#finally......... replies........... 27 years later..................................

Smut is marked with *

Jack Abbot

Gorgeous: You’ve been secretly losing your mind over Dr. Abbot for months. One slip on ice later, and your giant crush on the night attending becomes everyone’s business thanks to a concussion and a mouth that won’t stop calling him gorgeous.

The Great War: Years after your separation, life throws you back into Jack Abbot’s orbit in the worst way possible, carrying a devastating diagnosis that could be the reason your marriage fell apart in the first place: a tumor that may had erased the part of you that fell in love with him all those years back. And he’s not ready to lose you twice.

Part 2 - Morning Glory: After Jack learns about a tumor in your head, all the old bitterness of your separation stops mattering. Now he’s chasing surgeons across the country as he watches the woman he still loves slip further away. But what terrifies him the most, is the relentless, exhausting, yet beautiful war of choosing you everyday, even when you keep unintentionally hurting him.

*I can see you: New city, new hospital, new job. You give yourself one last day to be free before your first shift, and happy hour ends with a stranger on your bed. The real problem starts the next morning, when he shows up in the same ED answering to “Dr. Abbot.”

Baby Jane Abbot Series

Baby Jane Abbot: After deciding to foster Baby Jane Doe, the Abbot household faces a sleepless afternoon. As Jack rocks her back to sleep, you both realize the word “foster” starts to feel less like a temporary label.

Poppy: Years after adopting baby Jane Doe, you get a call from Robby telling you about another abandoned child at PTMC. The news brings the past painfully close, and your daughter starts questioning you about her own story.

Series drabbles

First birthday

Michael Robby Robinavitch

Sunshine & midnight rain: Robby has convinced himself that a lake house, his lifelong dream, would be wasted on a man with no free time and no one to share it with. You, a bright new resident might be the person to finally make him believe he deserves it.

Eddie Munson

*But daddy I love him: There’s two clear rules in your house. No boys while dad isn’t home and ALWAYS keep the door open three inches. Tonight Hopper’s out late and you decide to break both, until he’s banging at your door as Eddie trips over his own clothes trying to get out alive.

*I think he knows: Eddie accidentally walks in on Steve fucking you in a WSQK storage closet. He thinks he’s doomed to a life of fantasizing over you with the only company of his right hand, until…Steve himself offers him a golden ticket straight to your bed: a threesome.

This is our year: Two years after leaving Hawkins behind to chase Eddie’s dreams in LA, you return to Indiana for Dustin’s graduation and get surprised by his speech. Later, in a wholesome reunion at the WSQK rooftop, old friendships rekindle as a small secret waits to slip out.

Merry Christmas, I miss you: Christmas hits harder since your best friend left town to chase his dreams, and hasn’t talked to you in months. As you reminisce what life was with Eddie by your side, all you can think about is calling, and telling him how much you miss him. You don’t expect him to say it back…but he ends up saying so much more.

Rubik's Cube: Eddie loves watching you getting ready. His full undivided attention is on you…until he finds a little Rubik’s cube on one of your shelves. Naturally, he just has to prove he can get it done under a minute.

Last Christmas: It’s Christmas Eve, and instead of celebrating back home, you find yourself visiting Eddie’s grave. Because last Christmas you gave him your heart, and unfortunately, he took it with him wherever souls go when they leave people behind.

Sweetheart, I would’ve drowned in melancholy: When you ask Eddie what would’ve happened if you’d never met, he says he would’ve been destined to a fate of melancholy and drowning…aka he fell in love with you, and that saved him.

Drabbles

*Not a single thought: Eddie fucks you so good sometimes you can only say “thank you”.

Eddie things: Eddie likes to collect little trinkets; bottle caps, old guitar picks, pretty rocks, pressed flowers, to give them to you.

Not a big deal: Eddie thought birthdays weren’t that important, until you said yours wasn’t, and suddenly it’s all he cares about.

Eddie Headcanons

Steve Harrington

*I think he knows: Eddie accidentally walks in on Steve fucking you in a WSQK storage closet. He thinks he’s doomed to a life of fantasizing over you with the only company of his right hand, until…Steve himself offers him a golden ticket straight to your bed: a threesome.

Don't you, Stevie?: Steve’s packing, you’ve known–and enjoyed it–for years. No one else needs to know that, but that becomes a problem when you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut about it…and Robin doesn’t help either.

For Good: Steve and you had history together…and then Eddie happened. As your “best friend”, you waited for Steve to care. He waited for you to let him in. Neither of you moved on. Now, months of grief and guilt explode in one awful fight that might break you for good.

Johnny Storm

The Evermore Series

After an attack on the Baxter Building threatens the family, every trace of evidence points to you being a traitor. Johnny is torn between believing you, the one he’s been in love with since day one, or his own blood. And while they question your loyalty, no one knows what you’re really hiding: a secret growing inside your belly, one that has Johnny’s name written all over it.

Chapters | Completed (52k+)

1. Evermore | 2. Forevermore*

The Lover Series

Everything was perfect. Engaged to the love of your life, a wedding around the corner, days filled with love and planning forever, until…the accident. You wake up one day with no memory of Johnny, and now he has to prove that if he made you fall in love with him once, he can do it all over again.

Series Masterlist | On going (24k+)

1. Soon you'll get better | 2. Death by a Thousand Cuts | 3 | 4 |

One shots

Two Heartbeats: You agree to help Reed test his new baby scanner for Sue, so he can collect some baseline data from a non pregnant woman. But when the screen lights up with a tiny heartbeat, you realize you’ve got some crazy news to break to Johnny.

*Guilty pleasures: Johnny is your best friend’s dad. After you break up with your boyfriend, she convinces you to join her on an all paid resort trip with her father. You know he’s forbidden fruit, but after lots of longing stares, midnight beach walks, shared desserts, and a shirtless Johnny jogging along the shoreline, things get too hot between you. He wants to prove he can make your ex’s mistakes right himself, and inevitably turns into the guiltiest pleasure you could ever have.

*It’s getting hot in here (sex pollen): While analyzing space plants in Sue’s lab, you get infected with sex pollen. Johnny, hotshot, flirty as hell, and definitely not yours (yet) starts looking a little too good in those tight pants. You try to fight it, until you find yourself begging him to save you.

Get a Johnny!: Bad cramps don’t let you sleep. You hesitate to call Johnny because you think you’re not there with him yet, but after nothing helps, you give in. Turns out having a boyfriend with fire hot powers comes very in handy.

Enchanted to meet you: When Johnny is sent to investigate suspicious steam coming out of a sewer, he doesn’t expect a woman from another dimension to climb out of it. You look at him like he’s your knight in shining armor, and he realizes very soon you possess the ability to completely derail his life.

*The Fate of Ophelia (Vampire!Johnny Storm): One drop of your blood could bring a vampire’s cold heart back to life. It’s the kind of blood they kill for. You’ve spent your life hidden, protected, alone in your castle…until Johnny Storm came for you.  He's cocky, annoying, and imposible to ignore. A “good” vampire sent to defend your land. You’re everything he’s not allowed to want. But he looks at you like he can’t choose whether to kiss or kill you. How long until he decides which one?

Part 2. Pledge allegiance to your hands: You decide to put Johnny’s supernatural strength to good use, making him rearrange your ancient furniture, but he finds a better way to use his hands…and other things to rearrange.

*The sexy part of it: Ever since Franklin was born, Johnny’s had this peculiar feeling…baby fever. He decides he wants that for him, for you, but he doesn’t bring it up to you in a normal conversation, no, one day he just decides he needs to put a baby in you.

Baby Torch: You thought having a baby with Johnny was crazy enough, until your fourth month old flames on at 2 am. It’s scary, it’s overwhelming, but it’s also the most beautiful thing Johnny Storm has ever seen.

Ruin the Friendship: Oblivious best friend!Johnny who doesn’t realize he’s in love with you, but can’t understand why he’s so upset that you’ve been hanging out with another guy and distancing yourself from him.

Man's best friend: You thought you were dogsitting a puppy. Turns out you got handed a labrador with too much energy…who immediately tackles Johnny Storm at the park. Johnny, certified lover boy, ends up claiming fate just set you up romcom style.

Am I allowed to cry?: You read in a magazine the trend of asking your boyfriend “Am I allowed to get fries?” in front of the waitress to see his reaction, and you decide to put your very devoted, very dramatic boyfriend–who literally gives you anything you want–to the test.

Would you still love me if I was a worm: There’s nothing better than making out with Johnny, until he’s exactly where you want him: breathless, flushed and distracted just enough for you to make some silly questions.

Drabbles

Johnny loves women, Johnny loves when you wear his shirts

Dad!Johnny headcanons

Johnny + baby fever

Girl dad or boy dad?

Showing his baby the rocketship through the window.

Johnny + a baby sling

When the baby looks exactly like you

Johnny Headcanons

Rockstar!Johnny Storm

His love language

His tight shirts/clothing

John Walker

Are we out of the woods yet?: You and John Walker are nothing more than two idiots who can’t stand each other. But when a mission goes wrong and you fall through cracking ice, he does everything in his power to keep you alive.

*Come right on me—I mean, camaraderie: You can't help the inappropriate thoughts that come out of your mouth during a mission, and John has to teach you a lesson, or multiple, about it.

*Have you ever tried this one?: John had been away on a long mission. A month of nothing but his fist and filthy thoughts of you, edging himself to save it all for you. Every last drop. So when he catches you singing some dirty song about needing it deep? You get exactly what you asked for.

*Supersoldiers in Paris (sex pollen) John x reader x Bucky: Retrieving vials from an abandoned Red Room facility gets you infected with sex pollen. You may have to make a stop in Paris with John and Bucky before you can get back home.

*Short n' sweet (short!reader): You leave quite an impression, short and sweet to be exact. John is obsessed. The way he can mandhandle you. Lift you up to reach things. Cage you under his body while his hand covers your entire face.

Would you still love me if I was a worm: You hit John with a stupid question, he takes it too seriously.

Moral of the story: You never expected to be blindly sent to kill your ex-husband, but when you cross paths again in looping shame rooms, it’s like going through the pain all over again.

*Just a minute?: Walker loves to run that big mouth of his, always mocking your stamina in the field. But when you get him under you, turns out he doesn’t last that long either.

*Eyes on me: John makes you watch yourself as he plays with you in front of a mirror.

Alone in this shitty world (Bucky Barnes x reader x platonic!John Walker): After Yelena’s sudden outburst, the group scatters. And, as if this wasn’t already the weirdest day of your life, you find yourself reaching to comfort the last person you ever thought you'd feel sorry for, John Walker.

John Headcanons

John Walker + pet names/nicknames.

John Walker + singing.

Bucky Barnes

Would you still love me if I was a worm: A stupid little question turns into a heated makeout session. Your teammates hate to see it, one doesn’t

*Next door: You thought you were being quiet when you touched yourself. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault he could hear everything from his bed next door every single time. And when you moan his name out loud, he’s done pretending he doesn’t hear.

Do you know who I am? / Part 2: After breaking Zemo out of prison, Sam and Bucky try to hide him and you’re left to distract John Walker, so you take it as your chance to spit some words at the "New Captain America”.

Hold me until it hurts less: Bucky has nightmares. You have nightmares. Sometimes he helps you with yours and you help him with his.

Thunderbolts

Nothing’s gonna stop us: An attempt at homemade cookies, ridiculous requests to Valentina and a karaoke night will have you finding out you have a few hidden singers in your team.

Clark Kent

Some of these are on my side blog @404superman, go check it out!

*Sex pollen: When Clark gets poisoned with sex pollen, he tries everything in his power to stay away from you. Until he ends up crashing into your living room, and you have a god on his knees, with your name in his mouth and your body at his will.

*The necklace: You get Clark a silly little gift, a necklace with his ‘superman’ logo on it. He loves it when you bite it while he’s on top of you.

Soft boyfriend Clark

Check my old masterlist here. For characters like Peter Parker Steve Rogers, Thor, and Loki.

I. “ARE YOU EVEN PUSHING?” 

You grunt as you shove the other end of the giant cardboard box containing your very unassembled couch through the doorway of your apartment. 

“Dude, I am pushing.” Hana complains, holding the other end. “This thing is bigger than both of us combined.” 

With one final heave, the box slides across the hardwood floor before coming to a stop in the middle of the still-empty living room. 

“One more piece of furniture and I’m never moving again,” You say as you wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. 

“You said that after the dining table.” 

“I mean it this time.” 

Before either of you can catch your breath, loud voices echo down the hallway. 

“Incoming!” Hongjoong appears in the doorway carrying two moving boxes stacked to his chin and half his height, San trailing behind him with another three balanced like they weigh absolutely nothing. Mingi brings up the rear, dragging a suitcase that definitely has wheels. 

“You know,” Mingi says between exaggerated sighs, “people usually hire movers.” 

“Why would we need to pay extra when we have our big brother and his even bigger friends?”

Hongjoong ignores your sister, setting the boxes down before pulling a box cutter out of his pocket. 

“Mom and Dad stopped by their friend’s place,” he says, “They’ll come back later to help.” 

“I think they’re just excited to be empty nesters.” 

“Empty nesters?” you scoff. “They’re free. We’re the ones stuck living across from this gremlin,” you point at Hongjoong who gasps dramatically. 

“This,” he says, placing a hand over his heart. “is how you thank your amazing, handsome, hardworking older brother who found you a two-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles that is not only close to your office but also thirty minutes from Hana’s university?” 

“You barely did shit, you forced us to live here,” Hana scoffs. She and Hongjoong continue to bicker as they go through your boxes, getting a head start in unpacking. 

The plan had been simple: stay in Seoul, climb the corporate ladder at the marketing firm that hired you fresh out of college, and eventually, build a life there. 

Except, two years later, you’d burned out spectacularly. You’d say that staying close to Hana while she started university was an excuse to move back home when actually you couldn’t stay at the firm any longer before you started ripping your brains out. 

Hongjoong, being Hongjoong, had taken that as a personal challenge to find an apartment for both of you. His standards, unfortunately, were less about amenities and more about distance.

“I can literally see your front door from ours,” he’d proudly announced over FaceTime after sending you the listing. 

You couldn’t say no, not when it had been too long since the three of you lived in the same space again. The rent was also within your budget, and it was convenient, despite having to live close to an annoying big brother. 

“I deserve compensation,” Mingi sets himself on the floor with a groan as he hands San an Allen wrench for your couch. 

“You got breakfast,” Hongjoong replies. 

“I deserve financial compensation.” 

“You barely did anything.” 

“I deserve emotional compensation.” 

“You need therapy.” 

Hana lets out a snicker beside you. “They’re exactly how you described them, Joong.” 

“They’ve somehow gotten worse.” 

“Hey! I heard that!” 

As the bickering continued, you finally let out of your thoughts and began peeling away the packing tape of the box labeled ‘KITCHEN'. 

Maybe moving back hadn’t been such a terrible idea after all. 

The apartment was small but cozy. Afternoon sunlight poured through the wide living room windows, warming the hardwood floors.

Although you’d have to live directly across the hall from your insufferable older brother, you actually could see yourself living here. 

Hongjoong had warned you that you wouldn't just be gaining a neighbor, you’d be inheriting his roommates, too.

San and Mingi were Hongjoong’s closest college friends. You’d met them before, loud voices in the background while you had your weekly siblings FaceTime. San was exactly like the gentle giant that Hongjoong had described while Mingi was exactly as shameless. 

The third roommate was nowhere to be seen. Your brother had mentioned that he was out running an errand and would stop by afterward to help finish up the rest of your boxes.

So when Hongjoong said there was a third roommate, in your head, he was just another one of Hongjoong’s friends. You haven’t bothered to ask who it was yet, since you were busy with moving in from Seoul. 

“Sorry,” a familiar voice called from the hall. “The line downstairs was ridiculous.” 

Another figure stepped into your apartment.

You haven't seen Jeong Yunho in years. 

The paper bags in his hands crinkled as he adjusted his grip, his eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise before settling into that same easy smile he always had. 

“YN,” he greets you.

Your eyes met. He looked older, yet had the same broad shoulders, same clean haircut, and was still ridiculously tall. 

“Yunho-oppa!” Before you could say anything, Hana barreled straight into him. 

“Hana! You’re all grown up now!” Yunho barely had time to shift the paper bags to one arm before she threw herself at him, letting out a laugh. 

“Yo, where the fuck have you been man?” Mingi asks beside where you stood frozen, watching Yunho and your sister catch up.

“Got coffee, I know how cranky you guys get without it.” 

Mingi lets out a sound somewhere between a cheer and a sigh of relief and steals the bag from him.

“I forgive you.” He disappears into your kitchen, already handing out drinks like he owns the place.

It’s Hongjoong’s turn to greet Yunho now, peeling Hana off him so he could stand up properly. 

“Alright, alright. Let him breathe.” 

Hongjoong moves his gaze over to you, as if only just remembering. 

He gestures lazily toward Yunho. 

“I totally forgot to tell you he moved back in.” 

Your brows knit together. You’d assume he was only around to visit. 

“Moved back in?” 

“Yeah.” Hongjoong shrugs. “Shit happened, so he took the spare room a few months ago.”

“You know my sister already,” he points to you. “You remember YN, right?” 

Yunho’s lips twitch into a small smile. 

“Of course I remember. You’re back from Seoul?” His gaze finds yours again.

“Yeah, decided to move back,” you reply. 

Yunho nods once. 

“Welcome back.”

“Alright,” San calls from the living room carpet, waving his wrench in the air.  “You’ve got the rest of the lease to catch up, one of you idiots come help me assemble this couch before I accidentally invent a new piece of furniture. Mingi, what are you doing?”

San’s plea was met with a chorus of groans from your brother and Mingi. 

“I’m already doing the bookshelves,” Mingi whines from the kitchen, sticking a straw through his coffee. 

“You’ve been looking at the bookshelves,” Hongjoong shot back. “That’s not the same thing.” 

“It is if I look hard enough.” 

With a dramatic sigh, Yunho sets his bag beside the front door and shrugs off his jacket. 

“I’ll help.” 

“Finally,” San muttered. “Someone competent.” 

You quietly slipped back into the kitchen, pretending the kitchen boxes urgently needed your attention. It was strange seeing Yunho again after all these years. Stranger still was the tiny flutter in your chest. You hadn't thought about your old crush on Yunho in years. Seeing him again, however, seemed determined to remind you.

Yunho and San were kneeling beside the couch, arguing over which piece was labeled “B.”. 

“It says B.”

“It says eight.”

“It’s literally a letter.”

“Not from here it isn’t.” 

You smiled despite yourself. Hana, who you just noticed has been beside you all this time, catches it immediately, choosing not to say anything but smiles mischievously. 

“What now?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“You have that look.”

“What look?” 

“The one you used to have in middle school.” 

“I’m smiling because San thinks the alphabet ends at seven,” you defend, tearing your eyes away from your neighbors. 

Hana hums, “if you say so.” 

Before you could ask her what she meant, Hongjoong calls your name from the living room. 

“What?” 

“Can you settle something?” 

You walked over, grateful for the distraction. 

“What now?” 

“San says the couch should face the window.”

“Then won’t it be awkward watching TV?”

“That’s what I said!” Hongjoong exclaims.

“Why are you listening to her?” San grumbles.

“I live here,” you replied the same time Hongjoong says, “She’s my sister.”

As Hongjoong and San shuffled your TV across the room, you stepped around scattered boxes, only to bump into someone coming the other way.

"Oh—"

A warm hand steadied your elbow before you could lose your balance.

"Careful."

Yunho. 

His hand disappeared almost as quickly as it had landed.

"Sorry," you said at the exact same time.

You paused. Then, somehow, you both laughed. It was the first genuine sound either of you had made to each other all afternoon.

In the chaos of moving boxes and misplaced screws, no one noticed Yunho's eyes follow you as you stepped around the clutter after you had regained your balance. Years hadn't changed one thing, you were still just as clumsy as he remembered. He shook his head with an amused smile before reaching for another box, acting as though he'd been looking at the couch the entire time.

When you looked up, Yunho was looking towards your way. Not intensely. Not long enough for anyone to notice, before he gives you a small smile and goes back to what he was doing.

You’d only been living here for an hour. Maybe moving to Los Angeles wasn’t going to be as simple as you’d hoped.

II. IF THERE WAS ONE THING YOUR BROTHER WAS EXCEPTIONALLY GOOD AT,

it was coming home with extra mouths to feed. 

The first time it happened, you were eight. 

You sat cross-legged on the living room floor, notebook in hand, as you drew.

You barely looked up when Hongjoong burst through the front door yelling that he was home—until you heard another pair of footsteps behind him.

The boy standing in the doorway was tall for his age, clutching the straps of his backpack like he wasn't sure he was allowed to be there.

"Mom, I brought Yunho."

Your mother welcomed him inside before Hongjoong dragged him upstairs to play, but not before he caught your eye.

"Hi, YN!" he greeted with an easy smile.

You gave a timid wave from behind your notebook.

For reasons your eight-year-old self couldn't explain, you hoped Hongjoong would bring him over again.

He did.

After that, Jeong Yunho somehow became a permanent fixture in your house.

Whenever Hongjoong came home from baseball practice, Yunho was usually right beside him. He stayed for dinner often enough that your mother stopped asking if he'd be joining. Weekend sleepovers turned into blanket forts upstairs, afternoons at the park became bike rides home together, and before long, he'd somehow become part of your family too.

Unlike Hongjoong, who insisted your drawings looked "weird," Yunho always asked to see whatever you'd been working on. He'd sit beside you on the floor flipping through your sketchbook with genuine interest, tell you your art was cool, and remind you to keep drawing whenever you doubted yourself. If Hongjoong stole the last snack your parents left out, Yunho somehow always made sure you still got half.

Looking back, it was probably inevitable.

Your first crush didn't happen because of one grand moment.

It happened quietly, over hundreds of ordinary ones.

Growing up changed things.

By the time you started high school, Hongjoong and Yunho were on the varsity baseball team. Practices ran later, tournaments filled their weekends, and conversations that used to revolve around cartoons and video games slowly shifted toward college applications, baseball, and whichever girl had slipped a note into Yunho's locker that week.

You had your own friends by then. Your own clubs. Your own life.

Without anyone really noticing, the afternoons you spent with them became fewer and farther between.

Somewhere along the way, your childish crush quietly tucked itself away, becoming one of those things you only remembered when someone brought up middle school.

It wasn't anyone's fault. Life simply got busier. You had your own friends now, your own clubs after school, your own homework that seemed to multiply overnight. Some days Yunho would still come over for dinner, other days you'd only catch glimpses of him as he and Hongjoong disappeared upstairs, laughing about something that happened at practice.

Life scattered all three of you in different directions after that.

Hongjoong left for college first.

Then Yunho.

A few years later, you left for Seoul.

By the time you moved back to Los Angeles, Jeong Yunho had become someone you mostly heard about through your brother's stories—a familiar name attached to someone who no longer felt like part of your everyday life.

III. “I KEEP TELLING YOU, STOP EATING OUR FOOD.” 

Hana screams at your brother, who was currently rummaging through your cabinets. 

It’s been a week since you moved in, and today was your first day at work, while it was Hana’s first day of freshman year.

The dynamic hadn’t always been like this. For the first couple of days, you and Hana mostly stayed at the apartment, trying to feel more at home. Hongjoong would pop in every now and then and made sure you were adjusting well, even cooking dinner for the three of you in your new kitchen. You barely saw his roommates as Hongjoong said they were waiting for you to get accustomed to living at the apartment before they could start hanging out with you.

Naturally, that lasted all of four days. 

First, it was San, who wanted to borrow your clothes steamer since his broke. Then, it was Mingi, who only really came over to check out the snacks you had just bought at the grocery that day. Hongjoong had stopped pretending he knocked before entering. Sometimes you’d regret giving him the door code because whenever you came home from running errands he was already lounging at his designated spot on the couch, eating chips with Mingi. 

The only one who never seemed to invite himself over was Yunho. You’d catch him in passing every now and then. Sometimes he’d stop by with Hongjoong after work to ask how unpacking was going.Sometimes you’d exchange a few words in the hallway. Like nothing has changed. 

“Don’t you boys have food over at yours?” Hana continues her rant, while Hongjoong makes himself a sandwich. 

To be fair, he'd shown up with coffee for both of you, reminded Hana three separate times not to forget her student ID, and insisted on checking whether you'd packed lunch. So maybe he was entitled to one sandwich.

You had just finished getting ready, making sure that your clothes were neat and your makeup looked good. You were just about to leave before Hongjoong and Hana started bickering.

Hana’s first class didn’t start until 10, which is why you were leaving an hour earlier than she has to. Hongjoong, on the other hand, had an irregular work schedule which comes with his assistant directing job, which meant he was there early to terrorize you. 

Hongjoong looked over at you. 

“Shouldn’t you be leaving by now?” 

“I’m literally leaving,” you say, slipping your shoes on. “Try not to burn the apartment down.” 

“No promises!” you hear as you close your front door, the melodic chiming of the door lock filling the empty hallway. 

You round the corner to the elevators and find Yunho already waiting, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Hey,” he greets you. “First day today?” 

It suddenly occurred to you that unlike the others, Yunho also worked a regular nine-to-five. Hongjoong had mentioned he was in finance, which meant the two of you would probably be leaving for work around the same time every morning.

You nodded, shifting the strap of your work bag higher on your shoulder. 

“Yeah. New office, new team.” You smiled sheepishly. “Trying not to embarrass myself on day one.” 

"You won't."

The answer came so quickly that it caught you off guard.

Yunho glanced at you before looking back at the elevator doors.

"You're good at what you do."

For a moment, all you could do was stare.

"How do you know that?"

He shrugged, almost as if the answer was obvious.

"Hongjoong talks."

You let out a laugh. "He does?"

"All the time."

The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open. He lets you go in first, before stepping in and standing beside you, facing the doors.

The elevator’s empty, save for the both of you. There’s an awkward pause, the both of you trying to think of ways to fill the space. 

“So how was Seoul? We never really got to catch up after we left for college,” he asks, while you watch the numbers on the wall go down. You guess this was how he decided to break the silence, straight into it. 

“Um,” you hover. “It was a lot.” you let out a chuckle. 

“A lot good?” 

“A lot everything.” you reply. “I mean, the job was great, I learned a lot from my seniors and it was great being in a new environment, but it really does take a lot out of you. So when we found out Hana got accepted to college here, I decided to apply for a job in L.A.” 

The doors open again, this time a middle-aged woman pushing a stroller steps in, standing in front of both of you. But Yunho decides to keep talking. 

“You know, I was surprised when Joong told us you were moving back.” 

“You were?” 

“I thought you liked it there.” 

“I did.”

He looked at you then, eyebrows knitting together. The baby in the stroller lets out a small whine. 

“I also liked sleeping.” 

That earned a laugh. 

“It just felt like time,” you added. He gives you a nod at that. 

“I get that.”

The elevators slide open. You both get out then, muttering a polite “excuse me”, as you step around the woman and her baby while the both of you get out to the parking. 

“I was also surprised you were Hongjoong’s roommate again. He told me before you moved out like a year ago,” you say, as you walked toward the parking lot.

He rubs the back of his neck, “Ah. Yeah. Things didn’t work out where I was staying so I decided to move back.” 

You nod. 

You stop in front of your car, unlocking it with your keys. 

“This is me. I’ll see you later?” 

“Yeah, of course. Good luck today, YN,” Yunho smiles again, and you clutch at your keys a little harder. 

“You too.” 

He waves you off before walking to his car a few feet down. When you get in, you look at yourself at your rearview mirror and let out a big huff of air you didn’t know you were holding. 

Your first day at the Golden Hour Marketing Firm went surprisingly well. You spent the rest of your 20-minute drive to work, practicing introductions so you wouldn’t shit yourself in front of your new team. Your manager had introduced you warmly, filling you in on your role and showing you around. 

By lunchtime, you’d already learned the names of most of your immediate team, survived HR orientation, and only gotten lost twice trying to find the pantry. On your break, Hongjoong sends you a text. 

joongie 🐲

baby sis has been sent off and on her way

she insisted i do NOT drop her off, unfortunately

mission complete regardless, boss 🫡

yn 🧚‍♀️

noted, with thanks 

don’t tell me you’re still at our apartment 

joongie 🐲

mingi thinks you should change your curtains 

yn 🧚‍♀️

i think mingi should get out of my house

joongie 🐲

too late we’re watching yt on ur tv now 

have a great day at work byeeee

yn 🧚‍♀️

me and hana are changing our door code when we get home 

Brand marketing has always been your thing. Growing up, you had a creative side. You were crafty, and always looking for inspiration. But somewhere along the way, that creativity evolved into something more strategic. You found yourself fascinated by what caught people's attention, what made a campaign memorable, and why some brands connected with people while others didn't. Over the years, you worked hard trying to build a career for yourself. You were good at your job.

Seoul had taught you that much.

The pace had been relentless, the expectations impossibly high, and more nights than you cared to admit had been spent asleep at your desk rather than in your apartment. But it had also shaped you into the person you were today.

Moving back to Los Angeles didn't feel like starting over.

It felt like finally giving yourself permission to breathe.

The first thing you noticed when you got home, toeing off your heels by the doorway, was the noise. You'd heard laughter and the clatter of pots and pans before you even unlocked the door.

The moment you stepped inside, Yunho looked up from the counter.

"How was—"

“You’re home!” Hana runs over to give you a hug before Yunho could finish his sentence.. 

Out of the three of you, she’s always been the most affectionate, giving you kisses on the cheek and hugs every now and then. Hongjoong sometimes acts like he doesn’t like it, but when he picked you up with your boxes when you first moved in, he was the first to hug her. 

“How’s your first day?” she asks, still clinging on to you.

“It was great,” you slipped off your heels. “I actually made a work friend today. “

"See?"

Hana grinned.

"I told you."

You looked around.

San was stirring something on your stove while Hongjoong tosses vegetables in a bowl. Mingi, as you expected, is sitting on your couch, watching some kind of documentary. 

You last notice Yunho standing right by the kitchen, looking like he had just gotten home as well. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, his suit jacket slung over one arm, and his work bag sits abandoned by Mingi's feet.

“Why are these people in our apartment?” you say as Hana lets you go. 

“Dinner party!” San announced.

“Hyung and I wanted to cook you guys dinner to celebrate your first day.” He points to Hongjoong. 

“We’re celebrating!”

“You, how was your first day? Meet anyone new?” you ask her. 

“Eh, it was okay. My classes are cool though. Some guy in my class asked me for my number,” she shrugged. 

“What.” Hongjoong freezes, gripping the bowl. 

“You didn’t tell me that earlier!” Hongjoong crosses his arms.

Hana huffs in annoyance. “Because I knew you’d act like this.” 

“Did you say no?” 

“I gave him my Instagram instead.” 

“You WHAT?” A couple of decibels higher and San would have to physically hold Hongjoong back. 

“My dear big brother, I’m eighteen,” Hana whines, “let me live.”

“You can start living once you're forty-five.” 

The argument continued without either of them expecting to win. Yunho shook his head with a quiet laugh as he reached over to take the bowl from Hongjoong before he accidentally crushed the lettuce in his grip. 

“She is eighteen, Joong.” 

“Don’t encourage her.” 

“I’m encouraging you to breathe.”

“Need any help?” you ask, as you walk over to the kitchen. 

“We’re good, you can sit over by Mingi and relax. It was your first day,” San says, pointing over to where Mingi was sitting. 

“I’d rather not, he’s watching something weird. I think it’s a documentary about Bigfoot.” 

The three of you, while your siblings chase each other in the background, talk about your days. You learn that San works from home in a tech company, and Yunho got home around five minutes before you did. 

In the middle of your conversation, you felt a gentle hand brush your shoulder. You turned just in time to see Yunho lifting the strap of your work bag off your shoulder before setting it on one of the dining chairs. You hadn’t even realized you still had it on you. 

“You’ve been carrying it this whole time,” he said simply before returning to the cutting board. 

“Thanks, I didn’t even notice,” you muttered. 

“No problem.” He turned back to the cutting board as if it hadn't been worth mentioning.

You reached for one of the bowls in the cabinet, clearing your throat before calling out for Mingi.

“Hey Bigfoot! Come set the table with me.”

Dinner ended up being louder than the cooking. Mostly because Hongjoong refused to let Hana tell the story about the guy from her class without interrupting every five seconds. Your conversations drifted from work to college to Hongjoong’s latest nightmare of a film set. You exchanged laughs every now and then, at one point, Mingi spilling on himself. By the time dinner was over, the sun had disappeared beyond the apartment windows. 

You offered to wash the dishes since the boys had cooked. As you carry a stack of plates in your arms, Yunho strides in beside you without a word, carrying the rest of the dishes with his sleeves rolled up. 

You settled into a comfortable rhythm—you washed while he rinsed.

“Hana seems like she’s adjusting pretty well,” Yunho breaks the silence. 

Across the room, Hana, Hongjoong, San, and Mingi had abandoned the dining table in favor of the coffee table, where an Uno game had quickly turned into a shouting match.

(“THE RULES WHERE I PLAYED IS YOU CAN ONLY PUT DOWN DRAW FOUR IT ONLY IF THERE’S ALREADY A DRAW FOUR CARD.”

“I DON’T CARE. DRAW SIX .”

“Both of you shut up. Hongjoong, draw six,” San says.) 

You smile to yourself, handing him another plate. “Yeah. I was worried she’d have a hard time moving to a new city. But she’s always been brave. And I think she just really missed her big brother.” 

“She missed you too, you know,” Yunho said after a beat. 

“Hmm?” you glanced up. 

“When Hongjoong and I came back home to visit, she always talked about you.” Yunho said, setting another plate on the drying rack. “Every summer she’d try to convince Hongjoong to take her to Seoul.” 

“She never told me that.” 

“Hongjoong probably missed you two the most, though. The first night you guys moved in? I walked into the apartment to look for him and found him sitting on your couch after you guys went to bed.” 

“I thought he had already gone back to yours?"

“Nope. I asked him and he said he was standing guard in case someone tried to break in,” he laughed. 

“That’s stupid, the only people breaking into this apartment are him and Mingi.” 

There’s another comfortable silence. 

“Hey, YN?” 

"Hmm?"

“We may act like a bunch of old idiots,“ He nodded toward the living room, where Hongjoong was accusing San of cheating at Uno. 

“But if you ever need anything, you know can always come over, right? And to me, I've known you for years.”

Something in your chest softened.

"I know. Thanks, Yunho."

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The water continued running between your hands as another plate passed from you to him.

Somehow, standing here with him felt... easy.

Not because the awkwardness had disappeared.

It hadn't.

But because, for the first time since moving back, you weren't trying so hard to fill every silence between you.

Some silences, it turned out, didn't need filling at all.

IV. EVERY MORNING, AROUND 8:15, YOU LEAVE YOUR APARTMENT. 

Every morning, around 8:15, Yunho is somehow already waiting for the elevator. 

The first couple of days, you assume it’s a coincidence. By Thursday, you’re not so sure. 

Sometimes he’s already waiting. Sometimes he steps out of his apartment just as you lock yours. On Thursday morning, Yunho is waiting with two paper cups of coffee. 

“San got a new coffee machine,” he says, handing you one. “He made too much.” 

You eye the cup, taking it anyway. “Tell San thanks.” 

“I will.”

As the elevator arrives, you miss the tiny smile that pulls at the corner of Yunho’s mouth. 

The rest of the weeks go by like this: 

You’d find Yunho waiting by the elevator, always with a second cup of coffee for you. The elevator rides became longer conversations, mostly about his roommates’ latest antics and the office romance brewing between two heads of your department.

You’d walk over to your cars side-by-side. On the drive to work, sometimes you’d catch Yunho’s car beside you at a stoplight, letting out two beeps, lifting two fingers from the steering wheel in a lazy salute before the light turned green.  

You’d gotten close with your brothers’ other roommates too. As much as you hate to admit. 

San had also started treating your apartment like a second home. Sometimes he'd stop by just to water Hana's plants while the two of you were out, claiming, "You'd be surprised how many people accidentally kill succulents."

Mingi, in particular, only ever texted you when he needed rescuing.

The first time it happened, it was barely three weeks after you moved in. Your phone buzzed in the middle of a Saturday morning. 

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

yn 

yn kim 

what do you want

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

sos 

yn kim 

you’re alive enough to text 

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

girl i need ur help

yn kim 

???

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

the girl i brought home last night won’t leave 

could u come over and pretend ur like my crazy ex or something 

yn kim 

absolutely not 

ask san 

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

PLEASE

the boys left to play pickleball 

she wants us to have breakfast 

yn kim 

then get breakfast with her? 

mingi jfc it’s 8 in the morning

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

i NEVER have breakfast w my hookups

pls ill buy u boba for a month

yn kim 

deal

Ten minutes later, you find yourself standing in front of his apartment, questioning whether this was worth the boba. 

The door flew open before you even had a chance to knock.

"I owe you my life."

He stepped aside to let you in before lowering his voice.

"She's in the kitchen."

It happened again.

And then again.

By the fourth time, you no longer asked questions.

You'd simply knock on their apartment, sigh dramatically, and say,

"Where is she?"

Mingi would point toward his room.

"Thank you for your service."

On Friday nights, your group somehow always ended up at the same Korean barbecue place a few blocks away. San and Yunho usually took over the grill while Hongjoong argued that he could cook the meat just as well. Mingi would inevitably declare he was "too full for dessert," only to be the first one ordering boba ten minutes later.

It wasn't long before you met the rest of their circle, too. There was Yeosang and Jongho, San's coworkers who somehow always ended up as the voice of reason; Wooyoung, whose favorite pastime seemed to be irritating San just to get a reaction; and Seonghwa, an old college friend of your brother's who, much to your amusement, was one of the few people capable of making Hongjoong visibly nervous.

Most nights, it was just the six of you, drifting between your apartment and theirs as if there was no real distinction anymore. Someone would inevitably pull a movie from the ever-growing stack Hongjoong had collected over the years, and before long, all six of you would be crammed onto whichever couch had enough space, arguing over what to watch before inevitably settling on something everyone had already seen at least twice.

It was the little things as well, that showed how you all cared for each other like a real family. San and Hongjoong somehow made it their mission to pack yours and Hana's lunches every morning. Mingi, surprisingly, had become self-appointed host of girls' nights, barging into your apartment with face masks, a tub of ice cream, and the announcement that "the boys are pissing me off again."

And then there was Yunho.

It wasn't anything grand. At least, you didn't think so.

He was simply thoughtful.

If your hands were full, he'd take whatever you were carrying without asking. If everyone went out for coffee, yours somehow always ended up paid for. When movie nights stretched past midnight and one of you started nodding off on the couch, he'd throw a blanket over you. You’d seen him do it to San and Mingi once, patting their heads before he settled back in his seat.

You told yourself he was just like that.

So you tried not to think too much about the way you'd occasionally catch him looking at you whenever one of Hongjoong's movies made you cry, or how he always seemed to notice when work had worn you down before you'd even said a word.

Your routine quickly settled into place. Until one Monday, it wasn’t. 

You unlocked your car, tossed your bag onto the passenger seat, and turned the key. 

Click. 

“...No.” 

You tried again. 

Click. 

Your shoulders slumped. 

“No, no, no.” 

You let your forehead fall against the steering wheel. You were already running late, instead of your usual 8:15, you came rushing out of your apartment by 8:30, and Yunho, bless his soul, was still waiting by the elevator by the time you arrived. 

A car stops by your parking spot, Yunho rolling down his window. 

“You okay?” 

“My car chose violence this morning.” 

He laughed quietly, before sliding out of the driver’s seat and coming to your side. “Can I try?” 

You stepped out, handing him the keys. 

He slid into the driver’s seat and gave the ignition a try.

Click. 

Once. 

Twice. 

“I think your battery’s dead.”

You groaned. 

“Great.” 

"Could be worse."

"Could it?"

"You could've found out halfway to work."

"Don't say things like that."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He reached through the open passenger door of your car, grabbing your work bag before picking up the coffee you'd abandoned in the cup holder.

You blinked.

"What are you doing?"

“Good thing your office is right by my route, and I’m also the best person in the world,” he says.

“Pardon?” you ask. 

“You’re riding with me. Get in if you want to make it before work.” 

“I can just call an Uber."

"You can."

He started walking toward his car.

"Or..."

He held up your bag.

"...you can save forty bucks and let me drive you. Hongjoong would kill me if I left you here to book an Uber."

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your smile as you climbed in.

"You're unbelievable."

"So I've been told."

He closed the door before walking around to the driver's side.

As he started the engine, he glanced over.

“We’ll call the mechanic during lunch and have Hongjoong meet him. You gave him the spare key, right?” 

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“I know.” 

He pulled out of the parking garage. 

“But I was going to anyway.” 

When you were on the main road, neither of you spoke anymore. You shifted in your seat, suddenly aware that you'd never actually been alone with Yunho like this before. Usually there was Hongjoong in the passenger seat, Mingi yelling from the back, or Hana changing the music every thirty seconds.

Sensing the awkwardness in the air, Yunho reached toward the center console. 

“You can connect your phone if you want.” 

“You sure?” 

“As long as you don’t play any Taylor Swift. Mingi likes to sing in the shower.”

You laughed. 

“Of course he does.” 

You plugged your phone in, scrolling through your playlists before settling on one you’d been listening to on repeat lately. 

As the music flows in the car, Yunho taps the steering wheel in time with the music while you look out the window, watching the city blur past. 

The rest of the drive slipped by easily. 

You talked about work. 

About Hana mentioning another guy from one of her classes, nearly giving Hongjoong a heart attack.

About Mingi somehow bringing the same girl over for the third time despite insisting he "wasn't looking for anything serious."

By the time Yunho pulled up outside your office building, you were surprised you’d already arrived. 

He shifted the car into park. 

“What time do you get off?” 

“Six.” 

He nodded once. 

“I’ll pick you up.” 

“You don’t–” he cuts you off. 

“Nope, I’m not taking no for an answer.” 

“Okay,” you smile.

You clear your throat and reach for the door handle. 

“Thanks Yunho. See you later.” 

You stepped out of the car, adjusting your bag over your shoulder.

Just as you reached the sidewalk, his window rolled down.

"YN."

You turned.

"I'll see you at six."

By the time six o’clock rolled around, your brain felt like mush.

The first full Monday of campaign planning had consisted of three meetings, two brainstorming sessions, and an alarming amount of coffee.

When Yunho comes to pick you up, you could barely keep your eyes open. 

“For YN Kim?” Yunho says as you sit in the passenger seat, in a perfectly practiced customer service voice.

You looked at him.

"...Yes?"

"Destination?"

You deadpanned.

"Home."

He nodded solemnly.

"Excellent choice."

"Driver, I'd also like to request silence."

"Unfortunately, this ride includes complimentary conversation."

You laugh silently as Yunho drives the car back on the road. 

“Long day?” 

You let out a dramatic sigh. 

“You don’t even wanna know. I sat through three meetings that could've been emails.”

He winced sympathetically. 

“You can nap for a bit if you want, it’s sushi night at our place. You know how Hana and Joong get when there’s sushi involved.” 

“Ugh, I forgot about that. Are you sure it’s okay?” 

“Yeah. We’ve got twenty minutes before we get home.” He shrugged. “I’ll wake you up.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught him turning the volume down on the console. You said nothing, pretending not to notice.

By the time you got home, Yunho had woken you up with a gentle nudge to your shoulder, and a soft “we’re here” before you could even adjust to your surroundings. 

In the middle of dinner, while you were all having different conversations, San’s suddenly looked up from his sushi.

“Yunho, I have a bone to pick with you,” he says seriously, pointing a chopstick at him. You supposed he was feeling tipsy, if not for the soju bottle he split with Mingi. 

“That sounds ominous,” Hana says, stealing a piece of salmon from Hongjoong’s plate. 

“What did I do?” Yunho asks. 

“You finished my coffee beans.” 

“...Again?” Hongjoong sighs. 

“Again.” 

“Wait,” you interrupted. “I thought you always made too much coffee.” 

San frowned, “Those are Guatemalan beans, YN. I don’t just make ‘too much’.”

"Then why has Yunho been bringing me coffee every morning?"

Yunho answered before San could.

"I just make an extra cup while I'm there."

You nodded as though that explained everything.

"That makes sense."

"Does it?" Mingi asked around a mouthful of rice.

Yunho shot him a look.

"What?"

"Nothing." Mingi raised both hands in surrender.

Across the table, San quietly met Yunho's eyes.

Yunho looked away first.

Before the silence could linger, Hongjoong reached across the table and stole the last piece of nigiri from Hana's plate.

After that dinner, you found yourself thinking about the coffee more often than you cared to admit.

Every morning Yunho still handed you a cup without fail, and every morning you caught yourself wondering whether he'd actually been making an extra one... or whether he'd been making one specifically for you all along.

It was a dangerous train of thought.

So you stopped letting yourself think about it.

V. ‘THE BITCH IS BACK’ IS PLAYING IN YOUR EARPHONES WHEN YOU PUT THE LAST ROLLER ON YOUR HAIR.

“I’m a bitch, I’m a bitch, oh, the bitch is back…” You sang quietly under your breath, swaying to the music as you leaned closer to the mirror you'd dragged onto the kitchen island. You were currently getting ready in your kitchen, rollers in your hair, and makeup on the counter. 

Your coworker, Johnny, had asked you out for an annual marketing forum that your firm sponsored. He didn’t have to, because you were planning on going anyway, but it was nice to get asked out again after a while. 

Your dress was laid over the couch as you sat on one of the kitchen stools in your underwear and a robe hanging off your shoulders, because you couldn’t risk getting powder on it before you could even wear it. 

You stood up, grabbing the tube of mascara that had rolled onto the floor, singing the rest of the chorus, and swaying along dramatically.

You were so into it that you didn’t notice your front door beeping. 

“It’s the way that I move, the things that I do, oh-oh-oh!” 

“Oh shit.” 

When you turn around, you didn’t expect to see Yunho standing frozen in the doorway. You let out a surprised gasp, tying the strings on your robe. Yunho just saw you in your underwear, and you were acting like an idiot. 

He also hadn’t expected anyone to be home. When Hongjoong told him the door code, he was told you would’ve been gone by now. 

His eyes met yours and immediately darted somewhere over your shoulder. 

“I, uh, sorry.  Hongjoong told me you were gone, I came to pick up his hard drive that he left here.” 

“Why didn’t he get it himself?” You say, your face flushed. Yunho’s ears had turned red.

Cute, you thought. 

“He’s in the middle of editing,” Yunho said, rubbing the back of his neck. “He asked me to grab it since I was already heading out.”

“I think it’s over there." You gestured vaguely towards your coffee table. 

“Right.” 

Neither of you moved. 

Yunho cleared his throat before keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the table as he crossed the room. He found the hard drive almost immediately.

Silence.

You couldn't remember the last time the apartment had felt this small.

He turned to leave before hesitating.

“Hongjoong said you have a work event today?” he asks, while you go back to your seat. 

“Yeah, I was supposed to go alone but my coworker, Johnny, asked me to go with him.” 

Yunho gave a slow nod.

"Johnny."

"Mm-hmm."

"From work?"

"Creatives."

"Is he nice?"

You let out a small laugh.

"Why are you interviewing me?"

"He's moving kind of fast."

You let out a laugh.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

"No, say it."

Yunho shifted awkwardly, gripping the hard drive a little tighter.

"I'm just saying... asking someone out after a month."

"It's not a date."

"Isn't it?"

You shrugged.

"I don't know. It's a work event."

"Just the two of you?"

"...Yes?"

"So..."

He trailed off.

"That sounds like a date."

“Maybe.”

For the first time since he'd walked in, Yunho genuinely looked stumped.

Like he'd asked himself the same question and didn't have an answer.

He looked away.

"Forget I said anything." You raised an eyebrow. 

“Um, I should go,” he says after a beat. 

You nod, smiling. 

He turns back around with a hand on the knob,”YN?”

“Yeah?”

“You look beautiful by the way.” 

Your smile softened.

"I haven't even put the dress on yet."

A quiet laugh escaped him.

"I know."

Another beat.

"Have fun tonight."

Before you could say anything else, he slipped out the door.

What was that? 

When Yunho gets back to his apartment, he makes a beeline for Hongjoong’s door. 

He knocks, quite aggressively, three times before letting himself in. 

The sight of Hongjoong hunched over his desk and tweaking with the film he’s working on one of his three monitors greets him. Headphones are over his head while he has a hand on his chin. 

If he wasn’t working, Yunho might’ve smacked his hard drive on his head. 

“Hongjoong.” He shoves his shoulder with the hard drive. Hongjoong flinches before realizing it’s him, and takes his headphones off

“Here,” he grumbles. 

“What’s up with you? It took you like five minutes to get back from across the hall.”

Yunho’s supposed to be heading out, but he figures there’s no use anymore, embarrassment clouding his mind and a deep motivation to strangle the man in front of him. 

“YN was there, idiot. You told me she’d be gone.” 

Hongjoong glances at the clock on his desk, “Oops, I think she said she was leaving at six, not five.” 

“Well, I walked in and she was home.” He closes his eyes for a second. “And I might have embarrassed both of us.” He sighs.

“Did you catch her singing along to Elton John? She loves to do that when she gets ready,” Hongjoong says, plugging the hard drive on his computer. 

Yunho nods. He decides not to tell him that he caught her in just her underwear and a robe, though. He’d seen how Hongjoong gets over his sisters. 

“Did you know she was going on a date?” He asks instead. 

“Yeah, some work guy named Johnny.” Hongjoong replies, monotonously. 

Hongjoong clicked through his editing timeline before speaking again.

“Is she done getting ready yet? I told her to send me and Hana pictures before she left.” Hongjoong adds. Yunho’s eyebrows quirk up in surprise. 

“You’re okay with YN going on a date?” he asks. Just the other day, Hongjoong launched a 5-minute tirade about Hana going to a college party that mostly talked about “NO BOYS”. 

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You practically put Hana under house arrest because some guy asked for her Instagram.” 

Hongjoong scoffs, “That’s different. Hana is a baby. She enjoys making my blood pressure spike.” 

“How is that different?” 

“Listen, I know I’m the eldest, but YN spent years taking care of everyone else and raising Hana. All she does is work alongside being a good sister, the least she deserves is to get pretty, go out with a coworker on a date, and have fun,” Hongjoong says with a fond look on his face.  

Hongjoong studied him for a second. Then a slow grin spread across his face.

"...Why do you care so much?"

Yunho's head snapped up.

“I don’t. I was just asking.” Hongjoong smirks.

 “I’m serious.” 

“You know YN doesn’t date much. So I know Johnny isn’t really her type.” Hongjoong leaned back in his chair. “She'd rather spend years getting to know someone than jump into something because they asked.” 

“And you know her type?” 

“I’ve been her brother for twenty-six years.” 

Yunho doesn’t speak a word after, his eyes to the floor. 

The date went well. Johnny was easy to be around. Confident, funny, effortlessly sociable. He made conversation with everyone he met, pulled you into group photos, and by the time your workmates migrated to the after-party, he'd somehow convinced half the room onto the dance floor. 

You thought it would be enough to distract you from your thoughts and whatever’s going on at home. But you think all Johnny could ever be to you was a friend. 

If anything, he’d been thoughtful and easy to talk to. But he wasn’t the problem. The problem was that somewhere over the last few months, you’d grown used to a different kind of kindness. One that was quiet and consistent. 

The sort that remembered how you took your coffee, carried your bag without asking, and turned the television down when you looked tired without another word. The kind that would pay attention if you weren’t feeling well, or knew everything about you. 

By the time you get home, you realized you hadn't spent the evening getting to know Johnny. 

You spent the entire night wondering what it would’ve been like if Yunho had been there instead. 

VI. WHEN MONDAY ROLLED AROUND, YOU NOTICED YUNHO HAD CHANGED.

The Monday after you went on a date, he'd ask how your weekend was. When you told him, you don't think Johnny and you could be more than friends, he stifles a grin and nods in understanding.

He still waited for you by the elevator and handed you another cup of coffee without a word. 

There was still the coffee (When has it ever stopped?), the elevator conversations, and small smiles you’d throw at each other. 

But you also noticed, the line between being neighbors and potentially something more started to blur. 

It was subtle at first, a hand on your back when you left the elevator, or instead of separating as soon as you got to your car, he would wait until you closed your car door. But then you noticed he kept making excuses to be close to you, to touch you. 

Whenever it was movie night, he’d go as far as shoving Mingi to the other end of the couch just so he could sit next to you. 

(“You didn’t have to shove the poor guy,” you whisper as he grabs a handful of the popcorn on your lap.

“He’s fine. He was taking up too much space on the couch.”

“Mingi’s pouting.”

“Shh. Just let me sit next to you.” 

“Jeong Yunho!” Mingi shouts, throwing a pillow at him. 

By the end of the night, your head, however, had somehow found its way onto Yunho's shoulder.) 

After dinners together, he'd linger just enough to fall into step beside you while everyone else walked ahead. Whenever you crossed the street, his fingers would wrap loosely around your wrist—or sometimes your hand.

"Cars," he'd explain every single time.

As if that answered everything.

As if he wasn't still holding your hand long after you'd reached the sidewalk.

Even though Hongjoong had gotten your battery replaced, Yunho started insisting you carpool with him to work. He’d made a pretty good argument, that gas prices were crazy high and it would be better for the environment now if you rode to work together.

He’d open the car door for you, be at your office at six on the dot, and always let you choose a playlist. He’d have a different excuse every day like if you were carrying too many things, or if Hongjoong needed both of you to drop by at the store. You would've said yes regardless. 

If your friends noticed, they didn’t say a thing. They watched as you and Yunho cooked dinner together, bumping shoulders and sharing looks that definitely meant that there was something there. When you would get home and start complaining about work, Yunho would drop everything and listen to you. 

(“I don’t think they realize we’re still here,” Mingi whispers. 

“They’re in their own world at this point, I could set myself on fire and Yunho would still be making heart eyes at her,” San grumbles, watching you and Yunho laugh by the couch. 

“Do you think they know?” Hana says. 

“Nah. They’re both idiots. And slow. But I’d let them figure it out.” 

“Figure out what?” Hongjoong asks as he steps out from the bathroom. 

“Nothing.”) 

You know things are changing. And as you hate to admit it, the crush you had on him years ago came back and has evolved into something deeper. Whenever he’s close to you, you’re painfully aware of his presence, your heart beats a little bit faster, and you find yourself looking for him in every room you enter. 

Almost six months after you moved in, and a little over a month since you and Yunho have settled into dangerous territory, your brother announces he’s been chosen to direct all on his own. Suddenly, you and your friends (except for Hana who’s not only underage but had a late night dance practice that day) end up at a bar after Hongjoong’s celebratory dinner.

“DIRECTOR BABY!” San screams, after taking a shot, and kissing Hongjoong’s cheek, and laughing when he gets pushed away. 

You’ve been sitting in a booth for about an hour, when the next round of shots come in. Wooyoung had dragged Mingi with him to the dance floor by the second round, while Yeosang and Jongho sat across from you, whispering to each other. San and Hongjoong were absolutely gone. San had turned red by the first shot, and Hongjoong downed at least five after you learned that Seonghwa wouldn’t be able to come. 

It ran in the family though, because you were second to being absolutely gone as well. 

“Here,” Yunho came back to your booth with a glass of water and hands it to you. 

“Thanks.”

You hadn’t meant to get drunk, but you were celebrating, and then too many shots came and Yunho was so close, you kept thinking of kissing him. So you kept up with the shots and now you feel dizzy, your head spinning. Yunho, being the nicest person ever, stayed completely sober since you arrived.

He put an arm around you when you lean a bit too far to your side. You wish he wasn’t this close because you might actually kiss him this time. You take a sip of the water as you try to focus on your surroundings.

“If you stopped blubbering like an idiot every time Seonghwa talked to you, maybe he would’ve come,” San teases Hongjoong with a matching hiccup. 

“He’s so pretty. Did you know he’s so pretty San?” Hongjoong cries, hand reaching out to grab another shot.

“Yep, okay that’s enough,” Yunho says from beside you and dragging the tray of shots away. “All of you are officially cut off.”

You hear groans coming from the two drunk men in front of you but as you turn your head to look at him like this, serious but with an expression of someone who is used to taking care of people and the sharp tick of his jaw, you think fuck, you really like him. And he’s so pretty.

He’s wearing a white button-up shirt with the top three  left unbuttonned and dark slacks that highlight his long legs and tiny waist. His hand that’s rubbing along the side of your shoulder is cold from the silver rings on his fingers. 

“You’re so pretty,” you murmur before you can stop yourself. 

“What?” he laughs.

“You’re so pretty, you’ve always been pretty,” you repeat, feeling more confident after all the alcohol has kicked in. 

“You really are Hongjoong’s little sister,” he whispers, his wide grin fading into something smaller, the kind that’s only reserved for you. Little sister. You thought with the way he was looking at you, it wouldn’t hurt. But there’s the familiar pang in your chest when you hear it. 

Before you could ask him what he meant, Wooyoung and Mingi come back to your booth.

“What am I looking at here?” Wooyoung raises an eyebrow at you and the two friends in front of you. You stop looking at Yunho then, leaning your head back on the couch while your eyes start drifting slowly. 

“They’re drunk off their minds. I think it’s time to go home,” Jongho says, pointing to the three of you, with a tone so clear you wouldn’t think he’s had more to drink than you. 

You all clear out the booth then, Yeosang and Jongho with their arms on Hongjoong and San, while Wooyoung and Mingi trailed behind. Yunho helped you get to your feet with an arm around your waist and your bag in his hands. 

The air is cold when you step outside, and the sidewalk feels gummy as you struggle to stand up. It was early in the morning, you assumed around 3 a.m. You were so out of it, your mind going back to little sister, while the boys around you figure out what to do with the drunk ones. 

“Hyung, stop squirming or I’ll call Seonghwa,” Yeosang says, the only other one who was sober, as he tries to get Hongjoong to stand. 

“Do. Not. Call. Him.” Hongjoong says in between hiccups, yet doesn’t make any move to stand up straight. 

“Yunho, did you bring your car?” Yeosang asks. Yunho nods. 

“Okay, I’ll take these guys with me home, could you–“ Yeosang gets cut off.

“I got her.” 

“Great, because Hongjoong looks like he’s going to puke any second from now and my car’s right up here so we’ll get going.” Yeosang sighs, as he struggles to lift your brother up. 

Mingi and Wooyoung stay behind at the club, something about wanting to dance more. 

By the time your brother and the rest get settled in Yeosang’s car, you and Yunho end up alone on the sidewalk. 

“Come on, YN, let’s go,” he says, steadying you with an arm. 

“It’s okay, I-I can just call an Uber,” you say with conviction, despite the pounding in your head.

“YN, I’m not letting you get into an Uber. My car’s a little bit up the street.” 

You wanted to say more, to ask him why he called you that earlier, but your head really hurt and you wanted to get home, so you nod. 

“Can you walk?”

“I can.”

You absolutely cannot, and Yunho can tell because he holds you even closer so you don’t fall onto the floor, leading you to his car. 

He helps you get into the passenger seat and clicks your seatbelt into place.

As he drives you home, it’s silent. You struggle to keep your eyes open, as you watch Yunho tap on his steering wheel rhythmically. Neither of you speak, had it been a work day,  you’d be talking each other's ears off. 

When he parks the car in your apartment complex, you wake up when he’s opened your door. 

“Hey,” he says softly, “we’re home.”

The elevator ride up is the most daunting thing to ever exist. The alcohol hasn’t worn off, but it pushes you to decide to break the silence anyway.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Yeah?”

You take a deep breath as you hold on to the elevator railing.

“When are you going to stop being so confusing?” 

“What are you talking about?”

You sigh, letting the words flow out of you before you could tell your brain to stop. 

“You do all these things,” you wave vaguely between the two of you. “You look at me like,” like you’re in love with me.  “Then call me Hongjoong’s little sister at the end of the night.”

“YN.”

“I wish you’d stop reminding me whose sister I am.” 

He stares at you, speechless.

“Because every time you say it…” Your voice softens. “…I feel stupid for thinking maybe you meant something else.”

“I–” 

The elevator dings.

Before he can finish, you hurry out, nearly tripping over your own feet as you make your way down the hallway. You bump your shoulder into the wall once, then again, before finally stopping in front of your apartment.

“Where the fuck are my keys?” you mutter, patting every pocket of your dress in growing frustration just as Yunho catches up beside you.

“You don’t have keys, your door uses a code,” he says.

“Oh.”

When he unlocks the door, you stumble into your room, Yunho following close behind. 

“YN, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“God, my feet hurt,” you deflect, tearing off your heels and throwing it in random directions.

Yunho closes the bedroom door behind him. 

“YN.” 

“Don’t.” you sigh. 

“Can you just look at me?”

You shake your head.

“If I look at you, you’re going to explain it away.”

He falls silent.

“Explain what away?” You laugh, but it comes out tired.

“Everything.”

He frowns.

“You keep doing things that make me think…” You stop yourself, rubbing at your face. “Nevermind.”

“No. Finish.”

You finally look up at him.

“You look at me like I’m important.”

His expression flickers.

“Then you call me Hongjoong’s little sister.”

Silence.

“Do you know how unfair that is?”

Yunho opens his mouth, then closes it again.

You continue, “I want to believe that the way you look at me is not how you look at everyone else, but you say things like that, and I don’t know anymore.” 

There’s a beat. 

“I need to lie down,” you say, while Yunho stood frozen. 

You shift and lie down on your bed, closing your eyes. Maybe he’d disappear from your room if you closed your eyes hard enough. 

As you try to drift to sleep, you hear Yunho come closer to your bed. 

Carefully, he kneels in front of the bed and slips your heels farther underneath it so you won’t trip over them in the morning. He reaches for the throw blanket folded at the foot of your bed, unfolding it gently over you.

"I don't do any of that for everyone," he says quietly. "I don't wake up early just to make coffee for everyone. I don't wait by the elevator hoping I get ten extra minutes with someone. I don't come up with excuses to drive people to work or sit next to them whenever I can." His eyes meet yours, steady this time. "I do those things because they're with you. You don’t even notice how much I look at you, do you?”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t open your eyes. 

He sighs. He’d say more, explain things clearly, but he’d rather have you sober before you forget everything he said. 

“Good night, YN.”

There’s a pause, and you think he might’ve actually left, when you feel a pair of lips on your forehead. 

When Yunho quietly closes your bedroom door behind him, he nearly jumps out of his skin.

Hana is sitting on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, lazily sipping from a glass of water.

She raises an eyebrow.

“Well.”

Yunho presses a hand to his chest.

“Jesus, Hana.”

“I came back from Joongie-oppa’s, they got home a bit earlier than you two.”

“Is he okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, Seonghwa’s coming over to take care of him because he kept whining about him, so I left and came back here to wait for my sister.” There’s a grin on her face. The kind that she’d put on when she was up to no good. 

“Imagine my surprise, big brother,” she trails off. “When you two come home, don’t even notice me standing in the kitchen, but disappear into her room in the middle of what appears to be a lover’s quarrel?” 

“It wasn’t–“ he pinches the bridge of his nose. “It wasn’t a lover’s quarrel. It’s complicated.” 

She studies him. 

“Did she finally say something?”

Yunho doesn’t say anything. 

He doesn’t have to because Hana could already tell. 

“Huh.” she shakes her head. “So she finally noticed.” 

Yunho looks up.

“Noticed what?”

Hana just laughs.

“Nothing.”

She walks past him toward your bedroom with a cup of water and painkillers that were on the coffee table.

“Good luck, big brother.”

She pauses at your door without turning around.

“You’ll figure it out.” 

VII. WHEN YOU WAKE UP THE NEXT MORNING WITH THE WORST HEADACHE EVER,

you decide that you are never leaving the apartment again. 

You remember bits and pieces of last night. You remember taking too many shots, Yunho’s arm around you, Hongjoong calling for Seonghwa, the way Yunho looked at you then called you a little sister. You remember the elevator ride and the forehead kiss he left on you before you drifted away to sleep. 

It was a Saturday, so thankfully you didn’t have to see Yunho today. But your mind goes back to everything you said last night and hoped you hadn't scared him off. 

You spent the rest of the day on your couch, nursing your hangover with soup you had delivered and reruns playing on your TV. 

Hongjoong comes over by the end of your fifth episode, sporting the same headache and squeezes next to you on the couch. Apparently, he’s in the same situation as you. 

“Seonghwa,” he sighs, when you ask him what’s up with him. You sit in silence as you two watch TV together.

You’ve been like this for three hours, before Hana comes to intervene. 

“What did we learn?” she says, standing in front of the both of you like a military captain with her arms behind her back. 

Your brother, wearing sunglasses indoors, raises a weak hand.

“Never mix beer and tequila.”

“Wrong.”

She looks at you. 

“To never drink again.”

“Also wrong.”

“The correct answer,” Hana says, “is that none of you are allowed to make decisions after your third shot.” 

“What are you talking about? You weren’t there,” Hongjoong grumbles. 

“You drunk-dialed Seonghwa so many times he had to come here to take care of you and when he got here you puked all over his slippers,” Hana says without missing a beat. She turns to you.

“And you. You’re sitting here with your hopeless brother instead of dealing with whatever happened with Yunho last night.” 

You almost choke on your ice cream. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Something happened with you and Yunho?” Hongjoong turns to you.

“No,” you answer a little too quickly. “Yes,” Hana says at the exact same time. 

“What does Hana know that I don’t?” 

“None of your business.”

“I’m serious. What happened?” He’s using his big brother voice, the kind that made you stop lying, and you sigh. 

“I… might’ve asked him to stop being so confusing.”

“Confusing how?”

“He—” You hesitate. “He called me your little sister.”

Hongjoong blinks.

“…That’s it?”

“No, that’s the problem.”

“I don’t get it.”

You set your spoon down.

“He spends all this time with me. He drives me to work, insists on carrying my groceries, steals San’s coffee every morning, practically kicks Mingi off the couch so he can sit next to me…” You gesture helplessly. “Then the moment I think maybe I’m not imagining things, he reminds me I’m just Hongjoong’s little sister.”

He sits with what you say for a moment, nodding. 

“Can I say something?” 

You shrug, gesturing for him to go on.

“I didn’t see it before but he definitely doesn’t treat us like he treats you. I’ve known Yunho my whole life, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him act the way he acts with you.” 

You grip the bowl in your hands.

“He told you that, didn’t he?” he continues. You nod with a sigh. 

“What if I just made everything weird?” You ask.

“Did he look uncomfortable?” 

“No.”

“Then go talk to him.” 

“Joong—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You’ve been my sister for twenty-six years. I know when you’re overthinking.”

He nudges your knee.

“If Yunho really did something that hurt you, then tell him.”

A beat.

“And if he didn’t…”

He smiles, small and tired.

“Then stop making each other miserable. I know for a fact he’s feeling as bad as you are.” 

Hongjoong stands to join Hana, and they each grabbed your hand before it dragging you to your room. 

“You’re doing this now,” Hana says. 

“What?”

“If you don’t do it now, you’ll spend the whole weekend on the couch and eat your feelings in ice cream.” 

Three minutes later, after changing into an oversized sweater and convincing yourself at least seventeen times that this was a terrible idea, you stand in front of your apartment door.

“What if he’s mad at me?”

“Yunho?” Hongjoong lets out an incredulous laugh. “That guy couldn’t stay mad at you if you ran over his foot.”

You take one deep breath and pull the door open before you could think about what to say to him. 

To your surprise, Yunho is already standing on the other side, his fist raised mid-knock. 

You both freeze.

“Oh.”

“…Hi.” 

“Can we talk?” he asks.

“I…” A laugh escapes you, equal parts relieved and disbelieving. “I was actually just about to come over to yours.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

You glance back.

Hongjoong and Hana are peeking shamelessly from behind your still-open front door, both giving you enthusiastic thumbs-ups.

You sigh.

“Not here.”

Yunho follows your gaze and immediately understands.

“Yeah,” he says with a laugh. “Definitely not here.”

The two of you walk to the very end of the hallway, where a large window overlooks the city and a couple of chairs make a small sitting area. It’s close, but also out of earshot, so you don’t have to worry about your roommates eavesdropping. 

The silence stretches between you until Yunho finally speaks.

“I guess you remember everything?” 

You nod. He lets out a slow breath. 

“Yunho, I—" You’re about to tell him that you were sorry for messing things up when he interrupts you.

“I owe you the truth.” You say nothing, as he looks at the view from the window before looking at you in the eyes. 

“I called you Hongjoong’s little sister because you told me I was pretty. When you said that, I panicked. Hongjoong calls Seonghwa pretty because he’s in love with him but is too scared to admit it,” he says, brushing your hair away from your face. “I guess he and I have that in common.” 

“What?”

“It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.” 

“Yunho.”

“Every time I got too close to you, every time I caught myself looking at you for a little too long…” He exhales. “I’d remind myself you were Hongjoong’s sister.”

“Because if I didn’t…” His voice catches. “I’d want things I had no right to want.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs.

“Then you moved back.”

A small smile finds his face.

“And suddenly you were everywhere again. Last night made me realize, I’d probably been in love with you longer than I thought. Maybe since the day you moved in.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. From the window, the sun starts to set, casting a warm glow on Yunho’s face, as he holds your hands into his.

“I’m in love with you,” he finally says. 

You understand now, how it feels to have the one thing you’ve ever wanted, show you that it hadn’t been all in your head.

“You’re an idiot.”

His face falls. 

Before he could apologize, you grab the front of his sweater and kiss him. 

His hands automatically find their place on your waist while he pulls you closer. He tastes like coffee, which you thought tasted better on his lips than in the coffee cup you had every morning. He smiles into your teeth when he realizes you wouldn’t let go, with everything he’d spent months holding in. 

You pull away from him for a moment, him looking at you more clearly now, without hesitating, like he’s loved you all his life. 

“I’m in love with you too, you know.” You grin. “I thought it was obvious.” 

“I was hoping you’d say something dramatic, like you loved me since you were eight,” he jokes. 

“I thought you were cute when I was eight.” 

“Only cute?” 

“I was eight. I just kissed you, Yunho. We’re in love with each other,” you say, rolling your eyes. 

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks, quieter this time.

Instead of answering, you rise onto your toes and press your lips to his.

“Ahem.”

The two of you spring apart.

Standing a few feet away is Mingi, a trash bag hanging limply from one hand.

He blinks once.

“Am I interrupting?”

Yunho closes his eyes for a brief second.

“Mingi.”

“No, no.” He holds up his free hand. “Please. Continue. I’ve only been waiting…” He checks an imaginary watch. “…roughly six months for this.”

“Mingi, don’t start,” you say, eyes pleading.  

Before either of you can stop him, Mingi is already halfway down the hallway.

“SAN!”

“WHAT!”

“We should go before everyone on the floor finds out,” Yunho whispers. 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY’RE KISSING?”

San’s voice echoes through the hallway.

“Too late.” 

The next Monday morning, you don’t have to walk to meet Yunho by the elevator anymore, because he’s already at your door the second you open it. 

“Good morning,” he smiles. 

“Morning.” 

He’s holding two cups of coffee. You eye them suspiciously.

“Did you use San’s coffee beans again?”

“No.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I bought my own,” he puffs his chest, a proud look on his face. “I figured my girlfriend deserves more than stolen Guatemalan beans.” 

“Girlfriend?” you laugh, taking one of the cups. 

“Yep, girlfriend. I don’t care if your siblings are staring me down now.” 

His eyes leave your face and move to look behind your head, to see Hana eating cereal with a furrow in her brows, Hongjoong beside her at the dining table with the same expression.

“You two are gross,” Hana mutters. 

Yunho ignores her, casually slipping a hand into yours. 

“You know they’re still watching, right?” you whisper.

“I know.”

“They’re judging us.”

“I know.”

“You don’t care?”

He looks at you like the answer should be obvious.

“Not even a little.”

END.

--- --- ---

The diner was busy but not loud - just the comfortable kind of background noise of the morning crew that had nowhere urgent to be. It smelled like bacon and coffee when Jack walked in. Robby was already sitting in the same booth as always, a mug of coffee in front of him. 

He looked up when Jack slid into the seat across from him.

“Wow you look tired” Robby said.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Good morning to you too sweetheart.”

Robby shrugged. “Thirty years of friendship. I think we’re past the courtesy, hm?”

“I’m not sure I still consider you a friend after that comment” Jack replied dryly.

Robby smirked.

The waitress came by and filled Jacks mug without asking. “Nice to see you, Doctor Abbot. You look good as always” she said with a wink then looked between Robby and Jack. “Same as usual?”

Robby and you nodded in unisono. 

Then Jack took a sip from his coffee, lingering over it like his life depended on it. 

For a minute they didn’t talk, which wasn’t unusual for them. With Robby it rarely felt like silence needed filling.

“The missus not joining us today?” Robby asked finally.

Jack shook his head. “No. She wanted to sleep. I booked her a massage for later.”

Robby raised his eyebrow.

“Back pain” Jack said with a shrug.

Robby nodded. “How was your shift? It must have been good considering you’re only half an hour late.”

Jack stifled a yawn. “Not too bad. Just man versus the T just before shift change so I had to stay a bit longer.”

“To make sure that poor bastard got proper care?” Robby asked with a knowing smile.

Jack shrugged. “Look who’s talking. I have no idea when the last time was you left the hospital on time.”

Robby nodded slowly. “Point taken.”

Jack looked out of the window for a moment, sipping his coffee, lost in his own thoughts.

“I thought about you the other day” Robby said eventually, a little too casually.

Jack looked up. “Yeah? Why is that?”

“The anniversary.”

“Ah.” Jacks fingers tightened slightly around his mug. “I see.”

“You didn’t reply to my text that night. I was worried.”

Jack frowned. “Yeah sorry about that.” 

Robby looked at him. “Was it hard?”

Jack shrugged. “It’s not getting easier.”

Robby nodded once. No follow-up question. No empathy speech. Just acknowledgement. Jack was grateful for that.

He took another sip and sighed. “We had a pretty nasty fight that day.”

“You and her?” Robby raised his eyebrow slightly. “Wanna talk about it?”

Another moment of silence while Jack thought about it.

“She’s just very…” He stopped, looking for the right word.

“Hormonal?” Robby asked with a small grin.

Jack laughed despite himself. “No, that’s not fair.”

“How far along is she?”

“Week 27.”

“Ouch. That’s when things get nasty.”

Jack nodded slowly. “She’s exhausted. Her back hurts. Heartburn. A baby with the same fucked up sleep schedule as his dad. And apparently sneezing is now a hazardous activity.”

Robby smirked into his coffee.

“I knew this would make you laugh.”

“I didn’t laugh. That was a … sound of sympathy.” he said thoughtfully.

Jack snorted. “Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter, Michael. I’ve known you far too long for that.”

The waitress came over, putting a plate in front of each of them. “Spinach and feta omelet with fries for Doctor Abbot and corned beef hash with eggs and toast for Doctor Robby” she said with a smile. “Dig in boys. Don’t let it get cold.”

They both murmured a thank you, which she graciously accepted before hurrying away.

Jack took his fork and a bite. He closed his eyes while chewing and groaned. “I don’t know how they do it but it’s just so good.”

Robby grinned.

For a while they ate in silence. 

“I heard about your recent… purchases. You wanna talk about that?” Robby said after another minute, his mouth full of toast.

Jack nearly choked on his omelet. “What purchases?”

Robby grinned. “Baby monitor. Oxygen monitoring socks. Does that ring a bell?”

“Who told you?”

“That’s my secret. Never reveal your sources, you know?”

Jack groaned. “But that’s all necessary, you know?”

“Oxygen monitoring socks” Robby repeated, just a bit slower. 

“I heard you the first time.”

“That’s excessive, don’t you think?”

“The word you’re looking for is preventive” Jack replied dryly.

Robby leaned back in the booth. “Jack.”

“What?”

“You bought a mattress that monitors movements.”

Jack sighed. “It tracks micro-movement to prevent SIDS.”

“You’re turning your nursery into a telemetry unit. You know that, right?”

Jack put his fork down and rubbed his face. “I just prefer to be prepared.”

“No” Robby replied calmly “You just prefer to be anxious.”

Jack didn’t answer, just took another sip of coffee. Robby watched him for a moment.

“You’ve seen too much.”

Jack gave a humorless half-smile. “Occupational hazard. You of all people should know.”

Robby nodded. “Yeah. I know.” He took another bite and chewed slowly. “You know” he said after swallowing. “you’ll still be a good father.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised. “That’s a bold claim.”

“Honestly. I’ve seen you at work, with the residents and the students. They look up to you, you know?” 

Jack frowned and opened his mouth to say something but Robby shushed him. 

“I’m not done yet.”

Jack closed his mouth with a small smile.

“And you’re already overthinking everything. That means you care. But keep in mind - your job as a father isn’t preventing every disaster.”

Jack looked at him. “What is it then?”

“Showing up after the disaster happens. Cleaning up the mess. Taking care of every injury that might have happened.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “I’m not a fan of that, to be honest” he said, not fully convinced. “I’ll stick with my original plan.”

Robby tilted his head. “And that is…?”

“Be prepared for the worst and hope for the best.”

Robby chuckled and continued eating while shaking his head. Jack picked up his fork again.

“How are you, by the way?” he asked.

Robby looked at him, surprised. “Good. Always good, you know that.”

Jack shook his head, slightly amused. “Okay, And how are you, when you’re not lying to my face?”

Robby smirked and hesitated for a split second. “I’m not lying.”

Jack didn’t reply and just looked at him. Robby drummed his finger on the table, looking around. Eventually he spoke again.

“I’m fine. Really. Head above water. Still treading water.”

“Mhm.” Jack still wasn’t convinced. “How’s Noelle?”

Robby tilted his head. “How would I know? We don’t see each other anymore. It was a… mutual agreement” he added.

“Mhm, I see. Would she agree with this statement?”

Robby laughed. “You are very sharp today.”

Jack shrugged. “If you say so.”

“It was just a fling.” Robby leaned back slightly in the booth. “It was never meant to be anything serious. We had fun. That’s it.”

“And now?”

“Now we don’t.”

Jack took another sip of coffee. “So - no drama?”

Robby shrugged. “Not really. At least not on my end.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It can be a bit challenging because I still see her occasionally. At work.” Robby chose his words very carefully.

Jack groaned. “Yeah that happens when you decide to shag your way through every department of your hospital.”

Robby laughed out loud. “I’m not shagging my way through the hospital.”

Jack just raised his eyebrows. “You tell me that’s not a pattern.”

“You’re not my therapist.”

“No one is your therapist actually” Jack replied. “Because you can’t stick with one. Right?”

Robby closed his eyes and shook his head, clearly undecided between being pissed off and being amused.

“So you made things uncomfortable at work because you slept with someone who might have been serious about commitment” Jack summarized. “And then you ran.”

“I did not run.”

“Okay, okay. You jogged quickly in the opposite direction.”

Robby chuckled despite himself. “Look, it was fun. That’s what it was supposed to be. I made that very clear from the beginning. It’s not my fault she saw it differently.”

Jack huffed softly into his coffee. Robby pointed his fork at him.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“You’re absolutely looking at me like something.”

Jack shrugged. “Sorry, that’s just my face.”

“Your face is annoying” Robby replied with a huff.

Jack laughed out loud. “Fuck off Robinavitch. Honestly.”

That made Robby laugh too.

They sat in silence for a while. Jack could hear Robby's phone ping but he didn’t pay attention.

“So everything’s good at home? After your fight?” Robby asked, his voice a bit worried.

Jack nodded. “Yeah. We figured it out. It’s just complicated. We both have history, you know?”

“You’re fifty. Of course you’ve got history” Robby said with a shrug. “But don’t fuck this up, okay? She’s good for you, man.”

Jack took a deep breath. “Yeah. I know.”

“I mean it.” Robby looked at him with the serious expression he usually reserved for his residents. “I know after everything that happened to Hannah… and with your leg and everything… it’s hard but just… don’t be a prick. Okay?”

Jack laughed. “I try very hard not to be an asshole, okay?”

Robby nodded with a grin. “Okay. Good.” He continued eating. “Did you two decide yet if you want to know the sex of the baby?”

Jack shook his head. “No. We want it to be a surprise.”

“Oh. That’s new. Don’t you hate surprises?”

“Yeah but I surprise myself sometimes. Which is a contradiction, now that I think about it.”

Robby nodded slowly. Then Robby's phone pinged again. This time he picked it up and glanced at the screen. A small smile appeared on his face. Jack furrowed his brows.

“Anything good?” he asked nodding toward the phone.

Robby shrugged, his cheek a little flushed and put the phone down again. “Work.”

“Oh come on - that wasn’t work. You never smile like that at a work message” Jack said with a huff.

Robby tried to compose his face. He cleared his plate then pushed it away a bit and leaned back in the booth. “I like my work, you know?”

Jack shrugged. “Yeah I know. The only thing you like more are the women at your work, hm?”

Robby laughed. “You’re terrible today. You know that, right?”

“You just make it so easy” Jack replied with a grin. “Not my fault you can’t keep it in your scrubs.”

Robby burst out laughing. Then he glanced at his phone again. “But yeah I might need to cut this short today” he said with a smug grin.

“Other commitments?”

Robby shrugged. “Kind of, yeah.”

Jack finished his plate and emptied his coffee. “Fine by me. I should really hit the sack anyway. I’m exhausted.”

“But lets do that again soon. That was… fun. I guess?”

Jack nodded. “I enjoyed it too.”

“Oh, I know you enjoyed it” Robby replied dryly.

Then he asked for the bill.

--- --- ---

You wanna keep reading? - Part 27: That's not enough time

--- --- ---

The phone call you made to your sibling a few days later was…chaotic, to say the least. 

His jagged voice was barely audible through the speaker, lewd music blasting through the speaker and terrorizing whatever room he was in, you could tell he was drunk. You think about calling him out, but it would be in vain attempts to berate him, his ‘free spirited’ nature, as he called it, would be tamed by no one, not even his now redundant younger sibling. It was the final day of exams for fucks sake! 

You shook your head, letting him have it. You had always been the more disciplined one out of the two of you, now, by no means did that make you methodical. It just made you…more disciplined than the other option. You weren’t about to bitch him out over his alcohol consumption when your mother was the exact same way. That would, to some degree, equate you to a hypocrite. And also, you had bigger issues to worry about. 

“He—Hello?” He hiccuped into his device. You could hear his equally drunk and just as disastrous counterparts singing along to whatever crude, and in your words terrible song that was playing while a small and overly tame voice inquired about who was on the other line. My sister, you heard him reply, his voice blaring through to you, and probably just above a whisper to them. The voice only hummed, throwing back a small Oh, Alright, before retreating back into the forest of bodies. 

“Have you heard from mom?” You ask, covering your vulnerable ear in hopes to somehow hear him better, the attempt is futile, but laughable. It's what anyone would do. A feasible doing in respect for your ear drum, and your roommate.  He swallows, an unconsciously sloppy noise that makes you grimace away from the device. 

“Uhhh—like—barely…about what?” The music boosts up an octave, you hear another drunken party goer stumble into him, likely spilling something on his shirt. Fuck, dude! Get outta here! He winces, pulling away for a second. 

“She called me the other day, talking about…selling the house? Is that—do you know anything about that?” You try to lift your voice above a whisper, but considering your roommate was asleep just a foot away, you struggled for wiggle room. 

“Uhh, yeah—she told me about that…we all gotta go back for the summer, sucks, but…could be good if we decide not to..” he burps in between words, you think in between breaths. You stick a fingernail in between chattering teeth, your anxiety causing you to stand. 

“So you're going?” 

“Well, yeah. Free flight for both of us, so might as well take the trip.” He huffs. You can tell he's calmed down now, maybe sat down on an empty chair, or shoved himself into a bathroom somewhere. 

“Both of us?” You inquired, but you knew what the words implied. It was an act of protection really, waiting for him to confirm your greatest fears before your mind got ahead of itself. 

“Yeah…Me’n Ellie, our flight’s on the 18th.”  He affirms, taking a sip of whatever concoction he had with him. 

It's the name that gets you. Ellie. The same Ellie that you had no bad blood with, yet the mere mention of her gives you debilitating, excruciating anxiety. Your cortisol levels have skyrocketed beyond help in the last ten seconds. 

You cleared your throat, lifting your painted fingernails back to your mouth. “Mom—mom paid her ticket?” You stutter out, voice bouncing in hopes to ignore the surge of awkwardness that had taken over. 

“Yeah, she did. She's gotta see Joel, too. We haven't been home in forever.” He clicks his tongue. You nod your head, even though he can't see it. Your bones feel like they're shaking inside of you, your skin suddenly feeling too tight, like a suit not quite meant for your body. 

You swallow the lump that you didn't remember forming in your throat. Your decision has been made. You were flying home, whether you wanted to or not. 

“Yeah, okay…mine too.” You confirm, and instead of the decision feeling like a weight was lifted off your shoulders, it seems like one was placed upon them. Funny how suddenly that came to be. You should be happy that you’re going home, but instead you’re petrified. 

You bid him a soft goodbye with a hollow promise to keep in touch that the both of you will break and an awkward I love you. You sigh as the call ends, leisurely tossing your phone down onto your mattress with a weighted sigh. 

You didn't talk to him after that, or your mother for that matter. You just let the days pass by as needed and worried more than you did not. 

The airport is full and too loud for anyone to function. You've spent the last couple of hours on a flight to nowhere that felt like a complete waste of money while your brain tried (and failed) to dance around the fact that your ex—crush of almost two decades would be in attendance. 

You tap your foot in practiced beats of nervousness, random spurts of frustration washing over you like really misplaced emotion. The fact that this trip was purely businesslike and not recreational already bullying your conscience into guilt covered embarrassment. 

Your anger was undoubtedly justified and extremely painful to bear. 

You run your hands over your face, letting all your inner turmoil play defense in the game of your emotions. So far, offense was winning. You glance back and forth between the washroom and the exit, deciding to play dangerous and leave all your belongings unattended while you b-lined for the bathroom to splash your face with water that you somehow thought would cure all of your issues. 

You sigh into the empty room, your voice echoing back at you. You run your hands under the lukewarm water, letting whatever disease ran through the stream land in your palms. At this point, anything would be better than what’s to come. 

“My god…” you whisper, letting the water settle into your pores. It's absolutely disgusting, but also somehow grounding. You groan into nothing, shaking your hands somewhat dry as your breaths turn your chaos into controlled chaos. 

You can do this. 

Your phone buzzes in your pocket while you're standing at the hand dryer. You pull it out with a smidge of confidence, leaving the washroom and hopefully your self consciousness behind. 

It’s a message from Callie, or in other words, your Uber home. 

Cals : welcome back to hell! Hope you're ready for boring dinners and weird awkward tension! 

Cals : im outside 

Cals : your chariot awaits! 

Cals : omfg can u hurry

You giggle at the incoming messages, typing back something along the lines of coming that was really just ineligible as you sort your things with one hand. You drop the device as soon as the little ding comes through the speaker. 

You squeeze through families, and shuffle past departing couples as your anxiety loudly shifts into excitement. You speed up your steps as your heart rate increases, part of you feels like you're trying to outrun your own emotions, the impending doom that you will eventually have to face your problems that weren’t really problems, and almost completely solvable. You will have to face Ellie eventually. 

That wasn't right now, maybe it wasn't even later, but it was true. And deep down you didn't want it to be. 

You spot Callie almost immediately once the automatic doors open, tall lean frame pressed up against the side of her car, her body positioned in such a way you’d think she was famous if she was anywhere but here. 

Her eyes are stone cold as she looks down at her phone, sunglasses keeping her thick brown hair out of her view. Her fingers swiftly tap against the screen, your phone dinging in your grasp every couple of seconds. 

You smile to yourself as you approach, your stomach twisting with excitement. You call out to her, voice cracking with pure joy. She look up quickly, she doesn't have to search for long to find you, running at her with arms full and a smile big enough to blind. 

“No awareness, huh?” You comment benevolently, laughing as you pull her into a hug. She copies without word, tugging you into her a little bit harsher than she should’ve. 

“Oh shut up!” She shrieks at the teasing, gently kicking your leg. You fall into her further, letting her squeal into your ear. “I’m so happy you're back… you’ve missed so much.” She begins, pulling away from you. 

She grabs your suitcase for you, you don't protest. Knowing her, she would berate you for even suggesting to carry your own bags. 

“I’ll bet. Texting and Live Photos don't compare to the real deal..” you coo, following her to the back of the car as she shoves your luggage into the already cluttered back seat. 

You stop hot in your steps, raising an eyebrow at the back of her car. “Is that not obstructing your field of view?” You question, pointing into the messy boot. The brunette slams the trunk closed with a jagged groan. 

“Don’t worry about it.” She sighs, slapping your ass before walking around her side of the car. You roll your eyes, taking a moment to think before following. 

Your mind immediately shifts at the lack of distraction. You sigh, shaking your head and walking around the black suv before your thoughts can take over. 

“Ugh! I’m so fucking tired of this place, you’re so lucky you’re doing school out of state…” she speaks, resting her elbow on the middle console. She balances her head on her fingers, hoping, praying to stay awake while she drives. 

“Yeah.. I’m glad too, which I didn't think I would be.” You reply, glancing over at her momentarily. Her eyes are filled with chaos, frustration and joy all at the same time. She was a chronic complainer, sue her. 

“And your brother too, and Ellie! Fuck, youre all lucky. I miss you guys.”  She confesses, her fingers slowly starting to rake through her hair. She clicks her tongue as she drives, an incessant habit that you choose to ignore, even if it means sacrificing your sanity. 

“I miss you too, yeah.” You twiddle with your fingers, your tone fizzling out into a hum of acknowledgment and a tight smile. 

The mention of Ellie had your back straightening, your demeanour somehow shifting into that same repressed shyness that shows up when you’re uncomfortable. Or as Callie calls it “that weird awkward thing you do when you have too many emotions and not enough places to put them all.”

Callie blows a raspberry, slipping her sunglasses off of her head and onto her face. “It’s so fucking sunny, Jesus Christ—are you okay?” She interrupts herself, looking between you and the road in quick motions. 

“Yes! Yeah, i’m just…tired, jet lagged, y’know..” you hum, slipping your slides off and pulling your sweat clad legs onto the seat and underneath your body. Callie hums back at you, not quite convinced, but too focused to pry. 

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that doesn't need reassurance or explanation. It wasn't a pause between sentences, or an awkward moment where neither of you know what to say, it's just—silent. Silent and comfortable.

Eventually, after what feels like hours of concrete roads and homes that are occupied by parents of people you’ve known since you were little, you turn down the most familiar street. 

The tree—lined street almost moves you to tears, a flood of uncomfortable memories appearing on the open road before you. You choke on a breath, a weird sensation of contempt settling in your chest. 

You begin to shift in your seat, your brain had been liquidizing for the majority of the drive, but now you were hyper aware. Hyper aware of everything, the tension in your shoulders, the uncomfortable knot in your back, the vehicle that was way too clean to not be a rental sitting in your driveway. 

“Home sweet home!” The girl beside you cries, raising an arm in the air with a little too much passion. Your home comes into view slowly, and suddenly you feel like you’re grasping for every moment that was just behind you. 

“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?” Callie parks, letting the air in the car turn somber. She turns to you, eyes searching yours for any clues pointing to regret. She places a hand on your leg, resting it softly.  

“No, No I’m not. I'm just—nervous, haven't been home in a while, that's all.” You shake your head, swallowing a wad of nerves.  

Callie raises an eyebrow, giving you the chance to change your answer, to tell the truth. You don’t. You were too frazzled to do that right now, too confused. 

“I promise.” You stick your pinky out, she interlocks hers in return. She smiles at you, a true, genuine look. You’re grateful, it alleviates half the stress that was sitting on your shoulders, waiting to cause an avalanche.  

“Alright, alright. You ready?” She squeezes your leg twice, a loving gesture. She slips the key out of the ignition after you give her a false confident nod of confirmation. You slip your shoes back onto your feet and let out one last sigh of desperate anticipation before getting out of the car. 

The hot sun sends a certain type of stick to your body immediately. Maybe it was the nerves too, but your body was on fire. 

“I’ll grab your suitcase—just, grab your carry on.” She grunts between movements. She's already pulling the hard plastic case out of her trunk with the kind of certainty that would not be questioned. 

You chuckle, pulling your other bags out of the backseat. You can hear Callie struggling behind the car. 

“Here, let me.” You squeeze in, but the container is already clattering to the ground. 

“Got it!” She boasts, throwing her arms up in the air as she tries, and fails, to conceal her huffs. She pants like a dog, pushing the case in your direction as she pulls the trunk down. 

“Thank you, Callie.” You coo, pulling the handle out of your suitcase as she pulls out her phone, checks it, and then slips it back into the back pocket of her jeans. 

“Need me to walk you in? I can—I’ve got time.” She asks, a partial smile on her face. 

“No, no. That's okay. I need to unpack and stuff anyway, y’know the boring part of vacation.” You make air quotes on the last words, pulling a chuckle from your friend. She nods, you can tell she’s wary of leaving you alone, but she follows orders anyways. 

“Okay.” She confirms. She pulls you in for another hug, a tighter one. “I’ll call you, okay?” When Callie pulls away, she places two hands on each of your shoulders. Her touch is grounding, stabilizing. 

“Please do, God—I’ll be so bored.” You joke. She laughs back at you, pulling her phone back out and checking it again. 

“Alright, I’ll see you when I see you. Tonight? Got any plans?” She asks, you’re tempted to shake your head and give her a definite answer, but the right side of your brain chews at you. 

“I’ll have to see…I’m not sure what’s going on with the house, and my brother—and…yeah.” You dance around the other name, you always do. 

“Okay, okay! Makes sense. Family first.” She gives you an understanding expression, one that cannot be mistaken for anything else. Just purely Callie. 

You follow her around the car, letting her stop when she gets to the driver side door. You walk past, lugging your carry-on on your back and pulling your suitcase behind you.

“I love you!” She calls after you, you smirk. You can hear her car door opening and shutting. You manage to turn around and blow her a kiss before she pulls out of the driveway. 

She waves her hand out the window as she drives away, one last you got this before you're left completely alone. Minus your thoughts…and two other people. 

You sigh, shifting your weight between very cold feet. You contemplate calling Callie, and forcing her to bring you back to the airport. You knew she would comply without question, she was always loyal. 

The house was nostalgic and repulsing all in one. The once pastel yellow walls now so neglected that they're basically white. The wraparound porch was filled with memories that you didn't even know you had up until now, you and Callie running around in plastic high heels, Ellie and your brother being forced to stand outside and dry off after sneaking out into the rainy afternoon. The windows are dusty, like beholders of secrets that aren't quite secret, but more so unacknowledged. They saw everything—every fight, every inside joke, the time that your father almost flipped the table on Callie and Jesse during a heated game of monopoly. It was rugged, and it was far from perfect, but it was home. 

You shake your head, muttering indecent strings of self deprecation under your breath. Despite your lack of motivation, you somehow manage to struggle through the doorway, all your bags in tow and seemingly unscathed. 

The living room is empty when you walk in, although there's signs of human life, like the jacket hanging over the back of the couch, or the video game controllers that sit on the coffee table, ready to be used, you don't see anyone. 

The deep exhale you let out shakes you. A quick flood of white hot relief washes over you like this was more than just a visit home—like there was something worth dreading behind the faded banana walls and deteriorating storm door. 

The kitchen is vacant of any life, opposite the living space before it. It was dark and cold, and clearly hadn't been visited by your sibling yet. You snort at the emptiness, shaking your head as you start up the stairs. The pictures are still the same, a few family photos that screamed dysfunction, and high school graduation pictures of every kid in the friend group. Yours was no exception, your smile was proud and awkward all at the same time, your hair pulled up and out of your face because your mom said it made your collarbones pop. Your brothers was hung right beside, smack dab in the middle of the row, his photo as careless as could be. Beside his was Ellie’s, her flaming auburns locks pulled into a half up half down style, with a few stands hanging loose over her nature kissed eyes. Her lips are pulled into a small, modest smile—the kind she only pulled out for pictures she didn’t want to be in. Her freckles spread over her pale skin like the stubborn coarse sand that you can't quite pick out of your hair, or the starry night sky that reflects perfectly onto the water while you're swimming at night. You could fall into them, get lost in each and every speck like they’re their own planet. It reminds you of every time you’d caught yourself exploring them, the water being the only thing holding you up as your eyes counted every one of the blemishes on her face. If you could, you’d sink into her, letting the water swallow you whole. 

You shake your head, internally cursing yourself for the random spurt of longing. You weren’t sure what came over you, it just…happened. 

Your childhood room isn't the relic you’d wished it to become throughout your years in it. You had hoped for a place of comfort, a place to come home to in between the chaotic semesters, and midterms that sucked the colour out of your face. But instead, it grew into a cave of dust and boxes with a few leftover books and a doorknob that hadn't been twisted in years. 

There were a few things piled up on your old dresser, boxes labeled with picture frames and old clothes. You sigh, dropping your backpack down onto the bed, made up tightly from the last time someone was in it. It was cold, and smelled faintly of dust, and fabric. There’s another box titled books sitting in front of your closet, it was supposed to be taped up and shipped to you, but it unfortunately never made it out of the house. Courtesy of your mother. 

You shift some things around, pushing the heavier boxes over to the door, and stacking the smaller ones on top. A few posters come down, a few go up. Some are moved to where they’re less visible. 

You’re pulling the stack of boxes out of your room when the back of your foot knocks against something harsh. You wince, quickly reaching for the back of your heel as you hobble around to observe your offender. 

Another brown box, sitting right in between two bedrooms. You raise an eyebrow, the unfamiliar storage container was sitting there, open. You pull it towards you by the dust flaps. You peer inside, it was full of notebooks, some familiar, some not. You dig through them, grabbing one from the middle of the box. You quickly flip through the pages, all full of pink pen and overly girly stickers. 

It was a box of your diary’s. All the old books that sat untouched and full of feelings in your closet. You didn't realize there were so many of them until they were sitting before you, discarded into semi-organized piles like old textbooks.

You sit in the hallway for a moment, picking through the books like they were ancient texts. You sit there reading through every word, and cringing at every shitting drawing for what felt like minutes, but ended up to be over an hour.  Most of them were full of your queer realizations and pining for your brother's best friend like an idiot, but there were a few that had you chuckling—middle school drama was always too serious. You couldn’t blink in that place without getting tagged in someone’s Snapchat story the next morning. 

By the time you’re complete, the sun has hit the highest point in the sky, and the front door is clicking shut, a loud explosion of laughs following the noise. You curse under your breath, scrambling to your feet. You quickly begin to shove all the books back into their designated space. 

You hear a masculine voice call up for you, one you can only recognize as your brothers. You debate ignoring him completely, the idea of sneaking back into your room and hiding away until you knew his friends were gone had no flaws in your eyes. 

He calls you again, this time his voice louder and definitely attracting the attention of his peers. You growl, pushing yourself off the hardwood floor. Your knees ache from the time spent kneeling over the box, and a sudden pang pulls in your back when you stand. 

“Fuck—! Coming!” Your voice wavers as you yell back at him, the shakiness of your tone echoing against the walls of the stairs. You quickly shuffle into the bathroom, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. You take a deep breath, smoothing down your hair in the mirror, just in case. 

You curse under your breath, the chances of Ellie being there were…high, and your first impression had to be at least somewhat good. You can’t remember exactly how long it’s been since you had an actual conversation with the girl, a year and a half? Two? 

You hold onto the railing as your soft clad feet hustle down the stairs. Your body seems to be moving faster than you can keep up with, because before you know it, you’re standing in the living room with about 10 pairs of eyes on you. 

Your brother steps forward from the group, a cup in hand. “There she is!” He laughs, pulling you into an overwhelmingly tight hug. You're aware of all the eyes on you, all of them belonging to people you have already met, most of those being people you grew up with. 

“Hi…” you chuckle, your voice wary and awkward. A few people wave at you before reverting back to their conversations, Jesse even verbally acknowledges you with a smile and an enthusiastic hey. 

You search the room for that familiar pair of green irises that you’ve been thinking about since you got off the plane. When you met them, it was like she was never gone. You raise your hand to wave, your body moving in slow motion as a grin slowly builds its way onto her face. 

Hi Ellie.. you imagine yourself saying, in a tone sweet enough to pull her out of her chair and into your arms. You picture her whispering about how much she missed you, and her asking you about school. But unfortunately, it doesn't go like that. Instead, she just winks, and turns back to the person she was talking to. 

You nod, turning back to your own counterpart. “So…how was first year?” He inquires, trailing back into the kitchen to refill his drink. You suspect you're supposed to follow him, but your feet keep you planted to the floor. 

“It was—good, yeah good.” You rock back and forth on your heels, before finally stepping forward. You've now welcomed yourself into their space. One girl was sitting on the counter, chatting with Dina. There were two boys that you didn't recognize cramming into the corner of the modestly sized room, staring everyone else down, making the occasional sly comment. 

“Bet it wasn't like those movies you're always watching, huh?” He chuckles, turning back to you. You give him an insincere half smile and a laugh that sounded too much like an inhale. 

“What’re you studying again? Journalism?” He asks, tilting his cup in your direction. A drop of coloured liquid flies onto your shirt, tainting the fabric darker. 

You open your mouth to respond but a sudden hand on his shoulder stops you. It’s Ellie. 

“English.”  She corrects him, turning to you for clarification. You nod, your eyes wide with a mix of amazement and shock. “And then it's education, right?” She asks, squinting at you with uncertainty. You nod again. 

Your brother rolls his eyes at the girl, she only laughs. “Brother of the year award goes to this guy.” She adds sarcastically, shaking her head as she turns to fill her cup as well.

your brother smiles, a small apology spilling from his lips. You wave him off, you weren’t expecting him to know. But you weren’t expecting her to know even more. The realization swirls in your stomach, Ellie knew this small fact about you off the top of her head, and you hadn’t spoken to her in years. You were separated by entire states and an extended period of time and she still remembered. 

“D’ya want a drink? Fruit punch cut with Smirnoff.” Your brother offers, holding his hand out in a sort of welcoming gesture. 

Fruit punch and Smirnoff…yeah, you’ll pass. 

“Uhh—no…I’m so good without—that.” You half joke, gesturing to the drink in his hand with an awkward chuckle. He nods in acceptance, waving at you before rejoining his people. 

Now it's just you and Ellie by the drinks, the other friends aren't far by any means, they can probably hear how heavily you’re breathing just as well as she can. You, for a moment, think she’s going to acknowledge you again, maybe invite you to sit down. She doesn't. 

You shout a goodbye to your brother, and a full-hearted Nice to see you guys again! To the other people in the room before you retreat back up the stairs. 

When you hear the click of your bedroom door close, you practically jump for your diary. The book was already back on your nightstand, the spot that it belonged, where you belonged. But you would never say that out loud. There’s a lot of things you would never say out loud, like how you were ninety percent sure your puppy-love crush on Ellie was returning in full force. 

You could sit here and pretend that you aren’t usually delusional, but you absolutely are. 

It was a quirk that you could never quite kick, especially when it came to the green eyed beauty standing just underneath your bedroom. 

You open the book and scrounge for a pen, a pencil, anything. You settle on a baby blue pen with a fluffy puff on the top that had mysteriously showed up in your bedside drawer. You smile at the object, reminiscing on how you used it in this exact circumstance just a couple years ago. 

You settle in, your back against the side of your bed while your legs rest against the rug on your floor. The second your pen meets the paper, you focus. Your thoughts feel like they're running at you at a million miles per minute, while your hand can only write at about one. It seems that everytime you gain a thought, you have to chase it to keep it. 

You write for hours, only breaking to regain your thoughts or switch the record spinning on your very busted up record player. Your brother knocked once, letting you know that he was ordering pizza and that his friends would be gone soon. 

You let your hands move until they physically can’t, filling the pages with recollections of every moment you’ve ever shared with the girl, every time she looked at you, every time she spoke your name in that honeysuckle tone. Every moment up until now, some rewritten and others unwritten. 

You write like you’re chasing something, like there's not enough time in the day to complete the biography of this love you have fostered for well over ten years. You write like you're running out of time…call you Hamilton! 

Before you returned home, you swore that the crush had faded into nothing. You thought the particles of stardust had disintegrated into dust long before you returned home. You thought. 

Well, it turns out they hadn't broken down at all. They remained, just tucked all the way back, in the farthest corner of your consciousness. So what you thought about her everyday? And stalked her social media every time you got drunk? That didn’t mean you still had a crush on her. That’s normal!

By the time you place your pen on the ground and close the book, the sun has gone down and the noise in the house has faded into the quiet hum of your music. You sigh, shaking out your now ink stained hand. The black pigment tarnishing you In a way that felt somewhat affirming. 

You crack your back and then you stand. You needed to shower. 

The late evening has now faded into the very early morning. The clock on your stove was glowing red, and the kitchen is humming with that late night buzz that you could never identify. 

You’re dancing around the kitchen, your playlist shuffling through your headphones. Currently, you were on your third song, the voice of Malcom Todd inflicting to to groove while you dig into a container of Betty Corker's infamous cream cheese icing. 

You clap as your hips sway. The kitchen is only illuminated by the light above the stove and the occasional opening of the fridge. 

You lick your lips, the sugary goo taints your lips with the taste of sweetness, a sort of soft femininity, in your opinion. You almost pull up google to search for a lipgloss in the same flavour. 

The song switches this time it’s Don't Delete The Kisses. A song that has comforted you an uncountable number of times. You grin at the sound of the intro playing, scooping another hefty spoonful of icing into your mouth. 

You sing along to the first verse, swaying through the kitchen as endless scenarios dance through your mind. 

You connect the song to Kat and Patrick, from 10 Things I Hate About You, and then Harry and Sally from When Harry Met Sally, and eventually, you and Ellie. 

You sigh, and then you laugh. You turn to the clock, 2:55, it reads.  You promise yourself you’ll go upstairs at three. 

The light turns on. 

You whip around, eyes wide and mouth almost to the floor. It’s Ellie. Standing in the entryway of your kitchen with an amused grin plastered on her face. You press a hand to your chest, you didn't even know she was still here. 

“Jesus!” You whisper, “you scared me! I almost screamed! Scrumpt? Scream-pt?” You berate. She laughs, stepping farther into the room. 

“Sorry! Sorry!” She chuckles, walking over to the fridge to commit the exact same sin as you have been for the past half an hour. 

Africa by Toto begins to play in your headphones, you turn it down. Ellie’s hair is a sexy kind of messy, it had been chopped since the last time you saw her, into a shorter shag type cut. She was clad in a plain white tee and blue plaid sleep shorts. The tattoo that had been started on her arm just before she left was completed now, covering her entire forearm with that blue-black ink. It was hot, really hot. 

“What’re you doing up, anyway? It's late.” You ask, pushing yourself up onto the counter closest to the fridge. Ellie turns to you, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s summer. And I could ask you the same.” She pulls away from the fridge, hands vacant of whatever snack she was searching for. 

“Mmm…Gimme that.” She demands softly when she notices the sweetness in your grasp. She opens her mouth, waiting for you to bring the spoon to her lips. Your stomach sinks. Not only were you and Ellie alone in the same room, but she was basically asking you to kiss her. Indirectly, of course. 

You roll your eyes, scooping a hefty portion of the white paste onto your spoon. You push it into her mouth with an insane amount of uncertainty. She licks it clean with a smack of the lips, throwing you a thumbs up as she works it down her through. 

“Thanks.” She licks her lips, smiling at you as you nod in response. The scene wasn't vulgar, nor lustful, but it had your stomach flipping like Simone biles. 

You could smell her body wash, and her cologne, and the light scent of cigarettes that lingered on her shirt, clearly something she had grabbed from Joel’s house that was still stuck in 1990. 

“Well… g’night. See ya tomorrow” she tags your name on at the end of her sentence, and it has you imagining your wedding. 

“Goodnight, els. Sorry—Ellie. Ellie.” You fumble, the nickname a reflex at this point, a second nature. It had been something you came up with in your younger days, in the midst of your hurricane of a crush. Your brother always teased the both of you for it. 

She waves you off with a smirk. “It’s fine.” She says, before turning down the hallway and walking back upstairs. You sit on the counter and listen until you’re sure she's in her room. 

It's 3:23 when you finally leave the kitchen, 15 minutes after the other kitchen lurker. You sigh as you hop off the counter and walk out of the room. You flick the light off and your thoughts follow you all the way up the stairs.

That night you dream of menthol, mint, and clandestine kisses from the one person you're sure you can’t have. 

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More than an hour later, as you chewed on your nails, you heard heavy footsteps coming slowly down the stairs.

Your heart sped up. You jumped off the couch and walked toward the sound, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. Your breathing finally steadied once you saw Bruce safe and sound.

Except for his face.

You winced.

—Did you fight a cat? —you asked without thinking.

It was common for him to come home with a cut here or a bruise there, his body practically a map of injuries, so seeing red lines across his face wasn’t unusual, but it never failed to shock you.

—Very funny. —he grumbled.

He looked back at you, exhausted, as he removed the mask and sank onto the couch, such a rare display of vulnerability that you were afraid he’d shut down again if you breathed too loudly.

You stepped closer, standing between his legs as you gently took his face in your hands and tilted it side to side, checking the damage.

—Well… —you sighed. You’ve seen better days.

The corners of his lips curved slightly, almost smiling, but he didn’t answer. You could tell he was so drained that the only thing keeping him awake was sheer willpower.

—You’re awake —he said suddenly, frowning.

Ah, there it was.

—I couldn’t sleep —you replied simply, without admitting that tonight you’d been convinced he wouldn’t make it back to the mansion.

Thank God you were wrong.

You slipped away to the bathroom, where you always kept a first-aid kit for nights like this, and quickly returned to your spot in front of him.

—I can do it myself. —he muttered, trying to reach for the kit.

—Let me do it.

—I don’t need help.

—Your face says otherwise. —you shot back without flinching.

He was always a little stubborn about accepting help. Even when you tended to him with all the love in the world, he remained the same. You never got angry, you just insisted until he gave in.

Just like now. And faced with your stubbornness, he decided not to argue further. He simply rested his hands on your hips while you worked on his face, cleaning, disinfecting, and patching him up.

When you finished, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

—Thank you —he sighed.

—Anytime, sweetheart —you said as you cupped the less-bruised side of his cheek—. Hang up the suit. I’ll warm your dinner.

Of course, he wasn’t going to accept that without arguing, and when he was just about to speak, you cut him off.

—Don’t.

You didn’t wait for a reply as you walked toward the kitchen and got to work. You paused for a moment, ready to scold him again, but relaxed when the minutes passed and everything was silent. When he finally returned, he was in a better mood. His hair was damp, and he wore the clean pajamas you’d left in the room.

—Dick? —he asked, sitting at one of the stools by the counter.

—Asleep. —you said as you set the plate in front of him with ease—. Ever since I’ve been on vacation, I became his personal nightmare. He has class tomorrow, so I made him go to bed early.

He gave a faint smile.

You didn’t wait for an invitation, you sat in the empty chair beside him to keep him company.

—I cleaned your study —you said casually.

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

—Careful, or Alfred will think you’re trying to take his job.

—Would you hire me?

—Absolutely not.

His dry reply made you smile, and you nudged him lightly with your shoulder.

—I was worried. —you admitted—. False alarm, I guess.

Your husband’s expression softened. He inched his hand closer to yours, just enough to comfort you.

—I’m fine.

—I know. It was just irrational worry. Alfred said you were fine. I should’ve believed him.

—He’ll forgive you —he said without much care.

He finished eating while listening to you talk about Dick, chiming in here and there. He was fighting the urge to sleep, you could tell by the way his shoulders sagged, and by almost four in the morning, you decided it was time to go to bed.

—Come on, big guy, bedtime. —you said as you stood up and took his empty plate to the sink.

He shook his head.

—I should go train.

Now it was your turn to frown—. You’re going to sleep, even if you try bribing me like Dick and I have to drag you there myself.

You hadn’t noticed he’d gotten up, and just as you turned the faucet on, you felt his hands slide over yours, stopping you. You looked at him, confused.

He looked right back.

—All right. Let’s go to bed then —he said quietly.

Over time, you’d learned his ways of showing worry and affection. You never tried to change him, you’d learned how to read him, and that was enough for you. He was giving in and because of that, you did too. You nodded and let him lead the way.

You both slipped into bed in silence, trying not to wake Dick, and once you were settled under the blankets, he pulled you against his chest and kissed the top of your head.

—Thank you. —he whispered again, his breathing growing slower.

You knew what he meant.

—Don’t get used to it —you murmured with a smile, knowing that you would do it thousands of times —. Sleep, Bruce.

You heard a sound between a sigh and a laugh, and you knew he was probably already half-asleep. That was your last thought before sleep finally took you as well. Tomorrow, you’d figure out how to apologize to Alfred.

She leads the two of you through the elegant dining room, weaving between tables topped with crisp white linens and elaborate floral centerpieces. Max keeps his hand at your back, his thumb idly stroking in a soothing pattern as you take in the opulent surroundings with wide eyes.

“This place is incredible,” you murmur, craning your neck to admire the ornate chandeliers glittering overhead. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He simply grunts in acknowledgment as the hostess stops before an intimate table tucked discreetly in the corner. After pulling out your chair for you with a flourish, she sets two leather-bound menus on the table.

“Your server will be right with you,” she informs them before departing with a polite nod.

You waste no time in opening your menu, hungrily perusing the offerings. “Oh Max, look at all these amazing cocktails! The La Vie en Rose sounds divine — rose liqueur, raspberries, lemon ...” You glance up at him hopefully. “We should get a couple of those to start.”

Max barely glances at his own menu before shaking his head. “I’ll just have a whiskey neat.”

Your face falls slightly at his brusque response. “Are you sure? These all look so good! We should live a little and try something fun for once.”

He fixes you with a stern look from across the table. “You know I don’t like frilly drinks. Now stop pestering me about it.”

Chastened by his harsh tone, you lapse into a wounded silence and continue reading the menu with diminished enthusiasm. A few moments later, a dapper middle-aged gentleman in a crisp suit appears at your table.

“Good evening, and welcome to The Sazerac Room. My name is William and I’ll be your server this evening.” With a polite smile, he produces a notepad from his breast pocket. “May I start you off with something to drink?”

You glance back at Max, giving him one last chance to change his mind. When he simply gazes back at you impassively, you sigh. “I’ll have the La Vie en Rose cocktail, please.”

William jots down your order before turning to Max expectantly.

“Whiskey neat,” Max says flatly. “Redbreast 27 Year, if you have it.”

“An excellent choice, sir.” William makes a note. “And may I bring you both some bread from our bakery while you decide on your meals?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” you reply gratefully.

William departs to place the drink orders, leaving you and Max alone once more. An awkward silence stretches between you, filled only by the tinkle of silverware and murmurs of conversation from surrounding tables.

Finally, you try again. “Max, are you sure I can’t tempt you with one little sip? This La Vie en Rose cocktail sounds absolutely divine. You might lov-”

“For fuck’s sake!” Max suddenly explodes, slamming his menu down on the table hard enough to rattle the cutlery. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want any of your ridiculous fruity bullshit? I’m a fucking race car driver, not some ridiculous Instagram model trying to look pretty with my drink.”

His nostrils flare as he leans across the table, eyes flashing with irritation that you would dare continue to push the issue. “I’ve had a long fucking day and I am going to drink whatever the fuck I want. So order your stupid fucking girly cocktail if you must, but don’t act so goddamn disappointed and keep shoving it in my face when I say no.”

You shrink back in your chair, eyes widening with hurt at his enraged outburst. The crestfallen look on your face is enough to douse Max’s fury like a bucket of ice water. He slumps back, remorse already stirring as he witnesses the light dimming in your eyes, lips trembling ever so slightly as you blink back sudden tears.

“I … I was just excited to try something new together,” you whisper shakily. “But never mind. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

The arrival of William with a basket of assorted breads and your glittering pink cocktail garnished with raspberries provides a merciful distraction from the tension.

You immediately reach for the drink, wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and taking a large gulp — both to avoid making eye contact with Max and to sample your coveted libation.

A look of bliss softens your features as the tart, sugary concoction bursts across your taste buds. “Mmm, this is incredible!”

For a beat, Max can’t help but drink in your look of pure enjoyment — the way your eyes flutter closed in delight, pink lips quirking into a contented smile as you savor each sip. It simultaneously tugs at his heartstrings and fills him with an irrational stab of resentment.

Here you are, sweet and radiant, able to find joy in the simplest of things … while he is just a miserable bastard who can’t let himself enjoy anything without getting irrationally angry.

You deserve so much better than him.

The thought is sobering and he feels shame burn hot in his gut. Unconsciously, his shoulders slump as he watches you take another euphoric sip of your cocktail.

“I knew it, this is amazing,” you sigh happily, seemingly recovered from his earlier tantrum as you bask in the deliciousness of your drink. “Max, you have to try just one little-”

“No.” The refusal is automatic, the word slicing through your offer before he can think better of it.

Your face shutters once more, the bright light in your eyes dimming as your smile fades into resignation. With a soft exhale, you set your glass down and reach for the bread basket instead.

“Suit yourself, then.”

As you silently butter a roll, Max finds himself at a rare loss, anger dissipating into regret as the knot in his stomach tightens painfully. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration after his impressive win on the track, a chance for the two of you to enjoy each other’s company and make more happy memories together.

Instead, he’s gone and ruined the mood … again … just like he always does.

***

“Another round?” Checo’s voice cuts through the sound of laughter and chatter around the table.

Max glances up distractedly from pushing the remaining bits of food around his plate. He, Checo, and a few other members of the Red Bull team are celebrating a successful Monaco Grand Prix. Despite making the podium, Max’s mind hasn’t really been on the festivities.

“I’m all set, thanks,” he mutters, raising his glass of whiskey with a tight smile before taking a sip. His gaze drifts across the opulent dining room of Cipriani Monte Carlo, idly scanning the crowd of wealthy patrons enjoying their evening meals.

That’s when his eyes catch on a shockingly familiar figure.

You.

Sitting at an intimate corner table, bathed in the soft glow of a candle’s flickering flame. For a moment, Max’s breath catches in his throat as a thousand bittersweet memories assault him all at once.

The hurt look on your face that night at The Sazerac Room … the resignation in your eyes as you accepted, yet again, that he would never be able to appreciate the sweet, simple pleasures that brought you such joy ...

The cold, empty silence that descended over your apartment when he finally left for good, stuffing his belongings into a duffel bag as you watched with trembling lips from across the room ...

Max blinks, and the moment passes — but his gaze remains riveted to your table. Because there, sitting across from you with adoration written across his insufferable face … is Toto Wolff.

Max feels his lips curl into an unconscious sneer as the Mercedes team principal murmurs something to you with a gentle smile, reaching across to delicately brush a lock of hair behind your ear. You catch Toto’s hand as it falls, pressing a tender kiss into his palm that makes the older man’s expression soften even further.

Your waiter arrives then, providing a momentary distraction as he lays out a couple of fresh cocktails on crisp white linen — a bright purple concoction garnished with a sugared rim and a plump cherry for you and an amber-hued old fashioned for Toto.

Your eyes light up as you take in the colorful beverage, immediately wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and bringing it to your lips to sample. A look of pure delight crosses your features as the no doubt sugary drink bursts across your taste buds.

“Mmm ...” you hum in pleasure, causing Toto to chuckle affectionately as he watches you enjoy the first reveling sips.

Setting your glass down, you gesture enthusiastically toward it as you address Toto. “This is incredible! You have to try it.”

Without hesitation, the Mercedes team boss dutifully leans across the table to take a long pull from your straw. Max watches with a mixture of disgust and morbid fascination as Toto’s expression morphs into one of surprised enjoyment.

“Wow, that is quite good, isn’t it?” Toto remarks with an indulgent grin, licking a telltale dab of purple syrup from the corner of his mouth.

“I told you!” You crow in delight, eyes sparkling with unrestrained glee.

The pure joy radiating from you in that moment is enough to make Max’s heart clench in his chest. He has seen that look before, so many times — whenever he deigned to let go of his surly demeanor for even a moment and actually indulge whatever fleeting whim or simple pleasure you desired to share with him.

But it was always so short-lived with him, stamped out by his own stubborn refusal to truly embrace anything resembling happiness or frivolity. You deserved so much more than his constant scowling and gruff rebuffs.

As if reading his thoughts, Toto then leans across the table to tenderly capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The gentle intimacy of it makes Max’s gut churn as a feeling too complicated to fully unpack blossoms in his chest.

When you finally part, both of you are smiling at each other with such open, unguarded adoration that it’s almost obscene to witness. Toto reaches out to cradle your face in his palm as your lips find his once more in another chaste, loving caress.

This time, when you pull away, you let your head loll back with a look of pure bliss. Something deep within Max cracks and splinters at the sight. In a haze, he finds himself drifting back through the churning currents of memory ...

… that last, fateful shouting match in your living room, both of you red-faced and furious as the dam holding back all the anger and resentment and accusations that had been building for months finally burst ...

… you weeping silently as you clutched a meager trash bag containing what little remained of his belongings, not even able to look at him for fear of collapsing completely ...

… “I’m too sweet for you, Max. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

The acid words burn in his mind even now, feeling as fresh and raw as that night they were spat out like venom between you. His chest constricts as his gaze falls guiltily back to the present day scene in front of him.

Toto and you, basking in the warm, rosy glow of new love — careless and unrestrained in your public affection. Delighting in each other’s company and simple pleasures … just as you always desired for Max to do, yet he could never fully surrender to.

The display is like a twisted mirror, taunting him with the vibrant reflection of what he threw away. What he was too foolish, too emotionally stunted and uncaring to fully appreciate at the time.

Stumbling from his chair in a daze, Max barely registers the questioning looks and concerned murmurs from his team as he staggers from the dining room. He hardly makes it to the privacy of the restroom before bending at the waist, hefting the contents of his stomach into the thankfully pristine porcelain basin.

The whiskey burns on the way back up.

Max grips the edges of the counter, face contorted in anguish as a realization washes over him in searing waves.

You were the real prize all along … and now, he’s lost you for good.

My coffee black

The drone of announcements over the PA system and the dull roar of hundreds of people bustling to and fro mingles into an ever-present white noise hum. Max trudges ahead, the brim of his ball cap tugged low as he weaves through the teeming crowds filing through the airports’ terminals.

It’s just after 5 am, the start of another grueling race week. This time the travel will take you from the Middle Eastern leg of the circuit to the other side of the world in Australia. Twenty-plus hours of planes, layovers, and jet lag beckon — a prospect that grows less and less appealing with each passing season.

A warm weight presses against his side as you shuffle along beside him, head lolling adorably as you struggle to keep your eyes open. One slender hand is looped through the crook of his elbow, gripping the strap of your carry-on bag with the other. You let out a jaw-cracking yawn, leaning into Max’s solid bulk.

“I need coffee,” you mumble groggily. “I’m barely conscious.”

He shoots you a sidelong glance, mouth quirking ever-so-slightly at your dramatics. As grating as your tendency for excessive cheerfulness can be at times, he does admire your ability to shake off the fatigue and stress that plagues him more and more these days.

“There’s one of those chains up ahead,” he grunts, nodding toward the familiar logo peeking through from around the corner.

You light up immediately, straightening and quickening your shuffling steps in anticipation of the caffeinated boost soon to come. By the time you reach the counter, there’s a bright spark back in your eyes that makes the exhaustion plaguing Max’s own limbs feel slightly more bearable.

The barista, a pimple-faced youth who can’t be any older than 18, greets you with a too-wide smile. “Welcome to Daily Grind! What can I get started for you?”

You lean in eagerly, surveying the massive display of chalkboard signs advertising the latest sugar bombs and “coffee” concoctions designed to appease the basic palates of everyday people who wouldn’t know a good cup of joe if it slapped them across the face. Max scowls, already anticipating some ridiculously saccharine order.

“I’ll have a large cinnamon honey oat milk latte, please,” you chirp, as expected.

The barista marks down your request with a perky nod. “Excellent! And for you, sir?”

“Black coffee,” Max replies flatly. “Medium.”

Your brow furrows as you shoot him a quizzical look. “Just black coffee? Not even a splash of cream or anything?”

He shakes his head tersely, one hand already rummaging in his pocket for his wallet as the barista rattles off the total. “We’re in a rush as it is, and that sugary nonsense you ordered takes forever to make with all the fussy bullshit they do to it.”

You wince at his blunt assessment, shoulders slumping a bit in a way that makes a pang of guilt flicker through Max’s chest. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh … but sometimes it’s like the more considerate side of his nature has been ground away by years of constant training and calculating every single variable down to the most minute detail.

The poor kid working the register seems to shrink under the intensity of Max’s gruff demeanor. With shaky hands, he quickly processes the payment before stammering out your total. As you shuffle off to the side to wait for your orders, Max can’t help but keep picking.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you insist on ordering those stupid drinks that are 90% milk and trash,” he mutters, shooting you a disapproving look. “Barely any actual coffee at all.”

You frown, immediately hunching into yourself a bit as you cradle a handful of napkins against your chest. “It’s not like that coffee flavor isn’t there at all,” you argue meekly. “And I have to get some kind of caffeine boost to stay awake during all these flights and race weekends. I just … I don’t really like the taste of black coffee.”

Max scoffs loudly at that, shaking his head in open derision. “Sure, because drinking just regular black coffee like an adult would be too difficult. Instead you have to get your ‘caffeine boost’ from some tooth-rottingly sweet concoction that looks like something a child would order.”

The barista shifts uncomfortably behind the counter, clearly flustered by Max’s abrasive tone. Not that he cares — he’s been dealing with people gawking at him in public for years now. What does rub him the wrong way is the wounded look spreading across your delicate features, eyes dropping to stare dejectedly at the floor.

He opens his mouth to continue chiding you, but at that moment the barista appears with your drinks. The sweet, cinnamony aroma of your order hits Max’s nostrils like a slap in the face, making his nose wrinkle on instinct. You accept your oversized paper cup gratefully, hands automatically curling around the comforting warmth.

With visible enthusiasm, you bring the drink to your lips, unable to resist taking a sip despite the scalding temperature. Max tracks the minute changes in your expression — the slight widening of your eyes, the upward quirk of your lips into a smile of unalloyed contentment. Your lashes flutter closed on a quiet hum of blissful appreciation.

“Mmm … heaven,” you practically moan, hunching over your cup as though to better inhale the revitalizing notes of sugar and spice.

It makes Max want to retch, watching you so unashamedly indulging in such vapid, artificial flavors. How can you find such simple-minded pleasure in that, when you could be savoring the bold, robust notes of a proper cup of black coffee? One meant to awaken the senses and caress the taste buds with its smoky aroma and rich, nuanced flavor notes.

“You can’t honestly get any enjoyment from basically drinking hot milk and flavored syrups,” he mutters, sneering at the offensive beverage in your grasp.

In response, you simply shift closer to him until you’re pressed alongside his body. Your free hand snakes around his bicep, squeezing gently as you tilt your head back to gaze up at him imploringly. Exhaustion and hurt war openly with the angelic softness of your delicate features.

“Max … can’t you just let me enjoy this?” You plead in a low murmur. “It’s early, and we’ve got a long flight ahead.”

His jaw clenches stubbornly, unwilling to back down so easily. Caffeine and sleep deprivation have eroded his already thin sense of decorum.

“I’m just saying, drinking a syrupy dessert drink loaded with sugar and god knows what else isn’t doing you any favors. You might as well just stick to black coffee like a normal adult if you want to be awake and energized.”

The wounded look in your eyes deepens into something more somber and resigned. Slowly, you pull away from Max’s side until a noticeable distance stretches between your bodies. Something inside him shrivels at the loss of contact. Your slender fingers work feverishly at the cup’s lid until it pops off with a dull thunk.

Max stares blankly as you march over to the nearest trash can and upend the contents of your cup into the receptacle. You don’t even seem to hesitate — simply turn on your heel and hurl the now-empty cup in after the wasted drink. It clatters hollowly against the canister, mocking and empty.

When you turn back to face Max, the sight makes the now-lukewarm coffee sitting neglected in his own cup feels like a lead weight in his gut. Your arms are wrapped protectively around yourself, hunched against some unseen foe. Head bowed, you refuse to meet his gaze as you slowly make your way back over to where he stands rooted to the spot in stunned silence.

It’s only as you draw up beside him that Max notices the twin tear tracks striping your cheeks. Your chin remains stubbornly trembling, but you make no move to wipe at the tears now falling freely. Max’s chest constricts almost painfully at the sight of your misery, the guilt gnawing at him as the reality sets in.

He is the reason for it. His harsh, uncompromising tongue has wounded you in one of the cruelest ways once again. Too strict, too unyielding, too incapable of allowing even the smallest indulgences that bring you simple joy without sneering dismissal.

For several agonizing moments, the two of you stand in silence amid the milling crowds of travelers streaming past. Max can’t bring himself to meet your gaze, knowing he’ll only find the depths of his own callous thoughtlessness reflected back at him in your swimming eyes.

Finally, you release a shuddering sigh that sounds far too weighted for someone of your sweetness and light. When you speak, your voice is little more than a tremulous murmur laced with dejection.

“Let’s just go to the gate, Max.”

You brush past him without another word, leaving him to trail numbly in your wake as shame burns a hole through his gut. He watches as your form disappears into the throngs, shoulders already beginning to hunch inward as that spark of happiness in you gutters and fades.

Lingering behind, Max’s gaze falls to the empty cup lying crumpled and discarded in the trash. A reminder of yet another instance where his unchecked tongue and inability to empathize has spoiled an innocent attempt at simple pleasure.

His coffee suddenly tastes like ash on his tongue.

As he moves to dump the neglected drink into the nearby basin, Max wonders with a sinking feeling just how many more times he’ll be able to snuff out your light before it dwindles to nothing.

***

The late morning sun bears down with oppressive force, causing a mirage-like haze to shimmer over the sweltering asphalt of the paddock. Despite being early summer, the Spanish air is already thick and heavy enough to bathe Max’s skin in a sheen of perspiration as he trudges toward the Red Bull Energy Station.

Ahead, he spots a cluster of people milling aimlessly near the entrance to the Mercedes motorhome. At the center appears to be you, head tilted back in unrestrained laughter at something George Russell is regaling you with. The British driver is equally animated, pale features scrunched up in exaggerated motions as he relays what is no doubt an amusing tale.

Max feels his steps gradually slow of their own accord as he takes you in from a distance. You seem utterly at ease and in your element — cheeky grin splitting your face, one hand toying idly with the ends of your hair as your eyes crinkle with unbridled mirth.

A pure vision of effortless contentment.

His gut clenches unexpectedly, unbidden memories of how he methodically chipped away at that very lightness in you until it was all but extinguished washing over him in a nauseating wave. How quickly he took such simple joys for granted ...

So transfixed is he by the sight of your open, honest amusement that Max barely notices the figure slipping up behind you. Not until Toto Wolff raises a conspiratorial finger to his lips, eyes twinkling impishly as he pantomimes for silence at a sputtering George.

You remain oblivious even as the Mercedes team principal slides flush against your back, looping one arm around your waist to tug you snug against his chest. With his free hand, Toto cups it teasingly over your eyes — to which you release a tinkling peal of laughter.

“Guess who?” The playful lilt of the older man’s Austrian lilt is unmistakable, dripping with honeyed warmth.

“Hmm … I wonder,” you murmur coyly, making a show of tapping your chin in feigned confusion. “Is it a dashing gentleman caller here to sweep me off my feet?”

Toto chuckles deeply in your ear, the sound positively dripping with unguarded affection. “Only if you’ll have me, liebling.”

Craning your head back with a cheeky grin, your arms instinctively wind around his neck as you stretch up on your tiptoes to greet him properly. Toto meets your lips in a lingering, languid kiss that has George hastily clearing his throat and looking resolutely anywhere but at the affectionate display before him.

When you finally part, all radiant smiles and flushed cheeks, it’s like the rest of the world has completely fallen away. Toto gazes down at you with such pure adoration that Max feels his throat constrict as though a belt is suddenly cinched tight around it.

“I have a surprise for you, schnucki,” Toto murmurs huskily, lips brushing your temple as he speaks.

You light up like a kid on Christmas morning, practically vibrating with excitement at his words. “Oh? Do tell!”

With a wink and roguish smile, Toto brandishes his other hand from behind his back — in it, clutched protectively, is a large cup topped with whipped cream and what looks like edible flower petals sprinkled over the top. The light purple hue of the iced contents catches in the bright sun, refracting a prism of soft, delicate colors.

“I had the barista in our hospitality whip this up for you,” Toto explains fondly. “After I mentioned how much you enjoy trying unique coffee flavors. It’s a lavender vanilla iced latte.”

Your mouth drops open in a perfect ‘o’ of delight as you instinctively make grabby motions toward the tantalizing beverage. Max recognizes that earnest enthusiasm all too well. It’s the same look you used to get whenever presented with any unique taste or experience to appreciate.

A look he always met with disdain and scorn.

Toto doesn’t hesitate for a second before depositing the cup into your greedy hands. You immediately cradle it reverently, as though it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held. Ducking your head, you take a long pull through the striped paper straw.

The expression that blossoms across your features as that first taste bursts over your tongue is one of pure, unadulterated bliss. Your eyes flutter closed on a muffled moan of sinful enjoyment, lips pursing as though savoring each individual note of flavor. Max hasn’t seen you look that unguardedly delighted by anything in … well, he can’t actually recall the last time.

“Oh Toto, this is heavenly!” You gush, swiping your tongue across your lower lip to catch a stray drop of condensation. “The lavender is subtle, but gives it such a uniquely fresh and floral twist. And the vanilla adds this creamy sweetness that keeps it from being overwhelming.”

You open your eyes to beam radiantly up at the older man, who returns your luminous smile with equal warmth. “It’s perfect, thank you! You have to try it.”

Without prompting, you eagerly offer the cup up to Toto. He accepts it with an indulgent chuckle, locking eyes with you as he takes a contemplative sip — no doubt eager to share in whatever fleeting moment of bliss the simple drink has brought you.

Unlike Max, who would have turned up his nose and likely received it with derision, Toto seems to savor the complex blend of flavors. Humming thoughtfully, he swipes his tongue across his upper lip as though committing each separate note to memory.

“You’re quite right, liebling,” he agrees readily, “this is delightful. So refreshing for this heat. I may have to acquire a taste for these iced coffees myself.”

You positively glow at his assessment, lighting up from within like a joyful little sun. Max is helpless before the storm of emotions suddenly ripping through him at the sight.

“Oh! That reminds me,” you chirp giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet, “I was talking to the barista about maybe incorporating some other floral syrups for iced coffees too. Like rose or hibiscus! And maybe we could get her to try making those fun layered drinks with the espresso on the bottom-”

Toto’s deep belly laugh cuts off your stream of eager rambling. Without warning, he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush against him once more. You let out a startled giggle as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, lips brushing the feverish pulse point just beneath your jaw.

“You adorable thing,” he rumbles warmly, words slightly muffled against your skin as he presses a languid line of kisses along the sharp line of your jaw. “So enthusiastic about the simplest pleasures in life ...”

Pulling back, Toto lifts one hand to tenderly cradle the side of your face. You automatically nuzzle into his palm with a look of such smitten devotion that it makes Max’s heart stutter behind his ribcage. When Toto leans in to seal his lips over yours once more, the kiss is deep and thoroughly unhurried — as though the two of you have all the time in the world to savor this intimate little moment.

Max’s hands clench into white-knuckled fists, blunt nails biting crescent moons into his clammy palms. He should turn away, leave you to your blissful display with someone who so clearly appreciates you. Yet he remains rooted in place, unable to tear his eyes from the scene unfolding before him.

It’s like witnessing an alternate universe version of your shared lives play out in vivid, scorching detail.

In this reality, Toto is the one tenderly stroking the pad of his thumb over the elegant arch of your cheekbone as the two of you part, drinking in the sight of your passion-addled features hungrily. He is the one basking in the radiance of your bright and unrestrained joy. Celebrating each of your simple thrills, from the most frivolous of flavored coffees to the sensual graze of skin on skin.

And where does that leave Max? An outsider peering in at paradise with his face smeared against the glass, watching the warmth and affection he could never fully embrace slowly slip through his calloused fingers.

And my bed at three

The mattress shifts, the subtle movement rousing Max from his slumber. He cracks one eye open to find the space next to him empty, the sheets disheveled where you had lain.

A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand tells him it’s not yet 5 am. Where are you going at this hour?

He hears faint rustling from the living area of the hotel suite, followed by the soft click of the door. Groaning, he kicks off the covers and pads out of the bedroom, the plush carpet warm beneath his bare feet.

You’re sitting on the couch, slipping into a pair of flats. “What are you doing up so early?” He asks, his voice still husky from sleep.

You look up, startled. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” A soft smile plays on your lips. “I was going to watch the sunrise.”

Max rakes a hand through his tousled hair. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because it’s beautiful.” Your eyes sparkle with an excitement he can’t comprehend this early in the morning. “The colors, the way the light slowly creeps over the horizon — it’s just magical.”

He snorts. “It happens every day. Nothing magical about it.”

Your face falls ever so slightly, and it tugs at something in his chest. But the feeling is fleeting, replaced by annoyance at having his sleep disturbed for something so trivial. “So you didn’t want to join me, then?” You ask, almost timidly.

“And wake up before the ass-crack of dawn? No thanks.” He flops onto the couch beside you with a huff. “I was up until 3 am sim racing. Not all of us find staring at the sky such riveting entertainment.”

You say nothing, simply nodding as you avert your gaze. The light in your eyes has dimmed, and he feels a pang of guilt. But he shakes it off — it’s far too early for this kind of whimsical nonsense.

“Suit yourself,” he mutters. “I’m going back to bed.”

He doesn’t see the way your shoulders droop as he turns and trudges back towards the bedroom. Doesn’t see the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes before you blink them away and readjust the set of your jaw with determination.

Max burrows under the covers, fully intent on drifting back into oblivion. But sleep evades him, his mind buzzing with a peculiar restlessness. He punches his pillow into a more suitable shape, flips it over to the cool side, but still he lies awake, listening to the silence that fills the suite.

After what feels like an eternity, curiosity gets the better of him. He kicks off the covers once more and pads over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city street below. Sure enough, there you are, a tiny figure perched on a bench across the way, your face tipped up towards the slowly lightening sky.

Max leans his forehead against the cool glass, watching as the inky blackness of night gives way to soft shades of periwinkle and lilac. Slowly, the colors deepen into blazing pinks and vibrant oranges that streak across the heavens. The sky ignites in a brilliant blaze of crimson and gold, the clouds set afire by the rising sun.

And there you sit, bathed in the dawn’s ethereal glow, utterly transfixed. In this light, your features seem softer, more at peace than he’s seen you in a long while. A smile plays on your lips, genuine and unguarded, as you take in the spectacle unfolding before you.

Max finds himself holding his breath, as if the slightest movement might shatter the magic of this moment. He’s never seen you look more beautiful, more alive than in these fleeting minutes as day breaks over the city.

A rare pang of tenderness blooms in his chest, quickly overshadowed by a creeping sense of unease. He isn’t certain how much time has passed before the brilliant hues fade into the pale blue of morning, but eventually you rise from the bench, taking one last, lingering look at the sky before turning and disappearing from view.

Max exhales slowly, his breath fogging up the glass. He isn’t proud of how he dismissed your simple joy, that spark of wonderment at the little things that he so often takes for granted.

An emptiness settles in the pit of his stomach, the guilt heavier than before. How many other moments has he trampled on in his relentless pursuit of success?

He thinks of your radiant smile, how it lit up the pre-dawn gloom more vibrantly than the sunrise itself. With a sigh, Max turns away from the window, already dreading the apology he knows he owes you.

Because in that single, breathtaking moment, he realizes just how lucky he is to have someone like you in his life. Someone who can find magic in the mundane, beauty in the simple things he’s become blind to along the way.

Someone, Max fears, who may be too sweet for him.

***

Max gives up on sleep around 4:30 am, as he has for the past several weeks. Insomnia has become his constant, unwanted companion, leaving him tossing and turning until the first hints of dawn creep through the curtains. On nights like this, slumber remains persistently out of reach no matter how exhausted he feels.

He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling as the brightening sky slowly illuminates the room. It wasn’t always this way — he used to be able to sleep like the dead after a race weekend, knocked out by the physical and mental exertion. But lately, his mind refuses to shut off, thoughts swirling endlessly until his head pounds.

With a groan, Max kicks off the tangled sheets and drags himself out of bed. Maybe going for a run will quiet the racket in his brain, at least for a little while. He dresses quickly, lacing up his trainers and grabbing his earbuds before heading out into the semi-darkness.

The pre-dawn streets are blissfully empty as he starts off at an easy jog. He despises becoming one of those obnoxious morning people, but exhaustion has a way of stripping away one’s self-respect. If pounding the pavement before the rest of the world awakes is what it takes to catch a few hours of sleep, so be it.

His route takes him along the harbor, the gentle lapping of the waves against the seawall providing a soothing soundtrack. The first rays of sunlight glint off the glassy surface, and he finds himself averting his gaze, oddly resentful of the impending sunrise.

It wasn’t so long ago that he scoffed at your eagerness to greet each new day. But ever since you’ve been gone from his life, those brilliant, fleeting moments of beauty have begun to mock him at every turn.

He picks up his pace, as if he can outrun the rising sun and the flood of memories it brings. But there’s no escaping the vivid flashes of you, smiling radiantly as the world awakes in a blaze of fiery hues. Or the hollow ache that twinges somewhere beneath his rib cage whenever he’s reminded of just how little he appreciated you.

So lost is he in his circling thoughts that he nearly runs right into you, appearing abruptly on the path ahead. His trainers skid against the pavement as he grinds to a halt, his heart stammering in his chest.

“Max?” You blink up at him, clearly startled by his sudden presence.

He opens his mouth, an automatic apology rising to his lips — until his eyes zero in on the camera clutched in your hands. Of course. Still chasing sunrises after all these years.

A wry grin tugs at the corner of your mouth as you take in his rumpled running attire. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Max says nothing, his gaze flickering briefly towards the brightening horizon before fixing on you once more. You look … well, radiant as ever, lit by the soft morning glow. A small pang of something — longing, maybe — twists in his gut.

“Out enjoying another sunrise, I see,” he says at last, nodding towards the camera.

You glance down at it fondly. “Well, you know how it is. I have to capture them while I can.” A teasing lilt edges into your voice. “Not all of us are night owls.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “I’ll never understand what’s so fascinating about watching the same thing happen day after day.”

“But that’s just it — each one is different. Unique and fleeting and … breathtaking.” Your eyes spark with that gentle wonderment he remembers so well, the sight sending a tremor through his chest. “Like getting a front row seat to the greatest show on Earth, but it’s one you’ll never see again.”

You trail off with a small shake of your head, seemingly at a loss to put the feeling into words. Max doesn’t need the explanation — he’s seen that look of childlike awe on your face more times than he can count.

An awkward silence stretches between you, laden with the weight of history and unspoken apologies. You shift your stance, mouth opening as if to say something more.

But Max cuts you off before you can get the words out, unable to bear whatever sentiments might cross those sweet lips of yours. “Toto not joining you this time?” He asks gruffly.

Your expression softens into a fond smile, and it’s like a physical blow to Max’s sternum. He knows that look, has been on the receiving end of it more times than he cares to remember. The way your entire being seems to brighten when you so much as think about someone you love.

“Ah, you know Toto — he’s more of a sunset person,” you say with a light laugh. “I’ve never been able to drag his grumpy butt out of bed for a sunrise.”

Even as his insides curdle with jealousy, Max can’t help the quirk of his lips at the mental image. He could all too easily picture Toto swatting irritably at you, burrowing deeper under the covers to escape the blasted sun.

“But we make it work,” you continue, that loving glow refusing to dim from your eyes. “I take photos of the sunrise to share with him later. And he does the same with the sunsets for me. That way, we both get to experience it in a way.”

The gentle sound of your voice washes over Max like a salve, momentarily easing the tangled knot of regret and longing that’s taken up permanent residence inside him. He watches, transfixed, as the early morning light bathes you in ethereal radiance.

In that moment, he sees it so clearly — the depth of give and take in your relationship with Toto. The effort, large and small, that you both put into nurturing one another’s happiness.

Even when your desires don’t perfectly align. Even when compromise is required.

It’s such a simple gesture, capturing those magical moments to share with your loved one. But it’s one Max was never willing to make when you were with him.

A lump forms in his throat as realization washes over him with unforgiving clarity. You weren’t too sweet for him, as he had so arrogantly assumed time and again. No — the truth, much harder to swallow, is that he was simply too sour for you.

Too selfish, too wrapped up in his own ambitions to make even the smallest concession. Too blind to recognize the magic in the simple things that brought you unbridled joy. Too bitter and jaded to embrace and nurture the beautiful nature that made you … well, you.

And now, after all his careless cruelties and wasted chances, he can only stand idly by and watch as someone else basks in the sweetness of your affection. As someone else goes out of their way, day after day, to put that blinding smile on your face and those stars in your eyes.

Something in Max’s chest cracks and crumbles at the injustice of it all. At the agonizing truth that he let the best thing in his life slip through his fingers, all because he couldn’t be bothered to change his sullen ways.