#james imagines

"where's james?" you ask keonho, eyes still wandering the whole room—not finding his existence.

"he went to buy a cake for hyeon. you can wait here, i'm gonna grab some candles." keonho leads you to sit on a couch in the living room and rushes back to the kitchen.

the party is simple. they only invite someone who's really close to seonghyeon since the boy's very shy around others and they don't want to make him uncomfortable on his birthday. a few balloons sit randomly on each corner of the room. there's a banner on the wall that says "happy birthday, seonghyeon" with his photo on it.

not so long after that, you hear the clicking sound on the front door and see james holding paper bags in his left hand and a box of cake in the right. "cake's coming!" james yells. you approach him immediately and try to help him.

"babe!" james' eyes lighten and he smiles so brightly at your presence. "i thought you wouldn't come! i was so sad today." he kisses the corner of your lips before the two of you bring all the stuff to the living room.

"i decided to come since keonho wouldn't stop texting me while i am at work." james stops for a while, hoping he had misheard what you said. "my phone keeps buzzing all day, you know."

"why would keonho text you?" james squints his eyes in suspicion.

"he texted about preparing hyeon's birthday. he thinks i'm going to like this party." you answer absentmindedly while putting the cake on the table.

james shrugs, thinking it was no big deal. he doesn't need to be jealous. it's just keonho, right?

"here are the candles." keonho comes with a few candles in his hand. "hyung! you're home." he grins. james answers him with a quick smile before putting pink whipped cream on seonghyeon's cake.

"i wanna do it too!" you exclaim and ask james for the whipped cream. he lends you the whipped cream and settles behind you on the couch, absentmindedly pulling you back until you're comfortably sitting between his legs.

keonho sits right next to james' left foot—making him unintentionally sits right next to you. "do you think seonghyeon would like this party?" he asks you.

"definitely! why wouldn't he?" you shoot him a little smile and continue to put whipped cream on seonghyeon's cake.

"i know, right?" keonho nods. the three of you remain silent for a while before keonho interrupts again. "do you think hyeon would prefer green candles or blue ones?"

"i think green would suit his vibes more."

"that's exactly what i thought! that's why i brought mostly the green ones." he smiles brightly at you, and you answer with a nod.

5 minutes later, keonho asks you again. "would i look good in blonde hair? just like martin hyung."

"ask martin." james mumbles.

"you would! oh my god, it would be exciting don't you think, james?" you look at james—signaling him to agree with you.

"i don't know no james." james stares at you. who's james? where are baby, babe, honey and all the sweet nicknames going?

"okay, babe. it would be exciting, right?" you emphasize the word babe and squeeze james' thigh—forcing him to nod at your question.

"oh, i'm not hearing this." keonho closes his ears with both hands, causing you to laugh at his reaction.

15 minutes later, seonghyeon, martin, and juhoon come through the front door from the studio. everything went as planned and seonghyeon was so happy.

"you're coming! thank you so much!" seonghyeon gives you a brief hug and accepts your gift. "a ps5 for me? thank you! hyung is so lucky to have you." seonghyeon giggles and james just rolls his eyes.

the night is getting late. james drinks a cup of soda on the couch. martin plays an acoustic guitar and rumbles random melodies. seonghyeon and keonho play with the ps5 you just gave him. and you play chess with juhoon. "hey, that's cheating!" your voice heard— making james looks directly at your way.

"no, it's not." juhoon answered calmly. "you're not gonna win if you keep playing that old tactic, you know?"

"you know what? i always won back then using this 'old tactic'."

"that's why i called it old."

the two of you laugh and james' definitely not having it. he clears his throat and proceeds to stand. "i'm gonna get some rest. once again, happy birthday hyeon." he taps seonghyeon's shoulder before walking to his bedroom.

your eyes dart towards him until his figure disappears behind the door. you excuse yourself to the boys and quickly follow james. you knock on his door, "can i come in?"

after he said yes, you come in and see he is curling in his white blanket—his back faces you. you close the door and hug him from the back. "hi handsome." you smile and kiss his exposed cheek. "you look so handsome today." your compliment makes his cheeks blushed but he tries so hard not to smile.

he clears his throat. "thanks. you don't look bad either."

you mumble and play with his dark brown hair. "what happened, baby?"

"nothing."

"it seems like a thing." you answer him back calmly—still playing with his strands. he remains silent.

"are you jealous?" you bite your lips, trying not to laugh at this very serious situation.

james' eyes widen and he immediately turns around to face you. "what? me? jealous? no. absolutely not. why would i?"

you smile at his reaction and kiss his cheek. "you're looking extremely handsome today. what's with the glasses? i love it." you ignore his answer and touch his glasses.

"it's called fashion."

"i know, and you're looking too good with it." you pout.

"...okay, yeah. i'm jealous. but just a little. are you satisfied?"

to james, seeing you acting all pouty and clingy around him makes his stomach full of butterflies, just like how he met you for the first time. he loves you that much.

"i knew it!" you celebrate after his confession. "you could've just told me!" you cling your arms around his waist and rest your chin on his chest—looking up directly to meet his eyes.

"i don't wanna ruin hyeon's birthday." he looks to the other side—or basically anywhere as long as he doesn't have to meet your puppy eyes, because he would genuinely become a jelly right now.

"aww," you pinch his cheek. "you know you're the only person i love for these past 2 years. out of everyone in that room, i've been looking for you since i stepped in this dorm today."

"you're literally the sexiest man alive and i'm not planning to let you go that easily." you smirk at him.

"stop, it's getting cringe."

"but you love it when i compliment you, though."

"you're right," he smiles and wraps your body in his embrace. "i love whatever you do."

you stay at your position for a while. "if you have to choose, would you pick me or the boys?" he suddenly asks.

"you." you look up at him, finding he's already staring at you. "really?" his eyes brighten.

"no."

"BABE." james looks at you in disbelief.

"of course i choose you, you silly." you peck his lips. before he could kiss you back, you were already breaking the kiss. so he chases after your lips, making it the sweetest kiss you had after a long day.

"hyung, did you see my—" juhoon's voice was heard with the sound of the door opening. "i didn't see anything!" juhoon left right after he saw the two of you.

james lets out a loud sigh and you laugh. "we need to lock the door next time."

─ 마틴 ୨୧ ✿ you’d think that with a six-foot-three stature, martin would be impossible to dodge, but the moment he leans his tall figure down to press his lips to yours, you instinctively turn your head away to look at the wall instead. it’s not that you don’t love him, it’s just that he’s been buried in music production for thirty-six hours straight ignoring you which makes you want to tease him a little bit before getting affectionate. martin freezes instantly in that half-bent position, his arms still braced against the armrests of your chair, looking completely blindsided by the sudden rejection. he doesn't get angry, but his dramatic nature takes over as he lets out a heavy, exaggerated sigh against your neck, muttering about how the leader of cortis gets no respect at home. he stays right there, hovering over you like a giant, brooding cloud, refusing to fully pull back until you give him a proper explanation or at least a consoling pat on the back for his bruised ego.

─ 제임스 ୨୧ ✿ james doesn't make a big deal out of things, so when he tilts his chin down for a casual, sweet kiss goodbye and you smoothly turn it into a cheek graze by turning your head, he doesn't blink an eye or drop his signature calm composure. but because he notices absolutely every microscopic shift in your body language, his eyes narrow just a fraction as he pulls back to properly read your face. he stays perfectly quiet for a few seconds, merely studying the way you avoid his direct gaze, before a slow, amused smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. james just finds it entirely comical that you think you can pull a fast one on him after all this time, especially when you’re usually the one clinging to his arm during movie night. instead of forcing the issue or letting you slide out of the room, he casually reaches out to trap your waist with one hand, pulling you a little closer just to tease you about why exactly you’re acting so shy all of a sudden.

─ 주훈 ୨୧ ✿ juhoon takes affection very seriously, so the exact second you turn your face away from his approaching kiss, his entire expression drops into something incredibly piteous and genuinely dejected. it’s almost funny how quickly his usual cool aura completely evaporates, leaving him looking like a completely heartbroken puppy whose favourite person just walked right past him without a second glance. he lets his hand drop from your cheek entirely, taking a half-step back as if he needs to re-evaluate the entire state of your relationship based on that one single dodged kiss. you have to quickly explain to him that you’re just wearing fresh, expensive lip gloss that you don’t want ruined before your dinner plans, or else he’ll spend the next twenty minutes sitting on the edge of the couch in total silence, subtly overthinking everything and casting dramatic, lingering glances your way until you finally give in and give him the attention he craves.

─ 성현 ୨୧ ✿ seonghyeon is so quiet and observant that when you dodge his kiss, he doesn't even ask you why, choosing instead to let out a tiny, soft chuckle under his breath as he casually sticks his hands into his hoodie pockets. he’s so used to living in his own head that he immediately treats your sudden evasiveness like a little puzzle or a game he needs to figure out. he doesn't try to lean in a second time or push your boundaries, but he keeps his sharp, fox-like eyes locked directly onto yours with a knowing, playful glint that makes you feel entirely exposed. he’ll just stand there in the middle of the room, blocking your path out of the kitchen with a relaxed posture, quietly waiting you out because he knows you can't survive more than two minutes of his intense staring before you break and tell him exactly what’s going on.

─ 건호 ୨୧ ✿ as the youngest, keonho already handles affection with a mix of playful confidence and hidden shyness, so when you abruptly duck beneath his arm to avoid his lips, his immediate reaction is a loud, defensive protest. he completely forgets his composure and lets out a sharp whiny sound, demanding to know what exactly he did wrong to deserve being treated like a total stranger in his own space. he’ll follow you directly into the next room, complaining the entire way about how unfair it is that he spent a grueling five-hour dance practice thinking about coming home to you, only to get the absolute cold shoulder the minute he walks through the door. even if you tell him it’s because his skin is freezing from the cold night air outside, keonho will just use that as an excuse to shamelessly wrap his arms completely around your shoulders, deliberately burying his cold face into the crook of your neck until you finally stop laughing and face him properly.

you always had a habit of running your thumb over things that were broken, as if gentle pressure could smooth out cracks that life had already set into place. 

sitting at your small kitchen island on a dreary tuesday night, you were tracing the fine spiderweb fracture near the top right corner of your phone screen, the quiet click-clack of your nail breaking the absolute silence of the room. the glass was slightly sharp, just enough to catch the pads of your fingers if you swiped at the wrong angle, but you didn’t care. you had earned every single cent in your bank account, paid your rent three days early every month, and held a quiet, fierce pride in the fact that you never replaced something until it was thoroughly, completely dead.

across the polished marble counter, james shifted, the soft rustle of his tailored charcoal shirt drawing your gaze up from the illuminated glass. his laptop was open, a sleek fountain pen resting loosely between two long, perfectly manicured fingers as he reviewed quarterly ledgers for his firm, but he wasn’t looking at the financial numbers anymore. his dark, quiet eyes were fixed entirely on your hand, watching the way your thumb hesitated over the cracked corner.

“it’s going to catch your skin eventually, pretty girl,” james remarked softly, his voice a low, grounded rumble that filled the quiet space between you.

“it’s fine, james,” you said without looking up, tapping a message icon with calculated precision. “it’s barely visible anyway. i’m going to get the glass replaced next month once my work project settles down.”

“or,” he said, closing his laptop with a quiet, decisive click that signaled the end of any business discussion, “i could just handle it right now.”

you lifted your head, narrowing your eyes in that defensive, guarded posture he had come to recognise over the months you had been together. “i don’t need a new phone, baby. i’m serious. it functions perfectly well.”

“i didn’t say you needed one,” he replied smoothly, standing up and smoothing down the front of his shirt with effortless grace.

he crossed the hardwood floor toward you, moving with a fluid, grounded presence that always seemed to make whatever room he was in feel instantly smaller, instantly warmer. leaning forward, he rested both of his broad hands on either side of your stool, trapping you in a subtle scent of dark cedar, crisp cotton, and high-end cologne.

you knew that look in his eyes, but before you could launch into your rehearsed speech about financial independence and unnecessary expenses, james reached into his inner jacket pocket and slid a slim, matte-black box across the smooth marble. it was heavy, factory-sealed in immaculate plastic, carrying the minimal logo of the newest flagship phone in the exact dark graphite shade you had casually pointed out in an ad three weeks prior.

you stared at the sharp edges of the box, then looked up into his steady, dark gaze. “james—absolutely not. push that right back into your pocket.”

“open it, yn,” he murmured.

“nope,” you said, pushing the box back across the counter toward him. “this is a ridiculously expensive piece of technology. my current phone is only two years old, and i’m fully capable of managing my own devices.”

james didn’t move the box back. instead, his long fingers reached out, closing gently around your wrist. his thumb began to trace slow, soothing circles over your pulse point, feeling the rapid, defensive beat beneath your skin.

“look at me, sweetheart,” he said softly, his voice dipping into that impossibly patient cadence he reserved entirely for you.

you met his eyes, exhaling a frustrated breath. “i am looking at you. and i’m telling you no.”

“i know you can buy your own phone,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “i know you have a healthy savings account. i know you pay your bills on time, and i know you don’t need me to purchase a single thing for you. your independence is one of the million things i adore about you, my love. it isn’t a challenge to my ego, and it isn’t something i ever want to break. it’s simply who you are.” he lifted your hand, pressing a brief, lingering kiss against the back of your knuckles. “but this?” he continued, glancing down at the box before bringing his dark eyes back to yours. “this isn’t an obligation. it isn’t a power move, and it isn’t an attempt to show off. i saw a jagged piece of broken glass under the thumb of the woman i love. buying you a phone that doesn’t risk cutting your skin when you text me isn’t some grand, heroic gesture. to me, it’s basic. it’s the absolute bare minimum i should be doing as your boyfriend.”

“a brand-new, top-of-the-line device isn’t the bare minimum, james,” you countered, though your tone had softened under his touch. “it’s entirely excessive for a minor crack.”

a small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “to you, maybe. but to me, ensuring that the person i love has a working phone, a safe car, and a warm coat in the middle of winter is baseline care. it’s entry-level stuff. and besides, i already had your sim card cloned and transferred at the store earlier this afternoon. all your data is already synced and waiting.”

you let out an exasperated laugh, shaking your head as you looked at the dark box sitting between your hands. “you’re absurd. you know that, right?”

“i’m attentive,” he corrected smoothly, a subtle glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “there’s a massive difference. now open it. and if you even attempt to transfer money into my checking account to offset the cost, i will simply route it straight back into a high-yield savings fund set up under your name anyway.”

“you wouldn’t dare,” you murmured, though you were already breaking the seal on the box, knowing full well he would dare, actually.

“try me,” he replied with a low, quiet chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss against the crown of your head as you lifted the sleek device out of its casing.

you couldn’t even stay mad at him—not when he handled your stubborn pride with such gentle, unyielding patience. you unwrapped the plastic, the fresh smell of factory-new electronics filling the air, and as you transferred your phone case over, you tried to ignore the way your heart swelled at how seamlessly he anticipated your needs before you even acknowledged them yourself.

iphone kupi (‘buy me an iphone’)... ☆

by the time friday evening rolled around, the city had dissolved into a slick, rain-soaked expanse of neon lights reflecting off wet asphalt. the weather was miserable, but inside the low, purring interior of james’ vehicle, the storm outside felt like a distant memory. 

james didn’t just drive any car; he had a deep, almost understated passion for fine engineering, and tonight he had picked you up in his custom porsche 911 gt3 touring. it was an absolute beast of a machine, finished in a deep, brooding shade of jet black metallic that seemed to swallow the city lights, its dark silver center-locking wheels gleaming beneath the streetlamps. inside, the cabin was a masterclass in quiet luxury—smelling of rich leather, dark suede, and the faint, warm ozone of a high-performance engine humming quietly beneath the frame.

you leaned your head back against your seat, feeling the subtle rumble of the engine vibrating through the floorboards as james navigated the rain-slicked streets with effortless, practiced precision. his right hand rested casually at three o’clock on the leather-wrapped steering wheel, while his left hand rested on the gear shift, his thumb occasionally brushing against your knee whenever he brought the low-slung car to a smooth halt at a red light.

“you like the noise this one makes, don’t you?” james asked softly, glancing over at you with a slight curve on his lips as the exhaust notes echoed off the concrete tunnel walls.

“it’s terrifyingly smooth,” you admitted, turning your head to look at his profile. “you drive like you’re on a track even in gridlock traffic.”

“it’s called control, pretty girl,” he murmured, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the gear shift before he stepped gently on the throttle. the engine let out a deep, intoxicating rasp that sent a faint shiver down your spine, accelerating seamlessly through the wet lane.

there was something undeniably magnetic about the contrast between his calm, polished demeanor and the raw, aggressive power of the vehicle he commanded so easily. he pulled the sleek sports car up to the curb of an intimate, dimly lit restaurant tucked away in the quieter cobblestone corners of the district. the valet immediately stepped out with a massive umbrella, opening your door with practiced deference.

“careful with the step,” james warned gently, stepping out from his side and meeting you under the awning before handing the valet his keys without a second thought. “keep it parked right out front under the cover, please,” he told the valet in a quiet, firm tone, slipping a heavy bill into the man’s hand.

“right away, sir,” the valet replied quickly.

inside, the restaurant smelled of woodsmoke, roasted herbs, and expensive wine. the hostess led you both past glowing ambient candleholders to a plush, dark velvet booth nestled near a quiet stone fireplace. james slid in right beside you instead of sitting across the table, his long arm extending naturally along the back of the velvet bench behind your shoulders, bringing his warm, familiar weight right against your side.

“how bad was the office today?” he asked softly, his dark eyes reading every subtle line of fatigue on your face as you leaned back into his chest.

“it was an absolute nightmare,” you admitted, closing your eyes for a brief second as his fingers began to gently massage the back of your neck. “endless fires to put out, three missed deadlines from the junior team, and my brain feels like mush. but i’m fine now.”

“you’re exhausted, sweetheart,” he corrected gently.

without needing to consult you on the tedious details, james signaled the sommelier with a brief nod. “we’ll take a bottle of the twenty-six sauvignon blanc,” he told the waiter smoothly. “and bring out the seared scallops and the truffle crostini to start, please.”

“you remembered what i like after a bad day,” you murmured, looking up at him as the sommelier bowed slightly and walked away.

“of course i remembered,” james said, resting his chin lightly against your temple. “i pay attention, y’know.”

you loved dining out, but as the incredible meal progressed and the empty plates were cleared away by attentive waitstaff, that lingering sense of self-reliance began to prickle at the back of your mind again. you had made a point early on in your relationship that you wanted an equal partnership. you hated the idea of feeling like a financial burden or acting like someone who expected to be catered to, and as the quiet waiter finally approached the table to lay a dark leather folder down, your hand instinctively dipped toward the zipper of your leather bag.

“let me cover the tip at least, james,” you said, pulling out your card. “or let’s split the total bill down the middle. you paid for lunch on wednesday.”

james’ hand moved with lightning speed, sliding firmly over yours before your fingers could even pull your card free. his touch was warm, solid, and entirely unyielding.

“put that back in your bag, yn,” he said softly, his tone carrying that quiet, absolute authority that left zero room for negotiation.

“james, come on,” you whispered, leaning in closer so the surrounding tables wouldn’t overhear your back-and-forth. “i work hard. i earn my own money, and i genuinely dislike the feeling of being paid for constantly. it makes me feel bad, like i’m not pulling my weight.”

james didn’t pull his hand back. instead, he pulled a heavy, matte-black card from his coat, slid it into the leather folder without even glancing down at the itemised receipt, and handed it back to the waiter with a quiet, polite nod.

“thank you, sir,” the waiter murmured, sliding away into the dim light of the dining room.

once the staff member glided away, james shifted his weight in the booth, turning his torso so he was facing you directly, his knees framing yours beneath the white tablecloth.

“do you truly believe you’re a charity case in my eyes, yn?” he asked gently, his eyes searching yours.

“it’s not that,” you murmured, looking down at your fingers. “i just need equality in our relationship. i never want you to entertain the thought that i’m with you for the places you can take me or the money you spend, you know?”

james looked at you then, his expression stripping away any lingering playfulness, replaced by a deep, unwavering sincerity that made your throat feel dry. he picked up both of your hands, lacing his long fingers through yours over the soft linen.

“if i believed, for a single second, that you were with me for my wealth, my love,” he said firmly, his voice low and steady, “we wouldn’t be sitting here right now. you fight me on every single check. you try to pay for your own morning coffees. you constantly try to split tabs down to the exact cent when we order late-night takeout. i know exactly who you are. you’re the woman who would happily sit on a cold park bench eating three thousand-won street food with me as long as we were together.” he squeezed your fingers, his dark gaze holding yours captive. “so hear me when i say this,” he continued softly. “paying for dinner when i take my girlfriend out on a friday night isn’t a flex. it isn’t an obligation, and it certainly isn’t an attempt to buy your affection. it is, as i’ve said before, the baseline standard of taking care of someone you’re utterly devoted to. if a man takes you out, he pays. period. that’s basic etiquette to me, which i learnt by looking at my dad taking out my mum. yn, you don’t owe me a single thing for this—not a formal thank you, not a return favor, nothing. it’s my absolute pleasure, and i do it because i want to make your life effortless after a long, grueling week.”

you bit your lip, feeling the sharp, defensive edge of your independence melt away under the quiet warmth of his reasoning. “you really consider a high-end, multi-course meal in the city to be the bare minimum?”

james tilted his head, a smooth, devastating smile breaking across his features as his thumb stroked the back of your hand. “for you? bringing you good food, keeping you comfortable, and picking up the tab is entry-level boyfriend behavior, sweetheart. if i could hand you the moon on a silver platter, i would still feel like i was slacking off.”

restoran oplati (‘pay for the restaurant’)... ☆

a week later, the autumn air had grown crisp and biting, scattering golden leaves across the wet concrete sidewalks. you had spent the afternoon running errands, dressed in an oversized, heavy grey knit sweater that belonged to james, the sleeves overlapping your hands so that only your fingertips peeked through. you were standing in the quiet alcove of a boutique shoe store downtown, picking up a pair of simple leather flats you had ordered online weeks ago.

james was standing near the entrance, leaning casually against a polished display case as he waited for you. he looked effortlessly striking in a dark tailored overcoat, his silver watch gleaming softly under the boutique’s track lighting. even just standing there, resting one hand in his pocket while he checked a brief email on his phone, he carried an air of calm, unbothered command that naturally drew people’s eyes.

as the clerk walked back out from the stockroom with your basic flats, james happened to look up, his eyes casually scanning the curated shelves behind the counter. his gaze caught on a pair of heels resting on an illuminated pedestal—a breathtaking pair of sculpted designer heels, crafted from buttery dark slate-grey silk with delicate, shimmering silver hardware detailing that caught the light like liquid moonlight. they were artistic, sophisticated, and undeniably exquisite, the kind of shoes designed for private galas or high-end evening events.

you noticed him looking and followed his line of sight, catching a glance at the silver detailing before checking the tiny designer label beneath them.

you let out a low, breathy laugh at the sheer number of zeroes on the price tag and leaned closer to him. “those are ridiculous,” you murmured under your breath as the clerk handed you your boxed flats. “gorgeous, but completely absurd for real life.”

james didn’t say a word right away. he simply pocketed his phone, walked smoothly over to the counter, and motioned quietly to the sales associate.

“could we see those slate silk heels in a size eight, please?” james asked calmly, his tone so light he might as well have been asking for a glass of tap water.

you immediately whipped your head around, your eyes wide as you grabbed his forearm through his heavy coat. “james, no!” you hissed quietly, pulling him back a step. “what are you doing? i came in here for forty thousand-won flats. i don’t need five-inch silk designer heels, and i certainly don’t have anywhere to wear them to.”

james didn’t look bothered in the slightest by your subtle panic. he looked down at your hand on his arm, a soft, indulgent smile curving his lips. “just let her bring them out so you can check the fit, yn.”

“i don’t need to check the fit,” you argued softly. “they cost more than my first car’s entire transmission!”

when the associate returned and set the silk heels down on the velvet rug, james casually dropped to one knee in front of you on the store floor. he didn’t care that the sales staff was watching or that people were passing by the glass storefront outside. he simply extended his hand, waiting patiently for you to slide your foot out of your casual shoe.

“james, please,” you whispered, feeling your cheeks warm up under the boutique’s bright lights. “this is crazy. get up—”

“just try them on, sweetheart. humour me,” he murmured, his voice smooth and steady as his long fingers wrapped gently around your ankle, lifting your foot to guide it into the silk shoe.

the moment your foot slid inside, the shoe fit like it had been custom-molded to your arch. the silver hardware gleamed softly against your skin, matching the quiet, understated silver rings you always wore on your hands. you looked down, unable to deny how stunningly beautiful they were, how they made your legs look long and elegant even beneath your oversized sweater.

“see?” james said softly, looking up at you from his spot on the floor. “absolute perfection.”

“they’re far too expensive, james,” you argued softly, shaking your head as you looked down at him. “i can’t possibly let you buy me something that extravagant for no reason at all. it’s not like i’m attending an award show.”

he stood up smoothly, dusting off his trousers before taking the boutique’s credit card reader from the associate without missing a beat.

“we’ll take them,” he told the clerk, tapping his black card against the machine and settling the absurd total before you could even process the transaction. “and pack up her old flats into the bag, please. she’s wearing these out.”

“right away, sir,” the clerk smiled.

james turned back to you, stepping close enough that his coat brushed against your sweater. he held your waist gently, looking down into your conflicted eyes.

“james, seriously—” you started.

“buying my girl a pair of shoes that makes her feel breathtaking isn’t merely an indulgence, yn,” he interrupted gently, his thumb tracing the curve of your hip through the thick sweater. “i didn’t buy them so you could hide them in a closet for a special occasion. i bought them because i saw something beautiful, knew it belonged on you, and wanted you to have the absolute best beneath your feet whenever you walk anywhere with me.”

“i don’t need designer shoes to walk with you,” you whispered.

“i know you don’t,” james replied softly, leaning down to press his lips against yours for a brief, sweet moment. “but making sure you feel adored, elevated, and pampered from head to toe is basic. if i can’t put you in stunning shoes, i’m not doing my job as your boyfriend properly.”

you let out a quiet sigh, looking down at the gleaming silver detailing on your toes, completely helpless against the relentless tide of his affection. “you’re utterly ruined.”

he simply kissed your forehead, whispering back, “i’m perfectly fine with that, as long as you’re the one ruining me.”

the rain returned two sundays later, a heavy, grey downpour that turned the city outside james’ high-rise penthouse into a blurred watercolor painting. the apartment was silent save for the soft, ambient hum of music floating through the hidden ceiling speakers and the rhythmic patter of water against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

you were curled up on the edge of his deep charcoal leather sofa, your feet tucked beneath a heavy silver-grey knit throw blanket as you turned a page of your book. james was sitting nearby, a dark ceramic mug of coffee resting on the low table in front of him. he was pretending to scroll through news updates on his tablet, but in reality, he spent far more time watching the calm, relaxed expression on your face than reading any headlines.

without any warning, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, heavy velvet box, and tossed it gently onto the throw blanket near your knee.

you blinked, pausing your reading to look at the box, then lifted your eyes to glare at him with mild suspicion. “what is this?”

“it’s a box,” he replied with total deadpan ease, lifting his mug to take a slow sip of black coffee.

“james…” you dragged out his name, raising an eyebrow high. “is today an anniversary i somehow managed to forget? is it a secret holiday? is it my birthday?”

“no, no, and no,” he answered smoothly, setting his coffee back down on the glass tabletop.

“then why are you handing me a jewelry box on a random sunday afternoon?”

“because it’s sunday,” he said, as if that simple fact explained the entire mechanics of the universe. “and because i felt like giving it to you.”

you picked up the velvet box, holding it delicately between your fingertips. “james, we talked about this. we established ground rules about spontaneous, unnecessary spending. you don’t need to keep giving me things just because the sky is blue outside.”

“open it before you start your formal lecture,” he requested calmly. “do it for my own peace of mind.”

rolling your eyes with a quiet laugh, you popped open the spring lid of the velvet box. nestled inside against a dark satin cushion was a heavy, exquisitely crafted band of solid sterling silver. you had always preferred silver over gold—you loved its cool, understated elegance, the way it shimmered softly without being loud or ostentatious. james shared that exact same taste, his own watch and cufflinks always featuring polished silver accents.

the ring in the box was sleek, heavy, and timeless. but as you lifted it out of its velvet bed to examine it closer in the dim light of the room, you caught the delicate script engraved along the smooth inner curve of the metal.

you brought it right up to your eyes, reading the fine inscription. etched into the polished silver was your full name in elegant, precise lettering, followed by a set of fine coordinate points—the exact latitude and longitude of the quiet coastal overlook where the two of you had parked his car and talked for five hours straight on your very first real date.

your breath hitched slightly, a quiet lump forming in your throat. the sheer depth of thought embedded in the small band of metal hit you square in the chest, instantly wiping away any sarcastic remarks or arguments about price.

“james…” you swallowed hard, tracing the smooth, cool inner script with the tip of your thumb. “it’s gorgeous.”

he stood up from his chair, walking over to sit on the edge of the sofa right beside your legs. he reached out, taking the ring gently from your fingers, his other hand sliding beneath your knees to pull your legs into his lap so you were facing him completely.

“give me your hand, pretty girl,” he murmured softly.

you extended your right hand, watching in silence as he carefully slid the cool silver band onto your middle finger. it fit with absolute precision, settling against your skin as if it had been meant to live there forever, matching the other silver rings you already wore every day.

“why?” you asked softly, looking up into his dark, warm eyes. “why give me custom-engraved silver on an ordinary, lazy sunday?”

james brought your hand up to his mouth, resting his warm lips against the newly placed silver ring for a long, quiet moment. when he looked up, his expression carried an intense, protective softness that made your pulse jump. “because you wear your independence and your pride like heavy armor,” he said quietly, his thumb caressing your knuckles. “i wanted you to have something solid, something real and cool against your skin, that serves as a constant reminder that you belong to someone who cherishes you, even when we’re doing nothing more than sitting on a sofa watching the rain.”

“custom silver jewelry for no reason isn’t normal behavior, pewtty boy,” you whispered, though a soft, affectionate smile was tugging at your lips.

“who said anything about normal?” he countered softly, leaning forward until his chest was lightly resting against your knees. he reached up, his hand cupping the side of your neck, his thumb resting gently against your jawline, feeling the soft warmth of your skin. “listen to me closely, yn,” he murmured. “a custom silver band with your name on it, given simply because i thought of you while driving past an artisan shop downtown, is basic. it’s step one. giving a gift to the woman you love just to see her smile on an unmemorable afternoon is the absolute bare minimum expected of any man who claims to hold her heart.”

“you keep using that phrase—’bare minimum’,” you said to him softly, sliding your fingers into his soft hair. “i don’t think you truly understand what the it actually means for normal people, baby.”

“it means whatever standard i choose to set for how you deserve to be treated,” he replied without a single second of hesitation. his hand shifted, his fingers sliding up into the dark waves of your hair to pull you gently closer. “you spend so much of your life taking care of every single detail yourself,” he continued, his voice dropping into a tender murmur against your skin. “your job, your apartment, your responsibilities. you’re so fiercely determined never to be a burden to anyone around you. so let me burden you instead. let me pamper you. not because you ‘can’t’ buy your own silver, but because i demand to be the man who puts it on your fingers.”

he leaned in, pressing a slow, deep kiss to your lips that tasted of dark coffee and warmth, lingering against you until your arms naturally found their way around his broad shoulders, pulling his frame down against yours.

when he finally pulled back, his dark eyes were shining with an affection so heavy it made your breath catch.

“now,” he murmured against your cheek, “are you going to keep fighting me on every detail, or are you going to let me make you late lunch?”

“i’ll only agree if you let me stand in the kitchen and help you cook,” you negotiated weakly.

james chuckled softly, pressing a quick kiss to your temple as he stood up, lifting you effortlessly off the sofa with him. “that’s an acceptable compromise, sweetheart.”

bez povoda mne podari, kol’tso s moim imenem (‘give me, for no reason, a ring with my name on it’)... ☆

the following month, the late-autumn weather reached its breaking point, unleashing a severe, relentless storm over the city. the sky turned a dark, bruised shade of slate grey, pouring sheets of torrential rain that flooded the lower intersections and brought city traffic to an absolute, gridlocked standstill.

it was the kind of day where everything that could go wrong did. your day at work had been an absolute nightmare of tight deadlines, but the real disaster struck when you walked out to the parking garage at seven in the evening. you turned your key in the ignition, only to hear a hollow, metallic clicking sound before your dashboard lights flickered once and died completely. your alternator had chosen the worst possible evening to completely collapse.

you spent the next forty-five minutes sitting in the damp, freezing interior of your dead car, trying to call roadside assistance while the rain hammered against your windshield like gravel. the tow company gave you a two-hour wait time, your phone battery was draining rapidly, and by the time you finally managed to get a rideshare back to your apartment building, your clothes were damp, your shoes were soaked through, and your shoulders were locked tight with pure, unadulterated physical and mental exhaustion.

you dragged yourself up the stairs to your floor, your wet key fumbling against the lock before you finally managed to push your apartment door open.

you expected a dark, cold flat. instead, you were instantly hit by a wave of lingering heat and the rich, mouth-watering aroma of roasted garlic, fresh herbs, and simmered broth filling your hallway.

standing in your small, modest kitchen, his shirt sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows to reveal his stupidly beautiful forearms, was james. he was calmly stirring a simmering pot on your stove, looking entirely at home despite the sharp contrast between your humble kitchen and his expansive penthouse.

you stood frozen in the doorway, your dripping umbrella hanging loosely in your hand as you stared at him. “james? what… how did you even get inside?”

he set his wooden spoon down on a rest, taking three long strides across the hardwood to take the dripping umbrella from your cold fingers and set it in the corner. without saying a single word, he unbuttoned your wet coat, peeling the heavy material off your shivering shoulders and hanging it up by the door. then he took both of your freezing hands into his warm ones, bringing them up to his mouth to breathe hot air over your pale knuckles.

“your landlord knows me well enough by now,” he explained quietly. “and your tow truck driver called me directly when he picked up your car.”

you blinked, completely bewildered through your haze of exhaustion. “wait… why on earth would a tow truck driver call you about my car?”

he offered a calm, unbothered explanation, admitting casually, “i placed a discreet tracking tag on your main key fob three months ago for safety and emergency situations. when your vehicle remained completely stationary in your office lot past seven o’clock with the hood popping an engine error on my tracking display, i got an automated ping on my phone.”

“you tracked my car?” you asked softly, almost laughing.

“i monitored a potential hazard,” he corrected smoothly. “i stepped in immediately, called my personal mechanic, arranged a flatbed transport, and settled the entire repair bill upfront with the garage owner. they’re replacing the alternator, swapping out the dead battery, and completing a full brake inspection. the car will be delivered back to your assigned parking spot by tomorrow afternoon, and i’ll drop you off at work tomorrow morning.”

you stood there in the middle of your warm hallway, completely stunned into silence. you had spent the last two hours stressing about how much a sudden alternator repair was going to hurt your monthly budget, how you were going to navigate commuting without a car, and whether the mechanics would try to take advantage of your lack of auto expertise.

and in the span of an hour, james had silently, invisibly erased every single one of those problems before you had even set foot inside your front door.

“james…” you started again, your stubborn pride raising its head even through your bone-deep tiredness. “an alternator repair costs well over a million won. i have an emergency savings fund specifically built for situations like this. you can’t just cover massive automotive bills for me!”

he stepped closer, taking your face gently between both of his broad, warm hands. his thumbs brushed over your damp cheekbones, wiping away stray drops of rain with delicate precision.

“stop talking, pretty girl,” he said softly.

“i’m fully capable of paying my own mechanic,” you whispered, looking up into his eyes. “you don’t need to step in and fix an obstacle in my life the second things go sideways.”

he looked down at you, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a fierce, unwavering intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“baby, i’ll say this however many times it takes to fully convince you: i’m not fixing your life because i believe you’re helpless or incompetent,” he said firmly. “i know with full certainty that you could have called your own tow truck, paid the garage out of your savings, and managed the inconvenience entirely on your own strength. you’re brilliant, resilient, and fiercely independent.” he leaned his head down, resting his forehead directly against yours, his warm breath fanning across your lips. “but what’s the point of me having resources, influence, and capability,” he murmured, “if i don’t use them to clear the path for the woman i love when she’s exhausted? letting you freeze in the rain while you drain your hard-earned savings on an unexpected car failure isn’t something i will ever allow.”

you closed your eyes, leaning your weight into his touch. “it feels like too much,” you confessed softly. “it makes me feel bad… how much you do for me.”

“it isn’t too much, i promise, sweetheart,” he said, his lips pressing a warm kiss against the bridge of your nose. “taking care of logistics when your girlfriend is stranded in a storm is standard human decency. taking care of a million-won repair so you don’t have to stress about money after a brutal workday is the absolute bare minimum expected of any man standing in my position.”

he guided you toward the heated bathroom, where he had already turned on the hot shower, steaming up the glass enclosure and filling the space with warm, soothing vapour. he smoothed your damp hair back from your forehead.

“now,” he said firmly, “get under the hot water. get warm, and change into the dry clothes i brought over from my place that are waiting on your bed. you’re not allowed to think about a single bill, a single mechanical issue, or a single work stress for the remainder of the night. do you understand me?”

you looked up at him—this breathtakingly handsome, fiercely loyal man who treated massive acts of financial and emotional rescue as if they were simple, everyday courtesies—and felt the very last brick of your stubborn, self-reliant wall crumble into dust.

“okay,” you offered softly, a genuine, relieved smile finally breaking across your tired face. “yeah, okay.”

“good girl,” he murmured, pressing a quiet, lingering kiss against your temple before stepping out of the bathroom and closing the door behind him to give you quiet space.

an hour later, the heavy rain continued to hammer relentlessly against your bedroom window pane. the room was bathed in the warm, quiet glow of a single bedside lamp, casting long shadows across the cozy space.

you were sitting between james’ long legs as he leaned back against your headboard, your back pressed comfortably against his broad chest. he was slowly twirling the silver band on your finger, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as you both relaxed in the quiet dark of the room.

“james?” you called his name softly, tilting your head back against his collarbone.

“hmm?” he hummed in response, his arm tightening around your waist, his thumb tracing smooth patterns against the knit of your sweater.

“do you truly, genuinely believe everything you say?” you asked softly. “that the phone, the dinners, the heels, the custom silver, and handling my car repairs are all just the ‘bare minimum’?”

he went still for a long moment, his chest expanding against your back as he took a deep, deliberate breath. “i believe,” he said quietly, “that the world treats independent women with an unfair amount of coldness. people expect you to carry every heavy burden entirely by yourself simply because you’re capable of doing so. they see a woman who is strong, competent, and self-sufficient, and they assume she doesn’t need pampering, doesn’t need protection, and doesn’t need someone to step in and make her life easier once in a while.” he turned his head slightly, pressing a soft, warm kiss against the curve of your neck. “i know you don’t need me to survive, my love,” he continued, his voice low and steady. “you were thriving long before i walked into your life, and you will continue to thrive no matter what. but as long as you choose to give me your heart, my job isn’t just to watch you handle everything alone. my job is to give you a safe place to lay your burden down. to take the weight off your shoulders when you’re tired, and to give you beautiful things simply because seeing you smile is the best part of my day.” he lifted your left hand, catching the soft glow of the engraved silver ring in the dim light of the bedroom. “buying you a working phone when yours is broken, paying for dinner when i take you out, sliding designer shoes onto your feet, giving you engraved silver for no reason, and fixing your car before you can stress about it—that isn’t extraordinary love, yn,” james whispered, his voice rich and deep in the quiet dark. “that’s the bare minimum. that’s the standard entry fee for the immense privilege of being allowed to love you.”

you turned around in his lap, shifting so you could sit cross-legged facing him, cupping his jaw with both of your hands, your silver ring resting cool against his cheek. “you’re setting the bar dangerously high for anyone else in the world, pretty boy,” you told him softly.

james leaned into the touch of your hands, a slow, devastatingly beautiful smile breaking across his features as he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

“good,” he whispered against your lips, his dark eyes shining with pure, unyielding devotion. “because you deserve nothing less than the absolute highest standard imaginable. and as long as you belong to me, sweetheart, i’m only just getting started.”

bazovyy minimum (‘basic minimum’)... ☆

© hyuneskkami ❦

some hms for alternate banner icons i had the HARDEST time choosing between 😁💞:

"Hold still," you said flatly, trying to pull free. "I'm not done."

"Pretty girl, I think you're trying to finish me off yourself."

"Don't call me that when you're bleeding on my bathroom counter."

He loosened his grip just enough for you to resume dabbing at the wound. His jaw tightened, a sharp hiss escaping through his teeth, but he didn't attempt to pull away again. He let you work, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, tracking every flicker of concentration and worried crease between your brows.

"I won, you know," he finally spoke, the words slightly garbled as you pressed the cotton against his split lip.

You pulled back, examining your work. The cut was deep but clean now, you'd done this enough times to know the difference between a wound that needed stitches and one that could be managed with butterfly bandages and a prayer.

"Sure, baby, sure," you said flatly, reaching for the bandages whilst barely sparing him a glance.

"I'm serious." His hands dropped from your wrists to your waist, settling there like they'd been made to fit. "You should have seen the state of him, big guy, thought he was tough."

"Mmhm."

"He's probably still trying to figure out which way is up."

You pressed a fresh cotton ball to the gash above his eyebrow, and he hissed through his teeth, eyes snapping shut.

“Warn me next time.” He grumbled as his head shifted back in an attempt to escape the pain, but you only pressed the gauze harder onto the wound, hand winding round to the back of his head to keep him in place.

“Maybe if you stopped getting hit in the face it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

His eyes finally open and instantly lock on yours, a playful glint in them as he spoke. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, simply choosing to narrow your eyes before bringing your free hand back around, palm cupping his chin and tilting his head to allow a better angle for you to mend the eyebrow wound. He went pliant under your touch, even allowing his cheek to nuzzle slightly into your thumb whilst his eyes never left your face.

The bathroom was small, and the proximity was inevitable. You stood between his legs, his knees bracketing your hips, his hands warm and heavy on your waist. You could feel every breath he took, could smell the blood and sweat and something uniquely him beneath it all.

“You’re so cute.” He mumbled, more to himself than for you to hear but you just about caught it.

“Am not.” You answer, trying to fight the smile that was creeping onto your lips.

"Are too," he insisted, his voice soft and almost drowsy despite the adrenaline that must have still been coursing through him. "Your nose is all scrunched up and worried, it’s cute."

"Shut up or I'll make this hurt more."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

He laughed, then immediately regretted it as you began to press firmly again. "Ow—okay, not laughing."

You finished the eyebrow, pressing a butterfly bandage over the cut before then stepping back to survey your work. His lip was patched, the bandage above his eye was secure, and you'd wiped away most of the blood from his face. He still looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a truck, but at least now he looked like a clean person who'd gone ten rounds with a truck.

"There," you said, dropping the supplies back into the first aid kit and positioning yourself to step away. "You'll live."

"That's it? No bedside manner? No sweet nothings?" His hands on your waist tightened just a fraction, a whisper of him not wanting you to leave just yet.

"You're on my bathroom counter—that's not a bed, and I don't do sweet nothings."

"Liar." His hands tugged you closer, his thumbs tracing circles against your hip bones. "You're the sweetest person I know, you just pretend to be tough."

"I'm not pretending."

"If that’s what you say, baby."

You glared at him. He beamed back, split lip and all.

"Kiss it better?" He asked, tilting his chin up, his eyes going soft and hopeful.

"Absolutely not. You have an open wound on your lip."

"So?"

"So I'm not kissing you while you're leaking blood."

“But you fixed me up!” James whined like a child, attempting to pull you even closer with his hands.

“Baby, it will do you no good. In fact, it will probably make it hurt more.”

Your reasoning fell on deaf ears

He tugged you forward until you stumbled against him, your palms bracing against his chest to keep yousrelf from crushing his ribs. The heat of his skin seeped through his shirt onto your fingers, and you could feel his heart hammering beneath your touch. He was still running on adrenaline—you realised, still wired from the fight that ended only an hour ago. 

"James—"

"Please?" His voice dropped, all the playfulness bleeding out of it. "Just one. I don't care if it hurts."

Your eyes scanned his face, your internal battle holding little power over how he was gazing so desperately at you. You noticed the butterfly bandage above his eyebrow was already starting to curl at the edges from the sweat on his skin, and you reached your thumb up to gently press it back onto his skin.

"You're such a doofus," you whispered.

"I know."

"You're reckless and stupid and you just appear at my place all bashed up like it's nothing."

"I know."

"And you think you can just—bat your eyelashes and get whatever you want."

"Is it working?"

You hated that it was.

"Close your eyes," you said and he instantly followed your orders, a slight smirk appearing as he did so.

You leaned in, so close that your lips were barely a breath away from his. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the smell of the antiseptic mingling with the copper of his blood flooding your senses. He stayed perfectly still, waiting, his eyelashes fanned against his bruised cheeks.

Then gradually you pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth, right where the skin was still intact. A soft, featherlight kiss that barely lasted a second before you pulled back.

He exhaled shakily.

"Was that supposed to be the kiss?" He asked, eyes still closed and lips beginning to form a grumpy pout.

"You asked for one kiss, I gave you one."

"That was a cheek kiss."

"Technically, it was the corner of your mouth. That's close enough."

He opened his eyes, and the look he gave you was equal parts exasperated and adoring. "Baby, you're killing me."

"Good. Maybe next time you'll think twice before getting your face punched in."

"Not a chance."

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling, and James used that moment when you were slightly distracted to loop his arm around your back and pull you straight into him.

You let out a small yelp as your body collided with his, your hands flying up to brace against his shoulders. His grip was firm around your waist, anchoring you in place between his thighs, and his face was suddenly right there, inches from yours, his breath warm against your lips.

"James—"

"Shh." His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and there was something intense flickering beneath the usual playful bravado. "Just let me have this."

"Have what?"

"You here, patching me up and looking at me like I'm worth fixing."

Your throat tightened at his words. "You are worth fixing."

"Am I?"

"You're an idiot, James. A reckless, stupid, beautiful idiot who shows up at my door bleeding and expects me to kiss it better." You cupped his jaw, your thumb brushing over his uninjured cheek. "But you're my idiot, and I'll always patch you up—I'll always be here."

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours like he was looking for the lie.

"Pretty girl," he breathed after a moment.

"Shut up and kiss me."

"But my lip—"

"You wanted it, now you've got it."

His grin was wolfish, even with the split lip. "Yes, ma'am."

He leaned forward just slightly and his lips were quick to meet yours.

It was soft at first, mindful of the wound, his lips gentle against yours. But then you melted into him, your fingers threading into his hair with your weight shifting onto him gently, and something in him seemed to break. He kissed you deeper, one hand sliding up your back to cradle your head, the other pressing you flush against him whilst tracing the very curve of your spine.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes still closed, a stupid, dopey grin on his face.

“Did it hurt?” You finally ask, eyes scanning his features for any hint of pain.

"Mhmm," he answered, not even bothering to open his eyes, that lovesick smile still resting on his lips.

You smacked his arm in response.

"Ow—ow!" His eyes flew open, his hand coming up to rub the spot you'd hit. "What was that for?!"

"You said it hurt! I was leaning on your ribs!"

"Not like that!" He pouted, looking genuinely offended. "I meant the kiss, pretty girl. But the kiss was worth the pain. Not worth—" he gestured vaguely at his arm, "—whatever that was."

"Consider it payback for scaring me half to death showing up like this."

"Payback?" He gaped at you. "I'm injured! I'm a wounded man! And you just—" he made a smacking motion with his hand, "—assaulted me!"

"You're fine."

"I am not fine. I'm fragile, delicate, bruised and battered—"

"James."

"—and my own girlfriend is attacking me—"

"I'm not your girlfriend."

He paused mid-whine, his head tilting in mild confusion. "You're not?"

"We've never talked about it."

"Well, I'm talking about it now." He grabbed your hips and pulled you flush against him again, his grin returning full force despite the split lip. "You're my girlfriend. You patch me up, you kiss me better, you let me sleep in your bed—"

"You invite yourself."

"—and you smack me when I'm being annoying. That's girlfriend behaviour."

"That's exasperated behaviour."

"Same thing." He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your nose, then the corner of your mouth. "Girlfriend."

"James—"

"Girlfriend." Another kiss, this one to your forehead. "My pretty girl."

"Stop—"

"Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend—"

You smacked his arm again, causing him to immediately halt his movements.

"Ow! Okay, okay!" He laughed, wincing as the movement pulled at his ribs. "I'll stop. For now."

"Thank you."

"But only because you're my girlfriend now, and I'm a gentleman."

You sighed, shaking your head. "You're impossible."

"Whatever you say." He grinned, utterly unrepentant. "Girlfriend."

"James."

"What? I'm just stating facts." He pressed another kiss to your cheek, quick and playful. "You're my girlfriend. I'm your boyfriend. We're a thing. A couple. An item. Partners in crime—"

"We're not partners in crime. I don't commit crimes."

"You patch up a criminal, that's accessory after the fact."

You stared at him. "Did you just—"

"Legal jargon." He winked. "I'm full of surprises."

"You're full of something, that's for sure."

"Romance. I'm full of romance." He pulled you closer, his hands sliding down to rest on your lower back. "And you love it."

"I tolerate it."

"Same thing."

"It's really not."

"Sure, baby, sure."

You glared at him, and that seemed to only make his grin widen further before you stepped out from between his legs, moving to stand in front of the counter beside him as you organised your first aid box.

"You can ask me to be your girlfriend when you're not bleeding onto my bathroom floor," you said, not looking at him as you neatly arranged the bandages and antiseptic.

The silence that followed was unusual. You glanced briefly over to find him staring at you, his expression caught somewhere between surprised and hopeful.

"Wait," he said slowly. "Really?"

You shrugged, snapping your eyes back to the first aid kit. "Maybe if you ask nicely, and if you're not covered in blood."

"And bruises?"

"You'll always have bruises."

"Fair point." He was quiet for a moment, and you could practically feel him scheming behind you. "So you're saying there's a chance?"

"I'm saying you should probably focus on healing first."

"I can multitask."

"James."

“Fine, fine.” He grumbled, but his eyes fell back onto your figure and you failed to notice how they softened before he mumbled to himself.

“Pretty girl. Gonna make you mine.”

“Did you just say something?” Your gaze fell back on him as he just shook his head innocently, feigning surprise and absolute confusion, not realising that you had in fact heard him and it was taking everything in you to suppress the blush that was creeping up your cheeks

You returned back to organising the first aid kit, fingers fumbling with the bandages as you tried to compose yourself. Behind you, you could hear him shifting on the counter, the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusted his position.

You could feel his eyes on you. They always found you, no matter where you were in the room: tracking your movements, cataloguing every small gesture, and even though you refused to turn around, you knew exactly what expression he was wearing. That soft, adoring look that made your stomach flip and your heart stutter.

Your fingers brushed against the antiseptic bottle, and you found yourself smiling despite everything that had happened tonight: the blood on his knuckles, the bruises blooming across his ribs that he had managed to keep hidden from you, the fact that he'd shown up at your door at midnight, broken and reckless and so achingly him.

He was going to ask you eventually, properly, with no blood involved, and likely partnered with flowers and a dinner because he was dramatic like that.

And you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were going to say yes.

You pressed your lips together, fighting the grin threatening to break across your face. The blush had reached your cheeks now, warm and undeniable, and you knew he could see it and was probably grinning like an idiot behind you.

You finally turned, a retort ready on your lips, but the words died in your throat when you saw the way he was looking at you so softly, like you were the only thing in the world worth seeing. His hand reached out, catching yours and bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You moved to step back between his legs, and his hands found your waist immediately, pulling you close. You pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart, feeling its steady rhythm beneath your lips, his hand moving to cup the back of your head once more whilst he gently pulled you into a hug.

you sighed dramatically before insisting you were fine and that you’d grab something later. “later,” he repeated. “your favorite word.” you tried to hide your grin, but it slipped through anyway. “i’m serious.” “so am i,” you replied, tapping your keyboard again.

without another word, he disappeared into the kitchen. you assumed he’d given up until the unmistakable sound of cupboards opening and pans clinking reached you. five minutes later, the smell of garlic and butter drifted through the apartment, pulling your attention away from the screen despite your best efforts.

james leaned against the doorway, arms folded. “come eat.” you shook your head immediately. “i just need another twenty minutes.” he checked the clock. “you said that forty minutes ago.”

“i’m almost done,” you insisted. “you always are.” he wasn’t teasing; if anything, his voice carried the patience of someone who’d had this exact conversation dozens of times. “you’ll think better after you eat.” you clicked your tongue, refusing to move.

“james.”

“what?”

“stop treating me like i’m helpless.”

that should’ve ended the conversation, but pride had a funny way of making simple things difficult. you crossed your arms and looked back at your screen, pretending to reread the same sentence for the fifth time. james didn’t argue. he simply walked over, slid the chair beside yours out, and sat down.

the silence stretched comfortably between you until you finally sighed. “you’re not leaving, are you?” he smiled without looking up from the notebook he’d picked up. “probably not.”

you tried to outlast him. ten minutes passed. then fifteen. every few minutes he’d glance over, watching you rub your eyes or erase the same line repeatedly. eventually he reached across the table and nudged your pencil away. “you’re making the same mistake because you’re tired.” you frowned. “no, i’m not.” he quietly turned the notebook toward himself, circled the spot you’d missed, and slid it back.

you blinked at it for a moment before letting out the smallest, most reluctant laugh. “…’kay. maybe a little.”

“there she is,” he said, standing up again. “come on.”

this time, instead of arguing, you simply groaned dramatically as you followed him into the kitchen. the food was already plated, and he’d somehow remembered exactly how you liked it without asking. he passed you a fork before taking the seat across from you. “see?” he said. “the world didn’t end because you stepped away for fifteen minutes.”

you rolled your eyes. “you’re so annoying.” “i’ve been called worse.”

halfway through dinner, you caught him reaching for your empty mug. “i’ll wash that,” you said automatically. james was already at the sink.

“sit.”

“james—”

“sit.”

there wasn’t an ounce of sharpness in his voice, only the kind of calm certainty that made arguing feel pointless. you watched him rinse the dishes while talking about something funny that had happened at work earlier that week, purposely steering the conversation away from deadlines and assignments until you were laughing hard enough to forget what had been stressing you out in the first place.

when everything was cleaned up, you wandered back toward your desk only to find your notebooks stacked neatly, your charger untangled, and your scattered pens gathered into a mug. james noticed your expression immediately. “before you complain,” he said, “i didn’t touch the order of your notes. i know better than that.” you looked over the desk, realizing he’d somehow organized the mess without actually moving anything important.

“you’re impossible,” you murmured. “experienced,” he corrected with a grin.

the work that had felt impossible earlier suddenly came together much faster than expected. james stayed beside you, not hovering, just existing in the same room with a book in his lap and one leg stretched out toward your chair.

every so often he’d glance up to ask if you wanted more water or if your neck was hurting from sitting too long. the questions were small, almost forgettable, but they made the evening feel lighter. there was something comforting about knowing someone cared enough to notice the things you forgot to notice yourself.

by the time you finished, the apartment had gone dark except for the warm lamp beside the couch. you leaned back with a satisfied sigh before turning toward james. “i guess… thanks.” he raised an eyebrow. “guess?” you laughed and walked over, slipping your arms around his waist.

“thank you.” he rested his chin lightly against the top of your head, holding you for a long moment without saying anything.

then, almost absentmindedly, he brushed a few strands of hair away from your face. “you don’t have to do everything alone,” he murmured. “i know you’re capable. that was never the point.”

you looked up at him, feeling slightly embarrassed that he’d been right from the beginning. “i just don’t like asking for help.” james nodded as though he’d known that long before you admitted it. “then don’t ask.” you blinked. “i’ll notice.”

his smile was small, warm, and impossibly reassuring. “you don’t have to earn being looked after.” before you could think of anything clever to say back, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and reached for your hand.

“now,” he said, intertwining your fingers with his, “how about we spend the rest of the night doing absolutely nothing?”

pensieri the layout is ass i’m sorry 😢 i made it in a rush because i haven’t posted in so long :P