine begins the consciousness swap. For a moment, it's silent. Just soft blinking lights and the quiet hum of something ending—and beginning again.

Renjun reaches over, gently takes your hand. "Whatever version of us wakes up," he says, "They'll find their way. Just like we did."

"I hope so," you chuckle as you lean in closer. "I don't want to go back to obsessing over Jeno."

Renjun gives your lips a peck.

On a screen nearby, a digital file is open: "Cognitive Empathy Simulation Project: Time-Locked Identity Transfer Protocol."

Renjun taps a few keys, eyes scanning the data. He turns to you. "We did it," he says. "They'll never know. Everything would've been just like a dream."

"Wow… so we sat here for 3 hours and watched events that happened within 3 weeks?" You smile, slipping your hand into his. "Best moments of my life happened in a dream? Well at least, I have this future to remember that it all happened."

As Renjun prepares the final sequence, you both glance at a nearby screen showing two younger versions finally being back in each other's bodies.

"Memory seal initiating," the system announces. "Swap protocol complete. All data locked. This experience will remain subconscious." You watch as the screens fade to black.

And then you turn to each other, smiling, and then you speak. "We should… tell Chenle to make a movie about this. It'll be a hit."

"I bet only 3 people will watch it." Renjun mummers. "You, me and him."

"It doesn't have to be popular." You laugh. "It's our experience, we make a movie about it and only we get to enjoy it."

Renjun smirks "Great. A $10 million budget for a private screening in our living room. Pure cinematic genius."

"This is why we can't have nice things." You shove his shoulders jokingly with a laugh.

You're married now. Partners in life, in research, in love. The swap, though long ago, built the foundation of everything you are now. Renjun leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

The machine hums gently. The lights dim. And the dream becomes a memory. Forever sealed.

PAST PRESENT YEAR: 2028 - TUESDAY 08h49 a.m. – THE DREAM ENDS

"What the hell is going on?" Renjun groans, twisting uncomfortably on a bed that doesn’t feel like… yours.

He yanks off the headphones blasting rock music… headphones? and sits up, dazed. The blanket is grey, heavy, and smells faintly like cigarettes. The floor beneath him is carpeted. Grey carpet. He stumbles to the mirror. And freezes. His face. His eyes. His voice.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. A stunned, disbelieving laugh escapes his lips. "I'm back—!"

But then he pauses, a pressure building in his chest and he frowns… The excitement dulls. He touches his face again, studies his eyes in the reflection.

"Why… why was I happy to be back?" he whispers. There's something… someone… his mind is reaching for. A face. A girl. A name that feels like something familiar disappearing from him… but the thought slips away the second he tries to grasp it.

"Jeno’s stalker?" he says aloud, blinking when the image of your face flashes in his mind. "No… that's not right."

A knock on the door pulls him from the haze. His mother pokes her head in. "Are you okay? I heard you shouting…"

Renjun turns to her, the anger that appeared from seeing her, quickly fades… And suddenly a lump in his throat grows. She looks… softer than he remembers. Like a woman who's tried her best.

"Sorry for entering…" she mumbles… hesitant and then retreats. But Renjun shakes his head.

"I… had the weirdest dream," he murmurs walking slowly towards the door. His heart aches, but he doesn’t know why. "What day is it?"

"It’s Tuesday."

He nods absently. Then, without thinking, he steps forward… and hugs her. She stiffens and is stunned. "I forgive you," he says quietly, not knowing why- but it feels like the heavy weight burden that was on him drops down, and he has no energy to fight with her anymore or be upset with her.

She doesn't respond right away. Her eyes water. "My son… are you okay?"

He doesn't know the answer.

-

Elsewhere in the female dormitory room you wake up gasping!

You immediately reach for your notebook and scribble down everything you can remember, even though your fingers are trembling badly. The dream was vivid, like you'd lived another life. A boy’s voice. His soft eyes. His laugh. The way he looked at you like you mattered… singing…

"Jeno?" Your pen scratches across the page- frantic. "No- it wasn't him." Your fingers tremble. The ink smudges as your tears fall… it feels like your heart is breaking at the thought of not being able to remember something so precious and dear to you. "He told me I was enough. That I was clever. That I mattered." You try to remember his name… as the face keeps escaping your head. "Re…" you whisper.

But just like that… it’s gone. The images fade. The words blur. A dull emptiness settles in your chest as the dream collapses like ash in your hands. You sit there, staring at your notebook. Confused.

"Why am I crying?"

Your eyes land on the messy handwriting: He’ll find me. He'll love me. He promised…

-

Things change quietly.

You stop dressing the way you used to, not because anyone told you to, but because something inside you shifted. Glasses rest on your nose. Your hair is tied up in a neat bun. You still love who you are, but now you let your mind speak louder than your appearance. You sternly chase guys away from you, you no longer sit with your old clique of girl friends- you enjoy sitting alone now. Waiting… for that… 'dream guy' to come. You keep holding in your heart that promise of someone coming…

You walk across campus with your books held close, headphones in, the world passing by in a blur. You don't chase Jeno anymore. The thought of him doesn't spark excitement… just pain… just nothingness. There's someone else… someone your soul is aching for. But you don’t know who.

-

"So Chenle had this project in mind whereby we follow your stalker and see why she's so fascinated by you." Renjun walks beside Jeno, expression unreadable.

Jeno hums. "Haven't seen her in a while," Jeno rambles. "It feels peaceful without her on my back. Have you seen her?"

Renjun shakes his head… "That's why we're scraping the project. Finding something else."

Jeno shrugs the topic off and goes on about some new party or some girl who's been texting him. Renjun is half-listening, nodding here and there, but his mind is elsewhere. Something's missing. He's laughed less this week. Felt heavier. Even the music in his headphones doesn't hit right anymore. His talks with Jeno sometimes feel shallow and Jeno has noticed that he's cut back on snarky remarks.

There's a hole inside of Renjun. And he's terrified he'll never know what, or who, once filled it. It couldn't just be a dream…

And then… as he and Jeno are walking towards the bleachers, where Mark and Jaemin are seated, you pass each other.

You're walking across the quad. He's coming from the opposite direction.

Eyes on your book. His gaze on the ground.

Then a glance. Just one glance for his eyes to widen. A moment.

Renjun's heart skips. His feet slow. The air around him thins.

You don't look familiar, not really.

But your eyes… those eyes are so familiar. He knows them.

You blink, lips parting slightly. Your feet stop too, just for a second. That ache in your chest flares. Something in you remembers something, someone.

But then… Renjun and Jeno pass you.

No words.

No recognition.

Just silence.

Until—

Your books slip from your hands in shock. Was Renjun the person you were thinking about? Has it always been him? You bend down quickly, cursing softly, trying to scoop everything up. No one stops. The world keeps walking.

Except for him. Renjun halts mid-step, far away now, but his chest tightens.

"What's up man?" Mark and Jaemin greet, Jeno returns the greeting and takes a seat. Yet Renjun turns around before he knows why. And then he sees you. On your knees, picking up your books.

He walks towards you.

No hesitation.

He drops beside you, hands helping without saying a word.

You look up… and there it is again.

That pause.

That feeling.

That missing piece. He doesn't look at you, and so you blush alone and pick up the remaining pencils.

Your fingers brush his accidentally when reaching for the same pen.

Your eyes meet, and after what feels like a long stare down, you both smile, softly. And then a little chuckle escapes your lips. Full of something you can't name.

"Have we… met before?" you ask.

He laughs lightly. "I don't know… but it feels like it, doesn't it?"

You nod slowly. "Yeah… it does."

You both stand. "Nice cover,"

He motions to one of your books that's yellow with white roses. And he knows that from this moment onwards, he'll only be thinking about you.

-Fin-

It wasn’t until your good boy was sixteen that things started to shift. His friends were all having their first sexual encounters, and they began to tease your perfect church baby that he was a virgin. Mingyu tried to pretend their words didn’t hurt, but you knew differently. Although you tried to push him in the direction of spending more time with other church children, Mingyu continued to hang out with these raunchy boys, as they were on his high school basketball team. 

He held off valiantly from the compulsions of the deadly sins, but one cold December night, your perfect golden boy finally snapped and gave in to temptation.

The demon known as Wonwoo appeared the moment Mingyu first typed the words ‘porn hub’ into his cellphone, and in the darkness of Mingyu’s room, you met the man who would be your antihero for as long as Mingyu would continue to live.

And Wonwoo is a demon with a reputation. Whereas you like to cherry-pick your wards as the kindhearted humans who are pure of soul, Wonwoo is known for his ability to sniff out those who are easily tempted by sin. His last human was a sexual fiend, and he got addicted to OnlyFans. he lost his relationship and all of his money due to Wonwoo’s coaxing of the addiction. The man died prematurely while drunk driving, which is something of a success story for the demon who collected his soul in the end. 

So why was this demon in particular here with you and Mingyu?

What had seemed like an easy task had become more difficult than you ever signed up for, and Wonwoo seemed to relish in the knowledge that he was here to contradict your every musing in Mingyu’s ear.

One:

“I hope you have your popcorn ready, angel,” Wonwoo grins, as the two of you hover in your between-worlds guardian posting. It’s kind of like an apartment, with two sides, the good and the evil, with a massive monitor to watch what Mingyu is doing at any given time. There are speakers for you both to try to persuade him into things, and your voices are what Mingyu might classify as opposing sides of his subconscious.

“Frat parties can be positive,” you insist as you settle next to Wonwoo. “Last time, he saved that girl who blacked out.”

“Yeah, the wild goose chase,” Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “He should have been hitting on girls and slamming jello shots, but instead, you convinced him to track down the girl’s dorm room, carry her all the way home, and make sure she was okay when she woke up hours later. He even held her hair back while she puked. Yuck.”

When Wonwoo knows he’s lost to you, he generally fucks off, goes back into his demon side of the apartment, in his demon room,  or leaves altogether to complete other tasks.

Demons don’t need sleep, and technically, angels don’t either, but you’re a self-identifying lazy girl, and you prefer to have rest when Mingyu sleeps, rather than be twenty-four seven working like Wonwoo is. You wonder if his packed schedule is what makes him such a dick, but you also have seen the joy he takes in doing bad deeds, and you can only assume that when he’s not here with you in Mingyu’s head, he’s off pillaging and causing mischief elsewhere.

Wonwoo looks through Mingyu’s eyes, and he leans toward the communicator where he can send his words to your ward. “Get a drink,” Wonwoo insists. “Something fun. Something fruity. Something with way too much alcohol that’s masked with sugar.”

You sigh, also leaning forward. “We should start slow with some water.”

You can sense Mingyu’s inner turmoil as he makes his way to the kitchen, and that’s where he bumps into Hoshi and Seungkwan, both of whom are ruled by their inner demon.

“Hey buddy, want a drink?” Hoshi grins, cheeks pink, eyes clouded with booze.

“Reject him,” you say.

“Accept,” Wonwoo pushes. 

“Sure, why not?” Mingyu grins, taking the cup of purple liquid. He downs it easily, and you sigh. So tonight will be a more indulgent evening, and you hate the way Wonwoo sits back with a smile.

“Score one for me, angel,” Wonwoo muses.

“The night is still young,” you huff.

Wonwoo leans forward again. “You know what goes good with alcohol? Cocaine. Or ecstasy. Something fun. Maybe molly.” 

You’re flabbergasted. “Mingyu has never-”

“Now is the night to start, he’s at a frat party, with friends, and we know Vernon always has a bong on hand. Maybe weed, something chill.”

You hate him, and you spend the next two hours battling Wonwoo for dominance of Mingyu. Wonwoo wins when it comes to alcohol, but your sweet boy isn’t interested in drugs, no matter how much the demon insists it’s the perfect night to dabble.

And that’s when Mingyu first lays eyes on Kimi. 

She’s a year younger than him, someone he’s heard about and seen a few times, but never talked to. She looks gorgeous, in a flowy top and jeans that hug her just right. You can sense Mingyu’s heartbeat quickening, and in his drunkenness, he’s even more susceptible to Wonwoo, who leans forward. “You should fuck her tonight, there’s never a time to be a whore like the present.”

“No sex, you like her!” you argue back. “Talk to her, get her name, look for longevity.”

Wonwoo scoffs. “A one-night stand with a girl like that? Who could think of something better?” 

“Uh, maybe a relationship?” you snap. 

“We don’t know anything about her!” Wonwoo yells. “And we don’t need to know.” 

You lean back from where Mingyu can hear your subconscious pushings, glaring at Wonwoo. “What’s with you and rough, anonymous sex?”

“It’s the best way to have it,” Wonwoo tells you, his grin widening. “I think our Mingyu boy would love to try some of the things he’s seen in the porn I’ve pushed him to watch. You know, bondage, tying a girl up, all the good shit.”

“Consentually, of course.”

“With you here, it would always have to be consensual,” Wonwoo scoffs.

“You’re despicable.”

“I’m a demon.”

“Even demons have their limits.”

Wonwoo shrugs. “Not really.”

“Well, my Mingyu is a good person. He’d never stoop to your level.”

“Well, he watches the porn I want to watch.”

You click your tongue. Wonwoo convincing Mingyu to watch porn is always the worst, and it’s when you leave the viewing station. The demon can be particularly convincing when it comes to observing sex acts on Mingyu’s phone, but you know your good boy would never go further than simply watching. He’s not the type to ever act on some of the more raunchy ideas Wonwoo forces into his head.

No matter how hard Wonwoo pushes, you know your Mingyu.

And you’re thankful that by the end of the night at the frat party, Mingyu agrees with you that he’s now too drunk, and he retires to bed.

The viewing station goes dark as Mingyu drifts to sleep, and you stand up with a sigh, glaring at Wonwoo. 

“You know, one of these days, you’re going to admit that you kind of like the whole bondage sex thing,” Wonwoo sighs.

“What?” you gasp.

“You always leave the room when he and I watch porn.”

“Because I’m a pure being! Because porn and sex go against what I stand for!”

“Porn and lust might be ‘anti-angel’, but sex is natural; it’s God-created. Humans are like any other animal, and they’re meant to have sex, to procreate,” Wonwoo says simply. “I know you’re loose on your whole ‘celibate until marriage’ ideals. When Mingyu lost his virginity, you were happy because it was soft. You might be an angel, but you don’t follow a strict code, no matter how much you try to convince yourself that you follow the bible to the letter. I’m just curious how loose your morals really are. You might think I’m here to test Mingyu, but I’m really here to test you.” 

“And who do you think you are to test me?” you glare.

Wonwoo shrugs. “Just a demon who specializes in lust, a demon who took one look at you on Mingyu’s shoulder and decided, ‘you know what, I’d fuck that angel.’”

“As if that’s a compliment.”

“It is, most angels have sticks up their asses the size of the Empire State Building. And don’t get me wrong, you have a stick up yours too, I’m just curious if you’d want something else up inside of you at the same time.”

“I can’t believe you,” you groan, hating the way your body reacts to his sinister smirk, the slight floodyness of his hair, and the regal way he stares at you.

“You don’t have to believe me when I say I want to defile you. I’ll prove it to you soon enough,” Wonwoo’s smirk widens. “You might be an angel, but angels aren’t impervious to sin. After all, demons were angels once, until they stopped lying to themselves and gave in to the carnal pleasures. We’ll get there, don’t worry. I might be a demon, but I can be patient.” 

Two:

“Hold it, you’re not going anywhere,” Wonwoo grins, grabbing your arm as you’re about to leave the room, when Mingyu pulls up pornhub with Kimi on his mind. 

“I’m not sitting here with you for this; it’s weird,” you insist, pulling yourself away from him, hating the way the cold of his touch lingers on your skin.

“Boys will be boys, let the man find some release,” Wonwoo tells you, his grin widening.

“Boys may be boys, but you were whispering in Mingyu’s ear all day that he should have a jack off session and think about ‘that chick from the frat party.’”

Wonwoo shrugs. “It wasn’t that hard to convince him.”

You let out a deep breath. 

“Watch this,” Wonwoo leans forward so Mingyu can hear him. “Look up ‘rope BDSM.’”

“Oh my gosh!” You cover your eyes with your hands as Mingyu quickly follows through with Wonwoo’s suggestion.

“There’s something so sexy about having complete control of another person,” Wonwoo insists, leaning back and staring at you with dark eyes. “Admit it, you liked controlling Mingyu before I showed up.”

“It’s not remotely the same.”

“It is, sort of.” The demon shrugs. “You like control. I know you do. Because every time you don’t get your way, you have a little fit.”

“I do not!”

“Look at you, angel, you’re practically stomping your cute little foot right now.” Wonwoo lets out a chuckle, and you hate how attractive it is. “If you play your cards right, someday, I might let you have a little control over me.”

“What, like tie you up?” you scoff.

Wonwoo’s grin widens. “Does that excite you?”

“In your dreams,” you snap.

“Angel, we both know I don’t sleep. But I do imagine things, things about you…”

Your breath catches.

“I imagine what you sound like, what you taste like. I imagine the look in your eye when I have you immobilized and at my mercy. I imagine making you crack, making you finally admit that pleasure is exactly what it means in the dictionary; the feelings of delight, something you enjoy with every fiber of your being, something you’d beg for me to give you again and again.” 

Your skin is heating with embarrassment, and it’s crazy to you that Wonwoo can say everything he just said with a completely straight face. He has zero shame in admitting the things he’s just admitted, and yet, you feel like the dirty one. 

“I’m leaving,” you say again, more firmly this time.

“I won’t stop you; you have full control of yourself, and that’s what makes this interesting.” Wonwoo turns his attention back to the screen, where Mingyu is now in the throes of enjoying porn. 

“You’re evil,” you snap.

“I’m a demon, it’s part of the job description,” Wonwoo says absentmindedly.

You fight the urge to stomp your foot, and with one last scoff of displeasure, you go back to your quarters, throwing yourself down onto your bed with a muffled scream. 

Three:

It’s been a month of chaos. Wonwoo has become somehow even more dirty, and every time he whispers some sexual idea in Mingyu’s ear, his eyes are fixed on you. 

You squirm when he mentions bondage, porn, rough sex, and more dirty things that are not for an angel’s ears. 

And to make matters worse, you know that Wonwoo is imagining himself doing all of these dirty things to you. To be the object of sin and desire is new to you, and it brings an uncomfortable feeling to the pit of your stomach.

You grapple with yourself every night, unable to get Wonwoo’s voice out of your head.

The word ‘tantalizing’ has never had much merit for you, but now, you understand. Wonwoo oozes sex and intrigue; he makes your mind go to places it's never before visited; dark, lustful places that make your heart race and your skin tingle. 

The little smirk that quirks onto his lips when he knows he’s irritated you has become burned into your mind's eye, and you can’t escape the shiny points of his canines, or the flash of black that overtakes his irises when he’s being demonic. 

You can feel your resolve to stay true to your morals is slipping, and in its place is a growing need that’s threatening to overtake you, body and soul.

This is the power of a truly strong demon, and it both scares and excites you while you war with yourself. 

Four:

After another long day of Wonwoo being raunchy, Mingyu finally goes to sleep. The viewer goes dark, and you stand up with a sigh. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” you muse, “but I’m thankful you didn’t push for more porn.”

“He’s on a streak, you know,” Wonwoo smirks. “But I figured I could let you off the hook for one night.”

“Let my pure boy off the hook, you mean.”

“No, I meant what I said. You’re the one who has a problem with it, not Mingyu. He’s just a hot-blooded man who’s hardly had any good sex in his life. A bit of porn can’t hurt.”

You roll your eyes. “Scientists who study the interaction between porn and erectile dysfunction would beg to differ.”

“Human scientists.” Wonwoo’s smirk widens. 

“I’m not having an argument with you, I’m off the clock.”

“Off the clock,” the demon repeats with a chuckle. 

“Yes, off the clock, which means I also don’t have to deal with you anymore.”

“You enjoy ‘dealing with me.’” Wonwoo insists.

You scoff loudly. “In what diluted world can you come to that conclusion?”

The demon steps closer to you. “The world where I’m a demon who can read sexual energy, and lately, it’s been wafting off your aura like smoke. And where there’s smoke, well, there’s fire.”

“I think you should get your eyes checked,” you fire at him, your arms crossing over your chest in an effort to keep that ‘sexual energy’ contained. 

“You’re such a virgin that it’s almost laughable,” Wonwoo tells you, his voice lowering. “Most angels don’t have the kind of lustful energy you do, virginity and all, but every being that exists is plagued by at least one of the seven deadly sins, angels included. It seems to me that your carnal desire is sex, which isn’t anything to be ashamed of. I’ve worked with angels who are greedy, angels who have a sense of divine wrath, but pride is the main trait I’ve seen. One could argue that all three of those sins are more disgusting on an angel than that of simply wanting to be touched, to experience one’s form to the fullest.” 

Your mouth feels dry, and you lick your lips, unsure of what to say.

“Don’t worry, angel, I don’t need a response, not really. But… I would never defile an angel without her wanting it, so when I ask you this next question, I’ll need at least an enthusiastic nod if not a verbal ‘yes.’”

“What do you need to ask me?” you whisper.

Wonwoo is close enough to touch you now, and he reaches for your hand, tracing his thumb against your palm. Your mind is telling you to pull away, but you can’t. His touch is cold, but there’s something so nice about it…

“Can I kiss you?” Wonwoo asks, his words hanging in the air like a heavy smog.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it does little to help, and you stare at the beautiful demon. Your body is screaming yes, but your mind is still plagued with trepidation. 

“It’s a sin.”

“A kiss isn’t a sin, and besides, you’re off the clock, remember?” His smirk is just so beautiful, and you have to remind yourself that even though he’s a demon, Wonwoo was crafted by God’s own hands. “I think you can forgive yourself for a small misdemeanor, after all, humans are forgiven for much worse.”

“I…” Your heart is hammering in your rib cage, and never in your long life have you felt a desire like this.

“Or… I could wait,” Wonwoo sighs. “I won’t pressure you. I’m a demon, but I’m not an asshole.”

The idea of waiting even longer makes your skin tingle, and you can feel a frown of dissatisfaction appearing on your face.

“You can kiss me,” you say, and the words feel foreign on your tongue.

“Even though you hate me?” Wonwoo grins, cocking a brow.

“Even though I hate you.”

The demon lets out a laugh, dropping your hand in favour of grabbing your hips. He pulls you toward him, being shockingly gentle for a man who’s so outspoken about his taste for rough sex.

“Nobody has to know about this,” Wonwoo whispers as he leans closer. “Even angels are allowed to have dirty little secrets.”

“Then this will be our little secret,” you breathe, swallowing thickly as your hands instinctively go to his shoulder, tugging the demon even closer.

He meets your gaze as he slowly leans in, giving you all the time in the world to change your mind. But you’re in too deep now, and there’s no going back.

His lips press against yours gently, and your whole body is flooded with what you can only describe as pleasure, like a cool breeze wafting over you on an extremely hot day. You want more, and Wonwoo tugs you closer by your hips, his tongue snaking out to rub your lower lip.

Your mouth opens a little, a whimper escaping you as the kiss deepens. Wonwoo releases a low growl, and butterflies erupt in the pit of your stomach from the sound.

Nothing in the world has ever made you feel this way, as if you’re glowing, and all because a dark being is tantalizing you toward sin.

With a gasp, you pull away, breathing heavily. 

Wonwoo holds you, not pushing for more; he gives you mental space to analyze what’s just happened, while still keeping you physically close, like a protector.

It’s such an odd notion, the idea that a demon could be any sort of protection for an angel like you. 

“I think…” You swallow thickly. “I think I need to have some time alone now.”

“I understand,” Wonwoo nods, his hands slipping away from your hips. “The ball is in your court, angel. Until you decide what you want to do, this is our little secret.”

“Our little secret,” you repeat like a mantra, but the words don’t do anything to help the anxiety building inside of you. It’s as if at any moment you could be struck down for impurity, except, even when you’re alone later, no hand of God comes to smite you.

You think carefully about what Wonwoo’s said, about all living things having their sinful, carnal desires, even angels.

Maybe this is natural, maybe this is okay… maybe. 

Five:

You’ve been yearning for Wonwoo in a way you’ve never yearned for anything since your creation. It’s taking every ounce of your self-restraint to keep your distance from him, and Wonwoo’s not making any of it easy.

Every dirty whisper in Mingyu’s ear, every glance at you while he talks about sex, bondage, and porn… 

It has your heart racing, your skin heating, and your core throbbing in a way that used to be foreign but is now becoming all too familiar. 

“Should I push for more sin tonight?” Wonwoo asks as Mingyu gets ready for bed. “Or have you had enough?”

You groan, knowing that you’re wet from the day you’ve had. “Please.”

“Please, what?” He cocks a brow.

“I’m so tired of all of this.”

“Tired of fighting your own desires, you mean,” Wonwoo corrects, seeing right through you.

You hate that your ‘sexual aura’ is visible to him, hate that no matter how hard you try to fight it, Wonwoo will always know the truth.

And the truth is: you want this demon to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked. You want to get a taste of the sin he has to offer, the sin he claims other angels partake in secretly.

Why are you holding yourself back, holding yourself to a set of standards, if others in your angelic profession don’t?

“What are you thinking about?” Wonwoo asks, watching you carefully.

You release a deep breath. “Everything.”

“Sounds like a lot,” the demon chuckles.

“It is.”

“Too much for a sweet angel like you to carry on her own shoulders.” 

You study his face, wondering if he’s being condescending or not.

“Being a demon is much easier. I don’t have to worry about anything,” Wonwoo continues, leaning back in his seat. “No rules, no standards, no fear. Just existence. Freedom.”

“I’m free,” you insist.

“Are you really?” Wonwoo grins. “Could have fooled me.”

“I am free! I’m an angel! I have the most freedom in the world!”

“Freedom to kiss who you want to kiss? To act on the desires that were literally built into you? Why would God have made you with the sin of lust if he did not intend for you to act on it? To torture you for your entire existence?” Wonwoo shakes his head. 

“He bestowed temptation so his creations could rise above it and devote themselves to Him,” you insist. “It teaches spiritual strength and perseverance.”

“Whatever you say, little Miss Sunday School.”

You let out a deep sigh. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” Wonwoo grins.

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because it makes me want you even more!” you scream. “For a reason I can not comprehend, I want you. I want you for the teasing, for the chastizing, for this disgusting ego that I would never condone on a human ward. I want it. I want all of you. And it’s killing me!”

Wonwoo stands up abruptly, and you mirror him, heart racing in your chest.

You can’t believe you’ve just admitted all of it, all of the deep dark things you’ve been thinking about for weeks.

“An ego can be sexy,” Wonwoo says finally. “Although I’d classify myself as more of a prideful being than an egotistical one.” 

“Ugh!” You throw your hands up, hating that his smirk is the most handsome thing you’ve ever seen, hating that he’s right. 

“Tell me you want this again,” Wonwoo urges you, stepping closer.

“I want you! You already heard me say it!” Your skin is hot with irritation, both sexual and emotional, and you can hardly think straight.

“No, tell me you want this.” Wonwoo grabs your hand, tugging you to his chest. He looks down at you, his lips almost ghosting over your own.

“I want this,” you whimper, feeling defeated and broken. 

You can no longer hold yourself back, and part of you doesn’t want to.

“I’ll be gentle,” the demon promises, bringing his mouth down to your throat, where he presses soft kisses that take your breath away. 

“I thought you liked it rough,” you say, releasing a chuckle that brings your anxiety down.

“I also like pleasure. I’m prideful, not a narcissist. Tonight, your pleasure will come first.”

Your skin tingles, and you swallow a lump in your throat. You can feel your fear dissipating. Part of you had imagined he’d want to try bondage with you right away, so it’s a relief that he’s going to meet you at your level, which is… well, nonexistent.

You are a free being. And tonight, you will lose your heavenly virginity of your own volition.

Wonwoo begins to suck on a spot just below your ear, and it makes you moan. You throw your arms around the demon, tugging him closer.

One of Wonwoo’s hands slips down to your bum, squeezing you through your white pants. 

God, he feels so good, and you focus on the feeling, pushing aside your racing thoughts.

You draw his lips to yours, and Wonwoo groans with pleasure, tugging you so you’re flush to his body. 

Kissing him is like magic, and you get lost in it easily. Your core is wet, and you can feel your panties getting sticky, which is a tantalizing thought.

“Bedroom,” Wonwoo says, breaking the kiss. 

Without missing a beat, the demon reaches down and lifts you bridal style. You gasp, clutching onto his shoulders and blinking up at him. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” Wonwoo laughs. “As if I was about to take your virginity in a living room.” 

He heads toward your side of the apartment, and he pushes the door of your bedroom open.

Your room is all creams and minimalism, a true safe space, and he pauses to look at it for a moment. He’s never been in your room, nor you in his.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing, it’s just… very different from my side of the space.” 

“No whips and chains hanging on the walls?” you tease.

“How about no black onyx floors or dark colours.”

“Well, I am an angel,” you point out as he gently sets you on the bed. 

“Yes, baby, the best angel I’ve ever met.”

“Really?” 

“Without a doubt. The most angelic.” Wonwoo climbs on top of you, and your legs spread instinctively as the demon looks down at you. “I’ve never met an angel who has never sinned. It’s endearing.”

“Will you still find me endearing after tonight?” you ask.

“I’ll find you endearing forever,” Wonwoo promises.

“Who knew such sweet words could come from a demon.”

Wonwoo laughs. “If anyone deserves sweet words from me, it’s you.”

“You’re just saying that to get me in bed.”

“We’re already in bed.”

“Good point.” You grab the nape of his neck, tugging his lips down to yours.

This verbal foreplay has become trite, and you’re ready for more, ready for all Wonwoo is about to give you.

For the first time, you taste desperation on his lips, and it excites you. He grinds gently down against you, and it’s the first time there’s been pressure on your core. Tingles of pleasure run through you as you tighten your legs around his hips, willing him to push harder.

Wonwoo groans, following through with your silent plea. He ruts hard as you kiss each other, stimulating your clit through your clothing.

One of his hands reaches up and grabs your breast through your white sweater, massaging you and making you gasp.

“Such pretty sounds,” Wonwoo whispers, biting your earlobe gently. “Can’t wait to hear you screaming my name.”

“Wonwoo,” you whimper, wiggling beneath him, eager for more.

He sits up, and with one tug, Wonwoo removes your sweater, leaving you in a cream bra. 

“All white everything, huh?” he laughs.

“I’m an angel.”

“So you keep reminding me. You always wear such loose, modest clothing, but I imagined you’d be gorgeous under all these layers.” He licks his lips, his thumb teasing the lace of your bra. “Should I go slow?” 

“Go medium,” you tell him.

Wonwoo lets out another chuckle. “That wasn’t one of the options.”

“Make it one of the options.”

He shakes his head at you, leaning down to press his lips to yours.

You thread your fingers through his raven black hair, mewling as he massages you through your bra. Your nipples are aching already, and there’s a sense of great relief when he finally takes your bra off. 

“So pretty,” Wonwoo muses, kissing down from your throat to your breasts, where he captures one of your nipples in his mouth.

You whimper desperately, your entire body on fire with the pleasure.

“And so sensitive too,” the demon groans, gently dragging his teeth over your sensitive bud.

“Please,” you gasp.

“Please, what?” he looks up at you.

You let out a shuddery breath. “More.”

 “Your wish is my command, angel,” Wonwoo teases, his hand gliding down your body. Deft fingers slip under the waistband of your pants, but he stays over your panties as he makes contact with your clit.

You writhe against the bedding, eyes clenched shut as foreign ecstasy washes over you.

He continues to suck on your nipple as he toys with your pussy.

“Soaking through your panties,” Wonwoo tuts. “My dirty girl.”

Your heart lurches in your chest, and you’re shocked that you like the way his words feel. It’s a sinful kind of praise, and it makes you dizzy as you watch him, anticipating what he’ll do next. 

Wonwoo takes his time as he licks and sucks your nipples, playing with your pussy through drenched fabric.

It’s a relief when he finally tugs your pants down, leaving you in only panties.

Then, Wonwoo sits up, tugging his shirt off with one motion.

Your jaw drops at the view of his bare torso. He’s lean but muscled, and you wish you could trace the lines on his skin, but Wonwoo made it clear that tonight is about you. 

“I’m going to eat you out now,” Wonwoo explains, as he sinks to the floor. “Bet you taste like nectar and sunshine.”

Talking about your ‘taste’ makes you shy, and you close your thighs, only for him to gently pry them open.

“Don’t be bashful, baby,” Wonwoo coos, pressing kisses to your skin. 

“What if I don’t taste like nectar and sunshine?” you ask.

“I can already smell it on you,” Wonwoo promises, an attempt to be assuring, but now you’re talking about smell, and it makes you even more anxious. “You know what, let’s leave taste and smell out of this for now, okay?”

“Yes, please,” you nod, biting your bottom lip.

Wonwoo hooks his fingers in your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs.

The cool air of the room on your wet core makes you groan, back arching a little as you writhe against the bed.

Cold hands grab your thighs, confidently spreading you open. 

“Just breathe,” Wonwoo reminds you as he leans forward and licks the entirety of your core lewdly.

“Shit!” you gasp, thighs quaking.

The demon chuckles. “That’s the first time you’ve ever swore.”

You slap a hand over your mouth, and he shakes his head at you, returning to his task.

Soon, you’re moaning through your fingers, and your other hand reaches down to grab at his hair, keeping his face buried between your thighs.

He eats you out like a starved man, ravaging your pussy with licks and sucks that have your head spinning in the best possible way.

And then Wonwoo begins to growl, and you’ve never heard anything so erotic.

Your own gasps and whimpers are filling the room, and you can feel something getting tighter and tighter in the pit of your stomach.

“Wonwoo,” you pant. “I think… I think I’m going to cum!”

He releases a groan, and the vibration of it on your clit makes your legs shake. All of your muscles are tense, waiting for that final push-

Then you look down, and your eyes lock with his. His pupils are blown, and he looks absolutely demonic, but there’s something so incredibly sexy about this powerful demon worshiping you with his mouth on your core-

You cum like an electric shock, your entire body jolting, muscles releasing only to clench again as the waves surge through you.

You scream, grabbing at the bed sheets like an anchor as your orgasm overtakes you.

Wonwoo is unrelenting on your core, groaning and eating you messily, and it only makes the whole situation more erotic.

You’ve been to Heaven, but nothing has ever felt like this.

“Wonwoo!” you scream when the pleasure begins to feel like it’s too much, like you can’t contain or sustain this type of ecstasy anymore.

The demon pulls away immediately, looking up at you.

“Angel,” he breathes, “you’re glowing.”

“What?”

“You’re glowing,” he repeats. Wonwoo grabs your hand from the bed, lifting it so you can see that your skin is literally aglow.

“Is this normal?” you gasp in panic.

“I’ve never seen it.”

“And you fuck a lot of angels?” you snap.

“Not really,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “I find most of you to be too high-strung.”

“I’m high-strung.”

“But it’s endearing on you.” His thumb gently rubs your glit, and you jolt, releasing a gasp. “Glowing can’t be harmful.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure it’s just pent-up energy,” he muses. “Should I give you more?”

You take all of one second to consider his words before nodding. “More.”

Wonwoo nuzzles against your inner thigh with a laugh, and then he teases a digit between your pussy lips, gently sinking it into you.

You groan, your inner walls having never been touched before.

“So warm,” Wonwoo breathes. “So tight.”

He gently finger fucks you, teasing your hole open, and he brings his mouth to your clit again.

His pace is slow, and you know he’s letting you acclimate to the stimulus. 

You can feel yourself dripping on his digit, and the slick is making it all too easy for him to work you open. Soon, he adds another finger, and you groan desperately, loving the slight stretch.

“Gonna make you cum on my fingers before I give you the real thing,” Wonwoo explains.

“Okay,” you whimper.

He returns to sucking on your clit, but he’s not being as gentle as he was before.

You can feel that tension building again, and with each slick sound of his fingers fucking into you, you know you’re getting closer to the edge.

Whimpers escape your lips, and you gasp when he crooks his fingers, hitting a spot that has your whole body coming alight with pleasure.

You’ve heard Wonwoo talk about the ‘g-spot’ before, and you’re pretty sure he just found yours.

Your toes are curling, muscles getting incredibly tight as his pace quickens.

“I’m close!” you cry out, grabbing the bed sheets again, your heart racing in your chest.

Wonwoo groans a sound of affirmation, and again, his noise of pleasure is what sends you over the edge.

Just like the first time, he works you through your orgasm, unrelenting, while the pleasure courses through you. You’re a throbbing, whimpering mess by the time Wonwoo pulls away, and you watch with shy delight as he licks his fingers clean, moaning at your taste.

“How did that one feel, angel?” he asks. 

“So good,” you whimper. 

Wonwoo stands up, looking down at your nude form.

“Ready for the real deal?”

“I’m scared,” you admit, seeing the outline of his cock through his pants.

“That’s natural,” Wonwoo breathes, undoing his belt. “And if you still want to change your mind…”

“No.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “Let’s do this.” 

Wonwoo pulls his pants down, and suddenly, his cock is slapping up against his stomach.

Your jaw drops at the sight of him. He’s long… well, you’re pretty sure he’s long, not that you have much to compare it to. 

“That’s going to fit inside of me?” you ask.

“Angel, your pussy is wetter than a slip and slide, it won’t be a problem,” Wonwoo laughs.

“Just… go slow.”

“Not medium?” he teases.

“Wonwoo…” you groan.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises, now fully nude as he climbs on top of you. “Don’t worry.”

Wonwoo presses his lips to yours, and you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pouring all of your attention into the meeting of your mouths.

Wonwoo slowly begins to rut, teasing his cock through your wet pussy lips and bumping your clit. The grinding feels phenomenal, and soon you’re a moaning mess beneath him, your core aching to be filled.

As if he can read you, the demon reaches for the base of his cock, lining the tip up with your wet hole. His mouth moves to your throat, giving you space to speak if you need him to pause or slow down, but as his tip slips inside of you, you realize there will be no need for breaks.

Sure, the stretch is new, but it’s not bad.

In fact, your pussy is trying to swallow him up, and with each inch after inch, you feel more and more complete.

Wonwoo truly is your opposite, the yin to your yang, and it feels phenomenal to finally be connected like this.

“You okay?” Wonwoo asks, and you can see his muscles feathering, as if it’s taking every ounce of self-control for him not to let loose and fuck you stupid.

“Feels good,” you groan, wrapping your legs around his hips to pull him further into you. 

Wonwoo moans deeply, and a moment later, he’s fully sheathed in your wet core.

You both release sounds of pleasure together, and your lips meet in a fiery kiss.

You love tangling your fingers in his hair, and it makes him kiss you harder. He’s still fully inside of you, unmoving as your walls adjust, but soon, your own hips are rocking, and he takes the cue to begin to thrust.

The first movement is shallow and slow, and you revel in the drag of his cock against your inner walls.

You cry out, throwing your head back, and Wonwoo latches onto your throat, sucking and nibbling.

Your pebbled nipples press against his chest, and each movement toys with them.

You can feel Wonwoo everywhere. He’s completely commanding every one of your senses, and not a single thought is going through your mind except for one word: more. 

His pace is increasing, and you get the sense that he’s reacting to your sounds, figuring you out based on your whimpering and whining.

You pull Wonwoo away from your throat by his hair, and you open your eyes, looking up at him.

God, he truly is the most beautiful being you’ve ever seen. 

He’s truly a vision, lust-blown pupils and all, his hair a mess from where you’re tugging on it. 

You breathe in each other, lips almost meeting but just separate, and the teasing makes everything more seductive.

Wonwoo pulls out of you suddenly, flipping you onto your side. He moves behind you, a cold big spoon as he enters you again. His breath is hot on your shoulders, and he takes the opportunity to gently bite your neck, making you gasp. You reach behind yourself, grabbing his hair again, which earns you a groan of pleasure. 

His hand is on your hip, and he fucks into you desperately, adjusting your body ever so slightly, opening your leg a little so he can hit deeper.

“Wonwoo!” you whimper when his hand slips from your hips to your core, his fingers teasing your clit.

“That’s it, scream my name,” he grins, biting your earlobe and making you shiver.

“Wonwoo!” you say it louder this time, unable to contain yourself as he works you closer and closer to the edge again.

“Gonna cum on my cock, huh, angel?” he chuckles. 

“Yes, I’m so close,” you whimper, pussy tightening around him.

“Not yet.” Wonwoo pulls out of you suddenly, and you whine, only for him to adjust you. 

Now you’re sitting on top of him, with Wonwoo propped against the headboard.

“Why am I on top?” you ask, confused.

“Oh angel,” he licks your nipple, “just because you’re on top doesn’t mean you’re the one who is in control.”

His hands are on your hips again, and he lifts you slightly, allowing him to plow up into you.

You cry out from how deep his cock is hitting you, from the way he’s using you like a ragdoll.

You throw your head back, and his mouth latches onto your nipple. Your hands fly to his hair, tangling in the dark curls as he fucks you stupid.

Each smack down of your core on his cock has pressure on your clit, and you can feel that orgasm bubbling again.

You feel drunk, or, what you think being drunk would feel like. It’s a pleasurable dizziness, a mind numbing euphoria and a tingling that flutters through your entire body.

Wonwoo growls, and you know it’s a sound of affirmation, a sound to push you toward the edge.

A few more rough thrusts have you tumbling into ecstasy, your entire core clamping down on Wonwoo’s cock. Your head falls forward, your lips making contact with the crown of Wonwoo’s head as he also groans. He pulls off of your nipple, panting desperately as he holds you down, his cock burried in your throbbing pussy.

You know he’s cumming too, and feel his muscles twitching, his shoulders tight with tension.

And his sounds… nothing in Heaven or on Earth sounds the way Wonwoo does when he’s wrapped in pleasure.

Your entire body sings with delight as the two of you hold onto each other, jolting with the aftershocks of your extreme highs.

The two of you hold each other, breathing in one another.

Wonwoo leans his face against your breasts, and you cradle him.

You’ve never felt this close to anyone.

For a moment you can forget that he’s a demon and you’re an angel.

None of that matters right now.

Finally, Wonwoo pulls away with a sigh. “This changes things.”

“It does,” you agree.

“We’re bound together for as long as Mingyu lives, so… you better not decide you hate me tomorrow.”

You laugh. “You irritate me, but I don’t hate you.”

“I’m not going to stop telling Mingyu to pursue his sexual desires.”

“I never expected you to,” you admit with a sigh.

“And you’re… okay with it now?” 

“As long as it’s consensual, fine, he can be as dirty as he wants to be.” 

Wonwoo laughs, cuddling close to your chest again. “See, in this day and age, some sins like premarital sex are outdated.”

“We could debate that,” you laugh, running your hands through his hair.

“I think I would like that.”

“I feel like it would be a case of unstoppable force meets immovable object.” 

Wonwoo chuckles, and you love how beautiful he is when he smiles. “Sounds like us.”

“But we can’t let our sexual escapades get in the way of doing our job for Mingyu,” you declare.

“I wouldn’t dream of taking you away from your work,” Wonwoo groans. “You’d probably bite my cock off if I tried.”

“Consider yourself warned.”

“Consider yourself worshipped.”

“Huh?” you blink down at him.

“You’re still glowing, angel.” Wonwoo plays with a piece of your hair. “It’s been a long time since a demon like me has had anything to look up to.”

“You look up to me?”

“In some ways, but don’t make this more of an embarrassment than it already is.” Wonwoo lets out a sigh. “You’ve reformed me… slightly.”

“Don’t tell me it’s the power of good pussy.”

“Great pussy,” Wonwoo corrects. “And no. If I’m being honest, I think you’ve been changing me for the better for a while, bit by bit.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

Wonwoo smiles. “And I’m just happy.”

“I can live with that.” 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! this one was fun, it was a little late to be posted because my puppy has a tooth infection and it's been a hell of a week. reminder! Patreon charges on the FIRST of every month, so if you're going to get my Patreon, just be aware of that, or wait until June 2nd :)

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. Your core tingles as you test the bindings on your wrists. There is truly so much he can teach you about the darker side of sex, the pain that turns into pleasure, the freedom of being completely immobilized and at the mercy of someone you trust to take care of you. 

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, bdsm themes, wrist bondage, pleasure dom!Wonwoo, oral/pussy eating, wonwoo has powers in this… including a long demon tongue, overstimulation, finger fucking, body/breast worship, squirting, dacryphilia (arousal from tears/crying),  dirty talk, praise, multiple reader orgasms, etc…   I petnames. (hers) angel. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.6k I teaser wc. 140

🌙 starring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader

bonus

To your shock, Wonwoo isn’t pushy with you the way he’s pushy with Mingyu. He hasn’t said a word about the soft sex the two of you have continued to have for months now, and he hasn’t made you feel lesser than him for being vanilla either.

Wonwoo treats you very differently than he treats Mingyu, but you know that every time Wonwoo brings up rough sex in Mingyu’s ear, it’s because Wonwoo himself has an interest in it.

The demon has talked about being a sexual pleaser, and your need to please him has grown too. Can you really hold Wonwoo and yourself back from reaching another level by dabbling with the BDSM themes he’s so fond of?

Can you… condemn him to vanilla sex for as long as the two of you are connected through Mingyu?

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You sat across from the fire pit in the boys’ backyard, elbows resting on the armrests of your chair while the flames cracked softly in front of you both. The night air had turned colder hours ago, but neither of you had gone inside. Dean kept talking and you kept letting him or trying to.

Every time he opened his mouth, you exhaled slowly through your nose as if physically releasing air might stop you from interrupting him.

“He’s an arrogant son of a bitch,” Dean repeated for probably the fifth time that night. He took another drag from the blunt before passing it toward you, smoke curling past his lips as he leaned back deeper into the chair.

“That’s what pisses me off the most,” he continued, staring hard into the fire like your ex-boyfriend personally offended him. “He had no clue what he was doing in the relationship from day one and still had the confidence to ask you out.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Usually I respect delusion like that, but that guy’s a fucking disaster.”

You accepted the blunt with a quiet sigh.

Dean had been ranting for nearly a week straight now. Anyone overhearing him would’ve assumed he’d been the one publicly dumped in the cafeteria instead of you but he’d been there when it happened, front row seats to your ex fumbling through excuses while half your friends sat frozen around the table pretending not to listen. Maybe that was enough for Dean.

Now, instead of being out partying with the rest of the team, he sat outside with you night after night, sharing weed and acting personally victimized by your breakup.

“Dean,” you finally interrupted, tone firm.

He stopped talking immediately.

You inhaled slowly before looking over at him through the smoke, holding his gaze while you exhaled. “It’s okay.”

Dean’s expression flattened instantly. “We have very different definitions of okay.”

His eyes drifted back toward the fire for a second, replaying the memory again. You could practically see it happening behind his eyes, the cafeteria, your expression and your ex stumbling through his speech.

“You should’ve let me talk to him,” he muttered.

“What good would that have done?” You brought the blunt back to your lips, inhaling before handing it over again. “It’s not his fault.”

Dean’s head snapped toward you so fast he nearly dropped the thing. “The fuck does that mean?”

You almost rolled your eyes at the offense in his tone. Instead, you looked away toward the fire again, watching orange light flicker against the patio stones.

“I’m lost here,” he scoffed. “Is being wrapped around another girl at a party three hours after dumping you not a dick move now?”

A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “Dean,” you said gently, finally turning your head toward him again. “I think I’m the only person who wasn’t surprised by the breakup.”

His brows furrowed.

You shrugged one shoulder lightly. “He just beat me to it.”

“Oh.” The word left him quietly. Dean looked away immediately afterward, dragging a hand over his mouth while he gathered his thoughts before glancing back at you. “That’s the first time I’m hearing about that.”

He passed the blunt over again.

You took it carefully, staring down at it between your fingers for a second before answering.

“Yeah, well...” You inhaled deeply, smoke burning pleasantly in your lungs before you let it back out slowly. “You’ve got other business to worry about.”

Dean huffed out a laugh instantly. “You are my business.” The certainty in his voice made your lips curl before you could stop them. “So start talking.”

He always did that. Dean had this way of making honesty feel inevitable. The two of you talked about everything, always had. He knew things about you your closest friends didn’t. Hell, he’d bought condoms for you the first time you planned on sleeping with someone because you’d been too embarrassed to walk into the store yourself.

You moved deeper into the chair, pulling one leg beneath you while you searched carefully for the right words. “Um…” You inhaled again, then blurted it out before your brain could stop you. “I suck at the sex thing.”

Dean’s face twisted immediately in disagreement as you passed the blunt. “Bullshit.”

You laughed softly. “No, seriously. I do.” You rubbed awkwardly at your neck before continuing. “Turns out not being able to cum eventually becomes an issue when your partner realizes you never actually have with them.”

Dean’s expression changed instantly. Every conversation you’d ever had about sex clearly started replaying in his head at once because confusion hit him violently.

“But you told me–”

“I lied.” The words came out easier than expected. You shrugged lightly, though your stomach still tightened. “I’ve been lying for years...Faking it until I got tired of faking it and started bruising egos.” A humorless smile tugged briefly at your mouth. “Including mine.”

Dean stayed quiet now so you stared into the fire instead.

“I just…” You exhaled slowly. “I don’t think sex is really my thing.” Your shoulders lifted. “I like the idea of it. I enjoy parts of it…but everyone talks about this huge explosive ending and I just…” You shook your head. “Don’t get there…naturally people stop believing you when you say it was still good.”

Dean watched you carefully. “Was it?”

“The sex?” You let the silence drag for a second before shrugging again. “I think so.” Your lips twitched faintly. “It was good enough to build better stories around afterward.”

Dean stopped smoking entirely after that. The blunt burned slowly between his fingers while he stared down at it, suddenly looking far more sober than either of you probably were. He looked like he was trying to organize his thoughts before speaking again.

“How about alone?” The question came softly, carefully.

If you didn’t know him so well, you might’ve mistaken the look on his face for pity. Thankfully, you did know him, which meant you recognized concern immediately.

You shook your head slowly. “That’s why I’m saying it’s not his fault.”

“It’s not yours either,” Dean argued as he flicked the rest of the blunt into the fire pit before continuing. “It just hasn’t happened yet.” His voice softened further. “Doesn’t mean it never will.”

You let out a slow breath, eyes closing briefly as the weed finally started loosening the tension sitting on your shoulders. “It’s definitely not from lack of trying.”

You could feel him staring at you even with your eyes closed.

The silence stretched comfortably after your confession, softened by the crackling fire and the distant chorus of crickets surrounding the backyard. The flames had started dying down, wood collapsing inward with quiet snaps while smoke drifted lazily into the cold night air.

Dean still hadn’t looked away from you. “So what now?” he asked finally.

You swallowed slowly, still keeping your eyes shut. For a second or maybe an entire minute, Dean genuinely thought you’d fallen asleep mid-conversation.

Then your lips twitched. “Celibacy.”

The offended sound that tore out of him made your smile widen. You heard him trying to hold it back too, which honestly made it funnier but this was Dean. Subtle outrage had never once existed in his body.

“Think I’d look hot as a nun?” you asked lazily.

“You’d look hot in a banana costume wearing clown shoes six sizes too big,” he replied instantly. “And you’re absolutely not dropping out of Briar to become a nun. End of discussion.”

His tone came out firm enough to sound ridiculous considering he had absolutely no authority over your life whatsoever.

You finally peeled your eyes open to look at him. The weed had settled into your bones now, leaving you heavy and relaxed against the chair. Dean looked hazy too, hair falling perfectly while the firelight flickered warm across his face.

“You’re not giving up because some five-eleven idiot couldn’t be patient long enough to figure you out.”

You grinned. “He’s six-one.”

Dean scoffed. “He tried out for the Hawks freshman year. Trust me, he’s five-eleven.”

Your brows lifted. Dean kept going without needing encouragement, already slipping into that protective streak he pretended wasn’t there. He always collected information about people around you, quietly filing it away for future use whenever he deemed necessary.

“He was wearing lifts during tryouts,” Dean added smugly. “One bad pivot and the guy almost snapped an ankle.”

A laugh escaped you softly.

“If you wanna stop having sex altogether, God forbid–”

“You should become a priest,” you interrupted.

Dean barked out a laugh, tipping his head back. “Yeah,” he nodded. “It’d probably take a year and a half to cleanse my sins.” He pointed toward himself loosely. “And that’s assuming I don’t burst into flames the second I walk into a church.” His eyes drifted back to you. “Can I continue now?”

“Yes, Father,” you replied through a chuckle.

Dean shook his head, smiling despite himself before settling deeper into his chair again.

“If you really wanna do the celibacy thing, fine.” He shrugged dramatically. “I’ll support you. We’ll find support groups together and hold hands through the trauma.” His mouth twitched. “Though personally, I’d go through withdrawals first.”

“How solidary of you.”

He nodded solemnly. “Exactly. Plus I can probably add it to my extracurriculars somehow.”

You laughed harder at that, shoulders shaking slightly as you leaned back into the chair. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

Dean watched you carefully while you laughed. The sound came out lighter than anything he’d heard from you all week, chest rising and falling unevenly while your eyes squeezed shut again for a second and suddenly the conversation stopped feeling funny to him.

Because underneath the jokes, underneath the weed and the teasing, he kept thinking about what you’d actually said earlier. About you trying and nothing happening.

Dean loved sex. Everyone knew that much about him but you did too or at least you loved wanting it, loved feeling desired, loved the intimacy, the heat and everything wrapped around it and now all he could think about was how frustrating that must’ve been for you. Wanting something everyone else talked about so easily only for your body not to cooperate no matter how hard you tried.

The thought sat badly in his chest. Dean looked down at the dying fire for a second before his eyes lifted back to you.

“Use me,” he blurted out.

Your laughter faded gradually after his words, the smile still lingering at the corners of your mouth while your eyes settled back on him even more carefully this time. 

“What do you mean?”

Dean didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll be your last resort,” he repeated easily, like he’d already thought this through far more than he probably had. “Aren’t you always telling me to make myself useful?”

You narrowed your eyes, blinking slowly through the haze settling heavier behind them.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” You rubbed at one eye with the heel of your hand. “Because I’m starting to think I hallucinated that sentence.”

“I hold my weed better than you,” he reminded you smugly.

That part, unfortunately, was true. Dean leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting against his knees now, all lazy amusement gone strangely sincere beneath the teasing.

“You wanna quit? Fine.” He shrugged. “Quit when you’re actually out of options.”

A quiet huff left you, somewhere between disbelief and laughter. “Didn’t realize Six Flags counted as an option.” Your lips twitched faintly. “I hate rollercoasters.”

Dean nodded decisively. “Then I’ll go out of business.”

“You’ll close the park?”

“I’ll shut the whole thing down,” he promised solemnly. “Just so you can ride the teacups.” The grin spreading across his face warned you half a second too late. “Remember when you threw up on the–”

“Yes,” you cut him off immediately, flat and horrified. “I remember.”

Dean laughed anyway. Full-bodied, warm and entirely too pleased with himself as he pointed at you. “You were crying,” he accused through the laughter. “You kept saying your stomach hated you–”

“I was fifteen.”

“And dramatic.” He added. “But so cute…less mouthy too.”

“You held my hair while I threw up into a trash can behind the funnel cake stand.”

Dean’s laughter softened slightly at that memory. Back then he’d been genuinely terrified something was wrong with you. He’d hovered beside you the entire night looking pale enough to pass out himself while you recovered on a bench wrapped in his sweatshirt. Now he just looked fond.

You glanced away first, eyes dropping back toward the dying fire while your thoughts started turning over his earlier suggestion again despite yourself.

It could go horribly. Actually, no, it would go horribly. There were at least seventeen reasons this crossed every boundary imaginable. You already hated rollercoasters, hated fast turns and hated giving up control over literally anything involving your body and Dean…Well, Dean was Dean.

Confident, experienced, annoyingly good-looking and unarguably good at sex if campus rumors counted for anything and unfortunately they definitely did. You hadn’t exactly conducted research firsthand but after years of hearing stories from girls around campus, the reviews were embarrassingly consistent.

“You really think that highly of your dick?” you asked finally.

Dean shrugged lazily against the chair. “Nobody said anything about using it.”

That made your eyes snap back to him fully. “And if nothing works?” you asked quieter this time.

The question slipped out more honestly than intended because suddenly you weren’t thinking about sex anymore. You were thinking about aftermaths, about what happened if this ruined things between you. Dean had woven himself into your life years ago so naturally that imagining him gone felt impossible now.

You genuinely didn’t know how you’d survive losing him too.

Dean studied you for a second and for once the confidence in his face softened into something steadier. “Then we fail,” he decided.

You swallowed.

His grin returned slowly afterward, softer around the edges. “Fail with me,” he corrected. “Fail better.” He pointed between you both lazily. “Fail together.”

A laugh escaped you despite every effort not to give him one.

You rolled your eyes hard enough to make him grin wider, shaking your head while the weed continued smoothing the sharp corners off your thoughts. The night air no longer felt cold against your skin and embarrassment had slowly stopped existing somewhere during the conversation. Maybe that was the dangerous part and not Dean’s suggestion but how easy it suddenly felt to consider it.

You didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night and neither did Dean.

When the rest of the guys stumbled back into the house loud and half-drunk sometime after midnight, he changed back into normal so smoothly it almost irritated you. He made sure you had food, water, your charger and then bullied one of the sober freshmen into driving you home while standing outside by the car until you pulled away like he always did.

You slept absurdly well afterward.

A heavy sleep and dreamless night, the type that glued you to the mattress the next morning until sunlight was already cutting aggressively through your blinds. By the time you shuffled out with an oversized hoodie you were certain was your ex’s, your phone was buzzing with unread texts from Dean sent hours earlier, probably before morning practice.

You ignored every single one and it wasn’t because of regret. Embarrassment simply crawled into your chest somewhere between the first and third spoonful of cereal and decided to settle there permanently.

The entire conversation replayed so clearly now that you were sober. “Use me,” You nearly groaned into the bowl.

Three hours of class helped, at least temporarily. You sat near the back of the massive amphitheater classroom while your professor rambled enthusiastically about the new book he’d conveniently written himself and would definitely require students to purchase before midterms. You probably would’ve absorbed more information if you weren’t scrolling mindlessly through Instagram the entire lecture.

The doors behind you opened quietly midway through class.

You barely paid attention at first since nobody descended the stairs toward the lower rows and a second later the seat beside you groaned softly under someone’s weight.

You recognized the cologne immediately.

“How hard do you think you need to scrub for that scent to leave your skin?” you whispered without looking up.

Dean grinned beside you, leaning closer enough for warmth to brush your shoulder as his eyes dropped toward your phone screen.

You locked it quickly and finally looked at him. “You’re not in this class.”

“I see your phone works perfectly fine,” he replied.

The professor thankfully dismissed class early before you could answer, students immediately growing louder as backpacks zipped and people exited the space.

You stood quickly and started gathering your things. “Did you need something, Di Laurentis?” you asked flatly.

Dean remained seated on purpose, forcing you to awkwardly climb past him to leave the row. The asshole looked entirely too pleased with himself while you muttered under your breath and stepped over his legs.

The second you reached the aisle, he stood and followed.

You walked fast, actually, aggressively fast. Dean almost struggled to keep up at first, his legs clearly still wrecked from morning practice while you marched out of the building like escape itself was the objective. He finally caught you outside near the steps leading toward the quad.

“We need to talk.”

You slowed at last before turning toward him. “What we need is space,” you corrected, motioning firmly between your bodies.

Dean looked down between you both thoughtfully, then took exactly one step backward.

You almost laughed, especially because he looked unbearably smug afterward, standing there grinning in the middle of campus like he deserved a reward for basic listening skills.

“You’ve gone to New York with me enough times to know I don’t need more space,” he pointed out. “But fine.” His expression softened slightly afterward, amusement fading as he studied your face more carefully. “What’s going on?”

Of course, he was right. Dean practically crawled into people’s personal bubbles recreationally, so the fact he’d backed off at all made it harder to flee the conversation entirely.

You exhaled slowly. “We said stuff last night.”

He nodded once, blinking at the tension written all over your face. “Yeah. That’s usually how conversations work.”

“Stuff you might regret,” you clarified.

Dean’s brows lifted before a quiet laugh escaped him. “Regret?” He pointed toward himself loosely. “C’mon. It’s me.”

His voice gentled slightly after and the worst part was he looked relieved, because apparently the phrase ‘stuff you might regret’ translated in Dean’s brain to ‘good, she’s not upset’.

“I would’ve said that sober,” he assured you.

His eyes stayed fixed on yours while your attention darted briefly around campus before returning to him again exactly like he knew it would. Dean stepped closer instinctively, lowering his voice enough that the passing students around you blurred into background noise.

“You want me to repeat it?” he asked quietly. “Let me help you cum.”

Your stomach tightened at his tone of voice. “It might not work,” you reminded him softly.

You hoped your face conveyed the actual problem because this had never been about his ego. Dean could survive failure, he’d probably laugh through it, so that wasn’t what scared you.

Dean shrugged anyway, maddeningly calm. “What if it does?”

“And what if it doesn’t?” Frustration finally slipped into your voice. “Dean, I don’t want us to get weird.” You shook your head hard once. “I don’t need ‘optimistic Dean’ right now,” you muttered. “I need ‘realistic Dean’, so pull him out of your ass.”

“You already are weird,” Dean corrected easily, smiling down at you. “I accepted that years ago.” His grin widened then. “Actually, I encourage it.”

You rolled your eyes, though the corner of your mouth betrayed you.

“Let me try,” he insisted again, the confidence in his voice should’ve irritated you more than it did.

Instead, you found yourself studying him in silence, searching for something off in his expression. Some sign this was ego, curiosity or boredom disguised as concern but he just looked…earnest. Enthusiastic, sure, because he was Dean and apparently incapable of approaching anything halfway but not creepy about it and maybe this was partially your own fault.

You’d spent years talking openly with him about sex, relationships and attraction. About wanting something good someday instead of tolerable, about how when you were old and exhausted with kids running around, you still wanted a partner who looked at you and wanted you back because you were almost certain you’d still want them too.

Dean remembered everything you said…unfortunately.

You sighed heavily. “We need rules.”

“Fine.” He agreed so fast it almost startled you. Dean straightened afterward, nodding once with ridiculous seriousness like the two of you were entering business negotiations instead of whatever disaster this actually was.

You almost reconsidered your next words. Almost.

“No kissing.”

Dean’s shoulders visibly dropped. “Why?”

“Because!” you hissed. “And if we’re doing this, you don’t get to question the rules.”

His face twisted in disbelief. “We’ve kissed before.”

You crossed your arms tighter. “That was different.”

Dean scoffed softly. “We were literally each other’s first kiss.”

Again, he was right. You weren’t just each other’s first kiss either, a few firsts existed between you both scattered through years of friendship and growing up side by side, all except for sex. There was awkward teenage curiosity, truth or dare disasters and one regrettable spin-the-bottle incident Garrett still occasionally referenced against your will.

Which was exactly why kissing now felt dangerous. This couldn’t spiral into some ‘why didn’t we do this sooner’ conversation. It needed boundaries and structure, something detached enough that neither of you accidentally ruined the friendship orbiting underneath all this and selflessly, you also didn’t want the group dragged into the fallout if things exploded.

“We’re adults now,” you said firmly. “So no kissing.”

Dean stared at you for another second before exhaling dramatically. 

“Okay,” he relented…Too easily, which immediately made you suspicious he’d already started planning arguments against it for later.

“I’ve also thought about what you said last night,” you continued carefully. “About Six Flags.”

Dean’s brows lifted.

“And shutting down the entire park feels unfair to you,” you explained. “Potentially devastating, honestly.” Your lips twitched slightly. “So you can still hook up with other people if you want. I genuinely don’t care.”

Dean actually looked offended. “Didn’t realize I needed permission.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” His voice sharpened for the first time since the conversation started. “But no thanks.” He shrugged once. “It makes this more exciting anyway.” A grin tugged briefly at his mouth again. “I’ve got one ride right now and that’s all I need.”

Your face scrunched at his words. “Does weed somehow make you an even bigger asshole?”

Dean ignored that completely. “I’m not doing anything with anyone else until we’re done here,” he repeated firmly. The teasing disappeared entirely from his voice that time and there was no smugness either, just certainty.

You quieted automatically when a group of students passed nearby, a few of them recognizing Dean instantly and greeting him as they crossed the quad. He responded absentmindedly without taking his eyes off you once.

The second they moved far enough away, you continued. “Why?”

Dean’s expression softened at the question. “Because I need you comfortable,” he answered simply. “And I need you to trust me more than you already do.”

You groaned. “Oh my God,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re making this weird.”

He grinned at your reaction while you grabbed his sleeve and started pulling him further across campus before more people stopped to talk to him. Dean let you drag him along without resistance, looking far too entertained by the whole thing.

“We don’t even know how long this will take,” you pointed out.

“My fist works perfectly fine in the meantime,” Dean decided easily.

You looked up at him so fast your neck almost hurt.

Dean pressed his lips together, visibly trying not to laugh at the pure disbelief written across your face. His head tilted slightly, hair strands falling over his forehead while he watched you stare at him like he’d just confessed to tax fraud.

Your gaze dropped away first.

Contrary to what everyone on campus believed, Dean didn’t actually need constant hookups to survive. He liked the reputation, liked exaggerating it even more whenever it annoyed you enough to argue back or laugh at him but underneath all that, he could handle himself perfectly fine.

Unfortunately for you, he seemed almost smug about proving that now.

“Can I add rules too?” he asked.

You sighed dramatically. “Sure.”

The two of you kept walking through campus side by side, your pace slower now that the conversation had moved on from terrifying to merely humiliating.

“No scheduling things specifically for this,” Dean decided. “If it happens, it happens.”

You blinked once before nodding slowly. “Yeah. Okay.” Relief actually loosened something in your chest at that. “That’s good. I’ll stress less.”

Dean glanced sideways at you, probably pleased you agreed so quickly…Except his rule immediately created entirely new problems.

“Uh…” Your steps slowed slightly. “How do you…” You scratched awkwardly at your eyebrow. “Take it?”

Dean stopped walking altogether. “How do I take what?” he asked carefully. “My coffee?”

You groaned. “No.” Your hand motioned vaguely between the two of you in a series of gestures that explained absolutely nothing. “Like…how do you like it?”

Dean’s brows lifted as realization hit him almost visibly.

You looked away at once. “Fuck,” you muttered under your breath. “Do I need to be clean shaven constantly or not?” Your voice lowered progressively through the sentence while your eyes darted around campus to make sure nobody nearby overheard you discussing grooming preferences in broad daylight.

Dean stared at you for half a second too long before answering.

“Y/n.” The seriousness in his tone made your eyes flicker back toward him. “The day I tell you what to do with your body, you better knock me unconscious.”

Your mouth parted slightly.

“I’ll literally kneel for it if that makes it easier,” he continued firmly. “Do whatever makes you comfortable.”

And he meant it. Dean would enjoy it either way, obviously, but that wasn’t what mattered to him here. What mattered was getting you out of your own head long enough to actually enjoy yourself instead of performing comfort for someone else.

You blinked slowly at him because suddenly your ex’s comments replayed in your head with uncomfortable clarity. Little preferences disguised as jokes and suggestions repeated enough times to become expectations and judging by the expression tightening briefly across Dean’s face, he’d realized exactly where your question came from too.

That only made you feel worse somehow. Your attention drifted toward the students moving around campus nearby.

You suddenly wondered if people would notice eventually. The same way older women always claimed they somehow knew when girls became sexually active. Weird comments about posture and confidence, wider hips and glowing skin that sounded fake until suddenly you became the target of them too.

Your stomach tightened faintly. “What are we supposed to tell people?”

Dean barely hesitated. “To mind their own fucking business.”

You snorted softly.

He looked over at you again, entirely serious despite the amusement still lingering around his mouth. “Just like I’m doing mine.”

The rest of the week passed almost painfully normal.

There were parties, late-night food runs, afternoons sprawled around the boys’ house while someone yelled at a video game in the background and hockey games while Dean acted exactly the same as always. You spent time with Hannah and Allie between classes and after them, listened to Garrett complain dramatically about assignments he’d started twelve hours before they were due, watched Tucker cook enough food for six grown men while Logan disappeared upstairs with company more often than not.

Nothing changed.

Dean still touched your shoulder when he walked past you, still stole fries off your plate and still looked at you too long whenever you laughed at something stupid and somehow that made the entire thing worse because half the time you genuinely convinced yourself you’d imagined the whole conversation by the fire pit entirely.

Maybe the weed had made you both insane and none of it was real.

You sat curled up on the floor of the boys’ living room later that week with your knees tucked to your chest, a notebook balanced across your thighs while formulas blurred together across the page. Your back rested against the couch and the TV played quietly in the background though neither of you actually paid attention to it.

Dean sat opposite you in the armchair, long legs spread comfortably while he hunched over his own notebook with far more concentration than anyone would expect from him or maybe not because he took hockey so seriously. He took school seriously too, despite pretending otherwise whenever possible but unfortunately for you, he also looked unfairly good doing homework.

You tried focusing on your own work, tried hard. Instead, your eyes kept lifting toward him between equations, your brain repeatedly snagging on the memory of everything he’d said days earlier and the fact neither of you had taken any of it back…or done a single thing about it.

“What’d you get for number three?” Dean’s voice pulled you from your thoughts but still didn’t look up from his notebook.

You blinked down at your own page, trying to remember where your brain had abandoned the assignment entirely.

“C,” you answered eventually. “But I’m not confident about it.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve done the math twice and I keep getting B.”

You reread the problem slowly, trying to force your attention into place. “Then it’s probably B.”

Dean finally looked up at that, one brow lifting. “You’re admitting you’re wrong?”

You snorted softly. Honestly, it was extremely possible. Your brain hadn’t functioned properly all week because you kept thinking about him offering himself up like some absurdly confident science experiment. 

“Don’t need to dig through my family tree to know I’m not descended from Isaac Newton.”

A smile tugged slowly across Dean’s mouth as he leaned back in the armchair. “If you are,” he said, eyes dragging over your face, “I’m glad the ugly recessive genes skipped you.”

Your nose scrunched instantly. “What kind of compliment is that?”

“The kind I’m hoping gets you over here to help me.” He motioned you closer lazily with his pointer and middle fingers.

You sighed before setting your notebook on the coffee table and padding across the room toward him. The house was quieter this late afternoon, though not empty. Hannah was upstairs with Garrett, Logan had disappeared into his room hours ago and Tucker was outside training.

“Let’s see,” you murmured.

You bent slightly over Dean and the notebook resting on the armrest, attention dropping fully to the equations scattered across the page. The movement loosened the collar of your shirt enough for cool air to brush your skin.

Dean noticed and his throat cleared quietly.

Your attention remained on the notebook while his eyes betrayed him completely, dropping for one dangerous second to the visible lace of your bra before forcing themselves back upward toward your face instead.

Dean had promised himself he’d take this slow and naturally because the second he acted weird about it, you would too. You’d overthink every movement, every look and accidental touch and unfortunately for him, you’d always been terrifyingly good at reading him.

He moved the notebook slightly farther from you as one hand settled carefully against your hip, guiding you.

You reached automatically for the notebook before he moved it entirely out of reach, successfully grabbing it just as he tugged you forward enough for your balance to tip. A second later you settled directly onto his lap, knees falling naturally to either side of his thighs.

You blinked once. “Smooth,” you muttered, adjusting yourself carefully without looking at him. “I’ll give you that.”

Dean grinned openly now. You balanced the notebook against his chest like it was a table and reached backward for the pen loosely held in his free hand. His fingers brushed yours before letting go.

“Should be a five,” you corrected while marking over the equation. “Not a seven.” Your brows furrowed slightly. “Your handwriting’s gotten worse over the years.”

“You still read it.”

“I’m not the one grading you.” Your eyes lifted straight into his.

You’d sat on Dean’s lap before, during packed car rides, group trips and random stupid moments over the years where proximity stopped mattering because he was just Dean. This didn’t feel like that, not even close.

“Not in math,” he said quietly.

Only one of his hands touched you still, resting warm and steady against your hip like he was making a conscious effort not to overwhelm you. Whether it was intentional or not, it worked. His eyes drifted downward slowly toward your mouth.

“You should be rating everything else though.” A grin ghosted briefly across his lips. “Pretty sure Six Flags has customer surveys.”

You shook your head once, slow enough that your hair brushed lightly against your cheek. “No ride, no survey.”

Dean’s mouth twitched. His legs spread slightly wider underneath you then, subtle enough that you still felt the change as the apex of your thighs aligned more directly with his. The hand on your hip tightened enough for you to notice. “Go on then,” he murmured.

Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, down to the visible tent pressing insistently against the front of his sweats. Heat climbed your throat immediately.

“Interesting moment you picked,” you muttered softly, eyes flicking briefly toward the rest of the house.

You felt comfortable there. Comfortable enough to leave clothes behind, to wander into the kitchen without asking and to nap on the couch when you got tired during movie nights but knowing the others were still around somewhere made your pulse jump harder instead of calming it.

Dean noticed. “Just focus on me,” he instructed quietly.

Not ‘look at me’, just ‘focus’ which you could do.

You looked at him, seeing the genuine curiosity and lack of judgment in his eyes and for the first time, the wall you'd built around your sexuality felt more like a shield and less like a cage.

Slowly, tentatively, you moved as the gravity of the moment pulled you toward him. You settled your weight directly onto him, feeling the distinct, blunt shape of his cock through the layers of your clothes. He wasn't fully hard yet, just a semi-firm pressure against your clothed pussy but it didn't make you recoil. In fact, it sent a low thrum of anticipation through your nerves.

The air between you grew thick, charged with a tension that felt heavy enough to touch. You remembered your own rule: no kissing. So, you kept your face inches from his but you didn't close the gap. Instead, you focused on the sound of his breathing, which had hitched the moment you sat down. You could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your lips, a teasing, invisible touch that made your skin prickle.

Dean’s hand still hovered near your waist, trembling slightly but he didn't grip you. He seemed to be fighting every instinct to pull you closer, respecting the fragile boundary you had set.

"I'm gonna keep my hands off," he whispered, his voice strained and rough. "You just keep moving. Take whatever you're comfortable with."

He pulled his arms back, resting them flat against the seat beside him, leaving you in complete control. The sudden lack of physical contact made the friction between your pelvises feel even more intense. You knew what you were doing, you had enough experience to know how your body worked, even if the 'explosive ending' always eluded you. You began to rock, a slow, tentative grind that pressed your pussy firmly against the length of him as a sharp, jagged exhale escaped his lungs. 

You felt him react instantly, the semi-firmness beneath you surged, his cock thickening and hardening rapidly against your center. You rolled your hips in a circular motion, aiming for the sweet spot, feeling the dampness beginning to soak into your underwear. You were getting wetter, the friction creating a sliding, sensual heat that radiated upward into your stomach.

"You still okay?" he breathed out, voice barely a murmur.

You simply nodded and tried to focus entirely on him, wanting to give him something perfect, something that would leave him breathless. You pushed down harder, grinding your clit against the hard ridge of his dick. You watched his face, head falling back against the headrest, leaving his throat exposed and pulsing but he forced his eyes to stay open. He wanted to see you. He wanted to witness the way your expression changed as you found a rhythm that worked.

The intimacy was suffocating in the best way. There was no kissing to distract you and no wandering hands to break the spell, just the raw, rhythmic pressure of friction. You could feel the heat radiating off his thighs, the way his chest heaved in time with your movements as your own breathing became ragged, mirroring his, the sound of your synchronized gasps filling the quiet space.

You felt a small, involuntary moan escape your throat, a soft sound of pleasure that made Dean’s hips jerk upward instinctively, trying to meet your descent. You pressed closer, your mind racing, trying to synchronize your pleasure with his but as the tension built, a familiar frustration began to creep in. You were so close to that peak, that elusive edge but the more you focused on his perfection, the more you felt yourself slipping away from your own. You wanted it, you wanted to break through the ceiling you'd lived under for years and the frustration made you grind harder, more desperately.

You were just beginning to lose yourself in the friction, your body humming with a desperate, electric need, when the spell was shattered.

The heavy thud of footsteps hit the wooden porch outside, then came muffled voices.

Tucker.

The sound slammed into you like ice water dumped straight down your spine.

You jolted backward instantly, panic snapping through your body so violently that your balance disappeared completely. The friction, the heat, the dizzy haze clouding your brain shattered in one humiliating second as you scrambled away from Dean in pure instinct.

Dean’s hands had actually stayed off, so when you lurched backward, there was nothing anchoring you in place, no arm catching your waist or grip steadying you. You slipped right off his lap in a graceless tangle of limbs and landed hard beside the chair with a muffled curse, your pulse hammering violently against your ribs.

Dean moved at the same time you did. One hand grabbed the nearest couch pillow and yanked it straight into his lap while the other instinctively reached toward you, fingers brushing empty air because you were already halfway onto your feet.

The front door opened and you froze.

Your breathing came embarrassingly uneven as you tried forcing your body back under control, thighs trembling faintly from the abrupt stop, nerves buzzing so hard beneath your skin it almost hurt. Dean leaned back into the chair with his head tipped toward the ceiling for one brief second, chest rising sharply beneath his t-shirt while tortured frustration flashed openly across his face before he forced himself together enough to look toward the entryway.

Tucker walked in distractedly, phone pressed to his ear while he kicked the door shut behind him with his shoe.

“–No, because that’s not what I said,” he argued into the phone before finally glancing up.

Dean’s voice came out rough and annoyed. “Can't you knock?”

The irritation in it made your eyes widen and before thinking better of it, you reached over and smacked lightly at his arm which made him look offended for half a second.

Tucker’s brows pulled together slowly as his gaze moved between the two of you…You standing there awkwardly and Dean spread out in the armchair with a pillow aggressively covering his lap.

The TV was still playing, forgotten in the background too.

“Wait,” Tucker muttered into the phone, eyes narrowing slightly. “Hold on.” He lowered the phone away from his ear and motioned vaguely around the living room. “I live here,” he pointed out flatly. “If you two wanna study in complete silence maybe turn the TV down or go to the library.”

Your mouth pressed into a painfully tight smile.

“Hey, Y/n.” he greeted, much more gently.

“Hi,” you replied weakly with an awkward nod.

Tucker gave you one more lingering look before wandering toward the kitchen, already returning to his phone conversation while opening the fridge like absolutely nothing life-altering had just occurred in his living room.

The second he was no longer looking, your eyes snapped back toward Dean, his were already on you, wide and still dark with frustration and lingering heat and approximately ten other emotions you absolutely did not have time to unpack right now.

You hurried toward where you’d abandoned your bag near the couch and started shoving your things inside far too quickly.

Dean muttered a curse under his breath behind you as the fridge door opened again. “Wait, wait, wait,” he whispered urgently.

You ignored him completely, nearly dropping your belongings while trying to zip your bag shut.

“You don’t have to leave,” he continued quietly, unable to stand for reasons both of you were painfully aware of. The pillow remained trapped over his lap while he leaned forward slightly, voice dropping lower. “Stay for dinner.” Then louder, “Right, Tucker?”

From the kitchen, still mid-conversation, Tucker lifted a distracted thumbs up without even looking over. Of course you could stay, you were always welcome there and it somehow made this infinitely worse.

“Y/n, c’mon,” Dean tried again, even softer this time.

You finally looked at him, at his flushed face and the way he still looked wrecked from you despite the interruption.

Your stomach flipped painfully. “You can text me that survey of yours,” you muttered.

Dean groaned quietly at the reminder, watching as you grabbed your bag and headed straight for the front door before your embarrassment could physically consume you alive.

You didn’t say goodbye or looked back. You slipped outside into the cold early evening air and shut the door behind you, immediately dragging in one huge breath like you’d been underwater too long.

Fresh air hit your lungs sharply, cool and tensionless.

Your legs felt weird as you walked down the porch steps and somewhere beneath the embarrassment sat an even more irritating realization. You needed to change your panties and somehow, you still hadn’t come.

For the first time in your academic career, you were thankful exam week existed.

The chaos of midterms had given you and Dean something else to focus on besides the fact you’d nearly climbed him in the middle of his living room while Tucker casually walked through the front door. Between study sessions, essays, last-minute cramming and the general emotional collapse that overtook Briar every semester, things had settled back into something manageable.

You and Dean had talked afterward, though absolutely not alone.

He’d insisted on meeting in a crowded coffee shop near campus where old women typed aggressively on laptops and students cried quietly over textbooks in the corner booths. Dean had spent most of the conversation reassuring you Tucker didn’t know anything, swearing repeatedly that if Tucker had known, the entire hockey house would’ve heard about it within twelve minutes. More importantly, he’d made sure you still wanted this and despite the embarrassment, the frustration and how badly your body still reacted whenever he looked at you too long, you did.

“Are you seriously not coming?” Allie paced dramatically across the apartment while speaking, changing outfits for what had to be the fourth time in under an hour. Both you and Hannah tracked her movements from the couch like spectators at a tennis match while she disappeared into her room only to emerge seconds later wearing something slightly tighter each time.

Hannah finally peeled her attention away from Allie to look at you instead.

“She’s right,” she agreed. “Exams are over. Maybe partying would actually help.”

You smiled lazily from your spot curled into the couch cushions, blanket draped across your legs while exhaustion sat heavy behind your eyes.

“What’ll help me is eight uninterrupted hours of sleep,” you informed them. “Which I plan on pursuing aggressively the second both of you leave.” Your mouth twitched slightly. “Now see some boys and make questionable use of your mouths elsewhere.”

Allie barked out a laugh loud enough to echo while Hannah groaned.

“When are we finding your rebound?” Allie asked as she finally settled on an outfit and bent down to tug on her boots.

“It’s too soon,” you decided immediately.

“It is,” Hannah agreed with a firm nod. “She doesn’t wanna think about men right now and we’re respecting that.”

You pointed gratefully toward her. “See? Emotional maturity.”

“Sure,” Allie snorted. “I’m still passing your Instagram around tonight though.” She grinned wickedly while crossing toward the couch. “You can decide what to do with the options later.” Before you could answer, she leaned down and squeezed you tightly against her side. “Don’t wait up for us.”

You watched them drag out the goodbye process intentionally, moving toward the door with exaggerated slowness like they expected you to suddenly change your mind and throw on heels at the last second.

You sighed and stood from the couch, physically herding them toward the exit. “Just go,” you laughed while they protested loudly.

“We tried,” Hannah reminded you with a smile while Allie opened the apartment door. “We’ll send you the address anyway.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

“You say that now...”

You waved them off anyway and finally shut the door behind them once they disappeared down the hallway already talking excitedly about shots and music and whatever terrible decisions the night would inevitably produce.

Silence settled across the apartment immediately afterward.

You exhaled slowly…now what? You considered your options while wandering aimlessly through the living space. You could curl up on the couch with your laptop and a movie or crawl into bed and disappear beneath blankets for twelve straight hours like a Victorian woman with mysterious exhaustion. Or…Your thoughts drifted elsewhere automatically, toward your room and the drawer beside your bed.

You grimaced slightly. Maybe tonight was the night you tried again, actually committed to figuring yourself out instead of giving up midway through frustration like usual. You’d bought enough toys over the years based entirely on optimistic reviews and late-night curiosity alone.

Were they even charged? You were approximately two steps away from your bedroom when knocking sounded at the front door.

You groaned at the sound. “Did you guys forget your condoms again?” you called out while turning toward the entrance. Honestly, it happened often enough that the assumption came naturally now.

You unlocked the door and pulled it open. Then blinked at who you saw. “Dean.”

Dean stood casually in the hallway wearing a baseball cap and dark sunglasses despite the fact it was nighttime indoors, which might’ve worked better if he wasn’t also carrying an enormous black bag beside him.

“I always carry condoms,” he informed you smugly.

Your face scrunched instantly as his answer only emphasized how thin the apartment walls actually were. You narrowed your eyes at him while glancing suspiciously down the hallway. 

“Why aren’t you at the party?”

Dean lowered the sunglasses enough to properly look at you over the frames.

You looked soft tonight, comfortable. Wearing sweatpants and an oversized shirt, hair messier than usual from lying around all day. The sight quickly made something warm settle low in his chest.

“Because I’m here with you.”

“No,” you corrected. “You wanted to be here with me.” You pointed vaguely toward campus. “Past tense…You should currently be at that party.”

“No can do.” Dean slipped smoothly past you before you could stop him, nudging the apartment door shut behind him with his foot.

Only then did you fully notice the bag. It was large, rectangular, black and rigid with no visible branding whatsoever. It completely ruined the whole incognito outfit.

Your eyes narrowed harder while Dean looked far too pleased with himself.

“I come bearing gifts,” he announced, then he walked straight toward your bedroom like he paid rent there.

“How did you know I didn’t go to the party?” you asked while following him toward your bedroom.

Dean set the bag carefully onto your bed before finally turning around, fingers hooking beneath the brim of his cap as he pulled it off. The sunglasses followed next, revealing eyes already fixed on you with far too much satisfaction.

“I have my sources.”

You grimaced again. “That sounds vaguely threatening.”

“Hannah asked me the other day to convince you to come out tonight.” He shrugged casually. “I didn’t.”

You crossed your arms. “Who says I would’ve agreed anyway?”

Dean smiled instantly. “Me.” The confidence in his answer came without hesitation. “I’m very persuasive.”

You rolled your eyes before your attention dragged back toward the massive black bag sitting suspiciously at the foot of your bed. “What is that?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder toward it. “Our entertainment for tonight.” His mouth twitched slightly. “Well…mine.”

You narrowed your eyes harder at him before stepping around him toward the bed. The bag gave nothing away from the outside, rigid and sleek and annoyingly mysterious.

Cautiously, you reached inside and your fingers brushed lace first. You blinked then slowly pulled the item free into the light between you both, pinching it delicately between two fingers like it might suddenly attack you.

“Lingerie?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Dean nodded once. “I had to get rid of the boxes,” he explained. “Turns out Agent Provocateur packaging isn’t exactly subtle.”

Your eyes widened immediately. “Agent Provocateur?” You stared at him in disbelief before looking back into the bag. “Are you insane?”

One by one, you started pulling more pieces out. Black lace…cream silk and tiny straps. Things so soft they barely felt real against your fingertips.

Dean watched your growing expression carefully and only then seemed to realize he may have gone slightly overboard. “I got lost on the website,” he admitted. “And then there was free shipping after a certain amount which felt financially irresponsible to ignore.”

You straightened slowly, still clutching one lace bodysuit in your hands while looking at him like he’d lost his damn mind.

“Explain to me,” you said carefully, “how exactly this counts as entertainment.”

“Besides the obvious?”

Your stare sharpened. Dean exhaled quietly before answering, his tone softening as the teasing faded from his expression.

“When you were on my lap the other day…” His eyes flickered briefly toward the floor before returning to you. “You stopped focusing on yourself after a while.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the lace.

“You started trying to get me there instead,” he continued gently. “Like you were more worried about proving something than actually feeling good.”

Heat crept onto the nape of your neck because he was right. Dean noticed everything.

“And I get it,” he added quickly, voice staying careful. “Probably instinct. You wanted me to enjoy it.” His mouth twitched faintly. “Which I definitely did, by the way. Don’t start doubting that part.”

You stayed quiet while watching him and actually listened instead of acting on your urge to flee.

“Tonight,” he said after a beat, nodding lightly toward the lingerie scattered across your bed, “the lingerie can be for me.” His eyes moved back to yours. “So the rest can just be yours.”

The room went quiet afterward. The plan had probably sounded more coherent in Dean’s head at one in the morning while online shopping half-awake with his laptop balanced on his stomach but somewhere beneath the absurdity of it, you understood what he meant.

Lingerie wasn’t only about someone else seeing you in it, women bought it for themselves too, to feel pretty, desired and confident. Sometimes just to stand in front of the mirror and reclaim something private but eventually, with partners, it often became performative too, something shared and visual. Dean was trying to remove that pressure from everything else.

Your gaze drifted slowly back down toward the pile of lace but you still weren’t entirely sure what happened next. You tried things on and then, what?

Your voice lowered slightly. “What kind of mind games are you playing?”

You hoped it didn’t sound accusing because it wasn’t meant to. You were just struggling to process the fact Dean had seen through you so clearly after one failed attempt, that he’d gone and actually thought about it, considered it and returned with something tangible instead of empty reassurance and blind confidence.

Dean shook his head immediately. “No games.” His voice stayed soft and patient, ready to leave the second you told him this was too much. “Let’s just give it a shot.”

Silence stretched again before you finally reached for a pair of panties instead. The lace slid smoothly through your fingers as you lifted the panties between you both for further inspection.

Dean’s eyes dropped instantly and despite himself, one very clear thought crossed his mind.

‘Yeah. Definitely one of my favorites.’

“How do you even know these will fit?” you asked honestly. The fabric looked expensive enough to disintegrate if handled incorrectly, soft lace brushing against your fingertips while you inspected the tiny details stitched into it.

Dean opened his mouth…closed it and opened it again. “I’m…observant?”

Even he sounded unsure of the answer.

Your lips twitched as you bit back a laugh while digging through the pile until you found the matching bra, then gathered both pieces in your hands.

“Observant and persuasive,” you mused while backing toward the bathroom. “Let me know when there’s something substantial to add to that list.”

Dean nodded solemnly like you’d given him serious criticism to reflect on. “Will do.”

The bathroom door clicked shut behind you and the second it did, Dean exhaled sharply and looked down at himself...for fuck’s sake.

He adjusted himself miserably through his pants while staring at your closed bathroom door in defeat. Lately everything about you affected him differently, your voice, your teasing and the way you looked at him for half a second too long depending on the day.

It was becoming genuinely embarrassing.

Dean barely moved from the spot you’d left him in.

He stayed planted near the foot of your bed, one hand dragging occasionally through his hair while his eyes remained fixed on the bathroom door like staring hard enough would somehow let him see through it. Every few seconds he twitched awkwardly in his pants, dealing unsuccessfully with the consequences of occasionally hearing your hums through the thin wall while knowing exactly what you were changing into behind it.

Inside the bathroom, you stood frozen in front of the mirror for far longer than necessary.

You tried very hard not to think about how closely Dean must’ve paid attention to you over the years to somehow get the sizing exactly right because it fit perfectly.

The lace sat snug against your skin without pinching anywhere, soft black patterns curling over your chest and hugging your hips beautifully. The bra lifted your breasts enough to make your posture straighten instinctively while the matching panties rested low against your hips, delicate enough to feel expensive but comfortable enough not to make you tug at them every two seconds.

You looked good, not just tolerable under dim lights or acceptable after strategic positioning and reassurance and maybe that was what scared you most because now you had to walk back out there and let someone else see it too.

With one last glance toward your reflection, you finally reached for the doorknob and stepped back into your room.

Dean looked up immediately, the reaction was almost embarrassing.

He stopped breathing for half a second entirely, eyes dragging over you slowly enough to make heat climb straight into your throat. He barely blinked while following your movement across the room as you drifted toward your full-length mirror, fingertips lightly tracing the lace resting over your shoulders before moving lower toward the small details connecting the cups together.

The silence stretched thickly.

You kept looking at yourself mostly because looking directly at him felt dangerous right now, even as he moved behind you slowly without touching. He was just standing there close enough for warmth to gather along your back while his eyes followed yours through the reflection. Wherever you looked, he looked too, until eventually your gazes met in the mirror.

You swallowed. “What do you think?”

Dean inhaled deeply through his nose. “I think,” he said slowly, “Six Flags might be going out of business soon.”

Your brows lifted immediately before a quiet laugh escaped you despite yourself.

You turned around to face him fully then, stepping closer until only inches separated you both. Your hands settled carefully against the center of his chest, fingertips brushing lightly against the fabric of his shirt while you looked up at him.

Dean held your gaze steadily, too steadily, sometimes it genuinely felt like he could read your thoughts if he stared long enough. “What do you think?” he echoed softly.

You hummed quietly, eyes flickering downward toward his mouth before lifting back up again.

“I think…” Your hands began sliding slowly down his chest, fingertips grazing over the hard planes beneath his shirt one inch at a time. “Maybe…” Your voice softened further as your palms drifted lower. “I could show you something I actually know how to do.”

Dean’s jaw tightened as your fingers brushed the bulge straining against his pants.

“With my mouth,” you finished quietly.

You didn’t move afterward and neither did he.

In your head, the logic made sense. Dean already thought you were beautiful, so you didn’t need him witnessing your frustration firsthand too. You could give him something good instead, something you knew how to control.

For one dangerous second, he looked like he was genuinely considering it. Then Dean exhaled sharply and turned you around instead, guiding you gently back toward the mirror until your back rested against his chest.

A startled breath caught in your throat as your ass pressed unintentionally against the hard outline of his erection.

Your eyes met his again through the reflection.

“I don’t doubt you can do those things,” he murmured near your ear. “All of them.”

One of his hands settled carefully against your waist while the other slid slowly downward, fingertips brushing beneath the waistband of your panties enough to make your stomach tighten. 

His eyes never once left yours in the mirror. “So why do you?”

The reflection showed the two of you, a study in tension and longing. You could see the intensity in his eyes, the way he watched you not just with desire but with a focused, intentional kind of devotion.

His hand didn't push further, he stopped before his fingertips brushed the outer lips of your pussy, leaving a teasing spark of contact. He held himself there, gaze locking onto yours in the mirror, waiting. He wasn't going to take a single inch more without your explicit permission.

You felt your heart hammer against your ribs, chest heaving. You looked into his eyes and gave a small, shaky nod.

The moment you did, he slid deeper. His fingers glided through the slick already gathering between your thighs, parting you with a gentle pressure that could’ve made your toes curl. He didn't rush, he navigated the wet lips until his fingertip found the small, swollen bud of your clit. He began to circle it slowly with agonizingly steady rotations that sent ripples of electricity shooting straight to your core.

"Tell me what you see," he whispered, voice a low and gravelly vibration against your ear.

You swallowed hard, voice trembling as you focused on the reflection. "You...you touching me," you breathed.

As you spoke, you watched your own body react. Your breathing picked up, turning into shallow, jagged gasps. In the mirror, you saw your breasts heaving, the nipples peaking and hardening into tight, sensitive points through the lace of your bra. As if reading your thoughts, Dean’s other hand reached around, his fingers finding one breast and gripping it. He massaged the hardened peak, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger and you let out a sharp, involuntary swallow, head tilting back slightly.

"And what's at the end of me?" he asked, voice humming with a dark, sensual curiosity.

"Me," you whispered, the word barely leaving your lips.

"What else?" he pressed, fingers continuing that relentless, circling motion. He was forcing you to stay present, stripping away your ability to hide in your head or focus on his pleasure. He wanted you trapped in your own skin.

You stared at yourself, hyper-aware of every inch of your anatomy. "Beauty marks," you murmured, noticing the small moles on your thighs and torso that you usually ignored.

"And here?" he asked, his thumb flicking the tip of your nipple.

"Hardened nipples," you gasped, eyes fluttering.

"And on your skin..." he prompted, his fingers quickening their pace, the friction against your clit becoming more insistent and demanding.

"Goosebumps," you whimpered. You could see them breaking out across your shoulders and arms, a physical manifestation of the arousal peaking within you.

The sensory overload was dizzying. Every time you named a part of yourself, the pleasure seemed to intensify, as if acknowledging your own body was unlocking a door you'd kept bolted shut. Dean’s fingers were no longer just circling, they were fluttering, vibrating against your most sensitive spot with a precision that made your hips instinctively buck back against him. You felt the wetness flooding out of you and coating his fingers, making the sounds of his touch wet and explicit in the quiet room.

You tried desperately to keep your eyes locked on his in the mirror but as the pleasure climbed, the world began to blur. Your eyelids grew heavy, the edges of your vision darkening as the sensation centered entirely on the point where he was rubbing you. You started to moan, the sounds raw but still shy, escaping your throat without your permission. You pushed your backside harder against the rigid length of his erection, craving the friction, the completion.

The tension in your lower belly coiled tighter and tighter, a spring winding up to the point of snapping. You were right there, on the precipice, the beginning of an orgasm shimmering just out of reach. Your breath became a series of broken sobs as your body trembled in anticipation. Was this it?

"I think...I–" you started, voice breaking as the first wave of a climax seemed to form but just before it solidified, just as you were about to believe it would, Dean abruptly pulled his hand away.

The sudden void was shocking. You gasped, body jolting from the abrupt loss of stimulation, the orgasm denied at the very last second of creation. You were left vibrating, aching and halfway undone but before you could process the frustration, he gripped your waist and turned you around in his arms so you were facing him. 

Your eyes were wide, glazed with lust and confusion, chest heaving as you looked up at him.

"What the hell are you doing?" you asked, voice a breathless wreck.

Dean didn't answer immediately. He just looked at you, taking in the desperate hunger in your eyes. He gripped your hips firmly, knuckles white and began backing up toward the bed, pulling you with him.

"Trusting you to do it first," he murmured.

As the back of his knees hit the mattress, he let himself fall back, laying flat on his back and spreading his arms wide, leaving himself completely open and vulnerable to you.

You climbed over him, your movements determined, fueled by a desperate, humming need that had been wound tight in the mirror. You braced your knees against his sides, feeling the hard muscle of his thighs beneath you and planted one hand firmly on his chest. Beneath your palm, you could feel his heart hammering a frantic rhythm, a mirror to your own. With a renewed sense of determination, you slipped your other hand beneath the fabric of your panties, your fingers finding the slick, swollen heat of your pussy.

As you began to touch yourself, you closed your eyes for a moment, repeating the litany he had forced you to acknowledge in the mirror. You focused on the hyper-awareness he had instilled in you, turning that mental lens inward. You found your clit, already engorged and sensitive and began to circle it. Your breathing became ragged, each exhale a shaky shudder that vibrated through your entire frame.

You opened your eyes and looked down at your hand on his chest. You watched the way his pectorals heaved under your touch, his skin flushed and warm. Then, you felt his hands slide up your legs, his large palms gripping your thighs firmly. The sheer intensity of his gaze, the way he watched your every movement with a hunger that felt almost tangible, made a low moan escape your throat.

You had never reached this point before, never felt this close to the edge of something so profound. The pleasure was a rising tide, threatening to pull you under.

"Be patient," Dean breathed, his voice a low, grounding rumble that seemed to vibrate through the mattress and into your bones. "Listen to your body."

You nodded, eyes locked onto his and focused entirely on the sensation. You ignored the noise in your head, everything except the friction of your own fingers. You kept your hand working at a speed you liked, a steady, rhythmic pressure that built a coil of tension in your lower belly. You began to squirm, hips rocking in a slow, undulating motion against your own hand, chasing the spark.

In your haze of arousal, you shifted, pressing your soaking wet clothed cunt directly onto the rigid length of his erection through his pants. The sudden, blunt pressure against your clit sent a shockwave of pleasure through you and you let out a loud, uncontrolled moan. Dean groaned in response, a sound of pure, tortured restraint as he kept his hips from jerking upward to meet you.

You quickly lifted your hips again, holding them high in the air, body arching as you fought to maintain the rhythm.

“Holy fuck,” You were so close now, the world was narrowing down to the point where your fingers met your flesh.

"Attagirl. That's it," Dean whispered, voice thick with praise. "You're doing so good. Just like that...look at you, taking it all in. So fucking worth it."

His words were like fuel to the fire. The praise made you bolder and movements more frantic. You pressed harder, your fingers fluttering with an urgency that bordered on desperation until the tension reached a breaking point, a white-hot spark that suddenly ignited into a roaring flame.

The orgasm hit you like a physical blow. Your head snapped back, your spine arching as the first wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your lips parted and an unreal, unabashed sound, a high, keening cry of release slipped out of you, echoing through the room. It was your first time ever coming and the sensation was overwhelming. It didn't just peak and fade, it rolled through you in long, rhythmic pulses that seemed to last forever, shaking your entire body, leaving your muscles twitching and your mind a complete blank.

Dean didn't move. He looked at you, completely mesmerized, eyes wide and unblinking. He watched the way your throat worked as you gasped for air, the way your breasts heaved and the way your body shuddered under the aftershocks. Beneath you, his cock throbbed and twitched painfully against the constraint of his pants, a visible manifestation of the agony and ecstasy of watching you shatter.

As the waves finally subsided, leaving you limp and floating, you collapsed onto his chest with a sultry whine, skin damp with sweat and breathing heavy and synchronized with his as you caught your breath.

The silence of the room was thick, charged with the lingering electricity of the moment.

You swallowed hard while still catching your breath, voice a mere whisper against his skin. "Is it too soon to say that was the best orgasm I've ever had?"

Dean let out a heavy, uneven breath beneath you, the sound shuddering straight through his chest and into yours. Only then did his hands finally leave your thighs. Slowly, almost cautiously, they slid upward along your sides until his palms settled against your back.

Gone was the restraint that had kept his fingers tense and controlled earlier. Now he touched you lightly, almost reverently, fingertips drifting along the curve of your spine over the lace while he tried to steady his breathing. Every few seconds his hands flexed against you instinctively, like he still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

“Definitely the best one I’ve ever had,” he murmured.

His voice sounded wrecked, dizzy, like simply watching you come apart on top of him had pushed him somewhere dangerously close to losing it himself.

You lifted your head slowly from where it rested against his chest, pushing up enough to properly look at him.

Dean blinked up at you lazily, pupils completely blown.

You swallowed once. “Did you…?”

The question barely finished forming before Dean’s expression morphed into something sheepish and amused all at once. He swallowed too before nodding once against the mattress.

Your eyes widened slightly as his hand slid upward from your back, fingertips brushing softly along your jaw while he looked at you with an expression so openly fond it almost hurt to hold eye contact with him.

“Am I still not deserving of a kiss?” he asked quietly. Half joking, half absolutely not.

You hummed thoughtfully like you were genuinely considering it. “You want a cookie and a gold star too?”

Dean’s grin spread slowly across his face, matching yours instantly despite the pleasure still weighing down his features. “Better than the survey.”

You laughed softly through your nose before finally leaning down the rest of the way.

The kiss was warm, searing and long overdue.

Dean’s hand moved instantly to the back of your head, holding you in place like he’d been waiting weeks to finally do exactly this. It started slow for approximately two seconds, soft lips parting against yours carefully, almost disbelievingly, before weeks of tension snapped apart all at once.

You melted into him with a breathless sound as his mouth pressed harder against yours.

Dean kissed like he did everything else, thoroughly.

His thumb pushed lightly beneath your jaw, tilting your head back enough for him to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against yours slow at first, exploratorily, before the restraint he’d been clinging to all night dissolved completely. The taste of him, the warmth of his mouth and the low groan that rumbled out of his chest when you kissed him back with equal desperation made your stomach tighten all over again.

The kiss quickly turned messy, hungry. You could barely catch your breath between them, mouths reconnecting instantly every time you pulled apart for air like neither of you could tolerate the distance anymore. Dean’s grip tightened on your hair as his other hand spread wide against your back, dragging you flush against him while his tongue swept against yours again, deeper this time, making heat rush straight through your body.

So much for rules.

Seems like Six Flags had just been privatised for a single Agent Provocateur wearer…indefinitely.

“Aunt Mags?” you called, stepping into the hall.

No answer greeted you. Just the distant, unnatural crackle of flame.

You turned the corner into the living room and froze. The curtains were on fire. The rug was on fire. The entire wall beside the fireplace was breathing orange and black, and your aunt stood in the middle of it all, her black hair loose, using a hose she’d dragged in through the back door to put out the flames.

“Holy—”

“Language!” Maggie snapped automatically, before flicking her wrist and sending a rush of water toward the ceiling. The flames recoiled, shrinking, twisting inward as though sucked through an invisible drain. Within seconds, they were gone, leaving nothing but a bitter-smelling smoke hanging in the air and charred, blackened patches all over the walls.

You coughed, eyes watering. “What the hell was that?”

“Containment charm,” your aunt said briskly, examining the wall with her hands on her hips. “Worked better than last time I tried it. Well…mostly.”

You stared at her, trying to process the words. Containment charm. “You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re kidding.”

She looked at you over her shoulder, one eyebrow arched. “Would I joke about a house fire?”

“I…no, I meant the whole containment charm thing. You know you’re not actually a witch witch, right? Opening an apothecary doesn’t equate to who-doo voodoo.”

Her eyes softened. “Sweetheart, can you handle getting yourself to school today?”

You blinked. “The house almost burned down and you want me to just…go to school?”

“Life doesn’t stop for small disasters,” she said, already muttering under her breath as she waved her arms to try dissipate the thick cloud of smoke. “And besides, it’ll keep you out of the way while I get someone in to have a look at this.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but she gave you that look - the one that meant the conversation was already over. So you grabbed your bag and left, the smell of burnt wood clinging to your hair.

The air outside was damp, cool against your cheeks. You walked down the cracked sidewalk toward the bus stop, clutching your bag tighter as you texted Lydia a quick ‘running late lol, save me a seat in home room’, that you didn’t actually mean. You and Lydia weren’t really friends. Both of your boyfriends were on the Lacrosse team which meant you were friendly enough, though mostly through strained smiles.

Halfway there, you saw the construction signs, cones, a flashing orange barricade blocking the entire street.

You groaned out loud. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The detour added an extra ten minutes to your route. You jogged, boots clicking sharply against the asphalt, heart hammering as the quieting roar of a bus engine made you push harder. You could see the yellow flash turning the corner.

“Wait!” you shouted, waving frantically as you sprinted the last block to catch up,

The driver met your eyes. You knew he saw you. But the bus didn’t slow. It turned down the next street, taillights fading into the mist.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, panting, shoulders slumping.

You shoved your phone into your bag and started walking again, resigned. The wind picked up, biting through your cardigan. You tucked your arms around yourself, boots clicking against the damp road.

That was when you heard the clunky, familiar noises of the broken down price of shit Jeep that your lab partner owned. You turned your head just as the dusty blue car roared around the corner. You didn’t have time to move.

The front tire plowed straight through a puddle the size of a crater, and a tidal wave of freezing, muddy water hit you square in the chest. You gasped, stumbling back, soaked from head to toe. The cold was immediate, seeping into your socks, your skirt, your expensive suede boots.

“Oh my god,” you groaned. “My shoes!”

The Jeep screeched to a halt, then reversed. The door slammed open, and a familiar voice called, “Holy shit, are you okay?”

You closed your eyes. Of course it was him.

Stiles Stilinski jogged over, already grimacing. He wore his usual flannel layered over a graphic tee, a buzz of brown hair that he always ran both hands through about a hundred times per hour. His expression was all panic and guilt and, you suspected, a little amusement.

He was your lab partner for Harris’s class and he was completely and utterly useless. He always tried to contribute to class projects, but his erratic personality and inability to shut up meant he never got very far, leaving you to do most of the work. Not to mention, he was always getting in trouble, which meant Harris graded your joint assignments extra harshly. Chemistry was currently the only class of yours you didn’t have an A in, and you blamed that little fact on one incredibly irritating Stiles Stilinski.

“I didn’t even see you!” he said, hands raised in surrender. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay to you?” you snapped, gesturing to your drenched clothes.

He winced. “Okay, yeah, no, that’s fair. Totally my fault. You should probably, uh…get out of those.”

You glared. “Excuse me?”

“No! I mean, not right now! Just, later. When you’re not…oh god.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “Can I at least give you a ride to school. You shouldn’t have to walk like that. You’ll freeze.”

You hesitated. You could feel the cold biting into your skin already, the weight of wet fabric clinging to your legs. And you had no other options.

“Fine,” you muttered.

He opened the passenger door for you, and you climbed in, trying not to think about the squelch of your skirt against the seat.

The heater blasted warm air, and he fiddled nervously with the radio. “Uh, sorry again. Really. For, you know, waterboarding you with Jeep runoff.”

You looked at him sideways. “You always this bad at driving?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Only before coffee.”

A small, unwilling laugh slipped out of you, and you hated yourself for it.

“So,” he said after a beat, glancing over as the Jeep rumbled down the road. “You like The Smiths?”

You blinked. “What?”

He nodded toward the radio, where a soft melancholy guitar riff was playing. “I’ve heard you humming it before in class. ‘There Is a Light That Never Goes Out,’ right?”

You stared at him, caught off guard. Was it a little creepy? Sure, maybe. But you’d seen and heard stranger things from Stiles. “You know that song?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m a tragic indie soul,” he said dryly. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

You smirked despite yourself. “What reputation?”

“Ouch,” he said, mock-offended. “You wound me.”

“Call it payback,” you said, gesturing to your soaked knees.

“Okay, fair,” he said, smiling now. “But hey, I’m redeeming myself, right? Ride to school, premium heating, music taste that doesn’t suck.”

“You’re halfway to forgiveness.”

“Halfway,” he repeated, grinning wider. “I’ll take it.”

By the time you reached school, you’d almost forgotten the smoke, the fire, the missed bus. As it turned out, when Stile wasn’t distracting you with clicking pens or tapping pencils, he wasn’t too bad a person to talk to. But then Lydia saw you.

She was standing by her locker, all gloss and curls, eyes sweeping over you from head to toe. “Oh, wow,” she said, lips curving. “New look? Or did you wrestle a sewer pipe on your way here?”

You smiled tightly. “Funny.”

“Just saying,” she shrugged. “If you ever need my stylist’s number—”

“I’ll pass,” you said sweetly, and brushed past her. Seriously? How many teenage girls could say they had a personal stylist?

You fumed about your ruined designer boots - the boots that had taken you countless hours working at your aunt’s apocathery to pay off - for the entirety of home room and first period. Until you were pulled out of your thoughts by an announcement over the intercom calling you to the office.

Moderately confused, you wondered what it could possibly be about as you made your way over. The principal gestured for you to sit as soon as you walked in. His office smelled like coffee and disinfectant.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here. We received a complaint,” he said, folding his hands. “About your submission to the county art show.”

You blinked, you heart stuttering. You’d worked on your project for months and had been delighted when the head of the Beacon Hills High arts department asked you to submit it for the county gallery. “A complaint?”

“Yes. Some of the parents felt the imagery was…too dark for a student exhibition.”

You stared at him, heat crawling up your neck. “Too dark? It’s a charcoal collection. It’s literally shades of black and gray.”

He sighed. “It’s not the colors. It’s the…tone. The subject matter. Skulls, ravens, the, er, Latin text?”

“It’s a poem about grief,” you said flatly. “From the 1800s.”

“I’m sure it’s very meaningful,” he said, “but unfortunately, the board decided—”

You laughed once, sharp and humourless. They’d raised the matter with the school board? “This is ridiculous! It’s because my aunt reads tarot cards, isn’t it? Because people think my family are witches?”

His silence told you everything.

You pushed your chair back, voice trembling. “You know what? Fine. Let them have their little art show of sunflowers and smiling faces. I’m sure that’ll impress people.”

“Miss, do not walk out of this office,” he began, but you already had.

It was just the cherry on top of a crap pile of a day. You stormed into the hall, blinking fast to clear the tears that burned your eyes, and collided straight into someone’s chest. Strong hands caught your arms before you fell.

“Whoa, hey, are you trying to get me back for this morning or something?”

You looked up. Of course it was him. Again. “Stiles,” you said, exasperated.

He tilted his head, grin faltering as he saw your face. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure? Because you look like you just lost a fight with a dumpster and a guidance counselor.”

Your voice cracked before you could stop it. “Just drop it, okay?”

He hesitated. Then quietly: “Okay. I’ll drop it. But…if you ever don’t want me to, I don’t know, pick it back up again, I’m here.”

You hated that it made your chest ache. You hated that he meant it. You turned away, blinking fast. “I just need air.”

You walked toward the lacrosse field with your jaw clenched so tight it hurt. The corridors behind you blurred into a hum of voices and slamming lockers, every sound dull and too bright at once. You needed space. Air.

Your boots squelched faintly with every step, the fabric of your skirt still damp, sticking to your thighs. You could feel the streaks of ash still woven into your hair from the morning’s fire. It felt like the entire day was mocking you with a collage of every tiny humiliation stitched together by fate itself.

The field stretched out ahead of you, bright under the early afternoon sun, empty except for a handful of seniors lingering about on their free period. The hum of laughter drifted on the breeze, a familiar voice among them.

Aaron. Your boyfriend. The two of you had been together since last year, and right now he felt like the only person who could make this shit storm of a day any better.

Your chest unclenched for the first time that day. You broke into a half-run, calling out before you even thought. “Aaron!”

He was at the far end of the bleachers, his back to you. The sound of your voice made him turn, startled, but he didn’t smile. He looked guilty. And that was when you saw her.

Erica Reyes stood beside him, blonde hair shining in the sunlight, her hand curled around his arm. She leaned in close, whispering something that made him laugh with that same soft, stupid laugh you loved so much.

You slowed, stomach twisting. You didn’t want to believe what you were seeing. It could’ve been nothing. Just a joke. Just two friends. The three of you had hung out before, after all. Back when Erica was still your best friend. Before Erica had a crazy glow up and a personality transplant and ditched you. But then her fingers slid up his chest, his hand came to her waist, and before your brain could catch up, her mouth was on his.

The world went quiet. For a moment, everything stopped: the rustle of leaves, the scrape of cleats on turf, the chatter of the other players. You could only hear your own breathing, which was far too sharp and too fast, and the faint bloodrush in your ears.

You took a step back, then another. Your chest ached so fiercely it felt like your ribs were cracking from the inside.

Erica broke the kiss first, her eyes flicking up and locking with yours. You saw the smirk falter just slightly, before she turned her face away, pretending not to see.

You turned, already sobbing, and walked off the field before either of them could say anything. You went straight to the nurse’s office and pretended to throw up until she agreed to let you leave school for the day.

The world blurred on the way home. You remembered the sound of your boots scraping pavement, the burn of wind against your cheeks, the way your phone buzzed in your pocket notifying you of texts you didn’t check, because what was the point?

When you finally pushed open the front door, the smell of burnt wood hit you again. The house looked worse now that the adrenaline was gone. The once-white ceiling above the living room was stained black, and a deep hole traced up the wall like a scar.

Your aunt was on her knees by the window, sketching runes into the sill with a piece of chalk, as though that might do anything. But you were used to her weird quirks by now. It had taken a while to get used to when she’d first moved in a few years back.

She looked up when you came in. “You’re home early.”

“Yeah,” you said hollowly. “Guess I didn’t feel like sticking around.”

Her eyes softened, though she didn’t ask. She always knew when to press and when to wait. “Bad day?”

You laughed, but it came out more like a breath. “That’s one word for it.”

“Want to talk about it?”

You dropped your bag on the couch and sank beside it, rubbing at your temples. “Where do I even start? The house almost burned down. I missed the bus. I got drenched by some idiot in a Jeep. I looked like hell all day. Lydia was her usual brand of delightful. Then the school decided to pull my art project from the show because apparently skulls are too scandalous for Beacon Hills, and—”

You stopped yourself before the last part came out.

Your aunt tilted her head. “And?”

You swallowed hard. “And Erica kissed Aaron.”

Her expression didn’t change at first. Just a quiet, measured stillness. Then she set the chalk down and walked over, kneeling in front of you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly.

You looked at her and felt your throat tighten. You’d been holding yourself together all day, duct-taping your insides with sarcasm and silence, but that simple sympathy broke you. The tears came hot and fast, spilling over before you could stop them.

You leaned forward, pressing your face into her shoulder. “I just, I don’t understand why everything went wrong today. Like the universe just decided to personally screw with me.”

Her hand moved gently through your hair, slow and steady. “Sometimes the universe tests us,” she murmured. “Sometimes it gives us a day so bad we think we’ll never get through it and then we do. And we know when the next one comes, we can survive it all over again.”

You sniffled, half-laughing. “That’s so annoyingly mystical.”

“Well,” she said with a faint smile, “I am a witch.”

You groaned. “You’re not a witch. You just have really expensive incense and a flair for dramatics.”

Her lips twitched. “If it helps you sleep to believe that, go ahead.”

You gave her a watery smile, even though your eyes still burned. “At least you sound like a witch.”

“Thank you,” she said, mock-proud. “I’ve always thought I had the hair for it.”

You laughed weakly, wiping your eyes.

The humor faded when she stood and looked toward the kitchen. “We can’t stay here tonight,” she said quietly. “The fire did more damage than I thought. Workers will be here in the morning to fix the damages.”

“Where are we supposed to go?”

“There’s a motel off the highway,” she said, already grabbing her keys. “It’s temporary. Just until the house gets fixed.”

You nodded numbly, too tired to argue despite the unease that rose in your stomach at the thought of leaving the house behind. You packed a small bag - pajamas, toothbrush, your favorite oversized hoodie - and followed her out the door.

The motel was exactly as depressing as you expected, with buzzing fluorescent lights, thin carpet, and a single faded painting of a mountain that looked suspiciously like a blob. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the dark window.

Your aunt handed you a steaming cup of tea, its scent warm and spicy. Probably cinnamon, honey, something faintly floral you couldn’t name.

“Drink,” she said softly. “It’ll help you rest.”

You took a sip. It was soothing, heavy, like it was pulling the weight from your limbs.

“I’m sorry about your day,” she said after a pause. “But maybe it’s not a curse. Maybe it’s a lesson.”

You let out a quiet snort. “A lesson in what? Humiliation? Cosmic bad luck?”

Her gaze flicked toward you, something unreadable in her eyes. “Maybe in how to change what you can, and accept what you can’t.”

You frowned. “You sound like one of those mindfulness podcasts you listen to.”

She chuckled. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

You nodded, finishing the tea, the warmth spreading through your chest like syrup.

You curled up under the stiff motel blanket, staring at the shadowed ceiling. Every part of you felt wrung out. Your body ached from running, your heart from everything else.

“I just want this day to be over,” you whispered into the dark.

Your aunt turned off the light. “Maybe tomorrow will surprise you,” she murmured.

But when sleep finally dragged you under, you dreamed of fire.

———————————————————————

You woke to smoke. The same sharp sting in your throat. You shot upright, heart thundering, lungs full of déjà vu.

“No,” you whispered, voice shaking when you saw the familiar surroundings of your bedroom rather than the old motel. Your posters. Your cluttered vanity. The cardigan draped over your chair exactly the way you left it yesterday morning. “No, no, no…”

You threw the blanket off, feet hitting the cold tile. The smell was identical, the faintest trace of cinnamon tea still on your lips, the distant noise of your aunt’s voice down the hall.

You stumbled out of bed and threw open your door. Smoke rolled in from the living room, thick and acrid. When you turned the corner into the living room, your aunt was already there, her arm raised, hose water flicking around her like a tornado.

Everything was exactly the same. Every. Single. Detail.

Your breath caught. “What…” you gasped. “What the hell is happening?”

For a moment, your brain refused to catch up. How were you even here? Didn’t you fall asleep at that gross old motel last night? How were you back here? Was this some vivid nightmare?

Your aunt didn’t look at you this time. She was already muttering under her breath, eyes closed. But when she did finally glance your way, there was something in her expression you didn’t recognise.

It had to be a nightmare. The fire was yesterday. You were in a motel. You’d seen the scorched ceiling with your own eyes, you’d packed your bag, you’d gone to bed…

Except when you pinched your arm you didn’t wake up. You couldn’t force yourself to rise, because you were indeed already awake.

The taste of panic turned metallic on your tongue. “No,” you whispered, heart hammering. “No, no, no.”

It was identical. Every spark, every plume of smoke, the same tendrils curling up toward the same burn mark on the ceiling.

You froze, dizzy. “This can’t be happening,” you breathed.

Your aunt glanced over, eyes shining faintly in the dim light. “Go back to your room,” she said, calm as ever. “It’s under control.”

You stared at her. “Under control? This…this happened yesterday!”

She didn’t answer. The water from the hose surged, the flames bending away like they were obeying her. When they finally vanished, the air crackled with leftover heat.

You could only stare at her. “You…you don’t remember anything about this? I swear, this happened yesterday!”

“Every morning feels the same to me,” she said vaguely, brushing soot from her hands. “Get ready for school. I’ll clean up.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to shake her. But instead, you turned and stomped back to your room, pulse still thrumming in your ears.

Maybe yesterday had been the dream? Some kind of prophetic nightmare. It didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was today hadn’t happened yet.

You took twice as long getting ready, staring at your reflection like it might give you answers.

You picked a different outfit - a cropped white sweater with a plaid skirt and knee-high socks - something effortless, cool, not like you were trying too hard. You redid your eyeliner three times until both sides matched, swiped on lip gloss, and forced yourself to smile in the mirror.

You could do this. Whatever went wrong in your dream, you could fix it.

The fire? Too late. But everything after that, that was in your control. You’d make the bus, look composed, avoid Stiles’ stupid Jeep. You’d get to Aaron and warn him before Erica could get her claws in him.

You grabbed your bag and bolted for the door. This time, you took the shortcut behind the neighbor’s hedge which shaved off three minutes from your walk. You could hear the distant rumble of the bus down the hill and felt relief wash over you.

You broke into a jog and then the bus whooshed past at full speed.

“No!” you yelled, half-laughing in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

The driver didn’t even slow down for your stop.

You stood there, panting, bag sliding down your shoulder. “Okay. Fine. Walking again. Great. Love this.”

The sun was higher now, burning through thin clouds. You followed a different route, down Maple Street instead of Birch, avoiding the usual puddles. You even remembered the one by the intersection where Stiles’ Jeep splashed you.

You smiled to yourself, proud. See? It was just a stupid, slightly prophetic, nightmare. And then your foot hit something that wasn’t pavement, and the ground gave way.

You yelped as you sank knee-deep into freezing, muddy water. It sucked at your boots like quicksand, pulling you down until your skirt was soaked and grit clung to your hands.

“Oh my god,” you hissed, dragging yourself out. “Are you serious?”

Mud streaked your cardigan, your stockings, your bag. The sinkhole gurgled mockingly behind you.

When you heard the familiar clunking of Stiles’ Jeep you practically dove head first into a bush to avoid being seen and did not come out until the noise of tyres was gone.

By the time you made it to school, you were drenched, scraped, and freezing. And then, because the universe was clearly thriving on your misery, Lydia Martin turned the corner.

Her eyes swept over you once and her expression lit up with pity disguised as sweetness. “Oh, wow. Did you get caught in a flood or something?”

You glared. “Something like that.”

“Well, at least it’s on theme for you,” she said airily, brushing past. “Tragic chic.”

You muttered something impolite under your breath and stomped toward your locker.

You were still fumbling with the lock when a voice said, “You look like you fought a swamp and lost.”

You turned. Stiles Stilinski was leaning against the next locker, grinning.

“Wow,” you said flatly. “Thank you, poet laureate.”

He blinked. “Hey, no offense meant. I just…you’ve got, uh…” He gestured vaguely to your hair. “Twigs. Multiple twigs.”

You snapped. “Do you ever stop talking?” you shot back, slamming your locker shut. “Or do you just wake up every morning excited to irritate the entire town?”

His brows rose. “Whoa. Okay. I’m just saying you look—”

“Like hell? Yeah, thanks, I noticed.”

He blinked again, taken aback. “Rough morning?”

You laughed bitterly. “You have no idea.”

Something flickered in his expression - surprise, maybe sympathy - but you didn’t want it. You turned and walked off before he could say anything else.

You spent the entirely of home room and first period scanning the halls for Aaron. Every minute ticked by with unbearable slowness, and when you finally tried sneaking out of Econ to find him, you got caught.

“Detention,” Coach said curtly, scribbling your name on a clipboard. “After school. Don’t argue.”

You opened your mouth then shut it again. Great.

When you were called to the principals office halfway through second period. Surely it was another strange coincidence? But suddenly you weren’t too sure anymore. Instead of going to the principals office to find out, you slipped out of class and into the bathroom instead.

But as you were passing by the arts corridor to head back you just so happened to cross paths with the principal on his way out of the arts staff room.

“Oh, just the student I’ve been looking for.” He instantly saddled up to you. “Your art piece has been pulled from the student exhibition.”

Your heart sank as those words only solidified what was becoming jarringly obvious. Your whole dream was coming true. Or maybe it was never a dream in the first place.

You stared, clearing the shock from your throat. “Uh…Why?”

He cleared his throat. “There were…concerns. About the tone. The imagery was rather unsettling.”

“It’s a charcoal collection,” you said slowly. “Depicting motifs of loss and mourning.”

“With incredibly dark and gothic imagery,” he reminded you.

“It’s symbolic!” you argued. “About lingering grief, not witchcraft. Bloody hell!”

He winced. “Language.”

You threw your hands up. “You people see one skull and suddenly it’s The Craft.”

“Please lower your voice.”

But you were already storming out of the hallway. You had one last thing you needed to check before you finally admitted to yourself some strange anomalies was occurring right before your very eyes.

By the time you reached the field, your heart was pounding again.

You spotted Aaron sitting on the bleachers, just like before in your dream - or yesterday, whichever it was. Erica was beside him, her hair glinting gold in the sun.

You ran the last few steps, ready to yell, to stop it, to fix it. But then you froze, because this time, you saw it clearly.

She was flirting, sure - laughing, leaning in - but he moved first. His hand brushed her arm. His smile lingered. His gaze dropped to her lips. And when he kissed her, there was no hesitation, no trick. Just a choice. His choice.

The sound left your throat before you even realized it. It was a small, raw sound, half gasp, half sob. You turned and bolted before either of them saw you.

You made it around the side of the bleachers before colliding straight into someone.

“Whoa!” Stiles caught you by the shoulders. His eyes widened. “Hey, hey, you okay?”

Seriously? Why the hell was he suddenly everywhere?

You jerked out of his grip. “Fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Well, maybe that’s just my face,” you snapped.

His mouth opened, then shut. For a second, he looked almost wounded. Then he exhaled softly. “Okay. Just, if you need help or something, you can ask me.”

The kindness in his tone made your throat tighten. You wanted to say thank you but the words tangled up behind the ache in your chest. You turned and walked off, fast.

Detention that afternoon was torture. The clock’s second hand ticked loud enough to make your skin crawl. You kept your head down, sketching aimlessly in the margins of your notebook. And then a familiar scrape of chair legs made you look up.

Stiles dropped into the seat across from you, waving awkwardly. “Hey, swamp girl.”

You groaned. “Please don’t.”

He smirked faintly. “Sorry. Just…rough day?”

You hesitated, staring at him. His eyes were warm, too earnest.

“Yeah,” you said finally. “The worst one yet.”

He nodded, like he actually understood. “Those are my specialty. I can spot a cursed day from a mile away.”

You huffed a laugh. “Cursed is one word for it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. For the first time all day, you felt a flicker of calm.

When detention ended, he followed you out. “You need a ride?”

You sighed. “You have a death wish? Everything I touch today falls apart.”

“I’ve had my fair share of insane days. Don’t worry, I can handle any bad juju you might run off on me.”

You smiled at that - a small, tired thing - and nodded in agreement.

The Jeep smelled faintly of old coffee and pine air freshener. Rain streaked the windshield, though the sky outside was clear.

You leaned against the seat, staring out the window. “I don’t even know how to explain the kind of day this was.”

“Try me,” he said.

You gave a humorless laugh. “It was like…déjà vu. Like I knew what was coming, but couldn’t stop it. Everything I tried to fix just got worse.”

He hummed thoughtfully and pointed up towards the heavens. “Sounds like someone up there’s got a grudge.”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “That makes two of us.”

When you got to the motel room, you were barely even bother explaining. You already knew the words your aunt would say, the way her expression would shift when you mentioned the fire.

And sure enough, when you whispered, “It happened again. The same awful day, the same fire…”

Maggie froze for a fraction of a second. Then her face smoothed into calm disbelief. “You’ve had a very stressful week,” she said gently. “Sometimes our minds play tricks when we’re overtired.”

You stared at her. “You don’t believe me.”

“I believe you’re scared,” she said softly. “That’s enough for now.”

She handed you the same cup of tea as before. It was warm, golden, faintly sweet. You drank it without a word, too exhausted to fight.

Later, as you curled beneath your blanket, the same thought echoed in your mind, a whisper you couldn’t drown out.

If tomorrow was today again - if this loop was real - then you might actually lose your mind.

———————————————————————

You woke to the filtering morning light again. For one heart-stopping second, you thought maybe you’d imagined it all - the fire, the déjà vu, the whole looping reality nightmare. Maybe you’d just had an unusually vivid dream.

But then you sat up and your eyes flicked to the digital clock on your bedside table. The same date read across the top. Fine. If you couldn’t stop the day, you’d find a way to beat it.

You scrambled out of bed, shoving your hair into a messy bun and skipping your whole outfit ritual this time. You didn’t need to impress anyone today. You needed to save your damn house.

You knew exactly where to go - the incense tray by the window. The one your aunt left smoldering every morning, the one that you found out had tipped over yesterday and caught the curtains.

You darted straight for it and grabbed the tray before it could fall. The ash was still smoking faintly.

“Ha!” you said, triumphant, holding it up like a trophy. “Not today.”

Your aunt appeared in the doorway, half-dressed in her robe, blinking. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Stopping the fire!” you said. “It started here! This stupid incense!”

Her expression flickered. “How did you—”

And then something popped in the kitchen. You froze. A tendril of smoke curled up from the toaster.

“Wait, no!”

Too late. The plug sparked, the cord caught, and within seconds the curtain above it went up in flames.

You stood there, jaw slack. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Your aunt ran past you and out the back door through the kitchen, pulling in the garden hose as the flames quickly spread

You just slumped against the counter, dizzy with disbelief. “This house hates me.”

That was the second failed loop. Then came the third. And the fourth.

By the fifth, you were a professional firefighter in pajamas. You unplugged every appliance, dumped out every candle, even shut off the breaker completely, and somehow, some way, something else always ignited.

Once, it was a fallen hairdryer. Another time, lightning struck a tree in the yard and the sparks blew through your open window. Another, faulty wiring in the ceiling. Once, the gas stove caused an explosion.

You screamed yourself hoarse. You cried. You laughed hysterically. Nothing changed.

Every loop unfolded in the same way. The smell of smoke, your aunt waving you off with her cryptic calm, and the knowledge that the universe was laughing its ass off at you.

That wasn’t the only event you couldn’t seem to change.

You tried leaving earlier for school, thinking maybe if you outran the timeline, you could catch the bus before everything went sideways.

But the bus was early one day. Late the next. Sometimes it just didn’t show up at all. You started taking new routes, determined to break the pattern.

The first detour led you down Oak Avenue, where a construction crew redirected you straight into a muddy trench. The second time, a truck sped by and drenched you from head to toe. The third, it started raining out of nowhere with fat, cold drops that soaked through your cardigan before you made it two blocks. The fourth, you thought you’d finally found a dry shortcut through the park, until the sprinklers went off like they’d been waiting for you.

You screamed at the sky. “I GET IT! I’M CURSED! THANK YOU!”

And somehow, always, always, he appeared.

Sometimes Stiles caught you right after the incident, like clockwork, his beat-up Jeep rolling up beside you with that half-sheepish, half-amused smile, offering you a ride.

Other times, he’d find you in the hall between classes, handing you a napkin or a paper towel or just cracking a joke that made you want to strangle him and laugh at the same time.

It was uncanny, like he was written into the day, an unshakable fixture no matter how you tried to dodge him.

And because you had no one else to talk to, you started…noticing things.

Like how he always had his sleeves rolled up unevenly, or how he hummed off-key to the songs on his iPod. How he had an entire playlist of chaotic indie bands you’d never heard of, and somehow every one of them was a banger.

He was still insufferable - loud, nosy, full of energy that made your head spin - but he was also funny. In a dorky, unintentional way.

You found yourself smiling once, genuinely, when he ranted about how Coach still didn’t know how to pronounce half the team’s names.

And then you remembered he was part of the loop, too - part of the script you were desperate to escape - and the guilt sank in like a stone.

Lydia’s insults stopped bothering you somewhere around loop seven.

By then, you’d heard every variation of her snide remarks, like ‘Oh, darling, puddle couture?’, and your brain just went numb.

You stopped reacting. You’d nod, smile faintly, and keep walking. It was oddly liberating.

Same with the art show.

You still got called into the office every time. Same lecture about ‘inappropriate themes’. Same condescending ‘we value your creativity, but…’ speech.

At first, you argued, then you begged, then you stopped caring. You’d stare at the principal, expression blank, and say, “Sure. Pull it. Why not.”

He’d blink, confused. “That’s…very mature of you.”

You’d smile sweetly. “Yeah. Totally mature.”

And then leave, biting back laughter that sounded a little too close to hysteria.

Aaron and Erica became background noise. Static you couldn’t mute. You found out about them in a dozen different ways.

Once, you saw them in the hallway, pressed too close together. Once, Lydia told you with fake sympathy, like she was delivering gossip instead of heartbreak. Once, his friends laughed about it within earshot. And once, you saw the photos - blurry, grainy, but unmistakable - plastered all over social media.

Each loop, it hurt a little less. The anger dulled, the betrayal faded, replaced by weary acceptance. You stopped trying to stop it. You stopped trying to change anything.

Every night, it ended the same way. You and your aunt in the motel room, the flickering neon light outside casting sickly colors across the wallpaper.

You ranting - voice hoarse, hair a mess - pacing like a caged animal.

“I stopped the fire! I unplugged everything! I left early, I took six different routes, and somehow, some way, I still end up soaking wet, still lose my stupid art spot, still find Aaron sucking face with Erica!”

Your aunt would just watch you quietly, stirring her tea.

“You think I’m losing my mind, don’t you?” you accused once, tears prickling your eyes.

Her lips curved faintly in that small, knowing smile that made you want to scream. “I think you’re learning.”

You huffed in frustration, barely listening. “Learning what?”

“Patience,” she said softly. “Perspective.”

You threw your hands up. “I’m learning I hate Tuesdays!”

But she just sipped her tea. “Drink yours before it gets cold.”

So you did. And every single time, you fell asleep with the taste of honeyed herbs on your tongue, vowing you’d fix it tomorrow.

———————————————————————

This was the morning you finally snapped.

No more panic, no more sprinting to save your doomed house, no more pretending to care about a day that clearly wanted to destroy you. The universe wanted to play games? Fine. You’d play right back.

When you woke at 6:45 a.m., you didn’t even move. You stared at the ceiling, feeling that same dull ache in your chest that came every time you realised you were still here. Still stuck in the same twenty-four-hour nightmare, doomed to repeat it again and again until the world decided you’d suffered enough.

You didn’t jump out of bed. You didn’t rush to find a cute, polished outfit. You didn’t even pretend to care about the faint scent of smoke you knew would soon thread through the air.

Instead, you sat up, raked a hand through your tangled hair, and muttered, “Fine. Burn, then.”

The house didn’t wait long to oblige.

From your spot on the bed, you could see the faint orange flicker under the door, hear the soft crackle that had once sent you into panic mode. You didn’t even blink. Just crossed one leg over the other and watched the light grow stronger, the way people might watch rain slide down a window. Somewhere in the house, your aunt shouted something and you almost smirked.

Your hands moved on autopilot, rifling through your wardrobe until you found something that felt right. Something that matched the black comedy of it all. You tugged out your long, flowy black skirt that brushed your ankles like storm clouds when you walked. A deep burgundy top with glass bead embroidery that shimmered faintly in the light. And your boldest lipstick - that deep, unapologetic blood-red.

You applied it carefully, slowly, watching the person in the mirror become someone new. Someone who didn’t chase buses or beg the world to notice her. Someone who let it all burn and looked beautiful while doing it.

You added rings - too many, silver and obsidian and one sharp enough to draw blood - and pulled on your old black boots. You left your hair loose, messy waves falling over your shoulders, and looked at yourself one last time.

You felt like yourself.

The air outside your room shimmered faintly with heat when you opened the door. The fire had spread. You could see the orange glow crawling up the wallpaper like veins of molten light. Your aunt’s voice carried from the kitchen, sharp and commanding.

You leaned against the wall, arms folded, and watched as water erupted from the hose, dousing the flames. Steam hissed. Smoke rolled across the ceiling. You didn’t flinch.

“Kitchen fire again?” you called out.

Your aunt turned, wild-eyed and soot-streaked. “You’re not helping!”

“Wasn’t planning to,” you said casually, stepping over a smoldering rug on your way to the door.

She glared at you, broom clutched like a weapon. “You’re becoming far too calm about this.”

“Guess I’ve had practice.” You winked and stepped out into the cool morning air.

You didn’t even pretend to hurry. The bus was pointless. You could sprint, you could take shortcuts, you could leave early, but it always left without you. So you let your boots squelch through the damp ground, skirt swaying behind you, as the smoky taste of the morning drifted away.

You walked past the bus stop without looking at it. The group of kids waiting there stared like you were something out of a horror movie. You met their eyes and smiled faintly. Let them think what they wanted.

You were halfway down the road when the familiar squeal of tires sounded behind you. You didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

And when the powder blue Jeep pulled up beside you, you didn’t even turn your head before saying, “You’re late.”

“Uh, hi?” came Stiles’ voice, incredulous and amused. “You’re, uh, walking straight through puddles like you’re auditioning for a gothic perfume ad.”

You turned to him finally, meeting his raised eyebrows with a smirk. “What, you don’t like it?”

“Oh, I like it,” he said, leaning across the passenger seat to push the door open for you. “Just trying to figure out if I should be impressed or concerned.”

You shrugged. “Maybe both.”

He laughed, loudly, warmly, and far too genuine for this cold morning. “Get in. You look like you’re about to hex someone.”

“Tempting,” you muttered, but you slid into the seat anyway. The jeep smelled like old coffee, pine air freshener, and something you’d learned to recognise as donating Stiles - a woody cologne.

You rested your chin on your hand as he drove, your skirt pooling around you like a shadow.

“Let me guess,” you said, smirking. “You’re listening to your murder podcast again, aren’t you?”

His head whipped toward you. “How did you…?Wait, did I tell you that?”

You smiled cryptically. “Lucky guess.”

He shook his head, chuckling. “You’re weird.”

“Thank you,” you said sweetly.

The ride was easy. For once, you didn’t try to fill the silence or hide how much you liked the feeling of the wind threading through your hair. You even caught yourself laughing at one of his terrible jokes about the sheriff’s department.

The Jeep rattled a little, the heater blowing lukewarm air. You rested your elbow against the window, watching trees blur past. Stiles glanced at you.

“So,” he said after a beat, “what’s the soundtrack to your silent rebellion today?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Oh come on, you ditched the whole girl next door image, so clearly rebellion is on the agenda today. So what’s your poison? Is it, like, Florence and the Machine? Or more…My Chemical Romance?”

You snorted. “Wow, stereotyping much? You think because I suddenly wear black I cry-listen to emo anthems?”

“Do you?”

“…Maybe,” you admitted, smirking. “But I also like Arctic Monkeys, Fleetwood Mac, and Lana. Depends on the loop.”

“Loop?”

You froze for a split second, then recovered with a shrug. “You know. Routine.”

He looked amused. “You’re hard to figure out.”

“Good.”

By the time you reached school, you were almost disappointed the drive was over.

You could feel Lydia’s eyes before she even spoke. She looked you up and down like she always did, nose wrinkling slightly.

“Oh my god,” she said, voice dripping honey and venom. “Are you, like, auditioning for a vampire movie?”

You turned, smiling sweetly and eyeing her extremely low cut top and tight skirt. “You auditioning for the latest step-sister porno?”

Her mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” you said brightly and brushed past her.

The collective gasp from her little group of followers was satisfying. You didn’t even look back. It felt good. Extremely good. And Aaron was next.

You didn’t hide from him this time. You’d spent too many loops crying in bathroom stalls, too many hours trying to protect him from Erica’s lips, from his own stupidity. You were done.

You’d planned this part carefully. The printer in the library lab whirred for almost an hour through lunch. Now, your bag was stuffed with your own particular flavour of justice - hundreds of grainy flyers with Aaron’s name splashed across them like a curse. Each one had some embarrassing photo, or a screenshot of a problematic text exchange. You’d even included one of those cringe-worthy selfies he’d taken with a duck face. And in bold red, across every sheet: CHEATER.

You started in the main hallway. One on the trophy case. One on the cafeteria door. One right next to the football team’s sign-up sheet. The more you pasted, the lighter you felt.

By the time the bell rang, whispers were already circling like vultures.

“Did you see what she…”

“Oh my god, is that?”

“No way, she actually…”

Then came the voice you’d been waiting for. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?”

You turned. Aaron was storming toward you, flyers crumpled in his fist. His face was an angry shade of pink. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

You tilted your head, innocent. “No, I think I finally found it.”

“Do you have any idea how—”

You quickly interrupted. “How satisfying this is? Yeah.”

He blinked, stunned. “You’re making a fool of yourself!”

“Funny,” you said. “I thought you already did that when you cheated on me.”

The hallway erupted in laughter. Someone actually whistled. Aaron’s jaw clenched as he looked around at the growing crowd, then back at you.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered.

“Oh, it’s so over,” you said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “We’re done, Aaron. Consider this my official breakup notice.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, your heart pounding, lips curved into a smirk.

You made it through half of Harris’s lecture about your behaviour before you had enough. The class tittered. Harris scowled. “You think this is funny? Detention. Today. After school.”

“Perfect,” you said, grabbing your bag.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Anywhere else.” You didn’t look back as you walked out the door, the sound of his angry shouting fading behind you.

You didn’t care anymore. Not about the fire. Not about the bus. Not about Aaron or Lydia or even the gossip that now followed you like a shadow.

Because for the first time in a hundred repeats, you weren’t surviving the day. You were living it.

———————————————————————

The clock ticked like it wanted to spite you. Every second dragged, a drip of slow poison. The desks were covered in doodles and initials carved by generations of bored kids who’d sat where you were sitting now in the back of the classroom, twirling a pen between your fingers, your mind flickering through loops of déjà vu. You could practically see every version of yourself who had sat here before - panicking, frustrated, crying. Now, though? You just felt done.

Mr. Harris was up at his desk, shuffling papers, his sharp, nasal voice slicing through the silence. “You will remain in absolute quiet for the remainder of the hour. I have better things to do than babysit teenagers who can’t control their impulses.”

There were only two of you in the room, you and Stiles. He sat diagonally in front of you, tapping his pencil in a rhythm that matched the twitch in your jaw. His leg bounced, his fingers drummed, and every few seconds he glanced at you with that lopsided smirk like he could sense the storm brewing inside your chest.

Finally, you whispered, “I’m bored.”

Stiles turned around in his seat, whispering back, “You? Bored? No way.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m serious. This sucks.”

“You’re in detention. It’s supposed to suck.”

You leaned forward, voice low. “Not if you make it interesting.”

He tilted his head, curious. “What do you have in mind?”

You smirked, eyes flicking toward the desk where Harris sat marking papers. “Something harmless. Maybe.”

His grin spread slow and dangerous. “You’re scaring me a little, but go on.”

“Remember that chemical reaction kit in the back cupboard?” you said softly. “The one he uses to demo basic exothermic reactions?”

Stiles blinked. “You’re suggesting we…?”

“Cause a tiny explosion?” you whispered. “Yeah. Just a little one. Enough to freak him out.”

He looked torn between terror and awe. “You are so going to get us expelled.”

For a second, he hesitated. Then he stood abruptly, stretching exaggeratedly. “Hey, Mr. Harris? You mind if I, uh, grab a tissue from the cupboard?”

Harris didn’t look up. “Sit down, Stilinski.”

“Cool, yeah, sure,” Stiles said, and immediately walked to the cupboard anyway.

You bit back a laugh as you joined him, opening the door with a squeak. Inside were rows of jars, labelled powders, a small burner, and one half-empty bottle of ethanol. Perfect. You exchanged a conspiratorial glance.

“This is insane,” Stiles muttered.

“Exactly,” you said.

It took less than a minute. You knew just enough chemistry to make a small puff of harmless smoke rise from the beaker. You slid it back into place, barely containing your laughter.

Thirty seconds later, it hissed and popped with a small bang.

Harris shot up like he’d been electrocuted. “WHO DID THAT?”

You and Stiles both pointed at each other immediately. “Not me!” you shouted in unison, bursting into laughter.

“You think this is funny?” Harris snapped, face turning red.

“Yes,” you said honestly, tears of laughter spilling down your cheeks. “God, yes.”

Stiles was laughing too hard to even breathe. “You have to admit, it was a pretty solid reaction!”

“That’s it,” Harris barked. “You’re both—”

But you were already out of your chair. “We’re leaving.”

“You can’t just walk out of detention!”

“Watch us,” you said, grabbing your bag.

And before he could finish his sentence, you and Stiles were sprinting out the door, laughter echoing down the hallway, sneakers slapping against the floors.

You didn’t stop running until you were outside. The late afternoon light painted everything gold and warm. You were breathless, dizzy, alive.

Stiles leaned against his Jeep, laughing. “You’re completely unhinged!”

“Maybe,” you said between breaths. “But tell me that wasn’t worth it.”

He grinned. “Okay, yeah, it was legendary.”

You stared at him for a long moment. At his messy hair, his stupidly bright smile, the way he looked at you with that soft expression. “Let’s not go home,” you said suddenly.

He blinked. “What?”

“Let’s not. I don’t want to go back to that house. Or that motel. I want to…I don’t know, do something crazy! Just for one night.”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “Okay.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Why not? You’ve already got me breaking school property. Might as well commit to the bit.”

You grinned. “Good answer.”

———————————————————————

The neon sign of Beacon Hills Liquor buzzed overhead. It looked like every bad decision made between the ages of 16 and 23 had passed through its door.

You pulled your fake IDs from your bag - one that Aaron had insisted Danny make for you to help practice using his machine. Stiles instantly gawked at it like it was a cursed artifact. “This looks fake.”

“It is fake.”

“No, no,” he gestured, flapping a hand. “I mean it looks fake in a spectacularly terrible way.”

“Relax.” You giggled, unable to even pretend you were nervous when you knew no matter how badly this went, you’d experience no consequences tomorrow when the loop reset.

“Relax?!” His voice cracks. “Relax?? Do you know what my dad would do if I got arrested for underage drinking? I’d never see the outside world again. I’d have to telepathically communicate with Scott from my room like some kind of suburban hostage.”

“Stiles.”

“What?”

“You’re not even coming with me.”

He tried to protest, but you were already walking into the store. He followed, mumbling his own eulogy as he stopped and waited outside with a very forced-casual pose.

The cashier - a bored man with ear gauges and a shirt that said ‘I Hate Everyone’ - barely glanced up.

You slid a bottle of cheap whiskey onto the counter. “Hi.”

The cashier lifted an eyebrow at you. “ID?”

You handed it over and he stared at it for a painfully long time. You could practically see Stiles’ eye twitching as he watched through the window.

The cashier hummed in acceptance. “Good enough. Anything else?”

You smiled calmly and handed over some cash. “That’s all.”

When he handed you your changed to grabbed the coins and the bottle and left. Out in the parking lot, Stiles fell into step beside you and stared with profound disbelief in his honey brown eyes. “I cannot believe that worked.”

You smiled nonchalantly. “Confidence.”

“No. Witchcraft. I’m convinced your aunt taught you witchcraft.”

“Maybe she did.”

He blinked. “…Really?”

You grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” His face did something complicated that made you laugh. “Now, you know anywhere that we can crack this open?” You lifted the bottle and the moonlight glinted off the glass.

“Yeah, I know a place,” he twirled his keys around his finger and walked around to open the passenger door for you. He held it open while you climbed in and the small gesture made your stomach flip.

———————————————————————

You and Stiles hiked way into the preserve until the trees swallowed the noise of town. The sky was turning indigo, the world growing quieter, like it was waiting to hide your secrets.

Stiles collapsed onto a fallen log when you finally arrived to a spot with a few rocks surrounding a pit out fire bin. You imagined that meant Stiles had been here before, and the sudden image of him bringing another girl here made something flare in your stomach. “Okay. Operation ‘Not-Sucky Night’ is a go. Step one, alcohol poisoning.”

You snorted, taking a swig from the bottle. It burned like fire. “Ugh. That’s disgusting.”

“Right?” He held his hand out for the bottle and took a sip, recoiling dramatically. “Why does it taste like a war crime?”

You were still laughing when he nudged your knee gently with his and passed the bottle back to you. “All right, your turn. A shot a truth.”

You reached for the bottle. “Alcohol first.”

“Coward.”

You took another burning mouthful. Then you inhaled, feeling the liquid courage settling warm in your chest. “I feel like I’ve been stuck,” you say quietly, trying to word your situation in a way that sounded grounded in reality. “Like a…glitch. Like my life is just this repeating pattern of bad decisions and worse luck.”

Stiles was silent for a moment. Then he said, softer than you’ve ever heard him speak, “Yeah. I know that one.”

You glanced at him with surprise and doubt written on your face, but he was staring at the bottle, not you, so you passed it over.

“I spent years watching my dad fall apart,” he murmured. “After my mom…I had to be the adult most of the time. And now I just…I don’t know. I feel like I’m always one wrong turn away from ruining everything.”

His voice cracked and you handed him the bottle. You watched him as he took a long drink, wondering how you’d never considered that Stiles had lost a parent too. Sure, it was a bit different than losing both, as you had, but if anyone was able to understand you maybe it would be him.

You shifted closer, your knees brushing his.“Stiles,” you said gently, “You didn’t ruin anything.”

He laughed once, bitterly. “You don’t know that.”

“I do, because when I lost my parents I felt the same. Sometimes I still do,” You answered and his eyes meet yours - raw, unguarded.

Something warm twisted inside your chest, as you whispered, “Tell me something else.”

He exhaled shakily. “…I didn’t think you liked me.”

“I didn’t,” you admitted. “At first.”

His mouth quirked into a slight smile. “Wow. Thanks.”

“No, I mean…” You shook your head, trying again. “I had you wrong. You’re kind of great.”

He went silent, those amber eyes that you suddenly found entrancing gazing into yours like they could see straight through to your innermost pain.

“I think you’re great too.” He finally said and your heart stuttered.

You wondered, was one day of knowing someone too soon for him to start having that effect on you?

It was half past eight when you and Stiles wandered out of the preserve, whiskey warming your blood and the soft buzz of intimacy already threading between you. Instead of driving back home in the Jeep, you decided to walk around downtown, exchanging stories of your childhoods as you tried to keep your path straight across the pavement.

“There’s no way that’a true!” You laughed uninhibitedly as he recalled a story of him and Scott being chased by an angry old woman at the skate park.

“I kid you not, she chased us all the way to my house and we hid under my dad’s car in the driveway because we couldn’t get the front door to open.” Stiles recounted loudly.

When you spotted the tattoo shop, glowing with neon blue light and the OPEN sign flickering, you paused in your tracks.

Stiles stopped dead on the sidewalk beside you. “No. No no no. This is where I draw the line. I cannot explain this to my dad. He’ll think I joined a biker gang. Or a cult. Or a cult biker gang.”

You looped your arm through his. “Relax. I’m the one getting a tattoo.”

His jaw dropped open like a cartoon character and you laughed, starting to find the way he emoted so dramatically endearing. “What?! You…Wait, you’re serious?!”

You were already pulling open the door and the bell jingled over your heads as you walked in. Stiles followed, muttering nervously under his breath. Inside, the tattoo artist looked up from her desk.

“You kids got IDs?” The woman asked, the overhead light shining off her tattooed scalp.

You slid your fake ID onto the counter with a confidence that would make your aunt proud. “Sure do.”

Stiles watched you like you were a live grenade. The artist looked you over, squinted at the ID, and nodded. “What’re we doing tonight?”

You turned to flip through the folders of art available on the counter, grinning. “Something fine line. I’ve always wanted a celestial theme, maybe on my wrist.”

“How about a crescent moon?” the artist suggested and flipped to a page, showing a beautiful moon smattered with glittering stars around it.

You considered it for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. That.”

The woman - whose are you learned was Dawn - led you over to her station. You dropped down into a comfortable leather chair.

Stiles stood behind you the whole time, pacing so much the artist eventually snapped at him.“Dude. Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

Stiles collapsed onto the stool beside you. “I’m sorry, I just…I get a bit squeamish.”

You rolled your eyes. “You can hold my hand if you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” He insisted, his face going pink. “I just get a bit grossed out and lightheaded and sometimes I faint.”

You offered him your hand that wasn’t getting tattooed, and he took it silently. He didn’t let go, not even after the needle started. You hissed at the first sting, and Stiles squeezed your hand tighter.

“Hey,” he murmured softly. “You’re okay. You got this.”

And something shifted there in that chair, with you breathing through the sting and Stiles’s hand in yours. You didn’t look at him, but you felt him - warm, nervous, somehow protective. When the artist finished, Stiles lets out a breath like he was the one under the needle.

“You’re insane,” he whispered.

“Maybe.” You admitted.

“But it looks good on you.” He complimented.

You finally tuned to face him and he was looking at the tattoo, then at you. For some reason, that same soft look behind his eyes made your heart beat just a little bit faster.

“I know where we should go next,” you said, a devious smirk already spreading across your lips.

“Oh no, I think that’s enough for tonight,” he chuckled and shook his head but your smile only widened. You knew there was no way you were going to end the night there.

———————————————————————

The club was loud, humid, and pulsing with bass. You slipped in past the bouncer while Stiles distracted him with a frantic, very unconvincing rant about parking violations.

Once the guard turned his back and you were both inside, Stiles’ hair windblown, his expression was one of astonishment. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“I can’t believe you managed to lie for thirty seconds,” you shot back.

“I can lie!” he retorted, insulted. “Okay, I can’t lie well. But I can lie.”

You grabbed his hand before he could ramble more and pulled him toward the dance floor. “Come on.”

“Wait, I don’t dance!” He tugged his arm back but you tightened your hold on him insistently.

You shouted over the music, “Yes you do!”

“No I don’t!” he shouted back.

But you were already pulling him into the lights. The beat thumped through the crowd and the two of you moved in an awkward, hilarious, strangely perfect rhythm. Stiles loosened up fast - maybe due to the music, maybe the whiskey, maybe the fact that you were laughing and leaning too close. The whole world felt far away.

At one point, he leaned in, breath warm against your ear. “You know…you’re kind of incredible.”

You blinked up at him, your heart skipping. “Where did that come from?”

“Dunno,” he said, grinning crookedly. “Alcohol. Adrenaline. Spending way too much time looking at your pretty face.”

You shoved his shoulder, laughing. He stumbled dramatically, arms windmilling and you grabbed his jacket, pulling him back toward you so he wouldn’t fall.

You were close. Too close. So close that his breath fanned across your lips. For half a second, you thought about crossing the distance. But then a shout echoed across the crowd.

“HEY! YOU TWO!”

You turned to see the security guard that you’d distracted to sneak in.

“Run!” you shouted,

You both sprinted out of the club, laughing uncontrollably as the bouncer chased you for half a block.

“That was close!” You squealed as you tossed yourself into the Jeep and pulled the door shut behind you.

“Too close!” Stiles jumped behind the wheel, breathing heavily as he shoved his keys into the ignition.

You were barely three minutes on the road when red-and-blue lights flashed behind you.

Stiles slammed his head against the steering wheel. “Of course! Of course this would happen.”

Stiles slowed the car and pulled over to the side as Sheriff Stilinski approached, his flashlight raised. He stopped at the car window and leaned in, pausing his flashlight on you when he saw you in the passenger seat. Then he sighed with fatherly disappointment so intense you almost shrivelled.

“Stiles.”

“Dad.”

“Why do you look sweaty?”

Stiles began sweating more. “Uh. Because…the weather?”

“It’s fifty-eight degrees.”

“Uh. Humidity?”

The Sheriff looked at you. “Are you okay?”

You nodded. “Perfect, Sheriff. Totally fine.”

He narrowed his eyes at Stiles again. “You weren’t drinking, were you?”

Stiles’ voice cracked. “NO! No! Definitely not. Absolutely not.”

You subtly nudged the whiskey bottle deeper under the seat with your foot.

Sheriff Stilinski sighs. “Just…get home, okay? Both of you. It’s late.”

“Yes,” Stiles said quickly. “Immediately. Straight home.”

The Sheriff walked back to his cruiser and Stiles waited until the door shut. Then he whispered, “I’m. Going. To. Die.”

You burst into laughter and after a moment, he joined you too. “Let’s get out of here Stilinski. I’d say this was a pretty successful non-sucky night.”

“Yeah, it was pretty great.” He grinned and pulled back out onto the road.

Stiles followed your directions until he pulled into the driveway of your family home. The house was dark and you knew the inside was charred from the fire earlier. The sight gutted you all over again.

Stiles noticed. He seemed to do that quite often - see things others didn’t. “Hey,” he said softly. “We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.”

“No…I need to grab a few things.”

Inside, the air smelled like smoke. The living room was blackened, the wallpaper curled, the floor warped. It was the worst you’d seen it. It hits you harder than you expect. Your throat tightened.

Stiles stayed close but didn’t touch anything.“Take your time.” He said gently.

But you couldn’t. It was too much. The memories of the fire. The exhaustion of reliving this hellish day again and again. The sight of the place that held so many memories destroyed. Picture albums with your parents smiling faces inside lost to the flames.

You crumbled right there, next to the scorched sofa. And Stiles caught you. He wrapped his arms around you without hesitation, pulling you against his chest. “Hey, hey…I got you. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

You sobbed into his shoulder. All the stress, all the grief, all the fear of the loop never ending, everything you’d been holding inside finally boiled over.

“Why does everything keep going wrong?” you whispered into his jacket. “Why do I keep losing everything?”

His voice cracks. “I know that feeling.”

You pulled back slightly. “What…what do you mean?”

Stiles swallowed hard. “My mom,” he answered quietly. “Before she died…I kept trying to fix things. Be better. Be stronger. Be enough. But you can’t outrun life. You can’t stop everything bad from happening.” He shook his head, eyes shining. “But you’re not alone. At least, not tonight.”

You stared at him and the realisation hit, slow and warm. You’d never felt this understood before.

———————————————————————

On the way to the hotel, the Jeep was filled with soft music and even softer breaths. The night felt like it was folding around the two of you, cocooning you in something fragile and temporary and impossibly precious.

Stiles drummed lightly on the steering wheel. “Can I ask something?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. You’d learned to be transparent with him, and had spoken about all of the things you’d never told anyone before. You’d fallen into an oddly comfortable dynamic that you never would have expected to develop. Especially not with Stiles, of all people.

“Were you happy? With Aaron?” He asked.

You exhaled. “No. Not really. I think…I just liked the idea of not being alone.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

“What about you?” you returned to question. “Anyone special?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Just a crush. Entirely one-sided.”

You smiled gently, noticing a strange feeling once more in your stomach at the thought of Stiles spending a night like this with any other girl. It felt special now, what the two of you had shared. Almost sacred. “Who?”

He glanced at you for half a second too long. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

You looked out the window, your heart thudding. “Try me.”

He didn’t answer, just smiled to himself, soft and nervous.

When he pulled up to the hotel, you felt that ache. The bittersweet one that comes before something fantastic ends.

You unbuckled your belt, turned toward him, and blurted the truth, anxiety rising in your belly. “You won’t remember this tomorrow.”

He rolled his eyes at you, misunderstanding. “I’m not that wasted.”

You shook your head. “Just…trust me. You won’t.” The confusion on his face twisted your heart. “So,” you added quietly, “maybe I should just do something I’ve been wanting to do all night.”

“What’s that?”

You leaned across the console, your hands cupped his jaw, and you kissed him. It started soft. Just lips brushing lips. Testing. Asking. Then he exhaled with a tiny, broken sound, and kissed you back.

His hands slid to your waist, yours tangled in his hair. It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t messy. Just…perfect. Desperate in a sweet way.

You broke apart only when your aunt shrill voice echoed through the parking lot. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!”

You jumped apart, turning to see aunt Maggie standing outside the Jeep, her arms crossed, furious and terrified and relieved all at once.

“Oh my god,” Stiles whimpered in panic. “She’s gonna hex me.”

“Shit,” You muttered and stepped out of the Jeep, your cheeks flushed.

Maggie launched into a tirade about worry and responsibility and disappearing for hours with no notice. Stiles watched you with soft eyes through the window.

Before you followed Maggie inside, you turned back to the open window and said. “Thank you. For everything. For tonight.”

He smiled shyly. “Yeah. Thank you too. For…everything.”

You stepped away and as you walked into the hotel room, exhausted and strangely happy, a heavy sadness hit you. Tomorrow would reset and he wouldn’t remember. But you would.

———————————————————————

You woke up expecting smoke. Your lungs braced for it before your eyes even opened. You were certain you’d be back in your bed, in your house, inhaling that thick, choking smell that always signalled the loop had reset. But when the air hit your throat, it was…clean.

Too clean. Hotel-clean.

Your eyes snapped open. The cheap patterned ceiling stared back at you, and your stomach dropped so violently you swore the mattress tilted.

You were still at the hotel.

Not in your bed.

Not in yesterday.

Not in the loop.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathed, sitting up so fast your head spun. Your arm flailed out, accidentally tipping the mug on your bedside table. The mug fell to the floor with a clatter and shattered, though thankfully no liquid sprayed anywhere because it was empty.

The tea.

The idea hit you like a punch to the throat. Every night you’d come to the motel, every night before the loop had reset, you’d drank the tea your aunt had made you. Except for last night.

The tea. It must have been. Perhaps aunt Maggie was a witch after all.

You clutched the blankets, your heart hammering against your ribs. The memories of yesterday flooded back like a tidal wave - Stiles, the club, the alcohol, the dancing, the tattoo, the makeout in the parking lot, your aunt’s face when she found you…And the flyers. The detention. The yelling. The absolute zero-fucks chaos that you left behind like scorched earth.

A part of you wanted to crawl under the covers and die. Another part - smaller, but louder - grinned. Because of Stiles. Because the night you’d shared with him has been amazing. And the kiss…even more so.

You swallowed hard, your pulse fluttering. “Okay. Okay, I can do this,” you whispered to yourself.

You pulled on the spare clothes you’d picked up last night with shaky hands. Then you walked to school, heading out before Maggie could wake but sending her a message so she’d know where you went.

Your stomach flipped with dread as you got closer and closer. The minute you walk through the doors, someone called out your name. You looked to your right to see none one than a very pissed-off-looking Harris himself.

“Office. Now.” He demanded coldly.

You closed your eyes and sighed. “Of course.”

Inside the office sat the principal, the deputy, and a stack of your flyers like a damning deck of cards. The top one showed Aaron mid-sneeze. Another had him wearing that hideous beanie he once insisted was ‘ironic’.

You winced.

The principal folded his hands. “I’m going to be honest. This is one of the most…enthusiastic displays of poor judgment I’ve seen in a long time.”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “Thank you?”

“That was not a compliment.”

“Oh. Right.”

He sighed, exhausted. “Given your spotless record, we’re assigning you a week of detention. And we strongly recommend a session with the guidance counselor.”

You nodded quickly, spine straightening as you realised your punishment would not be nearly as severe as you were expecting. “Yeah. I, uh, I’ll book that. Totally.”

They studied you with narrowed eyes like they were waiting for you to crack or lash out, but you didn’t. “Alright. You can go.”

You stood, grabbed your bag, and escaped before they could change their minds. You practically crept down the hall, terrified Lydia might be lurking, sharpening her claws and rehearsing insults to get you back for the day before.

When you finally saw her at her locker, your breath caught in your chest. She looked right at you. Paused. Tilted her head.

Then your jaw practically falls off when she says, “I like your skirt.”

You blinked. “What?”

Lydia shrugged lightly, closing her locker with a soft click. “It’s very…you. It’s for character, it’s intentional. You should wear it more often.”

You stared at her, stunned. “Oh. Uh. Thanks.”

“And,” she added casually, “I’m having a party this weekend. You should come.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” She waved a hand at you as though you’re being dense.

You nod slowly. “Right. Okay, sure.”

Lydia smiled and walked away without a backward glance. You stood there, dazed, until you saw Aaron. He was at his locker, head down, alone. For the first time since you’d known him, he looked…small. He didn’t even glance at you when you finally walked past.

A weird, soft ache ran through you. Not for him, but for the version of yourself that let him waste her time.

You kept walking. You were almost to class when Erica stepped into your path, though not with the confident swagger you’d come to expect of her over the past weeks. Not with that smirk she’d been weaponising for months.

She stopped in front of you, her arms crossed tightly, eyes uncertain. “Hey,” she said quietly.

You stiffen. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry.” She blurted it out all at once, as though the words pained her to say. You stared, caught off-guard as Erica took a breath. “What I did with Aaron was shitty. Like, cheap, insecure mean-girl-shitty. And I know it.”

You swallowed, unsure of what to say. “I don’t care about him,” you finally answered. “I care that you just…changed. Overnight. And left me behind.”

Erica winced. “Yeah. I did.”

“Why?” You wondered aloud for the first time since it had happened.

She hesitated. “Because I was jealous of you.”

You froze. “Of me?”

She nodded slowly. “You were always so sure of yourself. I wasn’t. And then life changed and I changed too. Maybe too much.”

Your throat tightened because she was right. She had changed too much. Too much for you to still align yourself with her as her friend. “Are you happy now?” you asked softly. “With who you are.”

She thought about it for a moment. “Yeah. I think I am.”

“Then…I think we’re not really friends anymore.” You admitted.

Erica’s shoulders dropped, but she nodded back in understanding. “Yeah. I think so too.”

You both stepped aside and went on your way. It was a peaceful disbanding. A part of you stung at the loss of what your friendship once was, but you knew it was for the best. Besides, there was one other person you were anxious to talk to. Except, you hadn’t yet seen him.

Over the course of the day, you checked every hallway, every classroom, out every window. There was no sign of Stiles. Not even a glimpse of plaid or frantic hand gestures.

Your chest twisted painfully as a torrent of worried ran through your mind.

What if he regretted last night? What if he thought it was a mistake? What if he was avoiding you? What if the best part about that damn time loop didn’t want anything to do with you?

When the lunch bell rang and you still hand’s seen him, you pressed a hand to your stomach, trying not to be sick from the anxious storm raging in there.

“HEY! HEY, WAIT!” When you finally heard his voice echoing in the hallway relief filled you.

You turned just in time for Stiles to skid to a stop in front of you, gasping for breath. “Far out, don’t…move…so fast! I swear…I ran like…half the school, trying to find you!”

You stared at him, stunned.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he blurted. “I swear. I had this…thing. An important thing, that I had to do today. But the whole time I was just thinking about last night and how insane it was and how and how fun—”

“Stiles—” You tried to interrupt but he kept talking in a nervous race.

“—and how I really wanted to see you again and make sure you didn’t wake up and think it was a mistake because it wasn’t, not for me, and I just—”

You finally had enough of waiting, so you grabbed his face and kissed him. Right there. In the hallway.

His hands hovered for a second, shocked. Then he melted into it, fingers sliding to your waist, pulling you closer. You pulled back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his.

“You’re giving me a ride after school,” you said softly, breathless.

“Yes,” Stiles agreed immediately, voice cracking. “God, yes. Absolutely.”

“We’re going out for dinner.”

“Okay,” he nodded, smiling like he physically couldn’t stop. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do that.”

You stepped back, grinning. You’d chastise your aunt Maggie for her meddling later. Right now, you were just happy to be out of the loop.

Lydia arched an eyebrow when she caught the direction you were staring. “God,” she muttered under her breath, “how is he still alive with motor skills like that?”

You tried to play it cool, texting something on your phone that you would absolutely not remember typing later. “He’s…uh. He’s fine.”

“Fine as in ‘not dying,’ sure,” she said. “Fine as in ‘hot’? Absolutely not.”

Your face heated. You prayed Lydia didn’t notice. Across the hall, Stiles shoved the pile of disaster into his locker, missed completely, and dropped everything all over again. He let out a frustrated noise, cheeks pink, mumbling to himself.

You quickly looked away. You weren’t supposed to think he was cute. Not when everyone else saw him as the weird, awkward loser who talked too fast and tripped over air. But you did. God, you did. And you hated how much you wanted him.

You cleared your throat, forcing your voice steady. “Let’s just go. We’re gonna be late.”

Lydia linked her arm with yours. “Lord help the soul that ever hooks up with Stilinski,” she said casually, “He’d probably shove it in the wrong place.”

You laughed like that idea was hilarious. Like hooking up with Stiles wasn’t something you fantasised about at night.

———————————————————————

You were barely listening when your teacher announced partners for the semester project. A couple names, some groans, flipping pages. You were scrolling through your phone under the desk while you waited for your name to be called.

“Stilinski…and Y/L/N.”

Your head shot up. Stiles froze in his seat two rows over, eyes wide like someone had pointed a gun at him. He looked at you, startled, almost apologetic, and completely unaware of the way your pulse jumped.

You sat up straighter, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear like you didn’t care at all. Like your heart wasn’t slamming against your ribs. Lydia glanced at you from the next table. She was suspicious, and too perceptive for her own good.

You forced a shrug. “Ugh. Of course I get stuck with him.”

But inside? You were screaming. Absolutely thrilled.

Stiles awkwardly approached your table, nearly bumping into the chair behind him. “H-hey,” he said, voice cracking halfway through. “So…um. We’re partners.”

“Looks like it.” You crossed your legs slowly, pretending to be bored while you fought down a grin. “We’ll figure something out.”

His eyes flicked down to your legs, then up so fast you almost laughed. “Right. Yeah. Totally. I’m, uh, I’m good at biology. Well, not good. Medium. Like, average. But! I try hard.”

Lord help you, he was adorable. Too adorable. You smirked in amusement. “I’m sure we’ll make a great team.”

He visibly swallowed, and boy did you love the effect you had on him.

———————————————————————

At lunch, you spotted Stiles before he saw you. He was at his locker, muttering to himself as he rummaged through an avalanche of papers. His flannel was rumpled, his backpack was sliding off one shoulder, and he kept ruffling his buzzed hair in these nervous, distracted little motions that made you want to grab him by the collar and ruin him against the locker door.

This was perfect. You needed to get him alone, needed to get him into your room and on your bed and…Focus.

You walked straight up and touched his arm. He jumped like you’d tasered him.

“Shit! Oh, hi,” he sputtered, hand flying to his chest. “Sorry, I didn’t, uh, see…Hi.”

You slid your hand down his forearm slowly, casually, like you weren’t imagining how you’d be dragging it down his ribs later. “Relax,” you said gently, giving him your best smile. “You free to come over today? We should start the assignment.”

He blinked. Twice. Then a third time for good measure. “Today?” His voice cracked on the word. “At your house?”

You almost laughed. The way his brain short-circuited at the idea of being someplace as private as your bedroom? God, it made you want to drag him into the nearest storage cupboard and kiss him breathless.

He looked like someone had hit him with a frying pan. Like a very confused, startled, incredibly-cute, frying pan victim. You stepped closer. Close enough that he had to tilt his chin down just slightly to look at you. Close enough to let him know you were invading his personal space on purpose.

“Unless you’re busy,” you teased, voice dropping into something lower and sweeter. “But I figured getting a head start might be good.”

His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. He was goldfish-ing. “No, no! Oh my God, no, I’m not busy,” he blurted. “I’m, uh, I’m free. I’m completely free. Totally free. Like…aggressively free.”

You had to bite your lip hard to hold yourself back. This boy was going to kill you. “Good,” you murmured, leaning in just a little bit more. “I like a guy who’s…available.”

His eyes widened. You could practically see the thoughts hitting him one after another, like dominos falling. Does she mean that? Is she joking? She smells really good. Why is she so close? Do NOT look at her lips. Oh god, I looked at her lips.

He did. He absolutely did. And you let him. You loved it. “So,” you said softly, letting your fingers trail up the sleeve of his flannel before pulling back, “come over at five?”

He swallowed so hard you saw his throat bob. “Y-yeah. Yes. Five. I can do five. I’m, uh, very punctual. I can be earlier if you want earlier I can—”

“Five,” you repeated with a slow smile. “I want five.”

His ears turned pink. Deep pink. The kind of pink that told you he was fully imagining it - imagining being in your house, in your room, alone with you. Good. That was the goal.

You stepped backward, walking away with deliberate sway in your hips, and he watched. He tried not to, but he absolutely failed. Just before you disappeared around the corner, you glanced back over your shoulder.

“Don’t be late, Stiles.” You called back to him, and he looked like he was about to faint at just the sound of you getting his name right. He stood frozen, locker still hanging open, looking like he had just been both blessed and attacked.

You couldn’t wait for five o’clock.

———————————————————————

You had spent the entire hour before five obsessively checking your hair, your outfit, your bed, your perfume, everything. It wasn’t nerves, it was strategy. You wanted Stiles walking into your room and short-circuiting so hard he forgot how to blink.

When the doorbell rang at exactly 4:59, you smiled. Of course he was early. Adorable. Your parents were out until late. Everything was ready.

You opened the door, leaning one shoulder against the frame, a picture of effortless confidence. Stiles stood there gripping his backpack like it was a parachute and he’d just been thrown out of a helicopter.

His eyes dragged over you and stopped. Hard. “Oh,” he breathed. “Wow. I mean, hi. Hi. Sorry. Hi.”

You smirked. “Come in, Stiles.”

He obeyed instantly, like you’d flipped some internal switch. You led him up the stairs at a slow pace. Slow enough that he had no choice but to look at your legs, your hips, the casual sway you added just for him. And boy, did he look. He tried not to. But he did.

You closed your bedroom door behind you and paused, waiting for him to walk further inside before you.

He set his backpack down, clearing his throat. “S-so! Uh. Chapter five. Cell division. Pretty riveting stuff.”

You sat on the edge of your bed, crossing your legs, letting your already-short skirt ride just a little higher. “We can start there…if you want.”

Stiles sat in your desk chair like he was afraid it would bite him. He tugged at the strings of his hoodie, eyes darting everywhere but at you. You tilted your head. God, he was nervous. It was intoxicating.

He fumbled with the textbook. “Right, so, um, mitosis…”

You stretched out luxuriously on your side, fluffing your hair as your camisole lifted just enough to show a hint of stomach. “Stiles.”

“Mm?” His voice squeaked.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re not looking.”

He swallowed. Hard. “I wasn’t! I mean, I was, but I wasn’t…Looking is…sometimes it’s involuntary, like blinking, and, ah fuck.”

You laughed softly and patted the bed beside you. “Come sit over here. We’ll work better side by side.”

He hesitated, then stood and crossed the room like a man approaching a dangerous animal aware he might be devoured, but unsure if he minded. He sat beside you, leaving a polite gap. You closed that gap immediately, sitting up and sliding your thigh against his. His breath stuttered.

“Comfortable?” you asked, pretending innocence.

“Not even a little,” he whispered before he could stop himself.

Your smile grew. Good. You leaned over him to grab a pen from your nightstand, intentionally brushing your chest against his arm. Stiles went absolutely still, like you’d pressed a freeze button on him. When you sat back, your faces were incredibly close.

“Stiles,” you murmured, “why are you so nervous?”

He blinked rapidly. “Because you’re…You’re you. And we’re…we’re on your bed, in your room, and you’re wearing that and looking like that, and I’m…I’m a normal human man with, uh…organs.”

You snorted. “Organs?”

He covered his face with both hands. “Oh my God.”

You gently pulled his hands away. “I like when you ramble.”

“You do?” he said, completely thrown.

You nodded, voice dropping lower. “I like a lot of things about you.”

His cheeks flamed. “Name one.”

You leaned close enough that your lips almost brushed his ear. “Your smile. Or maybe it’s just your mouth in general.”

He made a helpless sound that was half choke and half whimper. That noise ignited something deep and hungry in you. You pulled back, watching his pupils blow wide. He was so into you. So flustered. So unbelievably, deliciously out of his depth. It drove you insane.

“Stiles,” you said softly, “do you know I’m flirting with you?”

He stared. “I…had suspicions?”

You bit back a smile. “No. I mean I am aggressively flirting with you.”

“You…are?”

You sighed dramatically, swinging a leg over his lap in one smooth movement, settling onto him with slow, deliberate pressure. His breath punched out of him. His hands shot to your hips like instinct.

You looked down at him, pinning him with your gaze. “Let me make it very, very clear.” You braced your hands against his shoulders, leaning in. “I want you, Stiles.”

A beat passed and his mouth fell open. “You…you do?”

You rolled your hips once, watching his eyes roll back just a little. “Yes,” you breathed. “I’ve wanted you, for a while.”

Stiles made another strangled noise. “You…? You want to…? To—”

“Hook up with you?” you finished for him. “Yeah. I do.”

His hands tightened on your waist. “Oh my God.”

You kissed him before he could spiral further. It was firm, slow, wanting. He gasped into your mouth, surprised but instantly responding, grabbing at you like he was afraid you’d vanish. He tasted like spearmint gum and he kissed like he’d fantasised about this just as much as you had. You shifted closer and he pulled you tighter. You nipped at his bottom lip and he let out a soft, desperate sound you felt in your core.

You broke the kiss only long enough to breathe against his mouth. “Lie down.”

He did. Instantly. You loved how obedient and responsive he was. You crawled over him, hair falling around your face, watching him pant beneath you, eyes wide, chest rising quickly. He looked wrecked already. Overwhelmed. Turned on out of his mind. You kissed down his neck, slow and lingering.

He arched under you. “Oh God! Okay! Oh, wow, yes!”

You smiled against his skin. “Sensitive, huh?”

“N-not usually,” he managed, “but you…holy shit!”

You rolled your hips down onto his again, and his head thumped back against your pillow, a helpless moan slipping out before he could catch it. “You like that?” you whispered.

“Yes,” he breathed, hands gripping your thigh, your waist, your back, anywhere he could touch. “Yes, fuck, yes.”

You kissed him again, though this time it was messier, deeper, and hungrier. He kissed back with enthusiasm that made your stomach flip, his hands skimming under your shirt, trembling but eager. You tugged off his hoodie, then his shirt. He made a nervous little sound, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands now that his brain was soup. You guided them to your hips.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

He did. Carefully at first. Then less carefully when you gasped. “Stiles,” you whispered, “I want you.”

He swallowed, eyes blown black. “I—I want you too. So much. You have no idea.”

“Oh,” you murmured, grinding down deliberately, “trust me. I do.”

What happened next was a blur of heat and breathless laughter, of him whispering your name like it meant something, of you scraping your nails over his buzzed hair and watching him fall apart under you. He was needy and sweet and overwhelmed in a way that made your whole body thrum.

And when you finally pulled him fully beneath you, skin to skin, his voice broke on a sound that made your stomach drop into your knees. “God, you’re perfect.”

You kissed him breathless for that one.

———————————————————————

The room smelled like you, and Stiles, heat and sweat and something musky that made your whole body hum like a live wire. You lay on your back, sheets beneath you rumpled, hair a complete disaster across the pillow. Your breathing was slow and heavy, every nerve ending relaxed in a way you hadn’t felt in…a while. And fuck, you were satisfied. More than satisfied.

Stiles was lying beside you, flat on his back, hands still half-curled in the air like he hadn’t figured out what to do with them after using them so very well on you. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his face bright red, wide eyes even wider than usual. He looked wrecked. Adorably, completely, wrecked.

You rolled your head to look at him. He immediately jolted like he’d been caught committing tax fraud. “I swear I don’t usually do that, like that. I mean I don’t usually do anything, actually, I’ve literally never…Well, I mean, I have hands, obviously, so technically I’ve done things but not with a real person who’s, uh, alive. Oh my God, please tell me to shut up. Why aren’t I shutting up?”

You laughed softly, still breathless. “Stiles.” He shut his mouth instantly. You propped yourself on one elbow and let your eyes glide over him, slow and deliberate. His cheeks turned even redder. “I liked it.”

He blinked. “You…what?”

“I liked it,” you repeated, leaning closer. “A lot.”

Stiles sat up too fast. Way too fast. So fast that he immediately fell off the side of your bed with a loud thump.

You dissolved into laughter. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he wheezed from the floor. “Totally fine. Nothing damaged except my dignity. Actually no, that’s been gone for years.”

He scrambled upright as he tugged his pants back on, tripping over your backpack, then your laundry basket, then nearly launching your lamp off the nightstand trying to steady himself.

You watched him, chest warm, a stupid smile tugging your lips upward. He was so nervous. So messy. So wildly flustered. And you were obsessed with him. More than before. Way more than before. And honestly? You were impressed. Stiles Stilinski - anxious, fidgety, always-apologizing Stiles - had been extremely good with his hands. Not confident, exactly…but diligent. Intentional. Focused like he was trying to ace a final exam he’d studied for all year. You wanted more. Immediately, if possible.

Stiles was finally pulling on his shirt when you decided to test something. You slid a hand along his bare back, nails lightly dragging.

He choked on air. “You’re…uh…you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Literally. I’m gonna die.”

You smirked. “I’ll be gentle.”

“No, see, that doesn’t help—”

Before you could tease him further, you heard a door open downstairs. There was the echo of voices and keys hitting the kitchen counter. Your parents were home.

Stiles went white. “Oh! Oh God! Oh no! Nope! Nope, absolutely not. I cannot be here, I should not be here, your parents will shoot me, your mom will throw holy water at me. Where are my shoes?!”

“They’re right there,” you laughed, pointing.

He grabbed them, tripped over your rug, caught himself on your dresser, sent two perfume bottles toppling, caught those mid-air, looked proud, then hit his head on your open dresser drawer. “OH THE PAIN!” he whisper-screamed.

You buried your face in your pillow, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. He pulled his hoodie over his head and the zipper got stuck on his shirt, trapping him. You had to sit up to help him. He thanked you like you’d rescued him from a burning building.

Downstairs, your dad’s voice called, “Honey? We’re home!”

Stiles froze again. “I have to go. I have to go right now.”

You stepped close, fingers hooking the front of his hoodie, pulling him down into a slow, warm kiss. He melted instantly, grip tightening on your waist. When you pulled back, his lips were parted, eyes wide, breath shaky.

“I want to do this again,” you whispered.

Stiles stared like he’d just witnessed a miracle. “Y-you do?”

“Definitely.”

He made a soft, overwhelmed sound. “I…I’ll text you. Or you text me. Or we could, uh, coordinate schedules. God, I’m so sweaty! Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here.”

“Stiles,” you whispered, amused, “go.”

He nodded vigorously, kissed you one more time - quick but desperate - and bolted for the stairs, trying to tiptoe but failing miserably.

Halfway down he whispered-shouted, “I LIKE YOU SO MUCH, THIS IS TERRIFYING.”

You smiled into your pillow again. Yeah, you needed more of him. Soon.

———————————————————————

You walked into school the next morning feeling different. Not outwardly different. You still looked like yourself, still had your perfect outfit and mascara and the confidence everyone expected from you. But inside? Inside you were warm. Glowing. Buzzing with the memory of the night before. Your body still hummed. Your brain still replayed his hands, his mouth, the way he’d looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

And now, here he was. Stiles Stilinski, leaning against his locker, attempting (and failing) to open a granola bar without tearing it into shreds. His jacket was messier than usual, his hoodie slightly crooked, his shoelaces completely untied.

You couldn’t look away. Your eyes went straight to the faint red mark on his neck. The one you had put there. Heat curled through your stomach.

He spotted you before you could pretend you weren’t staring. His whole body froze like someone had hit the pause button. His eyes went wide, his face instantly flushed, and he accidentally crushed the granola bar in his hand. It exploded everywhere.

“Oh God, no! WHY? Why does food hate me,” he muttered, dropping to the floor trying to gather the crumbs.

Your lips curved into a smile you couldn’t hide. You walked toward him slowly, and he visibly panicked, eyes darting left-right-like he was calculating an escape route. “Morning,” you said, low and warm.

Stiles nearly fell backward. “M-morning. Hi. Hello. HOW are you?” He articulated each sound like he’d forgotten how English worked.

You bit back a laugh. “I’m fantastic.”

He swallowed, staring everywhere except at you. When he finally met your eyes, it lasted half a second before he looked away like you were the sun.

“See you around, Stiles.” You winked at him and started to walk away, making sure to add a sway into your hips that made your skirt rise.

He was freaking out, and you found it adorable. Dangerously adorable. You were still admiring him from your locker when Lydia suddenly appeared at your elbow like a stylish jump scare. “Why are you staring at Stilinski?”

You didn’t jump. You did not jump.

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “You flinched.”

Okay, maybe you flinched a little. “I didn’t.”

“You did,” she said. “And you’re staring at him.”

“I’m not,” you said too fast. Way too fast. “He’s just…being weird. As usual.”

She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Stiles glanced over and saw Lydia looking at him. He immediately dropped all his textbooks. All of them. It was like his body couldn’t handle being perceived by Lydia Martin.

Lydia frowned, confused. “What is with him today?”

You shrugged, trying to look disinterested when all you wanted to do was pull Stiles into an empty classroom and kiss him until he forgot his own name. “I have no idea,” you lied smoothly.

But Lydia wasn’t stupid. She followed your gaze back to Stiles, who was currently spinning in a circle because his backpack strap had gotten caught on his locker door and he didn’t realise it. “…something is off,” she muttered.

You forced a dramatic sigh. “Lydia, nothing’s off. He’s always like that.”

“Hm,” she hummed, unconvinced, and marched off.

Stiles looked relieved like he’d escaped a predator. You approached him again once Lydia was gone. He backed into his locker like you were cornering him. Like last night had short-circuited his entire nervous system.

“Oh shit,” he whispered, eyes flicking to your lips then away. “What are you doing? You’re still…you. And I’m still…me.”

You stepped closer, voice soft. “Is that a problem?”

Stiles made a noise that sounded like a dying kettle. “Not a problem. Just a…situation. A, uh, unique challenge.”

Your smile widened. “Stiles. Look at me.”

He did, for exactly one moment. And in that moment, his expression softened. It was almost reverent. Like he was remembering every second of last night. Like he wanted more but had no idea how to function now that he’d actually gotten you once.

Your chest tightened in a way you didn’t expect. But then you heard footsteps, and Stiles practically launched himself away from you like the hallway floor was lava.

“I CAN’T TALK TO PEOPLE RIGHT NOW,” he blurted, speed-walking down the hall.

You pressed your lips together to hide your grin. God, the way he panicked after hooking up with you was almost just as fun as the actual hooking up part.

———————————————————————

He didn’t look at you for the next two classes. Correction, he didn’t look at you directly. But he stared constantly. Through the gaps between books, around corners, over his shoulder, and in the reflection of classroom windows. Every time your eyes met his - accidentally - he spun away like a malfunctioning Roomba.

During lunch, Lydia kept watching the both of you suspiciously. After fourth period, you found Stiles at his locker again, pretending to look inside it even though it was almost empty. You walked past casually, brushing your fingers against his hand. Just a graze, lightning quick.

Stiles shivered. Full body. You slipped a folded piece of paper into his palm. He looked down at it like you’d handed him a live grenade. He unfolded it, then stared at it, swallowed hard, then looked up at you. He didn’t speak, he just nodded. And it wasn’t nervous. Not this time. This time it was hungry.

———————————————————————

You and Lydia sat on the bleachers like you always did, your skirts smoothed neatly beneath you, your bags dropped at your feet. Jackson and the rest of the team were running drills on the field, shouting, cursing, and sweating. It all should’ve had your attention. Jackson was objectively good to watch. Everyone knew that. But your eyes weren’t on Jackson. They were glued to Stiles.

There he was in full lacrosse gear that looked like it weighed more than his entire body. His helmet was slightly crooked, he kept adjusting his gloves like they were personally torturing him, and his stick handling was…well, abysmal.

“God,” Lydia scoffed, flipping her hair. “Stilinski and McCall are actual public embarrassments. I swear to God, watching them play is like watching baby giraffes try to walk for the first time.”

You snorted on instinct, but your eyes were glued to Stiles’ thighs as he sprinted. Jesus. Why were his legs that good? You followed the way the muscles in them tightened, how his jersey clung to his back, damp from sweat. At one point he pushed his helmet up to wipe his forehead, and you got a full view of his messy, sweat-mussed hair, cheeks flushed pink.

And all you could think of was how he’d looked the night before. Flushed. Breathless. Gorgeous. You crossed your legs tightly and tried to play it cool.

“Totally,” you said, even though your voice came out breathier than intended.

Lydia didn’t notice. She was too busy dissecting Jackson’s technique and muttering coaching tips he’d never hear. But you kept watching Stiles. Watching the way he stumbled and caught himself. Watching the way he laughed at something Scott said, chest heaving with exertion. Watching the way the uniform clung to places you’d had your hands on last night.

And all you could think was, God, I want him again. I want him pressed against me in that stupid uniform. I want him sweaty and breathless for an entirely different reason. He bent down to tie his shoe and you swallowed thickly. You were done for.

Lydia elbowed you lightly. “You’re zoning out. What are you even looking at?”

“Uh, Danny,” you lied quickly. “His…form.”

Lydia hummed. “Hm. Must be a new angle, because you are staring awfully far down the field.”

You forced a laugh, but your stomach twisted. You had to get out of here before she put anything together. When the coach finally blew the last whistle, the team started heading toward the locker rooms.

Lydia stood, brushing off her skirt. “Practice is over. Want a ride home?”

Your heart thumped. You heard yourself say, light and airy, “Oh, no, I’m gonna stay back and study.”

Lydia paused, her eyes narrowing into that terrifyingly observant Lydia Martin look. “With who?” she asked, voice sharp in that sweet way of hers.

You shrugged with practiced casualness. “Just by myself.”

Suspicion colored her whole face. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m acting completely normal,” you insisted. “You’re the one who’s been strange today.”

Thankfully she didn’t push further. She just gave you that look, like she’d circle back later, and grabbed her bag. “You better text me later,” she warned, heels clicking away down the bleachers.

You exhaled shakily as she disappeared. Then you grabbed your own bag and slid quietly beneath the bleachers, stepping into the shadowed space underneath. The air smelled like grass and dirt and old metal. The sound of the team laughing somewhere near the locker rooms drifted through the field.

You waited exactly where you’d told him to meet you in the note you’d slipped into his hand earlier. Your heart fluttered with anticipation, nerves, and excitement. He’d come. You knew he would.

You leaned against one of the beams, pulse picking up at the thought of seeing him again. Of what you might end up doing to him if he let you. You bit your lip. God, you hoped he’d let you.

———————————————————————

You heard the footsteps before you saw him. They were fast, uneven, like he’d jogged the whole way from the locker room. Then Stiles appeared through the shadows.

His hair was damp and sticking up in ridiculous directions, clearly from a rushed shower. A few droplets still clung to his temples. He wore low basketball shorts slung loose on his hips and his lacrosse jersey, the fabric stretching deliciously across his shoulders. His cheeks were pink from the heat of the shower, or nerves.

“Hey,” he said, stopping short like he’d run face-first into an invisible wall. “I got your note. Obviously. Because I’m here. Uh, hi.”

You didn’t bother answering. You stepped forward and grabbed the front of his jersey, yanking him under the bleachers fully, into the shadows.

His breath caught. “W-wait, are we…? Are we doing this again?” he stammered.

“You took too long,” you whispered, and before he could reply, you kissed him. Hard.

Stiles made a startled noise against your mouth, like his brain short-circuited in real time. But then his hands were on your waist, hesitant at first, then gripping tighter when you deepened the kiss. His lips were warm, soft, a little desperate (he was always desperate) and you loved it.

You pressed him back against one of the metal beams, kissing him again and again, biting his bottom lip just to hear the sound he made when you did.

Stiles exhaled shakily. “You…you can’t just…God!”

“You smell good,” you murmured against his throat. “Fresh out of the shower?”

He nodded, dazed. “I ran. I didn’t want you waiting and thinking I ditched you. I would never ditch you. I mean, unless you wanted me to ditch you. In which case I—”

“Stiles,” you breathed, “shut up.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, and he made a soft, helpless sound that lit you on fire. Your hands slid under his jersey, over warm skin and tense muscle. Stiles jolted, inhaling sharply.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “I think I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

“Not today.” You tugged him closer by his waistband, feeling his breath hitch, watching the way his eyes went wide and dizzy. You loved how every thought he had showed right on his face. Panic, want, awe, panic again.

“I’ve been thinking about this all practice,” you said, voice low. “About you. In this stupid uniform.”

Stiles swallowed like he physically had to work moisture into his mouth. “Yeah? Because I-I’ve been thinking about last night.”

That heat shot straight through you. He was so painfully honest. So bad at hiding what he felt. So good at making you feel wanted without even trying. You kissed him again, dragging him by the wrist as you started walking. “Come on.”

“Where are we—“

You anticipated his question before he could finish and cut him off in a hurry. “To your car.”

Stiles nearly tripped over his own feet. “My car? Like, now?”

“Unless you want to stay out here,” you teased, pulling him past the last metal pillar and into the open. The parking lot was empty, with just his powder blue Jeep sitting alone, a far distance from the nearest light pole.

Stiles stopped dead. “We’re…we’re not seriously…?”

You didn’t let him finish. You pushed him back against the passenger door and kissed him again, hard enough that he gasped slightly. He was warm and flustered and breathing too fast, hands hovering uselessly like he didn’t know where to put them.

Then he finally settled them, one on your hip, one at the back of your neck, and kissed you back with a sudden confidence that made your knees weaken. “Back seat,” you breathed.

Stiles fumbled with the door handle. Dropped his keys, picked them up, then dropped them again.

“Jesus, Stiles,” you laughed softly, “you’re adorable.”

“That’s not…I’m not trying to be. I’m just…you’re—” He made a vaguely strangled sound and finally yanked the door open.

You climbed in first, pulling him by the jersey until he practically fell into the Jeep on top of you, laughing breathlessly as the door slammed shut behind him. His hands were steadier this time. His kisses deeper, more sure. Still clumsy in the way that made your heart ache, but better. So much better.

“Last night probably wasn’t the best,” he murmured, almost embarrassed. “But I paid attention. I can do that. I like doing that. Paying attention to you.”

That spark shot straight through your spine. You kissed him again, and the rest unfolded in a tangled rush of heat, hands, breathless laughter, soft curses, and the kind of desperate closeness you’d been thinking about all day. The windows fogged. The Jeep rocked just a little.

And Stiles - sweet, frantic, unbelievably good Stiles - was even better than he’d been the night before.

———————————————————————

The world settled slowly around you. Your breathing, your heartbeat, and the soft hum of the Jeep’s engine cooling. The windows were fogged so heavily you could barely see the field outside, and the air inside was warm and sweet and full of the lingering adrenaline between you.

Stiles lay half on top of you, half beside you, one arm braced awkwardly near your head, the other somewhere on the seat because he genuinely didn’t seem to know where to put it. His buzzed hair was a mess again. His cheeks were flushed. His breathing was uneven in that adorable ‘trying to pull myself together’ way.

“Wow,” he said softly, blinking at the ceiling of the Jeep like it had personally changed his life.

You laughed, brushing your fingers gently over his forehead. “Yeah. Wow.”

He swallowed, his eyes darting anywhere but yours. To your face, the window, the car ceiling, your lips, and then immediately away from your lips like they were radioactive.

“You…you keep doing that,” he mumbled.

“Doing what?” you teased, tracing your fingertips down the side of his neck.

“That.” His voice cracked. “Being…like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like, into me.” He said it like it was a foreign language.

You felt your chest warm. “Stiles. I literally climbed into your car to have my way with you until your windows steamed up.”

“Yeah, but, like, on purpose.” He sat up slightly. “That’s wild.”

You gently pulled him down for a soft, slow kiss. It was sweet and unhurried. The kind that made your stomach flip in a different way. Stiles melted into it, then immediately shot up again like he remembered something embarrassing.

“Oh my God. My car, my jersey, I probably smell like…like locker room death!”

“Relax,” you laughed, pushing lightly at his chest. “You smell good. And you look cute.”

He blushed all the way to his ears. “Cute?” He repeated it like it was a holy word.

“Very.”

He tried to get off the back seat gracefully. He failed spectacularly. His foot got caught in the strap of his duffel bag and he pitched sideways into the front seat console with a loud clunk.

“Ow, okay. No, I’m good, I’m good,” He scrambled up, knocking something else over. A water bottle rolled, hit the door, and fell onto the floor of the car.

You pressed a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing too loudly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, rubbing his elbow. “Totally fine. Not in pain. Definitely not in pain. I’m…I’m gonna drive you home now.”

“Okay,” you giggled, sliding out of the back seat.

You climbed into the passenger seat, still a little breathless, still a little flushed. Stiles started the Jeep, cleared the fogged windshield with his sleeve (somehow making it worse), and finally got the wipers to do their job.

He was still nervous. But something in him had shifted. There was a warmth now. A glow of confidence under all the fluster. He tapped the radio on. Fleetwood Mac filled the Jeep - ‘Dreams’ drifting softly through the speakers.

You blinked. “You like Fleetwood Mac?”

Stiles glanced at you, surprised. “Uh, obviously. I’m not a monster.”

You grinned. “I love them.”

His shoulders relaxed. “Yeah?”

“Especially their Rumours album.”

Stiles’ mouth slowly curved into a smile you hadn’t seen before. It was shy, but proud. “Okay hold on, wait, what else do you listen to?”

“Dad rock,” you admitted. “My parents raised me on classic rock and 80s hits.”

Stiles slapped the steering wheel lightly. “No. No way. I thought you were like, top forty hyperpop, or whatever Lydia listens to.”

“I mean I like that too,” you said. “But I love the old stuff.”

He turned down the music just a little. “Name your top three.”

“Bon Jovi, Nirvana, some Lana.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped. “Bon Jovi? You like Bon Jovi?”

You raised a brow. “You don’t?”

“Oh my god, this is insane!” he muttered, shaking his head dramatically. “You’re like a sleeper nerd.”

You burst out laughing. “A sleeper nerd?”

“Yes. A nerd hiding in a popular girl’s body. A stealth nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd,” you insisted, still laughing.

“Really?” Stiles shot you a sideways look. “Because that’s what they all say before I find out they know every line to Star Wars.”

You froze. Then raised a slow eyebrow. “Does it have to be every line?”

Stiles gasped. Loudly. “NO.”

You bit your lip. “Yes.”

He threw his head back against the headrest. “Oh my GOD. You like Star Wars! This is…this is huge! This is like discovering a new species.”

You shoved his shoulder playfully. “Shut up.”

“No, I mean it,” he grinned. “I had no idea you were secretly cool.”

“Secretly?”

“I mean, you’re hot,” he said immediately, then panicked. “I mean like, obviously, you know that. Everyone knows that. BUT you’re also secretly cool and kind of a nerd and it’s honestly messing with my brain.”

Your heart fluttered and you looked at him and for the first time, the crush in your chest didn’t feel like just lust. It felt like interest. Connection. Something warmer, deeper, and sweeter.

You smiled. “Maybe you just never bothered to get to know me.”

Stiles’ voice softened. “I’m getting to know you now.”

———————————————————————

Stiles practically burst through his front door when he got home.

“Hey son, how was prac—”

“CAN’T TALK, DAD!” he yelped, sprinting past Sheriff Stilinski like he was escaping a crime scene.

He bolted upstairs, slammed his bedroom door, and immediately collapsed face-first onto his bed with a loud, muffled groan. It was the groan of a man who had just gotten everything he ever wanted and had no clue how to emotionally process it.

He lay there for a good ten seconds, kicking his legs like an overwhelmed Victorian maiden, before ripping his phone out of his pocket. He dialed Scott and his best friend picked up on the third ring, sounding tired. “Dude, it’s almost nine. What’s up?”

Stiles inhaled like he needed fresh oxygen to speak. “SCOTT.”

“…Stiles?”

“SCOTT.”

“Why are you yelling?”

“She kissed me.”

There was a pause. “Who kissed you?”

“She kissed me.” Another pause.

“…Stiles, you need to use a name. Preferably a real one.”

Stiles sat up, eyes wide and wild as he told Scott your name. “You know, Lydia’s best friend. The girl who wears lip gloss that costs more than my monthly car insurance. The girl who sits two rows ahead of you in Econ. The girl who is - objectively - way too hot to be seen with someone who collects limited edition Star Wars socks.”

Scott blinked audibly through the phone. “She kissed you?”

“YES.”

Scott’s voice softened, warm and supportive. “That’s great, man!”

Stiles choked. “It…it gets better.”

“Oh.” Scott hesitated. “Uh, define ‘better.’”

“She kissed me under the bleachers.”

“Okay…”

“She dragged me to my car.”

“Uh-huh…”

“And then we…We…” He violently flailed one hand in the air, even though Scott couldn’t see him. “WE DID…THINGS, SCOTT.”

“Oh my God, Stiles.”

“WE DID THINGS TWICE. This was the second time it happened.”

Scott made a strangled noise. “STILES.”

Stiles threw himself backward onto his pillows, kicking his feet in the air like a flustered hamster. “And she likes Fleetwood Mac, Scott. Fleetwood. Freaking. Mac.”

“Okay, cool—”

“And STAR WARS.”

“Everyone likes Star Wars.”

“No, Scott. She knows the lines.” He sat up, deadly serious. “She’s a total sleeper nerd.”

Scott paused. “…Whoa.”

“RIGHT?” Stiles stood up, started pacing. “She’s, like, the hottest girl in school, and she’s secretly a nerd and she likes me and she keeps kissing me and I don’t…Scott, I don’t know what to do with ANY of this information.”

“Stiles, it sounds like she just…likes you.”

Stiles froze mid-pace. His brain short-circuited. “No,” he said immediately, too quickly, voice cracking. “I physically can’t deal with that. I’m not…nope. That’s not…I don’t—”

Scott sighed. “Dude. You’re gone.”

“Gone where?” Stiles asked, panicked.

“Gone. Like…crushing. Hard.”

Stiles’ mouth opened, closed, opened again. “I, no, I don’t…Okay, I like her but not like…I mean, okay, I do like her but that’s only because she smells really good and laughs at my jokes and is secretly a nerd and has really nice…well, everything.”

“Stiles,” Scott interrupted gently. “I can hear you blushing through the phone.”

“What if she wants to do this again? What if she wants it to be like a regular things?” Stiles collapsed back onto the bed again with a loud dramatic groan. “Oh my god, Scott. I’m going to die.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. I am catastrophically unprepared for this.”

“Just…talk to her,” Scott said. “Hang out. Be honest. You don’t have to freak out.”

“I DO have to freak out,” Stiles shot back, gripping his pillow like it was a flotation device. “Because she…Scott, she kissed me like she meant it.”

There was a smile in Scott’s voice when he answered. “Well…maybe she did.”

Stiles went silent, his heart thundering as eyes wide. “…Holy crap.”

———————————————————————

It happened slowly, then all at once. A pattern formed between you and Stiles. A rhythm. A secret life you lived only with him. What started as desperate kisses and rushed hookups - stolen moments after school, under bleachers, in dark corners - turned into something else entirely. It became routine. Comfortable. Addicting.

You started meeting up without even needing to plan it. You’d text ‘hey’, and he’d reply ‘on my way’, and within ten minutes he’d be at your doorstep, half-panicked, half-excited, always breathless.

Sometimes it was at your place, sneaking him up to your room while your parents were at work. Sometimes at his house, while his dad worked late and Stiles pretended to do homework. Other times it was the back seat of the Jeep on a back road off the highway, windows down, wind blowing through your hair while Stiles kissed you like he couldn’t believe you were real. Once, it was on a blanket in the preserve under a sky full of stars - a moment that surprised both of you with how soft it felt, how slow, how unhurried.

And slowly, something shifted. Because it wasn’t always physical. There were days you two didn’t hook up at all. Days where you just…hung out. You watched movies together. Old ones he loved, new ones you made him watch. You talked for hours, lying upside down on his bed or sprawled on your carpet, laughing about the stupidest things.

You listened to music together, trading songs and arguing about which album was best. Little by little, you began to crave his presence, not just his touch. And he started relaxing around you. Getting funnier. Goofier. More Stiles. Before you even realised it, you and Stiles weren’t just sneaking around anymore. You were seeing each other. You were becoming something. Even if neither of you said it out loud.

The night it shifted fully, you were in the preserve again. You’d driven with him into the trees until the path grew narrow and the canopy blocked out most of the sky. The Jeep sat in the clearing, engine off, crickets humming around you. The two of you climbed into the back seat automatically, the same way you always did, but something felt different immediately.

Stiles looked at you like he was trying to memorise you. Not like he was nervous you’d disappear. Not like he was overwhelmed. Just…struck.

“You okay?” you whispered, brushing his hair back without thinking.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I just…I like being here. With you.”

Your chest tightened in a way that scared you and thrilled you at the same time. You leaned in to kiss him, expecting the usual rush of heat, urgency, the frantic rhythm the two of you always fell into.

But Stiles kissed you slower. Softer. Like he had all the time in the world. His hand slid into your hair, fingertips brushing your scalp gently, sending a warm shiver down your spine. His other hand rested on your waist, steady and sure, guiding you closer instead of pulling frantically.

His lips moved with yours in perfect, tender sync. You melted. It wasn’t the familiar wildfire of wanting him. It was something deeper. You pulled back slightly, breath shaky, eyes meeting his in the dim light.

“Stiles…” you whispered, not even knowing what you were about to say.

He touched your cheek, thumb tracing along your jawline like he couldn’t help it. “I know,” he said softly. “Me too.”

You kissed him again, your fingers sliding into the hair at the base of his neck as he moved with you, warm and gentle and so heartbreakingly present. It felt less like hooking up. More like falling.

Your bodies found each other naturally, slowly, hands exploring with intention instead of urgency. His kisses trailed along your jaw, down your neck, and for once you didn’t feel rushed, or hidden, or like you had to stifle your breathing. You felt seen.

Stiles paused only to look at you again with the kind of look you usually avoided out of fear it would reveal too much. This time, you held it. Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. He covered your hand with his own, fingers lacing with yours without hesitation. You’d never held hands during…this. But now, it felt like the most intimate thing you’d ever done together.

Everything between you moved gently - warm breath, warm skin, warm hands - like you were synced without needing to talk. And when you came together, it wasn’t rushed or chaotic. It wasn’t about desperation or thrill anymore. It was emotional. Connected. Equal. It was the kind of closeness that made your eyes sting in a way you didn’t dare acknowledge.

Stiles held you afterward, his arms wrapping around you, your cheek resting on his chest. His heart was still beating a little too fast, but steadier than usual. He stroked your back absentmindedly, like he was touching you just to reassure himself you were still there. You swallowed hard, overwhelmed by how safe it felt.

He whispered, almost too softly to hear. “This…feels different, right?”

You nodded against him. “Yeah,” you whispered. “It does.”

Stiles exhaled, shaky but hopeful, and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Neither of you said the word for it. Neither of you dared to. But you both knew, it wasn’t just hooking up anymore. Not even close.

————————————————————

You didn’t even notice Lydia watching you at first. You were at your locker between classes, still a little dazed from the night before. The memory of Stiles’ hands on your waist in the back of the Jeep occupied the forefront of your mind - the slow, aching kisses that had made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t prepared for. You were smiling at your books like a complete idiot when a manicured hand slammed the locker door shut right in front of your face.

You jumped. Lydia stood there with her arms crossed, hip cocked, eyebrows raised like she had just solved a murder case.

“So,” she said. “You want to tell me why you smell like men’s deodorant? Specifically cheap men’s deodorant?”

Your heart stopped. “I…what? Lydia, I do not. That’s insane.”

She scoffed. “You’re a good liar, but you’re not that good. You’ve been hooking up with someone, and I wanna know who. Spill the beans.”

“There’s no one, Lydia.” You insisted, shaking your head.

“I know there is, so why don’t you just tell me?” Lydia scoffed.

Your stomach flipped. You forced a laugh, tried to look casual. “Why would you even assume there is anyone.”

“Come on.” Lydia leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You disappeared for all of lunch last week and when you finally got to English, you had closet hair. I’ve never seen you going to the library to ‘study’ this much in your life. You never answer your phone late at night anymore, and you’re always busy but you’re never doing anything.”

You touched your hair automatically. Damn her. She missed nothing.

“So?” she continued to prod sharply, “Come on, it’s not like it’s Stilinski, right, so how bad can it be?”

You froze. Lydia watched your face, saw the reaction, and her eyes widened. “Oh. My god. No! Stilinski? You are!”

“Lydia—” you began.

“You’re hooking up with Stiles Stilinski?”

You looked away, cheeks burning, and that was answer enough.

Lydia blinked at you like you’d just told her you were dating a garden shovel. “Why? He’s…he’s Stiles.”

Something ugly twisted inside you. Embarrassment, yes, but anger too. Shame. And suddenly you were ashamed of being ashamed. You straightened slowly. “And what exactly is wrong with Stiles?”

Lydia opened her mouth. You didn’t let her. “No, seriously. Tell me. What’s wrong with liking someone who’s smart and funny and actually treats me like I matter?”

Lydia looked startled. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.” Your voice trembled, but you didn’t care. “And I’m really tired of pretending I don’t care about him just because you and Jackson think he’s some kind of loser.”

Her face tightened. “I just…don’t want you to tank your social life for someone who—”

“Someone who what? Isn’t Jackson?” you shot back. “Newsflash, Lydia, I don’t want someone like Jackson.” She flinched. You felt the hit land but couldn’t stop now. “I like him,” you said, soft but firm. “I like Stiles and I’m not embarrassed about it. Not anymore.”

Lydia stared at you, but for once, she had no quick reply. You turned on your heel before she could form one.

Stiles was at the end of the hallway, rummaging in his backpack like he was fighting with it. Scott was beside him chatting. A few other students walked past. Normal scene. Totally ordinary. Except everything inside you was rushing and roaring. Stiles looked up and froze when he saw you marching straight toward him.

“Uh, hi?” he said, voice squeaking in that adorable Stiles way.

You didn’t even slow down. You grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him down, and kissed him full on the mouth right there in the crowded hallway. A wave of gasps rippled across the student body. Someone even dropped a binder with a loud BANG!

Stiles made a shocked little noise against your lips, then melted. Hands grasping your waist, pulling you closer, kissing you back like he’d been starved for days. When you finally pulled away, Stiles blinked rapidly, dazed and breathless.

“Wh—what? What is happening?” he whispered.

“I’m not hiding us anymore,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “If you still want this.”

His swallow was audible. His eyes were so wide and warm and stunned. “If I still want this?” He gave a helplessly smitten laugh. “I’ve been in, like, a constant state of cardiac arrest over you for weeks.”

You grinned, grabbed his hand. “Good,” you said softly. “Come on.”

Still in shock, Stiles let you drag him away down the hall, past the staring students, past Lydia frozen with her mouth slightly open, past everything. You didn’t look back. And Stiles didn’t stop smiling.

————————————————————

By the time the afternoon bell rang, the entire school knew. You and Stiles had kissed. Not just kissed, but kissed kissed, in full view of a hallway full of gossips and amateur Instagram detectives. Everywhere you walked, people whispered.

“Wait, her? And Stiles?”

“How did that even happen?”

“Well, good for him.”

“Did she lose a bet?”

“No way, I think she actually likes him.”

You squeezed Stiles’ hand tighter every time someone stared too long. He squeezed back, though his ears had been pink since third period.

“Are you okay?” you murmured as you walked toward the exit.

He inhaled sharply. “I’m either fine or I’m dying. Hard to tell. But I’m definitely holding your hand so that’s…winning.”

You bumped his shoulder with a smile. “You’re adorable.”

He made a little strangled sound but didn’t let go. You were two steps from the doors when someone grabbed your elbow and tugged you aside.

Lydia.

Stiles blinked, startled and wary. “Uh, I can wait over there? Or, like…pretend to be invisible? Which is my specialty.”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, but Lydia’s expression was unreadable.

Stiles hesitated, then moved a few feet away. He was close enough to keep an eye on you, far enough to give you space. You turned to Lydia, already bracing.

“If you’re going to tell me how big of a mistake this is—”

“I’m not,” she cut in.

You froze. Lydia folded her arms, not defensive, just…small. “I’m here to apologize.”

That shut you up completely. Lydia looked down at her shoes before meeting your eyes again. “I was awful earlier. Judgmental and and honestly? Really rude.”

You blinked, thrown off balance. This was not the ambush you were prepared for.

She exhaled shakily. “I think I reacted that way because…I didn’t understand. And maybe because I’ve never seen you choose someone based on how he makes you feel, instead of how he makes you look.”

Your irritation softened a fraction.

“And Stiles…” Lydia shrugged helplessly. “He’s not what I imagined for you. But that doesn’t mean he’s wrong for you.”Her voice gentled. “I see the way he looks at you. Like you hung the moon. And I saw the way you looked at him today.” Lydia’s lips curved in a small, sad smile. “No one’s ever had you look that soft.”

Heat pricked the backs of your eyes unexpectedly.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, sincere and quiet.

You exhaled slowly, the tension leaving your shoulders. “I love you, Lydia. But you were being a bitch.”

Lydia nodded. “I know.”

“But,” you added, “I forgive you.”

That earned the faintest relieved smile. Lydia squeezed your hand. “Just…don’t get hurt, okay?”

“I won’t,” you said, and you meant it. You stepped away from her and walked back toward Stiles.

He perked up immediately, like a golden retriever waiting for permission to wag his tail. “Everything okay?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” you said, threading your fingers through his again. “Everything’s perfect.”

“Lee!” Coach barked, tossing him a red jersey. “You’re on Team B. Let’s go!”

Mark jogged over, muttering apologies as he passed you. “Hey,” he said with a sheepish grin, his voice slightly breathless.

“Hey,” you replied, amused. “Rough morning?”

“You have no idea,” he mumbled, pulling the jersey over his head.

Mark was… Mark. Sweet, funny, always a little awkward. You’d known him since middle school, and while he wasn’t exactly the athletic type, you’d never really cared. You’d bonded over you bonded over your mutual interests, anyways, and volleyball was not on the list.

The game started, and you hung back like always, hoping to avoid the ball as much as possible. Mark, however, was front and center.

When the ball came his way, you winced, expecting it to bounce off his face or fly past him entirely. But instead, Mark jumped—higher than seemed possible—and spiked the ball with enough force to make it slam into the court.

Your jaw dropped.

“Whoa!” someone yelled.

Even Coach looked impressed. “Nice hit, Lee! Where’d you learn that?”

Mark shrugged, his face slightly flushed. “Lucky shot.”

As the game went on, Mark’s “luck” didn’t run out. He dove to the floor to save a ball, slid across the court with the grace of a pro, and even managed to block a spike that seemed way out of reach.

By the time the game ended, the entire class was buzzing.

“Did Mark join a secret volleyball league or something?”

You couldn’t help but grin, though your curiosity was starting to bubble over. Since when could he do any of this?

During a break, you found him leaning against the wall, gulping down water like he’d just run a marathon.

“Since when did you play volleyball like that?” you asked, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow.

He nearly choked, coughing and spluttering as his face turned red. “I—uh, I’ve been practicing?”

“Practicing?” you echoed, unimpressed. “Mark, the last time we played volleyball, you tripped over the net and nearly took me down with you.”

He let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… things change?”

You squinted at him, unconvinced. There was something different about him lately—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Before you could press him further, Coach’s whistle blew, calling everyone back to the court. Mark shot you a quick smile before jogging off, leaving you standing there, your curiosity growing by the second.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

As the day went on, you started noticing more little things about him. In English class, he caught a pen mid-air without even looking, like he had eyes in the back of his head.

“Nice reflexes, Spidey,” you joked, nudging him.

Mark laughed nervously, shoving the pen into his bag. “Just got lucky,” he said quickly, avoiding your gaze.

Then, in chemistry, he managed to grab a beaker you almost knocked off the table before it shattered on the floor. His hand shot out so fast you barely saw it.

“Whoa,” you said, staring at him. “How’d you do that?”

Mark shrugged, his cheeks turning red. “I dunno, instincts?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could say anything, the teacher called for everyone’s attention.

By lunchtime, you were keeping a closer eye on him, trying to figure out what was going on. He seemed more jittery than usual, like he was trying to avoid drawing attention to himself but failing miserably.

When someone dropped their tray in the cafeteria, sending food flying, Mark’s head snapped toward the commotion before anyone else had even noticed. He looked like he was about to jump out of his seat before he caught himself and forced a laugh.

“You good?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, totally,” he said, shoving a fry into his mouth. “Just… startled, that’s all.”

You didn’t believe him for a second, but you let it slide. For now.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of classes, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different about Mark. He’d clearly changed somehow, but you couldn’t put your finger on what exactly was different.

And as much as you wanted to ignore it, you couldn’t help but wonder: what was he hiding?

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

Your parents had been asleep for hours by the time Mark came over that night. It was one of those quiet, lazy Friday nights where the two of you didn’t need to talk much. Just snacks, a couple of blankets, and a well-worn stack of DVDs.

You weren’t supposed to have people over this late—especially not boys—but it was Mark. If your parents knew it was him, they’d probably be fine with it. Still, sneaking him in through your fire escape gave the night a little thrill.

The two of you were huddled on your bed, knees bumping each other as the movie played on the TV. It was some action flick Mark had picked out, but your attention was divided between the screen and him. He looked more relaxed now than he had at school, though every now and then, you caught him glancing toward the door, like he was expecting someone to barge in.

“You good?” you asked softly, nudging him with your elbow.

“Huh? Yeah, totally,” he said, flashing you a sheepish grin. “Just… didn’t expect him to survive that fall.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “It’s a superhero movie, Mark. No one ever dies unless it’s to make the hero angsty.”

He chuckled at that, leaning back into the couch. “Fair point.”

As the movie went on, the two of you started whispering back and forth, your voices barely louder than the hum of the TV.

“Okay, that was so fake,” you said, gesturing at the screen as the hero miraculously dodged a bullet.

Mark smirked. “You’re telling me this is where you draw the line?”

“I have standards!”

He shook his head, stifling a laugh, when suddenly his posture stiffened. His head tilted slightly, and his hand reached out, brushing your arm.

“Hey,” he whispered, his tone urgent. “Be quiet for a second.”

You blinked at him, confused. “What?”

“Shh,” he insisted, sitting up straighter. His eyes darted toward the hallway, and he moved to hide on the ground next to the bed, out of view of your doorway.

“What’s your problem?” you asked, a little too loudly.

Before he could answer, the door creaked open, and your mom peeked in, her expression equal parts annoyed and groggy.

“Y/N,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s almost midnight. Keep it down, okay?”

Your eyes went wide. “Oh! Sorry, Mom. I’ll quiet down.”

She lingered for a moment, her gaze sweeping the room. You held your breath, praying she wouldn’t notice the second pair of sneakers tucked gently away next to your your bedside table. Thankfully, she just nodded and shuffled back down the hallway.

The second the coast was clear, you turned to Mark, your heart still racing.

“How the hell did you know she was coming?” you hissed, keeping your voice low this time.

Mark scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. “I, uh… I just… I don’t know, I guess I heard her footsteps?”

“Footsteps?” you repeated, narrowing your eyes at him. “Mark, I didn’t hear anything. How did you hear her through a closed door? And while we were talking, no less?”