#wumpuswrites

Vasco

Flirting Style: Earnest puppy with zero game

Tells you you’re strong even if you just opened a pickle jar

Brings you random trinkets like a rock that “reminded him of your vibes”

Accidentally says “I love you” way too soon and then panics so hard he does damn near melts about it

Thinks doing 200 squats in front of you and flexing his muscles is flirting (it’s working lol)

He blushes so hard when you compliment his tattoos. Expect full stammering, possibly passing out. His tattoos mean a lot to him so for you to like them is amazing.

Bonus: Jace is always 3 feet behind, aggressively mouthing “say something cool!!”

Big Daniel Park

Flirting Style: Shy golden retriever who doesn’t know he’s hot

Can lift a car but gets nervous when your hands brush

Tries to be smooth and immediately fumbles (“You look… great. I mean… good. I mean… you’re wearing clothes.”)

Bakes you something or brings coffee with a little sticky note (“I didn’t know what you liked so I got everything”)

Will die if you call him handsome. Like actually shut down for 2 minutes.

Constantly checks if you’re okay. Doesn’t realize he’s basically boyfriending already.

Bonus: You could kiss his cheek and he’d be so flustered he apologizes for existing.

Zack Lee

Flirting Style: Aggressive gym bro with a gooey center

Challenges you to a fake sparring match so he can definitely lose on purpose (and touch you 😜)

“What? I didn’t mean to fall on you. Maybe you should’ve dodged.” 😏

Will get jealous easily but tries not to show it. He fails miserably like every time.

Literally punches walls after flirting attempts go wrong (He asks Mira for help with you. But she lets him squirm and makes him wing it lol)

Will compliment you mid-argument: “You’re so fucking annoying… and hot. Shit.”

Bonus: If you sneak a kiss during a fight, he’ll melt and forget what you were arguing about.

Johan Seong

Flirting Style: Brooding feral dog boy trying to love for the first time

Glares at anyone who gets too close to you (yes, even strangers. It can be embarrassing)

Has no idea how to flirt so he just… does things for you. Fixes your bike. Carries your books. Murders your enemies.

Once brought you an injured bird and said it “reminded him of you.” You’re still trying to unpack that symbolism.

Will not say “I like you,” but will take a punch for you and then ask if you ate today. Like????

Blushes if you catch him staring. Denies it even when red as a tomato.

Bonus: If you patch him up after a fight, he will fall in love. Again. Harder.

Vin Jin

Flirting Style: Chaotic loudmouth with hidden softboi vibes and a negging problem lol

Roasts you 24/7 but would actually die if someone else did

“You’re kinda ugly when you laugh… I mean it’s cute–wait–no, shut up”

Sends you memes instead of saying “I miss you”

Offers to DJ a playlist just for you but insists it’s “not a big deal or anything”

He’s LOUD but if you whisper something sweet in his ear? He’ll short-circuit.

Bonus: Take his glasses off and tell him he looks good. He’ll probably combust and start teasing you about something dumb to hide his flustered face.

Jake Kim

Flirting Style: Low-key mob boyfriend energy, acts chill but is dying inside from the cuteness aggression you give him.

“You good?” translates to “I’ve been thinking about you all day and I’m obsessed”

Leans on things when you talk: doors, walls, your shoulder if he’s brave

Subtly matches your outfits and pretends it’s coincidence

Buys you something practical (“Thought you might need this.”) but won’t admit it took him 3 hours to pick out

Gets quiet and smiley when you laugh. He notices everything about your face when you laugh.

Bonus: When you gently trace your fingers along his scars (face or body, you pick), he’s flustered and already imagining joint bank accounts.

Warren Chae

Flirting Style: Golden retriever x protective big bro hybrid

Calls you “bro” for way too long even though everyone knows he’s into you

Starts working out harder after you compliment his muscles ONCE

Brags about you to the other Hostel members like: “Y/N said I was cool. They meant it, man!”

Offers to teach you how to fight, but is terrified of accidentally hurting you

Gets flustered by physical touch. Like you bump shoulders and he suddenly forgets how to breathe.

Bonus: If you ask to wear his hoodie, he’ll go speechless and just nod like an NPC loading new emotions lolol

Eli

Flirting Style: Smooth, attentive, and giving

Gives you the quiet eye contact and sweet half-smile that melts panties

Lowkey flexes how good he is with kids (“Yenna made you a drawing… I helped her, but don’t tell her I said that”)

Will say “you’re beautiful” once, then act like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing because

His love language is offering you food and asking how your day was with full attention and active listening.

Protective but not overbearing. Will bodyblock a falling shelf and act like it’s just another Tuesday.

Bonus: If you touch his arm while laughing? Play with his hair? Be a good presence in Yenna’s life? Game over. He’s yours.

Gun

Flirting Style: Intense eye contact and threats that sound like proposals

“I don’t need a partner. I need someone who can keep up.” (Translation: I want you.)

Doesn’t smile, but you know when he’s into you because he starts looking at you like you’re prey, and HE IS STARVING.

Gifts you things that don’t feel romantic… until you realize no one else gets them. Like a new phone. Or a whole ass penthouse (to act grown in).

“You need discipline” - he’ll say after fixing your form at the gym, his hands lingering longer than necessary.

Bonus: He purposely loses at video games he’s previously beaten. Not because he can’t win, but because your grin when you win is more satisfying than victory.

Goo

Flirting Style: Chaos and catcalling, but make it charming

Will call you every nickname in the book. “Sugar tits,” “baby shark,”or “wifey” - he’s def testing which one makes you react.

Pulls pranks just to hear you laugh… or scream. Either works for him.

Gets jealous easily but pretends it’s a joke (“Oh, he looked at you? I’ll murder him, Y/N. kidding! Unless…”)

If he’s quiet for longer than 10 seconds around you, it means he’s either in love or planning something stupid. Or both.

Bonus: He’ll flirt with everyone to throw you off. But only you get the soft, sleepy Goo voice at 3AM.

James Lee / Diego Kang

Flirting Style: Elegant, detached… until you touch him.

Doesn’t flirt traditionally. He just shows up, stares at you from across the room, and somehow leaves you breathless. (Not too far from canon lol)

Compliments feel like confessions: “You’re a distraction. And I hate distractions. But I keep looking at you.”

Will not initiate physical touch, but if you do? He’s not letting go for anything.

Dangerously polite. Opens doors, holds your coat, corrects your form at the private gym he booked for just the two of you. You’ll think he’s just being nice until he says something like - “I dreamt about you...again”

Bonus: One kiss and he starts spiraling privately. He’ll still act cool. He’s not lol

Ryuhei Kuroda

Flirting Style: Bully-to-lover with unhinged fixation energy

Constantly bothers you. Flicks your hair. Steals your pen. Won’t stop poking your buttons.

“Dumbass. You’re too cute when you’re mad.”

Treats you like a game until the moment someone else flirts with you, then it’s not a game anymore.

You get under his skin in ways he hates. And craves. He’d rather eat nails than admit he’s blushing.

Bonus: He’ll fake-disgusted moan if you touch him - “Ew, you’re touching me? Are we dating now or something?” (he hopes yes)

Hudson

Flirting Style: Gentle loyalty with hints of angst

He watches you with sharp eyes but speaks softly. He doesn’t talk much but when he does, it’s only to you. He also never brings up his street life because he thinks it’ll ruin how you see him (it won’t lol)

“Need anything?” - sounds sooo casual, but it means he’s already halfway to solving your problems before you finish answering.

The kind to memorize your favorite snacks, the exact way you like your tea, your allergies. Acts like it’s no big deal. (He gives your snack choices +100 points even if he doesn’t like them)

Protective as hell. If you so much as stub your toe, he’s ready to declare war on gravity.

Bonus: When he finally touches you, it’s hesitant and reverent—like you’re sacred. His ears might go red.

It was supposed to be a good night.

You looked good. You felt good.

You had a few drinks in your system and managed to drag Gun out of his hermit money hole long enough to clean up and follow you to a socialite party full of rich brats, businessmen, and girls who looked like you, if you stood still and behaved. Which you didn’t.

Gun didn’t say a single word the entire ride back to the hotel suite.

Didn’t have to.

His silence was loud as fuck.

You were taking off your earrings and undoing the zipper on your dress when you finally decided to open your mouth.

“Don’t be mad, you looked hot tonight,” - you teased, kicking off your heels - “You liked being the eye candy for once.”

Gun didn’t respond. He hung his blazer up, rolled his sleeves, and made a show of taking out a cigarette. You walked over and snatched it from his mouth before he could light it.

“Jesus, you’re pouting. Is that what this is?”

You rolled the cigarette between your fingers, mocking.

“You got man-handled into networking and now you’re grumpy?”

That was the moment he snapped.

You didn’t even see it coming. One second you were smirking, the next you were slammed against the hotel wall, your dress slipping off one shoulder and your head knocking back with a thud.

“You think this is funny?” - His voice was low, sharp, and hot against your ear - “Dragging me out, letting those bitches look at me like they’d get a turn?”

“Oh please” - you scoffed - “You loved the attention. And so did your dick, if the bulge in your slacks meant anything.”

Gun grabbed your jaw, tilting your face toward his.

“You want to get fucked that bad?”

His tone was cruel.

You swore you felt your clit throb.

“You’re the one pressed against me like your dick’s gonna fall off if you don’t use it” - you bit out, your chest heaving - “So yeah. Maybe I do.”

That was all it took.

Gun manhandled you out of your dress with zero finesse. You stepped out of it with a huff, panties damp, bra already askew. He shoved you down onto the bed, not bothering to undress himself yet. You were still trying to process the change in pace when he yanked your panties down and got a full view of how wet you already were.

“Hmph. Fucking slut” - he observed under his breath as he ran two fingers up your slit, knuckle-deep in seconds. You arched. The stretch was sharp and fast.

“No wonder you wanted to piss me off. You definitely wanted this.”

You didn’t even get a chance to clap back before he flipped you over and shoved your face into the mattress. One arm wrapped around your waist, pulling your ass up. You felt his belt undo behind you, the unmistakable sound of a zipper and foil packet being ripped open. When he lined himself up and shoved in with one solid, merciless thrust, your entire body jolted forward.

You gasped, maybe even squealed. It was too full, too deep, too sudden. And you fucking loved it.

“Shut the fuck up and take it” - Gun growled, holding you in place by the nape - “You asked for this.”

Your walls squeezed around him involuntarily. You hated how good it felt. The slap of his hips against your ass was unrelenting, no rhythm, just punishment. Every stroke made your toes curl and your thighs shake.

And the fucker knew it.

“Aw, you’re moaning?” - he mocked wryly , voice ragged with pleasure - “Acting like you don’t want it but dripping all over my cock.”

You really were dripping, it’s almost embarrassing how wet your pussy is. You could feel the mess between your thighs, the obscene squelch every time he buried his throbbing cock to the base.

“F-Fuck you” - you gasped, eyes rolling back.

“You’re trying” - he snapped, and slapped your ass so hard you yelped - “God, you’re so pathetic.”

Your body betrayed you again and again. You were getting louder. Wetter. Dumber. The sheets were soaked, your legs were shaking, and your nails were clawing at the mattress just to ground yourself.

Gun leaned forward, biting your shoulder hard enough to leave a mark.

“Gonna cum just from getting used like a hole?” - he whispered, hips snapping faster.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Your flushed body was jerking with every thrust, mouth hanging open, a string of drool connecting your lips to the bed. You were delirious in the best way. You couldn’t even keep your legs open. They kept trying to close but Gun shoved them back apart, holding you wide so he could keep drilling into you.

“I said—are you gonna cum?”

“Y-Yes!” - you choked out - “Fuckkk—I’m—fuck, Gun!!”

He reached under you and slapped your clit once, hard and fast, and your orgasm hit like a car crash.

You sobbed. Loud. Sloppy. Gushing all over his cock with no control. Your thighs trembled violently and your body buckled forward, going limp. But Gun wasn’t done. He chased his high ruthlessly, pounding through your orgasm like he didn’t care you were overstimulated and crying into the sheets.

You barely processed the moment he came, God you were spent. Just a low grunt followed, a sharp slam of hips, and the thick, twitching pulse inside you. He stayed in for a few beats, hips flush to your ass, breathing heavily as your body trembled under him.

When he pulled out, you whimpered from the sudden emptiness, face still buried in the mattress. You heard the condom hit the trash. Then a cool silence.

Gun flopped beside you, arm thrown behind his head, still shirtless and sweat-slicked. After a beat, he looked over at your ruined body.

“Next time you want to piss me off” - he muttered - “just say so. Saves me the suit.”

Oh you wanted to hit him.

But all you could do was lie there, dazed, soaked, and sore…and silently agree with a smile.

EXTRA:

The morning light was disrespectful. Too bright, too warm, and entirely too real considering how thoroughly you got your shit rocked six hours prior. You were face-down in the hotel pillows, still naked, with your thighs stuck together and a dull ache pulsing between them.

Gun was already up, definitely shirtless again, because of course. He was languidly sipping black coffee like he hadn’t just folded you in half and fucked the attitude out of you against the wall and the bed. He didn’t say anything. Just glanced over once and smirked like he knew your whole body was still throbbing for him.

You tried to act normal. Sat up, winced, grabbed your robe like it’d shield your pride.

“So we’re just not talking about last night?” - you muttered, brushing hair out of your face.

Gun didn’t even look at you. Just took another sip, then: “Nothing to talk about. Unless you’re ready for round two.” - The grin he gave you was infuriating. It was mean, smug, and soaked in the same filth he left inside you.

You scoffed, turned away, but the ache between your legs agreed with him. Loudly.

You didn’t really plan on ending up here with him. The sky bleeding out in orange and pink like some cliché webtoon background. Johan is seated next to you on a quiet rooftop, arms over his knees, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Except he wasn’t leaving. And that kind of said everything.

“Sunsets are lame” - he said suddenly. Voice flat.

You didn’t even look at him - “Then why are you still here?”

Silence. Typical.

The wind was light tonight, just enough to make your hair lift and sway. Johan didn’t comment on it but you could feel it: the weight of his gaze shifting between you and the sky, back and forth, like he couldn’t decide which annoyed him more.

You could tell he was thinking too hard. He always did. Johan didn’t know how to just sit and enjoy things. That would mean letting his guard down. That would mean… admitting things out loud.

“Your hair’s messy” - he said next.

You almost laughed - “You’re one to talk.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

When you finally glanced at him, his face was half-shadowed by the orange light. Eyes narrowed. Cheekbones sharp. He really did look like someone who belonged more in a fight than in a sunset moment like this. But he was here anyway. That said something too.

Then, real quiet this time, Johan spoke again:

“Have you always looked like this?”

It threw you off - “Like what?”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched a little, gaze dropping to your hands folded in your lap, then back up to your face. You waited, curious now. His ears were pink. Barely noticeable, but it was there.

“I don’t know. Just…” - His voice came out lower now, rougher like he was forcing the words through his teeth - “Beautiful. Or whatever.”

That actually made you freeze a little. Johan was many things: violent, closed off, rude as hell, but straightforward romantically wasn’t usually one of them.

You tilted your head. Smiling. Not teasing. Not really - “That hard to say?”

“Shut up” - he muttered, turning his face away like he wasn’t the one who started it.

For a second, it felt weirdly fragile between you both. Like if you said the wrong thing, he’d get up and leave. Like if you said the right thing, he might stay forever.

You leaned your shoulder lightly into his. Not enough to push him off balance. Just enough to touch - “You’ve always looked good too, you know.”

Now he really was blushing. You could feel the heat coming off him. Johan didn’t answer that, of course he didn’t, but his hand shifted on his knee until his pinky brushed against yours. Barely there. Testing.

The sun dipped lower. The sky going softer, purple now.

You both just sat there, quiet again, except this time it wasn’t tense. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just… peaceful.

Johan’s voice broke it after a while, quieter than before:

“I didn’t really notice before.”

“What?”

He didn’t look at you when he said it, just kept staring ahead. “You. I guess. I never really looked until now.”

That actually hit a little deeper than you thought it would. Because Johan wasn’t the kind of person who said things he didn’t mean. Ever.

You swallowed once. Smiling a little softer - “And now?”

Now he did look at you. Full-on. Eyes steady like he’d made up his mind about something. His voice wasn’t rough this time. Just honest:

“Now I can’t not.”

That was the most Johan Seong way of confessing something. Awkward. Blunt. Completely ruining the moment and making it better at the same time.

You didn’t say anything after that. Just leaned into him again, this time a little heavier. Letting your head fall against his shoulder while the last bit of sunlight disappeared behind the buildings.

And Johan didn’t push you off. Didn’t complain.

He just let it happen.

Which, for him, meant everything.

You should’ve known better than to wear a skirt around Goo Kim.

Especially on a night like this: humid, long, and boring as shit. You’d both been sitting in the same car for almost four hours now, the windows cracked just enough to let the sweat drip in instead of out. The suspect you were watching hadn’t moved. Hell, the entire block hadn’t blinked. And Goo?

Goo was definitely losing his patience.

“You keep fidgeting like that” - he chided, his voice all light and laced with faux concern - “and I’m gonna do something about it.”

You gave him a side-eye and crossed your legs tighter. Wrong move…

Because his hand was already sliding across your thigh, smoothly with intent, like he had all the time in the world and still planned to ruin you in it. His fingers, cool from the vent, skimmed under your skirt and pressed at the seam of your panties.

“You’re not seriously—”

“Shh. You wanna blow the cover, baby?” - His voice dipped into that fake-sweet whisper, his mouth brushing your earlobe while his hand worked your panties to the side - “Be a good girl and let me multi-task.”

You should’ve said no. But your hips betrayed you, shifting just enough to let his fingers press deeper, you’re so slick now, curling just right like he knew your body better than you did. He rubbed your clit in circles, lazy at first. Testing. Observing with amusement. The same way he watches his targets.

Your knees started shaking when he picked up the pace.

“Already this wet?” - he cooed, glancing out the window like he wasn’t knuckle-deep in your pussy - “Guess your pussy’s just dying for some fun.”

You bit down on your own fist to keep from moaning, breath ragged, thighs clenching tight around his hand. But he only pushed them apart again, wrist flexing as he shoved two fingers in and fucked them into you. Just a messy, wet slide that made your hips jerk and your breath catch. He curled them instantly, like he knew the way your walls would flutter, how your back would arch when he rubbed just right against that spot inside you.

You buried your moan in your palm.

“Goo—fuck—”

“Shhh. You wanna get caught?” - he said, barely suppressing a laugh - “Ooo, what's our cover story again? You having a breakdown in your boyfriend’s car ‘cause he fingered you too good?”

Your thighs shook. Your pussy was clenching hard, soaking his fingers while he kept working them in deep, his thumb circling your clit like it owed him something. His rhythm was devilish, taunting, too good, and too sharp. You knew that look in his eyes. He was watching you come apart.

“Go on. Squirt for me,” - the blonde goaded, his eyes flicking briefly to the building across the street before settling right back on your face - “Make a mess all over the seat. I’ll put it on the report. Bodily fluids, babe. Definitely a hazard of the job.”

And fuck you came. Your orgasm ripped through you without warning. Your thighs clamped around his wrist, pussy fluttering and gushing against his palm as you trembled, gasping, half-folded over your knees.

He just laughed. Quiet. Mean.

“Damnnn” - he marveled as he lifted his soaked fingers and sucking them with a pop, his hazy eyes were lidded.

You were still twitching when he turned back to the window, as casual as ever.

“Still no movement. Guess we’ve got time for round two!”

Then he looked at you, his head tilted as he sported a toothy grin sharp.

“Wanna ride my cock while we wait? I can make it look like you’re taking notes.”

You’d been threatening to take your braids out for weeks, you'd been putting it off for way too long. And now it's biting you in the ass. You got them done in Itaewon as a fun little thing, but three months later, your roots were wild, your scalp was over it, and your arms could only handle so much. You made it halfway before your arms gave out. Jagged cut braids littered your lap and the bathroom floor; your fingers were cramped and definitely sore. That’s when you hit up Vasco, because honestly, what are boyfriends for if not manual labor?

So you called Vasco with your hands full of half-loose braids and hair everywhere - “Babe, you busy?”

And that’s really all it took. He showed up ten minutes later, slightly out of breath, barely remembering to take his shoes off, and holding… was that a comb? You didn’t even know he owned a comb.

“Hey! Whoa, you look cool! Is this, like, a new style?”

You just shook your head, laughing - “No, dummy, I’m taking my braids out. Wanna help?”

Vasco’s eyes got HUGE - “Yeah! What do I do?” - He was so eager, he nearly tripped over your pile of old braids getting to you - "Wait...how many braids you got in there?"

You just stared at him for a second, to be honest, you were just as confused too because you definitely lost track - “Vasco, I have, like, sixty. Maybe more. I’m only halfway done."

He nodded, very serious, rolling up his sleeves like this was a boss battle - “Just tell me what to do.”

You hand him a pair of scissors and point to the finished braids already hanging loose - “Okay, see how the end of the braid is different from my real hair? You have to cut below that part, then unbraid it.”

He stares at your head, then at the scissors, then back at you - “Wait… So you don’t braid all this every night?”

You burst out laughing, it was cruel, almost the way you almost fell back from laughing in his face - “Vasco! You thought I grew waist-length braids by myself every day?”

He’s so earnest it’s kind of criminal - “I always thought you just… took them out and put them back in.”

You grinned, shaking your head, then fluffed out your roots - "Babe. Do you see all this new growth? I got a whole afro up here. These are extensions. They don’t magically appear.”

Vasco blushes a little but grins, his ears are red hot with embarrassment. But knowing Vasco, that’s not gonna stop him from at least attempting. You're very protective of your hair, and that extends to who can touch, of course, so it was a given that you'd let Vasco do this for you. He’s gentle with you, and that gentle touch of his extends to your hair. That, and your arms are so fucking tired.

Like clockwork, Vasco proved you right as he then started gently unraveling a braid like he was handling a baby bird - “Wow, your real hair is so soft! Can I touch it more?”

You let him, and he’s careful, but still kind of fumbles through, tongue poking out of the side of his mouth in deep concentration - “Is this right? Did I do it?” - When he finally gets one loose, he lights up, holding it up like a trophy - “Babe! Look! I did one! I’m kinda good at this, huh?”

You couldn’t stop laughing, and he looked so pleased with himself, asking a million questions as he went - “How long did this take you to get done? Can you teach me? How do you even decide what style to do next? Does it hurt? Babe, your curls are so pretty!”

He moves slowly, sometimes getting distracted just running his fingers through your full length and new growth, but he’s so gentle you can’t even be mad about how long it’s taking. And he keeps giving you these little compliments, like, “You look cute like this,” or, “I like your hair all fluffy.”

It takes forever, but when you’re finally done, Vasco helps you shake your hair out, smiling wide as you run your hands through your hair for the first time in months. He leans over, kisses the top of your head, and grins - “You always look good, but this is like, extra good. Next time you want new braids, I’ll help with that, too. Or at least bring snacks.”

You toss a braid at him and laugh - “You better bring snacks. Braiding takes all day, babe.”

He grins even wider - “If it’s with you, I don’t mind at all.”

Hudson Ahn didn’t really do first dates.

Not the kind with a driver pulling up in some quiet black car, not the kind with polished silverware and actual candlelight. But tonight? Yeah. He was doing it. For you.

The restaurant was in Ansan, upscale but not obnoxious. Hudson stepped out of the car first, shoulders relaxed, watch flashing under the streetlights. You watched him adjust his cuffs like it wasn’t even a big deal, but the second your door opened, his eyes flicked up sharp and nervous even. His eyes were just on you.

“You clean up nice” - he said, voice low. No overthinking it. Just real, easy.

But if you looked close, you could tell his ear tips were a little pink. Hudson was cool, but he wasn’t that cool. Not around you.

Inside, it smelled like money and grilled meat. Waiters in black button-ups, menus that didn’t bother putting prices next to anything. Hudson barely glanced at them. You figured Taesoo handled that part.

Hudson didn’t sit until you did. Small thing, but it stuck with you. Classy without even trying too hard. Still, there was that little edge under it all. The way his eyes scanned the room out of habit, the way his thumb tapped against his glass once, twice before stopping himself.

You smiled impishly across the table - “You nervous?”

He scoffed real soft, chin lifting like that was a dumb question - “I don’t really do this type of thing.”

“Same.”

His mouth twitched at that, half a smile, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it out loud.

“I mean…” - you went on - “we’ve hung out before, but that was…This feels different.”

Hudson glanced down for a second. His voice was quieter this time - “Yeah. Different.”

Once the food came out, he pointed things out to you. Real subtle. “That’s house-aged. You can smell the difference.” Or, “That sauce? A little too sweet. You’d probably like it though.”

It wasn’t annoying. If anything, it made the whole thing feel less stiff. Hudson wasn’t trying to impress you with the money or the car. It was the fact that he cared about what you liked.

Halfway through the meal, while you were picking at some side dish, Hudson leaned back in his chair, watching you with that same steady gaze he always had: half bored on the surface, but you knew better now.

“You eat like someone who knows what they want,” - he commented suddenly. Was this his attempt at some date night flirting???

You tilted your head, chewing - “That a good thing?”

“Yeah” - Hudson adjusted in his chair, his nerves were settling despite that attempt, his eyes were warm but unreadable - “It is.”

By the time dessert came around, the place had gotten quieter. You both sat in that easy kind of silence where nobody’s forcing conversation. You were both full, both relaxed, and Hudson wasn’t even tapping his thumb anymore. He was looking at your lips, you reapplied your gloss after the main course, but he liked them bare, not that he would ever admit it.

So he broke the silence instead:

“This doesn’t feel like a first date” - he said - “Feels like... something else.”

You felt your mouth pull into a real smile without meaning to - “Comfortable?”

“Right.”

And for a second, there was nothing between you except candlelight and low music. Hudson’s eyes flicked down to your lips again like he was thinking about it: kissing you, leaning in. His hand flexed once on the table, knuckles tight like he didn’t know if he should move or stay still.

But before he could do anything, the waiter showed up.

“Would you like me to box anything up for you?”

Hudson leaned back in his chair immediately, like nothing happened. Cool again. But there was this look in his eye now, almost annoyed, almost disappointed. You caught it. And so did he.

When the waiter walked away, Hudson glanced at you and shook his head once, voice low like a secret:

“Next time, I’m not waiting that long.”

There was never a clean start to it.

No obvious moment when it began; you just looked at him and just knew. You’ve known Zack since you were both kids. The kind of knowing that sits in your bones. The kind of knowing where you recognize his footsteps before you see him. Zack was always just...there.

Loud. Loyal. Brash. Terrible at texting back. He’d punch anyone who made you cry and then complain about scraping his knuckles. You used to laugh at how much space he took up in a room. You used to roll your eyes when he got all tense and soft about Mira. Yes, Mira. Zack’s been in love with Mira since forever. Everyone knows that. He’s not subtle about it.

And then, somehow, you weren’t laughing anymore.

Both the feeling and the knowing that came with it crept in the way seasons do when they change. gradually until it’s already too cold to wear short sleeves. You started noticing how long his lashes were. How his voice dropped when he was serious. How he always walked on the outside of the sidewalk with you or...her. You thought about telling him. Once. Just once. It was a dumb idea, and you knew it. But it sat there anyway. In your mouth. On your tongue. Growing roots.

He never gave you a reason to hope. He wasn’t cruel, just… constant. Predictable. He called Mira’s name with his whole chest. He smiled at you and meant it, but it was always the kind of smile that made you feel warm. Small. Safe.

Never something someone wanted. So you stayed quiet. Of course you did. And then you started coughing.

It was nothing at first. Easy to ignore. The kind of thing you blamed on the changing weather, or allergies, or too much yelling at a concert you'd never been to. Then came the taste, like soil when you coughed up a petal, it was pink. Tiny. Curled up in your palm like a secret.

You told yourself it was fine. You told yourself it’d pass. You didn't tell anyone, not even your reflection. Especially not him...It’s not like anything could fix it. Not unless Zack loved you back. And well...You learned how to hide it, and you kept hanging around him anyway. Old habits die hard, you suppose. You got good at swallowing petals. Zack never noticed. Why would he? You were still there. Still cracking jokes. Still texting him back after he sent a blurry photo of his lunch, like it was the most important thing in the world.

And Mira...

Mira had a new boyfriend, a polished guy from a Bible study group she had joined; he was nice, apparently. Zack didn’t talk about it much. He got quiet when you brought it up, then changed the subject with a shoulder bump and a half-laugh. You never pushed. You never asked how it made him feel.

You didn’t want to hear the answer. By the time you were coughing into your sleeve between classes, your body already understood what your heart couldn’t admit. He was never going to love you. And it wasn’t a sharp pain. It wasn’t dramatic; it was slow. Dull even, like watching a flower wilt in a room with no sun. Like trying to hold your breath for longer and longer each day, just to see if it’ll hurt less when the air runs out.

You weren’t dying. Not yet, at least, but it was getting harder to lie to yourself. Especially on nights like this, when Zack would walk you home without asking, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms, hands in his pockets, and his face expressionless like he wasn’t thinking about anything. But you were, you were always thinking about something. About how his elbow barely brushed yours when the sidewalk narrowed. About how he glanced sideways at you every now and then, like he was about to say something and changed his mind. You let the silence stretch longer each time. Let the weight of what you didn’t say thicken in the air.

Maybe that was love, too. Not the saying, but the silence between you two. The hiding, or the swallowing. And the way he never noticed, not even when your hand trembled at your side, brushing petals off your jeans.