The sun shot its beaming rays that day, the sky so clear and blue, the clouds as fluffy as Mr. Myung's cotton candy. The day was hot. As hot as the sweet potatoes Mrs. Hwang sold.

School... was in session.

Jaehyun’s always had a bright mind. Albeit a little slow sometimes, he was smart and when the last section of the class was to write the word 'dinosaur he couldn't help his mind from swaying.

From big and heavy triceratops and the horned stegosauruses to the quick and agile velociraptors. He let his mind wander through clouds of his imaginations filled with them thus eventually letting his hands express themselves too. Giddily drawing the dinosaur of his choosing. Excited, he was.

Alas, when the class were asked to put their work up so the teacher could inspect, Jaehyun’s body shuddered when the teacher gave him a glare. It was then he realized he wasn't supposed to do that.

He heard the loud laughter of everyone in the class as he made his way to the bench outside the classroom as punishment. Jaehyun sat and sighed but hey, at least his dinosaur looked extremely cool.

Not a second later, another class door opened and slammed closed. You walked out mumbling angry whispers, sitting down arms crossed with an imminent frown beside him, landing your bottom down harshly he wondered if it hurt.

He looked at you still, bewildered and eyes wide filled with utmost curiosity. It wasn't long before you reciprocated his contact. With your eyes staring at him intently, you needn't question him before he scrambles to show his drawing of the dinosaur.

He eyes your face, seeing your eyes widen before you quickly put your paper up to show him too. A pterodactyl. He lets out a woah. Just as he was about to say something, the bell rang for dismissal. The class doors opened and every kid rushed out. It was time to go home!

Kids waited at the front entrance to be picked up by their parents. He waits with a smile, happy school was finished for today. One by one, Jaehyun sees his peers and other children be picked up by their mother or father or both if they were lucky.

His smile starts to diminish as he stands alone and when a boy from his class passes by him with his mother.

"Your mom forget again, Jae?" the boy said with a mocking voice before his ear was pinched.

"Don't say that, it's rude," The mother says. The boy sticks his tongue out before a stone the size of a popcorn hit him hard on the side of his head.

Jaehyun looks to see who threw it and he sees only a glimpse of you as you scattered away.

His eyebrows raise. Strange, he thinks.

He lets out a scream suddenly when he turns his head to see you peering over his shoulder, landing on his bottom. "How...?" He thought.

"I'm (y/n)!" You tilt your head as you say this, smile grand and radiant as ever.

"I'm... Jaehyun," He answers unsurely for some reason.

You grabbed his hand and pulled him up. "You can walk back home with me!" You stated as you interlinked your hands together. He waits a moment because you seemed like you had more to say.

"My dad's always late too."

Before he knew it, both of you were smiling at each other and eventually you dragged him along. Walking back home together.

-

And so, Jaehyun spent his childhood days with you.

When school ended, both of you walked home using the same route, passing by the same alley.

Sometimes getting Mrs. Hwang's sweet potatoes sometimes not. You always wanted to race everywhere and when you ran, he chased you. Sometimes it was the other way around too.

When your dad wasn't home yet, you would stay at his little apartment doing homework together. You would eat the dumplings his mother made but your favorite would always be her soup you'd said to him. When the table is cleared of plates and spoons, Jaehyun helps you with math even after you've sighed and grumbled multiple times when you get the wrong answer.

On the weekends, you chased each other while the elderly watch you as they did their weekly yoga outside. Laughing, at the sheer childish games you would play together. You would ride carts around the neighborhood and knock into someone's stall then proceed to get scolded for

When summer arrives, both of you always ate too much ice cream on the hotter days. When winter came, you would go sledding even though most of it consisted of both of you falling off the sled and lots and lots of laughing at each other. When rain fell, you would put on your cheap raincoats and jump in the dirty puddles, knowing well enough you'd get sick the next day.

Every year you would measure your heights and draw a line. You seemed to always tower a few centimeters above him. You would laugh at his attempts to make himself look taller. Fixing his hair, wearing his mother's heels. From age five to nine. It was marked there on the wall leading to his little apartment.

He'd never expect nine would be the last number on that wall.

The sun was nowhere to be found on that day. Clouds started to accumulate and very shortly he knew the sky would start crying.

He looks at you. His eyes rounded with sadness. The comer of his lips drooping down. What was happening?

"I'm sorry Jae." He swore the sky turned darker when you said that. He stays silent not knowing what to say or maybe he has a lot to say but did the know where to start.

"Come on honey," Your father ushered you.

Your eyes were wet with moisture, that he could see. You embraced him tightly.

"I'II miss you, Jae," With a last look, you turned and got in the car. That last look you gave him he'll remember forever, he thinks.

"Gonna miss you, kiddo," Your father rubs his head with adoration, saying his version of a goodbye too.

He stares ahead drenched as you finally drive off. Out of the neighborhood, passing the alley. Out of his life.

What will he do now? Who will he walk home with now? In all honesty, Jaehyun couldn't remember what it was like when you weren't in his life.

Later, Jaehyun would discover he walked home alone again as he always had before you came into his life. He would always stare at the height chart on the wall leading to his apartment. He would soon be taller than you. He would be the smartest in class. He would live his middle and high school years with excellency and stunning report cards. He would be the first to get into college.

He would reminisce about your memories together; he would remember your teasing smiles. Your loud laughter when he chases you. He would remember the ice-creams you shared. He would remember your hate for studying and laugh softly. He would remember each and every time you poked one of his dimples, would remember moving away from your lingering finger, tease you by saying his dimples are closed for today. He would remember the frowns you display when he somehow wins something and all the coaxing he would do. He would remember because it's the least he could do for now.

Jaehyun swears he would meet you again.

-

"Catch me if you can!"

You were chasing a boy. Running as fast as your short legs could. Dodging the stalls, ducking your head, jumping over potholes, your shoes getting dirty. The boy looked behind and then-

"y/n!" Just like that, you're brought back to reality. Your eyes adjust to the bright lighting. forgetting where you were for a moment.

Looking at the sleek furnished oak shelves your father had in his office. The bright glint of his name plate making your eyes squint shut sometimes. The slight heat of the sun's rays that shines through the wide windows overlooking the city. The pristine marbled floors, clean with no obvious speck of dust. Then to your father's look of question waiting for you to say something.

Ah, right.

"Sorry where were we?" You hastily respond.

Your father only sighs, reminded of his little girl.

"Your 19th?" Right. That. You nodded gesturing for him to continue.

"It's going to be held at the plaza, I've invited—"

"Are you going to be there?" You cut him off, not really wanting to hear all the details.

"'l’ll try to be," he says after a moments pause. There's a pang in your heart.

"Can't you be a little more convincing dad?"

"Then, yes, I will be there," You know there's a big percentage he's not going to be there.

Your meeting concludes when an invoice from his secretary reminds him about the meeting he has to attend that afternoon. You stand and make your way around to give him a brief hug. He apologizes because your visit was cut short and you say it's okay like all the times before. You said your goodbyes, turned your back and exited his office.

Shutting his doors softly, you lean to rest your back on it sighing. Your father's secretary, Suho, pops his head up.

"You 'kay champ?" He asks once he sees the state of you.

You only hum in approval and begin your descent towards the elevator.

Ever since the business prospered, the world wanted even more of your father. Much more than back then.

Life was better now; but you cannot deny how you missed the breakfasts your dad would cook up for every morning before school. Eating take-outs for dinner because he was too busy making phone calls but nonetheless together. Sure, life hadn't been that great. You knew at some point in your childhood your father was struggling to make ends meet, to put food on the table.

But then again, you knew he liked hearing jazz music. You knew he hasn't ever liked peas. You knew he loved those cheap snacks from the convenience store. Eating ice-cream. He liked writing too. You knew his favorite board game was snake and ladders because it was the only thing cheap enough to keep you entertained. Now though? You aren't so sure anymore.

You weren't sure when it happened. Never seeing your father as much at home anymore. He flies here and there, scoring business deals left and right, meet important clients. Lots and lots of paper work you couldn't blame him for getting so lost in them. But you wished he remembered you more. You grew up getting used to seeing representatives of his at every competition and graduation. Building up hope he'd at least show face in one of them. Getting that same hope crushed again and again when you never see him.

But would it kill to know someone is rooting for you in life?

The elevator doors slid open with a ding and you enter with a heart so heavy you're astonished it didn't drop then and there.

-

"Jae! Here's your coursework but prof said if you don't at least attend one class for this semester, he'd gonna fail you even if you ace... the final..." Johnny elaborates loudly before finally realizing the situation hence the hesitant words towards the end of his sentence trailing off.

Johnny’s face scrunches up in an apologetic look as he makes eye contact with Jaehyun who still has his hands out from trying to stop him saying anything even though it didn t come close to working. Johnny hands the medium stacked papers in his hands to Jaehyun’s mother who stood beside him.

Everything happened so quickly, the next second, he was finally realizing the sharp pains of being hit on his head with his rolled-up coursework.

"Ow! Ow! Mom! I'm sorry!" He repeats like a mantra. Recoiling back into the apartment as his mother keeps at it.

"You've got it coming for you, what more do you have to do? All you need to do is study!" Mrs. Jeong bellows. Hits ceasing as she closes the door.

"I know, I know. I just— Something important came up." He makes a vague excuse.

"What could be more important than studying?" His mother inquires. He remains speechless at this.

He hears a crunch and looks to the left where the window is. Meeting with the faces of his neighbors—uncle Hong was munching on shrimp crackers— before he comes and shuts them out by letting the curtain loose. Cons of living here for the past 19 years he guesses. Everyone will eventually know what's happening. It's basically like entertainment for them. He loves them though even if they're all nosy busybodies.

As Jaehyun stands now in front on his mother, looking into her eyes and seeing sadness in them he could only say: "Nothing is,"

Half of him reprimands him. Why couldn't you just be a dutiful son? You know life has been tough on her. And you being like this won't help her. Just study. The delusional side of him argues back fiercer. But it's her! Life never felt the same after you left. A you shaped hole cut right out of his chest. Everyone needs a friend; he just can't let you go. Memories as vivid as ever.

Jaehyun recedes back into his room, bag pack suddenly feeling heavy on his shoulders. Feet dragging slow steps and finally, upon reaching his bed collapsing face first. Then he remembers the parcel with a cheap suit in it. He reaches his hands pulling it by the straps.

It's worth it he thinks. Always will be.

-

Jaehyun still couldn't believe his luck. What are the odds you find out your best friend is an heir to a multimillion company the same day you get hit on the head by your mother? Jaehyun couldn't comprehend how he missed that big of a detail about Johnny but then again, he was also sometimes slow (well mostly) but we'll ignore that. He had his moments.

"Jae, I get it. She's important to you. I'm willing to help you," Johnny said to him.

"Face it, John, I'm never gonna see her again. Look at me!" He explained, exasperated as hell. Johnny acknowledges what Jaehyun had on. A sleeveless suit jacket and with no pants on.

Johnny looked at him with pure sympathy. He's never been more determined to help a friend out more than ever.

"Jae I'm rich," Johnny says straightforwardly. Honestly, he's surprised Jaehyun hasn't been able to keep up. What with the subtle but nonetheless small breadcrumbs of clues he'd accidentally left out.

"Funny joke Johnny, you've said that before," Jaehyun's palm covers his face. Tired and close to the brink of giving up

Oh, what was he thinking? That he could just show up at the venue, say you're his best friend and they'd let a commoner like him in? Tough luck. He'd always had one heck of an imagination. Big dreams he thinks he can achieve.

His thoughts run to you. The person he's been wishing to meet again for every birthday wish he made. He wonders if you still like the same things. Did you still like to paint? He wonders what your favorite song is right now. What your favorite color is, favorite food.

Nonetheless, if you did like different things. It wouldn't matter a thing to him. He'll get to know you again. Like back then.

Getting to know someone was precious. Jaehyun’s realized this when he hit double digits. Learning to know what someone likes and dislikes. Their preferences. If they liked wearing something a certain way. How they eat noodles. Do they like pineapple on pizza? What people liked to do as a hobby. It's wonderful, he thinks, that people are their own individuals. Everyone had opinions.

He just never felt right getting to know someone that wasn't you- well until Johnny came around but that was it. He’s never felt the need to get to know someone other than their name.

As if having enough of Jaehyun’s denial, Johnny takes out the invitation from his back pocket.

Jaehyun feels something drop to his lap and uncovers his face. It takes him a while to read what's on it.

You are cordially invited to attend the 19th Birthday Party of Y/n Kang.

Friday, 6pm on the XX/XX/2023

Seventh Floor - Vienna Hall, Dream Plaza

Please RSVP to QIAN KUN

127-214-0097

Jaehyun stands up with a sharp intake of air. Yelling out a, "Dude!" Johnny just sighs. Partly because Jaehyun finally realizes, partly because he knew this was going to happen.

"Please," Jaehyun clasps his hand together, falling to his knees. Head bending low, eyes closed tightly. He doesn't know what he's asking for but he knows he'll beg if he needs to. He can't waste a chance like this. A chance to see you.

"Get up loser. This is how I'm helping you out Jae," With these words, Jaehyun gets up without wasting a second more. Immediately bringing Johnny in for a tight squeeze.

"Okay, okay, you can let go now. We still have to go get you a suit, lover boy."

-

You only turn nineteen once.

There was something your father said once. That an individual was like an onion and every year your layers will continue to add up. That an individual was a fragment of every year before them too.

Your birthday is a celebration of a new layer, a new part of you but also all of the parts before that too.

You reminisce of all the times back then. When your father would come home with a cupcake and one single candle. You would wish something upon it, it was always the same wish and blow out the candle. "Please. Let our lives be warm and safe and happy."

You wished things now could've been like back then too.

As you get dressed, your body cascaded by the flowy white dress. Your face fixed to perfection.

Your father warned you beforehand. Your birthday wasn't just your birthday anymore.

They were opportunities for brand deals. Brand executives would casually offer you a dance, then without missing a beat offer you to be a model or ambassador for whatever they were trying to sell.

You knew what to expect.

It wasn't until a few years back when you realized you much rather spend your special day just in the comfort of your own home with your loved ones even if they weren't that many. Just with your father. Reliving back the memories you grew to remember so fondly so vividly sometimes.

The fact saddens you to an extent.

A knock startles you out of your trance.

"The car is ready for you miss."

-

"I'm starting to think this is bad idea Johnny," Jaehyun says worriedly.

Currently, he's sat in the passenger seat of Johnny's Mercedes Benz dressed to the nines, hair styled to show his forehead. Meanwhile, Johnny in the driver's seat dons a casual white t-shirt and blue boyfriend jeans.

"Dude, you really wanna wait that longer to see her?" Johnny questions him. He remains silent as Johnny continues driving. When Johnny stops where a security guard stands to show the invitation card Jaehyun now sees the pristine majestic building of the Dream Plaza. Lots of windows he notes.

Johnny follows the curve of the road before stopping when he sees other cars still lined up to drop off the other guests, he looks to his right seeing Jaehyun’s hands clench the fabric of his suit pants.

"You're gonna wrinkle your pants if you keep doing that dude," he tells.

"Oh. Yeah," Jaehyun lets his hands unclench. Sliding them up and down his upper thighs. Trying to soothe his anxiety.

"Hey, listen. If the plan fails, you'll still get to eat the scrummy food and I know for a fact they've got mean cocktails there." Johnny says with a sly grin.

"Thanks for the enthusiasm, Johnny," Jaehyun says with a shake of his head, chuckling.

Johnny drives forward when the cars move, "What if she doesn't remember me, John? I mean it's been a decade," Jaehyun questions.

"I'm sure she does, but if she doesn't then I guess you'll have to remind her," Johnny says with genuine assurance.

When the car finally reaches the main entrance, a chauffeur opens the car door. Before Jaehyun gets out of the luxury vehicle, his head turns to Johnny.

"Thanks Johnny," he says with overwhelming gratitude.

"Goodluck Jae." Johnny gives him a nod.

The door closes and he faces the public. He feels the stares on him. People might be wondering who he is. Scratch that, they are wondering who he is. Nonetheless his eyes are blinded when the cameras start flashing at him. He stands there awkwardly clad in a dark gray suit fitted for him before someone ushers him inside the plaza.

Seven floors from now and he'll be able to see you.

Jaehyun remembers the plan.

"Look, all you have to do is snatch a dance with her. Every year they hold this sort of ball room dance thingy where she dances with the first ten people," Johnny explains to him when they were searching for suits.

"Every year? You mean to say you've been attending her birthday parties for the past years?" Jaehyun practically shouts. Jealousy eating away at his heart.

"I think we'll just buy a premade suit and make alterations wherever necessary," Johnny says lifting a suit in front of Jaehyun’s figure, not minding what Jaehyun said.

"And I don't even know how to dance," Jaehyun voiced with concern.

"No worries brother, l've got you,"

"Ow! Ow! Okay, you are bad at this dude," Johnny cringes, pain laced in his voice. They are back at Johnny's mansion like house.

"What'd you expect?" Jaehyun groans.

"Look, all I'm saying is you gotta follow the flow, okay?"

"Fine," he says exhausted. He needs to impress you somehow, right?

“Come on, again.”

A ding goes off and the elevator doors slide open. It's time.

Jaehyun feels the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach. His heart pounding rapidly against his ribcage. He looks down at his hands, trembling a little.

He's excited to see you again. All these years only seeing your face in web articles and social media. He'll see you face to face. He'll see you, as divine as you've ever been.

He'll hear how your voice sounds like. Would it still be as high pitched as back then he wonders. Maybe not.

-

The doors will be opening any time soon.

"Now let us all welcome the lady of the night!" Jaehyun hears the host say distantly.

Jaehyun is aghast when he finally sees you. Seated with people he didn't know, heart hammering out of his chest. Before feeling the ache that comes after. He feels like letting out a few tears. It's you. As enchanting as you ever were. Elegant and graceful.

Seeing you now almost made him forget how strongly he's missed you. The stings of heart aching pain without you in his life. His heart strings tugging fiercely inside of him.

You walk out slowly minding your dress. Standing behind the podium upon the reaching the stage, getting ready to give your speech.

Jaehyun listens to you, word by word. Silently tattooing the sound of your voice in his head.

Your voice got deeper but nonetheless still honeyed and a melody to his ears.

"A quick reminder to whoever is looking forward to the dance please go to Mina by the counter please," you say with a smile. Pearly whites on show. Jaehyun feels like he got struck by lightning when you did.

"Without further ado, please enjoy yourself to the delectable cuisine!" You finished.

Jaehyun looks over to the counter you were talking about. Seeing people already lining up. He rushes to stand up and make his way. Speed walking.

When he reached the counter, a woman congratulates him.

"Congratulations! You made it just in time. Here's your ticket, enjoy the party!" The woman hands him a ticket etched with a number 10 on it. Lucky him huh?

The clock hits half past eight when the host announces the start of the dance.

Each number called out was closer to his number. Jaebyun doesn't know whether to feel ecstatic or nauseous.

He waits a long time (he waited for five minutes tops but he likes to exaggerate) before finally, his number is called out. Jaehyun cannot help the jitters encapsulating his body. He steps up, into the light shining at him. Letting him be in the spot light. He looks at you never wanting to take his eyes off of you. His breath is taken away when you reciprocate his eye contact.

He's always loved your eyes.

"Come on Jae, you can do this." He assures himself.

He reaches his hand out upon reaching you. He realizes that he indeed grew to be taller than you. Your head only reaching his shoulder at the most. His face aligned perfectly if ever he wanted to give you a forehead kiss. You hold his hand with a soft grab and place another on his shoulder while he places his other hand on your waist. The classical music plays and Jaehyun follows the flow. Johnny would be so proud of him right now, he swears.

"Hi." Jaehyun sighs out. Feeling as if he could finally breathe. Not even realizing he's been holding his breath. Jaehyun doesn't know what to feel. He's dancing with you. You're holding his hand.

"Hello. Thank you for coming today," you say gently but he hears the rush in it. Jaehyun would die to hear your voice every day. His heart feels so heavy he doesn't know what to do next.

"Oh well—," He gulps.

"I hope you enjoyed the food," You cut him off. Jaehyun doesn't mind.

"Yes, yeah the food was fantastic—," He gets cut off again and he feels a little pang.

"I hope you had a joyful night. Sorry the dances are short," you say next. Jaehyun cannot help but think this sounds a little too rehearsed. One sentence coming after the other. Too practiced. Curt and polite.

And then the dance was over. You give him a small bow. Smile not quite reaching your lips. Was that it? He didn't even get to ask if you remembered him. You didn't ask what his name was. Jachyup feels a little heart broken.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is now time for the annual father and daughter dance. So please, may we have the chairman," The host announces without a second to waste.

The spot light now shines on you. This is where he senses something is wrong.

"Mr. Chairman, please come up!" The host calls out again. Jaehyun looks at you and sees the distress on your face. Embarrassment evident in your face. You look close to crying. He hears the whispers surrounding him.

"What kind of father doesn't attend her own daughter's birthday?" It's the host that says this, not realizing the microphone picked it up. Ultimately panicking upon realizing it did.

Jaehyun doesn't know what he's doing but what he knows is he's got to get you out of that. He heads to where the host sits near the stage. Where he sees a couple people from the team discuss what to do. But he’s already grabbing a mic and heading to the stage.

"Um..." Everyone's eyes go to him as he says this. Jaehyun only registering what he's about to do now.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I believe it is now time for the performances to take place,"

Around him, the hall is quiet. He sees people taking seats now. You stand there still. Eyes locked on his form. He can't help but think there's moisture in your eyes but from where he stands, he cannot tell. At least he's managed to divert the attention away from you.

"I'm going to be singing a song for the birthday girl. This song is called Natural." Without a hitch, Jaehyun sings.

"It's so natural to love you," Jaehyun ends the song only at the first verse because he sees you run out of the hall, with your hands covering your face, he swears he sees your shoulders shaking up and down.

Hurrying down the stage to get to you. Not bothering to stay and hear the applause dedicated for him.

He looks all over before hearing your soft whimpers come from a room.

"Hello? y/n?" He calls out He finds you on the balcony, your body bent to cover your face with your arm that sits on the railing.

Your response is immediate, "I'm busy!"

"Um yeah, I can see that you're bu—"

"Yup yeah, very busy!" Jaehyun’s heart breaks a little when he hears you soft whimpers still.

"Okay, I just— I was the one who sang," He confesses, "I was just trying to- you know—" He sighs, not knowing how to explain.

"I know what you were trying to do. Thank you," you said sniffling.

"You okay?" Jaehyun asks, moving closer towards you. Resting his arms on the railing too.

Looking to the front of him, at the city. Broad, vast and sparkling as it was. Neon lights blinding his eyes.

Jaehyun panics when he sees your body shaking harder. You were crying again. He pulls out a napkin he found in his suit, nudges your arm, "Here."

"Thank you," You blew your nose, Jaehyun cannot help but remember the little girl you were once before. He lets out a small smile.

"It was just— Just one night. One night a year," You begin but already Jaehyun understands. He hears the sadness laced in your now raspy voice. The hurt and the pain.

"I'm so sorry, this is really embarrassing, I don't usually cry like this," You made an excuse but the mascara streaking your under eyes tell a different story.

He gives you a shy smile, "There's a little something on your face a little bit," He follows by trying to dab your face with a spare napkin.

"Yeah, it's not completely gone," Jaehyun smiles sheepishly. Dimples appearing on both cheeks.

You turn around to see a reflection of yourself in a window and gasp.

"Sorry! I'm a mess right now," You dare not let him see your face before dabbing the rest of the mascara away as best as you can. Face tinged scarlet from embarrassment.

Jaehyun remains silent. Smiling to himself. You were just as cute as you were back then.

"I just don't feel right, you know? It's like I can see my future laid out right in front of me and I try so hard to make everyone proud to the best of my capabilities," Jaehyun gets a gist of where this is going

"But no matter how hard I try, something in me feels so—" You continue.

"Empty," Jaehyun finishes.

Your head snaps toward him when he did, you felt shivers up your spine. Jaehyun notices you shivering and pulls off his jacket.

"Exactly," You give him a somber smile and thank him when he wraps his jacket around your bare shoulders. Shielding you from the cold of the night breeze.

"I'm sorry for being rude, but I don't think I got your name," You look at him, eyes reflecting the bright lights of the city. Shining.

"Have we… met before?" You continue next.

This is his chance. The one he's been dreaming of for years.

"Well, I'm actually—" Jaehyun is abruptly cut off again when a woman calls out your name from the room. Causing you to leave the balcony with Jaehyun in tow.

"y/n! There you are, your father will be present any time now," Happy to have found you, she states.

She then holds up a tablet and Jaehyun sees your dejected face.

He tunes out most of the conversation you were having with your father over facetime until he mentions something about a gift.

The woman hands you a square box, big enough to hold with one hand. He sees your smile fall as you see what sits in the box.

"Thanks dad," You took the bracelet, now Jaehyun could see the very same one hung around your wrist right now. He hears your father's voice apologizing to you and an excuse to make up for it.

Jaehyun knows this will get him into trouble one day, but he can't help it. Barging in on your conversation, "Well at least you'll have a spare if you ever lose one of them, right?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you there, young man," Your father apologizes when he heard Jaehyun’s voice.

The secretary holds the screen to show Jaehyun’s upper body. Your father notes the Omega watch Jaehyun has clasped on his wrist.

Jaehyun now sees your father. He sees the fine lines on his forehead. Graying hair and a tired look on his face.

"What's your family business?" was the first question your father posed.

Jaehyun panics to answer, scrambling his words. What did Johnny say his father was famous for? He thinks.

"Uh real estate? No! I mean, um, restaurants. Wait, hotels!" If your father senses his hesitancy he doesn't comment on it.

"Ah, you remind me much of myself. Come to think of it, why don't you youngsters go out for lunch tomorrow?"

"Of course!" Jaehyun says the same time you yell out a, "Dad!"

"I'm okay with that," Jaehyun says next flashing his dimples at you. You feel yourself flush at his answer.

"Perfect! I'll arrange lunch but I apologize if it's rude, I do not know your name," Your father inquires.

“I’m Jae…” His eyes bounce back and forth between you and your father before he says, “...min.”

“My name is Jaemin," Jaehyun can already feel the guilt crawling up his spine.

"Nice to meet you Jaemin," Your father says next.

"I'll make a reservation at Culture Tower and-"

Another distant voice from your father's screen cuts him off saying he's got an important call to answer. Your father sighs but regains his composure before saying a goodnight to you both.

Jaehyun is left with you again when the secretary leaves after saying goodbye to you. His jacket still clad on your shoulders.

"So, l'll see you tomorrow?" You say with a slight lilt in your tone. Heart a little happier than it was before. Pulling his jacket off you and handing it to him.

The smile Jaehyun lets out is uncontainable as he grabs his jacket.

"Oh, you'll definitely see me tomorrow,"

-

It was somewhere around half past ten when Johnny came to pick Jaekyun up from the Plaza and Jaehyun’s just about finished recalling the events that have transpired tonight.

"Hold on, so you lied about your name?" is what Johnny says first.

"Well yeah,"

"Dude, what?" Because honestly Johnny doesn't get it.

"Look, you weren't there Johnny. She belonged there. She was... important and she was talking to all these old fellas. I'm just... me," he elaborates.

"Yeah, so what? You're gonna keep lying to her? I think she'd hate that more Jae," Johnny gives his two cents.

"I'll tell her tomorrow...”

“…somehow," He continues.

Johnny just gives him a look. Tired of his friend making things so complicated when they didn't have to be.

-

The next day came and the sun was beaming. The sky so blue and the clouds have never looked so soft. Today was the day he'd come clean to you.

Jaehyun arrives at the entrance of Culture Tower where Johnny drops him off but not without saying, "Don't fuck this up Jae," before driving off. He hopes not.

It wasn't long before you arrived. Stepping out wearing a white blouse with a navy-blue ankle length satin skirt and black ballerina flats. Jaehyun doesn't realize this but anyone with eyes would know how utterly besotted he was with you.

His trance was cut short when you yelled his name (well supposedly his name), "Jaemin!"

Nonetheless, he doesn't let it affect him. Wanting to just enjoy lunch and you.

"My lady," Jaehyun greets you, smiling.

A staff escorts you into the tower, leading you to the elevators. Upon reaching the top floor, the doors slid open and there Jaehyun sees the waiters and waitresses line up to greet you. It's what makes Jaehyun uneasy. You were important. He cannot help but compare his life with yours. He's never felt more insignificant.

He catches up with your pace when he notes that he was lagging a bit. A waiter leads you to your table, "One of the best seats," He states.

Jaehyun looks out of the window and does not disagree. You could see the whole city up here and while you eat too? Sold. He'd love to live life like this. You cannot help but admire him as he was admiring the view.

Getting a wonderful look at the view. Jaehyun realizes how rude he must've been.

"I'm so sorry," He apologizes before he pulls your seat for you. Honestly, you didn't even mind.

Taking his own seat, Jaehyun's eyes widened a squint when he notes that the menu doesn't have prices listed on them. Knowing for sure all of them must cost more than single digits.

"What's your surame? If I may," You ask suddenly. Eyes still surveying the menu.

"Jeong," he says in response, nodding your head to signal you heard him. You knew a Jeong once. What was it? Jeong something.

A waitress comes then to take your order. When she leaves with the menus in her hands, Jaehyun can only look at you while you took your turn to admire the view. He doesn't think he'll be able to stop marveling at your beauty. It's now that Jaehyun registers the rapid beating of his heart. So loud, he was afraid you could hear. He feels the bouts of sweat on his back.

But then again, Jaehyun was just a boy. Who's sat in front of his best friend ten years ago. He cannot help the questions begging to be let out. The desire to get to know you again.

"What's your favorite color?" He blurts out. He has no idea why he feels embarrassed. He knows his ears are a little red now.

And then he hears your honeyed laugh. Chuckling at him.

"Sorry, you just remind me of someone I know a long time ago," You smile at him, tucking your hair behind an ear.

He wonders then, if you were remembering him.

He gives you a shy smile, both his cheeks carrying a dimple each. Momentarily, you are stunned.

Because you remember a boy back then. His dimples were a feature you'd know you remember. You remember how curious he was. Asking question after question. His ears turned red all too easily, you remember laughing at him too. When your father was busy, you would play with him. You remember chasing him where the elderly did their yoga. Their laughs still playing in your mind sometimes. You remember flying a kite with him, jumping in the rain. He was playful and laughed a lot. You remember back then he was shorter than you. You wonder if he stands taller than you are now. Chuckling as you remember your first love. You wonder how he's doing.

Conversation flowed like a river after that first question. You don't stop talking when the food arrives and even when your plates are licked clean. Glasses half empty.

Jaehyun feels like he's on cloud nine. But for now, he needs to put his feet on the ground. He must tell you.

"I don't want this to end yet," He confesses. You listen attentively, a voice inside you agrees with him.

"May I take you somewhere? I need to tell you something," With a voice as sweet and deep as his. How can you ever deny?

-

Jaehyun hailed a taxi. He whispers an address to the driver and off you go.

The sky blossomed with oranges and light pinks when the taxi pulled up to an alley you vaguely remember. You got off the taxi while Jaehyun pays the fare.

When the taxi leaves. All goes still.

Jaehyun’s heart beats nervously. His fears seemed as real as could be.

"y/n, I have to tell you something," He mutters. "I'm not Jaemin. I'm actually-"

"…Jaehyun.”

“You're Jaehyun," Your eyebrows crease together, remembering. Not hesitating anymore.

He's startled when you say his name, but he nods. You don't know how you didn't piece things together quicker. You knew those dimples seemed a little too familiar.

"Then why did you lie?" The look you give him makes him want to slap himself, hard. Guilt drowning him.

"I wasn't planning to, I was just- I was afraid that if you'd see me like this. It'd all be over," He explains. You seem to understand.

"Then you still live here?" You ask and he nods.

"In the same apartment?" Nodding again, his gaze falling to the floor. But you aren't looking at him anymore. Your eyes scan all over the place. It was as if something clicked in place.

"I- I remember this alley. We pass by it when we walked home from school," The dusty pieces inside your mind are starting to become clearer. You start walking, pace quick. If you turned a corner here, you'd see—

"Mrs. Hwang! It's Mrs. Hwang and she's still selling hot potatoes!" You say overjoyed, you didn't know how heartwarming it is to see a familiar face after so long.

You both continued walking, while you were looking forward Jaehyun looks at you. He hears you let out a gasp making him look away from your side profile. He smiles when he looks at what you were staring at.

"You'd think they'd use new sweat pants with a new decade but nope," He pops the p. You both share a laugh. After all these years, Jaehyun's still able to make you laugh.

Then if you make a turn right and walk straight ahead, you'll see the pavements where you'd always race him. When you do reach it, you look at Jaehyun teasing smile at the ready, "Up for a race Jae?" Without missing a beat, you ran. Laughing when Jaehyun was still slower than you. Smile never ceasing.

You speed up upon reaching the staircase leading to the apartments, quickly but carefully climbing them. When Jaehyun finally catches up with you, he sees you standing there at the corner . Knows what you were looking at. He heads over to where you stood. Your fingers gently caress the chalk inked on the wall.

"I didn't realize it's been this long," you say somberly, there was a sad frown etched on your face.

"Then that means your apartment must be just around the corner," You looked at him. You sped past him around the corner.

"Uh I don't really think that's a good idea," Jaehyun says unsurely, scratching his neck.

You see Mrs. Jeong watering her plants with a water bottle.

"Hi Mrs. Jeong!" You greet her. Mrs. Jeong gives you a look over with her brows furrowed. You felt like you were being picked apart, "Sorry, do I... know you?"

Jaehyun pops up beside you and explains quickly, "Uh Mom! We have an unexpected visitor," His hands gesture towards you. You put your hand up to give a small wave and smile.

Mrs. Jeong steps away from her potted plants, her eyes bouncing between the both of you, anger suddenly laced in her features.

"A girl! Jeong Jaehyun is that why you've been slacking off?" His mother confronts him and when close enough hits him with the plastic bottle she was holding. By now every neighbor of his was watching this scene unfold.

"Mom! It's y/n!" Her hits cease and Jaehyun sighs when the bottle is away from him.

"y/n? What are you doing here?" In a split second, her face softens seeing you. Mrs. Jeong hasn't changed much. Still looking as beautiful as ever, but you can see the slight smile line indents and crow's feet around the corners of her eyes.

"Oh, I was just- visiting an old friend," You give a shy smile.

Mrs. Jeong glares at her son before hitting him one last time.

“Where are my manners dear, come! You must be hungry," While you were dragged and seated on the dining table you've once did math homework on before, the neighbors crowd around Jaehyun, "My gosh, she's grown to be a beauty, hasn't she?" One of the aunts say. Following Jaehyun into the apartment. A bowl of soup sits in front of you ready to be sipped.

"It tastes as good as I remember," you say with a dreamy sigh once you did.

Just like that, it was like you never left. You're making dumplings with his mother now. Jaehyun's forced to play checkers with one of the uncles before he's shoved because he was too busy staring at you. And then the whole lot of them watching a telenovela on his old television when night came.

You feel popcorn being thrown at the side of your head. Looking over to see who the culprit is, you see Jaehyun who tilts his head. A signal to follow him.

Jaehyun leads you to the rooftop.

"Woah, it's like a time capsule up here," you say with a laugh. You see visions of when you were younger. Flying a kite together. Talking about cartoons and what not. Coloring. Playing rock paper scissors. Falling asleep on the mats when the weather felt nice. Life was much simpler when you were younger, that you cannot dispute.

Jaehyun only laughs with you, not wanting to tell how he kept everything in the same place, not moving a thing to get a reminder of you every time he comes up here. He used to imagine you standing there already when he comes up, but of course that never happened. Well until now.

You take a seat on the bench, they were just long planks placed on some cinderblocks, Jaehyun following a second later. Your body shivers when a gust of cold wind blows, Jaehyun. notices and shrugs his sweater off. Placing it on you and crossing the, sleeves. You thank him meekly. Hoping he doesn't notice the flush on your cheeks.

"What if we went on a real date? For real this time," Jaehyun proposes. You see the subtle red his ears turn to and couldn't help but smile. Jaehyun was still that little boy who turns red easily. Your heart seemed to skip a beat.

You were sure of your answer but-

Jaehyun says something else when the silence lasts a moment too long, "I've missed you." More than you would ever know, he thought.

"I missed you too, Jae," He swears he could see moisture wetting your eyes a little. His gaze falls on your lips, you seem to reciprocate this want when he sees you leaning in closer, gently shutting your eyes close. He was only just beginning to shut his when a ring blares loudly.

You snap out of it and hurried to grab your phone, answering the call.

"y/n where have you been! You're supposed to meet up with-"

"Yeah, I know, I know," You end the call at that. God, this is the part you hate the most.

"Jae, I had a really good time today, but I have to go. Here, your sweater," You extend your arm in hopes that he grabs it.

"S'okay, keep it for next time," he waves off but Jaehyun feels the uneasiness radiating off you.

He continues, "It's not like we're not gonna meet each other again for...”

The words die on his lips, feeling as if his tongue was poisoned. He feels his heart drop when you don't say anything, your face folding into a guilty look he's seen before. The day you left.

He gets it. You were from two different worlds. You'll always be in a magazine cover or web article looking as stunning as ever and he'll just have to attend his classes. Get a degree. Find a job. Reminisce about you. Wishing he could hold you in his arms whenever he wanted to. Wishing you were his even for just a moment.

Jaehyun feels as if all hope is lost but if you're leaving now, he has to make it count. So, he grabs your waist to pull you in close. You're chest bumps into his. Before you knew it, his lips are on yours, soft, gentle. His hands cup your face and you let your eyes close. Getting lost in the warmth of him. You clench the fabric covering his biceps. Feeling how muscled his arms felt. Refusing to let go, not when euphoria feels this divine. You try to deepen the kiss, but Jaehyun pulls you apart.

"I love you, y/n. I just wanted you to know," Staring endlessly into your eyes. You don't break the contact, ever bound to the brown hue of his eyes.

You don't say a word while his hand caresses your cheek before a honk is heard and you both know it's time to say goodbye. Again.

"I'll escort you down," And he does. He holds you gently by the hand, leading you down the rooftop, down the stairs and in front of your car.

He presses a kiss softly on your forehead. Like he's been meaning to ever since the night of your birthday. Without another word, he opens the car door for you.

He holds your gaze when you are finally sat in the car. You fail to realize how handsome he's gotten. Jaw chiseled and cheekbones defined. How his facial features have the perfect harmony together. The moment is over when he shuts the car door, and the driver starts to drive. Leaving him standing there just as if it was ten years ago.

"You okay miss?" The driver asks seeing you from the rearview mirror.

You look up to see yourself wet with tears. Your heart broke for the first time when you were nine. You never imagined the second to be more painful than the first.

The girls that cry in the romance movies, did they feel like this too? You never thought your heart could hurt this much. But at the end of the day, you were just a girl longing for love.

"Take me to my father's office, please,"

-

"Is my father inside?" Your walking does not cease when Suho nods his head.

"He might be-" Suho tries to say, but you enter the office before he could say, "...busy."

Your father looks up to see who has entered, his attention focusing back on the papers in a split second when he realized it was just you. "Not right now honey, I'm much busy," He looks frustrated, you can tell by the way his eyebrows crease together, showing the lines on his aging forehead. But you've had enough.

"Please, can you just be my dad for one second? Not the chairman, not anything, but just my dad?" You plead. Your father's hard features soften, brows falling back into place when he hears the tone of your voice. The tone when you feel as if you were on the brink of hopelessness, he's had enough experience to know that now. He'll know how to tell for all of his life, he thinks.

He drops the pen he was holding and his eyes bore into yours. Searching for anything, something that is making his daughter feel so hopeless, so agonized. It is difficult for him sometimes, because when he looks into them all he can think about is the woman he so dearly loves. The eyes he's so used to staring into, at times the memories of her spiral in his mind he can't help but feel weak. For what is grief but love persevering.

When the silence embraces you, it is then you realize you barged in here without much of a plan. You encourage yourself to speak. "The young man you arranged lunch with me, do you know who he is?"

"He said his name was Jaemin, was it not?"

You shake your head. "No dad.”

“He's Jaehyun." There is a moments pause. Your father's brain trying to comprehend where he's heard that name before. And then-

"From the old neighborhood?" His face is filled with question. His skepticism is confirmed when you nod your head.

"Do you remember when we lived in that old neighborhood?" Of course, he does. How could he ever forget the genuine worry and fear he's had back in those days. Struggling, so you could have a better life. A life you deserved.

"I know things weren't the best, but don't you ever miss it sometimes—”

"We never look back, my daughter. I've told you this a million times," Your father's face turn stoic, voice stern. You try to dispute but your father cuts you off.

"You stop this nonsense now. Forget about it," Please, he pleads silently.

"Dad!" Your eyes have begun to well. The tears stain your cheeks a drop later.

"I have at least a hundred designer bags and a closet full of luxury brand clothing items. But in exchange for that I lost a best friend, and my dad. I eat breakfast in that house alone. Twelve chairs and for what? You aren't even present the one night a year I hoped you would be. I go to these photoshoots and all I hear are comments about how I'm not a certain way. Don't you ever feel it, dad? How lonely it is... at the top,”

You father is stunned to a silence. Left speechless in his own office.

"I just wanted to tell you this because all I ever needed was my dad. My dad's right in front of me and I miss him," Your voice wavers when you speak now. Losing that resolute front you've put up.

You exit his office with snot running down your nose, tears running in rivulets down your cheeks, slamming the door shut. It's a little hard to breathe.

You don't know what he thinks of it. A part of you sighs in contentment, proud of you for finally speaking up. To express these emotions that leave you so burdened, so forlorn, so alone.

Your father sits there blankly for what he feels is a long time. His mind still repeating the words you said like a broken record. He'd always knew you'd have your mother's heart. Strong-willed.

He closes his eyes. Remembering.

Sitting by the window of your old apartment in the old neighborhood. Your mother sat between his legs; his soothing hands lay tenderly on her pregnant belly, hers lay atop of his. Love filled every inch of the room.

"Love, it frightens me a bit, " He whispers.

"What does?" Whispering back, she says.

"What if I'm not a good father, " he says this like it isn't a question.

"Love, nobody ever truly knows if they are good parents. But I think just as long as our princess is happy and loved, we've done it right." He smiles at this. He'll try his damn hardest if he has to.

"Besides, we'll be doing this together," She chuckles.

The memory diminishes. Heart drowning in sorrow. If only he'd knew back then but how could he? Nobody could've predicted he'd return home alone cradling his child from the hospital. Despair written in his features.

What a fool he'd been. A hypocrite. He says to never look back but every second of his life he thinks of her. Wishing he had more time to hold her, bathe her in compliments and say he loves her. What would've it been like, he thinks. What she created was the best thing that ever happened in his life because he's got you.

The people we love might go. But you don't ever really forget their birthdays, your first times together. Sacred moments. Anniversaries. You'll hear the songs you used to listen to playing in the supermarket. Colors that remind you of them. Once someone connects your lives, the connection will always be there. It cannot be disconnected because all around there will be reminders of them.

He’ll never forget the help he'd gotten. Asking for help when you couldn't stop crying. He remembers the elderly who willingly babysat you when he had to work. The other aunts who showed him tips on what to do. Perhaps he does miss it sometimes.

He spent part of his life there with the love of his life and you. How could he ever forget. He swears his heart broke in two when you said you missed him. The absolute anger and distress your voice held but also the hurt he senses you've kept.

"I miss you love. I wish you were here." Now more than ever.

-

Your footsteps falter when you see another body sitting in the dining room. Your father sits there donned in casual clothes and not one of his expensive suits, reading the newspaper.

You choose to ignore him, taking a seat where you usually sat, alone. He folds the newspaper when you sit and begin munching on your breakfast. Not one word uttered, you don't even look at him.

He deserved this; he thinks. He takes a sip of his tea before anything.

"I still remember..." His head looks down at his lap. Your ears perk up, your eyes remain still on the food in front of you.

"I took your mother to an ice-skating rink once. She fell so many times and scolded me for laughing at her every time she did before helping her up. She doesn't know but it was as if l'd fallen for her like it was the first time." You lift your head to look at him not knowing where this is going. This is the first he's told of you about her. You don't know how to take it but the little memory he recalls makes your heart clench.

"I took you to the same one when you turned seven, this time I was the one falling so many times and you were laughing. Wildly, joyously," You remember this. A core memory you've ingrained, deep in your heart. Remembering how easy going and calm your father was that night. You hadn't known it was a meaningful place to him before you were even born.

"I tell you to never look back because I am too cowardly. I didn't want the past stopping me from giving you the life you deserved. I was foolish to think that just because we left, the past will let go of me but it didn't. It clung to me like a fly in a spider's web. I always knew you'd get more from her than from me. You've got my persistence but everything else was hers. Your ability to adapt, gracefulness, stubborness and passion for things you loved,"

"I wish only the best for you. I'm s—" He doesn't get to finish his apology when you embrace him in a tight hold. Your head laid on his shoulder. Your neck burned from the awkward position of the hug but you'll worry about that for another time.

You feel his hand caress the arm you've wrapped around him and you feel the little warmth again. Your tears stain his shirt, falling like heavy droplets of rain. You've always longed to ask him of your mother. Every single time, you refrained. You missed your mother but your father would've missed her more.

He pulls away so you are forced to face him. His hand cups your cheek, wiping away at the tear stains.

"My daughter is still the same after all, a crybaby," You cry more at this as he laughs lightly, smoothing down your hair.

"Come, we still have a visit to make."

You sit in the passenger seat while your father drives. It's been ten years since and you don't remember the way as much anymore but your father drives as if he still lives there. Hands never hesitant to make a turn right or left. You have a strange feeling that he's been visiting the neighborhood for a long time.

When he parks the car somewhere you've never seen in the old neighborhood before, you're inclined to ask him. Surely you must've at least seen this before, but you've never. The car was parked near an old building, it was in ruins, but in the midst of the crumbling bricks lay a view of the far ocean waves.

Your father steps out first before you follow. You see him stand looking at the view as you make your way towards him. You want to ask but—

"Ask," Your father prods you gently.

"What is this place?" You ask finally.

"Your mother found it when she was taking a walk one day. Ever since then, it's become our spot without all the neighbors up in our business," He chuckles.

"When I missed her too much, I come here," Your father gives away. It must've been hard for him, you think. You never knew your mother but your father did. You can't imagine building a life with someone only for them to be gone the next and all they've left you with were memories.

But then again, the memories were always the best part. You'll remember all the things you've done, reminisce it, grateful that at least, you did get to experience a life with them. The little things will remind you of them. You'll get to share stories of them, remember how cheeky they were.

Your father offers you his arm and you take it. He begins walking towards the alleyways you remember distantly. Passing by the alley you and Jaehyun used as a shortcut to get back home.

You pass by Mrs. Hwang's stall when your father recalls something.

"Mrs. Hwang always used to give your mother free potatoes back then, but whenever I tried to grab one, she slaps my hand away," You chuckled at that, reminded of your younger self being treated the same way but on strange occasions Jaehyun was the one who got them for free. You smile at this memory.

When you passed by the elderly doing their yoga, "Your mother always cooed over them whenever we pass by. She said she'd like to join them one day," The smile your father displays was one you've never seen in ages.

Eventually reaching your old apartment, standing in front of the worn building, paint chipping all over. Your heart wrenches with sadness.

"We decided to get married on a whim, did I ever tell you that?" your father says disrupting the loud silence. You shook your head

"What was she like?"

"She was everything. The hot days of summer, windy afternoons, cold nights of winter," he chuckles. Maybe you are more alike to your father after all. Loving people the same way. Because Jaehyun was like the ice cream you ate after chasing each other, the potholes you always forget to avoid, the height chart on the wall.

Your father believes you've gotten more from your mother than him, you agree. However more than half of you know how similar you are to your father. Both of you fierce lovers, never hesitant to go for it. Quick-thinking and resolute. Knowing when to draw boundaries. You wish your father gave himself more credit, he raised you after all.

He tugs your arm a little and you resume walking. Finally, when you reached the front steps of the apartment building where Jaehyun lives, you hesitated. Just yesterday you’d said goodbye to him again. He probably despises you for leaving again.

Your father senses the doubt clouding your mind. As if knowing what runs in your mind.

"He probably doesn't." For the first time in a long while, you trust his judgement.

So, you trudged up the stairs, one foot in front of the other. You reach his apartments floor, your hands will always caress the chalked wall. Your father follows behind you, turning around the corner seeing the Jeong's apartment.

It is your father who knocks on the door. When Mrs. Jeong opens the door, you see immediately behind her Jaehyun, who's back is turned against you, scooping some soup into a bowl.

"Who even knocks anymore?" Jaehyun says absent mindedly, used to his neighbors using the open window to ask for something. He'd never expect to see you with your father when he turned around. He safely places the bowl with scorching hot soup slowly on the nearest flat surface before dashing into the toilet.

Jaehyun doesn't believe it. You saw him. You saw him in his undies! And your father! He holds his head in his hands. Gripping his black locks between his fingers. Way to go, Jae, just last night you kissed her and now she's seen you in your underwear. His sleep infused brain was now more awake than ever. He looks into the mirror, ears the brightest shade of red he's ever seen. Cheeks flushed. He splashes his face with cold water and puts some pants on.

Seeing his reflection a second time, a frown forms on his face. Of course he cannot deny how overjoyed his heart is but Jaehyun doesn't understand what's going on. Why are you back here? You've split his heart in two just last night. The only night he gets to hold you. Confess to you. And you'd said your goodbye. Why did you come back? He cannot help the hurt that sits in his chest still.

When he steps out, your father stands from where he sits. You look at him with a teasing smile.

"Jaehyun! I'm sorry I didn't recognize you sooner but i can see you've grown to be a fine man," Your father greets as soon as Jaehyun reaches the table. Patting down his shoulders and squeezing his biceps.

What Jaehyun doesn't expect was to be held in a loose embrace. Your father whispers in his ear quietly, "Thank you." For what exactly, he does not know.

It was only right, your father thinks. Jaehyun was the catalyst that drove you to speak up and to realize how horrible he'd been as a parent. He would've never known the battle his daughter was in. So, he thanks Jaehyun sincerely.

"Hey! I heard Kang's h-" Uncle Mun thrusted his head through the open window. When he does in fact see your father, he bellows, "Hey, Kang's back!" Just like that, aunts and uncles from the vicinity came to talk, barging in Jaehyun's apartment. You father doesn't tell you but you can tell how rejoiced he is. How glad he is to not be so curt and polite all the time. He doesn't feel judged. And when he actually takes a sip of the soup, you're sure the dopamine levels in him multiplied. He gives you a brief look, one you know well. You don't know what he's thinking of but you know whatever it is will prosper and flourish.

You needed to talk to Jaehyun. When you don't find him, you head to the one place you know he'll be.

"Knew you'd be here," You say climbing the last steps to the rooftop. His back is towards you.

"Did you come back so you don't have to see me again for another ten years?" His words stab at your heart.

"No." Your reply came immediately. Jaehyun scoffs.

"I came because I love you." What? Jaehyun feels like he's lost his hearing. Did you say that right?

When he turns to face you, you notice the slight anger his face displays. As if testing your luck, you took one step closer to him. He doesn't make a move, still heavily focusing on you. Your footsteps continue, one after another. Until you stand in front of him. Shoes almost touching.

"Did you hear me? I love you,” You let out a sharp intake of breath when Jaehyun pulls your figure in a firm embrace. He just needed to hear it a second time. You don't fail to lock your arms around his waist.

He pulls away first. "I love y-" You try to repeat but you are cut off by his lips smashing into yours. His hand caresses your jaw. The kiss turns fervent when you reciprocate it. Again, when you try to deepen the kiss; he pulls away. You cannot help but be frustrated, frown forming. Hands resting on his toned chest.

"I love you m-" He doesn't get to finish this when you grab his face with both hands and bring your lips back together. At this he smiles.

When you finally pull apart, lips feeling raw. You see a small bruise on his lips, you run your thumb over it. Yikes. Reminding yourself not to kiss him too hard next time. His hands fall to hold your waist.

"This mean you're my girlfriend now?" He asks smiling. Cheeks hurting from the genuine delight he was in.

"You tell me," you say with cheek

"Let me be your boyfriend then," You feel the searing heat rush to your face immediately.

"Okay," you say feigning indifference. His lips form a pout.

"What do you mean okay?" He pinches your waist making you let out a quiet shriek. Laughing as you try to get away from his hold but he makes sure you're not getting away.

"Okay! Okay! I'm yours!" You say breathless from laughing.

He smiles giddily, dimples on show. "Thought so,"

Money does buy you happiness, but you can't buy happiness that comes from within. It cannot buy love. You don't think you've ever been this happy ever since ten years ago, well maybe except for that one time you got a barbie dreamhouse when you turned twelve, but that's beside the point.

YOU WERE stretched out on the cushioned couch on your back patio, sunk deep into the kind of comfort that only came with a house you'd worked your ass off to earn. The sliding glass doors behind you were cracked open, letting in the faint hum of your home—air conditioning low, fridge humming, a distant TV you forgot you left on inside.

Out here, though, it was all sunlight and sky.

The late-morning sun spilled over the city of Los Angeles like liquid gold, washing the skyline in a hazy glow. From your vantage point, the City of Angels looked soft around the edges—palm trees swaying lazily, traffic glinting like silver threads between buildings, a light smoggy haze turning everything dreamy instead of dirty. The air smelled faintly of jasmine from the garden below, mixed with warm concrete and that distant, salty whisper from the ocean carried on the breeze.

You sat sideways on the couch, one leg tucked under you, the other dangling off the edge, toes brushing the cool wooden deck. In your hands rested Shawn's guitar—his favorite one. The wood was smooth and familiar under your fingers, the body warm from the sun. The faint scent of his cologne clung to the worn leather strap: something clean and expensive with a hint of spice, the kind of smell that made your chest tighten with memories you refused to name.

Your thumb brushed absent circles over the strings, letting them hum quietly, not quite playing a song, just...feeling it. Every little vibration buzzed through your fingertips and into your bones. You tilted your head back, eyes half-closed, soaking in the light as it kissed your skin.

You remembered when this kind of view felt impossible. Back when L.A. was just a name in your head, just a dream you clung to in the middle of the night.

Back when you first met him.

You could still see it: a cramped studio, wires everywhere, the air heavy with nerves and caffeine. Shawn Mendes, the golden boy with the soft brown eyes and messy curls, walked in with a shy smile and a guitar slung over his shoulder like it was part of his body. You were both upcoming artists then—hungry, uncertain, pretending to be more confident than you felt. Someone at the label thought your voices would sound good together, so they threw you into a room and called it a collaboration.

It should've been awkward. Two strangers, two egos, one song.

But it wasn't.

You remembered the first time you harmonized on the chorus, how your voices slid together so cleanly it gave you chills. Shawn had looked up from his notebook, those eyes locking on yours like he heard it too—that click. That something. You'd spent hours in that studio, trading lyrics and ideas, laughing over stupid lines, cursing when you couldn't get a phrase to land right. By the time the song was done, you weren't just two artists with a track—you were something closer to friends.

It didn't happen all at once. It was slow, easy.

Late-night studio runs turned into sharing Uber rides home, then staying parked outside just talking for an extra hour. Group hangs turned into just you and him on someone's balcony, nursing drinks and secrets as the city glittered below. You learned his tells—the way he chewed his lip when he was thinking too hard, the soft, breathy laugh he only let out when he actually found something funny, the way his shoulders relaxed around you like you were a safe place.

You never thought about him like that at first. Not seriously. He was Shawn Mendes—sweet, talented, pretty boy heartthrob. The world had already decided what he was and who he was supposed to want.

You didn't know Shawn was even into men.

You didn't know...until the night everything shifted.

You could still feel it if you let yourself: the electric closeness on that couch in his place, some movie forgotten on the TV, both of you too tired to move but too wired to sleep. The way his knee pressed against yours and didn't move. The way he kept looking at your mouth when he thought you weren't paying attention. The way the air between you seemed to thicken, charged with something unspoken and impossible to ignore.

And then his hand touched your jaw.

And then his lips were on yours.

Out on your patio now, the memory made your chest tighten, made your fingers still on the strings. You remembered how soft his mouth had been, how careful and desperate at the same time, like he was terrified of what he was doing and yet had wanted it for a long time. You remembered the way his breath trembled against your skin when he pulled back just enough to whisper your name, like a confession.

You hadn't cared in that moment what he was "into," what labels existed, what anyone thought they knew about Shawn Mendes.

You didn't care about any of it when his lips were on yours, when his fingers in your shirt were silently begging you not to pull away, when his body pressed close like he'd been starving for that kind of contact and finally let himself have it.

You didn't know what it made you—friends, lovers, something in between—but it was real.

Your fingers moved over the strings almost on autopilot, muscle memory guiding the gentle pattern.

You weren't really trying to play anything at first—just letting your mind wander and your hands follow.

And then it hit you.

A melody slipped in, clear and insistent, like it had been waiting just outside your thoughts and finally found a crack to slip through. It was familiar—so familiar that your fingers found the chords before you even consciously named the song. Your chest tightened, a small ache blooming right behind your sternum as you realized why.

You were thinking about Shawn.

Not just his face or his voice, but the feeling of him. The way he looked at you when you said something that made him laugh, the way he absentmindedly fiddled with his rings when he was nervous, the way his presence wrapped around you like a blanket on nights when the world felt too loud. Thinking about all that, it was almost inevitable that this particular song would rise to the surface.

You adjusted your grip, thumb brushing over the edge of the fretboard as your other hand settled into the rhythm—soft, steady, a little slower than the original. The sound was intimate, almost too personal for how open the sky felt above you.

A line drifted to your lips before you could stop it, barely above a whisper, carried away by the same breeze that tugged lightly at your hair:

"You tucked me in, turned out the lights… Kept me safe and sound at night..."

The words tasted strange and tender in your mouth—simple, almost innocent, but loaded with meaning when you thought about him. They weren't written for Shawn, weren't even about him, but somehow they fit. They reminded you of the way he'd stayed up with you during a panic spiral at three in the morning, phone pressed to his ear as he talked you through every shallow breath until you could finally sleep. The way he'd wrapped an arm around you in the dark after a long, horrible week and just held you, no cameras, no games, no expectations. Just warmth. Just safety.

Questionable lyrics for a friends-with-benefits situation, sure. They sounded more like something you should be singing to a childhood guardian or a first love, not the man whose guitar you borrowed after spending the night in his bed, pretending it was casual.

But you didn't stop.

Your fingers slipped easily into the next progression, the pads of them pressing into the familiar grooves on the fretboard. The guitar hummed low against your chest, the sound soft and intimate, as if the instrument itself knew this wasn't meant for anyone but you and the memory of him.

You kept the strumming gentle, almost like a lullaby, the sun warming the side of your face while a faint breeze curled around you, tugging at your shirt. The city below carried on—cars, voices, distant music—but out here on the back patio, it all felt muted, like someone had turned down the volume on everything except your thoughts and the quiet rasp of strings beneath your hand.

The lyrics rose up from somewhere deep, the kind of words that didn't need to be forced. You parted your lips and let them spill out, your voice low, edged with something fragile:

"You were always there when I looked back.

And when I couldn't sleep at night, scared things wouldn't turn out right.

You would hold my hand and sing to me."

As you sang, images flickered behind your eyes—Shawn sitting on the edge of your bed after a brutal week, hair a little messy, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. The way he'd stayed with you despite having to be up early, insisting he was fine, that he wasn't tired, even as his eyes drooped.

You remembered lying there, staring at the ceiling, anxiety clawing at your lungs while he quietly hummed some half-finished melody beside you. No cameras. No audience. Just his voice and the weight of his hand wrapped around yours, thumb rubbing slow circles over your knuckles until your heartbeat finally calmed.

You dragged your fingers down the strings in a slow, delicate sweep, letting the chords melt into each other. Your voice softened on the last words, almost breaking on "sing to me," because that was the part that felt the most dangerous. The most honest.

Because he did sing to you.

Not into a microphone, not onstage under blinding lights, but in dark rooms and quiet hallways and backseats of cars, where his voice belonged only to you for a moment. Sometimes it was full songs, sometimes just scraps of melodies and hummed lines, but it always did something to you—reaching into the parts you tried hard to keep armored.

You swallowed, the emotion sitting thick in your throat, and kept playing, letting the guitar speak where you didn't trust your mouth to. The strings buzzed softly under your fingertips, the sound wrapping around you like a memory of his arms.

Friends with benefits shouldn't feel like this, you thought

But the way your chest ached as you sang about someone who was "always there" told you it already did.

By the time you slipped into the chorus, the song wasn't just something you were singing anymore—it had completely wrapped itself around you. It was in your fingers, in your chest, in the way your breathing matched the rise and fall of each chord. You didn't fight it. You let it take over, let it pull you under like a soft, familiar tide, even though every line felt a little too on-the-nose for what you were feeling.

Your hand moved in an easy, steady pattern, thumb and fingers brushing the strings with a tenderness that made the sound come out warm and round, like a lullaby drifting through the sunlight. The polished wood of the guitar vibrated against your ribs, the resonance settling deep inside you. The breeze that moved through the patio ruffled your hair and carried your voice out over the rail, letting it fall into the city along with the morning light.

You parted your lips and let the chorus flow out, your voice soft but clear—those lines about the small, curious creature up in the tree, wondering who it's going to become; about not being able to go far yet, but still being able to dream; about hanging on tight and trusting that one day, it'll grow wings and rise, free and beautiful.

As you sang the last promise—the one about the butterfly finally flying away—your throat tightened just a little.

Because it wasn't just a pretty metaphor anymore.

Somewhere those late nights when you were young and scared and unsure if any of this—music, fame, love, happiness—would actually work out for you. Somewhere that remembered Shawn too, sitting cross-legged on some studio floor with his guitar in his lap, talking about how terrifying it was to be seen by the whole world and still feel like a kid half the time.

You could see him in your mind so clearly it almost hurt—head bowed slightly as he listened to a mix, hair falling into his eyes, that thoughtful crease between his brows. You remembered the way he'd talk about his younger self, the boy who had no idea who he'd be someday, just a kid with a guitar and a dream that felt too big for his body. The chorus suddenly felt like it belonged to him, too.

Caterpillar. Butterfly. Growing up under lights you never asked for. Learning how to carry the weight.

As you kept playing, your gaze drifted out over Los Angeles—over the pale blue sky, the clustered buildings, the long stretches of streets that once felt like a maze and now felt like home. You thought about how far you'd come from the version of yourself that used to lie awake at night, terrified things wouldn't "turn out right." You thought about how many nights Shawn had been the one to pull you back from that edge.

You weren't supposed to be sitting on your patio in a million-dollar view house, using a soft, sentimental chorus to quietly confess things you'd never say to his face.

But there you were.

You were so lost in the warmth of the sun and the gentle rhythm of the guitar that you didn't hear the back door slide open at first. Your head was bowed slightly, lashes lowered, fingers still moving out of habit—so wrapped up in the memory of Shawn that you didn't notice the very real version of him stepping onto the patio.

It wasn't until a familiar shift in the light brushed across your peripheral vision—a tall shadow cutting through the sun—that you looked up.

Shawn stood just outside the doorway, one hand still resting on the glass, his hair slightly tousled like he'd run his hands through it a few times. He was barefoot, wearing worn-in sweatpants and a loose, faded t-shirt that hung just right on his frame, the kind of outfit that screamed he felt at home here. The sunlight caught the soft brown of his eyes, turning them almost honey-colored as they locked onto you.

He had that look—half caught, half amused, like he'd walked in on a secret and was trying to decide whether to apologize or tease you for it.

"I was wondering where my guitar went," he said, voice low and warm, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Then I heard you singing."

The words hit your chest with a soft thud. You felt heat rush to your cheeks, not from embarrassment exactly, but from being seen so clearly in a moment you thought you'd had to yourself.

"How long have you been standing there?" you asked, trying to sound casual, even as your fingers stuttered on the strings.

"Long enough," he replied, that small smirk turning into a real smile. There was something tender in his eyes, something that made your heart skip in a way you tried very hard to ignore.

He crossed the patio with that easy, familiar stride, the boards creaking slightly under his weight. When he reached the couch, he didn't ask if he could sit—he just gently shifted the guitar in your hands, helping you angle it without missing a beat, then slid in behind you.

"Move," he murmured softly, tapping your thigh with his fingers.

You blinked. "Move where?"

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Here." He tapped his lap. "Come sit."

There was no hesitation in him, no awkwardness—just that quiet, confident intimacy that had slowly woven itself into whatever it was you two had. You rolled your eyes dramatically for effect, but your body didn't argue. You shifted sideways, lifting your leg over his, carefully keeping the guitar balanced as you eased yourself onto his lap.

His hands immediately found your waist, fingers spreading over your sides, grounding you as you settled back against his chest. You could feel his warmth through your shirt, the steady rise and fall of his breathing pressing into your spine. His thighs were solid beneath you, knees bracketing you on either side, caging you loosely in. He smelled like clean skin and a hint of soap and the familiar cologne that always clung to him—a scent that had somehow become its own comfort.

He adjusted the guitar so it rested across both of your laps now, his arms coming around you to help guide it into place. The move brought him even closer, his chest flush against your back, his chin hovering just above your shoulder. You could feel the ghost of his breath against the side of your neck, warm and distracting.

"Go on," he murmured. "Don't stop because of me."

You took a slow breath, trying not to let the shiver that rolled down your spine show on your face. Your fingers found the strings again, picking up the gentle pattern like the song had never left. The first few notes floated out, slow and soft.

"I heard you from inside," Shawn said quietly, voice brushing your ear. "You sounded...happy." He paused. "And a little emotional."

"Wow," you scoffed lightly. "Way to read me like a diary."

He laughed under his breath, the sound vibrating against your back. "You're not that hard to read," he said. "At least not to me."

Your heart did that inconvenient little flip, but you kept your gaze ahead, focusing on the guitar, on the sun, on anything that wasn't the way his hands felt resting comfortably on your hips like they belonged there.

As you continued to strum, you felt the chorus bubbling back up, insistent. An idea sparked, and you tilted your head slightly toward him, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

"Sing with me," you said.

He leaned back a fraction, surprised. "This one?"

"Yeah," you said, nodding. "You already heard me butcher it alone. Might as well make it a duet."

He chuckled, and you felt his chest shake against you. "You didn't butcher anything," he murmured. "But okay. Tell me where to come in."

You shifted the guitar just enough to play the opening chords to the chorus again, the melody humming to life between your fingers. The moment stretched—warm, suspended, intimate—before you drew in a breath and let the first line slip out.

Your voice was soft but clear as it moved through the words, and you could feel him listening, not just to the song, but to you.

"Butterfly, fly away..."

His harmony slid in seamlessly, instinctual, like he'd been waiting for the cue.

“Butterfly, fly away..."

His voice wrapped around yours, smooth and steady, a little lower, a little richer. The two of you blended together effortlessly, like you were back in that first studio years ago, except this time his chest was pressed to your back and his hands were on your body, and there were no producers, no engineers—just the two of you and the open sky.

You smiled without meaning to, your lips curving as you leaned into him slightly, letting your weight rest against his chest. The chords shifted beneath your fingers as you moved into the next line, feeling the warmth of his breath brush your cheek when he dipped his head closer to follow along.

“Flap your wings, now you can't stay..."

You could feel his smile against your skin, that familiar little huff of air that said he heard the emotion tucked between the words, even if you never said it out loud.

Together, your voices rose, overlapping perfectly on the next line, that easy musical chemistry dropping back into place like it had never left.

"Take those dreams and make them all come true..."

You kept your fingers moving, the guitar resting comfortably across both your laps. You shifted your grip slightly on the fretboard, easing into the next sequence of chords, letting the melody curl back up like muscle memory.

You drew in a quiet breath, and your voice slipped out first, gentle and steady:

“Butterfly, fly away,"

Shawn's reply came instantly, his harmony sliding in just underneath yours like it had always lived there:

"Butterfly, fly away"

His tone was smooth and warm, vibrating softly against your back as he sang right into the curve of your neck. Your fingers danced over the strings, guiding the song forward, the chorus flowing out of you both like something you'd practiced a hundred times even though you hadn't.

"We've been waiting for this day..."

You could feel the emotion hanging there between you—something sweet and heavy and unspoken. Your chest tightened a little, but your voice didn't falter. Shawn followed you effortlessly, his chin almost brushing your shoulder now as he leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours.

“All along and knowing just what to do"

The words floated into the sunlit air, laced with a familiarity that went way beyond the song. The city noise below seemed to fade, leaving only your two voices and the soft hum of the guitar.

You felt the last line rise up in your chest, and this time you let it spill out alone, almost like a confession meant only for the two of you and the sky above:

"Butterfly, butterfly, butterfly, butterfly, fly away..."

You drew out the last "fly away," letting your voice taper into a soft, airy finish as your right hand dragged gently down the strings. The guitar answered with one final, full-bodied strum, the chord ringing out rich and clear. It vibrated through your fingers, into your arms, through your back where you were pressed to Shawn, echoing in the space around you for a long, suspended moment.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke.

You could feel his heartbeat pressed against your back—slow, steady. His chin hovered near your shoulder, breath soft against your neck. The sun was beginning its lazy drop in the sky, turning the light a softer gold, casting long, gentle shadows across the patio.

Then Shawn shifted slightly beneath you, his hands tightening just a little on your hips, not enough to move you—just enough to let you know he was still fully there, fully in this.

"So..." he murmured, his voice quiet but clear in your ear. "What made you sing that one?"

You felt him tilt his head, like he was trying to catch your expression from the side. The question wasn't teasing, not really. There was something searching in it, curious and a little vulnerable, like he already suspected the answer and wanted to hear you say it.

For a split second, your mind flashed with the real reasons:

Because it made you think of both of you—of the scared, younger versions of yourselves who had no idea who they'd become.

Because the lyrics about being held, soothed, and sung to at night sounded dangerously close to the way he made you feel when everything in your life got too loud.

Because "Butterfly, fly away" felt a little too much like the story of how you both had grown into something bigger than your fears, and somehow, you'd done that together.

All of that knotted up inside your chest at once—but you swallowed it down.

You let out a small huff of a laugh instead, shaking your head like it wasn't that deep. You tipped the guitar slightly forward, letting your fingers idly brush the strings so you had something to focus on besides the intensity of his gaze.

"Honestly?" you said, keeping your tone light. "It just...popped into my head."

You shrugged, like it was nothing. "I was playing around and my brain went, 'Hey, childhood nostalgia, let's be weird and emotional today.'" You tossed in a small smirk and added, "Blame the sunshine. Or your guitar. Or both."

You kept your eyes on the city instead of on him, watching the light smear across the rooftops. Your posture was relaxed, casual, like you hadn't just been pouring a little bit of your soul into the lyrics.

"So don't get too excited," you joked, nudging your heel lightly back against his shin. "I'm not secretly trying to confess my undying love with a Disney-adjacent lullaby or anything."

You heard him exhale a soft laugh behind you, but you could feel it—the way his fingers lingered on your waist a heartbeat longer than before, the way his chest stayed a little too still for a moment, like he didn't fully buy your answer.

"Just popped up, huh?" he repeated quietly, amusement and something else threading through his voice.

You nodded, still staring out at the skyline with a deliberately easy smile. "Yup. Random brain radio. Don't read into it."

You didn't turn around to see his face, because you knew if you did, you'd find those eyes of his—too warm, too soft, too knowing—and your carefully casual explanation would crumble on the spot.

Shawn didn't push the question any further.

You felt the moment ease, the tension in his chest loosening against your back as he exhaled slowly, letting your deflection stand. His hands slid from your waist to your forearms, fingers curling gently around you—not holding you in place, just touching, just there.

Then, with a soft murmur of, "Come here," he moved.

One of his hands glided along your arm, the other reaching down to the guitar resting across your thighs. His fingers brushed over yours, warm and careful, as he coaxed your hands away from the strings. You let go, watching his long fingers curl around the neck of the guitar with familiar ease. He lifted it from both your laps, the motion smooth and practiced, and leaned forward just enough to set it down on the low coffee table in front of you.

The guitar landed with a soft thunk against the polished wood, the remaining vibration in the strings giving one last faint hum before settling into silence.

Without the instrument between you, there was suddenly a lot less space.

Shawn's hands slid back up your sides, slow and sure, fingers grazing the hem of your shirt before settling at your waist. You felt him pause for half a beat, like he was checking in without words.

Then he gently guided you.

"Turn around," he murmured, voice low and warm near your ear.

You let him rotate you easily, lifting your knees and twisting in his lap. His hands steadied you, one on your hip, the other at the small of your back, guiding you until you were facing him fully. Your legs shifted on instinct, knees falling to either side of his hips as you settled into a straddle. The couch cushion dipped under your combined weight, bringing you even closer.

Now he was right there.

Up close, his features were softened by the sunlight—curling lashes framing deep brown eyes, a few messy strands of hair falling onto his forehead, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. His gaze flicked down to your mouth for the briefest second before returning to your eyes, and the air between you went thick.

Your hands found their own places on him—one resting flat against his chest, feeling the steady drum of his heartbeat beneath your palm, the other curling lightly at the back of his neck, fingertips brushing the soft hair there.

"You know," he said quietly, his voice dropping into that tone he used only when it was just the two of you, "you're really dangerous when you're sentimental."

You scoffed softly, but before you could come up with a smart reply, he closed the distance.

His lips met yours in a kiss that started gentle—testing, familiar—but the second your mouths touched, something in the both of you gave way. The warmth of him crashed into you: the faint taste of mint on his tongue, the soft pressure of his lips, the heat radiating off his body as he leaned into you.

Your fingers tightened at the back of his neck, pulling him closer without thinking. His hands slid up your back, palms spanning your shoulder blades, then dropped lower, fingertips pressing into your waist as he anchored you firmly on his lap. The kiss deepened, slow at first, then quickly tipping into something hungrier.

You felt him exhale against your mouth, the sound halfway between a sigh and a quiet groan, and that alone sent a spark skittering down your spine. Your body shifted closer in response, your chest pressing to his, your knees tightening around his hips as if you could somehow get rid of whatever tiny space remained.

His tongue brushed lightly against your bottom lip, asking permission, and you parted your lips without hesitation. The kiss turned heated fast—familiar and dizzying all at once. His hand slid up your side, fingertips tracing the line of your ribs through your shirt before curling back around your waist, holding you flush against him. The other hand traveled down to your hip, thumb stroking slow, possessive circles against your skin.

For a brief stretch of seconds—maybe minutes, who knew—you lost track of everything else.

The city, the sun, the song you'd just sung—all of it faded to the background. There was only his mouth on yours, his breath mingling with yours, the steady, solid feel of him under your hands, the way you tilted your head one way and he followed, deepening the kiss like you'd done this a hundred times before...and you had.

You could feel the familiar, dangerous tug of wanting-more pulling at you, the kind that usually ended with the two of you tangled in sheets instead of sunlight.

Maybe that's exactly why he slowed down.

Shawn pulled back gradually, like he was reluctant to let go, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips before putting a few inches of space between your faces. His hands stayed where they were, keeping you settled firmly in his lap. His breaths came a little faster now, his chest rising and falling against yours, his lips slightly reddened from your kiss.

He stared at you for a moment, eyes dropping to your mouth again, clearly tempted to go back in—but instead he chuckled under his breath, the sound low and fond.

"If we keep going," he murmured, voice a little rougher than before, "we're not leaving this couch for a long time."

You raised a brow, trying not to look as breathless as you felt. "And that's a problem because...?"

He huffed a laugh, the corner of his mouth curving up. "Because," he said, brushing his thumb gently along your hip, "you haven't eaten yet. And I'm not about to be responsible for you passing out on me mid–make out."

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away.

His expression softened as he watched you, and then he nodded slightly, decision made.

"Come on," he said, his tone sliding back into that easy, familiar warmth. "Let's order some breakfast."

He squeezed your hips gently, still keeping you close. "We can corrupt this couch after we've had pancakes."

The casual way he said it—like kissing you senseless and then planning breakfast was the most normal thing in the world—made something in your chest unclench. You let your forehead rest briefly against his, breathing him in, your lips still tingling from his.

"Fine," you muttered, teasing. "But I'm picking the place."

Shawn smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners as he nodded. "Deal," he said softly. "As long as you stay right here while we decide."

His grip didn't loosen.

"What other option do I have," you sighed, looking tiredly between the three identical blue tents before turning back to Carly. It was only momentary, but you couldn't linger on the thought that Nick had caught your trailing gaze. His expression was stoically hard-set - distant and far off. "If I could, I would, but that stench is preventing me from sleeping up in a tree."

Carly's nose twitches at the remembrance of the foul smell that surrounds the woods. "Well, you could always join me and Wade in our tent," she offers, already knowing your response.

A shiver runs down your body as Nick slightly shifts, keeping you in his periphery. He takes a swig from his beer.

"No, I couldn't do that to the two of you. I've already been a third wheel between Paige and Blake," you lowered your voice as you didn't have to turn around to point your thumb back to the couple currently stacked on top of each other like a Jenga set. The single flimsy foldable camping chair holding remarkably strong under their combined weight and make out session. Again. "And, I'm not taking any chances with them forgetting I'm in the same tent." Carly snickered, agreeing, though she tried hiding it behind her hand.

Nick swirls the green glass bottle, the campfire's light easily distinguishing the little alcohol spinning at the bottom. He's zoning out of the sluggish ramble Dalton's going on about, only giving half-a-nod and a hm in acknowledgement every so often. The Elvis look-alike clad in yellow - after Carly and Paige's makeover - sounded better to his ears than Carly's friend and Blake sucking faces. The slow, constant fire and alcohol did little to distract him anymore. His thoughts were racing - all led him back to you. Everything had been shifted to you since the start of this trip. He turns in his chair completely to fully face you, Dalton doesn't notice.

"It's only for the night. Nothing worse can be done... right? Everyone will just fall asleep and we'll wake up tomorrow for the game, like planned. Everything will go like we said it would. It'll be fine," you explain, more so to yourself as the stress grips your shoulders. A tight-lipped smile splays across your face, but your heart bounces in discomfort, causing your shoulders to sag. The dirt starts to look interesting; your shoe scrapes against the group's makeshift campgrounds to create nonsense etchings. You try to delay the inevitable.

Carly steps closer, laying her hand comfortingly on your left shoulder. Nick's grip on his bottle tightens, he tells himself it's an instinct. That she's just his sister, your friend. He can't help the feeling in his chest, messing with his thoughts and wishes you to come seek him. For him to be your comfort again, like he was nearly a year ago. But he can't move. He knows exactly why he isn't that person for you anymore. It's the same reason why you broke up with him a couple months back.

"I know you already said no," you lift your head back to rebuttal, but Carly continues, "but my offer still stands. Whether you feel you can't handle being in the same space as him or Nick decides to be a douchebag in the dead of night. I know how my brother could be."

"Thanks, Carls, but I should be able to handle him if anything happens," a genuine smile appears. "Plus, we're both mature, right? It's not gonna be like that trip during senior year of high school."

You both laugh, Carly's hand falls from your shoulder as she remembers that time during your class' senior trip. Nick can't help but feel left out, though his hard gaze slacks a fraction after hearing you laugh. If his lips tipped upward briefly into a small smile, then Dalton still didn't notice.

First time he laughed all day, he notes. He finished his drink and coolly tossed the empty beer bottle into the campfire. It roars to life from the alcohol remnants, the flame's warmth lick at his face as it cheers. I need to make him happy, again. He hears Dalton, Paige, and Blake cheer as Wade chastises his irresponsibility.

"You can't just throw away your trash into the fire, Nick! We need to keep the grounds free from any litter. Come on, man, it's dangerous..."

But Nick couldn't care less about Wade's educational rant or if the fire spread to their tents or the woods. He pulled against his black hoodie, restless, the increasing shadow highlighting the rough stubble along his jaw - he hasn't shaved since he got out. His eyes still stuck on you.

"Goodnight, Carly," you say before hunching over and hugging your best friend.

She pushes her red hair back behind her shoulders after stepping back. "Goodnight."

You take a deep breath and force yourself to turn back around. You find Wade to your right in the closest chair to Carly, Paige still sitting on top of Blake's left thigh in the further chair away, Dalton messes with the sunglasses he wears near the middle of the semicircle. And there's Nick, hidden behind the safety of his black hoodie, though his posture is still vulnerable to being decoded. Since you have turned your back, he has slightly shifted the foldable camping chair, the uneven dust of dirt lies under his dark jeans. You know him, he's trying to play it defensively - act cool as he's slumped lower into the chair, his long legs spread out to assert his masculinity. You can't see his ice-cold blue eyes, but you feel them locked onto your form. He's reading every inch that you move, every breath that you take, and everything that you don't say - just like you are.

You clear your throat, trying to displace your nerves, displeasure, and the fluttering within your ribs. Get a grip, you yell at yourself. You're meant to be mad. Stay upset. Don't give in, don't re-fall for him. The separation was your idea, your distinct call after Nick's incident. After you got the call from him a few weeks after the fact, when the worry and anxiety couldn't eat you up and spit you out any longer and all that was left was the inevitable.

Just like in the movies, you heard first the loud hallway filled with rowdy, impatient prisoners that only echoed further with the banging of metal bars. Nick only spoke in whispers to try and keep your conversation private, knowing what would happen to him if any of the other prisoners, or even the guards, knew that he was talking to another man and not his girl patiently biding time for his release on the outside. After he reassured you that it ain't so bad, that he was handling the slammer better than most fresh meat, he tried wrapping up the call. But before he could say that he didn't have much time left, you released the statement you've been holding back, "I want to break up," even as your heart lurched into your throat to try and take back the words. You were left in tears, your hand shaking as you hold back your sobs, Motorola RAZR V3 slamming against the hardwood floor as the call ended. You didn't hear how Nick got desperate, slamming the landline phone against the cement once he heard the dull beeping from the call ending.

"Goodnight, Wade, Dalton, and-" you stop yourself from wishing the same to Blake and Paige as they were too busy with each other, again. That just leaves, Nick. You open your mouth to do the same, wish him a simple and passing goodnight that he would forget after he moves on. But you can't do it. And he doesn't say anything either. You're both left with a tunnel of echoing silence that reverberates between your chosen distance, neither of you can even name the '90's song that the boombox is blasting through the campgrounds.

Instead, you give a small, barely noticeable nod that you hope he didn't perceive. He did. He still hasn't moved, but your heart still tells you that he understands. The beating begins to gush nonsense about Nick that you needed to push down after spending the first day back together.

As you unzip the blue tent, you crouch and step inside, finally putting distance between yourself and Nick after such a long day, even if it'll only last for a bit until everyone finally decides to turn in, as well. You kick off your shoes and place them into the corner, shrugging off and pulling over your burgundy hoodie to lay with your shoes. Once folded, the worn etchings of the Brooklyn College logo is displayed. You sigh and crawl over to the left-most sleeping bag of the three, choosing the farthest position from Nick. Trying to get comfortable on the hard ground that is just barely displaced by the layer of tarp, you hope to fall asleep soon - to elongate the inevitable further.

Outside of the tent, the music continues to blast from the boombox on Blake's truck. Beats from some '90s club classic begin to erupt. Dalton re-grabbed his old camcorder from where Carly dropped it after cutely filming Wade, the edges rusting from its overuse and caked with spots of dirt. He first films Paige and Blake making out, this time tamer than their earlier endeavors. Then he pans over to his best friend's sister and her boyfriend giving short, sweet smooches.

"Oh yeah, that's hot," Dalton reacts and turns the camera to a brooding Nick. Ever since you zipped back up the tent, he's been locked onto the campfire. He needs space, he knows you do, which is why he is sitting through his sister and her friend making out with their boyfriends, even if every second it's torture. All it does is remind him of how he can't do that with you anymore.

We aren't together, he repeats to himself. It's the only reminder that's stopping him from leaving Dalton alone with the couples, opening and closing the tent behind him, and grabbing you into his long arms. He would lay kisses along your neck, collar, shoulders, jaw, face, and hair all night if you allowed him; you resting your head against his strong bicep, back pressed against his toned and muscular chest.

He's brought back to reality, having felt the camcorder on him for too long, as if Dalton is waiting expectantly. So, he says in his rough voice, "Don't even think about it. I ain't kissing you, dude."

"Come on you know you want to, dude," Dalton jokes, a fake laugh escapes him to fill the awkward silence. Nick lets his guard down and smiles.

"Haha. Just kidding. Psyche. I wouldn't kiss your ass for shit," Dalton retracts.

And just as Nick was beginning to let go, an old beat-up truck pulls into their campgrounds. It stops a few feet away from the fire, the headlights blind Dalton and the rest of the group as he closes his camcorder. He angles his head and tries to block out the harsh yellow light from his vision with his palm. And the moment is gone.

The group stills, even the boombox shuts off as if it too is frightened by the new visitor. As the group of five all try to peer through their blindness, each trying to catch a glimpse of the person behind the wheel.

Wade is the first to break the ice. "Yeah," he calls out, expecting a polite answer in return.

"Hey, yo, man. You need something?" Blake follows, audibly less patient and more annoyed that his moment with his girlfriend was ruined by a stranger that invaded their camping spot.

Carly asks what the entire group is wondering, "What does he want?"

"Hey, can you turn off your lights. Please?" Wade continues, straining his eyes behind his giant hand. His right hand is still wrapped around Carly, holding her steady as he still hopes for the stranger to be polite.

It's unseen by the group, but behind the headlights all that is clearly visible is the hand of man, fingers itching and straining as he holds himself back. The beat-up truck coughs as it waits for its driver to make the next decision.

"Okay, this is getting kinda creepy," Paige says, looking at her boyfriend to do something more.

"Hey, come on, man. Get out of here. Nothing to see here. Come on. Let's go," Blake asserts as he lets go of Paige and waves his hand at the truck. Fortunately, he chose to listen to her.

"Can we help you?" Wade asks the figure.

"Maybe we're on his property," Carly says to the group.

Finally, Wade begins to stand. "Nah we didn't pass a gate."

"Hey, man, turn your lights off," Blake joins him as they march closer to the truck. Carly and Paige stand back, maintaining a distance behind the flame.

"Hello!" Wade starts.

"Turn your lights off," Blake finishes. "I'm serious. Turn your lights off or I'm whooping someone's ass."

Wade blocks his path with his arm, preventing Blake from getting closer to the truck. The silence is deafening. There still isn't an ounce of a response from the driver.

Thinking he has it all under control, Wade says, "It's cool, man," to Blake but maintains the truck in his view. He doubts his own sentiment.

A deep frown settles on Nick's face, eyebrows furrowed and jaw rigid like he was ready to lunge. He knew trouble, and out here in this forest, the six of them alone with this beaten-up truck and stranger, this was trouble. He looks back at the blue tent you were meant to share with him, and it's the last reminder he needed to set off.

He grabs an empty beer bottle from beneath his chair, marches to stand with the rest of the group, and chucks the glass directly into the right headlight. It's clean, effortless, and fast, causing that light to shatter, weakening the glare. Though in the heat of the moment, Nick didn't fully think out his actions, as the driver was still hidden by the white wall from the left headlight. His frustration was released only momentarily, but it wasn't enough. Not during training and football games, and not now. Why didn't he just aim for the other headlight?

"Nick," Carly gasps at her brother, appalled at his action. "Oh, my god-"

But he doesn't pay her any mind as he weaves between the group, purposely choosing to side-check Wade - he stumbled a step back - as he now steps the closest to the truck. Nick isn't afraid, hasn't been for a while after everything he's been through. His jaw is still set, body pulsing and charged in preparation for a confrontation with the figure. His ice-cold eyes have tainted to a deeper shade, nearing black ice levels of danger. His stance is completely open, non-defensive and completely in-line to attack. Come on, step out the damn car, he yearns for the battle. This feeling reminds him of his high school afternoons and evenings out, wearing shoulder pads, a half-dented helmet from his aggressive behavior, and bits of turf filling his cleats. Endless training would prepare the team for back-to-back losses; it made him sick. He grunts, pushing aside his coach's booming voice when he was kicked off the team.

Now that he knows his friend is prepared to fight the stranger, Dalton steps forward with overconfidence brewing from him. "What," he calls out to the stranger, making sure to stand at Nick's side, not in front.

There's a standstill for a few more moments, then the engine roars quietly back to life as the stranger creakily shifts back into reverse. The light from the truck slowly dims as all that's left is the empty air where the vehicle once was. Nick maintains eye contact the entire time, not letting go until he was sure that the truck was long gone. He hears Dalton proudly shout, "Yeah," as if he was the one who did something to cause the stranger to retreat.

"That was great. That was great, dude," Dalton turns to his best friend.

"My man, Nick, he's hardcore," Blake joins in on the celebration.

Although he tries to act like he doesn't like the attention, a side-smile maintains on his expression until he turns around and sees your shared tent open again. He finds you standing back in your shoes, hoodie missing this time, to the right of the tent's opening. A memory flashes before his eyes, high school you, standing against the chain link fence that divides the football field from the surrounding track.

You had wanted to surprise him and stop by his practice after you finished helping your friend's weekly book club that she hosts in the school's library. He froze midsentence, an incomplete insult aimed toward his coach for his decision lingers heavily. Breath quickening, his heart rate spikes at the sight of you - watching him get kicked off the football team. He's spent too much time stuck in cycles of worst-case scenarios, being pushed aside, and judged for simply breathing since he was born, luck was never on his side. You must have heard everything, he immediately decides. How I exploded. How long had you been standing there, did you see his foul play? Hear the snap and crush of cartilage? Did you hear the trigger that fired him like a bullet?

Abruptly, he turns around and runs off the field. Coach calls him back, to try and work something out, to give him the attention he craves from an authority figure he lacks. He knew that this decision was long-coming and was waiting for a more appropriate time to tell him. But that moment never came, at least it never had the chance to sprout. It was quick, the words slipped out of his mouth but even behind the heat of his voice he knew that they were definitive. Irreversible.

Shit. Shit, what must he think of me now? He thinks I'm an aggressive, meat headed, punk-ass jock. Nick hops over the side bench, the defense having stood and stepped aside once they saw him charging in their direction. He knocks over the water cow, shoves his helmet back on, and climbs the fence. He doesn't know where he's going, but he knows one thing: he can't allow you to see him. Not in the state he's in. The last you saw of Nick that day was as he turned into the forest behind the school, the red, orange, and brown foliage descending together like a falling curtain to conclude an act of a play.

He thinks I'm the evil twin, this sentiment having been ingrained is now amplified into shrieking echoes that cause his skull to shake. At least he feels better about that reasoning rather than the true cause of his shaking to be from his tears and violent sniffling. His vision tunneled and Nick barely had enough sense left to not knock himself into the passing by oak trees.

He didn't know this, still didn't, but you had wanted to run after him. You didn't though. You couldn't allow the scene to explode further if Coach, the rest of the team, or any of the cheerleaders saw you sprint across the field and run into the forest in search of your best friend. There were already whispers hanging in the halls about you, about him, and the closeness between you two. Initially you had tried ignoring it, playing it off like Nick and you were just two close bros.

Not even a few days later, you were shoved into a locker. Your head throbbed from the slam, your assailants sneered at your groan and threatened you to stay away from Nick. You couldn't manage to open your eyes until a few minutes after you were free, but you knew that their clique included four of Nick's teammates and a cheerleader - that you knew from hallway gossip has been wishing for Nick to give her an ounce of attention so she can make a move. Of course, her boyfriend didn't know that, but it seemed like half the school did.

Hearing the snare of Coach's whistle signaled to the defense men to join the huddle. Out of the circle of jocks, only a single footballer was relieved from the speech as he limped back onto side bench while leaning on support from a teammate. He seemed fine, no gushing blood, jutted bones, or any cuts. There was minor swelling though, you deduced he had twisted his ankle. You furrowed your brows, asking yourself, "So why did Nick run off?"

You pushed aside your lurching heart after taking a small glance toward the cheerleaders, they were too busy reforming into a pyramid that they hadn't seen you. You slowly trudged back into the library, momentarily interrupting your friend's club to sit at a nearby table. You thought about joining them as a distraction, but instead you hugged the table as you forced yourself to nap. The club resumed once they heard a snore, strangely sound similar to a broken sob.

So, as much as he wants to be sung in your praises for being your knight in shining armor - for scaring away the creep - he knows that won't happen. He can't take that risk - won't allow himself to let his guard down, not out here in the open. He understands that they're all his friends - even if he would never admit it to any of them, especially not his sister - but he still can't do it. He couldn't do it back then, cowering away from you on that senior year afternoon. And he still can't do it now. Nick puts back on the stoic mask, as the rest of the group turn back around to their tents, missing the brief moment between you two.

"What the hell was that about, huh," his sister questions him, trying to analyze his character. She knew as his twin sister - and thus the group member that has known him the longest, even longer than you or Dalton - that he didn't do it just to save them or scare off the intruder. No. There was something deeper that caused his actions. It would go even further back then when you two were dating, into siblings' childhood. But she still hadn't deduced what it was.

Nick keeps walking past her, even as she goes to grab his forearm. He hears Dalton continue, "You the man, dude. That was awesome."

"Don't encourage him," Carly quickly retorts.

Nick avoids your gaze as he sits back in his chair. He shifts his seat back so he couldn't see you anymore, even though he feels your soft gaze. Even with his walls drawn, it strains his sanity to ignore your allure while you stand there expectantly, finally possibly wanting to talk to him. Even if it's just to ask him what happened. He may portray himself tough, but he is extremely fragile, especially when it comes to you. He could handle his sister's scrutiny any day of the week, but you? Never. Not since that day you broke up with him. You were his weakness, his vulnerability, his confidant, his sanctity, and still. His love.

You wanted to ask the group what the commotion was about and who the hell that guy was, but you decided to bite your tongue and escape back into the tent without being seen. The rest of the group joins Nick in their respective arrangements as the twisted mood settles, allowing their adrenaline to soothe under the gaze of the surrounding darkness before they all decide after some much needed silence that that was enough for the day.

At around half past 3:00am, only a few hours after the encounter and everyone decided to rest, Dalton's camcorder gets picked up. A tall, mysterious figure blends with the shadows as he heavily breathes behind the recording device. He takes slow, heavy, silent steps through the campgrounds.

He stops in his tracks in front of the first tent. Pointing the camera through the tent's window, the footage captures Blake and Paige resting, their bodies separated but they both looked comfortable even if they weren't laying on top of each other. The hard lines of Blake's body look defined even through the barely-there light. Paige is asleep on her back, as the covers lay just below her chest. The blanket is crinkled to make it seem like there's the smallest bump where her stomach rests. Her blond hair illuminates under the faint light that makes her seem like a modern-day princess.

The camcorder turns away from the couple as the figure walks toward the farthest tent. This time the footage reveals resting men: Dalton the closest to the window, laying on his left side; Nick in the middle, copying his best friend and also facing toward him, and; you, the furthest from the window, sleeping on your right shoulder with your head resting against your sprawled arm. The figure stills as he makes sure to take in the detail of the three men under their covers. Though as you were turned away, he had to get closer to the tent to angle the camcorder just right through the window to capture any of your features.

In your sleep, you mumble something incoherent like you were explaining your perspective to someone important. Your body freezes, shivers, and you shift your blanket up further. As if on instinct, even while asleep, Nick grumbles as he pats for your figure. Half asleep from the inconvenience, though Nick's adoration is stronger after having shared many nights together, he turns himself around and latches onto your figure. He sighs against your neck, pressing his forehead into your hair. Your breath hitches as Nick wraps one arm across your waist and the other lays under the junction of your neck and shoulder to support your head. It's perfect. You both still fit together flawlessly. Soundly, you two return to your dreamscapes.

The mysterious figure had carefully stepped away once he saw that Nick had shifted over, cautious to be seen from his creepy stalking. Jostled and blurry, the camcorder focuses on the final of the three tents. In the opening, there rests a sleeping Carly, her slow breathing captured for a few seconds as she perfectly lays toward the camera. In the top edge of the screen, Wade's form can also be seen, just enough to capture his brunette hair, rough beard, and boy-ish face for later use, but he isn't who the figure cares about - not entirely. Suddenly, Carly shoots up - instantly the camera drops to the ground beside the tent as the figure escapes back into the darkness.

It was strange being transported back into your old high school gymnasium. You knew it had to have been hours in between your previous dream and this one, but you had blinked, and now you were here - sitting at an empty table, surrounded by familiar high schoolers dressed to the gills in varying shades of blue. However, there were a handful of rebels who stuck with the black suit and tie combo and a few girls who weirdly dressed like they believed the theme to be an enchanted forest with their puffy dresses, and real diamond crowns?

You wouldn't say your two-piece suit was cheap, but you didn't stand out from any of the other guys. A matching light blue coral jacket and trousers fit over your form comfortably, underneath was a clean pressed white dress shirt. The finishing touch was a deep cobalt blue bowtie that was further emphasized by the white pocket square half hidden beside your heartbeat. The displaced refracting shine from the overhead disco ball made your suit shine like it had glitter. And, if it was up to your friends for your appearance, then you would have.

You anxiously tapped your navy William leather cap toe oxfords beneath the table, remembering how much of a chore it was to sway yourself to attend. You missed Nick. You wanted him to be here, even if you two would have to pretend to be bros and stay six feet apart to maintain appearances. It would have been worth it to memorize his maturing face under the neon lights and streamers. You could've also been hassling him all day about how he can't show up to prom with just jeans and his hoodie of the day. Then it would have made that image of him even more valuable. But Nick was barred from the dance.

And so, again, you watched as your friends and classmates began to form a circle surrounding the center of the dance floor. Everyone had gotten up from their tables to join in on the camaraderie. Everyone but you. You sighed, twirling your pointer finger around the rim of the punch glass that poofed into existence in front of you. What's the point of this dream, you thought to yourself. There were no wacky shenanigans, no distortion, no plot holes filled with random objects. It just felt like a memory. The exact same night that occurred over three years ago, replaying now. But why? If it was so important, why was your subconscious having you relive your lonely night. Wait.

As if the dream was lagging, your heart instantly began to thrum. You looked up and saw him. Nick's head peaked around the opened doors - that the chaperone teachers had long since moved further inside to congregate amongst the punch bowl. He wore his black hoodie - a recent purchase of his at the start your senior year that he loved but would never admit - pulled over his head, his bright smile still gave him away. He tilts his head backwards, asking you to follow him outside. You don't even think twice.

"What are you doing here? You were banned from being seen on school premises tonight, remember?"

"You looked like you needed saving," Nick cheekily says. He holds himself back from wrapping an arm across your shoulders to pull you closer as you both begin to round the school. Too close, you hear his thought echo in your head.

"Actually, I was having the time of my life," you respond, knowing that this is a dream. You could push his buttons as much as you wish. "Everyone's wrapped up dancing, but nobody ever speaks about how good the punch is."

"Yeah? Did one of the stoners spike the bowl?"

You think for a second, flicking your tongue to draw back the taste. Did it even taste like anything? "That's not important."

"Tell me what's important, handsome." Suddenly, you are both transported onto the football field. The parking lot and surrounding forest are still, while you can faintly hear the booming drums from the gym. One of Nick's hands grips your left shoulder and the other caresses the small of your back. Under a single floodlight, Nick's blue eyes look brightly innocent with the shine. He's also re-wearing his simple black tuxedo.

You gasp; déjà vu cracking your stuttering heart and floods your limbs. "This is just a dream," you hear yourself say out loud.

He shakes his head, with a warm smile says, "This may not be the real world, but you can't deny the emotions you're feeling. Here in this memory. Out there, when you're awake with him. With me."

"But-"

"Even when you are dreaming you still worry too much," Nick laughs.

"Look, we don't have much time together before you wake up," he lifts the hand on your shoulder, carefully holding your cheek like you are a fragile statue. "Otherwise, I would have taken you to do what we actually did on prom night."

You push against his shoulder, remembering how you made out back in the heart of the forest. It was a spur of the moment, after you both had held yourself back for years of longing looks and closeness coded as two bros, finally letting go of inhibitions that society placed on you and reinforced. All the dirty looks, the bullying, and the whispered snide remarks, only for you two to finally throw it all away once you were hidden away from everyone. Prom night didn't go how you wanted, but to you, it was still romantically perfect.

"But why now?"

Nick smirks. "We both know why now. Look, I'm still an amalgamation of your memories and the fleeting biases of your subconscious so I can't speak for the man sleeping next to you. You've gotta figure out your own feelings, baby."

Your dream ends with a single, soft press of his lips against your forehead. It was the same first act of affection Nick did with you. It all happened that prom night.

Nick re-awakens floating in a blank expanding void. He peers around to find a single sheet of glass far away. His floating shifted into a determined walk as a surfacing ground began to hold him up. When he investigates the screen, he finds his sister's smiling image. The glass flips and it transforms into a mirror. The glass continues to spin as it displays Carly and Nick at different ages, from 21 to 18, 15, 12, 9, 6, and 3. As it stops, a small, young toddler Nick is pictured, above a white box edges out of the white void. It reads The Evil Twin, his parents' voice cruelly repeating the same words. Instantly, Nick punches his young image, frustratingly hoping to pause this nightmare.

He's panting, body locked as he's met with silence. Looking back up, the white box pushes itself back into the white void, rearranging the surface again flat. "I'm not the evil twin," he roughly whispers against the void.

"No, you aren't," a voice answers.

Nick turns around, the void converted into a suburban street. From the palm trees, the clear blue skies filled with passing Northern Mockingbirds, Blue Jays, and Mourning Doves, and the blaring heat under the sun, he recognized the scene clearly. It was Gainesville, Florida. This is your street, he recognizes.

Hiding and merging into the sunlight, Nick takes slow, careful steps as he walks to your apartment. After giving a solid college try at living on campus during your first year, you were extremely fortunate to have found a decently priced apartment near the University of Florida. Just like he knew your dorm room too well, Nick had also spent many nights walking with you after both of your classes for the day and spending the night studying. His heart jumps at the many memories of boring studying becoming fun once you created a rewards system that always led him to wrinkled textbooks across the floor as you both make out. This was your shared safe haven.

Nick twists the golden doorknob, opening the scene into a single blue tent in the middle of the hallway. An accompanying window leads the golden sun rays like a spotlight onto the only item in the room. He could open it, but he stopped himself. What if his nightmare continues? He can't risk seeing the horror his mind creates for you.

"Nick," your voice within the tent calls out. "It's okay. You're okay. You. Are. Not. The. Evil. Twin."

He's frozen, his fear defending against the mysterious that pulls toward his desires. His want to see you, even if it's you in his dream.

"You can come inside, Nick. I allow you inside, babe."

Entranced by his siren's voice, he unzips the tent, crouches down to push open the flap, and crawls into the golden light.

You awaken to being held, a familiar muscularly lanky figure surrounding your form. You distinctly remember last night falling asleep before Nick or Dalton had decided to hit the hay. You knew it was Nick, sharing your blanket, comfortably cuddling against you. Now, you wished you had stayed up - faked your sleep - so you could've known if Nick immediately gave into temptation. If he couldn't help himself.

Wearily opening your eyes, you're blasted with the morning sunlight. It seemed like it was directly targeting you two, bathing you both in crisp warmth to begin a lazy Louisiana day. You inch your head forward, making sure not to tickle Nick's nose with your hair, and slowly lift your head to peer at his form. A soft grumble escapes his lips at feeling you move, but his arms are limp around you as he continues to release short snores.

In this spotlight, Nick's sleeping form makes him look younger, more innocent. Even with his rough beard and sharper jaw line, he looked at peace. His hair is tinted back into a soft shade of yellow, the darkness hiding away from the goodness of the light to show his true nature. Like the Nick you met in high school. He still is the same guy you pined after for three years, shared your first kiss with on your prom night, and began to date after graduating high school.

He was a mess; you couldn't ignore that trait. But to you, it added more to his charm. You didn't understand why so many people judged him harshly for his actions. Sure, he can be a piece of shit, but his actions are a product of his isolation. He needed someone to give him an ounce of support, to be there for him. And once he realized that you had eventually weasled your way into becoming that person for him then he became furiously loyal. You had actually seen Nick's personality similarly shift after he finally got close with Dalton.

Looking past Nick, you noticed the other half of the tent was completely empty. All that was left was a half-flung, rumpled blanket and tucked away in the corner were Nick's and your pile of clothes on top of your respective pair of shifts. It seemed like Dalton had just gotten up.

"You lookin' for an escape?" Nick asks, exhaustion lacing his deep, rough voice.

You can't help yourself but allow yourself to smile at him. "Where's Dalton?"

"He shook me awake ten minutes ago to tell me he had to go take a piss," Nick huffs, no real harm behind his words. "He also asked me where I had last seen his camcorder. Do you remember?"

"I called it early last night, remember? That camera could be lost in the woods after he snuck off to watch back his footage."

"Yeah, I remember," Nick hums, pulling you back down against him. Having your body tight against his, it was exactly all that he wanted to do the moment he saw you before the trip. It's all he could think of last night. The moment lingers - secure, safe, and familiar all settling between the two of you. He sighs, "I missed you. I missed this."

You force yourself to freeze, biting back the same words you wish to echo. I hope I'm not being obvious, you think. You want to fill the silence with any comment, any observation but it all leads you back to what you two need to discuss. "Nick, we need to talk-"

"I know, baby. I know," he whispers against your throat, causing you to shiver. Nuzzling his nose against your neck, he begins to place sweet kisses. It's innocent, loving, and-

Nick turns you around, pressing your chests together. His forehead kisses yours as he now looks into your eyes. His blue eyes shimmer, half-lidded, and he's gazing at you adoringly. It's the same look he gives before-

You feel him, hard, hot, and big, presssing incessantly against your left thigh. Shit. Even after having spent countless nights as lovers tangled in the same sheets, feeling him like this against you still causes you to blush. Naturally, heat begins to pool south as Nick reignites you. You push your right palm against his tough, large chest, trying to get any semblance of rational between the two of you - any distance at all to let your brain think.

"Baby, if you allow me, I can make you feel good like old times," Nick coos, his warm breath fanning against your face. You flush further, shutting your eyes as a last-ditch effort. It feels like it begins to work until he juts himself against you again. His left hand that was cradling your face, moves lower against your body. A line of warmth follows his fingers as he grabs you, tugging you a few times. You harden.

"I thought about this every night..." Nick trails off, too distracted to finish his thought. With your boxers pressed against his how could he think about anything else. He grunts as you moan, pleasure flooding your nerves as your tips kiss beneath the soft fabric. This only spurs him further. Faster. Harder.

"Nick," you whisper, not wanting to ruin the intimacy. He stops, pressing himself back against you. You know he's listening intently when you feel him twitch - his mind racing as he tries to hold himself back. "What about Dalton? What if he walks back into the tent?"

"That's what you're thinking about, huh?" He grunts, slowly grinding against your boxers. You feel his pulse quicken against your chest, his cock straining against the thin fabric as he continues to twitch. "Dalton has walked in on us. Multiple times, too. It's nothing he hasn't seen before."

"But, baby, if you're so worried," he presses his face against your open neck with a grin, "I can be quick."

He layers kisses - first against your pulse point as he weasels his large hand further into your boxers to grab you. He moves to French kiss your jaw, moving higher and higher to nibble at your right earlobe, tugging at your cock. When a quick moan leaves you, you give in and wrap your arms across his broad shoulders. You pull him even closer, wanting your bodies to melt into the other. His groans fill the tent; the enclosed space makes it feel louder even though he only ever wants you to hear him like this. Vulnerable. Completely open. All because you continuously break him.

"As long as we stay under the covers," he breathes into your neck, "Dalton will never know of our tryst."

He tightens his grip around your dick, trying to pour months of love - of being without you - into his work. You can begin to feel a wet spot form on your boxers, though you are too enraptured to determine if it's from you or Nick. As if hearing your thoughts, he pushes himself up further against you and you can feel his thick tip sandwiched between the edge of his hard, rigid abs and over the band of your underwear. He's leaking. Profusely. His pre-cum spreads and begins to collect at the front of your waist.

Your shirt rolls up, and so does his white tank top. His happy trail brushes against you, the new friction adding to intensify the sensation. Nick makes you feel lost, only ever coming to when his cock begins to tense and gives small slaps against you in his excitement. All throughout this, Nick hasn't stopped jerking you off and breathing you in. His mustache itching against your skin, the burning cools beautifully.

It's a push and pull, something so simple, and yet so intense. Nick makes sure to jerk you at the same rate as his thrusts. He's fast, even more solid. The distance of time makes him feel longer and larger than what you remember. Beginning to pant, you can feel sweat drip onto your neck from his forehead. It's one of the only signs you know he shows that he's holding himself back from cumming. His exertion isn't meant for himself, it's all for you.

"You close, baby?" he asks, pushing your body even closer with his free hand against your lower back.

"I'm going to cum," you whisper-yell, voice wavering. Your cock twitches in agreement.

"I could go on and on," he groans, immediately preventing that idea from lingering - revealing the truth. His large cock: rigidly protesting.

"Please, baby. Let go for me," his voice deepens, the rumble from his chest echoing within your body. He picks up speed, his grip on you getting in the way of his incessant thrusts. He doesn't care, not right now.

You cry out as you cum, your head falling onto Nick's shoulder, your body giving out. Within the blissful fog, you still feel him at attention, the long thick vein that runs beneath him pulsing heavy like a war drum. He pulls his hand away from you, your cum messily between some of his fingers. It already begins to stick onto his skin, as if it's begging to be a part of him too. Forever.

"Baby, can I come on you?" he cries out, voice dipping an octave higher. You vigorously nod against his shoulder, wanting nothing more than to see him come undone.

In his hot fury of thrusts, he's still careful to avoid your pelvis. He wants you to feel pure pleasure. Nick's done seeing you in pain. "Can you answer me verbally, baby?"

It takes you a second, but eventually you say, "Cum for me, Nick."

And that's all it took. One. Two. And three more long juts of his hard length grinding against your hip and he releases himself. He groans, feeling relieved. His cock enlarges, abs flexing, mushroom head a deep red shooting his load onto your skin. Nick cums a lot, his body and mind in sync - excited to be back with you, so close. Together. By the time he's done, he collected himself enough to pull back and stare at your face. He pulls back his arms and with each hand, he spreads both of your seeds onto each of your waists. Him on you. And you on him.

Warm silence wraps around you both. The mix of the moment, your blissfulness, and the time spent apart causes you to kiss Nick. He immediately reciprocates, pushing back softly against you. He wants to re-memorize you, even if it takes one slow kiss at a time. He pulls back and laughs. It's pure joy, relief, and love at what you both just did.

Nick turns back onto his back, the blanket immediately latching onto his abs, where your cum is drying. You settle against his side, laying your head onto the muscle of his big pectoral. His heart is racing but is starting to diminuendo from the adrenaline. Yours is too.

"We'll talk about us, later, yeah? After the game," Nick brings up. But you're already half asleep. You barely register his words to give a nod. You fall back asleep. Nick joins you, only after making sure that you are comfortable on him. Back in his arms.

You miss it when he says, "I still love you," before he, too, falls back asleep.

Author's Note 2: Halfway through this as I began to think more about the rest of this series and how the rest of the movie plays out, I decided to add some more fluffy moments between male reader and Nick, because honestly I don't know where else I could include them after like the next scene. If I add anything even remotely fluffy in like the last hour of the movie, then it's gonna feel really out of place and strange💀. I'll try to figure stuff out some more, but, oh boy, get ready for everything that male reader, Nick, and everyone else will face. Also also, I might have to change this from Part Two to maybe Three or Four since I don't know how much of the movie I'm actually going to tackle per fic part in the future.

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