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anchored heart 𓂃 ࣪⋆💿˚ ༘ anton lee

✮ pairing : riize's anton lee/lee chanyoung x female!reader (han jiyeon)

✮ word count: 19.5k

✮ tags: slow-burn romance, college/university setting, healing & recovery

✮ warnings: mild sexual content, strong emotional themes

✮ synopsis: betrayed by the people she trusted most, jiyeon’s world shatters—until anton, a swimmer with his own hidden scars, saves her from the brink. what begins as a pact to provoke her ex slowly turns into something deeper: a love neither expected. amid teasing touches, stolen kisses, and quiet moments alone, can jiyeon and anton’s bond survive jealousy, regret, and the world around them?

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

"No more pretending, Jiyeon. My heart has already chosen you—and it will anchor here, with you, no matter the storm." —Anton

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Han Jiyeon had always thought betrayal would come with warning signs. A shift in tone, a change in routine, a cold distance that settled between two people like frost on glass. But when betrayal finally came, it arrived like a slap in the face—sudden, raw, leaving her stunned.

She wasn’t supposed to see it. She hadn’t gone looking for proof. Jiyeon had only been scrolling idly, the way anyone does in a moment of boredom, when her thumb froze over the photo flashing across her screen.

Park Wonbin. Her Wonbin. His arm wrapped tightly around the waist of the woman Jiyeon had once called sister in all but blood—Hyeri. Her best friend, her confidante, the one who knew all of Jiyeon’s secrets, all her insecurities.

They were laughing together in the photo. Hyeri’s lips almost brushing Wonbin’s cheek. And worse—worse than anything—Jiyeon recognized the shirt he wore. It was the one she had given him on their hundredth day anniversary.

Her chest felt like it had caved in.

The phone slipped from her fingers, landing on the floor with a thud, but she didn’t even flinch. The edges of her vision blurred as though the world itself recoiled.

“No…” The word slipped out of her lips, soft, broken.

It didn’t matter that she tried to reason with herself—that maybe it was just a friendly picture, that maybe she was misinterpreting. Because deep down, she knew. She had seen the way Hyeri’s eyes lingered on Wonbin when she thought Jiyeon wasn’t looking. She had ignored it, brushed it aside as paranoia. Now it stood in front of her, undeniable.

Her stomach twisted. She stumbled to her feet, a thousand voices in her head clamoring at once—anger, disbelief, shame. But above all, the hollow ache of being replaced.

And so she ran.

The night air outside was cool against her flushed face, but it wasn’t enough to numb the fire inside. Her legs carried her without direction, down empty streets, past dimly lit cafés, until the world narrowed to the sound of her shallow breaths and the pounding of her heart.

When she finally stopped, she found herself standing before the swimming pool complex on campus. The gates were open—students often practiced late, or lingered after club activities. She wasn’t sure what drew her inside. Maybe it was the stillness of the water, the way it seemed to reflect the emptiness she felt inside.

She walked to the edge. The faint scent of chlorine tickled her nose.

Jiyeon stared down at her reflection. Her face looked strange, pale and distorted by rippling water. She thought of Hyeri’s perfect smile, of Wonbin’s laugh, and suddenly she couldn’t bear to see herself anymore.

Her shoes slipped off without thought. She stepped closer, toes curling against the cool tile.

Maybe if I sink… it will be quiet.

Before she could think twice, she jumped.

The water swallowed her whole, icy shock wrapping around her body. Her clothes clung heavy against her skin as she sank deeper, deeper, lungs screaming. But Jiyeon didn’t fight. For once, she didn’t want to.

Her chest burned. Darkness crowded the edges of her mind. She closed her eyes.

But then—arms. Strong, desperate arms.

The water around her churned as someone gripped her waist and pulled. She felt herself being dragged upward, toward the surface she thought she had abandoned.

And then—air. Harsh, blinding, burning as it filled her lungs against her will. She coughed violently, choking as water spilled from her lips. Her body convulsed on the cold tiles of the poolside.

The voice was hoarse, panicked. “Please—stay with me! Don’t you dare—”

Her eyelids fluttered open, heavy as stone.

The first thing she saw was a face she knew, though not intimately. Anton Lee. The swimmer everyone admired, the athlete with a smile that melted crowds. Only now, his smile was gone, replaced by wide, terrified eyes, his chest heaving as though he were the one drowning.

Water dripped from his hair, his shirt clinging to his broad shoulders. His lips trembled as though he couldn’t believe she was alive.

“I—” His voice broke. He pressed a hand against her cheek as though to anchor her. “Don’t you ever do that again. Do you hear me?”

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Her throat was raw, her chest aching from water and tears. But more than anything, she couldn’t look away from him—this boy who was crying openly in front of her, his tears mixing with the pool water still dripping from his chin.

He held her as though she were something precious. As though losing her, a stranger, would break him.

And for the first time that night, Jiyeon’s own tears spilled freely.

When Jiyeon opened her eyes again, the first thing she noticed was the ceiling. White, sterile, humming faintly with the buzz of fluorescent lights. She blinked against the harsh glow, her lashes heavy with lingering dampness.

The faint scent of antiseptic and chlorine clung to her, confusing her for a moment. Where was she?

Then, the memory came crashing back. The plunge into water. The icy silence. The way her chest had screamed as darkness pulled her under.

Her breath hitched.

And then—his face. The desperate eyes, the trembling hands pressing against her chest, the voice begging her to breathe.

Jiyeon turned her head to the side.

Anton Lee sat slouched in a chair by the bed, his hair still damp, his jacket hanging off his broad shoulders. He wasn’t asleep, but he looked like he hadn’t moved in hours. His elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped tightly as though holding something fragile together.

His eyes flicked up the moment she stirred. Relief washed over his features so visibly it almost startled her.

“You’re awake.” His voice was hoarse, as though scraped raw.

Jiyeon swallowed, her throat aching as though filled with glass. “…Why are you—”

“Because you scared me half to death.” His words cut sharper than she expected, but they trembled with something more than anger. Fear.

Her lips parted, but nothing came.

Anton dragged a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. He looked like someone who had fought a battle and barely survived. His usual calm, confident aura—the one she had noticed from afar in the campus corridors—was shattered. What sat before her now was a boy stripped bare.

“I thought you were gone,” he whispered. His gaze dropped to his hands. “I pulled you out, and you weren’t breathing. You were just… limp. Like him.”

Jiyeon frowned faintly. “…Like who?”

His jaw tightened. Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until finally, he spoke again.

“My best friend,” Anton said quietly. His eyes didn’t meet hers, but his voice carried the weight of something old, something scarred. “We swam together for years. He was faster than me. Stronger. Everyone thought he’d make it to nationals. But one night during practice, he pushed himself too far. He collapsed in the water. I—” His voice cracked, and he pressed his fingers hard against his temple. “I wasn’t fast enough. By the time I reached him, it was too late. He died in my arms.”

The words hit Jiyeon like a blow.

She lay still, her chest aching with a new kind of heaviness. The image of Anton, diving instinctively into the pool after her, took on a different light. It wasn’t just instinct. It was memory. It was fear. It was loss repeating itself all over again.

Her throat tightened. “…And then you saw me.”

“Yes.” His reply was immediate, ragged. His hand curled into a fist on his knee. “When I pulled you out, I swear—I thought I was back there. Reliving it. For a moment I was sure I was too late again. And I couldn’t—” He cut himself off, biting down on the words before they could escape.

For a long moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the light above them.

Jiyeon turned her gaze to the blanket covering her legs. The shame crept in slowly, hot and bitter. She hadn’t thought of anyone else when she jumped. Not her parents. Not her friends. Certainly not the stranger who had risked himself to drag her out.

“I didn’t mean for you to…” Her voice broke, brittle and small. “I just… I didn’t want to feel it anymore. The betrayal. The humiliation. Seeing them together—I thought if I sank, the pain would sink with me.”

Her shoulders trembled. She hated that she sounded weak, hated the tears threatening to spill again. But Anton didn’t move, didn’t interrupt.

Finally, she dared to glance at him.

His eyes were on her—not judgmental, not pitying. Just steady, raw, and unbearably kind.

“Don’t give them that power,” he said, his tone low but firm.

His bluntness startled her, and yet, something in her chest stirred. A tiny spark in the dark.

Anton leaned back finally, dragging a shaky breath through his nose. His hands loosened, though they still twitched as if replaying the moment he’d pulled her from the water.

“You’re alive,” he said, softer now. Almost to himself. “That’s what matters. You’re alive.”

And for the first time since the night began, Jiyeon realized how fiercely someone wanted her to be.

The infirmary was quiet. Too quiet. Jiyeon could hear the faint ticking of the wall clock, the distant hum of water still filtering through the swimming pool beyond the walls. Each sound seemed amplified in the silence that stretched between them.

She sat up slowly, the blanket pooling around her lap. Her hair clung damply to her cheeks, strands curling stubbornly where they had dried unevenly. Every part of her felt heavy—the kind of heaviness that wasn’t just from water, but from the storm inside.

Anton hadn’t moved far. He leaned against the wall near the door, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, as though holding himself together. The wetness in his hair had dried into loose waves, making him look softer than the untouchable athlete she had always seen from a distance.

But his eyes—they were sharp. Watching her. Waiting.

Jiyeon swallowed, her throat raw. “I suppose… you want to know why I did it.”

His brows knit faintly, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tilted his head, gaze steady. “Only if you want to tell me.”

The gentleness in his tone made it harder. Jiyeon had braced herself for judgment, for harsh words. But kindness—that cracked her chest open wider.

She let out a trembling laugh, bitter and thin. “It’s pathetic, really. I nearly drowned myself because of a boy.”

Anton’s jaw tightened. “Not just a boy.”

She blinked, startled.

He pushed off the wall, walking a few steps closer. The floor creaked faintly under his weight. “If he was just some guy, you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have looked like the world ended. So don’t belittle your own pain.”

The words pierced her. Jiyeon’s fingers curled in the blanket, gripping it tight.

“…Park Wonbin,” she whispered at last. The name tasted like ash. “We were together for two years. He was… safe. Warm. Someone I trusted enough to give my whole heart to.” Her throat closed up, but she forced the words out. “And Hyeri—she was my best friend. Since high school. She knew everything about me. Every secret, every dream. I thought she loved me like a sister.”

Anton didn’t interrupt. His eyes never wavered from hers.

“I caught them,” Jiyeon continued, her voice trembling. “Not with my eyes. But the photos were enough. The way he touched her. The way she leaned into him. I should’ve seen it sooner. Should’ve…” Her chest ached as though it were splitting apart. “…But I didn’t. And when I did, I couldn’t breathe. I thought—what am I worth, if the people I love most throw me away so easily?”

Her tears threatened again. She hated how fragile she sounded, hated that she was baring the ugliest part of herself to someone who should’ve remained a stranger.

But Anton’s expression didn’t shift into pity. It darkened into something else. Something fierce.

“I hate cheaters,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl.

Jiyeon blinked at him.

His fists clenched at his sides. “My brother-in-law cheated on my sister. Left her for someone else. I watched her cry every night until she stopped eating, stopped smiling. She was never the same. I swore then—I would never forgive people who betray like that. Never.”

The intensity in his voice made her shiver.

He stepped closer, the air between them charged now. “Don’t you dare think you’re worthless because of what they did. That’s their shame, not yours. And if you want…” His voice softened, a dangerous edge slipping into something almost conspiratorial. “…we can make them regret it.”

Her breath caught. “What do you mean?”

He held her gaze, steady and unflinching. “Let’s give them something they can’t ignore. You and me—together. Make Wonbin choke on the sight of you moving on.”

The suggestion hung in the air like smoke, intoxicating and reckless.

Jiyeon stared at him, her mind spinning. The idea was absurd. Childish. Dangerous. And yet… a spark flickered deep in her chest, something dangerously close to hope.

“Why would you…” Her voice faltered. “Why help me?”

Anton’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. It was sharper, darker. “Because cheaters deserve hell. And because—” He paused, eyes softening as he looked at her, really looked at her. “—you deserve to know what it feels like to be chosen. Even if we have to fake it at first.”

Her heart stuttered.

Silence wrapped around them, heavy and fragile. For the first time since her world had shattered, Jiyeon felt something other than pain. A dangerous, unfamiliar warmth unfurled inside her, whispering of possibilities she hadn’t dared imagine.

“Think about it,” Anton said, stepping back finally, giving her room to breathe. “You don’t have to decide now. But know this—I won’t let them break you again.”

And as his words settled deep into her chest, Jiyeon realized that maybe, just maybe, her story wasn’t over yet.

The following morning, Jiyeon told herself she would avoid them.

She had promised her trembling heart that she wouldn’t let her feet wander into places where memories waited to stab her. She wouldn’t glance at Wonbin’s familiar smile or Hyeri’s too-sweet laugh. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her broken.

But fate was cruel.

Her path across campus brought her near the fountain at the courtyard’s center. And there they were—Wonbin and Hyeri—standing close enough that their shadows nearly touched.

Hyeri leaned in, her lips brushing dangerously near his ear as she whispered something. Wonbin chuckled, tilting his head toward her, that soft laugh Jiyeon once thought was hers alone.

The sight tore something inside her. Her breath caught, chest constricting painfully, and she hated that she froze instead of walking away.

It was then a familiar voice spoke beside her, low and steady.

“Pathetic, isn’t it?”

Jiyeon startled, turning sharply.

Anton Lee stood there, his tall frame casual in a gray hoodie and dark joggers, yet there was something about him that drew every passing glance. Damp strands of his hair clung to his forehead as though he had just come from morning practice. He looked infuriatingly effortless, as if the world bent around his presence.

And he was far too close—his shoulder brushed hers lightly, a contact that sent a ripple through her composure.

“You—” Jiyeon hissed under her breath. “Do you always sneak up on people?”

Anton tilted his head, unbothered. “I wasn’t sneaking. I was waiting.”

Her brows furrowed. “…Waiting for what?”

His gaze slid toward the fountain. “For you to see with your own eyes why my idea makes sense.”

Jiyeon followed his eyes. Wonbin was still smiling, still leaning into Hyeri as though the years he had spent with Jiyeon meant nothing.

Her throat tightened. “…It won’t work.”

“It will,” Anton said, his voice calm with dangerous certainty. “People like them? Jealousy eats them alive. Watch closely.”

Before she could protest, he shifted nearer. His arm brushed hers again—deliberate this time. Jiyeon stiffened, her body buzzing with the sudden warmth bleeding from his skin into hers.

“What are you—”

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only she could hear. His breath ghosted her ear, and she shivered. “It’s just for show.”

But it didn’t feel like just for show. Not when his fingers curled ever so slightly, grazing the back of her hand as if testing whether she’d pull away. The touch was feather-light, maddeningly casual to anyone watching—but to Jiyeon, it was a jolt straight to her chest.

Her heart thundered. Her body screamed at her to step back, but her pride—wounded and burning—kept her still.

Across the courtyard, Wonbin’s laughter faltered. He had noticed. His gaze locked on Jiyeon and Anton, his expression stiffening despite the polite smile he forced onto his lips.

Anton noticed too. A flicker of satisfaction gleamed in his dark eyes.

“See?” he whispered, leaning slightly closer so only she could feel the rumble of his voice. “It’s already working.”

Jiyeon swallowed hard. “…You’re insane.”

“Maybe.” His lips curved faintly, the ghost of a smirk. “But tell me you don’t enjoy watching him squirm.”

Her cheeks burned. She wanted to deny it, to claim she felt nothing. But the small, vicious thrill blooming in her chest betrayed her. Wonbin’s discomfort—subtle as it was—felt like the tiniest balm to her wounded pride.

And Anton saw it.

Before she could respond, his hand lifted. In one smooth motion, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The pad of his finger brushed her skin—light, fleeting—but the intimate gesture rooted her in place.

Her breath hitched.

Anton’s eyes didn’t leave hers as he murmured, “Pretend. That’s all this is.”

But there was something unspoken in his gaze, something that lingered just a beat too long, as if even he wasn’t entirely convinced.

Across the fountain, Hyeri had turned too. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she took in the sight of them together.

Jiyeon saw it—the flash of irritation, quickly hidden behind a smile too bright to be genuine. Hyeri leaned closer to Wonbin, looping her arm through his with exaggerated sweetness.

And Jiyeon finally understood. Anton was right.

This wasn’t just pretending. This was a weapon.

Her pulse hammered as she lowered her gaze, forcing herself to step back from Anton’s warmth. “…I’ll play along,” she muttered, almost to herself.

His smirk widened, just barely. “Good girl.”

The words, soft and teasing, made her ears burn.

Jiyeon had always believed that pain made time move slower. After betrayal, the hours dragged, the days stretched unbearably long, and every corner of campus felt like a minefield of memories she couldn’t escape.

But lately… things were different.

Lately, her days were filled with Anton.

It wasn’t intentional at first. He simply appeared—beside her at lunch, near the entrance after class, waiting by the gates when she least expected it. Always casual, as though it was coincidence, but Jiyeon was beginning to wonder if he did it on purpose.

And the more time she spent with him, the more the stares followed.

The first whispers began in the cafeteria.

Jiyeon had chosen the quietest corner to eat alone, her tray half-empty because her appetite was still fickle. She told herself she liked the silence, though the truth was simpler: she didn’t want to risk running into them.

But then Anton arrived.

He didn’t ask before sliding into the seat beside her, setting his tray down with the kind of ease that suggested this was already routine. Jiyeon blinked at him, startled.

“…What are you doing?” she asked in a low voice.

“Eating.” He speared a piece of chicken, chewed thoughtfully, then looked at her tray. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

She stiffened. “I’m not hungry.”

Anton didn’t reply right away. Instead, he picked up his juice box, popped the straw in, and set it in front of her. “Drink this.”

Her brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You need sugar. You look pale.” His tone was so matter-of-fact it left no room for refusal.

Jiyeon blinked at the juice, then at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Probably,” he agreed with a faint smile. But he pushed the drink closer until she sighed, giving in. She sipped once, her cheeks heating as she realized people were staring.

The cafeteria had gone quieter, students sneaking glances, whispering behind their hands.

And across the room, Wonbin’s spoon clattered loudly against his tray.

The second time was louder.

The club fair always drew crowds, with tents lined across the courtyard and banners fluttering in the breeze. Jiyeon had come only to browse, but the moment she spotted Anton surrounded by a cluster of freshmen, she froze.

Of course he would draw attention. He was tall, striking, and already known as the star swimmer. Jiyeon told herself she would walk past quickly before anyone noticed.

But Anton noticed.

His eyes found her immediately, as though he had been waiting. And in front of half a dozen eager freshmen, he reached back and caught her hand.

Jiyeon’s heart jolted.

“Sorry,” he said easily, flashing that disarming smile of his. “I promised I’d show her around.”

Their fingers intertwined loosely, nothing extravagant, but Jiyeon could feel every curious stare in the crowd. Her pulse raced, her face burned—and still, she didn’t pull away.

Anton’s thumb brushed lightly against her knuckles as though reassuring her. It was a small, hidden gesture, but it made her knees weak.

And from across the quad, Hyeri’s expression slipped for a fraction of a second. Her smile wavered, too bright, too forced, as she whispered something sharp to Wonbin.

The third time was softer, almost cinematic.

Rain began to fall in fine sheets just as Jiyeon stepped out of the library. She cursed her luck, fumbling for a jacket she didn’t have, when an umbrella tilted over her head.

Anton stood there, holding it above them. His own shoulder was already wet, droplets clinging to his hair.

“Come on,” he said simply, shifting the umbrella so she was fully sheltered.

“…You’ll get soaked.”

“I swim every day. Rain doesn’t bother me.”

The simplicity of his answer made something warm unfurl in her chest. She ducked her head, hiding the small smile tugging at her lips.

As they walked side by side, his arm brushed against hers, the umbrella tilting slightly with every step. Jiyeon knew anyone passing by would see them as a couple—and for once, she didn’t mind the assumption.

From across the street, beneath the awning of a café, Wonbin watched. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened.

The rumors spread quickly after that. Some said they were inseparable. Some said Anton had confessed. Some said Jiyeon was finally glowing again, though she never admitted why.

Hyeri noticed too—more than anyone else.

One evening, she finally cornered Anton outside the library, her tone syrupy.

“You and Jiyeon… are you really together?” she asked, eyes wide with feigned innocence.

Anton tilted his head, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Why do you ask?”

Hyeri opened her mouth, but before she could reply, Jiyeon emerged carrying an armful of borrowed books. Anton stepped forward immediately, relieving her of half the weight. His hand brushed hers in the exchange—deliberate, intimate—and Jiyeon smiled up at him, soft and unguarded.

The sight silenced Hyeri completely.

And in that fleeting moment, Jiyeon realized something terrifying:

They weren’t just pretending anymore.

It was supposed to be pretend.

That was the rule Jiyeon had repeated to herself over and over like a prayer. If she let herself forget, even for a moment, she feared she would lose control. Anton Lee was dangerous in ways she hadn’t prepared for—because it wasn’t just his looks, or his easy charm, or his stubborn insistence on standing at her side.

It was the way he made her heart forget it had been broken.

And that… was far more terrifying.

The library was quiet that afternoon, filled only with the scratch of pens and the occasional turning of pages. Jiyeon sat with her notebook open, determined to focus on her literature assignment. But her focus was shattered the moment Anton sat down beside her.

Too close. Always too close.

His shoulder brushed hers as he leaned over her notes, scanning her neat handwriting with irritating curiosity.

“You write too small,” he murmured, voice a low rumble in the silence.

“It’s perfectly legible,” Jiyeon shot back in a whisper. “You’re just nosy.”

Anton smirked, leaning in so close his hair nearly brushed her cheek. “Maybe I just want to see what’s going on in your head.”

Her pulse jumped. She turned sharply, meaning to glare, but froze when their faces were only inches apart. His dark eyes met hers steadily, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

The pen slipped from her fingers and clattered softly against the desk.

Anton’s smirk deepened, but he didn’t tease. Instead, he reached under the table and took her hand in his, his grip firm but gentle.

Jiyeon’s eyes widened. “What are you—”

“Relax,” he whispered, giving her hand a small squeeze. “No one can see.”

Her heart pounded against her ribs. There was no audience. No Hyeri. No Wonbin. Just the warmth of his fingers curling around hers, and the realization that she didn’t want to pull away.

She told herself it was pretend. A game. But in the silence of the library, the only thing she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat betraying her.

The air had turned sharp with autumn a few days later. Jiyeon waited outside the pool building, hugging her arms around herself as the breeze nipped at her skin.

When Anton emerged, his hair damp and tracksuit clinging to his broad frame, he caught her shiver immediately.

“Cold?” he asked, his tone as casual as if he were asking the time.

“…A little,” she admitted reluctantly, rubbing her hands together.

Without another word, Anton tugged her toward the bench. Before Jiyeon could process what was happening, he sat down—then pulled her effortlessly into his lap.

Her breath caught. “A-Anton—!”

“Warmer this way,” he said simply, his arm circling her waist with a quiet certainty that left no room for argument.

She froze, her body stiff, heat rushing up her neck to her ears. His chest was firm against her back, his breath warm against her temple.

“You can’t just—do things like this,” she stammered, her voice trembling.

“Why not?” His tone was maddeningly calm, as though holding her like this was the most natural thing in the world.

“Because…” Jiyeon’s words faltered. Because her heart was racing. Because her hands trembled where they rested atop his. Because every inch of her body screamed to run while her heart whispered stay.

Anton chuckled low in his throat, the vibration of it brushing against her spine. “See? You can’t even find a reason.”

She wanted to slap him for being so smug. She wanted to push him away. But instead… she leaned back, just slightly, resting against him.

Anton went still. Then, slowly, his hand shifted, his fingers brushing lightly against her arm in a gesture so tender it made her chest ache.

They sat in silence like that, her heart betraying her with every unsteady beat.

But it wasn’t just their private moments anymore.

They walked across campus hand in hand without hesitation. They sat close enough in class that Jiyeon could feel the brush of his knee against hers. She caught herself laughing at his dry humor, her smiles more frequent, her voice lighter.

And everyone noticed.

Hyeri noticed.

Wonbin noticed.

Hyeri finally snapped first.

She cornered Anton outside the pool one afternoon, her tone sticky-sweet.

“You’re really serious about Jiyeon?” she asked, stepping closer. Her perfume clung to the air, too heavy, too deliberate. “You don’t have to pretend, you know. She’s just… fragile. You deserve someone who can keep up with you.”

Anton’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. “Careful, Hyeri.”

But before he could turn away, Jiyeon appeared at the end of the hall, books pressed tightly to her chest. She froze when she saw how close Hyeri stood, jealousy twisting unexpectedly in her stomach.

Anton didn’t hesitate.

He moved instantly, closing the distance to Jiyeon in long strides. His arm slipped around her shoulders with quiet possession, pulling her firmly against his side. His gaze never left Hyeri’s.

“Let’s go,” he said to Jiyeon, his tone final.

Hyeri’s smile faltered, the saccharine sweetness draining from her face.

Wonbin, meanwhile, could no longer stay silent.

He had watched Jiyeon smile with Anton, her eyes soft in ways they hadn’t been with him in months. He had seen Anton shielding her from the cold, pulling her close like she was something precious.

And it tore him apart.

One evening, he finally cornered her outside her lecture hall, desperation etched into his face.

“Jiyeon,” he said, his breath uneven. “We need to talk. About us.”

Her chest tightened painfully. His voice, once so familiar, now sounded like an echo from a life she no longer recognized.

“There is no us,” she said quietly, her fingers trembling around her books.

“Don’t say that,” Wonbin pleaded, stepping closer. “I made a mistake. I know I hurt you, but… you still love me, don’t you?”

The words stabbed like knives. How dare he? After everything, how dare he stand there and ask her that?

Before Jiyeon could respond, a warm hand slipped into hers.

Anton.

He appeared at her side like he had been waiting all along, his presence solid, grounding. Without a word, he tugged her gently but firmly away, their joined hands a shield she hadn’t realized she needed.

Jiyeon didn’t resist.

For the first time, she let Anton lead her. She let his warmth drown out the echo of Wonbin’s voice.

And as she glanced back only once, she saw something in Wonbin’s eyes she had never seen before.

Not arrogance.

Not confidence.

But fear.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

The line between acting and reality had always been thin. Jiyeon thought she could keep her balance, that she could play along with Anton’s bold gestures and confident smiles without letting her heart truly slip.

But now, each moment with him carved deeper cracks into her resolve.

Every time he caught her hand, every time he leaned in too close, every time his gaze lingered a second longer than necessary… she felt her walls weakening.

And maybe she wasn’t afraid of the walls breaking.

Maybe she was afraid of what she would find once they were gone.

That evening, Jiyeon stayed behind to help tidy up after a club activity. She lingered outside the main hall, waiting for Anton to finish in the locker room.

The campus was quiet, dusk painting the sky in muted purples. She wrapped her cardigan tighter, lost in her thoughts.

Then she heard it.

A voice—familiar, sweet in a way that always carried hidden edges.

“Anton.”

Hyeri.

Jiyeon instinctively stilled, her heart sinking. She was just around the corner, unseen, but her feet refused to move away.

Hyeri stood inside the dim hallway, her hair cascading over her shoulder, her expression carefully arranged into something soft and vulnerable.

“You’re always with Jiyeon lately,” she said, her tone light, almost teasing. “Don’t you ever get tired of pretending?”

Anton’s jaw tightened. “I told you before—watch your words.”

Hyeri stepped closer, ignoring his warning. Her hand lifted, brushing against his arm, her voice dipping low.

“I’m just saying… you don’t have to waste your time. I know you. You want someone who can keep up with you, someone who fits you.” Her lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “And Jiyeon? She’s fragile. Weak. You’ll get bored eventually. But me…” She tilted her head, her fingers daring to trace the edge of his sleeve. “I’ve always liked you, Anton.”

Jiyeon’s breath caught where she stood hidden, her heart clenching painfully.

Anton didn’t flinch at Hyeri’s touch. Instead, his voice came out low, sharp.

“Don’t.”

Hyeri blinked, caught off guard.

Anton stepped back, the distance deliberate. “If you think you can talk about her like that to me, you don’t know me at all.”

His eyes hardened, shadows flickering in their depths. “You remind me of the kind of people I hate most—selfish, careless, ready to trample others for your own gain. Don’t ever compare yourself to her again.”

Hyeri’s face faltered, her composure cracking. For once, she didn’t have a witty reply.

Jiyeon’s chest tightened, warmth blooming even through the sting of overhearing Hyeri’s cruel words.

He defended her. Without hesitation.

And the way he said her—like Jiyeon was someone precious, someone worth protecting—made her throat ache.

She stumbled back before either of them could notice, her legs trembling as she hurried down the path. By the time Anton caught up with her minutes later, his bag slung over his shoulder, she was already seated on the bench outside, pretending nothing had happened.

“You waited,” he said, sounding almost surprised.

Jiyeon forced a smile, hugging her cardigan close. “Of course I did. We’re supposed to look like we’re together, aren’t we?”

Anton’s gaze lingered on her, searching. As though he could sense the shift inside her, the tiny fracture lines spreading through her mask.

But he only nodded, sitting beside her. Their shoulders brushed, and neither moved away.

Later that week, it was Wonbin’s turn to corner her again.

He caught her in the courtyard between classes, his expression raw, unpolished.

“Jiyeon,” he said, his voice cracking. “Please. Just… hear me out.”

Her grip on her bag strap tightened. She didn’t want to hear him. She didn’t want to remember. But his desperation cut through her resolve.

“I was stupid,” he went on, his words tumbling over each other. “I made a mistake. I don’t even know why I—why I let myself… with Hyeri. It meant nothing. You’re the only one I—”

“Stop.”

The word left her lips before she could think, trembling with a force that surprised even herself.

Wonbin froze, his breath heavy.

“You don’t get to stand there and say it meant nothing,” Jiyeon said, her voice breaking but firm. “Because to me, it meant everything. You broke something I can’t get back. And you don’t get to fix it just because you’re suddenly sorry.”

Her eyes burned, her chest heaving with the weight of her words.

Wonbin took a step forward, reaching for her hand—

Only for Anton to appear at her side, his presence steady, his hand covering hers before Wonbin’s could reach.

The look Anton gave Wonbin was enough to silence him. Cold, unyielding.

“She said stop,” Anton said flatly.

Jiyeon’s fingers tightened around Anton’s almost instinctively. And for the first time, she realized—she wasn’t holding on for show.

She was holding on because she needed to.

Because maybe… she wanted to.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

The library had become their unspoken refuge.

It wasn’t just about studying anymore. It was the quiet, the way time seemed to slow when it was just the two of them, the comfort of knowing he would always be on the other side of the table—or sometimes, like now, right beside her, his shoulder pressed against hers as if it belonged there.

Jiyeon tried to focus on her notebook, but Anton’s presence was distracting in a way that made her heart pound too loudly in her chest. He was leaning in again, his hair still damp from practice, his skin carrying the faint scent of chlorine and soap.

“Are you even writing, or just doodling?” Anton teased, peeking at her notes.

She snapped the book shut and glared at him, heat rising to her cheeks. “You’re the one distracting me.”

“Me? I’m just sitting here.” His grin tilted. “You’re the one staring.”

“I was not—!”

Her voice came out too fast, too defensive, and she cursed herself for it. He chuckled, clearly amused by her fluster.

And then, without thinking, she blurted, “Stop it, baby.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Jiyeon froze, her eyes widening as the word slipped into the open air, hanging between them like a dangerous secret.

Anton’s smirk vanished instantly. His ears turned red, his jaw slack as though he had forgotten how to breathe. “W-what did you just—”

Her hands flew to her mouth, her entire face burning. “I—I didn’t mean—it just—!”

Anton stared at her, eyes wide, his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. No one had ever called him that. Not once. He had always been the confident one, the bold one. But now, just one word from her lips sent him spiraling into an unfamiliar, uncontrollable heat.

“Say it again,” he whispered before he could stop himself.

Her gaze snapped to him, scandalized. “No!”

But her refusal only made his grin return, softer this time, tinted with his own blush. He leaned closer, his voice husky with something new. “You don’t know what you’ve done to me, do you?”

Her chest tightened, her pulse a wild flutter. She shoved at his shoulder weakly, hiding her face in her hands. “Forget it ever happened.”

“Not a chance, baby.”

The way he said it, low and deliberate, nearly made her heart stop.

Later that night, walking home together, the air was quieter than usual. Jiyeon kept tugging her scarf tighter, trying to hide the redness in her cheeks that had never quite gone away.

Anton walked beside her, unusually silent too, his hands shoved in his pockets.

She almost thought he wouldn’t bring it up again—until he spoke, voice softer than she had ever heard it.

“Do you know why I always notice when you’re cold? Why I always… reach out?”

Jiyeon blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness.

He exhaled, his gaze fixed on the dark path ahead. “Because once, I didn’t. Someone I cared about—my best friend—he needed me, and I didn’t see it until it was too late.” His jaw tightened, the faint tremor in his voice betraying the weight behind his words. “I pulled him out of the pool, but… I was too late.”

Her heart clenched painfully.

“Ever since then,” Anton continued, his voice breaking slightly, “I swore I’d never let anyone around me suffer because I wasn’t paying attention. That’s why I jumped in after you without thinking. Why I… keep looking at you, making sure you’re okay. I can’t not.”

Jiyeon stopped walking, her chest aching as she turned to face him. His eyes were raw, unguarded, the confident mask stripped away to reveal something achingly human.

Without thinking, she reached for his hand, squeezing tightly. “Anton… you saved me. You’re saving me still. Every single day.”

He blinked at her, startled, and then—slowly—his fingers curled back around hers, holding on as though she were the only thing anchoring him to this world.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The world faded away, leaving only the warmth of their joined hands and the unspoken promise lingering between them.

And though Jiyeon’s face still burned from the slip of that one word earlier, she didn’t regret it anymore.

Because maybe… just maybe… it wasn’t a slip at all.

It started as a joke.

At least, that was what Jiyeon told herself when she typed it out on her phone during one of Anton’s long evening practices.

Good luck at training, baby.

Her thumb hovered over the send button, her cheeks burning. It was just a word. Just one silly little word. And yet her heart raced as though she were confessing something irreversible.

Before she could overthink it, she hit send.

Down by the pool, Anton’s phone buzzed on the bench. He picked it up absentmindedly, glancing at the screen between sets.

And then froze.

Good luck at training, baby.

He nearly dropped the phone into the water. His teammates shouted something about the next lap, but their voices were distant, muffled. His entire brain short-circuited at the single word glowing on the screen.

Baby.

He clutched the phone, staring at it like it was an explosive. And then, despite himself, a grin spread across his face, unstoppable.

“Lee Anton! Focus!” the coach barked from across the pool.

But Anton was already gone, sinking beneath the water with a laugh bubbling in his chest, the word replaying in his mind over and over until it became impossible to swim straight.

On the benches above, Jiyeon watched through the glass panel, biting her lip to suppress her own laugh. He had seen it. She could tell by the way his strokes faltered, by the way his ears were red even from a distance.

And when he emerged from the water, dragging a hand through his wet hair, he was smiling. Not his usual cocky grin, but something softer. Something she had never seen before.

A smile that belonged only to her.

Later that evening, he cornered her outside the pool entrance, still damp, his bag slung over his shoulder.

“You think you’re funny?” he demanded, though his voice cracked with suppressed laughter.

Jiyeon pretended innocence. “What do you mean?”

He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing hers. “You know exactly what you did.”

She tilted her head, feigning curiosity. “You mean calling you baby?”

His composure shattered. His ears flushed scarlet, his gaze darting away. “D-Don’t say it so casually.”

Her lips curved into a triumphant smile. “Why not? Baby.”

He groaned, burying his face in his hands, and she laughed, the sound light and unguarded. For the first time in years, Jiyeon felt weightless.

But their happiness didn’t go unnoticed.

Hyeri stood at the edge of the crowd the next day, her nails digging crescents into her palm as she watched Anton drape his jacket over Jiyeon’s shoulders when the wind turned cold. The ease of it, the way Jiyeon smiled up at him as though it were second nature—it made Hyeri’s stomach twist.

It wasn’t supposed to be real. It was supposed to be a show. But no one was laughing anymore.

Especially not Wonbin.

He caught sight of them walking across campus hand in hand, Jiyeon laughing at something Anton whispered, her face glowing in a way that cut him like a blade.

That laugh had once belonged to him. That light had once been his.

And now, no matter how many times he told himself he could win her back, she kept slipping further out of reach—into Anton’s orbit, where no one else could touch her.

That night, Hyeri texted Wonbin.

We need to talk.

Because if Jiyeon and Anton were really crossing the line from pretending to something real, they couldn’t just sit back anymore.

Jiyeon hadn’t realized how much space Anton had quietly claimed in her daily life until she found herself staring at the two sets of shoes by her apartment door.

His sneakers sat neatly beside her flats, as though they belonged there.

She shook her head, trying to brush off the warmth blooming in her chest. It wasn’t unusual—he often walked her home after practice or stayed behind when she didn’t want to be alone. But tonight felt different.

Tonight, he had rolled up his sleeves and declared, with too much confidence, “I’m cooking for you.”

Jiyeon eyed the kitchen counter, where vegetables lay half-chopped and noodles soaked in water. She raised a brow. “Are you sure? Because right now it looks like you’re about to set my kitchen on fire.”

Anton grinned, knife in hand, though his slices were uneven and dangerously close to his fingers. “Relax, baby. I’ve got this.”

The word made her heart lurch, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing. Instead, she crossed her arms, feigning nonchalance. “You’re going to lose a finger if you keep calling me that while holding a knife.”

He looked up, smirking. “So you do like it.”

Her cheeks flamed. “That’s not—”

Before she could finish, he popped a slice of carrot into his mouth with a triumphant grin. “See? I knew it.”

She groaned, snatching the knife from him before disaster struck. “Move over. I’ll do it.”

But Anton didn’t move far. Instead, he leaned against the counter, watching her with a softness that made her palms sweat more than the chopping did.

“Don’t just stand there,” she muttered. “Make yourself useful.”

He leaned closer, his breath tickling her ear. “Like this?” he teased, reaching past her to grab a stray vegetable.

Jiyeon’s heart stuttered. For a moment, she forgot what she was supposed to be scolding him for.

By the time the noodles were done, the kitchen smelled better than she expected—and Anton was sneaking bites straight from the pot.

“Hey!” she smacked his hand lightly with a spoon.

He only grinned wider, chewing happily. “Worth it.”

Later, they curled up on the couch, bowls empty, a movie playing faintly in the background.

Jiyeon tried to keep her focus on the screen, but warmth crept over her when Anton shifted closer, his arm brushing hers, his thigh pressing against her knee.

Eventually, her head grew heavy, and before she realized it, she had slumped sideways, her temple resting against his shoulder.

Anton froze.

For a long moment, he didn’t move, barely even breathed. And then, slowly, as though afraid she might wake, he tugged the blanket over her and relaxed into the cushions.

His hand hovered uncertainly before finally settling on her arm, a protective weight.

He told himself it was pretend. That it was just for show.

But when Jiyeon stirred in her sleep, mumbling softly, “Mm… baby,” his heart nearly burst out of his chest.

He sat there for hours, wide awake, smiling like a fool in the dark.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

The knock on her door came earlier than expected.

Jiyeon stumbled sleepily to answer, hair tousled, sweater slipping off her shoulder. And there he was—Anton, fresh from practice, hair still damp, holding up a paper bag with an almost sheepish grin.

“Breakfast delivery.”

She blinked at him, rubbing her eyes. “You… what?”

“I figured you’d forget to eat again.” He lifted the bag higher. “So I stopped by the bakery.”

Her heart lurched. It was such a simple thing, so casual, yet it hit her harder than any grand gesture could. Because no one had ever thought about her like this—not in the little, ordinary ways.

“You can’t just… show up like that,” she mumbled, stepping aside to let him in.

But she didn’t stop smiling the whole time he set out pastries on her table, chattering about how he had to fight three old ladies for the last cream bun.

Later that afternoon, the sky turned heavy, and by the time they stepped out of the lecture hall, rain poured down in silver sheets.

“Great,” Jiyeon muttered, tugging her cardigan tighter. “I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

Anton smirked, pulling one from his bag. “Lucky for you, I did.”

He popped it open, and she stepped under it—only to realize how close they had to stand. Their shoulders brushed, his arm firm around the handle, the world beyond the umbrella blurred into streaks of water.

Jiyeon’s breath caught at the intimacy of it. The rain muffled everything, leaving only the sound of her heartbeat and the faint warmth radiating from him.

Anton glanced down, catching her gaze. For a moment, something unspoken sparked in the air.

Her pulse quickened. She told herself to look away. She didn’t.

By the time they reached the campus gate, the rain had lessened, but Jiyeon’s hair stuck damply to her face. Anton reached out instinctively, brushing a strand back behind her ear.

Her chest tightened.

“You should tie it up when it rains,” he said softly. And before she could reply, he took the hair tie from her wrist and, with surprising gentleness, gathered her hair into a loose knot.

The touch was so tender, so natural, she almost forgot to breathe.

“Done.” He stepped back, but not far enough. His hand lingered near her cheek, hesitation flickering across his features.

And then—he leaned in.

Jiyeon’s breath hitched, her eyes fluttering shut without meaning to.

But just as quickly, Anton pulled back, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking away.

Jiyeon’s heart pounded in her chest, torn between relief and disappointment.

It hadn’t happened. But it almost had.

And that almost was enough to keep her awake long into the night.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

The storm arrived like an uninvited guest.

First came the wind, whistling through the narrow gaps of Jiyeon’s apartment windows. Then the rain followed—furious, relentless, hammering against the glass as if trying to get in. A streak of lightning cut across the sky, filling her room with blinding white. The thunder that followed was so loud she flinched, her pen slipping from her hand.

“Great,” she muttered, tossing the pen aside. She wasn’t afraid of storms, but nights like this made the air feel heavy, pressing loneliness into every corner of her space.

Her phone buzzed.

She blinked at the screen.

[Anton 🐬]: are u awake?

Of all people. At this hour. Jiyeon frowned, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders as she typed back.

[Me]: it’s past midnight. why are you awake?

The reply came almost immediately.

[Anton 🐬]: thunder’s too loud. can’t sleep [Anton 🐬]: kinda scared tbh 😅

She snorted softly. Anton? Scared?

[Jiyeon 🌸]: YOU? the same guy who dives into freezing pools at dawn?? [Jiyeon 🌸]: scared of a little thunder??

[Anton 🐬]: not little 😤 this one rattled my whole desk [Anton 🐬]: call me. i’ll sleep better

Her pulse stumbled. She stared at his bold words, biting her lip. He didn’t even ask—just told her. And somehow, instead of irritating her, it made her cheeks warm.

Before she could overthink it, she hit call.

The line clicked, then—“Hey.” His voice was low, rough, a little shy around the edges.

“Hey yourself.” She curled into her blanket. “So, the great Anton Lee is terrified of thunder?”

“Not terrified,” he argued softly. “Just… it’s easier if I’m not alone.”

Something in her chest tightened. It wasn’t like him to admit things like that, and the honesty hit harder than it should have.

They talked.

About his brutal morning practice. About her noodles that had turned out too salty. About how thunder really did sound like the world cracking open. Their laughter wove through the rain, filling spaces that thunder tried to steal.

“You know,” Jiyeon whispered after a lull, her voice slurred with sleepiness, “I think you just wanted an excuse to hear me.”

Anton chuckled, the sound warm through the speaker. “Maybe. Would you blame me if I did?”

Her heart skipped. She rolled onto her side, burying her cheek into the pillow. “Mm… no. Because I like hearing you too.”

There was a pause. Then thunder again. Jiyeon let out a nervous laugh, muffling her face with her blanket.

“Sleepy Jiyeon is honest,” Anton teased, though his tone sounded tighter than usual.

“I’m always honest,” she protested, her words blurring. “Just… more honest now.”

Drowsiness pulled at her, made her lighter, freer. Words slipped out before she could stop them.

“Anton…”

“Mm?”

“I kinda… want to kiss you.”

The line went quiet.

Jiyeon’s eyes shot open, and heat rushed to her cheeks. Instead of panicking, she let out a small, sleepy giggle, burying her face deeper into the blanket. “Oops. Did I say that out loud?”

Anton exhaled sharply, his voice strained. “…You did.”

She laughed again, soft and delirious, her shoulders shaking under the blanket. “I can’t help it. Your voice is… mmm, too nice. Makes me think things.”

Anton pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, staring at the ceiling as if it could steady him. His pulse hammered, his breath uneven. “You can’t just say stuff like that at 1 a.m., Jiyeon.”

“Why not?” she asked, her tone innocent, playful.

“Because…” His voice dropped, rougher now. “Because I’ll start wanting things I shouldn’t.”

Her laughter softened into a sigh. “Wanting isn’t bad,” she whispered, barely awake now. “Wanting is… nice.”

Her words faded, giving way to quiet breathing. A soft hum escaped her every so often, followed by a steady rhythm that told him she’d finally fallen asleep.

And then—an unguarded, delicate snore.

Anton froze, then nearly laughed despite himself. Of course. The girl who had just confessed she wanted to kiss him was now snoring like the world hadn’t just tilted on its axis.

He lay there, phone against his ear, every muscle taut. She had no idea what her words had done to him. He wanted to kiss her too—more than he’d ever admit out loud.

Closing his eyes, Anton let her breathing guide him, each inhale and exhale carving her deeper into his chest. He knew he wouldn’t sleep easily tonight. Not because of the storm.

But because of her.

The storm had passed by dawn.

Pale sunlight crept through Jiyeon’s curtains, painting soft streaks across her room. She blinked awake slowly, groggy and warm, her phone still pressed to her ear. For a second she wondered if she’d dreamt everything—but then she heard it.

A faint rustle. The low sound of breathing.

Anton.

Her lips curved unconsciously. He was still there.

She lay still, listening. Every so often he shifted, and the microphone picked up the creak of his bedsheets, the muffled scrape of his hand against his pillow. Instead of feeling intrusive, it was oddly comforting—like being let into a part of him no one else saw.

Then came something she wasn’t prepared for.

“…Jiyeon…”

Her breath caught.

It was soft, a half-mumbled sound from somewhere deep in sleep. She almost thought she imagined it until he did it again, a little clearer this time.

“…don’t go.”

Her chest squeezed painfully tight. She pressed a hand over her mouth, torn between laughter and the urge to cry. This was Anton—popular, confident, larger-than-life Anton—murmuring her name like a secret in the quiet of dawn.

She whispered, even though he couldn’t hear, “I’m not going anywhere.”

When the line finally stirred, it was with a groggy groan.

“Morning,” Anton’s voice rasped, thick with sleep.

Jiyeon smiled into her pillow. “Morning. Sleep well?”

“Mm. Better than I have in a while.” He yawned, and she could picture him rubbing his eyes, hair sticking up in every direction.

“You were talking in your sleep,” she teased lightly.

His pause was immediate. “Wait—what did I say?”

She laughed, enjoying the rare moment of Anton sounding nervous. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Don’t play with me, Jiyeon.” He sounded more awake now, and she could practically hear his frown.

She bit her lip, deciding to twist the knife. “You said my name.”

“…Did not.”

“Did too.”

“…What else?”

Her smile softened. “That’s all I’ll tell you.”

Silence hummed between them, filled with a tension that felt different from the storm last night—lighter, but no less charged. Then Anton cleared his throat, voice dipping into a teasing lilt.

“You know, you talk in your sleep too.”

“I do not,” she shot back immediately.

“Oh, you definitely do.” She could hear the grin in his words now. “In fact… you confessed something pretty bold.”

Her stomach dropped. “W-what are you talking about?”

Anton let the silence stretch, savoring her panic, before delivering the blow.

“You said… you wanted to kiss me.”

Jiyeon’s face went up in flames. “I—what—no—I didn’t—”

“You did,” he said firmly, amusement dripping from his tone. “Clear as day. I almost thought I was dreaming, but nope. You said it.”

Her groan was so loud he laughed outright, warm and unrestrained.

“Don’t laugh at me!” she whined, covering her face with both hands.

“I’m not laughing at you,” he said, still chuckling. “I’m just… glad you said it before I did.”

Her breath hitched, and all flustered arguments died in her throat.

Before she could respond, Anton added softly, almost too casually, “Guess we’re even now.”

But Jiyeon knew—nothing about this was even. Not anymore.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Anton had gotten used to living alone. At least, that’s what he told himself.

But when Jiyeon came over again that rainy afternoon, he realized how much of her was already stitched into the corners of his space. The small scrunchie she’d once forgotten still dangled from the lamp beside his couch. A chipped mug with a faded rabbit print—her favorite—waited by the sink. Even the faint scent of her shampoo still clung to his pillow from the last time she’d dozed off here.

It was ridiculous, how much comfort those little things gave him.

“You didn’t clean up?” Jiyeon teased lightly, pointing at the mug the moment she stepped in.

“I was saving it for you,” Anton muttered, then winced at how that sounded.

Her laughter bubbled out, warm and bright. “You’re kind of cute, you know that?”

The word hit harder than he expected. Cute. It wasn’t what he wanted to be, but coming from her lips, it almost undid him.

Lunch turned into a comedy show: Anton proudly serving her instant noodles, Jiyeon dramatically groaning over how salty they were, Anton trying to defend himself through his laughter. When the bowls were set aside, the rain tapping steadily against the windows, Jiyeon melted into the couch, curling into the corner with one of his cushions hugged to her chest.

Her head lolled slightly, lashes fluttering like she was caught between dreams and reality.

“You’re going to fall asleep again,” Anton murmured, resting on the other end of the couch.

Her reply was a drowsy hum. “Mhm. Your place feels… safe.”

The words pierced straight through him. Safe? With me?

She shifted, cheek pressing into the cushion. “And you smell nice. Like… laundry, and warmth, and you. Even the chlorine isn’t bad—it’s just… you.”

Anton nearly dropped his phone. His throat felt dry. “Stop saying things like that.”

Her eyes opened, hazy but direct. “Why? Don’t you like honesty?”

Before he could respond, she leaned over and pressed a feather-light kiss against his jaw.

Anton went rigid. “Jiyeon—”

Another kiss. This time at the corner of his mouth. Lazy. Testing. Teasing.

“You taste nice,” she whispered, followed by a little giggle.

His hand shot out, gripping her waist, his voice low and strained. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

But Jiyeon only tilted her head, lashes fluttering, lips curving with mischievous softness. “Maybe I do. Maybe I like it.”

And then her mouth brushed his again. Soft, slow, unhurried—just testing, over and over, as if she were learning him by touch.

Anton’s restraint cracked. His eyes closed, his lips catching hers in a kiss that was cautious at first, then deepened when her sleepy sigh spilled against him. His hand at her waist tightened, not to push her away but to keep her anchored to him, to stop himself from pulling her any closer.

They broke apart, her giggle muffled against his skin as she trailed another kiss along his cheek, his temple, then back to his lips. Each one lazier than the last, her drowsiness turning affection into instinct.

“Jiyeon…” His voice cracked. He tipped his forehead against hers, panting softly. “You’re going to kill me.”

Her giggle softened into a murmur. “Then don’t stop me…”

Her lips brushed his once more before her movements slowed, kisses turning sloppier, then fading altogether as she nestled her face into his neck. “Mmm… you feel so nice. Like home.”

Anton froze, heart hammering. Home. The word echoed, leaving him undone.

Within minutes, her breathing evened out, soft and steady, her weight sinking into him completely. Jiyeon had fallen asleep in his arms, her lips still curved faintly as if she were smiling in her dreams.

Anton stared down at her, his chest tight. One hand smoothed gently over her hair, his lips brushing her temple in a ghost of a kiss.

“You really are going to destroy me,” he whispered into the quiet. “And I don’t even care.”

The morning light slipped gently through Anton’s curtains, pale gold spilling over the couch where he lay half-curled beneath a blanket. His breathing was slow, steady, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that almost lulled Jiyeon back to sleep herself.

But she didn’t sleep.

Instead, she sat at the edge of the couch, chin propped against her hand, watching him. The soft curve of his lashes, the faint parting of his lips, the tousled hair falling over his forehead—he looked so unguarded, so boyish in sleep that Jiyeon’s heart tugged painfully.

Her gaze drifted lower, to the faint crease between his brows, even in rest. Always carrying weight, even when he shouldn’t.

She leaned closer before she could stop herself, whispering as if speaking to herself, “You’re really unfair, Anton. Do you know that?”

Her fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead. He stirred slightly, but didn’t wake.

And then—impulsively, foolishly—she dipped down and pressed the lightest kiss to his lips. A feather-touch, a secret she thought she could keep.

Except his eyes opened.

Jiyeon froze, panic shooting through her. But before she could pull away, Anton’s lips curved faintly against hers, and he kissed her back.

The suddenness made her giggle, muffled between them. Anton chuckled too, low and husky from sleep, and the sound vibrated against her mouth. The kiss turned clumsy, punctuated with laughter, their noses bumping, her hand scrambling to brace against his chest.

When they finally pulled apart, Jiyeon was breathless, her cheeks hot. “You were awake?”

“Not at first,” he admitted, voice rough with sleep. His hand slipped lazily to her wrist, thumb brushing her skin. “But then… someone kissed me.” His eyes softened, gaze holding hers. “And I didn’t want it to stop.”

Jiyeon covered her face with her hands, groaning in embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Yes, you should have,” Anton cut in, tugging her hands away with gentle insistence. “You absolutely should have.”

She laughed again, heart pounding, before finally standing. “I should go before you make me do something even dumber.”

Anton grinned, still sprawled against the couch. “Too late.”

The world outside was bright and damp, puddles still clinging to the street from the storm the night before. Jiyeon walked with a spring in her step, her lips tingling from that sleepy kiss, her heart buzzing like she was carrying a fragile secret tucked close to her chest.

She almost didn’t see him until it was too late.

Wonbin.

He stood near the corner, hands shoved in his pockets, gaze locking onto her the moment she appeared. His expression darkened instantly.

“Jiyeon.” His voice cut sharp, slicing through her buoyant mood. “You were with him, weren’t you?”

Her body went cold. “Wonbin—”

He stepped closer, accusation burning in his eyes. “Don’t lie. I saw you coming from his building. Anton. My friend.”

Jiyeon’s mouth opened, closed. A thousand retorts clawed at her throat, but what slipped out was bitter laughter. “Your friend? That didn’t stop you from betraying me with mine, did it?”

His jaw tightened. “That’s different.”

Her temper snapped. “No, it’s not. It’s the same. Worse, even. Because you knew what she meant to me. And you still—” Her voice wavered, but she held firm. “We’re not together anymore, Wonbin. You don’t get to act like you still own me.”

He flinched at that, but his anger didn’t fade. “You let him touch you? You let him—”

“Enough.” Jiyeon’s voice cut like glass. “You don’t get to talk about me like that. Not when you already threw me away.”

The words landed between them, heavy and final.

Wonbin’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw working as if he couldn’t swallow the reality she was laying bare. For once, he didn’t have an answer.

And in the silence, Jiyeon felt it—his regret, raw and ugly, but far too late.

She turned, refusing to let him see her falter, refusing to let him drag her back into the mess he’d made of her heart. But even as she walked away, she felt his gaze burning into her back, a promise that this wasn’t the end.

Jiyeon exhaled shakily when she rounded the next street, her hand brushing her lips again where Anton’s sleepy kiss lingered.

Wonbin’s bitterness was real, but so was the warmth she’d just left behind. And for the first time in a long time, she realized she didn’t need to let the past chain her down.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Anton was waiting.

Not just in the casual, I-happened-to-be-here way. No—he leaned against the low stone wall just outside Jiyeon’s building, one hand tucked in his pocket, his bag slung over his shoulder, posture loose but his eyes scanning every face that passed until they finally found hers.

The moment Jiyeon stepped outside, his expression shifted. It softened, brightened, like the whole world had been on pause until she appeared.

She almost laughed at how predictable he was becoming. “You don’t have to wait for me every time,” she teased, adjusting the strap of her bag as she walked closer.

Anton straightened, pushing off the wall. “I know,” he said simply, reaching for her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. His fingers threaded through hers, warm and steady. “I want to.”

The heat that flooded Jiyeon’s chest had nothing to do with the sunlight.

They walked together, their hands swinging slightly between them. Whenever she tried to slip free—conscious of the students around them, of whispers she thought she could hear—Anton only tightened his hold, shooting her a look that dared her to argue.

By the time they reached campus, she was the one holding on tighter.

It should have been enough. The hand-holding, the little smiles, the easy chatter. But Anton was greedy in his quiet way. He leaned down when they reached the courtyard, brushing a quick kiss against her temple. Later, when they paused at the foot of the stairs, he tipped her chin up and pressed another kiss to her lips, not rushed, not hesitant—just a natural extension of their closeness.

Jiyeon felt eyes on them, but Anton didn’t care. His hand never left her skin, palm anchored to her waist or fingers curling around hers.

It should have been perfect.

Until Hyeri’s voice cut through the murmurs.

“So it’s true.”

The crowd shifted, curious eyes drawn to the sharpness in her tone. Hyeri stood a few feet away, arms folded, her expression laced with disbelief and disdain. “Jiyeon, really? Him? You can’t be serious.”

Jiyeon froze, her stomach twisting. She hated scenes, hated the spotlight Hyeri seemed to crave. But before she could speak, Anton stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of her. His hand slid back to catch hers, a subtle shield that made Jiyeon’s throat tighten.

“Yes,” Anton said calmly, his voice carrying just enough to reach the gathering onlookers. “She’s serious. And so am I.”

A ripple of whispers spread through the students. Hyeri’s face flushed, but she pushed on. “Don’t you think it’s a little pathetic? Running to the next guy the second—”

“Careful,” Anton interrupted, his tone sharper now. He didn’t raise his voice, but the weight of it pressed into the air. “You don’t get to talk about her like that.”

Hyeri blinked, thrown off. “I’m just saying the truth—”

“The truth,” Anton said, stepping closer, “is that Jiyeon doesn’t owe you anything. Not her explanation. Not her friendship. And definitely not her silence while you try to twist the story.”

Gasps and low murmurs rippled again, the crowd growing bolder in their curiosity. Jiyeon’s pulse raced; she wanted to hide, to disappear—but Anton’s grip on her hand was firm, grounding.

Hyeri’s jaw tightened. She opened her mouth, but Anton wasn’t done.

“You should be embarrassed, Hyeri,” he said, his voice smooth but unyielding. “Because everyone can see what you’re trying to do. And everyone knows what you’ve already done.”

The courtyard went very still. A few whispers turned into outright mutters.

Hyeri’s face burned crimson, her composure cracking under the weight of so many eyes. She glared at Jiyeon, then at Anton, but whatever words she wanted to hurl caught in her throat.

She turned sharply and stormed away, the sound of her heels clicking against the pavement echoing louder than the silence she left behind.

Anton didn’t flinch. He simply squeezed Jiyeon’s hand, tugging her gently closer. “You okay?” he asked, softer now, meant only for her.

Jiyeon nodded shakily, her chest tight. She wasn’t used to anyone defending her so fiercely, so publicly.

But as Anton brushed a thumb over her knuckles, as the tension in the courtyard slowly shifted back into murmurs of awe and disbelief, Jiyeon realized something.

For the first time, she wasn’t just surviving the fallout of betrayal. She was being chosen. Defended. Protected.

And Anton made it feel effortless.

The late afternoon sun spilled across the park, warm and golden, painting the grass in soft light. Jiyeon leaned against Anton on the bench, her head tucked beneath his chin, his arm draped lazily across her shoulders.

Their laughter mingled quietly, unbothered by the passing students and families scattered around. Jiyeon shifted, playfully nudging his side, and Anton only smirked, pulling her closer until their legs tangled together—his long frame practically enveloping hers.

To Jiyeon, it was safety. Warmth. A quiet bubble where she could breathe.

To Wonbin, watching from a few steps away, it was fuel poured straight into the fire already eating him alive.

“Unbelievable.” His voice cracked the peace like thunder.

Jiyeon stiffened, her heart sinking as Anton’s arm immediately tightened around her, protective and steady.

Wonbin strode forward, fists clenched, jaw taut. “Get your hands off her.”

Anton didn’t move. “No.”

The single word dropped like stone.

Wonbin’s eyes blazed. “She’s mine, Anton. Mine. You think you can just swoop in after everything we had—”

Jiyeon flinched, but Anton’s voice cut through, calm but sharp enough to sting. “She’s not yours. Not anymore.”

“Don’t you dare—”

Anton stood now, pulling Jiyeon gently up with him, their hands still linked. He was taller, broader, and he didn’t flinch under the fury radiating from Wonbin. “You lost her, Wonbin. The day you chose someone else, you stopped having the right to call her yours.”

Murmurs rose around them. A few students had stopped nearby, drawn in by the escalating voices. Jiyeon’s pulse raced, but Anton didn’t falter.

Wonbin shoved a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal. “You don’t get it. She’s—she’s supposed to be mine. We’ve been through everything, she—”

“Supposed to be?” Anton echoed, his voice low but cutting. “She’s not an object. Not a prize you’re entitled to.” He took a deliberate step closer, his hand tightening around Jiyeon’s. “She chooses who she wants to be with. And she chose me.”

The words landed heavy, undeniable. Jiyeon felt heat rise in her chest, her throat thick.

Wonbin’s face twisted, caught between anger and desperation. “You think this is love? You think you can just—”

Anton’s eyes hardened. “I don’t think. I know. Because I don’t betray her. I don’t take her for granted. And I’ll never, ever make her cry the way you did.”

The crowd’s murmur swelled. Wonbin faltered, his rage clashing with the truth he couldn’t escape. His fists trembled at his sides, his breathing ragged.

And then he saw it—Anton’s thumb brushing circles against Jiyeon’s hand, the easy way she leaned into him despite the chaos, the trust written all over her body language.

That broke him more than any words could.

“You’ll regret this, Jiyeon,” he spat finally, but his voice cracked on her name.

Jiyeon lifted her chin, her voice steady even as her heart pounded. “No, Wonbin. The only regret I have… is ever letting you convince me I was yours to begin with.”

Silence followed. Wonbin’s face crumpled, but he turned sharply on his heel, storming off, shoulders rigid.

The crowd dispersed slowly, but Anton didn’t care. He turned to Jiyeon, searching her expression.

“You okay?”

She exhaled, shaky but firm. “As long as you’re here.”

Anton leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead in plain view of everyone still lingering. “Always.”

Jiyeon’s pulse still hadn’t steadied, even after the crowd melted away and the park returned to its ordinary hum of laughter and footsteps. The memory of Wonbin’s voice—sharp, desperate, claiming her—still clung to her skin like smoke.

But then Anton’s arms wrapped around her from behind, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder, and it was like the storm broke apart.

“Don’t listen to him,” Anton murmured. His voice was steady, warm against her ear. “You’re not his anything. You’re you. And that’s why I…” He hesitated, exhaling through his nose. “…that’s why I can’t let go.”

Jiyeon turned, her chest tight, her hands finding the front of his shirt as if anchoring herself. His eyes met hers—steady, dark, unwavering—and the sincerity there made her throat burn.

“You’re too calm about this,” she whispered, half a laugh, half a cry.

He smiled faintly. “You don’t see my hands shaking, do you?” He lifted their joined hands; sure enough, his fingers trembled slightly against hers.

Jiyeon’s breath hitched. She leaned into him without thinking, resting her forehead against his chest. His heartbeat was strong, steady, grounding.

They stayed like that for a while, until Anton tilted her face up with one hand, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone. His lips found hers—gentle, unhurried, not for show this time but for them. A quiet reassurance.

When they finally pulled back, Jiyeon’s eyes shone, but her smile was soft. “You make me brave, Anton.”

He kissed her again, just because he could.

On the other side of campus, in the back corner of a quiet café, Hyeri stirred her iced latte with more force than necessary. The clinking of ice against glass grated, but not as much as the memory of Anton’s words replaying in her mind, each syllable laced with humiliation.

“You should be embarrassed, Hyeri…”

She clenched her jaw, nails biting into the condensation-slick cup. People had seen. Whispers had spread. She could already feel her grip on her social circle slipping.

The bell above the café door chimed. Her gaze flicked up, hardening when she saw him.

Wonbin.

He looked wrecked—hair disheveled, shoulders tense, jaw tight with leftover anger. He spotted her, and for a moment, their eyes locked, both recognizing the raw sting of humiliation reflected in the other.

He slid into the seat across from her without asking. Neither spoke at first.

Finally, Wonbin let out a bitter laugh. “He humiliated both of us.”

Hyeri’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t disagree.

“He thinks he’s so noble,” Wonbin continued, his voice low, sharp with resentment. “Like he’s some savior who gets to take her away from me.”

“She’s not even his type,” Hyeri snapped before she could stop herself, her pride smarting. “He doesn’t belong with her. He—” She caught herself, swallowing hard. “He should’ve been mine.”

Silence fell, thick and ugly, until Wonbin leaned back, his fists clenching on the table.

“Then maybe we make sure he realizes that,” he said slowly.

Hyeri’s eyes flickered. Something dangerous, vindictive, sparked between them—born from shared humiliation, from jealousy twisted into resolve.

She leaned forward, her voice low. “If Jiyeon thinks she’s safe with Anton… we’ll remind her she’s not untouchable.”

Wonbin’s mouth curved into a bitter smile. “And if Anton thinks he can steal what’s mine, he’s in for a fight.”

For the first time, their anger found purpose.

And Jiyeon and Anton—wrapped in their fragile bubble of warmth—had no idea the storm gathering just outside.

Jiyeon had just finished brushing her teeth when her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The familiar name flashed across the screen, followed by a message that made her lips curve before she even opened it.

[Anton 🐬]: wanna call? i won’t fall asleep unless i hear you.

Her chest squeezed at the words. He had gotten bolder lately, slipping these little confessions into their conversations as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She bit down on her smile, fingers tapping quickly.

[Jiyeon 🌸]: you’re clingy. [Anton 🐬]: only with you. [Anton 🐬]: turn on the camera too. i wanna see you.

Her cheeks burned. She almost typed a playful refusal, but the thought of seeing him—messy hair, sleepy eyes—was too tempting. With a soft exhale, she hit the call button, switching the video on.

Anton’s face filled her screen, dim light casting shadows across his sharp jawline. His hair was tousled, damp from a shower, a plain white t-shirt stretched across his shoulders. He looked tired, but the moment his gaze landed on her, his entire expression softened.

“There you are,” he murmured, voice already laced with drowsiness. “Now I can sleep.”

Jiyeon chuckled, settling against her pillows. “You sound like a kid asking for a bedtime story.”

“I don’t need a story,” he said, shifting as if to get more comfortable. “Just you.”

Her heart skipped. She tried to play it off, rolling onto her side and tucking her hand under her cheek. But the way his eyes lingered on her, like she was something fragile and precious, made her throat tighten.

Minutes passed in quiet—just the hum of their breathing, the occasional rustle of sheets. Then Jiyeon, already blinking slower with sleep, whispered without thinking, “You’re so handsome. It’s annoying.”

Anton’s lips curved into a grin. “Annoying?”

“Mm,” she mumbled, eyes half-lidded, her voice slurring adorably. “Because… it makes me wanna kiss you all the time.”

Anton’s breath caught. He shifted, phone wobbling as if his hand faltered. “Jiyeon…” His voice was low, strained, like he was holding something back.

But she didn’t stop—sleepy Jiyeon never stopped. “I like when you smile. I like when you look at me like I’m… everything. It makes me feel warm here.” She touched her chest clumsily, giggling at her own gesture.

Anton’s hand scrubbed over his face, a laugh escaping him. “You’re going to kill me.”

Her lashes fluttered as she fought sleep, but her words kept tumbling. “Sometimes, when you hold my hand, I can’t think straight. And when you call me yours, I…” She trailed off, hiding her face in her blanket, laughing softly. “See? I’m crazy.”

“Not crazy,” Anton said, his tone firm. “Just honest. Too honest, maybe.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “And I… like it.”

The way he was looking at her—like he was memorizing every detail—made her skin burn. Even through the screen, she felt the weight of his gaze.

“Sleep, Jiyeon,” he whispered finally, though his voice shook. “Before I really lose control.”

She yawned, burying deeper into her pillow. “Mm… but then I won’t see your face.”

“I’ll still be here when you wake up,” he promised.

That reassurance—gentle, steady—was the last thing she remembered before her eyes slipped closed. The soft sound of Anton’s breathing filled her room, steady as a lullaby, and she drifted off, the camera still running between them.

On his end, Anton lay awake longer, watching her chest rise and fall. Every so often, she giggled in her sleep, mumbling incoherent words, and each sound twisted something deeper in him. He wanted—God, he wanted—but instead, he just whispered into the dark, knowing she couldn’t hear:

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

And only then, with her sleepy face frozen on his screen, did Anton let himself close his eyes.

Morning sunlight slipped through Jiyeon’s curtains, painting golden streaks across her room. The first thing she saw wasn’t the clock or the ceiling, but Anton’s face on her screen, still connected to the call.

Her breath caught. His hair was a mess, lips slightly parted, and the steady sound of his breathing filled the quiet. He looked unfairly soft like that, curled up against his pillow. Jiyeon hugged her blanket tighter, cheeks warming at the memory of the things she had said last night.

Oh no. She had told him she wanted to kiss him. She had told him he made her feel warm. She had told him—God, what didn’t she say?

Before she could spiral further, Anton stirred, blinking his eyes open. When his gaze landed on her, his lips curved, lazy but bright.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep.

“So are you,” Jiyeon whispered, embarrassed by how her heart kicked up.

Anton shifted, propping his chin on his arm. He just stared at her for a beat, like he was trying to decide whether or not to speak. Then, without warning, he said, “I had a dream about you.”

Jiyeon’s eyes widened. “A dream?”

He hummed, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Yeah. Crazy one.”

Her throat went dry. “What kind of dream?”

Anton didn’t hesitate. “You were at the pool. Not swimming, just… standing there, waiting for me. You had this smile—like the one you do when you’re trying not to laugh at me.”

Jiyeon blinked, unsure whether to hide or keep listening.

“And then,” Anton continued, his tone dropping slightly, “you pulled me in. Clothes and all. You said I looked better drenched, and then—” He broke off with a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “God, Jiyeon. You kissed me in front of everyone.”

Her face burned. “Y-You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious,” he said, leaning closer to the camera, eyes gleaming. “It felt so real that when I woke up, I almost checked if you were still here.”

Her breath hitched at the raw honesty in his voice. She looked away, fingers fiddling with the edge of her blanket. “Why would you tell me that?”

“Because it’s you,” he answered simply. “I don’t want to keep anything from you. Not even my dreams.”

The sincerity in his tone knocked the air out of her. She laughed weakly, trying to shake it off. “You’re too much.”

“Maybe,” Anton said, watching her carefully. “But last night you told me you wanted to kiss me all the time, remember?”

Jiyeon covered her face with both hands, groaning. “Stop reminding me.”

“No,” he teased, voice soft and unyielding. “I’m going to remind you every day until you actually do it.”

Her heart flipped, equal parts mortified and elated.

And though she tried to act annoyed, Jiyeon couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. Because beneath the embarrassment was something else—an ache that was starting to feel a lot like wanting him just as much as he wanted her.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Jiyeon hadn’t planned on stopping by Anton’s place again so soon. But the excuse came easily—he had texted her after class.

[Anton 🐬]: you’re not busy, right? [Anton 🐬]: i made too much ramen.

She almost laughed. Anton? Making ramen was not a coincidence. Still, her heart had already answered before her fingers typed back.

[Jiyeon 🌸]: fine. but only because i don’t want you to waste food.

When she arrived, his apartment carried faint traces of her from the last time she’d been there—a hair tie sitting on the counter, her favorite tea still tucked near the mugs. Jiyeon noticed. So did Anton, though he pretended not to when her eyes lingered.

Dinner was easy, filled with laughter and harmless teasing. But it was after, when the dishes were pushed aside and the night quieted, that the air between them began to change.

They sat close on the couch, closer than necessary. Jiyeon leaned back against the cushions, her hair falling across her face as she yawned. Anton reached out without thinking, brushing the strands behind her ear. His fingers lingered against her skin.

“Sleepy again?” he asked softly.

“Mm.” Her eyes fluttered, heavy. “Maybe it’s your fault. You make me too comfortable.”

The words hit him deeper than they should have. Before he could stop himself, he tugged her toward him. Jiyeon blinked, startled, only to find herself perched sideways on his lap, her legs draped across the couch.

“Anton—”

“You looked like you were about to doze off,” he said casually, though his pulse hammered in his ears. “This way you won’t fall.”

Jiyeon narrowed her eyes, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. “You’re terrible.”

“Am I?” He tilted his head, smirking. “Because you’re not moving.”

She huffed but didn’t pull away. Instead, her arms looped lazily around his shoulders, her body sinking against his. Her lashes fluttered, fighting sleep, and then—just like last time—the words slipped free without filter.

“You smell nice,” she murmured, voice low and dreamy. “Like soap and… you.”

Anton swallowed hard. “Jiyeon—”

“And your arms,” she continued, smiling against his shoulder. “So warm. I like when you hold me like this. Makes me wanna stay here forever.”

His chest tightened, a war raging inside him. He wanted to kiss her. God, he wanted to. But he also wanted to protect this—protect her.

Then her lips brushed his jaw, feather-light, unthinking. Just a sleepy peck. But it set every nerve in him alight.

“Ji—”

She giggled, pulling back just enough to look at him, her eyes half-lidded and mischievous despite her drowsiness. “You’re blushing.”

He was. And he hated that she noticed.

Her fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt, her smile widening as she whispered, “You’re so easy to tease.”

Anton’s control snapped—just a little. He cupped her cheek, tilting her face toward his. “You really want to play this game when you’re half-asleep?” he murmured.

Her giggle turned softer, needier. “Maybe… because I know you won’t do anything.”

It was a challenge. A dangerous one.

His thumb stroked her skin, his voice low and rough. “Don’t test me, Jiyeon.”

For a long, suspended moment, neither moved. Then Jiyeon’s lashes fluttered, her forehead pressing against his as sleep finally pulled her under.

Anton exhaled shakily, holding her closer, kissing the top of her head instead of her lips. His restraint felt like both a victory and torture.

“You’re going to be the end of me,” he whispered into her hair, a smile tugging at his mouth despite the ache in his chest.

Anton told himself he wouldn’t. Not tonight. Not when Jiyeon was curled up in his lap, warm and sleepy, whispering things that stripped him bare.

But then she kissed his jaw again, slow and deliberate. Her giggle ghosted over his skin. “You still won’t stop me.”

His fingers tightened at her waist. “Jiyeon…” His warning cracked.

She leaned back just enough to meet his eyes, her lips tugging into that sleepy, daring smile. “What if I don’t want you to stop?”

That was it. His restraint snapped like glass.

Anton cupped her face and kissed her hard, swallowing her surprised gasp. Her hands flew to his shirt, fisting the fabric as if she’d been waiting for this. The kiss deepened instantly, his tongue sliding against hers, slow and consuming, as though he had to taste every corner of her mouth.

Jiyeon melted, sighing into him, tilting her head to give him more. Her legs shifted across his lap, pressing close, and Anton groaned low in his throat, his hands clutching her hips like he might lose his mind if he let go.

“You drive me insane,” he rasped between kisses, his forehead knocking against hers.

She giggled breathlessly, tugging at his collar until her lips brushed his again. “Good. Because I think about this all the time.”

Her confession burned through him. “You—what?”

“All the time,” she repeated, bolder now, her voice husky. “Imagining what it’d be like if you actually kissed me. If you…” She trailed off, blushing furiously but refusing to look away.

Anton’s chest heaved. That was all it took. He pulled her tighter, his mouth finding hers again, this time rougher—hungry. Jiyeon gasped, her fingers sliding up into his hair, tugging until he groaned against her lips.

His hands roamed, exploring—up her spine, skimming her ribs, settling at her waist only to slide lower, gripping her thighs and pulling her flush against him. She whimpered into his mouth at the sudden closeness, her hips shifting instinctively.

“Jiyeon,” he groaned, his voice breaking on her name. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Her giggle was shaky, threaded with desire. “Maybe I do.”

That wrecked him. He kissed her harder, devouring, until she was gasping into his mouth, her nails digging into his shoulders. Every time she shifted in his lap, his self-control frayed further.

Their kisses turned frantic, wet and messy, punctuated by the sound of her breathless moans and his low curses. Jiyeon’s lips trailed to his jaw, then his throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses that made his head tip back, his grip on her thighs bruising.

“Ji—” His words cut off in a groan when her teeth grazed his skin. “God, you’re going to kill me.”

“Then die with me,” she teased against his neck, her voice drunk on him, and his sanity shattered completely.

He caught her mouth again, his kiss deep, possessive, his hands sliding beneath the hem of her shirt to feel the heat of her skin. She gasped at the touch, her back arching, pressing closer, closer—like she couldn’t stand a single inch of distance between them.

Time blurred. There was nothing but the taste of her, the sound of her laughter breaking into moans, the way she clung to him like he was hers.

And when he finally tore his lips away, both of them breathless and trembling, his forehead pressed to hers, his voice was wrecked.

“You’re mine, Jiyeon,” he whispered hoarsely. “Don’t ever forget it.”

Her lips brushed his one more time, soft but sure. “Then don’t ever stop proving it.”

The first thing Jiyeon registered was warmth. Heavy, anchoring warmth that held her like she belonged there. She blinked awake slowly, the faint sunlight spilling through Anton’s curtains. Her cheek was pressed to the steady rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat a calm drum beneath her ear.

It took her a moment to realize—his arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, her bare legs tangled with his. The blanket had slipped halfway off, revealing a mess of discarded clothes on the floor.

Heat rushed to her face. Last night felt like a fever dream, blurred by kisses that stole her breath and Anton’s voice breaking on her name. And yet, here she was, still curled against him, their bodies pressed like they hadn’t moved at all.

“Mm…” Anton stirred beneath her, his arm tightening instinctively when she shifted. His voice was rough, deepened by sleep. “Don’t move yet.”

Her heart leapt. “Anton—”

His lashes fluttered open, eyes hazy with morning. When he saw her, his lips curved into the faintest, lazy smile. “You’re real.”

Jiyeon bit her lip, suddenly shy. “Of course I’m real.”

He tilted his head, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Good. Thought I dreamed you again.”

Her cheeks burned hotter, but before she could answer, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She reached for it, eyes widening. “Oh no—I’m late. I have class in twenty minutes.”

She scrambled, gathering pieces of her clothes from the floor, only to realize half of them were hopelessly wrinkled. Her shirt was nowhere to be found.

Anton, still lounging in bed, watched with amusement. “You look cute panicking like that.”

“Not funny,” she huffed, throwing him a glare over her shoulder. “I can’t go like this.”

Without a word, he sat up and reached for the dresser, pulling out one of his shirts—a soft, oversized black one she recognized instantly. He tossed it to her. “Wear mine.”

Her breath caught. “Yours? But everyone will notice—”

“That’s the point,” he said simply, his voice low and possessive.

She wanted to protest, but there wasn’t time. Huffing, she slipped into his shirt. It fell past her thighs, drowning her frame in his scent. Anton leaned back on his elbows, watching her with a smirk that made her knees weak.

“You look better in it than I do,” he murmured.

“Shut up,” she muttered, cheeks burning, as she stuffed her things into her bag and dashed out the door.

The whispers began the moment she walked onto campus.

“That’s Anton’s shirt, isn’t it?” “Is she serious? She came in wearing his clothes?” “Oh my god, they must’ve—”

Jiyeon kept her head down, her pulse racing, but she couldn’t hide the tiny smile tugging at her lips. Every step smelled like him. Every brush of fabric reminded her of his hands.

But not everyone was smiling.

Wonbin froze the instant he saw her across the quad, his expression darkening. His gaze dragged over the shirt—Anton’s shirt—hanging loose on her frame. The realization hit like a blow.

He clenched his jaw, fists curling at his sides. His voice was low but venomous. “Anton…”

Classes blurred into background noise that day. Jiyeon tried to focus, but every time she caught sight of the oversized black shirt draping over her knees, warmth spread across her chest. Anton’s scent lingered on the fabric—fresh soap, chlorine, and something undeniably him. She tugged the sleeves over her hands, biting back a smile whenever her mind replayed the morning.

The whispers hadn’t stopped.

“Is she seriously flaunting it?” “They’re really bold, huh?” “I didn’t think Jiyeon was that type.”

But Jiyeon kept her head high. For the first time in weeks, her heart didn’t ache. There was no shadow of betrayal, no bitterness gnawing at her ribs. Instead, there was Anton—steady, warm, smiling at her like she mattered.

When class ended, she didn’t have to wait long. Anton was leaning casually against the wall outside the lecture hall, headphones dangling around his neck, his hair slightly damp from morning practice. His gaze swept over her instantly, softening when it landed on the shirt she still wore.

“You lasted the whole day in it,” he said with a crooked grin.

Jiyeon rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched. “It was convenient.”

“Convenient, huh?” He leaned down, close enough that only she could hear. “Then keep it. I like seeing you in my things.”

Her heart tripped over itself. Before she could reply, he reached for her hand—like it was the most natural thing in the world. His fingers threaded through hers, warm and firm, and he tugged her gently toward the courtyard.

The simple gesture made Jiyeon’s chest ache. Once, she thought she would never want to be touched again. Yet here she was, walking hand in hand with Anton, and not once did she want to let go.

They settled under a tree near the park, where the late afternoon sun painted everything gold. Anton sat first, tugging her down beside him. She leaned into his shoulder without thinking, and he welcomed it, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“You’re smiling a lot today,” he teased, brushing his thumb along her hand.

“Am I not allowed to?”

“You’re allowed,” he said, softer now. “Just means I’m doing something right.”

She turned to look at him, struck by the sincerity in his eyes. Her chest squeezed. How could he make her feel so seen with so few words?

Jiyeon wanted to tell him. That he was becoming the anchor she didn’t know she needed. That she was terrified of how much space he was already taking up in her heart. But the words caught on her tongue.

So instead, she leaned closer, whispering, “You’re impossible, Anton Lee.”

And then, because he didn’t hesitate, because he always took that half-step forward when she faltered, he kissed her. Not hurried, not demanding—just a quiet press of lips, his hand cradling her cheek.

It felt like breathing after drowning.

But not everyone thought it was beautiful.

From across the park, Wonbin stood rigid, his blood running cold at the sight before him. Jiyeon—his Jiyeon—curled up against another man’s chest, their legs tangled, their mouths meeting without shame.

No. This couldn’t be real.

They were just in a fight, that’s all. Jiyeon was upset with him, but she would come back. She always came back. This wasn’t her. She wasn’t the type to flaunt herself like this.

Anton must have forced her. That had to be it.

His jaw clenched, fists tightening until his nails dug into his palms. Rage simmered, thick and heavy, but beneath it was denial. Desperate, suffocating denial.

“She’s still mine,” Wonbin muttered under his breath, eyes burning holes into Anton’s back. “She’s my girlfriend. He’s just… interfering. She’ll come back.”

But as Jiyeon laughed softly against Anton’s shoulder, the sound carried across the park like a cruel reminder.

Wonbin’s world tilted, his certainty cracking.

The next morning, Jiyeon tried—she really did—to convince herself she would return Anton’s shirt. But as she stared at it draped over her chair, she couldn’t bring herself to fold it away. It smelled like him, carried traces of their night, and wrapping herself in it again felt almost like a hug.

When she stepped onto campus, she was almost embarrassed by the way Anton’s gaze found her instantly, like the shirt was some sort of homing beacon. His lips tugged upward in that boyish, half-shy smile he reserved only for her, and Jiyeon’s stomach fluttered despite herself.

“You kept it,” he said simply, voice warm enough to undo her.

“Don’t make it sound like a crime,” she teased, though her cheeks betrayed her with color.

His hand found hers before she could slip away, his grip firm and unyielding. “It’s not. I like it.”

Jiyeon shook her head at him, though her heart throbbed at his words. She should be careful—people were staring again, whispering like they always did. But the way Anton’s thumb brushed lazy circles against her skin made her reckless.

Their days began to fall into a rhythm.

Anton waiting outside her classroom door without fail. Jiyeon saving him a seat in the cafeteria, their trays brushing together as they leaned too close to whisper over food. His long legs stretched under the table, tangling with hers until she forgot how to eat.

Once, as they walked across campus, a drizzle began to fall. Jiyeon instinctively ducked under her bag, but Anton tugged her close, shielding her with his jacket. She laughed into his chest, damp hair sticking to her cheeks, and he kissed her forehead right there in the middle of the walkway, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Students turned their heads, whispering, some amused, some scandalized. Jiyeon flushed, but Anton didn’t even notice. His world seemed to shrink to just her.

Later that evening, Jiyeon curled into the corner of the library, textbooks spread in front of her. She told herself she needed the quiet to study, but it wasn’t long before Anton appeared, sliding into the seat beside her without asking.

“You can’t keep following me everywhere,” she whispered, though her lips curved.

“I’m not following,” he murmured back, leaning close enough for his breath to tickle her ear. “I’m choosing to be here.”

Her heart thudded embarrassingly loud. She tried to keep her focus on the page, but his hand found her knee under the table, steady and warm. When she turned to glare at him, he just smirked and scribbled something on a scrap of paper before sliding it over.

Stop pretending. You like me here.

She bit her lip, fighting a laugh, before scribbling back:

Go away, don't distract me.

His grin was all the victory he needed.

From a distance, though, not everyone shared the warmth of their bubble.

Hyeri watched them from across the library, her nails digging crescents into her palm. It wasn’t fair. Jiyeon had already had her chance. Why should she get Anton too?

And Wonbin—he simmered like a storm on the horizon. Every laugh that spilled from Jiyeon’s lips, every kiss Anton stole so easily, every hand intertwined where once his had been—it all chipped at the fragile wall of denial he clung to.

He told himself Jiyeon was confused. That she was trying to punish him, to make him jealous. She would come back, eventually. She had to.

But as Anton leaned in to whisper something that made her giggle behind her hand, Wonbin’s vision blurred red.

He was running out of patience.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

The campus courtyard was alive with the hum of late afternoon chatter. Students lounged on benches, sprawled on the grass with books and iced coffees. Among them, Jiyeon and Anton sat comfortably close under the shade of a tree, their world reduced to nothing but each other.

Her knees brushed his as she laughed at something he’d whispered, and without hesitation, Anton reached over, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb lingered on her cheek, his gaze soft, unguarded in a way that made her chest ache.

When she leaned in, resting her head against his shoulder, his arm wrapped firmly around her waist as if it had always belonged there.

It was too natural. Too obvious.

And too much for Wonbin.

His vision tunneled as he stood frozen at the edge of the crowd, watching them with a mixture of rage and disbelief. Whispers rippled around him, students already catching on to the tension building in the air.

“Isn’t that Jiyeon’s ex?” “Oh, this is about to get ugly…”

Wonbin’s hands curled into fists. His jaw ached from how tightly he clenched it. He couldn’t watch another second.

In three long strides, he was in front of them.

“Get your hands off my girlfriend.”

The words dropped like a bomb, silencing the courtyard. Jiyeon stiffened instantly, her breath catching. Anton’s arm tightened around her waist, protective, his gaze narrowing as he rose to his feet in one fluid motion—placing himself slightly in front of Jiyeon.

“She’s not your girlfriend,” Anton said evenly, his voice calm but dangerous beneath the surface.

Wonbin’s eyes flashed. “You think I’m just going to stand by while you steal her from me? We’ve been together for years. She’s mine. You don’t get to waltz in and—”

“Enough, Wonbin.” Jiyeon’s voice cut through his tirade, quiet but sharp. Her heart raced, but she forced herself to meet his eyes. “We broke up. You lost that right the moment you betrayed me.”

The words struck, but he shook his head, denial clawing its way up his throat. “No—you don’t mean that. You’re just angry, confused. You don’t love him. You love me.”

Jiyeon flinched, but Anton stepped forward, his height casting a shadow over Wonbin. His voice dropped, each word deliberate.

“She doesn’t love you anymore. And you don’t get to talk to her like that.”

Wonbin scoffed, though his voice cracked under the weight of his desperation. “You think she’ll choose you over me? You’re just a distraction—”

Anton’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t lose control. He simply reached back, taking Jiyeon’s hand and threading their fingers together, raising it between them for everyone to see.

“She already chose.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Jiyeon’s cheeks burned, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she gripped his hand tighter, grounding herself in his steady presence.

Wonbin’s face drained of color. For a heartbeat, he looked less like the confident boyfriend he used to be, and more like a boy watching the world slip from his grasp. His lips parted, but no words came out.

Then rage filled the cracks.

“You’ll regret this,” he spat, his voice trembling. “Both of you.”

The tension broke like glass shattering, leaving silence in its wake as Wonbin stormed off. The crowd murmured, torn between shock and awe.

Anton turned back to Jiyeon, his expression softening the instant his eyes met hers. He cupped her cheek gently, ignoring the stares. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, though her chest still trembled. “As long as you’re here.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, right there in front of everyone. A silent promise: I’m not letting go.

The confrontation still lingered in the air long after the crowd had dispersed. Whispers followed Jiyeon down every hallway, heavy with curiosity and judgment. She walked quickly, head bowed, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag like it was the only thing keeping her steady.

But Anton was there, as always. His tall frame cut through the crowd beside her, hand brushing hers every so often like a quiet reminder: you’re not alone.

When they finally reached the quieter corner of campus, Jiyeon exhaled shakily. Her chest still throbbed from the way Wonbin had shouted in front of everyone, clinging to something that no longer existed.

Anton glanced down at her, jaw clenched, concern shadowing his face. “Do you want to go home?”

She hesitated, then nodded.

Meanwhile, Wonbin stumbled out of the campus courtyard. His ears still rang from the gasps, from the way people had looked at him—not with respect, not with envy, but with pity.

Pity.

He stormed aimlessly until his legs carried him to the locker room. The smell of damp tiles and chlorine wrapped around him, suffocating. He pressed his hands against the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

For a moment, he didn’t recognize the man staring back. His once sharp eyes were rimmed red, his lips pale, his expression cracked open with something raw and ugly.

“She was supposed to be mine,” he muttered. His voice trembled, uneven. “She was mine.”

But the words didn’t sound convincing, not even to himself.

He slammed his fist against the counter, the sound reverberating in the empty room. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, regret tearing through him. Jiyeon’s laughter, once his comfort, now played in his head with Anton’s face next to it.

How did it come to this?

At Anton’s apartment, the storm in Jiyeon’s chest began to calm. The moment she stepped inside, it felt like the weight lifted—like she could breathe again. Anton moved quietly, making her tea, draping a blanket over her shoulders without a word.

She sat curled on the couch, staring at the steam rising from the cup in her hands. “I thought it wouldn’t get to me anymore,” she whispered. “But seeing him like that… it felt like I was back there again. Back when I thought he’d never hurt me.”

Anton set his own mug down and turned toward her, his hand brushing gently against hers. “He doesn’t get to hurt you anymore, Jiyeon. Not if I can help it.”

Her throat tightened. She blinked rapidly, setting her tea aside before it slipped from her hands. “Anton…”

He caught her gaze, his dark eyes steady. “I know this started as a deal. As a way to show them we weren’t weak. But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling fake to me. When I look at you, Jiyeon… all I see is you. And that scares me, because it feels so real.”

Her breath hitched. Slowly, she reached up, cupping his cheek with trembling fingers. His skin was warm, his jaw tense beneath her touch.

“Then let’s stop pretending,” she whispered.

His eyes widened, a sharp inhale leaving his chest. “…You mean that?”

She nodded, her lips curving into the faintest, most vulnerable smile. “I’m tired of pretending it’s not you I want.”

Something in Anton cracked open at her words. His lips trembled into a smile, the kind that reached his eyes, soft and disbelieving. He leaned in, their foreheads pressing together, his hands cradling hers like they were something fragile and precious.

“You don’t know what you’ve just done to me,” he murmured, voice low and unsteady.

Her laugh broke through the heaviness, watery but real. “Maybe I do.”

And then he kissed her.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t frantic. It was slow, reverent, each press of his lips telling her what his words couldn’t. She melted into him, fingers curling into his shirt, grounding herself in the warmth of him.

When they finally broke apart, Anton’s forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling.

“No more pretending,” he whispered.

“No more pretending,” she echoed, her chest finally light.

Elsewhere, Wonbin sat alone on the bleachers by the pool, staring at the rippling water. His reflection wavered, fractured, just like everything inside him.

He replayed the scene over and over—the way Jiyeon didn’t flinch when Anton touched her, the way she didn’t deny it, the way she didn’t even look back at him.

Regret clawed its way up his throat until it burned. He buried his face in his hands, the words spilling out like poison.

“I should’ve fought for her. I should’ve never let her slip away.”

But even as the words left him, the truth pressed down on him, merciless and inescapable.

She wasn’t his anymore.

And maybe she never would be again.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

The campus was buzzing with students hustling between classes, but Jiyeon and Anton felt like they were in a bubble. Walking hand in hand, they didn’t notice the glances, the whispers, or even the occasional camera-phone snap. Their fingers were entwined naturally, as if they had always belonged together.

Anton brushed a strand of hair from Jiyeon’s face, tucking it gently behind her ear. “You’re lucky you’re mine,” he murmured, voice low, just for her.

She laughed softly, the sound like sunlight breaking through clouds. “I think it’s the other way around.”

Every little gesture felt monumental. Every touch, every smile, every quiet whisper shared in passing reminded them of what they had survived—and what they had found in each other.

The library became their second home. Jiyeon buried herself in a book while Anton sat beside her, one hand casually draped over the back of her chair, the other lazily brushing hers. She peeked up from the page and caught him watching her, thumb tracing circles along her knuckles.

“You’re ridiculous,” she whispered, but her cheeks flamed.

“You mean irresistibly adorable,” he countered, leaning closer so their foreheads touched.

Their private laughter echoed in the quiet room, stolen glances and soft kisses hidden in the corners, moments only they could share.

Even when walking across campus, Anton’s hand never left hers, his arm always brushing against her side as if drawing an invisible shield around her. Jiyeon leaned into him naturally, trusting, laughing, teasing him when he pretended not to notice.

Wonbin and Hyeri faded into the background. He lingered on the edge of campus for a few days, watching them with a hollow ache in his chest, realizing finally that the life he wanted had moved on without him. Hyeri, meanwhile, retreated quietly, her attempts to stir trouble thwarted by Anton’s steady presence and Jiyeon’s growing confidence.

Neither of them interfered again, leaving Jiyeon and Anton free to live in the peace they had fought to claim.

Evenings were their favorite. Anton’s apartment became a sanctuary, the world outside paused as they cooked together, teased each other endlessly, or simply sat wrapped in each other’s arms. Sometimes they fell asleep tangled together, breathing in sync, hands clasped as if the world might try to pry them apart—but it never could.

One night, as rain tapped gently against the windows, Jiyeon curled against Anton’s chest. “I never thought I’d be this happy again,” she murmured, her voice barely above the hum of the rain.

“Me neither,” Anton replied, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “But we’re here. And that’s all that matters.”

She lifted her head to look at him, her eyes shimmering. “No more pretending?”

“Never again,” he promised.

And for the first time since everything had begun—the betrayal, the heartbreak, the jealousy, the chaos—they could simply be.

Together.

Forever.

The rain fell softly outside, the world continuing as it always did. But inside, in the warmth of Anton’s arms, Jiyeon knew she had finally found home.

Their fingers intertwined under the blanket, their hearts beating in quiet harmony, and nothing else mattered.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: thank you for reading :3 this is my first published draft ever (i have a lot) but i hope this is good enough as a first-timer. i will post more and sort out my masterlist so it'll be easier for you to navigate my blog.

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