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Summary: At a strict boarding school, a socially anxious transfer student and a beloved girl with a secret love for theatre find courage, rebellion, and each other â proving that choosing your voice, and your heart, can be a gentle act of defiance.
Notes: heavily inspired by Dead Poets Society (1989), fluff, kinda slow burn, written in 2nd person pov, natalie portman might be the teacher idk
Word Count: 9.5k words
Neil! Sophia Laforteza x Todd! fem!reader
A/N: happy 23rd to my beloved fifi !
Welton Academy for Young Women looked a little different from the pictures youâve seen before. After years of quiet anonymity living with your mother in Manchester, your father had insisted on the transfer for senior year. âFollow your sisterâs footstepsâ, they said, âItâll be good for you.â
The old Gothic Revival architecture of the building reminded you well enough of United Kingdom. Perhaps, it wouldnât feel too different from home. But Welton Academy is the kind of place where the hallways echoed with footsteps that knew exactly where they were going.
You did not.
Your parents had left earlier, but the Headmistressâs words still prickled at the back of your mind, heavy with expectation. âGlad to have finally met the younger Anderson. You have big shoes to fill, young lady. Marquise was one of our best students.â The comparison felt like an invisible weight.
Your suitcase wheels now rolled awkwardly against the polished floors as you walked down the east dormitory wing, the sound too loud in the silent corridor. You tried to memorize the numbers on each door, but everything blurred â too new, too intimidating, too quiet in the wrong places. Unfamiliarity never felt safe for a socially anxious individual, much less sharing a room with a popular student.
You had met Sophia Laforteza after the infamous candlelit ceremony to welcome new Welton students. And now, your stomach twisted with nerves as you stood in front of your shared space for the next ten months. You raised your closed fist a few times before deciding to land two knocks on the wooden door.
A moment later, the door opened. Sophia looked up from tying her hair, a loose ribbon between her fingers. She was still in her Welton uniform, the gray blazer contrasting her gently flushed cheeks like sheâd just laughed at something.
âOh, Y/N! I was just about to come back for you,â then her eyes turned apologetic. âIâm so sorry you had to navigate the halls by yourself.â
âItâs fine,â You responded meekly.
Sophia, stepped aside, holding the door wider for you to come in. Two black bags with purple tags piled neatly on the floor, the beds still untouched, the curtain hanging on the singular window in the middle of the room parted to let sunlight in.
âWell, as an apology, Iâll let you take first pick on the beds.â
âI-I donât really mind.â
âNo, please,â Sophia insisted. âTake it as a welcoming gift, too, if you will.â
You mustered a smile before bringing your luggage to the left side of the room, trying not to look as stiff as you felt. Sophia noticed â of course she noticed â and offered a kind smile that didnât demand anything.
âI hope the roomâs okay,â she said. âWell, not that we have a choice, but if the heater acts up, tell me. Itâs temperamental but kicks in if you talk nicely to it.â
You blinked. You werenât exactly sure if she was joking. Was Sophia the type to joke around?
Rapid knocks came on the door before anyone could say anything else, then the door burst open.
âSO-PHIA!â A girl with a silver bindi barreled in, tossing her bag on the floor and nearly colliding with you. âYou disappeared right after the ceremony, I swearâoh.â
Her eyes drifted toward you. So did four other pairs as Sophiaâs friend group poured inside like a small, chaotic storm.
âNew face,â A ginger-haired girl said, eyebrows raised. âNew⌠roommate?â
Sophia gasped audibly enough to draw the roomâs attention.
âOh my god,â she whispered, face flushing pink. âI forgot to introduceâ Iâm so sorry.â
The girl in braids was the first to step toward you, her accent smooth and warm.
âYouâve been so quiet over there,â she said, smiling gently. âI didnât want you to feel invisible.â She stuck her hand out, palm up. âManon Bannerman.â
You stared at her hand before taking it to shake it softly.
Sophia rushed to your side, almost bumping into you as she gestured to each girl.
âThis is Lara, the loud one obviously. Daniela â who pretends sheâs mean, but sheâs really a softie. This is Megan and then, our baby Yoonchae. I think youâll get along with them well. Of course, you know Manon now.â
You lifted your hand in a small, awkward wave, âHello.â
âHi, new roomie,â Daniela smirked before looking at Sophia, âAnd just call me Dani. I donât know why your roommate had to pull the full name out.â
Sophia laughed as she turned to you, eyes softening, her voice lowering just enough for only you to catch it:
âAnd this is Y/N,â she said, smiling. âSheâs new, but sheâs stuck with us now.â
Stuck with us.
You felt a small bloom of warmth in your chest, albeit still fragile and unexpected.
But Sophia didnât look away as she said it, either.
For the first time that day, Welton Academy felt a little less intimidating. A little less lonely. A little safer and more welcoming.
âOh, and sheâs Marquise Andersonâs little sister,â Sophia added, smiling excitedly while walking back to sit on the windowsill.
âMarquise, huh?â Lara asked as she sat on Sophiaâs bed. âWhyâd we only see you now, Y/N?â
It was a harmless question, you thought. You couldnât blame them. Marquise was a legend here, attending Welton since she started writing, graduating top of her class, and now preparing for a prestigious law program â just the kind of trajectory your father approved of. You, on the other hand, were sent across the Atlantic Ocean years ago when your parents separated. Your mother, an artist and academic, took you to Manchester, while Marquise stayed with your highly successful father in New England.
Sophia noticed it took you long to answer and looked at you softly before offering a response. âShe transferred from Manchester.â
âA Mancunian!â Manon exclaimed. âI hope you donât judge if we pull British accents randomly.â
âPlease, they do it a lot,â Dani exasperated. âYou have our permission to judge them if they do it and itâs bad.â
After Daniâs line, Lara snorts dramatically and slips into a faux British accent, âWot, like this, mate?â
Manon nearly chokes laughing.
âYeah, especially those two.â
âOh, as if you arenât in on it too, Mei.â
Sophia groans at the ruckus her friends were making. She hoped it wasnât overwhelming you too much, but you managed to pull a shy smile before continuing to unpack your bag. While you appreciated the girlsâ offer to help move in, Sophia shooed them out, afraid theyâd all scare you into moving back to Manchester.
âStudy group tonight? I almost failed Trig, so Yoonchaeâs gonna help me out,â Dani asked before they went out.
Sophia says she will before glancing at you.
âOnly after Y/N settles in.â
The others exchange knowing looks before exiting the room, one by one, with exaggerated winks. âYouâre free to come, Anderson.â
âPlease donât mind them,â Sophia sighs, embarrassed. âBut that was a genuine invitation! We all just come together in a room after dinner and study or do whatever before curfew.â
You nod before turning back to your luggage again. It wouldâve been a lie if the whole thing didnât overwhelm you, but you also felt lighter. Sophia has been nothing, but nice to you, and her friends were friendly enough to make you comfortable.
âY/N,â Sophia sits beside your bag, legs tucked neatly under her. Her perfume was soft â like citrus and something floral â grounding enough to keep you from spiraling.
âJust so you know,â she says softly, âyou donât have to be Marquiseâs sister here. You can just be you.â
You feel your throat tighten unexpectedly. Itâs the first kind thing anyoneâs said to you all day.
Sophia watches your expression carefully, waiting, as if giving you space to breathe. âAnd weâll make this year a good one, I promise.â
The English class was held in a typical Welton classroom â bare cream-colored walls save for the cork board with announcements and random photos of Literature icons. The atmosphere was already oppressive, filled with the rustle of perfect uniforms and the hushed anxiety of dozens of girls trying to appear attentive. The room smelled like old paper and lemon polish.
The new teacher, Ms. Portman, was the complete opposite of the environment. She didn't stand behind the massive oak desk. Instead, she sat casually on the edge, swinging one foot, wearing a brightly patterned scarf that clashed joyfully with the school's austere colors.
âO Captain! My Captain! Who knows where that comes from?â
Silence. Only the faint tick of a far-off clock answered her. The girls around you avoided eye contact, trained not to speak unless absolutely certain of the answer.
Ms. Portman smiled, a slow, revolutionary smile. âItâs Walt Whitman, of course. A lament, a tribute, and a suggestion. Now, you may call me Ms. Portman.â She paused, leaning in conspiratorially. âOr, if youâre slightly more daring, âO Captain, My Captainâ.â
A nervous ripple went through the room, quickly suppressed. Calling a teacher Captain was unthinkable in Welton.
âNow that introductions are out of the way,â she continued, pulling out a slim, well-worn volume of poetry. âForget what you think you know about poetry. Forget the measurements, the metrics, the footnotes. Today, we are talking about life.â
She flipped the book open. âI want to read you something, a simple four-line stanza. Listen to the warning within it.â
Ms. Portmanâs voice dropped to a dramatic, resonant whisper as she recited the lines:
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.
You heard a few students shift uncomfortably. This wasn't the kind of disciplined analysis Welton was used to.
Ms. Portman clapped the book shut. "This idea, this urgency, it has a name. It is the single most important concept in art, in life, in taking the stage, and in following your heart, even when itâs terrified. I want you to write it down. I want you to understand it."
She turned and, with a piece of chalk, scrawled the two words across the ancient blackboard in bold, looping script:
Carpe Diem
âAnyone knows what this means?â Ms. Portman asked. âMs. Skiendiel? Thatâs quite a name, I must say.â
âSeize the day.â
âCorrect, thank you! Seize the day.â she announced, turning back to face the stunned class. âBecause if you donât, you will wake up one morning and find that the moment you should have reached for â the passion, the dream, the person â has passed you by. Your life will become predictable, and your dreams will turn into dust. My first assignment is: Answer this question. Are you here to write footnotes, or are you here to write life?â
You felt a hot, dizzying flush crawl up your neck. The sheer force of the teacherâs personality was overwhelming, a loud, undeniable challenge to your quiet existence. You kept your head down, desperate to shrink into the uniform.
But seated two rows behind you, Sophia was entirely different. Sophia wasnât shrinking. She was leaning forward, her back straight, her lips slightly parted in awe. The girl who was supposed to be preparing for medical school was transfixed, her eyes bright with a spark one hadnât seen before.
When Ms. Portman finally instructed everyone to write a short poem about an object they felt misrepresented them, Sophia caught your eye. She offered a small, electric smile, like a mixture of excitement and shared rebellion. It was the first time you felt that the pressure of the class wasn't yours alone.
Back in the relative sanctuary of your room that evening, the dayâs upheaval felt miles away. You were perched on the edge of your bed, attempting to sort the few books youâd brought, still slightly rattled.
âWhat do you think about Ms. Portman? Sheâs pretty different from the other professors, huh?â Sophia asked, laughing softly as she tucked her phone into her blazer pocket.
You managed a small shrug. âShe was⌠quite something.â
âSomething is definitely a way to put it. But genuine, too. No one here is genuine. They all wear their uniforms perfectly and say such quintessential things. But she told us to seize the day.â Sophiaâs voice was warm with newfound excitement.
She walked over to your side of the room and sat down beside you, the movement causing you to freeze mid-sort.
âThe girls are meeting in the student lounge tonight. For the study group,â Sophia said, leaning the word sarcastically. âIt's really just a few hours where we can talk like real people, away from the administration. Please come with me. Itâs better than sitting alone and I hate the thought of you being here by yourself.â
You felt the familiar, crippling wave of nerves return. âI donât know. They probably think Iâm weird. I didnât say anything today. I barely managed the handshake with Manon, I mean I had to stare at her hand for a second-â
âShh, hey,â Sophia said immediately, turning her body fully toward you. She reached out and placed a warm, calming hand on your forearm, just above the elbow. The contact was gentle but firm.
âThey donât think youâre weird. They think youâre quiet. Thereâs a difference,â Sophia insisted, her eyes earnest and kind. âAnd anyway, if they did, I wouldnât care. I like quiet. Iâm surrounded by noise all the time. Your quiet is⌠soothing.â
She paused, letting the compliment settle in the tense air between you. Her thumb began to stroke small, comforting circles on your sleeve.
âYou donât have to talk. You donât have to say anything at all. You can just sit beside me. Iâll make sure no one bothers you. Just come for me? So I have someone to roll my eyes at when Lara gets dramatic.â
Your stomach still churned with anxiety, but the warmth of Sophiaâs hand and the sincerity in her eyes made the prospect of leaving the room bearable.
âOkay,â you finally whispered, your voice barely audible. âIâll come.â
Sophiaâs face lit up, a genuine, joyful expression that was worth every ounce of anxiety. She squeezed your arm once more before pulling her hand back.
âGood. Now seize the day, Anderson. Or at least, seize the evening.â
You trailed Sophia out of the room, the scent of her fabric softener and a faint, sweet floral perfume filling the space between you. The corridor was dark now, bathed in the cool yellow glow of the occasional security lamp.
The walk was short, only one floor down to the communal lounge room, but it felt like a marathon. Sophia set a gentle pace, her steps rhythmic and confident. You kept your shoulder barely a millimeter from hers, nervous about being too close, but unwilling to fall too far behind. Your arms swung in sync. Once, twice, the very back of your hand brushed against the soft, warm skin of hers. The contact was brief, accidental, yet it sent a sharp, fragile spark of warmth up your arm.
âI-Iâm sorry.â
As you neared the lounge, Sophia slowed, her hand lifting slightly. You saw her fingers open just a fraction â an unconscious, instinctual movement, almost as if she meant to reach out and interlace them with yours to steady you. Before she completed the gesture, she caught herself, her gaze flicking down, and she quickly dropped her hand back to her side.
âReady?â Sophia whispered, turning her head toward you.
You managed a shaky nod.
âGood. Just stay close.â
She pushed the door open and led you inside. The room was far from empty. While most of the girls were concentrated in a loud cluster on the two main sofas, a few others were spread around the room, reading or trying to study. But the energy radiating from Sophiaâs friends was impossible to ignore.
Sophia navigated the beautiful chaos effortlessly, guiding you to a forgotten corner by the unused fireplace. She settled you firmly on an antique, slightly lumpy armchair, then positioned herself immediately to your left, effectively screening you from the rest of the room. Yoonchae looked at you and smiled before taking the floor cushion on your right. You were surrounded, but safely.
Dani was already perched on the arm of a sofa, a textbook resting forgotten on her lap as she complained loudly. âI swear, I donât know why they make us learn Trig. When am I ever gonna use 2Ďr in my life?! My brain is officially full of triangles.â
2Ďr doesnât go with a triangle, you knew, but you were content to stay silent, just watching their interactions play out.
Lara, who was sprawled across the sofa, snorted. âItâs called academic rigor, Dani. Also, itâs not 2Ďr, thatâs circumference. Youâre thinking of the volume of something, probably.â
âSee, this is why I need Yoonchae,â Dani huffed, throwing a cushion at Lara.
The conversation then swerved sharply back to Ms. Portman. Megan, sitting on the floor with her knees tucked to her chin, recited lines from the poem sheâd written for the English assignment. Manon followed, dramatically reading a piece about her expensive, stifling boarding school shoes.
âIt was about an object that misrepresents you,â Manon reminded them, earning laughs from everyone else. âHellton, Hellton, Hellton.â
Your gaze fell to the floor, focusing on the dark wood grain. You were afraid theyâd let you read yours aloud â the poem about the quiet star in a loud sky â but the idea of speaking it aloud in this charged, noisy room made your chest physically ache.
Just as the chatter spiked again â Megan and Lara arguing over the historical accuracy of a British phrase â Sophiaâs attention snapped back to you. She must have seen the tension tightening your shoulders.
Without a word, she subtly shifted the cushion at her back, placing it more firmly behind your back. Then, she leaned into your space, her hip pressing gently against yours.
âItâs a lot, isnât it?â she murmured, her voice lowered so only you and Yoonchae could possibly hear. She tilted her head toward the noisy group. âJust think of it as background music, Y/N. The good stuff happens later.â
Her closeness was a physical comfort, a soft boundary separating you from the noise. You felt the anxiety that had been clinging to you ease, just enough to breathe. You knew, somehow, that she was referring to more than just the end of the evening. She was talking about the secrets, the passions, the things that couldn't be spoken aloud in a room full of people.
The next day, during the noisy chaos of the lunch period, Sophia slid onto the bench beside you in the packed dining hall, placing her tray down with unusual care. She was smiling, but her eyes held a spark of mischief you hadnât seen before.
âLook what I found,â she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the silverware clatter.
She slid an object across the table: a battered, burgundy-colored yearbook with "Welton Academy for Young Women: Class of '99" embossed in peeling gold.
âMs. Portmanâs senior annual,â Sophia explained, her excitement palpable. âI found it in a dusty box labeled âOld Faculty Archivesâ when I was helping the Headmistressâ secretary.â
Lara and Dani immediately crowded closer, peering at the photo of a much younger, but instantly recognizable, Ms. Portman.
âShe looked exactly the same, but with worse bangs,â Dani commented, earning a giggle and a smack on the arm from Yoonchae.
âWait, look at the inscription under her photo,â Lara said, pointing a sharp nail at the text.
You leaned in with the rest of the group, Sophia's shoulder now pressing against yours as she focused. Underneath the list of Ms. Portmanâs accomplishments was a single, defiant line:
Sic semper tyrannis. O Captain, my Captain.
âSic semper tyrannis? Thus always to tyrants?â Megan translated, raising an eyebrow. âThatâs heavy for a yearbook.â
âBut the Captain part,â Sophia said, looking at you pointedly. âShe knew we would get the reference, didn't she? Maybe we should ask her.â
And so, the conspiracy was born. After lunch, the group followed Ms. Portman out onto the yard.
âCaptain,â Lara began dramatically, âwe found your senior annual.â
âWe noticed the inscription in your annual. Whatâs the meaning of âO Captain, My Captainâ in that context?â Manon asked.
Ms. Portmanâs eyes lit up.
âThat,â Ms. Portman said softly, drawing them into a small, tight circle, âwas a tribute to a society. A group of students who met secretly, decades ago, right here at Welton. They weren't interested in law or medicine; they were interested in poetry, in truth, and in living. They called themselves the Dead Poets Society.â
She went on to describe the secret meetings, the late-night readings, the feeling of freedom found in breaking the rules just to pursue beauty. You watched Sophiaâs face as Ms. Portman spoke; the light in your roommateâs eyes grew brighter with every word.
When Ms. Portman finished, she simply smiled. âIt was highly frowned upon, of course. Highly illegal. But necessary, I believe.â With a brisk nod, she disappeared further into the fields.
Silence hung over the group for a beat.
âA secret society?â Yoonchae breathed, completely won over.
Sophia looked around at the faces of her friends, her excitement barely contained. Her eyes, however, stopped on you.
âWe have to,â Sophia declared, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. âWe have to find where they met, and we have to revive it. Carpe Diem, right? This is the moment.â
The rest of the girls immediately agreed, their voices buzzing with the thrill of rebellion. The girls quickly scattered to their next classes, leaving Sophia to pull you aside.
âMeet us after dinner. Weâll find a place to convene tonight,â she said, her hands briefly clasping your shoulders in shared enthusiasm.
Later that evening, the dining hall was half-empty. You and Sophia were walking back to your room, the noise and demands of the day finally fading.
âSo, tonight. After we check in with the dorm mistress, weâll meet up with the others by the East Wing stairwell,â Sophia reminded you, her voice low. âItâs the perfect time to scope out the old cave, if itâs still there.â
Your stomach tightened, the idea of walking through the dark, old campus and breaking a significant school rule suddenly feeling far more terrifying than exciting. The anxiety you thought youâd left behind flared up.
âSophia, I⌠I donât think I can do it,â you confessed, stopping by the door of your room.
Sophia stopped instantly and turned to face you fully. She didn't press, or pout, or try to push you. She simply watched you, her expression shifting immediately from excited to protective.
âThe secret thing? The breaking curfew?â she clarified, her voice soft.
You nodded miserably. âAll of it. And reading. I just⌠I canât do the poetry.â You quickly added, feeling the need to retreat back into your shell, âBut thank you for including me, Sophia. Itâs kind of you, really. But you donât have to keep worrying about me. I can take care of myself just fine.â
Sophiaâs easy smile vanished. She looked at you seriously, a rare flicker of something like stubbornness in her eyes.
âNo,â she said simply.
âWhat do you mean, no?â
âNo,â Sophia repeated, a tiny, teasing smile finally returning. âI mean no. Iâm not just including you because Iâm being 'kind.' And I donât want you to take care of yourself just fine. I want you to come with me.â
She stepped closer, raising a hand to lightly cup the side of your neck, her thumb brushing gently near your jawline. The touch was soft and gentle, designed only to reassure and not to invade too much of your space.
âLook, I understand,â she murmured, her eyes dark and earnest in the dim hall light. She wasn't judging you; she was protecting you. âYou don't have to read. Just listen. Thatâs all. Just come for me, Y/N. They won't pressure you, I promise. Iâll make sure of it.â
Her fingers lingered on your skin for another beat before she pulled her hand back, leaving your cheek warm. With Sophia, compromising was simple: just your presence, not participation. And you were grateful it was all she asked for.
You took a deep, steadying breath. "Okay."
Sophia smiled, a genuine, private victory. "Good. Then let's seize the night."
You checked the time on your phone one last time: 11:47 PM. Curfew was over an hour ago, and the danger now felt palpable in your chest.
Sophia was ready instantly. She pulled the school overcoat out of your closet. "Wear this over your sweater, itâs freezing out there. The cave is old."
When you crept out of the room, your hand already reached for Sophiaâs as you met the others near the East Wing. She immediately draped her arm through yours, a strong, grounding weight against your frantic pulse.
âDonât worry about the reading, Anderson,â Sophia murmured, leaning in close. âJust observe. Remember all the chaos. Itâs what you do best.â
The group moved like a nervous shadow, darting across the lawn toward the thick, whispering woods at the campus edge. The silence of the night was broken only by the crunch of leaves underfoot and hushed, excited giggles.
Finally, Lara pointed her beam toward a dark, low opening concealed by ivy: the mouth of the cave. The air instantly became colder, damp and smelling of wet stone. Sophia held your hand firmly, pulling you through the narrow entrance.
âWelcome, ladies,â Sophia announced in a low, reverent voice. âTo the resurrection of the Dead Poets Society.â
Inside, the cave was a small chamber with a flat, smooth stone in the center. Once the candles were lit, the flickering yellow light danced across the damp walls, casting huge shadows. The space felt ancient, secretive, and utterly sacred.
Sophia squeezed your hand once more before letting go. She placed her bag next to you, effectively marking your spot in the circle, ensuring you were anchored between her and Yoonchae. You instinctively pulled your knees up to your chest, making yourself small and unobtrusive.
âAlright, captains,â Dani started, her voice suddenly respectful in the echo-filled space. âWho starts?â
Lara volunteered first, passionately reading a Byron poem from the book. One by one, they took turns, laughing and teasing each other with their deliveries.
You were watching Sophia. She was leaning forward, chin resting on her palm, her face illuminated by the candlelight. She was mesmerized, not by the poems themselves, but by the sheer, unbridled freedom in the room. When it was Sophiaâs turn, she didn't read poetry. She pulled out a dog-eared script of a modern play.
âIâm going to read a monologue,â she announced, her voice ringing with natural resonance. âA character who has to choose between a life of duty and a life of passion.â
The Sophia you knew â polite and impeccable â vanished. She was transformed, a radiant, forceful performer channeling raw, aching dilemma. You watched, mesmerized by the talent she hid, acutely aware that you were one of the few who knew her secret.
When she finished, applause echoed in the chamber. âFia, that was amazing!â
âSee?â Sophia said, her gaze finding yours, her face glowing. âThis is the good stuff.â
The readings ended, and the conversation flowed into a dizzying rush of unfiltered talk and sharing horror stories.
You found yourself laughing, a surprisingly easy sound, as Megan detailed her latest conspiracy theory. Sophiaâs thigh was pressed warmly next to yours, and her presence was a constant, soft boundary separating you from the noise.
You realized, looking at the flickering faces and the shared shadows, that your chest no longer ached with anxiety. It was filled with a sense of buoyant, unexpected belonging. For the first time since arriving at Welton, you weren't trying to hide. You were simply present. You were safe. And it was all because Sophia had refused to let you stay behind.
âY/N, I found it! I found it!â
You looked up from your notebook as Sophia bounced around the room, a crumpled flyer clutched in her hand.
âFound what?â You asked, setting your pen down. âHey, can- can you calm down?â
âI finally found what I wanna do this year! Carpe diem!â She screamed at the top of her lungs, hands in the air with the unknown paper, now a little crumpled. From where you were seated, you could see âDear Evan Hansenâ in big, bold letters.
âDear Evan Hansen?â
âYes! And itâs open auditions.â Sophia climbed off her bed and grabbed your shoulders, giving you a quick, excited shake. âOpen auditions! Iâve wanted to do this for the longest time and itâs finally happening. I even tried attending theatre classes last summer, but of course, my parents wouldnât let me. But now?â
You had never seen Sophiaâs eyes shine like this. They were truly alight with stars when she talked about acting, the sight both thrilling and terrifying.
âSophie, what about your parents?â
The light in her eyes flickered slightly. âWell, thatâs a problem for future me. I just gotta get the part first then Iâll deal with all of that later.â
âAre you sure theyâre not going to kill you if you audition and didnât even tell them?â
Sophia pulled back, her excitement turning into something sharp and defensive. âThey wonât have to know! Canât I just enjoy this for a while?â
You pursed your lips in instant guilt. You hated dampening her passion. You quickly lowered your gaze, turning back to your notebook as a way of retreating. You didn't mean to question her.
The silence was sudden and heavy. You felt a wave of familiar self-reproach, your throat tightening. âIâm sorry, Sophia. I didnât mean toâŚâ
âI can hear you overthinking, you know?â You werenât looking at her, but you could hear the teasing smile in her words. She walked over and gently nudged your knee with her foot.
You looked up. She was really smiling now, the sharp edge gone, replaced by that gentle, welcoming warmth. âIâm going to try out for Zoey, by the way.â
You nodded, managing a genuine smile of encouragement.
âWill you help me rehearse?â she asked, the excitement flooding back. âI need someone to run lines with. Someone who listens better than anyone I know.â
The request was a profound compliment. She needed you â your quiet presence, your unwavering attention, your ability to observe the world from the outside. You might be the anxious âEvanâ, but to her, you were the essential audience.
âYes,â you confirmed, feeling a renewed surge of loyalty and warmth. âYes, Iâll help.â
The English classroom felt like an interrogation chamber that morning. Ms. Portman had a stack of notebooks on her desk, and one by one, students were called to the front to read the poem about an object that misrepresented them.
Some girls read confident, well-rhymed verses that were clearly meant to pass muster. A few were genuinely creative. You kept your eyes fixed on the empty page of your own notebook, heart hammering a frantic countdown as you stared at the tears on the spine. You had written your poem, but the thought of exposing that raw, anxious part of yourself to a room full of judging eyes felt like suffocating on dry air.
âMs. Anderson,â Ms. Portmanâs voice cut through the air, kind but firm. âLetâs end your agony. Come on.â
You looked up, freezing. Your hand, resting on your notebook, clamped down hard. You cleared your throat, focusing on a spot just over Ms. Portmanâs shoulder. âI-I didnât write anything,â you whispered, the lie tasting like ash.
Ms. Portman didnât scold you. She simply gestured for you to step up to the front of the room. âNonsense, Anderson. Everyone here has a voice, whether itâs on paper or not. Stand here, and tell us⌠what do you see right now?â
You stood rigid in the center of the room. âThe walls are cream. The floor is old wood.â
âDull,â Ms. Portman agreed, beginning to slowly circle you, her footsteps soft on the wooden floor. You felt your chest tighten as she moved, the proximity unbearable. âTell us about the feeling of the room. Tell us what Weltonâs silence feels like on your skin.â
The pressure was mounting, overwhelming. Your gaze flickered desperately towards Sophia, then back to the floor. Words started bubbling up, unwanted and frantic, the tremor in your voice worsening.
âUh, it-itâs like a mask,â you stammered out, trying to just appease her. âA white mask that fits too perfectly. It doesn't breathe. It⌠it chokes you.â
âKeep going, Anderson. Close your eyes and tell us about the mask.â
The words began to flow, tripping over each other, fueled by pure, unadulterated nerves.
âUm, I close my eyes, and all I see is the mask. Itâs smiling. But the smile is painted on, and the eyes are⌠empty. It's pressed right up against my face, and all the time itâs whispering, âFit in. Fit in. Youâre not enough, so just fit in.ââ
You heard a few muffled giggles from the back of the room. You instantly seized up, the flow of words snapping off. Your cheeks burned with humiliation. You had made a fool of yourself.
Before you could retreat, Ms. Portman stopped directly in front of you. She raised her hands and gently covered your eyes, plunging you into warm, immediate darkness.
âForget them,â her voice was a low, steady instruction, spoken only for you. âTheyâre just trying to breathe through their own masks. Keep going. What does the mask do to you?â
The sudden darkness was an unlooked-for shield. You were no longer visible, only audible. The terror was still there, but the raw need to speak was stronger.
âThe mask⌠i-itâs a silence that screams,â you heard yourself say, the words gaining a strange, rhythmic power. âItâs like being trapped inside ice. Itâs perfect and clear on the outside, but youâre frozen stiff inside. You try to move, you try to shatter the ice, you pound on it with your fist, but the sound never gets out. And all the time, the truth is beating against the glass. It just covers your face while the real you is turning blue, waiting to be seen.â
The last word was a shaky exhale. You stopped, completely drained, listening only to your own ragged breathing in the silence.
Ms. Portman didn't move her hands immediately. âGood. Thank you, Anderson.â She slowly drew her hands away.
You blinked, the light of the classroom a sharp shock after the darkness. The students were utterly silent now. The first person you saw, the first person you looked for, was Sophia.
She was staring, her mouth slightly agape, her eyes wide with a potent mix of pride and surprise. She didnât smile, but her expression was more supportive than any applause.
Ms. Portman put a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you back toward the class.
âDonât you ever forget that moment, Ms. Anderson. That is what it means to write life.â
Weeks passed, and a routine settled into the hidden corners of your lives. The Dead Poets Society continued its illicit meetings in the cave, becoming a reliable source of rebellious freedom. Sophia had thrown herself completely into preparing for the auditions. You would rehearse lines together by the lake, in the quieter corners of the courtyard, or huddled in your room late at night.
Sophia's commitment to the musical was infectious. While she sang her rehearsal songs in that low, tender voice, you found the dam holding back your own words beginning to crumble. The anxious, frozen part of you started to thaw, piece by piece.
One evening, you were tucked into your bed, furiously scribbling in your notebook long after curfew. You had pulled your blanket around you and were lost in the flow, describing the particular, blinding light of a star that was too brilliant to hide.
Sophia quietly stepped into the room, pausing when she saw you, not moving to turn on the main light.
You didn't look up, but you felt her presence, her perfume wafting through the space.
âYouâre writing, arenât you?â she whispered, her voice full of soft awe.
You slammed the notebook shut, your face instantly hot. You hugged the book to your chest, reverting to your shy, protective posture.
âItâs beautiful, isnât it?â she murmured, âThe feeling when the words finally spill out.â She reached out, but only gently touched the cover of the notebook you were clutching. âYou donât have to show me until youâre ready, Y/N.â
In that moment, staring into her eyes â eyes that held no judgment, only encouragement and pride â you realized something: you wanted to show her. You weren't afraid of her seeing this part of you. You wanted her to know that she was the reason you were writing at all.
âI GOT IT! I GOT THE PART!â
Sophia was running through the halls, her blazer flying out behind her, a triumphant, blinding grin splitting her face. She had obviously just received the call. The girls immediately descended on her, cheering and grabbing her in a noisy group hug.
Sophia pulled herself free from the excited crowd and locked eyes with you. She ran the final steps and threw her arms around you, lifting you slightly off the floor.
âI got Zoey, Y/N! We did it! We seized the day!â she cried, hugging you tightly, her victory feeling intensely shared.
Later that evening, the celebration continued at the cave. The air was electric, thick with the scent of pine, rebellion, and freshly baked cookies.
Everyone was practically vibrating with happiness. You felt a quiet confidence blooming in your own chest, fueled by Sophiaâs joy and the secret you were clutching. Tonight, you would read the poem you wrote, the one inspired by the star who shone too brightly for the shadows.
When it was your turn, you stood, your legs trembling, but your hands surprisingly steady. The circle of candles illuminated your face, and Sophiaâs eyes were locked on yours, filled with adoration.
You didn't need Ms. Portman to cover your eyes this time. You looked directly at the flame, then at Sophia, and began to read the final, private poem:
âThere is a star that has forgotten how to be small. She tried to dim herself for years, to fit into the night sky, but the pressure only made her light more honest. She talks of duty, of the straight, cold path she must follow, but when she speaks, the sound is a pure, dangerous fire. She stands at the edge of the world, afraid to leap, but she doesn't know she has already taught the rest of us how to fly.â
You looked up. Sophia was frozen, tears suddenly glistening in her eyes, her mouth open in that same expression of pride and profound surprise. The others stood and applauded, giving you hugs and pats on the back.
As you walked back to the dorms hours later, the campus was deeply silent. Sophia slowed her pace. She didn't speak a single word about the poem, but she reached out. Her hand found yours, her fingers gently interlacing with yours this time, the gesture confident and protective.
You didn't pull away. You walked the rest of the way with your fingers locked together, the most personal confession having already been made.
âGood night, Y/N,â Sophia whispered, squeezing your hand one last time before finally letting go.
âGood night.â
The last time you looked at your clock, it was 12:57 AM. You were lying perfectly still in your bed on the left side of the room, your eyes squeezed shut, desperately trying to trick your body into sleep.
The room was dark, lit only by the faint, filtered yellow light from the security lamps outside the window.
Sophia was perched on the wide windowsill, the usual spot between your two beds. The gray blazer she always wore was tossed over the back of her chair, and she was just a silhouette against the pane, a bottle of water resting on the sill beside her.
A minute earlier, she had started singing. Not the bold, resonant voice she used in the cave or the confident tone she used when talking about her plans, but a quiet, fragile murmur â her rehearsal voice.
She was singing "Only Us," one of the songs from Dear Evan Hansen.
"I don't need you to sell me on reasons to want you," she sang, the melody sweet and slightly hesitant.
You felt your throat tighten. It wasn't the voice of Zoey, the character she was auditioning for; it was purely Sophia, unguarded.
"I don't need you to search for the proof that I should."
The lyrics pierced through the darkness, hitting too close to home. You, the perpetual searcher for proof of your own worth, the girl expected to walk in her sister's shadow.
You pressed your face deeper into the pillow, acutely aware of her presence. You didn't dare move. You were terrified that if she knew you were awake, truly listening, she would stop.
"You don't have to convince me," she continued, the note trembling just slightly. "You don't have to be scared you're not enough."
You imagined she was singing it to you, your socially anxious self, offering the reassurance she had promised you since day one. But you knew she was singing it to herself, too â the girl terrified of her parentsâ disapproval, the girl struggling to Carpe Diem.
"'Cause what we've got going is good."
She repeated the last line, letting the final note hang in the air, full of gentle hope and secret meaning. After, only the sound of her shifting slightly on the sill, followed by the quiet click of her phone turning off. You held your breath for another thirty seconds, waiting for her to move toward her own bed.
Instead, you heard the faint brush of her feet landing softly on the carpet next to your bed. You kept your eyes tightly shut, focusing on your breathing. You felt the slight depression of the mattress as she leaned over you, a fleeting rush of her citrus and floral scent washing over your face.
A second later, you felt the gentle pull of your blanket as she subtly adjusted it, tucking the edge neatly around your shoulder.
You didn't dare open your eyes until you heard the final, soft sigh of Sophia settling into her own mattress. The warmth from her touch lingered on your blanket, a silent affirmation that you were indeed enough, and what you both had going was already good.
You woke up with the strange, exhilarating sensation of not being entirely alone. The anxieties that usually clung to you upon waking felt lighter, pushed back by the memory of soft candlelight, shared secrets, and the undeniable press of Sophia's hand in yours.
Sophia was already awake, sitting on the edge of her bed, carefully polishing her uniform shoes until the leather gleamed. The morning light filtering through the window hit her, and you noticed she was humming softly â a tune you instantly recognized as the song from last night.
âGood morning, Captain,â you murmured, your voice raspy from sleep, using the moniker with a quiet, genuine affection reserved only for your small secret society.
Sophiaâs head snapped up. She smiled immediately, a bright, unguarded expression that made your heart skip.
âGood morning, Poet,â she returned, her eyes shining with warmth. She set the shoe brush down. âDid you sleep well? You were out cold immediately when we arrived.â
The lie was a gentle offering. She knew you had been awake. You knew she had tucked you in. And you knew she had held your hand for the entire walk back. All of it was a quiet, shared understanding.
You simply nodded, pulling the blanket tighter. âIt was a very good night.â
The silence that followed was comfortable, intimate. You watched her pack a few extra books into her bag, and then she paused, looking across the room at you.
âYour poem,â she started, her voice dropping, suddenly serious. âLast night, in the cave. The star, the fire⌠that was the most courageous thing anyone has done there. Ever.â
She didn't ask who the star was, and she didn't need to. You felt a wave of gratitude that she respected the space between the art and the artist.
You only offered the most honest thing you could say. âI couldnât have done it if you werenât there.â
Sophia walked over to your dresser to retrieve her watch. She leaned against the wooden edge, her gaze fixed on you. She didn't press for a deeper confession or bring up the handholding. She simply confirmed the new status quo.
âIâm always going to be there, Y/N,â she promised, her voice unwavering. âAnd that poem? That was just the beginning. I need more of that from you this year.â
Before you could respond, a sharp, urgent rap-rap-rap came at the door, loud enough to make you jump.
âSophia!â
It wasn't Dani nor Lara. It wasn't the dorm mistress. It was a deep, authoritative male voice that you recognized.
Sophiaâs face went pale. Every ounce of carefree joy from the previous night evaporated, replaced by cold, pure panic.
"My father," she whispered, her eyes wide. "He's not supposed to be here until Thanksgiving."
You stared at her, the sudden arrival of the ultimate antagonist shattering the safety of your small world. Her eyes darted around the room, landing desperately on the scripts spread on her bed.
"Get up," she hissed, her voice low and frantic. "Hide the script. Now."
You scrambled. As Sophia rushed to pull her blazer over the loose script and lyric sheets on her pillow, you grabbed the Dear Evan Hansen flyer from her desk and shoved it into the nearest pocket of your own school bag. Before you could sit back down, the door burst open and suddenly, the room felt smaller.
Mr. Laforteza filled the doorway. He was a tall man, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit, with a severe face that mirrored Sophia's but lacked all her warmth. His gaze immediately swept over the room â Sophiaâs bed made, yours obviously slept in, and Sophia standing defensively by her pillow.
âSophia,â he said, tone calm but clipped. âWere you too busy to answer your motherâs calls?â
"Father, Iâ"
"I had a very unpleasant meeting with the Headmistress early this morning," Mr. Laforteza cut her off, taking a deliberate step into the room. "She mentioned a sudden interest in 'extracurricular activities' that are not on your university application path. I asked her what she meant, and she mentioned a persistent interest in the arts."
Sophia swallowed. âIââ
He strode over to Sophia's desk, running a finger over the pristine surface, his disapproval filling the small space. "I did not make sacrifices to send you here just for you to waste your senior year on frivolities, Sophia. I thought we were clear on medical school.â
Sophia stood frozen, her face pale. You watched her throat bob as she swallowed, desperate to speak but unable to form a coherent defense.
Mr. Laforteza turned, his eyes landing on you then your bag. He bent down and, without asking, pulled out the crumpled Dear Evan Hansen flyer sticking out of the side pocket.
Your heart dropped as he straightened up, holding the flyer between two fingers as if it were contaminated. "And what is this? 'Open auditions.' Musical theatre? Don't tell me you are still indulging in this ridiculous fantasy."
Sophia shook her head too quickly. âNo. I didnât audition.â
"It's mine," you interrupted, the words popping out before you could think, shocking even yourself. You felt the familiar surge of adrenaline, but you couldn't figure out from what.
Sophiaâs head snapped toward you, eyes wide.
Mr. Laforteza looked at you, startled, as if noticing you for the first time. "I'm sorry, and you are?â
âY/N Anderson,â you said, hands clenched at your sides. âI transferred this year, sir.â
He nodded once. âAnd youâre involved in this play?â
âYes, sir,â you said. The lie burned, but you didnât stop. âSophia was just helping me practice. Thatâs all.â
Her fatherâs brow furrowed. âSo my daughter is not involved?â
âNo, sir,â you said, meeting his gaze despite the pounding in your chest. âThe Headmistress mustâve mistaken u-us. Iâ I-Itâs just me.â
He looked back at the flyer, then at Sophia, whose stunned silence now looked like relief to his dismissive eyes. He crumpled the flyer and tossed it onto your desk.
âVery well,â he said. âSophia, you will refrain from further involvement. And youââ his gaze returned to you, cooler now, ââwill understand that Welton values discipline above indulgence.â
âYes, sir.â
He turned toward the door. Before leaving, he added, without looking back, âSophia, we will discuss this further at home.â
The second the door closed, Sophia collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in her hands. She was shaking, a soundless mix of relief and lingering terror.
After a long minute, she lifted her head and stared at you, her eyes swimming. Â âWhy did you do that?â she asked, voice barely holding together. âYou didnât have to. He couldâveâheââ
You moved closer without thinking, sitting beside her. "He was going to find the script," you whispered, trying to smooth the wrinkles in her blouse. "And he was going to take you out of the school. I couldn't let him do that."
"But... you lied to him," she said, still reeling. âThat couldâve gotten you in trouble.â
âMaybe,â you said. âBut I couldnât let him take it from you.â
You felt your throat tighten, the last of the adrenaline leaving you. You reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead, your gaze soft and unwavering.
âYou donât even like attention,â she whispered.
You smiled faintly. âI donât like unfairness more.
"You don't have to show me until you're ready," she had told you when you were writing. Now it was your turn.
"Sophia," you said, meeting her gaze, the quiet intimacy of the room enveloping you both. "You need this. You need the musical and the cave and the fire and everything. Even if no one believes in you, I do."
Sophia looked at you, and the last remnants of panic dissolved, replaced by a pure, overwhelming affection. She didn't speak. She just reached up, cupped your cheek, and pulled you gently down until your foreheads rested against each other, thumb warm against your skin, as if grounding herself.
âThank you,â she said. âI donât know how to say it properly, but⌠thank you.â
The opening night of Dear Evan Hansen felt more significant than any other ceremony youâve been to. The theatre was off campus, a small community venue, and the air crackled with anticipation.
You sat in the front row, a large, ridiculous bouquet of red carnations and pink lilies clutched in your hands. Youâd agonized over the choice for days before Dani finally dragged you to the florist and declared, âTrust me. Sheâll love them.â
Suddenly, a voice cut through the pre-show chatter. âI wouldnât miss this for the world, ladies.â
You and the rest of the girls turned. Ms. Portman, wearing a dark velvet dress and her signature scarf, was sliding into the seat next to Manon. She winked at you. âWe are here to support our star, Ms. Laforteza. And to celebrate courage.â
The lights dimmed.
When Sophia walked onto the stage as Zoey, it all felt different. She didnât act like she was performing for the audience. It felt like she was telling a truth sheâd been holding inside for years, finally allowed to speak it aloud. You watched, mesmerized and proud, feeling a fierce, protective love for the fire she had finally unleashed. During the final bows, the audience rose in a standing ovation. But just as the lights came up, you saw them â two figures slipping into the back row, both impeccably dressed. Mr. Laforteza and, surprisingly, Sophiaâs mother. They looked stoic, stunned, and profoundly out of place amidst the cheering crowd. They had come, whether out of duty or a sudden, panicked curiosity, you didn't know.
You and the girls surged backstage, a wall of support. Sophia was already besieged by the cast, but her eyes immediately found yours.
You held the bouquet out, hands trembling just slightly. âFor you,â you said. âYou were⌠incredible.â
Sophia laughed, a bright, joyous sound, and buried her face in the bouquet. âThank you,â she said softly. âFor everything.â
She barely had time to look at the card before her father was suddenly standing stiffly in the doorway.
"Sophia," Mr. Laforteza said, his voice flat. He looked pale, beaten down by the sheer, undeniable reality of his daughter's talent.
Sophia straightened up, her victory momentarily dimmed. She placed the flowers carefully into your arms, as if entrusting you with her achievement.
Her mother stepped forward, her expression softer, but still confused. "You were... very good, darling. But perhaps now we can put this behind us, and you can focus on your applications?"
Sophia looked from her mother to her father, then back to you. She took a deep breath, standing tall in her triumph.
"No," she said, her voice clear and strong. "I canât. I got the part. I'm doing the rest of the run."
Mr. Laforteza looked like he was about to erupt, but then he saw her face â Sophia looked so radiant, defiant, and completely happy. He looked at the circle of supportive friends, and finally, his gaze rested on you, holding the bouquet and standing firmly at Sophia's side.
He didn't fight. He just clenched his jaw. "We will discuss this when we return home for the holidays, Sophia. Do not mistake this... appearance for approval. This is temporary." He turned and left.
Her mother looked at her husband with helpless resignation. She quickly turned to Sophia and smiled, âIâm still proud of you, anak.â
You looked at Sophiaâs pained smile as she watched her parents leave.
An hour later, you and Sophia were walking back to the dorms, far behind the rest of the cheering group. The night air was crisp, and the success of the evening felt like a beautiful, fragile secret wrapped around you.
Sophiaâs hand found yours, just as it had that first night, but this time, the grip was loose, easy, and permanent. She didn't let go.
âHe didnât win,â Sophia murmured, leaning her head on your shoulder. âHe didnât stop me. I Carpe Diem-ed.â
âYou did,â you agreed, squeezing her hand.
She laughed, then grew quiet again.
âI was terrified tonight,â she admitted. âBut every time I felt like I was going to freeze, I thought about you being out there.â
âYou were brave all on your own,â you said.
Sophia shook her head and stopped before stopping closer. Close enough that her sleeve brushed yours. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of her.
She looked up at you, her eyes soft in the dim light. She reached up with her free hand, gently tracing the outline of your ear, then brushing the hair away from your cheek.
âNo,â she said softly. âI was brave because I knew someone believed in me.â
She let go of your hand and held your face in her hands naturally, like theyâd been meant to do this all along.
âYou stood up to him for me, Y/N. You lied to the most terrifying man in my life,â she whispered. âYou gave me the most beautiful, dramatic bouquet of all time. And you wrote a poem about me that made me cry. What are we doing?â
You took a slow breath, releasing the anxiety, embracing the courage she had given you.
âI don't know,â you admitted, your heart pounding a furious rhythm. âBut whatever it is, I donât want to do it alone.â
Sophiaâs eyes softened, turning warm and deeply earnest. She lifted her hand from your cheek and placed it against the back of your neck, pulling you in.
Her eyes flicked to your lips. Then back to your eyes.
She hesitated.
âIââ she whispered, then stopped, searching your face. âIs this okay?â
The question undid you more than any sudden kiss could have.
You nodded, barely. âYes.â
She leaned in slowly â so slowly you could have stopped it at any second. You could feel her breath now, uneven, nervous. She smelled faintly of flowers and stage makeup and something familiar that was just her.
âGood,â she whispered, her voice barely a breath before her lips met yours â a soft, hesitant, perfect press of a first kiss.
When she finally pulled back, her eyes were shining.
âHey, lovebirds, weâve got a curfew to catch!â Your friends were standing around the block, staring at you. Yoonchae was holding her phone, which was quickly being snatched by a grinning Lara. They had fallen silent, waited, and captured the moment.
Sophia just laughed, a sound of pure, unbothered joy. She squeezed your cheek. âCome on, my Poet.â
You chuckled and walked back toward the dorms closer than before, shoulders brushing, fingers still intertwined. The world did not feel conquered â only kinder, as if it had finally made room for you both.
A/N: not proofread, as of now. wrote this before xmas, so idk if i missed anything...
hello, I'd just like to update that I passed that super major exam that I had to take (aka im now a licensed professional) ! took some time for myself and everything else after that, hence the prolonged hiatus. I haven't written anything in that time, except for this (katseye sophia dps-inspired oneshot), so pls enjoy :>
I'm planning to rework my blog in the near future, but who knows when that might be lol. would love to have more friends on here too, so pls hmu lmao
andddd HAPPY HOLIDAYS !
i know itâs been obvious alr but iâm officially announcing a short hiatus from writing or posting. i rlly thought i could insert this in my sched, but the exam iâm taking is a month away and i need to lock in fr (i havenât yet so help me God)
after exams are over, iâll def work on requests and drafts, so brb !
Summary: Two souls move through the same day in Tokyo, going through like parallel lines â always close, almost touching, but never crossing.
Genre: angst kinda idk; soulmates or whtvr
Word Count: 0.8k words
Sophia Laforteza x fem!reader
A/N: inspired by me almost meeting sophia at the same mall weeks ago. yes, it still haunts me to this day.
The city breathed with its usual Sunday rhythm â the hum of escalators, the chatter of strangers, the faint smell of roasted coffee beans carried through the mallâs endless corridors. It was a rhythm Y/N knew, even in a place unfamiliar to her, here in Tokyo.
Y/N walked without a real destination, letting the crowd pull her along. Something about today felt charged, like there was a reason she had ended up here, in a mall she didnât even know well. A tug in her chest whispered that she was supposed to find something. Or someone.
It was a foolish, hopeful feeling â the kind of wish she made when she tossed a coin into a fountain. She knew it was a long shot. The city was too vast, and the mall itself was a labyrinth of a thousand different paths, yet she followed the feeling anyway.
She passed a cafĂŠ, the glow of its warm lights spilling across the tiled floor. A barista scribbled names on paper cups, and laughter spilled from a group tucked into the corner. Y/N slowed, glancing inside, then kept walking. Just minutes later, the door opened again, and Sophia stepped in. The warm, rich scent of a matcha latte hung in the air as she approached the counter, a feeling of bright energy sparking in her chest for no reason she could name. She tucked her hair behind her ear as she scanned the menu, never knowing that the person who had just left had almost turned back. Y/N, standing just beyond the threshold, had almost done it, almost turned around to get a drink she didn't even want, a fleeting thought to prolong her stay.
Elsewhere, Y/N slipped into a small boutique, brushing past racks of clothes that smelled faintly of fabric softener. She didnât stay long, only a few minutes â the kind of stop you make when youâre too polite to leave right away. She exited out the opposite door, footsteps fading down the hall. Moments later, Sophia lingered outside the storeâs front entrance, drawn by the display in the window. She stood there, unaware that if sheâd arrived just a heartbeat earlier, Y/N mightâve walked past her. Y/N's fingers had just brushed a silk scarf on a rack that she would later look at, a near-touch in a space they both shared, yet remained strangers.
The hours blurred like this: little coincidences, invisible threads stretched thin.
At one point, Y/Nâs laughter echoed with a friendâs joke, bouncing off the glass walls of an atrium. Sophia walked past on the floor above, the sound floating up toward her. She paused, lips quirking at the brightness of it, though she didnât know why. Later, her own laughter rang out in another corner of the mall, a melody Y/N almost heard as she wandered by on the other side.
Their reflections even brushed against each other once. A tall glass storefront caught Sophiaâs figure in its gleam just as Y/N walked past outside. Two shapes â side by side, almost aligned â but never aware. Like shadows of each other, flickering in and out of reach. For a single, fleeting second, their outlines were a perfect match, a silent acknowledgment in the glass that was gone as soon as it appeared.
By late afternoon, Y/Nâs legs ached. The hopeful anticipation sheâd been carrying all day dimmed into fatigue. Maybe she had been searching for nothing. With a sigh, she decided to call it a day, heading towards the nearest escalator. She pulled out her phone, scrolling through messages, her mind already on other things, the hum of the escalator a low drone beneath her tired thoughts. She stepped onto the moving stairs, descending, absorbed in her screen.
Just as she reached the bottom, stepping off and turning towards the exit, Sophia was stepping onto the escalator Y/N had just left, ascending. She was looking up, her attention drawn to the vibrant lanterns on the floor above.
Their paths, for a fleeting moment, were perfectly aligned, moving in opposite directions on the same gleaming metal stairs. Y/N was too busy. Sophia was looking elsewhere. They were just thirty minutes, one escalator ride, and a moment of distraction apart.
Y/N stepped out into the fading light of Tokyo. The day's rhythm shifted to the rush of traffic and the murmur of the evening crowd, and she carried with her a quiet, unplaceable ache. Hours later, Sophia did the same. She stepped into the cool evening air, a feeling of bright energy lingering from her day, unaware that it had been sparked by someone she'd never met.
Two souls moving through the same space, caught in the same orbit, yet never colliding. Parallel lines drawn by an unseen hand â so close, impossibly close, but never meeting. Not today. But the ache of it, the haunting memory of that near-miss, would stay with Y/N long after the day was over.
But perhaps one day, when the universe grows tired of keeping them apart, it will fold the lines until they finally cross.
A/N (2): i've just been too busy to write anything. the exam i'm taking is in two months and i haven't properly studied yet :/ passing this exam is rlly important to me, so there have been things i've been giving up temporarily :(
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i- dam. I think this is one of the rare one where it's dani that's crashing out (well not to that extent but like her being the one reading into things, being the one questioning. it's usually straight dani & yn questioning)
Also I admire the amt of details, like seeing your friend/crush in a new light, realising that you've been falling all along (not a sudden love at first sight, not that it's bad, but I enjoy seeing the progression?)
> Sheâd seen how love â or whatever this was â could ruin friendships. And Y/N⌠she deserved someone steady, someone who wouldnât confuse her.
ooooof. at least dani is self-aware (abt the not knowing what she wants / if she'd actually come out for this)
and babesâŚI hate to break it to you, but that kinda love doesn't rly fade⌠in a way, yn will alw have a piece of your heart, kind of like a 1st love. manâŚif this doesn't end well, I can imagine dani would shut down, maybe nvr look at girls the same way. or worse, in every partner aft, see yn in them or compare. how yn would do this, how they'd look on a certain lightÂ
gosh as much as I think abt the possibility for angst in a pt 2 (yn never seeing it as more, just seeing it as being close w a girl bsf), I also wonder if yn feels the same
like we don't hear dani mention them dating (and possibly they aren't looking for a partner rn cause they're busy, etc etc). but what if what if they like dani? but they nvr said anyth cause dani has only talked abt boys, why would they think their bsf was anyth but straight?
And if the live (where dani came out as straight) happened alr, this is even more proof for yn that dani is straight and she doesn't have a chnace. so maybe yn moves on, or they continue in this stasis of friendship that toes the line of moreÂ
but on the other hand, the angst⌠imagine if they were getting closeâŚmaking yn qn if this is rly just friendship or smth more, then dani says they're straight. in front of the world. like ooof, no need to rub salt in their wound
then we get this dance of, is this friendship? cause they're straightâŚright? or is it more? or just a delusion caused by their feelings?
would be great to see both sides crashing out ngl (maybeđđ even give it potential for multiple partsâŚđĽş)
then maybe smth happens for then to finally admit to things⌠maybe yn getting a gf and dani being jealous of them & making all those snarky comments, OR OR dani getting close to a guy, like rly close; seems like she's in love close, and yn seems to be withdrawing. cause even if you should be happy for them, it still hurts to see⌠OR katseye gets tired of these best friends / wuh luh wuh yearningâcause honestly the 2 of them being all bf/gf prob makes them feel singleâand stage an intervention
also if you're accepting anons, can I be đ ?
omg getting a message on someone's thoughts on my work is so sooo heartwarming, you don't understand !! i've never received a message this long and i absolutely love it lol (i was acc surprised when i read this)
anw, to answer, i really didn't think of writing a part 2 or multiple parts, for that matter, when i wrote the story. BUT, after reading your message, you're so right. i think we could explore more into their dynamic as... whatever they're supposed to be. i would LOVE to write more on this in the future (when im not busy), and i'd def keep your thoughts in mind !
i hate to be useless but i don't really read angst. almost everything in my likes page are fluff or angst to fluff đ but if anyone can recommend me anything, i'd be happy to read
i did write this a few years ago so it's not great, but it IS angst
you're my everything, baby I'm missing you
Summary: Dani and Y/N have always been inseparable â late-night ramen, rooftop talks, cross-country trips, and the kind of closeness that people envy. Now, love has crept in where friendship once lived, and while Dani swears theyâre âjust like this,â deep down she knows â she could get used to this.
Notes: childhood besties to something more???; fluff (I guess), lowkey internal homophobia, (ik she's straight which is why this is js fictional)
Word Count: 2k words
Daniela Avanzini x fem!reader
A/N: hi im sorry for being inactive, been too busy studying (rip). anyway, here's my first ever katseye fic !
Dani could trace her life in Y/Nâs laughter.
The bright, unrestrained kind from when they were kids running through sprinklers in the summer. The low, secret giggles they shared in the back of classrooms. The warm, tired chuckle she heard now, years later, over late-night ramen in a corner booth.
Theyâd been side by side for so long that Dani had trouble remembering a version of herself without Y/N. They had a shared history, a collection of small moments that made up the fabric of their lives. It was Y/N who had taught her how to ride a bike after a skinned knee and a lot of tears, and Y/N who had waited outside the principal's office after Dani got into trouble for defending her. Y/N was there for Dani's first crush and her first heartbreak, always ready with a pint of ice cream and a terrible movie to watch.
In all the important moments, big and small, Y/N was a constant. Which was fine â more than fine â because if there was one constant she wanted, it was her.
But it was also the problem.
The first time Dani realized something was shifting between them, they were at a rooftop bar downtown. Not on a date â never on a date, Dani reminded herself â just two best friends catching up.
Y/N was telling a story about a coworker, gesturing animatedly with her glass. Dani didnât hear half of it, too distracted by the way the string lights overhead caught in Y/Nâs hair, making it glow. Dani swore she could feel the warmth from across the table.
It was just the two of them against the city skyline, which was starting to light up as the sun set. A light breeze tousled Y/Nâs hair, and she kept brushing it away from her face, a small, familiar gesture that Dani had watched countless times since they were kids. But this time, it was different. This time, Dani's hand twitched, wanting to reach out and do it for her.
âYouâre not listening,â Y/N accused, narrowing her eyes.
Dani smirked, deflecting. âI am. You just talk too much.â
She didnât admit that sheâd been listening, just⌠not to the words. She had been listening to the way Y/N's voice changed when she got to the punchline, the way the corners of her eyes crinkled when she laughed. Dani had been listening to the silence between Y/Nâs words, a quiet space she wanted to fill with something she couldnât name.
It was subtle, the way her focus shifted. She noticed Y/Nâs hands first â how they moved when she spoke, how they fidgeted when she was nervous. Then it was her voice, how Dani could pick it out in a crowded room without trying.
Soon, everything became an inventory.
The freckles dusting Y/Nâs shoulders in the summer. The tiny scar on her knuckle from when they tried making pancakes and Y/N accidentally cut herself on the edge of the pan. The way she always hummed while tying her shoes, a habit sheâd had since they were kids. It was a new kind of noticing â not just seeing, but committing to memory. The soft weight of Y/Nâs head on her shoulder when they fell asleep watching movies. The exact curve of her smile when Dani made a bad joke.
Dani told herself it was just what best friends did â knowing each other inside out. She tried to bury it, telling herself that her heart didnât skip for reasons it shouldnât. But best friends didnât get tongue-tied when the other leaned in too close. Best friends didnât have to stop themselves from tucking hair behind the otherâs ear. Best friends didnât dream about kissing each other and wake up feeling like their chest might cave in.
Still, Dani stayed quiet.
It was safer that way.
Sheâd seen how love â or whatever this was â could ruin friendships. And Y/N⌠she deserved someone steady, someone who wouldnât confuse her.
So, Dani played her role. She teased. She listened. She showed up when Y/N called, no matter how late or how far.
And every time Y/N smiled at her like she was the only person in the world, Dani tucked the feeling away like a secret she could live off of.
But Dani had always known who she was. Or, she thought she did. She was Daniela, the girl who loved to dance, who sometimes got her feelings hurt too easily, and who was, for all intents and purposes, straight. Sheâd dated boys, had her first crush and her first heartbreak, and Y/N had been there for all of it.
Her feelings for Y/N werenât anything like those flimsy, fleeting schoolyard crushes. This was something different, something deeper and more terrifyingly real. A feeling that had burrowed its way into her bones, making her question everything she thought was true about herself.
She was just like this. She swore it to herself like a mantra. It was just a best friend thing. Her best friend. Her girl best friend. The best friend she drove to at 3 AM just because Y/N couldnât sleep. The best friend whose hand she held when they crossed busy streets. The best friend she dreamed about kissing. She told herself over and over that these feelings were normal, that they were just an extension of their long history. But in the quiet hours of the night, when she was alone with her thoughts, a terrifying word would whisper in her mind. Yet, Dani couldnât bring herself to say it out loud because it was a word that threatened to unravel the neat little box she had put her life in.
When KATSEYEâs tour schedule was announced, the girls were ecstatic, Y/N included. There was a city that sheâd been wanting to visit and thought, what better excuse than to go to her best friendâs concert in said city?
But Dani never liked San Francisco.
Too foggy. Too cold. Too⌠bland. The kind of place sheâd pass through on tour without a second thought. But Y/N had wanted to come, and the girls had downtime before their concert.
As soon as Y/N said the name of the city, Dani's first instinct was to say no. It was a place sheâd always associated with lonely hotels and the kind of weather that mirrored her mood. But then Y/N's smile lit up her face, a clear invitation, and Dani couldn't bring herself to refuse. So, Y/N planned a quick getaway â just a day, no real itinerary, just wandering. Dani expected to hate it. Sheâd never liked windy cities, the kind where your hair whipped into your mouth every time you stepped outside.
Somehow, they ended up on a hill overlooking the water, the sky bruised with sunset, and Y/N leaned against her shoulder, laughing about something trivial.
Dani didnât expect to think much of it, but she thought maybe she could live here. Maybe she could live anywhere, as long as Y/N was there too.
She didnât say that out loud, of course. That wasnât how their friendship worked â or at least, thatâs what she told herself.
âStill hate it?â Y/N asked, tilting her head toward the skyline. The wind tugged at her hair, sending loose strands dancing across her face. Daniâs fingers itched to brush them back.
She shrugged. âNot⌠as much.â
Y/N laughed, the sound threading into the wind and settling somewhere in Daniâs chest.
The memory of their San Francisco trip settled deep within her, a warm, persistent ache. It followed her back to Los Angeles, a ghost of a feeling that clung to her through a week of studio sessions, interviews, and late-night rehearsals. The tour life was relentless, a whirlwind of motion and noise that was meant to distract, to keep her too busy to think. But even when she was surrounded by people, Dani found herself replaying that quiet moment on the hill.
And then it hit her hardest, one quiet midnight in her apartment.
She was sprawled across her couch after another relentless string of schedules. Y/N was flipping through a photo album theyâd started as kids, laughing at their awkward middle school phases. Dani wasnât paying attention to the photos. She was watching Y/Nâs lips move, the corners curling with amusement.
âEarth to Dani?â Y/N waved a hand in front of her face. âYouâve been staring for like⌠two minutes.â
âSorry,â Dani muttered, heat crawling up her neck. She leaned back, forcing a laugh. âGuess Iâm just tired.â
But that was a lie.
The truth was, sheâd never whispered Y/Nâs name in her head like that before â tender, careful, like it was something fragile.
It was dangerous, she knew. Sheâd heard too many stories about friends falling apart when lines blurred. She told herself over and over â weâre just like this. Y/N didnât think twice about leaning against her, holding her hand when they crossed busy streets, linking arms in the grocery store.
But Dani thought about it. All the time.
She thought about it in the studio when Y/N brought her coffee and gently tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Y/N's touch was fleeting, a small gesture of care, but it sent a jolt through Dani that had her fumbling with the lyrics sheet. She thought about it when they were shoulder to shoulder at concerts, screaming lyrics they both loved. She thought about it when Y/N kissed her cheek goodbye at the airport and Daniâs heart beat stupidly fast for hours afterward.
She swore she was just like this. Just like every other girl who had a best friend she was inseparable from. A girl who was just really close with her friend. Nothing more. But every time Y/N did something so small and so normal, Daniâs carefully constructed world of denial would threaten to crack, and the terrifying whispers of something else would return, louder than before.
One night, in a rare moment of courage or exhaustion â she couldnât tell which â Dani let herself get closer than usual.
Y/N perched on her kitchen counter, hair messy, hoodie hanging loose, humming while scrolling on her phone. Dani watched her, feeling that familiar tug in her chest. When Y/N looked up and grinned, Daniâs throat tightened.
She wanted to say it. I love you. Iâve always loved you. But instead, she leaned against the counter, letting Y/N pull her into a hug. Y/Nâs arms were soft and certain around her, her voice gentle as she teased, âYouâre staring again, Dani.â
Dani laughed it off, heart pounding. âYouâre imagining things.â
But inside, she whispered what she couldnât say aloud: If this is what it feels like, maybe I donât mind. Maybe I could get used to this.
And when Y/N squeezed her tighter, Dani closed her eyes, deciding â for tonight, at least â to live in the warmth of the moment.
Later that night, they were lying in bed, Y/N half-asleep beside her. Dani shifted, brushing her fingers over Y/Nâs hair, then down to her cheek, tracing the faint line of her jaw.
Y/N stirred, mumbling something incoherent. Dani smiled, whispering, âYou know Iâd stay, right? If you asked me to.â
Y/Nâs only reply was a sleepy hum before drifting off again. Dani lay there, wide awake, committing every detail to memory â the scent of Y/Nâs shampoo, the steady rise and fall of her chest, the warmth radiating between them.
The next morning, Y/N was at the kitchen counter, humming to herself while she made coffee. Dani walked up behind her and, instead of just leaning on the counter as she usually would, wrapped her arms around Y/N's waist and rested her chin on her shoulder. Y/N stilled for a moment, surprised, before she leaned back into the embrace. The humming didn't stop, but it got a little softer, a little sweeter. Dani closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of coffee and Y/N.
This wasn't a conversation. Not even a confession.
It was just a moment. A new one. And this time, Dani didn't question it at all.
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Summary: In a toxic cycle of love and manipulation, Y/N tries to move on â but Aeri always comes back. And Y/N always lets her. Even when she knows love isnât enough to make someone stay. Or change.
Genre: pure angst, toxic af, just a little suggestive
Word Count: 2k words
Aeri Uchinaga (Giselle) x fem!reader
A/N: prompt credits go to @urfriendlywriter !
Y/N had started over. New course schedule. New circle. Even a new club â something she joined on a whim, desperate for air. For the first time in what felt like months, she didnât feel like she was suffocating.
Aeri hadnât crossed her mind in weeks. Or maybe that was a lie. Maybe sheâd just become better at shoving her into the farthest corner of her heart. She never truly left. Aeri never did.
So, when she walked into that club meeting â a guest, the president had introduced â and Y/N saw her again, standing at the back in a leather jacket and a ghost of a smirk, she felt her lungs collapse.
âDidnât think this was your scene,â Aeri said afterward, when the meeting ended and Y/N tried to leave unnoticed.
âI didnât think you remembered where I went to school.â
Aeri laughed. âI always remembered. You just werenât picking up my calls.â
âYou stopped calling,â Y/N corrected.
A shrug. âYou blocked me.â
And just like that, the conversation spiraled. Not into shouting. That was never their game. It was the undercurrent, the invisible thread, the way Aeri looked at her like she was still hers, and the way Y/N hated that it still made her ache.
Later that week, at a study session with her new friends, the topic of the club meeting came up.
"Who was that person who kept trying to talk to you?" one of them, Yunjin, asked, a slight frown on her face. "She seemed... intense."
"Just an old acquaintance," Y/N mumbled, trying to wave it off.
Another friend, Chaewon, chimed in, "Yeah, she kept staring. Are you two okay? You seemed a little on edge."
Y/N forced a smile. "Totally fine. Just haven't seen her in a while."
But the questions, though well-meaning, felt like tiny needles, pricking at the fragile peace Y/N had built. It was a stark reminder that while she tried to move on, the past, embodied by Aeri, was a shadow others could already perceive. And a part of Y/N hated that Aeri's reappearance had already begun to isolate her, even amongst people who genuinely cared.
Weeks passed, and Aeri lingered like smoke â familiar, intoxicating, suffocating.
She was all charm at first. Showing up at events. Praising Y/Nâs leadership skills. Offering her coffee on rainy afternoons. âIâm proud of you,â sheâd whisper, arms brushing against hers. âYouâre really doing well.â
Y/N wanted to believe her. God, she needed to. But it started again. Subtle jabs.
âYou sure you trust her?â Aeri asked one day about Y/Nâs new club friend. âShe gives off weird vibes.â
âYou looked happier last semester. You were always around me then.â
âI saw the way he looked at you. Donât you think heâs just using you to get ahead?â
Isolated. Thatâs how it started. Y/N began declining invites. Ghosting group chats. And Aeriâs presence filled the silence.
âYou canât keep doing this,â Y/N said one night, her voice trembling. They were alone in her apartment. Aeri had shown up with dinner, uninvited.
âCrawling back into my life like nothing happened.â
Aeri tilted her head, eyes softening in mock sympathy. âYou looked lonely.â
âI wasnât,â Y/N snapped, a sharp crack in her voice. âI was fine. I was actually fine.â
Aeri stepped forward. âThen why did you let me back in?â
Because Iâm weak, Y/N thought. Because I still love you.
She didnât answer.
Later that night, they sat in suffocating silence, barely touching.
Y/N bites her lip hard, swallowing the sharp sting that rises in her throat. She knows this isnât right. She knows how this story ends â broken glass, broken hearts, the quiet hum of regret at 3AM. But god, itâs Aeri. And when she turns to look at her, eyes soft with exhaustion and something else â something almost like vulnerability â Y/N caves.
Again.
âIf I begged, would you stay?â Y/N whispered finally, voice fragile.
Aeri didnât reply.
âPlease,â Y/N breathed. âJust this one last time⌠pretend you still care.â
Her eyes were downcast and glassy, lips trembling as she blinked hard against tears.
âI do care,â Aeri said too quickly.
âDo you really?â Y/N said. âBecause it seems like you only care when itâs convenient. When no one else answers. When youâre bored.â
Aeriâs smile is almost sad. âAnd yet, you always let me in.â
Y/Nâs jaw clenches. âMaybe I shouldnât.â
âThen donât.â
Itâs a challenge. Aeriâs always been good at that â twisting honesty into games, love into manipulation.
Y/N takes a shaky breath. âI want to stop. I swear to god, I want to stop.â
âThen do it,â Aeri says.
But when she leans in, when her hand brushes Y/Nâs cheek, Y/N doesnât move.
She never does.
âI wouldâve burnt the world down for you, Aeri,â Y/N whispered. âAnd youââ
âSo would I haââ
âLiar.â Y/Nâs voice cracked, the word landing like glass against concrete.
Aeri turned away. âThis again.â
âThis always,â Y/N snapped.
The worst part wasnât the fights. It was the aftermath â the pretending. The pretending they were okay. The pretending it was love.
Y/Nâs hands shook when Aeri kissed her neck one morning, like nothing had happened. She didn't push her away, but her body was rigid.
âI don't miss you,â Y/N said later that afternoon when Aeri cornered her at the campus cafĂŠ, her eyes guarded.
âLook at me and say it,â Aeri challenged. âThen Iâll leave, Y/N.â
Y/N opened her mouth but faltered. Her throat clenched. Her eyes burned. She couldnât look at her. Not really.
âFuck,â she whispered.
Aeri smirked. âThought so.â
Aeri didnât push further. She just stepped closer, slowly, like she always did when Y/N was too raw to resist. Her hand lifted to Y/Nâs cheek, her thumb brushing under her eye as if to wipe away tears that hadnât fallen yet.
âYou still feel it, donât you?â she murmured.
Y/Nâs breath hitched, her body betraying her before she could find the words to deny it. And Aeri took that as permission.
One step, then another, and their bodies were flush. Aeriâs fingers skimmed down Y/Nâs sides, ghosting over her hips like she still had a right to touch her like this.
"You say you want me gone," she whispered against Y/Nâs jaw, her lips brushing skin, âbut you keep letting me in.â
Y/Nâs hands trembled at her sides. She hated this. Hated how her body responded to the heat of Aeriâs mouth against her neck, the way her pulse raced when Aeriâs hands slipped under her sweater â just barely, just enough.
âAeriâŚâ
âTell me to stop,â she breathed.
Y/N didnât. Couldnât.
Because even now â especially now â this was how Aeri pulled her back in. With the weight of her body pressed against her, the familiar scent, the possessive grip on her waist, the breathless kisses that always left her dizzy and more alone afterward.
She tilted her head instinctively when Aeri kissed down her throat, soft gasps replacing every thought in her head.
For a moment, it felt like love again.
But only for a moment.
Because when Aeri pulled back, her eyes weren't soft â they were smug. Victorious.
And Y/N hated how it still worked.
She started losing herself.
The new friends drifted away. Invitations stopped. Y/N was quieter. Duller. Her professors asked if something was wrong.
âYouâre not showing up like you used to,â one said.
Because I donât know who I am anymore, Y/N wanted to say. Because sheâs here again, and I donât know how to be without her.
That same evening, Aeri had come home again, this time with flowers in her hand and takeout in the other.
âI missed you, baby. Thought you needed a little something for how hard youâve been working lately.â
A few hours later, they end up in bed.
Not out of love, but out of habit.
The sheets were still tangled around their legs, warm from the friction of skin against skin. Y/Nâs lips were parted, breaths shaky in the aftermath. Aeriâs hand traced lazy patterns along her thigh, their bodies still slick with sweat, clinging in a way that felt too close and not close enough.
For a moment, it was quiet. Heavy. Still.
Y/N stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling â not from exhaustion, but from something else she couldnât name. Her skin was flushed, her body humming, but her mind â her chest â felt suddenly, achingly hollow. Her throat tightened. Her stomach churned.
It started with a tremble in her lip, then a sharp breath she couldnât control. And then the tears came, uninvited â slow at first, then harder, until she was shuddering silently beside the woman she swore she wouldnât let back in.
She turned away instinctively, curling slightly, hoping Aeri wouldnât notice.
But she always noticed â especially when she needed to.
âY/N?â Aeri's voice dropped, soft and careful, fingers still ghosting over the curve of Y/Nâs hip. âHey⌠are you okay?â
Y/N didnât answer, only let out a slow, uneven breath that betrayed everything. She felt the bed shift. Aeri was closer now, pulling her into her arms, lips brushing against her temple.
âHey, no⌠donât cry.â Her voice was deceptively sweet, soaked in concern. She wiped a tear with her thumb, gently tilting Y/Nâs chin. âTalk to me. Whatâs wrong, baby? Did I hurt you?â
Hurt was an understatement, but Y/N knows Aeri didnât mean hurt in the way she felt it. But, that nickname, so familiar, felt like a hook in her chest.
Y/N shook her head, barely able to speak. âI donât know whatâs wrong.â
Aeri sat up slightly, pulling Y/N into her arms, cradling her like something fragile. âYou know I care about you, right? You know I donât like seeing you like this and I wouldnât be here if I didnât care.â
Y/N closed her eyes. She always says that. Every time. When she leaves. When she returns. Always with the same false tenderness wrapped in promises she never keeps. It always sounded real. The warmth of her touch, the gentle way she kissed the crown of Y/Nâs head, the way she murmured âIâm here, okay? Iâve always been here.â
But that wasnât true. Aeri left. Again and again. And she always came back only when the rest of her world was quiet. Only when she needed something.
Y/N knew that. She knew.
But she let her arms wrap around Aeri anyway. Let her inhale that familiar scent, let herself be touched like she still mattered.
Because this â this dizzying comfort wrapped in barbed wire â was all she knew. Her body remembered the tenderness even if her mind screamed against it. No one else looked at her like this. No one else made her feel like the only person in the room. Not like Aeri did â even if it was only temporary. Even if it came at the cost of herself.
âIâm just tired,â she whispered.
âThen sleep,â Aeri murmured. âIâll be here when you wake up.â
But Y/N knew better. She always knew. And still, she just let herself sink into the familiar ache of arms that once promised everything, even if all they ever delivered was confusion.
And when morning came, all that remained was the indentation on the pillow beside her â and the ache she never quite got used to.
Then one night, it boiled over.
âI still love you,â Aeri confessed after a particularly tense silence, eyes wide and pleading.
âNo, you donât,â Y/N bit back. âYou love using me. You hate that Iâm standing up for myself now.â
âY/Nââ
âYou loved me when I was quiet. When I didnât say anything. When I let you come and go as you pleased.â
âThatâs not fair.â
âNo, whatâs not fair is you watching me rebuild my life just to tear it down again.â
Aeri scoffed. âYouâre so dramatic.â
âAnd youâre a fucking virus, Aeri.â
That hit. Aeriâs expression flattened, defensive. But Y/N wasnât done.
âI look at you,â she said, her voice shaking, âand I feel miserable.â
Silence. Aeri blinked. Her face fell.
âYou donât mean that,â she whispered.
But Y/N did.
And she didnât.
That night, Aeri left.
But sheâd be back.
She always came back.
And Y/N hated herself for knowing that she would probably open the door again.
Because love, no matter how broken, was still love.
And love was a habit Y/N didnât know how to break.
A/N: if youâre in a relationship like this, please get out. I am personally begging you, donât do this to yourself. this is not okay
Summary: In a toxic cycle of love and manipulation, Y/N tries to move on â but Aeri always comes back. And Y/N always lets her. Even when she knows love isnât enough to make someone stay. Or change.
Genre: pure angst, toxic af, just a little suggestive
Word Count: 2k words
Aeri Uchinaga (Giselle) x fem!reader
A/N: prompt credits go to @urfriendlywriter !
Y/N had started over. New course schedule. New circle. Even a new club â something she joined on a whim, desperate for air. For the first time in what felt like months, she didnât feel like she was suffocating.
Aeri hadnât crossed her mind in weeks. Or maybe that was a lie. Maybe sheâd just become better at shoving her into the farthest corner of her heart. She never truly left. Aeri never did.
So, when she walked into that club meeting â a guest, the president had introduced â and Y/N saw her again, standing at the back in a leather jacket and a ghost of a smirk, she felt her lungs collapse.
âDidnât think this was your scene,â Aeri said afterward, when the meeting ended and Y/N tried to leave unnoticed.
âI didnât think you remembered where I went to school.â
Aeri laughed. âI always remembered. You just werenât picking up my calls.â
âYou stopped calling,â Y/N corrected.
A shrug. âYou blocked me.â
And just like that, the conversation spiraled. Not into shouting. That was never their game. It was the undercurrent, the invisible thread, the way Aeri looked at her like she was still hers, and the way Y/N hated that it still made her ache.
Later that week, at a study session with her new friends, the topic of the club meeting came up.
"Who was that person who kept trying to talk to you?" one of them, Yunjin, asked, a slight frown on her face. "She seemed... intense."
"Just an old acquaintance," Y/N mumbled, trying to wave it off.
Another friend, Chaewon, chimed in, "Yeah, she kept staring. Are you two okay? You seemed a little on edge."
Y/N forced a smile. "Totally fine. Just haven't seen her in a while."
But the questions, though well-meaning, felt like tiny needles, pricking at the fragile peace Y/N had built. It was a stark reminder that while she tried to move on, the past, embodied by Aeri, was a shadow others could already perceive. And a part of Y/N hated that Aeri's reappearance had already begun to isolate her, even amongst people who genuinely cared.
Weeks passed, and Aeri lingered like smoke â familiar, intoxicating, suffocating.
She was all charm at first. Showing up at events. Praising Y/Nâs leadership skills. Offering her coffee on rainy afternoons. âIâm proud of you,â sheâd whisper, arms brushing against hers. âYouâre really doing well.â
Y/N wanted to believe her. God, she needed to. But it started again. Subtle jabs.
âYou sure you trust her?â Aeri asked one day about Y/Nâs new club friend. âShe gives off weird vibes.â
âYou looked happier last semester. You were always around me then.â
âI saw the way he looked at you. Donât you think heâs just using you to get ahead?â
Isolated. Thatâs how it started. Y/N began declining invites. Ghosting group chats. And Aeriâs presence filled the silence.
âYou canât keep doing this,â Y/N said one night, her voice trembling. They were alone in her apartment. Aeri had shown up with dinner, uninvited.
âCrawling back into my life like nothing happened.â
Aeri tilted her head, eyes softening in mock sympathy. âYou looked lonely.â
âI wasnât,â Y/N snapped, a sharp crack in her voice. âI was fine. I was actually fine.â
Aeri stepped forward. âThen why did you let me back in?â
Because Iâm weak, Y/N thought. Because I still love you.
She didnât answer.
Later that night, they sat in suffocating silence, barely touching.
Y/N bites her lip hard, swallowing the sharp sting that rises in her throat. She knows this isnât right. She knows how this story ends â broken glass, broken hearts, the quiet hum of regret at 3AM. But god, itâs Aeri. And when she turns to look at her, eyes soft with exhaustion and something else â something almost like vulnerability â Y/N caves.
Again.
âIf I begged, would you stay?â Y/N whispered finally, voice fragile.
Aeri didnât reply.
âPlease,â Y/N breathed. âJust this one last time⌠pretend you still care.â
Her eyes were downcast and glassy, lips trembling as she blinked hard against tears.
âI do care,â Aeri said too quickly.
âDo you really?â Y/N said. âBecause it seems like you only care when itâs convenient. When no one else answers. When youâre bored.â
Aeriâs smile is almost sad. âAnd yet, you always let me in.â
Y/Nâs jaw clenches. âMaybe I shouldnât.â
âThen donât.â
Itâs a challenge. Aeriâs always been good at that â twisting honesty into games, love into manipulation.
Y/N takes a shaky breath. âI want to stop. I swear to god, I want to stop.â
âThen do it,â Aeri says.
But when she leans in, when her hand brushes Y/Nâs cheek, Y/N doesnât move.
She never does.
âI wouldâve burnt the world down for you, Aeri,â Y/N whispered. âAnd youââ
âSo would I haââ
âLiar.â Y/Nâs voice cracked, the word landing like glass against concrete.
Aeri turned away. âThis again.â
âThis always,â Y/N snapped.
The worst part wasnât the fights. It was the aftermath â the pretending. The pretending they were okay. The pretending it was love.
Y/Nâs hands shook when Aeri kissed her neck one morning, like nothing had happened. She didn't push her away, but her body was rigid.
âI don't miss you,â Y/N said later that afternoon when Aeri cornered her at the campus cafĂŠ, her eyes guarded.
âLook at me and say it,â Aeri challenged. âThen Iâll leave, Y/N.â
Y/N opened her mouth but faltered. Her throat clenched. Her eyes burned. She couldnât look at her. Not really.
âFuck,â she whispered.
Aeri smirked. âThought so.â
Aeri didnât push further. She just stepped closer, slowly, like she always did when Y/N was too raw to resist. Her hand lifted to Y/Nâs cheek, her thumb brushing under her eye as if to wipe away tears that hadnât fallen yet.
âYou still feel it, donât you?â she murmured.
Y/Nâs breath hitched, her body betraying her before she could find the words to deny it. And Aeri took that as permission.
One step, then another, and their bodies were flush. Aeriâs fingers skimmed down Y/Nâs sides, ghosting over her hips like she still had a right to touch her like this.
"You say you want me gone," she whispered against Y/Nâs jaw, her lips brushing skin, âbut you keep letting me in.â
Y/Nâs hands trembled at her sides. She hated this. Hated how her body responded to the heat of Aeriâs mouth against her neck, the way her pulse raced when Aeriâs hands slipped under her sweater â just barely, just enough.
âAeriâŚâ
âTell me to stop,â she breathed.
Y/N didnât. Couldnât.
Because even now â especially now â this was how Aeri pulled her back in. With the weight of her body pressed against her, the familiar scent, the possessive grip on her waist, the breathless kisses that always left her dizzy and more alone afterward.
She tilted her head instinctively when Aeri kissed down her throat, soft gasps replacing every thought in her head.
For a moment, it felt like love again.
But only for a moment.
Because when Aeri pulled back, her eyes weren't soft â they were smug. Victorious.
And Y/N hated how it still worked.
She started losing herself.
The new friends drifted away. Invitations stopped. Y/N was quieter. Duller. Her professors asked if something was wrong.
âYouâre not showing up like you used to,â one said.
Because I donât know who I am anymore, Y/N wanted to say. Because sheâs here again, and I donât know how to be without her.
That same evening, Aeri had come home again, this time with flowers in her hand and takeout in the other.
âI missed you, baby. Thought you needed a little something for how hard youâve been working lately.â
A few hours later, they end up in bed.
Not out of love, but out of habit.
The sheets were still tangled around their legs, warm from the friction of skin against skin. Y/Nâs lips were parted, breaths shaky in the aftermath. Aeriâs hand traced lazy patterns along her thigh, their bodies still slick with sweat, clinging in a way that felt too close and not close enough.
For a moment, it was quiet. Heavy. Still.
Y/N stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling â not from exhaustion, but from something else she couldnât name. Her skin was flushed, her body humming, but her mind â her chest â felt suddenly, achingly hollow. Her throat tightened. Her stomach churned.
It started with a tremble in her lip, then a sharp breath she couldnât control. And then the tears came, uninvited â slow at first, then harder, until she was shuddering silently beside the woman she swore she wouldnât let back in.
She turned away instinctively, curling slightly, hoping Aeri wouldnât notice.
But she always noticed â especially when she needed to.
âY/N?â Aeri's voice dropped, soft and careful, fingers still ghosting over the curve of Y/Nâs hip. âHey⌠are you okay?â
Y/N didnât answer, only let out a slow, uneven breath that betrayed everything. She felt the bed shift. Aeri was closer now, pulling her into her arms, lips brushing against her temple.
âHey, no⌠donât cry.â Her voice was deceptively sweet, soaked in concern. She wiped a tear with her thumb, gently tilting Y/Nâs chin. âTalk to me. Whatâs wrong, baby? Did I hurt you?â
Hurt was an understatement, but Y/N knows Aeri didnât mean hurt in the way she felt it. But, that nickname, so familiar, felt like a hook in her chest.
Y/N shook her head, barely able to speak. âI donât know whatâs wrong.â
Aeri sat up slightly, pulling Y/N into her arms, cradling her like something fragile. âYou know I care about you, right? You know I donât like seeing you like this and I wouldnât be here if I didnât care.â
Y/N closed her eyes. She always says that. Every time. When she leaves. When she returns. Always with the same false tenderness wrapped in promises she never keeps. It always sounded real. The warmth of her touch, the gentle way she kissed the crown of Y/Nâs head, the way she murmured âIâm here, okay? Iâve always been here.â
But that wasnât true. Aeri left. Again and again. And she always came back only when the rest of her world was quiet. Only when she needed something.
Y/N knew that. She knew.
But she let her arms wrap around Aeri anyway. Let her inhale that familiar scent, let herself be touched like she still mattered.
Because this â this dizzying comfort wrapped in barbed wire â was all she knew. Her body remembered the tenderness even if her mind screamed against it. No one else looked at her like this. No one else made her feel like the only person in the room. Not like Aeri did â even if it was only temporary. Even if it came at the cost of herself.
âIâm just tired,â she whispered.
âThen sleep,â Aeri murmured. âIâll be here when you wake up.â
But Y/N knew better. She always knew. And still, she just let herself sink into the familiar ache of arms that once promised everything, even if all they ever delivered was confusion.
And when morning came, all that remained was the indentation on the pillow beside her â and the ache she never quite got used to.
Then one night, it boiled over.
âI still love you,â Aeri confessed after a particularly tense silence, eyes wide and pleading.
âNo, you donât,â Y/N bit back. âYou love using me. You hate that Iâm standing up for myself now.â
âY/Nââ
âYou loved me when I was quiet. When I didnât say anything. When I let you come and go as you pleased.â
âThatâs not fair.â
âNo, whatâs not fair is you watching me rebuild my life just to tear it down again.â
Aeri scoffed. âYouâre so dramatic.â
âAnd youâre a fucking virus, Aeri.â
That hit. Aeriâs expression flattened, defensive. But Y/N wasnât done.
âI look at you,â she said, her voice shaking, âand I feel miserable.â
Silence. Aeri blinked. Her face fell.
âYou donât mean that,â she whispered.
But Y/N did.
And she didnât.
That night, Aeri left.
But sheâd be back.
She always came back.
And Y/N hated herself for knowing that she would probably open the door again.
Because love, no matter how broken, was still love.
And love was a habit Y/N didnât know how to break.
A/N: if youâre in a relationship like this, please get out. I am personally begging you, donât do this to yourself. this is not okay
Summary: Love isn't always in sync for some people. Y/N loved too much, held on too tightly. Minjeong walked away before anything could happen. Months later, when they cross paths again, old wounds reopen â not because there's hope left, but because there's still love.
Genre: pure angst
Word Count: 2k words
Kim Minjeong (Winter) x fem!reader
A/N: prompt credits go to @urfriendlywriter !
Y/N hadnât been to this part of the city in months, but her feet knew the way by heart. The sharp turn after the cafĂŠ with the blue chairs. The uneven sidewalk three blocks down. The creaky elevator that always stuttered on the fourth floor.
Everything still looked the same. But nothing felt familiar anymore.
Days had bled into weeks, and the weeks into months, each passing moment a silent testament to the chasm that had opened between them. Y/N had tried to forget the apartment's layout, the way the light fell through the kitchen window in the morning, the specific scent of Minjeong's shampoo that used to cling to her pillows. But the landlord's insistent emails about the lease, and then Minjeong's terse text, had dragged her back. It felt like tearing open a scab, but a part of her, a foolish, hopeful part, wondered if peeling it off might finally let it heal.
Her hands curled tighter around the straps of her bag as she stood in front of Minjeongâs apartment door. She could hear faint music through the wood â a song they once danced to in the kitchen, barefoot and giddy on wine and love. She remembered the feel of Minjeong's hands on her waist, the way their laughter echoed off these very walls, a sound so full it felt like it could last forever. She swallowed.
There was no reason for her heart to still ache, but it did.
She shouldnât have come, she told herself as she stood at the doorway. She was only here to pick up her things â the ones Minjeong had texted about, months after their silence had stretched thin and unbearable. A box of clothes, a couple of records, maybe the hoodie she used to steal on cold nights.
Y/N raised her hand to knock, hesitated, then knocked twice.
The door opened too quickly, as if Minjeong had been standing right behind it.
Her hair looked longer now, tied up, wearing a faded gray shirt Y/N didnât recognize, but her eyes â those same soft, stormy eyes â looked just like they always had. Just like they had that night.
âHey,â Minjeong said, voice quieter than Y/N remembered. Or maybe sheâd just forgotten how soft it could be when it wasnât laughing, teasing, or fighting.
Y/Nâs mouth was dry. âHi.â
Neither of them moved for a moment. They hadn't seen each other in months. Texts had died out, calls stopped before they could even ring. And now, here they were â in the same room, breathing the same air, acting like strangers in a space that once knew every inch of them together.
âI just came to getâŚthe stuff,â Y/N said. Her voice was too steady. Too practiced.
Finally, Minjeong stepped aside. âTheyâre in the box by the bed.â
Y/N walked in. The apartment smelled the same â like clean laundry and citrus candles. Like her. Same quiet beige walls. Same scuffed corner near the kitchen where they'd once danced tipsily at 1 a.m. Same low hum of a fridge that had once held half of Y/Nâs favorite snacks, placed there thoughtfully by Minjeong before every visit â before Y/N moved in altogether.
Everything looked untouched, and it made something inside Y/N twist. She half expected to see her slippers by the couch, or their polaroids still pinned on the fridge. But those were gone. Each object was a silent accusation, a timestamp of a life that had been so perfectly intertwined. She half expected to hear Minjeong's humming from the bedroom, or to see their favorite show paused on the TV. It was all a cruel illusion of permanence.
Y/Nâs heart clenched as she walked toward the bedroom. Her old hoodie still hung on the back of the chair, the same way she used to leave it. On the nightstand, tucked behind some old receipts, was the photo booth strip theyâd taken at a beach fair two summers ago. Her eyes stung.
She spotted the box, sealed and neat. Final. Like her place in Minjeongâs life had been packed away too. Y/N moved slowly, kneeling beside the box. Some books. A few shirts. That old perfume bottle sheâd always forget to take with her.
âDid you check if I left anything else?â
Minjeong nodded. âYeah. I did.â
But as Y/N rifled a bite more, her hand froze. At the very bottom was the candle sheâd bought them after their third month together â the one with the scent Minjeong used to say reminded her of Y/Nâs apartment, even though it had never been lit. Said it was too pretty to ruin.
She looked up, lips parting. âYou kept this?â
Minjeongâs eyes flicked to the candle. âDidnât have the heart to throw it out.â
Silence again.
It wrapped around them like static. The kind that made your skin itch with all the things left unsaid.
Y/N stood, hugging the box to her chest. âWell. I think thatâs all of it.â
Minjeong looked like she wanted to say something. Her jaw flexed. Her gaze dropped, then lifted again â hesitant.
âDo you want coffee?â she asked. âOr water?â
Y/N blinked. âI donât want to botherââ
âItâs just coffee,â Minjeong said, already turning toward the kitchen. âYou came all this way.â
Y/N hesitated. Then followed.
The kitchen was the same too. Mugs still organized the way she had insisted on. The one with the hand-painted star still sat in the rack â her favorite. She could still remember the day they went to the pottery class Minjeong had booked for their anniversary. Y/N never stepped foot in a pottery studio ever again.
Minjeong handed her a cup. Their fingers brushed, just slightly. Minjeongâs gaze, for a fleeting second, caught on Y/N's worn bracelet â a gift from Minjeong herself â before quickly darting away. The brush of their fingers was electric, a jolt of recognition in a space now defined by absence. And for a while, time folded. They were back in the mornings they used to share â sleepy smiles, sleepy kisses, and quiet coffees.
Y/N looked at Minjeong over the rim of her mug. She looked good. She always had, but there was something about her now that seemed⌠lonelier.
Or maybe that was just Y/Nâs projection.
âYou look well,â Y/N offered.
Minjeongâs lips twitched. âYou donât have to lie.â
âIâm not.â
A beat.
âYou do, too,â Minjeong added.
It was nothing. A few exchanged pleasantries. But it felt like a thread being pulled â unraveling something carefully stitched shut.
Y/N placed the mug down. âI should go.â
Minjeong nodded. But didnât move.
Y/N stepped back, then paused. âMinjeongââ
âYeah?â
Y/N licked her lips, eyes flicking to the floor. Then back up. âCan I ask something?â
âOf course.â
âThat night⌠when you said it didnât work out between us,â she began, voice low, cracking. âWas that the whole truth?â
Minjeong stared. Her fingers curled around her mug tighter.
âIt didnât work out,â she repeated.
Y/N shook her head slowly. âYeah, but⌠is that all?â
The question hung heavy between them. And just like that, the air shifted. Time rewound.
Three months earlier.
It was a Wednesday when it happened. Random. Uneventful. The kind of day that shouldnât have meant anything.
Minjeong had come home late. She looked tired, distant. Y/N had cooked her favorite stew and even set the table. But something in Minjeongâs eyes that night felt far away.
They sat in silence for most of dinner. Y/N kept asking about her day. Minjeong kept answering in one-liners.
And then, out of nowhere, Minjeong said it.
âI donât think weâre working anymore.â
Y/N dropped her spoon. âWhat?â
âI think... I think this isnât working. Us.â
It didnât make sense. Not to Y/N.
âWhat are you talking about?â she asked, voice already shaking. âWe were fine yesterday. We were laughing. WeâWhat changed?â
Minjeong looked down. âIâve felt it for a while. I just didnât say it.â
âYou didnât say anything.â Y/N stood up from her seat, panicked. âIâI know I get too attached. I know I always ask too much. But you knew that about me from the start, Minjeong. You said it was okay. You said it was okay.â
Minjeong flinched. âIt was. I tried. But I donât think I can be what you need.â
âI never asked you to be anything but here,â Y/N said, voice cracking.
Tears were already rolling down her cheeks as she took a step closer. âJust tell me what to do. Please. How can I fix it?â
âYou canât.â
âPlease, Minjeong, donât fâdonât fuck with me. Donât say that. Tell me what to do. How can I make this work?â Her sobs broke free now, raw and trembling. âJust tell me. Please.â
âNo. No, you donât get to do that. You donât get to give up like this â just like that â and then say sorry.â
She reached out to hold her, to make her stay.
Minjeong stepped back.
That was the night Y/N learned that even love could vanish with silence. That even someone who once held her like the world could walk away without a fight.
Now
Minjeong still hadnât answered. She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then looked away.
Y/N stood by the box, hands clenched.
âIâm not here to argue,â she said. âI came for my stuff. But I need to know. Was it really just that? That we stopped working?â
Minjeong looked like she was holding something back. âWhat do you want me to say?â
âI donât know,â Y/N said honestly. âThat you miss me? That I didnât make it all up in my head? That maybe it wasnât one-sided?â
Minjeong hesitated. âIt wasnât.â
That one sentence broke something open.
âBut I donât know how to stay,â Minjeong added. âI never have. I always cut people off before it hurts.â
Y/N laughed bitterly. âWell, congratulations. You beat the pain to it.â
âI didnât mean to hurt you.â
âBut you did.â
Silence.
âI still think about you,â Minjeong said. âMore than I should.â
Y/Nâs heart jumped. âThen why didnât you call?â
Minjeong exhaled shakily. âBecause I was scared. Because you were all in, and I didnât know how to be. Because I didnât know how to hold something good without crushing it. And if I let you in again, Iâll ruin you again.â
âYou couldâve told me,â Y/N blinked back tears. âI asked you what I could do to fix it, Min.â
âI didnât know how,â Minjeong said. âEvery time I looked at you, I felt like I was seconds away from ruining it all.â
âSo, you left before I could ruin you.â
Minjeong flinched. âI didnât want to hurt you.â
âYou did hurt me,â Y/N said, voice trembling now. âYou just didnât stay to see it.â
The words sat between them, raw and aching.
Minjeong blinked hard, like she didnât want to cry.
Y/N looked at her one last time. âI wouldâve chosen you, again and again. Even when it got hard. Even when I got hurt. But you didnât even let me try.â
Minjeong placed her cup down. Her eyes shimmered, but no tears fell. âIâm sorry, Y/N. I really am.â
Y/N nodded slowly. âI believe you.â
There was a pause. One last, aching breath of everything that used to be.
Minjeong looked at her. âYou should go. Itâll rain soon.â
Y/N nodded. Picked up her box. Walked to the door.
But before she opened it, she turned.
âIf you everâŚâ she hesitated. âIf you ever want to try againââ
Minjeongâs gaze dropped.
Y/N nodded, the rest of the sentence dying in her throat. âRight. Never mind.â
She opened the door and left.
Outside, the first drops of rain hit her coat.
Y/N stood there, clutching the box tighter, tears now slipping freely. Not loud or messy â just quiet, aching grief. The kind reserved for almosts and maybes.
Minjeong hadnât chased after her. She hadnât expected her to.
Because some things werenât meant to be held again.
Some things â no matter how loved â were meant only to be remembered.
Summary: Yizhuo always comes back, and Y/N always lets her â even when she knows love isnât enough to make someone stay. But when disappearing becomes routine, and returning feels like a habit, even the softest hearts begin to wear thin.
Genre: pure angst
Word Count: 1.9k words
Ning Yizhuo (Ningning) x fem!reader
Yizhuo was always like that â ephemeral. Like smoke you couldnât hold no matter how tightly you tried to cup your hands.
Y/N knew it. She knew it from the very beginning. But it didnât stop her from loving her.
And Yizhuo â Yizhuo loved in flashes. Intense, bright, addictive. Sheâd show up at Y/Nâs door with late-night takeout and sleepy eyes, or send her songs that reminded her of the way Y/N laughed. Sheâd kiss Y/N like she meant it. Sheâd say things like, âI like you way too much, itâs annoying,â and Y/N would pretend her heart didnât stumble over itself every single time.
But just as quickly, sheâd fade out.
And it was always without warning.
She left, and then she came back. And somehow, each return felt softer and more cruel than the last.
Sheâd never come back with apologies, not even promises. Just a message at 1:27 a.m., vague and familiar â âAre you up?â And somehow, Y/N always was.
She shouldnât be. She knew that. She knew the pattern: late-night texts, tentative conversations that slowly bled into mornings spent tangled up in sheets and silences. Then, one day, the messages would stop. No explanation. No closure. Just gone.
Then weeks â sometimes months â of nothing.
And then, sheâd come back again.
Because she always came back to Y/N.
And that used to mean something. Maybe it still did. But lately, Y/N wasnât so sure.
Still, this time wasnât any different.
Y/N stared at her phone, thumb hovering over the screen. She didnât even have to ask who it was. No one else texted her like that. No one else had that brand of casual gravity, like a black hole in the shape of a girl.
She typed, âyeah. come over if you want,â and hit send before she could stop herself.
The knock was heard twenty minutes later. Y/N opened the door to find Yizhuo standing there in an oversized hoodie and messy hair, eyes red but not from crying â more like exhaustion. Maybe regret. Though that was wishful thinking.
âHey,â Yizhuo said, voice too soft for someone whoâd left so loud. âCan I come in?â
Of course she could.
She always could.
Y/N stepped aside without a word, watching as Yizhuo slid past her and into the apartment like sheâd never left.
âI wasnât sure if youâd still be up,â Yizhuo murmured, not meeting her gaze.
Y/N closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, trying to breathe past the familiar ache in her chest. âI figured you'd come back eventually.â
That made Yizhuo pause. âThat a good thing or a bad thing?â
Y/N didnât answer. She didnât have to.
After that, they didnât talk much. They never really did when it started this way. A hesitant touch, a brush of the hand, and then suddenly it was Yizhuo curled up on Y/Nâs bed again like she belonged there. Like she hadnât ghosted her for six weeks.
Morning came with silence. It always did. And as Y/N stood in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, she felt itâthe weight of pretending this was fine.
âDid you sleep okay?â she asked quietly.
âYeah,â Yizhuo murmured, walking up beside her, rubbing her eyes. âHave you been okay?â
Y/N handed her a mug. âWhy do you ask that like you didnât vanish again?â
Yizhuo blinked, taking the cup but avoiding her gaze. âI was busy.â
âWith what?â
âLife.â
It wasnât the answer Y/N wanted. It never was.
âYou couldâve said something,â she whispered. âYou couldâve said anything.â
Yizhuo leaned against the counter, sipping. âI didnât know what to say.â
âThat you didnât want to talk to me anymore?â Y/N asked, sharper than she intended. âThat you got bored of me again?â
Yizhuo flinched. âI didnât get bored.â
âYou always leave,â Y/N said softly. âAnd you always come back when thereâs no one else left.â
The silence that followed was heavy.
âI donât come back because I have no one else,â Yizhuo finally whispered. âI come back because itâs you.â
And maybe that was supposed to be a comfort. But it wasnât.
Not anymore. But that was the truth of it, raw and bleeding between them. Y/N, with her full heart and open hands, always waiting. Yizhuo, with her walls, her vanishing acts, and her inability to stay.
Y/N stepped away, rubbing her temple. âItâs like Iâm the only one who tries. Every time.â
âI didnât ask you to wait for me,â Yizhuo said.
âBut you keep coming back, Yizhuo. I donât understand.â
That landed.
âI donât know how to stay,â Yizhuo admitted after a long moment, her voice smaller than usual. âI donât think Iâm built for it.â
Y/N looked at her. Really looked at her.
And still â still â there was a part of her that loved her. That remembered laughter on the fire escape, Yizhuo singing under her breath while folding Y/Nâs laundry, their fingertips brushing under dim cafe lights. It wasnât that she hadnât felt anything. Y/N was sure of it.
But maybe feeling wasnât enough.
Later that night, they found themselves lying side by side in Y/Nâs bed. It was familiar â almost muscle memory. The lights were off, the rain had stopped, and Yizhuo had changed into one of Y/Nâs oversized shirts like she always did.
They werenât touching, but the space between them buzzed with everything they werenât saying.
âYouâre going to leave again, arenât you?â Y/N asked quietly into the dark.
Yizhuo didnât respond.
And that, more than anything, was the answer.
The next morning, Y/N woke up alone.
She wasnât surprised.
What surprised her was the sound of the front door opening again an hour later. Yizhuo stood there with two cups of coffee and a hesitant smile.
âI thought you might want something warm.â
Y/N stared. âSo, you didnât leave.â
âI almost did.â
Y/N didnât know what to do with that.
But that night, things finally broke.
They were in the kitchen. Y/N had been chopping vegetables, trying to distract herself from the gnawing ache in her chest, when Yizhuo came up behind her, arms wrapping around her waist.
âI missed this,â she murmured against her shoulder.
âYou always say that,â Y/N said without turning around. Her voice was sharp. Tired.
Yizhuo pulled back slightly. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
Y/N set the knife down. She turned to face her, eyes flashing. âYou say you miss me, but you always leave. You come back when you're lonely, when youâre tired, when itâs convenient. And every time, I let you in.â
âIâm not using you,â Yizhuo said, jaw clenched. âDonât say that.â
âArenât you?â Y/N challenged. âYou want connection when it suits you, but the second it gets too real, you disappear. And Iâm the idiot who keeps letting it happen.â
Yizhuo looked like she wanted to argue. But she didnât.
âWhy do you keep coming back?â Y/N asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Yizhuo looked away. âBecause... you feel like home.â
That made something in Y/N crack.
âThen why canât you stay?â she asked, voice trembling. âWhy am I never enough to make you stay?â
The silence stretched long between them.
Finally, Yizhuo spoke. âI donât know how to stay. I donât think Iâm built for forever.â
âThen donât promise it,â Y/N said. âDonât come back if youâre only going to leave again. Iâm tired, Yizhuo. Iâm so tired of hoping youâll choose me.â
Yizhuoâs eyes shimmered. She stepped forward, hesitated, then stopped. âI do choose you.â
âNo, you donât,â Y/N said softly. âYou choose comfort. You choose safety. But not me. Not really.â
They didnât speak for the rest of the night.
When Y/N went to bed, Yizhuo stayed on the couch. Curled into herself, silent.
In the morning, Y/N woke up to an empty apartment.
No coffee cups. No folded blankets. No note.
This time, Y/N didnât cry. She cleaned the sheets. Watered her plants. Folded the laundry. She even deleted their text thread. Muted Yizhuoâs Instagram stories. Went about her day like it didnât matter.
But the ache didnât go away.
Minjeong noticed first. âYou look like you havenât slept.â
âIâm fine,â Y/N lied.
âYou still letting her come back whenever she wants?â
Y/N didnât answer.
âY/N,â Minjeong said gently, âyou canât keep doing this to yourself.â
âShe doesnât mean to hurt me.â
âThat doesnât mean she isnât. I know youâre smarter than that, wake up.â
âIâm really not trying to hurt you,â Yizhuo had said quietly. âSometimes I just need space.â
âSpace doesnât mean cutting someone off,â Y/N replied, trying to keep her voice steady. âDo you even miss me when youâre gone?â
Yizhuo hesitated. âOf course I do.â
âBut not enough to check in? To reply?â
Silence.
Y/N looked down. Her hands were trembling slightly, fingers curling around the edge of her sweatshirt. âYou leave like I donât exist. And then you come back like nothing happened.â
âI donât mean to.â
âBut you do it anyway.â
âThatâs not fair. I justââ
âNo?â Y/Nâs voice cracked. âThen tell me what this is. What we are.â
Yizhuo hesitated.
âYou canât, right?â Y/N laughed, bitter and exhausted. âBecause every time I think weâre getting somewhere, you run.â
âIâm scared,â Yizhuo admitted. âIâve never known how to do this. Look, Iâm sorry Iâm not built like you. I canât... I donât cling to people.â
Y/N flinched. âYou make it sound pathetic. I wasnât asking you to be perfect, Ning. I was asking you to try.â
âI was tryingââ
âNo, don't even. You were taking. I was the only one giving.â
The silence stretched thin. Yizhuo stepped back slightly, shoulders tense.
âYou donât understand,â she muttered.
âNo,â Y/N said, voice low. âYou donât.â
And she closed the door.
And it stayed closed for a long time.
Then came the message.
Not a midnight âare you up?â this time. Not a breadcrumb or a backtrack.
Just three words.
âIâm really sorry.â
Y/N stared at the screen, fingers shaking.
She didnât reply.
She still loved her. God, she did.
If Yizhuo had come knocking again, would she let her in?
Y/N hated that despite everything, sheâd still do it. Again.
Because thatâs what you do when you love someone who doesnât know how to stay â you make a home in yourself and offer it up every time theyâre lost.
Even if they donât unpack their bags.
Even if they donât intend to stay.
But love isnât a home when it only shelters one person. Maybe this time, love wasnât enough. Maybe this time, silence was the only answer she had left to give.
The ache crept in like it always did â subtle, then sharp. It wasnât just about missing her. It was the not-knowing. The silence that echoed like a punishment.
What did I do wrong?
Was I too much again?
Did I say something? Was I not enough?
Y/N sat in her bed, staring at their last photo together â Yizhuo asleep on her shoulder, soft and peaceful, the sun catching in her hair. Y/N had taken it quietly, not wanting to wake her.
Sheâd looked so... safe.
And yet, here she was. Gone. Again.
Maybe she was too much.
Maybe she wasnât enough.
Or maybe â just maybe â Yizhuo was never meant to stay.
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Summary: Two people fall in love despite their differences â one needing constant connection, the other needing space. But when silence becomes louder than love, they begin to slip through each otherâs fingers.
Genre: pure angst
Word Count: 2.2k words
Yu Jimin (Karina) x fem!reader
A/N: prompt credits go to @keyotosprompts !
Jimin needed people. She needed noise, presence, warmth. She didnât say it out loud â never did â but it showed in the way she stayed just a little longer during goodbyes, in how she reached out to touch someone mid-conversation, even just their sleeve, just enough to remind herself they were there. It was in her Instagram posts and bubble updates, her overflowing energy during performances, the way her smile seemed like it was holding everything together.
Y/N, on the other hand, didnât need much. Or at least, thatâs what she told herself. Give her silence, her books, a warm drink, and a closed window on a rainy day. She could disappear into herself and feel perfectly fine, like solitude was her secret language and the world didnât need to understand.
So maybe it was foolish of them to try. But they did.
And for a while, it worked.
It worked because they tried hard. Jimin would wait patiently for Y/N to open up, to lean in. And Y/N would step out of her bubble, just far enough to meet Jimin halfway. They found quiet nights where Jimin would lie in Y/Nâs lap while she read, or mornings when Y/N would wake up early just to cook Jiminâs favorite breakfast before she headed to practice. It wasnât perfect, but it worked.
For some time, it was enough. Until it wasnât.
The decline wasnât sudden. It came in slow bruises, little aches neither of them noticed until it hurt too much to ignore.
Missed texts. Unread messages. A âsorry, Iâve just been out of itâ from Y/N, paired with a tired smile and an even more tired heart from Jimin. A canceled dinner. A promise to call, left unfulfilled.
Jimin started to shrink. She didnât mean to. But she could feel herself folding inward, smaller and smaller, like making herself less would be easier for Y/N to handle.
And Y/N⌠she wasnât malicious. Just used to being alone. So, when she didn't hear from Jimin for two days, she assumed she needed space. She gave it to her. And Jimin, hurting in silence, mistook that space for indifference.
One night, Jimin had a breakdown in the dance studio. It was late, everyone else had gone home, and her body just⌠stopped. Mid-count. She dropped to the floor, chest heaving, and cried into the sleeves of her hoodie. She didnât text Y/N. She wanted to. God, she wanted to. But she was tired of being the one who always reached first.
A week passed before they saw each other again.
Jimin was back at her dorm, scrolling blankly through her phone, when she heard the door open. It was past midnight, and she was curled up on the couch in one of Y/Nâs old shirts.
Y/N stepped in, looking worn but soft. Her eyes lit up faintly at the sight of Jimin.
âHey,â she said gently, setting down her bag. âI brought your favorite â those banana muffins from the bakery near your studio.â
Jimin didnât say anything.
Y/N walked closer, placing the small paper bag on the coffee table before kneeling in front of her.
âIâve missed you,â she said, eyes searching Jiminâs face. âI know Iâve been quiet. I just needed to reset.â
Jimin tried to understand. To be calm. She really did. But something in her snapped.
âYou needed to reset,â she echoed. âY/N, I needed you.â
The weight of her words landed like a stone between them.
Jiminâs voice shook. âI had the worst week of my life, and you didnât even check in. You didnât ask. You didnât call.â
âBecause Iâm always the one who tells you!â Jiminâs voice cracked. âIâm always the one who reaches out first. Who gives more. Who needs more. And Iâm starting to think you just⌠you donât care as much as I do.â
âThatâs not true,â Y/N said quickly, but the tremble in her voice betrayed her panic. âJimin, thatâs not fair. Just because I donât show it the same way doesnât meanââ
âBut I needed you,â Jimin interrupted, tears now sliding down her cheeks. âWeâ I canât do this anymore. Sometimes, I really need you, and youâre just not there.â
Y/N froze.
The living room fell silent, except for the dull hum of the air conditioner and the sound of Jiminâs uneven breathing.
Y/N moved to sit beside her. âJiminâŚâ
But Jimin pulled away.
âIâm tired,â she whispered. âOf having to explain why Iâm hurting. Of loving you out loud while you stay silent.â
It wasnât angry, not even cruel. It was heartbreaking in its honesty.
Y/N sat still for a long time. The guilt was a slow burn in her chest. She thought back to every missed moment, every time she chose space over presence. She had thought she was giving Jimin breathing room. But what she was really giving her was loneliness.
âI donât want to lose you,â Y/N said quietly.
âThen show up,â Jimin said. âBe here. Not just when itâs easy for you. But when I need you. Even if I donât say it.â
Y/N nodded. She wanted to say a thousand things. That sheâd try harder. That sheâd change. But she knew that wouldnât mean anything right now.
So instead, she reached out and took Jiminâs hand in both of hers. She didnât say anything. She just held it tightly â because for once, Jimin wasnât the one reaching first.
Y/N shows up at Jiminâs apartment with a bag of pastries and trembling hands.
They hadnât talked since the fight. Not like before. A few exchanged texts, short and stilted, like two strangers dancing around familiarity. But the air between them still buzzed with unsaid things, and when Jimin opens the door â still in her oversized hoodie, hair tied back messily, lips pressed tight â Y/N almost turns back.
But she doesnât. Because sheâs trying.
âHi,â she says, voice small. âI brought those custard buns you like.â
Jimin stares for a second, unreadable. Then she steps aside, wordlessly letting her in.
The apartment is quiet. Lived-in. Dim. Not cold, but not warm either. It mirrors the distance between them perfectly.
Y/N sets the bag down on the kitchen counter like itâs the only thing tethering her to this moment. She turns to find Jimin watching her, guarded, her arms crossed over her chest.
âIâm sorry,â Y/N blurts.
Jimin says nothing.
Y/N breathes in. âI shouldâve said something sooner. I know I shut down a lot. I know itâs not fair to you when youâre always⌠reaching for me.â
Jiminâs jaw tightens. âYou werenât just shutting down, Y/N. You were disappearing. For days. Weeks. I didnât even know if I mattered to you sometimes.â
âYou do,â Y/N says quickly. âGod, Jimin. Of course you do.â
The words hang in the air, soft and honest, and Y/N takes a tentative step forward.
âI just⌠Iâm not good with people,â she says. âI wasnât raised to need much. Iâve always had to handle things alone, and I thought I was doing okay like that. But then you came along and suddenly Iââ
She breaks off, struggling.
Jiminâs voice is quiet. âSuddenly what?â
Y/N meets her eyes. âSuddenly I wanted to do better. For you.â
A flicker of something passes through Jiminâs expression â pain? Hope?
âI get overwhelmed,â Y/N admits. âSometimes itâs easier to shut everything out than say something wrong. But I never meant to shut you out.â
Jimin exhales, slow. Her shoulders drop just a little. âWhy didnât you tell me that before?â
âI didnât know how. I didnât want to sound like an excuse.â
âYou wouldnât have.â Jiminâs voice is softer now, and she looks at Y/N with that same gentleness that always made her feel seen. âI just wanted you to let me in. Even a little.â
Y/N nods, guilt carving through her. She steps closer.
And for a moment, it feels like maybe theyâre okay.
They share a quiet dinner, side by side on the couch, legs brushing. Jimin plays with Y/Nâs fingers absentmindedly, tracing her knuckles, letting herself lean into the touch. Y/N presses a kiss to Jiminâs temple and murmurs, âI missed you,â and Jimin closes her eyes at the tenderness of it all.
Later, when Y/N dozes off against her shoulder, Jimin brushes a hand through her hair, smiling faintly.
It almost feels like peace.
Almost.
But things donât stay soft for long.
Y/N keeps trying. She texts good morning. She checks in. She sends photos of sunsets or cats she passes on the way home. She shows up more.
And Jimin notices. Of course she does.
But the thing about effort is â it doesnât erase time.
Time spent in silence. Time where Jimin cried alone after long days and long nights, wondering if Y/N cared. Time she begged the universe for even a little piece of the girl she loved â and got nothing but echoes.
The more Y/N tries to patch the cracks, the more Jimin realizes some things already bled out through them.
Thereâs one night, quiet and ordinary, where it all unravels again.
Theyâre lying in bed, side by side, hands touching but not quite held.
Y/Nâs talking about something â a new cafĂŠ that opened, maybe â when she notices Jiminâs eyes are distant.
âHey,â she says gently, âyou okay?â
Jimin nods, but itâs a lie. Y/N sees it.
âYou can tell me.â
Jimin stays quiet for a long time. Then, in a voice thatâs too calm, she asks, âWhat changed?â
âWhat do you mean?â
âThis,â Jimin gestures between them. âYou. Now. What made you start trying?â
Y/N pauses. âYou said you were done. I didnât want to lose you.â
Jimin looks at her. âYou almost did.â
âI know. Iâm trying to make it up to you.â
âI know you are,â Jimin says softly. Then, with more weight: âBut what if I donât have anything left to give you back?â
Y/Nâs heart cracks. âDonât say that.â
âI loved you through all your silences,â Jimin whispers, âthrough every unanswered message, every time I wondered if I was just⌠too much for you.â
âYouâre not.â
âBut I needed you. And you werenât there.â
The room is silent.
Y/N feels the ache rising again. The kind of ache that comes when you know youâre too late.
âIâm here now,â she says quietly.
Jimin gives a sad smile. âBut Iâm not.â
And thatâs when Y/N knows.
She can try and try. She can love with every fiber of her being now. But sometimes, even love isnât enough. Not when you waited too long to speak it.
Jimin turns away, curling into herself, and Y/N doesnât follow. She just lies there, staring at the ceiling.
Two people, inches apart, galaxies away. And nothing but silence between them again.
Itâs been months since the last time they spoke, but the memory still plays in Y/Nâs chest like a bruise that never fully healed.
She remembers the night like a freeze-frame â too quiet, too fragile, the air tense between them like glass threatening to crack. Jimin had looked tired. Not just physically, but also soul-deep. The kind of tired that came from reaching and reaching and never quite being held the way she needed.
And Y/N⌠she had always been the quiet one. The one who loved in pauses, in late-night playlists and packed lunches, in sitting silently beside someone for hours without needing to speak. Her love was gentle. Careful. Barely there unless you knew where to look.
But Jimin needed noise. Reassurance. Attention she could touch.
That night, they sat at opposite ends of the bedâ not far in distance, but worlds apart in need.
âI just donât know how to keep showing up for someone who disappears when I need them most,â Jimin had said, voice steady, but her eyes already glassy.
Y/N had opened her mouth to explain â to say âI donât mean to disappear,â to confess how crowded everything felt in her head when someone needed too much. How she wasnât wired to keep up with emotional expectations that hung in the air like unspoken ultimatums.
But she said nothing. Because that was the problem, wasnât it?
Even when Jimin begged for something real, something vulnerable â she said nothing.
Now, weeks later, Y/N sits on her bedroom floor, staring at an old polaroid Jimin once stuck on her bookshelf. Itâs a blurry photo of the two of them from last spring â Jiminâs arm slung around her shoulders, Y/Nâs head tucked against her chest, both of them smiling like they didnât know how it would end.
She traces the curve of Jiminâs smile in the photo.
She remembers how Jimin always tucked her into the safe parts of herself. How she kissed Y/Nâs forehead before bed even when they werenât speaking. How she waited â god, she waited â for Y/N to say anything that sounded like, I need you too.
But the words always got caught in Y/Nâs throat, stuck somewhere between fear and the only version of love she knew â the quiet kind. The kind Jimin could never feel fully wrapped in.
And she doesnât blame her. She could never.
Y/N places the photo face down.
This wasnât some fiery breakup. There were no slammed doors, no screaming matches. Just two people who tried. One who loved loudly. And one who loved quietly â too quietly.
And maybe, in another lifetime, she wouldâve known how to be better.
But in this one?
She only hopes Jimin finds someone who listens without her needing to ask. Someone who shows up without needing a reason. Someone who stays â not just beside her, but with her.
Summary: Yujin doesn't do "airport crushes". But one smile, one conversation, and one tragically discarded napkin later, sheâs stuck wondering if she missed her shot. That is, until the universe gives her a second chance â with coffee, nerves, and maybe a little flirting to make up for lost time.
Genre: fluff, romcom
Word Count: 1.1k words
flight attendant!An Yujin x fem!reader
A/N: wrote this after remembering how yujin wanted to become a flight attendant if she didn't become an idol
The moment Yujin spotted Y/N at the check-in counter, she knew she was in trouble. It was the kind of trouble that made her heartbeat stutter for just a second longer than normal, the kind that had her sneaking glances while pretending to check the flight manifest. Y/N wasnât doing anything out of the ordinary â just speaking to the agent at the counter, passport in hand, a carry-on resting against her leg â but there was something about her. Maybe it was the way she tucked her hair behind her ear while listening intently, or how she smiled politely even while waiting.
Yujin swallowed, forcing herself to focus as she made her way toward the gate where passengers were beginning to board.
When Y/N finally stepped onto the plane, Yujin straightened her uniform and took a deep breath. "Welcome aboard," she greeted with a warm smile, her signature dimples making an appearance.
Y/N returned the smile, a little shy but polite. âThank you.â
Yujin wasnât going to let the opportunity slip by. As Y/N made her way down the aisle, struggling to lift her carry-on into the overhead compartment, Yujin was quick to step in.
âLet me help you with that.â
âOh, I got itââ Y/N started, but Yujin was already reaching up, effortlessly slotting the bag into place.
âThere we go,â Yujin said, brushing her hands off dramatically before flashing another dimpled grin. âNo need to strain those arms.â
Y/N chuckled. âThat was smooth. Thanks.â
Yujin winked, not missing the way Y/Nâs ears turned a little pink before she settled into her seat.
Throughout the flight, Yujin found herself glancing in Y/Nâs direction whenever she passed by. Her fellow flight attendants teased her about it, but she didnât care. When the meal service began, she saw her chance.
As she placed the tray in front of Y/N, she subtly slipped a small napkin underneath, upon which she had scribbled her number. It wasnât something she did often (sheâs never done it before), but Y/N was special â she could feel it.
Yujin sent her one last knowing smile before walking away, hoping â praying â that Y/N would see the note.
Except she didnât.
Y/N, entirely unaware, used the napkin to wipe her hands and then casually tucked it onto the tray with the rest of the used items.
Yujin, who had been waiting for any sign of acknowledgment, was met with absolutely nothing. She bit her lip, confused but hopeful. Maybe Y/N was just playing it cool? Maybe sheâd text later?
When it was time for passengers to disembark, Yujin made sure to be near the exit, greeting each traveler with a smile. And when Y/N walked past her, she offered her brightest one yet.
âHave a great day,â she said, hoping that Y/N had indeed found her note.
âYou too,â Y/N replied, her voice sweet as ever, but there was no extra glance, no hidden smile, nothing that suggested she had seen the message. Yujinâs heart sank just a little.
Days passed. Then a week. Then two.
Yujin checked her phone more times than sheâd like to admit, waiting for an unknown number to pop up with a message. Nothing.
At first, she thought Y/N was just taking her time. Then doubt started creeping in. Maybe she had lost the napkin? Maybe she wasnât interested at all? Maybe she had a boyfriendâ
âStill no text?â Yuna, another flight attendant, asked during a layover.
Yujin groaned, flopping onto the hotel bed dramatically. âNothing. Maybe I shouldâve just been upfront instead of doing the whole mysterious note thing.â
âOr maybe she just didnât see it,â Yuna suggested.
That thought kept Yujin going.
Whenever she had a flight, she found herself looking out for Y/N. It was a ridiculous hope, but she couldnât help it. She scanned the boarding passengers, checked every coffee shop in airports, and even peeked into bookstores when she had time between flights. And then, as if fate had finally decided to take pity on her, Yujin found her again.
Yujin had just landed back home and, as was her habit, she stopped by her favorite cafĂŠ to grab a much-needed coffee. She stepped inside, rubbing the back of her neck, and was about to pull out her phone whenâ
There she was.
Y/N, standing behind the counter, adjusting her apron as she laughed at something a coworker said.
Yujin nearly walked into a chair.
Regaining her composure, she strode up to the counter, heart hammering in her chest. Y/N turned around, ready to take the next order, and the moment her eyes landed on Yujin, they widened in surprise.
âOh,â Y/N said, blinking. âItâs you.â
Yujin raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. âYou remember me.â
âOf course,â Y/N said, a small laugh escaping her lips. âYou were the flight attendant who helped me with my luggage.â
âThatâs all?â Yujin feigned offense. âI thought I made more of an impression than that.â
Y/N tilted her head, pretending to think. âHmm⌠You did smile a lot. Dimples. Very cute.â
Yujin grinned, resting her arms on the counter. âWell, I also left you my number. But you never texted.â
Y/N frowned, clearly confused. âYou did?â
Yujin sighed dramatically, but she was smiling. âI slipped it under your napkin during the flight.â
Y/Nâs eyes widened, realization dawning on her. âOh my God.â She covered her mouth, looking horrified. âIâI didnât see it. I must have thrown it away!â
Yujin let out a laugh, shaking her head. âThat explains a lot. I thought I got rejected.â
Y/N groaned, looking genuinely regretful. âIâm so sorry. I swear, if I had seen it, I wouldâve texted.â
Yujin leaned in slightly. âThen how about I fix that mistake right now?â
Y/N blinked, then her lips curled into a smirk. âAre you asking for my number this time?â
Yujin grinned. âNo, Iâm asking for a date. You can give me your number after you say yes.â
Y/N laughed, shaking her head, but there was a warmth in her eyes. âYou really donât give up, huh?â
âNot when it comes to someone who caught my eye at check-in,â Yujin said smoothly.
Y/N pretended to think for a moment before finally sighing dramatically. âFine. I suppose I owe you after accidentally ignoring you for weeks.â
Yujin pumped a fist in victory. âFinally! Took me long enough.â
Y/N giggled, reaching for a napkin and scribbling something on it before sliding it across the counter. âHere. My number. Just donât throw it away like I did.â
Yujin took it, holding it up triumphantly. âOh, donât worry. Iâm keeping this one safe.â
As she walked out of the cafĂŠ, a new spring in her step, she glanced at the napkin in her hand, smiling to herself.