𝗛𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗥𝗬 𝗘𝗬𝗘𝗦

　　　　　　　　　© 𝟣𝟫𝟪𝟥 ━━ 𝗲𝗽𝗶𝗰 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀.

　　　　　𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗌𝗈 . 𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿 . 𝗂 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗐𝖾’𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗐 .　　　　　　

　　　　𝗮𝘂𝗿𝗼𝗿𝗮 . 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 . 𝗵𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗿𝘆 𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀 . 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 .　　　　

　　　𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗲𝗻 . 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺 𝗐𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇 ( 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗇 ) .

　　　　　　　　　　𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗼𝘄𝗻 .

　　　　𝐍𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐔𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑

　　　　　𝐍𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑

　　　　　𝐍𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓

　　　　　　　　　　　　𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐒

　　　　　　　𝖽𝗈𝗃𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗍, 𝗳𝗹𝗲𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗺𝗮𝗰, 𝗍𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗒,

　　𝗱𝗮𝗶𝘀𝘆 𝗷𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀 𖬺 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗶𝘅, 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 + 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖾, 𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗰 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗺𝗲𝗻,

　　　　　　𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗏𝗂𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗇, 𝗮𝗯𝗯𝗮, 𝖻𝗈𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖾 𝗍𝗒𝗅𝖾𝗋, 𝗿𝗼𝗯𝘆𝗻.

༉‧ 𝗙𝗘𝗕. 𝟭𝟵𝟴𝟰 — 𝖢𝖠𝖫𝖨𝖥𝖮𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖠.

THE EVENING FELT like a waking dream. You had just performed at the Grammys for the first time in a dress that had taken four fittings and five adjustements to achieve perfection. Your ears were still ringing with the applause that had echoed all around you, your cheeks aching from smiling so much.

You were happy. It was moments like these that made life worth living. You on stage, microphone in hand, your voice echoing through the auditorium, and the audience in awe of you. You were the latest craze, the next big thing. The world called you America’s sweetheart, and perhaps that was true.

Your face was everywhere ━ in magazines, on billboards, and on television. Your voice dominated radio stations around the world, and your debut album, 𝙃𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙍𝙔 𝙀𝙔𝙀𝙎, was number one in several countries. Your single, 𝘿𝘼𝙉𝘾𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙌𝙐𝙀𝙀𝙉, had become so popular that it had earned you your first ever Grammy nomination for Song of the Year, Best New Artist and Album of the Year!

And here you were ━ no doubt at the height of your career, and that was only the beginning.

Now, you were striding proudly toward the seat you had been allocated. You made your way through the hundreds of seats, apologies spilling from your mouth whilst you were bothering stars like Donna Summer or Bonnie Tyler.

There was a problem that you only realised too late when you came to the empty seat. It wasn’t your seat.

Too embarrassed to turn back and disturb the many artists around you yet again, you decided to swallow your pride and sit down as if nothing had happened.

You quickly grabbed the programme and pretended to read it, hiding your face behind the paper in the hope that no one would notice you were in the wrong seat.

You turned a page, read the same sentence at least four times before letting your gaze sweep around the room. You didn’t recognise anyone from your team ━ God, how on earth had you managed to take the wrong turn and take someone else’s place?

To your left sat a woman wearing a sequinned blue dress, with a silver headband resting on her forehead and her black hair curling around her face. She gave you a brief look that seemed to question your presence. You simply replied with an embarrassed smile before turning your head to your left.

Oh.

Okay.

That’s Michael Jackson.

Alright.

     Discreetly ━ you were hoping that you were being discreet ━ you turned your head to your right and closed your eyes. Your breathing started to quicken slightly as you tried to stay calm.

You had just stolen his date’s seat. Brooke Shields. Brilliant. You slumped into the seat, praying to heaven to make you disappear into the red velvet.

You had seen Michael Jackson arrive at the start of the ceremony, arm in arm with her. You had done everything in your power to avoid him, not because you hated him ━ quite the opposite, actually ━ but because you were too scared of saying something stupid or coming across as a fan girl, because… For fuck’s sake, it was Michael Jackson!

You sensed a movement to your left.

"I didn’t know it was possible to completely change yourself like that, Brooke."

His voice caught you off guard. It was quieter than you had imagined, warm and lightly breathless. You could hear the slight amusement tainting his tone despite the shyness.

You buried your face even deeper in the evening’s programme, feeling ashamed. Your cheeks were burning. It was definitely the worst evening of your life.

"I've got lost in the room," you muttered under your breath. "I don't even know where my team is."

A faint chuckle could be heard.

"You're a bit higher up, on the left."

Slowly, you lifted your head, raising one eyebrow. This time, you weren’t quite so embarrassed.

"How do you know that?"

     Your eyes met the dark lenses of his Aviators, which seemed too big for him. This time, Michael seemed to be the one who was uncomfortable now. He ran a hand behind his neck, his black curls swaying slightly with his movement.

"I, huh, you… you’re hard to miss," he replied sheepishly. "You…" he cleared his throat. "You were wonderful tonight."

     Fuck. Okay. Cool. Your lips parted slightly ━ do not say something strange, you told yourself, you are an adult and a functional human being and this is a very normal interaction with a perfectly very normal man ━ you got this. 

     "My Jupiter is in Leo so honestly the universe was on my side," you blurted out before you could stop.

There was a moment of silence during which you could easily imagine him blinking behind his glasses. That’s why you had been avoiding him all evening. You had had to embarrass yourself in front of him, and now he was going to politely ask you to get the fuck out so his date could━

A laugh interrupted your thoughts.

"I'm sorry..." Michael tried to hide his smile behind his hand. "... Your what is in what?"

"My… my Jupiter placement. Astrology," you turned to face him properly. "It means that I'm supposed to be loudly successful in public arenas, which explains tonight."

He was watching her with an expression you could not name ━ something between amusement and genuine interest. Or perhaps, he thought you were completely crazy.

"Do you actually believe in that?" Michael raised an eyebrow.

"I believe in God and I believe in astrology, and I don't care about what people say, you know ━ God made the stars too! Why wouldn't He have put some information in them for us to read?"

He was quiet for a moment. Any trace of shyness had completely vanished from you. If you were going to come across as a bit insane, you might as well be yourself right to the end. However, you didn’t feel as though he was judging you. Quite the opposite, actually ━ the fact that you felt so at ease around him was proof of that, and the smile that played at the corners of his full lips was further proof that he appreciated what you were saying to him.

"I like that."

You mimicked his expression and held out a hand toward him. Your Cartier bracelet dangled slightly from your wrist, your perfectly manicured nails, painted a carmine red, contrasted beautifully with the gold. You introduced yourself properly.

"… singer, astrologer in her spare time, and part-time seat thief."

Another laugh escaped him and he had to bite his lip to stop himself.

"Michael Jackson. Singer, dancer and… charmed," he murmured, raising your hand to his lips like a perfect gentleman.

Your tongue found itself wedged between your teeth to stop you from smiling too broadly. He was charmed by you! And what a flirt he was for someone who acted so shy a few minutes earlier! When he let go of your hand to the sound of the audience’s applause as they welcomed Joan Rivers and Culture Club, you made a brief gesture to indicate that you were about to leave.

"Perhaps I should go and join my team… I wouldn’t want your date to turn up and find me here in her place…"

"Oh, you can stay," Michael insisted softly. "Brooke had to go home, she wasn't feeling well."

You glanced briefly over your shoulder to see if you could spot your manager. When you didn’t see him, you simply shrugged before turning your attention back to the man in front of you.

"Why not," you agreed. "Need a new date?"

He sniggered again, his gloved hand sliding behind the nape of his neck.

"It would be an honour," he replied, his shyness suddenly resurfacing. "Though I wouldn’t want your date to be jealous."

Smooth, you thought.

"Don’t worry, I came alone. We’re avoiding a potential scandal."

Michael then smiled from ear to ear.

"Perfect."

By the third award, you rambled about your grandmother and cheerfully informed him that you talked to God in the shower because that was the place you got most of your ideas from. In exchange, Michael offered something of himself. It was not much, just small things dropped into the conversation as people repeatedly told you to speak more quietly.

"You really read birth charts?" he whispered after another complaint from someone, curious.

"My grandmother taught me."

"When you were little?"

"Yeah," you snickered. "What about you? Did your family teach you any weird stuff?"

Michael started to think, humming gently. You observed the way his fingers would roll on his thighs, how he would absentmindedly chew on his bottom lips and how his gaze, under the Aviators, would grow distant.

"Not really, my family isn’t… really like that," he answered more seriously. "I used to go outside at night."

"That’s not strange," you snorted.

"I used to go outside at night just to look at the houses."

"The houses?"

Michael simply shrugged.

"I liked seeing the lights on."

"Why?" you frowned slightly.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His gaze remained fixed on the carpet between them as he fidgeted with his hands.

"I don’t know," Michael paused. "I guess I liked imagining what it was like… Being normal."

The answer settled quietly between you and you could suddenly see it ━ the hotels, the bodyguards, the screaming crowds, the endless rooms filled with people who always wanted something from him. All those faces… and somehow, underneath it, a loneliness so familiar.

You were not lonely in the same way ━ but you were lonely all the same and, maybe, in your loneliness, you could recognise each other.

When you looked up, Michael was already watching you. There was something almost cautious in his expression, as though he regretted saying those words aloud.

Without thinking, you took his hand and smiled sweetly at him.

"I think you’d be disappointed," you told him softly.

"Why?" his eyebrows lifted.

"Normal people are so boring."

"I don’t think they are," Michael chuckled.

"They are! I prefer crazy people. At least we’re funny and we don’t take life so seriously," he snorted at that. "Don’t laugh ━ you’re one of them too! Completely insane."

"I don’t consider myself to be insane," he shook his head, amused.

"That’s tragic cause it means you might be boring, then."

When you looked up, Michael was still watching you. He was not laughing anymore, just watching, the corner of his mouth curved into a smile he did not seem interested in hiding this time.

"You're easy to talk to," he mused after a while.

"Scorpio rising," you replied like it explained everything.

"What does that even mean?"

"That I’m easy to talk to!"

"Ah, yeah, right, my bad," Michael replied sarcastically. "And what’s your reading of me?"

You leaned closer to him which seemed to make his breath catch.

"What's your sign?"

"Hum…" he paused. "I’m… I’m not sure… I was born on August 29…?"

"Oh my God!"

That earned you some shhhh. You shhh them in return.

"What?" Michael whispered.

"You’re a Virgo!" you pointed at him. "That makes so much sense."

"How?"

"You’re a perfectionist, you’re probably hard on yourself, you notice details nobody else notices… and you definitely have opinions about how towels should be folded!" you listed on your fingers.

Michael had to put his hand in front of his mouth to shut his laugh down.

"I do not."

"You absolutely do!"

"I don’t━" you raised an eyebrow at him. "━Okay… Maybe a little."

"Seeee!"

He studied you for a second, amusement flickering all over his face.

"Did astrology tell you all that or did you just━"

"Got it from God?" you finished for him, grinning.

"Yeah."

"Just from astrology," you replied softly. "Although I suppose God made you that way too."

"What? Have opinions on towels?" he raised an amused eyebrow.

You just looked at him, your hand squeezing his.

"Nah," you answered. "Gifted."

It was during the break before the Best New Artist Award would be presented that your feet made their feelings definitively known. You shifted in your seat, the pointed toe doing something punishing to your smallest two toes. You had been ignoring it for three hours out of sheer spite, but spite, it turned out, had a limit. You made a very small, involuntary sound and glanced down at your feet.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes…" you lied before sighing. "No. My shoes are killing me."

Michael glanced down at your feet and back up at you.

"Take them off," he simply shrugged.

You looked at him like he was insane ━ which, well, you had already established that.

"I can't take them off at the Grammys!"

"Why not?"

"Because people don’t do that."

"People do lots of things."

"Well, not this."

"Why not?"

You stared at him. Somewhere in the auditorium, applause erupted as a camera swept across the audience.

"Because it's not elegant," you answered, clapping along to whatever it was.

A small crease appeared between his brows.

"If your feet hurt, why would elegance matter?"

You let out a short laugh.

"Because that's how being a woman works."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"No," you agreed. "It doesn’t."

For a moment he simply watched you, the smile tugging at his mouth was unmistakable. Then, his eyes drifted once more toward your shoes.

"Take them off."

You groaned.

"Michael."

"I’m serious."

"So am I."

"You'll feel better," you could practically see him roll his eyes behind his sunglasses.

"I know."

"Then do it."

You turned toward him, laughing despite yourself.

"You are remarkably annoying, you know that?"

"Did your astrology tell you that?"

With a feigned look of indignation, you gave him a light tap on the chest.

"Actually, it did━"

Michael cut you by saying your name with that false stern tone that tinted, but could not hide, the warmth in his voice. You did not know why but something fluttered unexpectedly in your chest. Perhaps it was the exhaustion, perhaps it was the champagne ━ you had had too many drinks ━ or perhaps it was simply the strange intimacy of finding someone who did not seem to be annoyed with you and was genuinely interested into talking to you.

You looked away first.

The orchestra on stage was preparing for one of the first award you were nominated for. Around them, conversations rose and fell. Then, you felt something gently tap against your ankle. You frowned and glanced downward.

A black loafer sat beside your foot. For a second, you simply stared at it, then, you looked at Michael. He had slipped one of his shoes off beneath his seat and nudged it toward you.

"What are you doing?" you murmured to him.

"Compromising."

"Michael."

"You said your feet hurt."

"I am not wearing your shoes."

"Why not?"

"Because it's your shoes!"

"So what?"

You stared at him in disbelief.

"We are at the Grammys."

His shoulders lifted in a small shrug once more.

"I still don't see the problem."

You found yourself smiling before you could stop.

"Will you wear my heels?" you teased, both brows raised.

Michael hid that smile again behind his hand.

"Don’t be silly. I’ll walk barefoot."

You glanced down at the polished black loafers, then at the glimpse of bright white socks beneath the hem of his trousers.

"You would ruin your pretty socks for me?"

For a moment, the amusement lingered in his eyes. Then, something gentler settled there.

"I would."

You found yourself staring at him for a second longer than you meant to.

"That’s very sweer of you," you said more quietly.

"I just don’t like seeing you uncomfortable," Michael replied simply.

This answer made you bite your lips.

"Well, it seems you will have to deal with it," you suddenly grew a bit embarrassed. "I..." you started, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "I can't really move too much in this dress━"

"I'll help."

The words slipped out of his mouth before you had even finished your sentence. He shifted in his seat, bent forward ━ without waiting for your approval ━ and went down on one knee in the aisle beside your seat.

You stared at the top of his head.

His hands found your ankle ━ his palm was warm, you noticed, and slightly damp ━ his fingers working the tiny buckle of the strap, unbothered, as if several people in the surrounding rows were not looking at them.

You closed your eyes. Good Lord.

The first shoe came free. Michael set it aside on the floor, then, his hand moved to your other ankle, the pearl-scattered hem of your tulle skirt whispering against his sleeve, and you became aware that you needed to say something because the silence was saying something you were not sure you wanted to say.

"You know," you murmured, and you were glad that your voice was even. "most people would have just told me to shut up."

Michael looked up at you from where he knelt, and ━ my God ━ you could have died right there. You could see his eyes from this angle and they were full of a warmth that made you almost want to stay in there forever.

"Most people aren't me," he replied with a small smile before going back to the buckle.

You pressed your lips together very firmly and looked at the stage. The second shoe came free and his hand held your foot for just a moment after before he set it down with the same care as the first.

He stood, straightening his jacket, and sat back down beside you like nothing had happened.

"Better?"

"M-Much," you replied. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Michael smirked. "You have very pretty ankles."

You snorted and looked at him, pushing him teasingly.

"You’re so weird!"

"I guess I’m not so boring, then."

"No," you agreed. "Definitely not."

Silence settled between you again, but it was different now, charged in a way you seemed not to know how to name. Michael’s gaze drifted forward toward the stage, then back to you, then away again.

"Are you━" a small hesitation. "━with anyone?"

"What?" you turned to him.

He took a small breath, feeling shy again.

"Are you… single?"

"Oh," you realised, your fingers coming to play with a pearl on your dress. "Yeah, I am," you answered before feeling the need to add. "I don’t really date. I mean ━ I never had a boyfriend or anything, love is… not really my thing…"

"Not your thing…" Michael repeated.

"I'm very committed to my work," you explained. "And my Jupiter placement… It keeps me quite busy."

The corner of his mouth lifted.

"Right."

"Why, you want to ask me out on a date?" you teased, tongue caught between your teeth.

You swore you could see a faint colour rise in his face as he let out a small, sheepish laugh.

"Perhaps…" Michael trailed off. "… Could I have your number?"

Your fingers stilled on the pearl, the question hanging there. It was not that you did not want to give him your number ━ God, you wanted to do it so bad! ━ but you were also scared of doing it. Flirting and joking around was one thing but being serious was another thing…

He shifted beside you when you did not reply.

"For… astrology readings," Michael added.

Your eyes went back up toward his. He was not smiling now, just watching you, patiently. You tried to fight the smile on your face but to no avail. He was truly adorable.

"Well…" a smile tugged at your mouth. "I hope you do know my readings are super expensive."

"I think I can manage."

"Yeah?" your smile widened.

"Yeah."

You tilted your head, studying him for a second longer than necessary.

"Okay… if you have a pen…"

Michael blinked, then immediately reached into his jacket, searching for one. Your heart was beating faster again like it had after you performed. You tried to ignore the way it made you feel excited when he found the pen, hastily giving it to you.

"Give me your hand."

He did, without hesitation, and gave the one that was not gloved. His palm was warm and there was a slight tension in his fingers as if he was anxious ━ or perhaps, it was you.

You wrote your number slowly across his skin, careful not to smudge it, your own pulse annoyingly aware of every inch of contact between them. For good measure, you ended your task with a little heart next to the numbers, not letting go immediately of his touch.

he moved slowly, like he was scared you’d disappear if he went too fast. he leaned in, stopping just before your lips touched, giving you time to pull away.

you didn’t.

so he closed the gap.

the kiss was really soft. a little shaky. like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing, but he wanted to get it right. his hand gently held onto your sleeve, like he needed something to steady himself.

you leaned into it, just a little, and he smiled against your lips without even meaning to.

when you both pulled back, your foreheads almost touched. everything felt warm and light and a little dizzy.

“…that was better than the cheek ones,” you whispered.

rudo let out a quiet laugh, still a little flustered. “yeah… way better.”

after a second, he leaned in again, quicker this time, giving you another small, sweet kiss—like he just couldn’t help it.

and this time, you both smiled into it.

ENJIN -

it was late, and your room smelled faintly like your perfumesand the night air coming through the window. enjin was sitting beside you on the floor, his back against your bed, one knee pulled up.

he looked calm like always, but the way his fingers tapped lightly against his lighter gave him away.

you sat next to him, close enough that your shoulder pressed against his arm. neither of you moved.

“you’re staring,” you mumbled, not even looking at him.

“am not,” he said, but his voice had that quiet tease to it.

you turned your head, and yeah—he totally was.

there was a small pause after that. the kind that felt a little too full, like something was about to happen. enjin’s gaze lingered on you, softer now, less teasing.

“what?” you asked, your voice quieter this time.

he hesitated, then shifted just a bit closer. his hand brushed yours, not fully holding it, just there. “nothing… just…”

he didn’t finish. instead, he looked at your lips for a second, then back at your eyes.

“can i…?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

you nodded, your heart picking up a little.

he leaned in slowly, giving you time to move away. but you didn’t. you stayed right there, waiting.

when his lips met yours, it was soft, a little warm, a little unsure at first—but it quickly settled into something more steady. his hand stayed near yours, lightly touching, like he needed something to ground himself.

the kiss was short, but it lingered.

when you pulled back, you blinked at him for a second… then wrinkled your nose just a little.

“…you taste like cigarettes,” you said.

there was a pause.

then enjin let out a quiet huff of a laugh, shaking his head. “wow. that’s what you say after our first kiss?”

“i’m just being honest,” you mumbled, trying not to smile.

he leaned in a little closer again, eyes soft but amused. “harsh.”

“then don’t taste like that,” you shot back quietly. he smirked, just a little. “…or you could get used to it.”

before you could argue, he leaned in again, pressing another quick kiss to your lips—more confident this time, a little teasing.

and somehow… you didn’t complain the second time.

TAMSY CAINES -

you were sitting on tamsy’s lap, knees on either side of him while he leaned back against the headboard of your bed. his hands rested lightly on your hips, not holding you down, just there, warm and steady.

but his hair was a mess.

long strands fell into his face, a little tangled from earlier, and you couldn’t help but reach up to fix it. your fingers moved gently, brushing the strands away from his eyes, smoothing them down like it was the most natural thing in the world.

tamsy stayed still for you, watching quietly. his eyes followed your face, soft and a little unfocused, like he didn’t want to look anywhere else.

“hold still,” you mumbled, even though he already was.

“i am,” he said, voice low, a hint of a smile there.

you leaned closer, concentrating as you tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. your fingers lingered for a second, lightly tracing along the side of his face before pulling back.

he exhaled slowly, almost like he’d been holding it in.

“you’re really focused,” he murmured.

“someone has to fix this,” you teased softly, combing through another section with your fingers.

he let out a quiet laugh, his grip on your hips tightening just a little—not enough to stop you, just enough to keep you close.

you kept going, gentle and careful, smoothing everything down until his hair finally sat right. when you were done, you leaned back just enough to look at him properly.

“there. better,” you said.

he didn’t answer right away.

instead, his hands slid slightly higher on your sides, his gaze steady on yours. there was something warm in his expression, something a little deeper than before.

“…come here,” he murmured.

before you could ask what he meant, he leaned in, closing the small gap between you. the kiss was soft, slow, like he was in no rush at all. one of his hands moved up to the back of your neck, holding you gently in place.

it felt easy, natural, warmth, like you’d always been this close.

when he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your side.

“…don’t mess up my hair again,” he added quietly, teasing.

you smiled, leaning in just a little. “no promises.”

ZANKA NIJIKU -

after practice, everything felt quieter than usual. your legs were a little tired, your breathing finally even again, and zanka had led you up to the rooftop like it was something he always did when he needed to think.

the air up there was cooler. the city stretched out in front of you, and the sunset was painting everything in soft orange and pink.

zanka stood a little in front of you, hands in his pockets, looking out like he was trying not to say anything too serious.

his hair was still a bit messy from training, and there was sweat on his collar, but he didn’t seem to care.

you stepped closer, standing beside him. “you always come here after practice?”

“sometimes,” he said simply.

there was a pause. the kind that didn’t feel empty, just… full.

you leaned your elbows on the railing, watching the sky shift colors. “it’s pretty up here.”

“yeah,” he said, but he wasn’t really looking at the sky. you glanced at him. “you’re not even watching it.” he huffed a small laugh. “i am.”

you raised a brow.

“…mostly,” he admitted after a second.

that made you smile a little. you turned back to the sunset, letting the quiet sit between you again. but this time, it felt different—warmer, closer.

zanka shifted beside you, shoulder brushing yours. he didn’t move away.

“you’re distracting,” he said quietly.

you blinked. “me?”

“yeah.”

you tilted your head. “how?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he turned to face you fully now, like he’d made up his mind about something. his expression was calm, but his eyes were softer than usual.

“i don’t know.. but come real quick,” he said.

your heart did a small jump, but you didn’t ask questions. you just stepped closer.

he reached out, not rough, just steady, and pulled you in gently. when he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed or uncertain—it was calm, like he’d been thinking about it for a while and finally stopped holding back.

the sunset behind him made everything feel unreal for a second, like time slowed just for that moment.

when he pulled away, he didn’t go far. his forehead rested lightly against yours, and his hand stayed at your side, grounding you there with him.

“…still think the view’s pretty?” he asked quietly.

you swallowed, then smiled a little. “yeah… but not just the sunset.”

his thumb brushed lightly against your waist, and for once, he didn’t tease you back. he just stayed there with you, watching the sky fade into evening.

CORVUS ARKHA -

after your missions, it was always the same place you ended up— in corvus’s office.

you didn’t even need to knock most days. the door would open, and there he was—sat behind his desk, calm as ever, like the world outside didn’t exist unless he allowed it to.

this time, you stepped in quietly, still in your gear. a little tired, a little dusty, but safe.

corvus didn’t look up right away. he was reading something, pen in hand. “you’re late,” he said flatly.

“i wasn’t late,” you replied, closing the door behind you.

that made him pause just slightly. then his eyes lifted.

and the moment he saw you properly, something about his expression softened in a way he never showed anyone else. not fully, but enough for you to notice.

you walked closer to his desk, like you always did, and leaned your hands on the edge. “mission’s done.”

“i can see that,” he said, eyes scanning you quickly like he was checking for injuries he already knew you didn’t mention.

you straightened a little. “i’m fine.”

“you usually are,” he said, but his voice was quieter now.

there was a pause.

you shifted a little closer to his side of the desk, and he finally set his pen down. his chair turned slightly toward you.

“come,” he said.

you didn’t hesitate.

he reached out and pulled you in, not forcefully, just firmly enough that you ended up standing right between his knees as he sat there. his hand stayed at your side for a moment longer than necessary.

then he leaned in.

the kiss was controlled at first—careful, measured, like everything he did. but there was something underneath it, something he didn’t say out loud that showed in the way he didn’t let you go immediately.

his hand slid up slightly, steadying you, like he didn’t want any space between you and him right now.

when he finally pulled back, it was only a little.

his eyes stayed on you, sharp as always—but softer now in a way only you ever saw.

“…you’re reckless,” he said quietly.

you blinked. “that’s your way of saying you were worried?”

he didn’t answer right away.

then, barely noticeable, he exhaled. “don’t make me repeat myself.”

you smiled a little at that, and before you could tease him more, he tugged you closer again—just enough for another brief, quieter kiss.

like he wasn’t done making sure you were really there.

AUGUST STILZA -

august had called you over again, saying he needed to “double check proportions!” like he always did when he was in one of his focused moods.

you stood on the small platform in the middle of the room while he circled you with a measuring tape draped around his neck. his expression was serious, completely locked in on his work.

“stand still,” he said softly.

“i am still,” you replied, but you were smiling a little.

he glanced up at you for a second. “you always say that right before you move.”

you made a face. “that’s not true.”

he didn’t argue. he just stepped closer again, carefully adjusting the tape at your shoulder and then your sleeve line, his fingers brushing lightly as he worked.

his touch was precise, but not cold—more like he was used to making things perfect and you were just part of that process now.

you watched him instead of the mirror this time.

“you’re staring,” he said without looking up.

“you’re always focused,” you replied.

that made him pause for half a second. “…you distract me,” he admitted quietly.

you blinked, surprised by how honest that sounded coming from him.

he straightened a little, letting the measuring tape fall loosely between his hands. for a moment, he just looked at you like he was seeing the design and not just the person wearing it.

then he stepped closer, slower this time, until there wasn’t much space between you at all.

“turn your head,” he murmured.

you did.

he adjusted the collar area carefully, but this time his hand lingered a second longer than necessary, smoothing the fabric down gently like he was making sure it sat right.

you looked back at him again.

he didn’t step away.

instead, his gaze softened, and for once he looked a little less like a designer and more like just… him.

“…this one’s for you,” he said quietly.

you smiled. “i figured.”

a small silence settled between you. warm, easy.

then he leaned in—not rushed, not unsure, just quiet and certain in the way he did everything. the kiss was soft and brief, like a pause in the middle of a sentence he didn’t want to end.

when he pulled back, his thumb brushed the edge of the fabric he’d just adjusted.

“…we’re done for today,” he said, clearing his throat slightly.

you tilted your head. “already?”

he looked away for a second, like he was trying to regain focus. “you’re distracting when you stand still.”

you laughed softly.

GRIS RUBION -

it happened on a quiet night, the kind where neither of you really talked much because everything already felt understood.

you were still in bed with gris, both of you half tangled in the blankets. his arm was around you like it had been there forever, steady and warm, like he didn’t even think about it anymore.

you were facing him this time, close enough to see the small details he usually tried to hide—how his eyes softened when he was tired, how his expression wasn’t as strict when it was just the two of you.

“you’re staring again,” he said quietly.

“am not,” you whispered, even though you definitely were.

that made his mouth twitch slightly, like he was almost smiling but didn’t fully commit to it.

there was a pause after that. not awkward—just full.

your hand was still resting on his chest, and you could feel his breathing slow under your fingers. for once, neither of you moved away from the silence.

gris gaze dropped for a moment. not far, just to your lips, then back up again.

he didn’t say anything right away. you noticed.

though, your heart beat a little louder in your ears.

“…what?” you asked softly.

he hesitated, like the answer wasn’t something he usually let out easily.

“can i?” he asked finally, voice low.

it took you a second to understand, but when you did, you nodded right away.

“yeah,” you whispered.

that was all it took.

he leaned in slowly, giving you time to stop him if you wanted to—but you didn’t. your hand tightened just slightly on his shirt as he closed the space between you.

the kiss was soft. careful. like he was afraid of breaking the moment if he did it wrong.

but it didn’t feel unsure for long.

his hand at your back pulled you a little closer without thinking, like he already knew he didn’t want any distance between you. when he finally pulled back, it was only a little, his forehead almost resting against yours.

for a moment, neither of you said anything. then, very quietly, gris spoke. “…you’re warm.”

you blinked, then smiled a little. “that’s your comment?” his eyes softened, just barely. “it’s true.”

and this time, he didn’t let go right away.

FOLLO TUNITO -

it was one of those quiet moments where follo had clearly been trying to act normal—and failing a little.

you were sitting close together, just talking about nothing important. his voice was softer than usual, and he kept looking at you, then immediately looking away like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

his hands were fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve.

you noticed.

“you’re being weird,” you said lightly, tilting your head. “i’m not,” he replied too fast.

that made you smile a little.

there was a pause, and the air between you felt warmer somehow. follo shifted closer on instinct, then stopped like he realized what he was doing halfway through.

“…sorry,” he muttered, even though he didn’t move away.

“what for?” you asked.

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he looked at you properly this time. like he was trying to decide something in his head.

his ears were a little red.

you blinked. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” he said quickly. then quieter, “…i just—” he stopped again.

you leaned in a little, giving him space. “just what?”

his gaze dropped to your lips for half a second, then snapped away like it burned him. his face went even more red.

“…never mind,” he mumbled.

you laughed softly. “no, tell me.”

that only made him more flustered.

he covered his face for a second with his hand, exhaling like he was trying to calm himself down. “you’re not helping,” he said under his breath. “i’m not doing anything,” you said innocently.

he looked at you again.

this time, he didn’t look away as fast.

“…can i kiss you?” he asked, barely audible, like the words didn’t want to come out.

the honesty of it made your chest feel warm. you nodded immediately. “yeah.”

that was all it took.

he hesitated for half a second longer, still shy, still unsure—but then he leaned in carefully, like he was scared of messing it up.

the kiss was soft and quick at first, almost nervous, but it settled into something sweeter as he realized you weren’t pulling away.

his hand hovered near your arm, not fully grabbing you, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to yet.

when he pulled back, he looked even more flustered than before.

“…okay,” he said quietly, like he was trying to act normal again.

you smiled. “okay?”

he nodded once, then added even quieter, “…i think i understand why people do that.”

you laughed again, and this time, he didn’t look away when you did.

FU OROSTOR -

you were sitting on your bed when fu came into your room, quiet like always, closing the door gently behind him.

he stood there for a second too long, like he wasn’t fully sure if he should come in further or stay where he was.

“you’re just gonna stand there?” you asked softly.

he blinked, then walked over and sat beside you, a little careful with how close he got.

even so, there was this stiffness to him, like he was thinking too much about where his hands should go, how he should sit, what he should do with himself in a space that wasn’t used for training or work.

you noticed right away. “you’re tense.”

“i’m not,” he said quickly, almost automatically.

you gave him a small look, and that made him go quiet.

there was a pause after that, the kind that didn’t feel awkward but did feel full. fu kept glancing at you, then away, then back again like he was trying to figure something out without actually saying it.

you scooted a little closer.

he stiffened just slightly, shoulders going straight.

“…what are you doing?” he asked, voice lower now.

“nothing,” you said, even though you were definitely closer than before.

he didn’t move away.

that gave you the answer you needed.

you stopped right in front of him, close enough that your knees almost touched his. his eyes stayed on you this time, more focused, like he was waiting for something he couldn’t quite name.

“can i?” you asked quietly.

he hesitated for a moment, like the question was simple but his mind was making it complicated anyway.

“…y-yeah,” he said finally.

you leaned in first.

the kiss was soft and gentle, nothing rushed. but fu went completely still at first, like his whole body had paused and wasn’t sure what to do next.

his hands hovered slightly before resting carefully on his lap instead, like he was trying not to mess anything up.

but he didn’t pull away.

after a moment, he relaxed just a little, enough to actually lean into it instead of just freezing there. when you pulled back, he stayed still for a second longer, blinking like he was catching up.

“…you didn’t warn me,” he said quietly.

you tilted your head. “i did ask.”

that made him pause. “…right,” he said, a little quieter now.

there was a beat of silence, then he added, almost under his breath, “…it wasn’t bad.”

you smiled a little at that, and even though he was still a bit stiff, he stayed sitting closer to you than before.

ZODYL TYPHON -

you were hanging out with zodyl like usual, sitting close enough that your shoulders occasionally brushed.

he was quiet, as always, just watching you with that steady, unreadable focus he always had. it didn’t feel uncomfortable though. with him, silence never really did.

“you’re staring again,” you said softly, glancing at him.

“i am observing,” he replied, completely calm.

you smiled a little. “that’s just staring with extra steps.”

he didn’t respond right away. instead, his gaze stayed on you, like he was trying to understand something he couldn’t fully label yet. there was a long pause before he finally spoke again.

“…question,” he said.

you tilted your head. “yeah?”

“why do humans initiate contact like that?” he asked, as if it were a simple data point.

gosh you forgot how much of a bot he was..

you blinked. “like what?” his eyes shifted slightly toward you, then back to the space between you. “touch. proximity. facial contact.”

your heart skipped a little as you realized what he meant. “you mean… kissing?”

“yes,” he answered immediately.

you sat up a bit straighter, suddenly a little more aware of how close he was. “it’s… affection. it’s how people show they like someone or feel close to them.”

he went quiet, processing that without changing his expression.

after a moment, he nodded once. “understood.”

there was another pause, heavier this time, like he’d already made a decision internally and was just catching up to it.

“…may i attempt?” he asked.

you froze for a second, then nodded quickly. “yeah.”

he didn’t hesitate after that.

he leaned in slowly, precise and steady, like he was following a step-by-step instruction instead of acting on emotion.

when his lips met yours, it was surprisingly soft and controlled, not rushed or unsure—just calm. like he was learning the concept through experience.

you stayed still for a second, then relaxed into it.

when he pulled back, he looked at you the same way he always did, but something about the moment lingered differently now.

“…efficient,” he said after a beat.

you blinked, then let out a soft laugh. “that’s your reaction?” he tilted his head slightly. “was it incorrect?”

“no,” you said, still smiling. “just not what most people would say.”

he considered that for a moment. “…then I will adjust,” he said simply. “I understand why it is done.”

JABBER WONGER -

it started like one of jabber’s usual moments—him too close, leaning in like personal space didn’t really apply to him.

he was watching you with that sharp, playful grin of his, like he was always one second away from saying something you’d either laugh at or regret hearing.

“you’re quiet, ma,” he said suddenly.

you immediately frowned a little. “don’t call me that.”

he only grinned wider. “why not, mama?”

you let out a small sigh. “that one’s worse.”

he laughed under his breath like he was enjoying your reaction a little too much, but he didn’t move away. he rarely did.

instead, his gaze stayed on you a bit longer this time, less teasing now and more focused, like something in his head had shifted but he wasn’t saying it out loud yet.

“…you look real nice like this,” he muttered after a moment.

you blinked. “like what?”

“like this,” he repeated, like that explained everything.

before you could respond, he leaned in slowly, stopping just close enough for you to feel his breath, like he was giving you time to stop him if you wanted to. you didn’t.

so he kissed you.

it was short and a little messy, but warm in a way that made your thoughts go quiet for a second. when he pulled back, he stayed right there, close enough that your foreheads almost touched.

a lazy grin came back to his face.

“…yeah,” he said softly, “that’s what i thought, ma.”

you exhaled, trying not to smile too much. “you’re really annoying.”

“and you still let me, mama,” he replied easily.

he didn’t move away after that, just stayed close like he had no plans of leaving your space anytime soon.

The rink always smelled faintly like cold metal and sharpened blades.

It was the kind of cold that settled into your lungs when you breathed in too fast, the kind that made the air shimmer faintly under the fluorescent lights overhead. Freshly resurfaced ice stretched across the rink in a perfect pale sheet, smooth enough to reflect the lights above like scattered stars.

You loved it.

The rink wasn’t empty— it never truly was, but it always felt calm. The loud chaos of hockey practice had began to fade into the gentle scrape of figure skate blades carving loops into fresh ice.

You pushed off into a glide, letting the edge of your blade carve a thin white line behind you. Your muscles warmed slowly as you ran through familiar motions: crossovers, a turn, a clean edge change. The cold air tugged at the loose strands of hair escaping your bun. The ice hummed beneath you, letting the cold air bite your cheeks.

On the far side of the rink, the hockey team was finishing drills.

You tried not to pay attention.

But that proved difficult when one particular player had developed the habit of watching you like you were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.

Caroline Harvey— Kk to everyone who knew her—rested both arms on the boards, chin tilted slightly down as she tracked your movement across the ice.

She had been standing there for a while.

Long enough that one of her teammates finally skated past and followed her gaze.

“Oh my god,” Laila muttered bumping her shoulder lightly.

“Kk,” she berated, giving her friend an amused look.

Kk responded absently.

“What?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” She muttered.

“Staring.”

“I’m not staring” she protested weakly, though her eyes stayed trained on you.

“You literally haven’t blinked.”

Kk tore her eyes away for exactly three seconds before looking back.

You were setting up for a jump.

Your blades cut a fast curve into the ice, knees bending before you launched upward. The spin in the air was quick and tight before you landed smoothly, gliding out of it like gravity barely applied to you.

She let out a quiet exhale, Laila followed her gaze.

“Dude,” She deadpanned. “You have it bad.”

Kks head whips over to her friend, scrunching her brows, “No- She’s just… really good.”

“Yeah. That’s definitely why you’re stalking her.”

She shoved Laila’s shoulder lightly, but her cheeks had already turned pink.

_____

Unfortunately for her, this had become routine.

Because every time your practice schedule overlapped with theirs, it happened again. she ended up parked by the boards pretending she wasn’t watching you skate.

You’d glide across the rink and Kk would forget how to function.

It had been like this for weeks.

And eventually you noticed.

Mostly because she was hard not to notice.

At first, you only registered her as one of the louder hockey players— not obnoxiously so, always laughing with teammates, always encouraging someone, always the first one celebrating a good play. Even from across the rink, her energy filled the place.

But over time you started recognizing her.

The way she lingered after practice.

The way she always seemed to drift toward the boards closest to where you were skating.

And sometimes— when you accidentally glance her way during practice— you’d catch her smiling at you.

Not only the polite kind. The kind that lingered. The kind that made you feel warm even in a freezing rink. It’s like it lit up her whole face.

You assumed she was just nice.

⸻

The first time you spoke to her happened almost by accident.

One afternoon the schedule overlapped again.

Your coach had you running edge drills while the hockey team wrapped up practice. You were skating a slow cooldown lap when you noticed her leaning over the boards again, helmet tucked under her arm. When you glided past, she straightened slightly. Voice softer than you remember hearing.

“Uh— hey.”

You slowed to a stop, turning toward her and resting one hand against the boards.

“Hi…”

Up close, she looked a little different than she did from across the rink. Taller than you expected. Hair damp from practice, cheeks flushed from exertion and eyes bright with a nervous kind of energy.

Less confident somehow.

Kk immediately forgot everything she’d planned to say.

“You’re really good,” she blurted. Great start, Harvey.

You blinked once, lips curving slightly.

“Thanks.”

“I mean it,” she added quickly. “The jump you did earlier? That was insane.”

You smiled faintly. “The triple?”

“Yeah exactly,” Kk said immediately, nodding a bit too enthusiastically.

You tilted your head slightly trying not to laugh. She was cute.

“Do you watch a lot of figure skating?”

She hesitated just long enough to give herself away.

“Uh- recently.”

That earned her a small laugh from you.

Kk decided right then that it was her favorite sound in the world.

⸻

The conversations started happening naturally after that.

At first they lasted a minute or two— a quick “see you tomorrow” after practice, to a few minutes of small talk by the boards.

Then onto full blown racing sessions when everyone else was off the rink.

Sometimes you’d end up sitting on the bench together while you unlaced your skates and Kk talked about whatever crossed her mind that day.

You learned Kk had endless energy when she spoke, hands gesturing wildly as she explained things, eyes bright with excitement. You always listened intently. Which, as it turned out, Kk loved.

She learned that you were quieter but quick-witted in a way that caught her off guard.

What she didn’t realize at first was that you were also completely oblivious to the fact that she was flirting with you almost constantly.

And every single time she talked to you, she walked away like someone had just plugged her into an electrical outlet.

⸻

“You know,” Kk said one afternoon, leaning against the boards as you adjusted the laces on your skate, “I think figure skating might actually be harder than hockey.”

You glanced up at her, snorting out a laugh.

“That sounds like something hockey players only admit when they’re trying to impress someone.”

Kk froze for half a second, then grinned sheepishly. “Is it working?”

You shrugged, amused.

“Maybe.”

The grin she gave you in response could probably have lit up the entire rink.

⸻

The moment everything changed wasn’t until a few days later.

You were both sitting on the bench after practice. The rink had mostly emptied out, leaving the two of you in that quiet echoing space where every sound carried a little farther.

Kk was in the middle of telling you a story about one of her teammates when she suddenly paused.

“So wait,” she started. “Didn’t you go to that party last weekend?”

“Yeah,” you replied, tugging off one skate with a soft grunt.

“How was it?”

You hummed. “It was fun. My friend tried to set me up with someone though.”

Kk’s posture changed instantly.

“Oh?” she said, trying very hard to sound as casual as possible.

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

You didn’t notice the intensity in her voice.

“Nothing, really. She was nice, just not my type.”

KK stopped breathing.

Not dramatically— there was no gasp or visible reaction at first. It was more like everything inside her just… stalled. Like someone had reached into her chest and pressed pause on every working part of her brain at the exact same time.

Because she had heard you correctly.

Right?

She was nice, you had said, just as casually as if you were talking about the weather.

For weeks now, Kk had been living with the quiet, slightly miserable assumption that her crush on you was doomed from the start. Not because you didn’t like her— but because she had fully convinced herself that you liking girls wasn’t even a possibility. You were a figure skater. Cool, graceful, completely out of her league. The kind of person Kk assumed probably had guys lining up around the block.

So she had settled into the safest option: harmless flirting, friendly conversations, trying not to think too hard about the way her stomach flipped every time you laughed at something she said.

But now—

Now you were sitting right next to her on the bench, tugging off your skate like you hadn’t just casually rewritten the entire reality of her existence.

Kk stared at you.

Not blinking.

Not moving.

Her brain scrambled to catch up with the sudden rush of thoughts crashing into each other.

She likes girls.

She likes girls.

She likes girls.

Which meant—

Which meant the stupid little crush Kk had been trying to ignore for the past five months suddenly had actual, real, terrifying potential.

You noticed the silence after a moment and glanced up.

Kk was gawking at you like you’d just told her the earth was flat.

“…Kk?”

Nothing.

Your eyebrows knit together slightly.

“Kk?” You repeat a little louder this time.

She blinked then, slow and disoriented, like someone waking up from a dream.

“You—”

The words came out before her brain had fully restarted.

“You like girls?”

“Yeah…” you said, now slightly confused. “Why?”

Kk opened her mouth to answer.

Nothing came out.

Her brain was still running in about eight different directions at once. Part of her wanted to act normal— play it cool, like this information didn’t matter. Another part of her was already replaying every conversation the two of you had ever had, wondering if any of her awkward attempts at flirting had been obvious.

And the loudest part of her brain was just screaming: you have a fucking chance.

You frowned a little.

“Are you okay?”

She immediately straightened, snapping upright.

“Yes.”

The word came out a little too fast.

She cleared her throat, trying again.

“I mean yeah. Of course.”

You studied her face, seemingly trying to figure out what had just happened inside her head.

“…Alright,” you said slowly.

Kk felt herself start to heat up, suddenly restless energy buzzing through her entire body. It felt like she’d just been electrocuted. Her knee bounced slightly against the bench as her brain finally finished catching up with the realization still echoing through her chest.

⸻

By the time she got back to the locker room, her head was still spinning.

The entire walk from the rink had been a blur of half-finished thoughts and rapidly forming plans. Her brain kept replaying the conversation over and over again, like it couldn’t quite believe what it had heard.

You had said it like it had been so obvious. Like you were surprised she didn’t already know.

She shoved open the locker room door with more force than necessary, the sound echoing slightly off the tiled walls. A few of her teammates were already scattered around the benches, half-dressed, mid-conversation, but Kk barely noticed any of them.

She plopped down on the bench in front of her locker, staring at the floor for a second while she worked her skate loose. Her fingers were slower than usual, fumbling slightly with the knot in the lace because her brain was still replaying the conversation over and over again.

You like girls.

Which meant the stupid, completely inconvenient crush she’d been trying very hard not to read into suddenly wasn’t out of this world impossible anymore.

Her heart did a weird little flip just thinking about it.

Across from her, Laila noticed the distant look on her face.

“You good?” she muttered loud enough for Kk to snap out of the shock induced trance she was in.

Kk glanced up, hesitating for a moment before answering.

“She likes girls.”

The words came out immediately, like she’d been holding them in for the last ten minutes and physically couldn’t anymore.

Laila blinked at her, already guessing who this was about— her best friend had been obsessed with a certain figure skater for months, so she’ heard a lot.”

“Okay?”

For a second Kk honestly couldn’t tell if she had explained it properly or if the significance just wasn’t landing.

“Okay?” she repeated, a little helplessly. “This means… I might actually have a chance.”

Laila leaned back slightly, expression shifting from confusion to amusement.

“Harvey,” she said gently, “you already had a chance.”

Kk shook her head immediately.

“No, I didn’t.”

“You talk to her every day.”

“That’s different.”

She finally managed to pull off her skates, setting it down beside the bench before leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. Her hands clasped together loosely, thumb rubbing nervously over her knuckles.

Talking to you had always felt easy.

Dangerously easy, actually.

But that was when she assumed it didn’t mean anything.

Now every conversation she’d had with you replayed in her head with a completely different weight behind it. Every smile. Every time you laughed at something she said. The way you always lingered a little when practice ended, just so you could sweetly wish her a goodnight.

Fuck.

Laila watched her quietly for a moment before asking, “So what are you gonna do?”

She exhaled slowly through her nose.

“I think…” she started, trailing off for a second before looking up again.

“I think I should ask her out.”

Her teammate raised an eyebrow.

“That’s a solid plan.”

Kk rolled her eyes, she’s aware of how ridiculous she’s probably acting right now , but her mind is too occupied to care.

“I mean, unless that’s a terrible idea.”

“You’ve been head over heals for this girl for months.”

She groaned softly and covered part of her face with her hand.

“I have not.”

“You absolutely have.”

There was a brief pause before she dropped her hand again, her expression softening slightly.

“She’s just… I like talking to her,”

The words were simple, but the way she said them made it obvious there was a lot more behind them.

Laila’s expression shifted into something warmer.

“Yeah,” she responds knowingly. “Sounds like it.”

Kk sat there for another moment, chewing lightly on the inside of her cheek while her nerves slowly built back up.

Because asking you out meant actually risking something. But the thought of not trying felt worse.

Finally she sat up a little straighter, letting out another quiet breath.

“Okay,” she said softly, mostly to herself. “I’m gonna do it.”

That earned her a smile from her best friend.

“Atta girl.”

⸻

The next afternoon, the rink felt colder than usual.

Not actually colder— the air still carried that same sharp, metallic chill that always lived inside the arena— but Kk noticed it more because she’d been there almost fifteen minutes early, leaning against the boards with her gloves stuffed awkwardly into the pocket of her hoodie.

She kept checking the rink doors.

Then looking away so it wouldn’t seem obvious.

Then checking again.

It was ridiculous. She knew it was ridiculous. She had faced down national teams in front of thousands of people and somehow that felt significantly less nerve wracking than waiting for one girl to walk through the door.

But the moment you did, the whole world seemed to narrow.

You stepped onto the ice with the familiar quiet confidence Kk had come to recognize immediately— skates gliding smoothly onto the fresh surface, blades whispering softly as you pushed into a warm-up lap. The overhead lights caught the frost in the air around you, and for a second Kk forgot entirely that she had planned to say anything at all. You hadn’t noticed her yet.

She had seen you skate dozens of times now.

It still took her breath away.

When you eventually glanced toward the boards and spotted her standing there, your expression shifted into that easy smile she liked so much.

Her heart did the thing again.

The stupid little flip it always did when you noticed her.

She lifted a hand automatically.

“Hey.”

It came out softer than she meant it to, but you heard it anyway. You curved toward the boards, slowing until your skates sprayed a faint line of ice beside the barrier.

“Hey there stranger,” you tease, resting one arm casually on the top of the boards.

Up close, you looked a little flushed from the cold, loose strands of hair escaping your bun and brushing your cheek. It took everything in her not to reach up a tuck them neatly back into place, if only so she could feel the brush of your soft skin on the tips of her fingers. Kk had to actively remind herself not to stare like she usually did.

She definitely failed.

“So,” she started.

You tilted your head slightly, a slow smile spreading on your face at her awkwardness.

“So?”

Now she wished she had rehearsed this more.

She had spent half the night thinking about it—lying awake replaying different versions of this exact conversation in her head. In many of those versions she sounded confident and charming and impressively smooth.

In reality, her hands felt a little too damp and her brain had decided to completely space on most of the things she’d planned to say.

Still.

She had promised herself she’d do it.

She took a small breath.

“I, um…” She rubbed the back of her neck, glancing briefly at the ice before looking back at you again. “I was wondering if maybe you’d want to get coffee with me sometime.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly.

The pause that followed lasted maybe two seconds.

For Kk, it felt closer to an hour.

“Like… you and me?” you ask, your cheeks turned a soft shade of pink.

She huffed a quiet laugh, a little embarrassed.

“Yeah. Like—” she hesitated, then forced herself to finish the sentence. “Like a date.”

Your expression changed then, something softer settling across your features as you looked at her.

Her fingers tapped a quick, uneven rhythm on the boards, restless and alive, and she couldn’t stop her toes from bouncing just a little in her shoes.

You studied her for a moment, your face turning an even darker shade of pink. The gold in her hair caught the rink lights, but it wasn’t the shimmer that had your chest tightening— it was the way she kept glancing at you, a small, hopeful smile tugging at her lips, eyes bright and wide like she was holding her breath, waiting for your answer.

Then the corners of your mouth lifted.

“I’d like that.”

Kk blinked.

Once.

Twice.

It took a second for the words to fully land.

When they did, her entire face lit up before she could stop it. The smile that spread across her face was so bright it almost hurt her cheeks, and she ducked her head slightly in an attempt to hide it.

“Okay,” she said, trying to sound normal.

She absolutely did not sound normal.

You laughed quietly, and the sound made the grin come right back. Her eyes sparkled in a way that made the pale ice beneath them look dull, and she had that little tilt of her head that always made you lean in without thinking.

“We can go after I finish up here” you say.

You couldn’t stop looking at her. Kk stood there, a little awkward, a little glowing, like she wasn’t sure whether to be proud or embarrassed, and somehow it made her even more impossible to look away from.

“Yeah sounds perfect,” she says quickly, nodding once like she was confirming something extraordinarily important.

There was a brief pause.

Then she added, a little sheepishly, “That was… that was all I planned to say actually.”

Your laugh this time was louder, and Kk felt something warm bloom in her chest at the sound of it.

“Well it worked very well,” you reassure lightly.

Her chest lifted with short, eager breaths, and she swayed slightly, like her body couldn’t decide whether to stay still or move closer. She tried, briefly, to collect herself— to lean casually against the boards the way she had imagined earlier. It didn’t really translate, but you didn’t seem to mind.

You pushed gently away from the boards again, gliding backward onto the ice. You were smiling up at her all the while.

“I should probably finish up practice then,” you say.

“Oh— yeah,” Kk responds quickly. “Yeah, go practice.”

You skate away then, already moving into your first set of edges.

KK stayed exactly where she was, watching you for another few seconds before finally dragging a hand down her face.

Her heart was still racing.

Her face must have been beat red and she was smiling so hard it almost felt ridiculous.

Because you had said yes.

For months now she had been standing in this exact spot, pretending she wasn’t completely entranced every time your practices overlapped.

She leaned a little too far on the boards, elbows pressing down as if she needed an anchor, and yet every part of her seemed drawn forward, as if gravity itself bent toward you.

Turns out staying a little too long after practice had been a pretty good decision.

a/n: phew this took a while but I hope you like it girls, also I don’t know much about hockey or skating so please bare with me😅 If you see any mistakes don’t hesitate to comment, and if you have any oneshot requests let me know;)

You’ll be sitting at breakfast, halfway through your food, when the back of your neck starts prickling with that unmistakable feeling of being watched. You glance up, slow and careful, and sure enough—there she is. Across the pavilion, elbow on the table, staring straight at you like she’s trying to figure out how easily you’d snap in half if she decided to test it.

The first time it happens, you freeze.

The second, you look away quickly.

By the third, you force yourself to hold her gaze for a second longer than feels safe.

Clarisse doesn’t look away.

She just keeps staring.

Like she’s waiting.

For what, you have no idea.

It continues like that for days.

At the training arena, you’ll be practicing with a sword, trying to focus on your footwork, when the same feeling creeps up your spine. You glance to the side, and there she is again, leaning against one of the posts, arms crossed, watching you with that same intense, unreadable expression.

If you mess up, she clicks her tongue.

If you recover, she nods once, sharp and approving, before pretending she wasn’t paying attention at all.

At the campfire, it’s worse.

You’ll be sitting with a few other campers, half-listening to whatever story is being told, when you feel it again—that weight, that focus, that impossible-to-ignore presence—and when you turn your head, Clarisse is there, standing just outside the circle of light, her face half-shadowed and her eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing worth looking at.

It’s unsettling.

Not because she looks like she’s about to hurt you.

But because she doesn’t.

Clarisse La Rue looks at most people like she’s already decided they’re not worth the effort.

She looks at you like she hasn’t decided anything at all.

And somehow, that’s worse.

You try to ignore it.

You really do.

You tell yourself she’s just making sure you don’t go running your mouth about what you saw in the Ares cabin. About the hoodie. At the moment, she didn’t look like she had all the answers.

It makes sense.

Clarisse doesn’t trust easily. Everyone knows that.

This is probably her version of a warning.

A silent, looming, ever-present reminder that she’s watching you, that she knows where you are, that you’d better keep your promise.

It’s intimidating.

It’s effective.

And after nearly a week of it, it’s also incredibly annoying.

Because she doesn’t say anything.

Not once.

No threats. No insults. No actual confrontation.

Just—

Staring.

Watching.

Hovering at the edges of your space like a storm that refuses to break.

You catch her outside the cabins one afternoon, leaning against the wall like she’s been there for a while. The moment your eyes meet, she straightens slightly, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t be.

But instead of walking over, instead of saying anything at all—

She just… looks at you.

Again.

That’s when something in you snaps.

Not dramatically. Not loudly.

Just enough.

You change direction mid-step and walk straight toward her.

Clarisse’s posture shifts immediately, her shoulders squaring like she’s preparing for impact, her chin lifting in that familiar defensive angle.

Good.

Let her brace.

You stop a few feet in front of her, close enough that she can’t pretend this is accidental, close enough that walking away now would mean something.

For a second, neither of you speaks.

Clarisse’s gaze flickers over your face, searching, cautious in a way she’d probably deny if anyone pointed it out.

“What,” she says finally, her voice sharp enough to cut, “do you want.”

You blink at her.

Then you laugh.

It’s not mean, just disbelieving, a little breathless with the sheer absurdity of it all.

“What do I want?” you repeat. “Clarisse, you’ve been staring at me like you’re planning my funeral for the past week.”

Her eyes narrow instantly. “I have not.”

“Oh, you absolutely have.”

“I don’t—” she cuts herself off, jaw tightening. “I look at people. That’s normal.”

“Not like that,” you shoot back. “Not like you’re trying to set me on fire with your brain.”

Clarisse scoffs, but there’s something off about it—less confident, more… defensive.

“If you’re scared,” she says, folding her arms like that settles the matter, “you can just say that.”

“I’m not scared,” you reply immediately, stepping closer without thinking, because if she’s going to push, you’re going to push back. “I’m annoyed.”

That gets her attention.

Clarisse straightens fully now, her gaze sharpening as it locks onto yours. “Annoyed.”

“Yes, annoyed,” you repeat, gesturing vaguely in her direction. “Because if this is your way of trying to intimidate me into keeping quiet about your—” you lower your voice slightly, glancing around before continuing, “—your soft side, it’s overkill.”

Her entire body stills.

Not in the way she does before a fight.

In the way something freezes when it’s been hit directly.

“My what,” she says slowly.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, the frustration finally spilling over now that you’ve started. “The hoodie, Clarisse. The fact that you’re not just—” you wave your hand, searching for the word, “—all of that all the time.”

Her expression does something complicated.

For a second, it looks like anger.

Then it flickers into something else. Something sharper. Something almost… panicked.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” she snaps, a little too quickly, like the words have been sitting just under the surface, waiting for an excuse to come out.

You blink.

“…What?”

Clarisse’s jaw clenches.

Her hands flex at her sides, like she’s trying to grab onto something that isn’t there.

“I said I’m not trying to scare you,” she repeats, louder this time, like that’ll make it easier to believe. “I don’t—” she cuts herself off again, clearly irritated now, her gaze darting away for half a second before snapping back to you. “That’s not—what I was doing.”

You stare at her.

Because that… doesn’t make sense.

“Then what were you doing?” you ask, your voice softer now, confusion bleeding into it despite yourself.

Clarisse opens her mouth.

Closes it.

Opens it again, like she’s about to say something measured, something controlled—

Instead, what comes out is—

“I like you.”

The words hit the air like a thrown weapon.

Sharp. Fast. Impossible to take back.

Silence crashes down immediately after.

Your brain stalls.

Completely.

Because—

What.

Clarisse seems to realize what she just said about half a second too late.

Her eyes widen, just barely, and then her entire expression slams shut, defensive walls snapping back into place so fast it’s almost impressive.

“I mean—” she starts, voice rough, already backtracking, already trying to bury it, “—you’re—useful. You don’t—run your mouth. That’s—what I meant.”

You don’t move.

You don’t speak.

You just look at her.

Clarisse shifts under the weight of it, visibly uncomfortable now, her shoulders tightening like she’s bracing for impact.

“Don’t make it weird,” she mutters.

That’s when you reach out.

It’s not planned. Not thought through.

Your hand just moves, fingers closing around her wrist before she can step back, before she can put distance between you and whatever just happened.

Clarisse goes completely still.

Not resisting.

Not pulling away.

Just… frozen.

Her gaze drops to where you’re holding her, then lifts back up to your face, something uncertain flickering in her eyes in a way that doesn’t match anything else about her.

You step closer.

Close enough now that there’s no space left for misunderstanding.

“Clarisse,” you say, your voice quieter, steadier than you feel, “if you like someone…”

She tenses at the word.

“…you’re allowed to just talk to them,” you continue, softer now. “You don’t have to stand across the arena and stare like you’re about to declare war.”

Her mouth opens.

Closes.

For once, Clarisse La Rue has absolutely nothing to say.

You can see it—the confusion, the embarrassment, the unfamiliar territory of not knowing how to fight your way through something.

And for a second, she looks younger.

Not weaker.

Just… less certain.

You squeeze her wrist gently, grounding, not restraining.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you add, a small smile tugging at your lips, “if you actually came over and talked to me.”

Clarisse stares at you.

Really stares.

Like she’s trying to figure out if this is a trick. Like she’s waiting for the moment you laugh, or pull away, or prove that this was all a mistake.

You don’t.

You just stay.

And something in her finally… shifts.

Not all the way.

Not completely.

But enough.

You lean in before you can overthink it.

It’s quick.

Soft.

A brief press of your lips against her cheek.

For a second, Clarisse doesn’t react at all.

Doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.

Doesn’t even blink.

Then you pull back.

And just like that, the moment breaks.

Clarisse jerks like she’s just been struck, her hand flying up to her cheek, her eyes wide in a way that’s almost comical if it wasn’t so her.

“What—” she starts, voice cracking slightly before she forces it steady, “—what was that.”

You grin, unable to stop it now.

“That,” you say lightly, “was me being less subtle than you.”

Her face goes red.

Actually red.

Not from sunburn, not from anger.

From something else entirely.

She scowls immediately, like that’ll fix it. “That was—stupid.”

“Mm,” you hum, already stepping back, giving her space before she can panic and bolt. “Maybe.”

Clarisse glares at you.

But it’s weaker now. Less sharp around the edges.

“…Don’t do that again without warning,” she mutters.

You raise an eyebrow. “So I can do it with warning?”

Her brain visibly short-circuits.

“I didn’t say that.”

You grin wider. “You kind of did.”

She groans, dragging a hand down her face like she’s reconsidering every decision that led her here. “You’re impossible.”

“And you,” you shoot back, turning to leave before you can say something worse—or better—“are terrible at talking to people.”

“Hey—”

You glance over your shoulder.

Clarisse is still standing there, one hand hovering near her cheek, her expression caught somewhere between annoyed and completely thrown off.

“You’re improving, though,” you add, softer this time.

She huffs, but there’s no real heat behind it.

“…Next time,” she mutters, almost to herself, “I’ll just—come over.”

You smile.

“Good.”

And as you walk away, you can feel it again—that weight, that attention, that presence behind you.

But this time, it’s different.

Less like a warning.

More like something trying, awkwardly and stubbornly, to stay close.