AUX

the beach smells like salt and ripe fruit and sunscreen that’s been warming on skin all morning. the sand is pale and fine, sticking to your calves as you walk, the sun sitting heavy but kind on your shoulders. somewhere behind you, palm leaves rustle, a dry whisper against the steady breath of the ocean.

daniela is already there when you reach the towel.

she’s stretched out on her side, one knee bent, skin glowing like she’s holding sunlight just under it. the bikini she’s wearing catches the light in small flashes, tiny reflections that blink every time she shifts. her hair is slicked back, still damp, dark against her neck. she looks relaxed in a way you don’t get to see often. no cameras, no schedules, no one pulling her attention in ten different directions.

she’s holding a pineapple in one hand, cut and hollowed out, a straw sticking from the top like something out of a postcard.

you stop for a second just to take her in.

she notices.

“you gonna stand there all day?” she asks, lips curling into a lazy smile.

you snort. “maybe. it’s a nice view.”

she laughs, soft and warm, and pats the towel beside her. “get over here.”

you drop down next to her, the sand warm through the fabric, and she immediately shifts closer, her thigh pressing into yours like it belongs there. you feel it settle into your bones, that quiet rightness that always shows up when she’s close.

she lifts the pineapple toward you. “try this.”

you take a sip, the juice cold and sharp and sweet. it tastes like summer, like heat and laughter and no responsibilities. you hum in approval.

“damn,” you say. “okay. you were right.”

“i’m always right,” she replies easily, reaching out to brush her thumb along your jaw. her touch is casual but deliberate, like she knows exactly what it does to you.

you lean into it without thinking.

the day stretches out slowly, like it has nowhere else to be.

the ocean pulls daniela back first. she stands, brushing sand from her hips, offering you her hand. you take it, her fingers warm and sure around yours as she tugs you toward the water.

the first wave hits your ankles, cool and teasing. daniela doesn’t hesitate. she wades in like the ocean has been waiting just for her, laughing when the water reaches her waist, then her ribs.

you follow, rolling your shoulders as the water climbs higher, the heat of the sun finally easing its grip. when a wave catches daniela off guard, she stumbles back, splashing you both.

“hey,” you protest, even though you’re smiling.

she grins at you, unapologetic. “my bad.”

then she does it again on purpose.

you lunge for her, water churning around your legs as you grab her waist. she squeals, the sound bright and unguarded, and wraps her arms around your shoulders as you both go under for a second.

when you come back up, she’s laughing, breathless, forehead pressed to yours. droplets cling to her lashes, slide down her cheeks.

for a moment, the world narrows.

the noise fades into the background, just water and warmth and the steady rhythm of your breathing. you’re aware of her hands resting on you, thumbs tracing slow, absent-minded circles.

“i needed this,” she says quietly, like she’s admitting something she’s been holding for too long.

you nod. “i know.”

you float together for a while after that, letting the waves carry you. sometimes she drifts a little farther out and you keep a hand on her wrist, anchoring her without either of you saying it out loud. sometimes she pulls you closer, legs tangling with yours, her head resting against your shoulder.

the sun shifts. time passes.

back on the sand, daniela lies on her stomach, chin propped on her hands, watching the shoreline like she’s memorizing it. you sit beside her, knees drawn up, scanning the horizon.

“you ever think about disappearing?” she asks suddenly.

you glance at her. “like… permanently?”

she shakes her head. “no. just… like this. somewhere quiet. somewhere warm. no expectations.”

you consider it. “yeah,” you say. “but i think i’d still want people. just… the right ones.”

she turns her head to look at you, eyes soft. “me too.”

later, you wander down the beach, barefoot, the sand cooler now. daniela stops every few steps to pick something up—shells, smooth stones, a piece of sea glass she holds up triumphantly.

“look,” she says. “for you.”

you smile. “you’re gonna run out of pockets.”

“worth it,” she replies.

a vendor passes by with drinks, and daniela buys two without asking, handing one to you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. coconut water drips down the side, cold against your fingers.

you sit on a low rock near the water, waves breaking just short of your feet. daniela leans back against you, her spine fitting easily to your chest. you rest your hands at her waist, thumbs brushing over warm skin.

she sighs. “promise we’ll do this again.”

you kiss her temple. “yeah. i promise.”

the afternoon light turns golden, everything softened at the edges. daniela stands at the water’s edge, facing the sea, her back to you. the thin ties of her swimsuit sway against her skin as the breeze moves through.

you watch her wade in alone this time, water climbing slowly up her legs. she crouches, hands in the surf, letting it rush around her knees. from behind, she looks peaceful, small against the vastness of the ocean, and still so strong.

something in your chest tightens.

you walk down to her, slipping into the water behind her, and she glances over her shoulder when she senses you there.

“hi,” she says, like you just arrived.

you crouch behind her, your knees on either side of her hips, arms coming around her loosely. she leans back into you without hesitation, resting her head against your shoulder.

the ocean moves around you both, cool and steady.

“thank you,” she murmurs.

“for what?”

“for loving me the way you do.”

you swallow. “always.”

the sun dips lower, the sky streaked with orange and pink. you stay there until the light fades and the air cools, until the beach starts to empty and the day feels complete.

that night, after showers and fresh clothes, you sit on the balcony together, feet propped up on the railing, the sound of waves carrying up from below. daniela curls into your side, one of your shirts hanging loose on her frame.

she traces patterns on your arm with her finger. “this trip feels like a pause,” she says. “like i can breathe again.”

you rest your cheek against her hair. “maybe it’s not a pause. maybe it’s practice.”

she hums, considering. “i like that.”

you talk until the stars are sharp overhead, until the day unspools itself into memory. when you finally head inside, the ocean still hums beneath everything, a reminder that it’ll be there in the morning, waiting.

the next days follow the same gentle rhythm.

beach. water. laughter. quiet moments that feel just as important as the loud ones.

daniela wears that same easy glow, like the sun is doing something extra for her. sometimes she sprawls on the towel with her pineapple drink again, skin shining, eyes half-lidded. sometimes she disappears into the waves, swimming farther than you expect, then turning back with a grin when she notices you watching.

one afternoon, she convinces you to lay back and let her braid your hair, fingers careful and focused. you close your eyes, listening to her hum, feeling the weight of her attention like a gift.

“you trust me,” she says softly.

“yeah,” you reply. “i do.”

on one of your last days in paradise, the morning comes soft.

sunlight spills across the bed in pale gold stripes, warming your skin before you’re fully awake. daniela stirs first, shifting slightly, her knee sliding over your thigh. she hums, low and sleepy, pressing her face into your neck.

“morning,” she murmurs.

you smile without opening your eyes. “you drool.”

she lifts her head immediately. “i do not.”

you laugh, opening your eyes just in time to see her roll them. “relax. i like it.”

she snorts, then leans down to kiss you, slow and unhurried. it’s not desperate or heated. just soft lips, warm breath, the kind of kiss that says i’m here, i’m not going anywhere.

she pulls back, studying your face like it’s her first time seeing you. “you look good like this,” she says.

“half asleep?”

“at peace,” she corrects.

you sit up together eventually, shoulders brushing as you drink bad hotel coffee and watch the beach wake up below. vendors setting up. early swimmers slicing through the water. birds skimming the surface of the sea.

daniela rests her chin on your shoulder. “let’s not do anything today.”

you raise an eyebrow. “nothing nothing?”

“nothing important,” she says. “just… exist.”

you nod. “i can do that.”

by midday, you’re back on the sand.

daniela wears that same bikini again, the one that catches light in tiny flashes, and you can’t help noticing the way people glance at her before quickly looking away. she notices too, but she only shifts closer to you, hip bumping yours lightly.

“you good?” you ask.

she nods. “yeah. i just like being near you.”

you set up your towels close, your bags tangled together. she lies back, one arm thrown over her eyes, the other resting against your leg. you feel her presence constantly. warmth, weight, reassurance.

time slows down in fragments.

you feed her pieces of mango, juice sticky on your fingers. she wipes sunscreen across your shoulders, hands firm and careful. you trade quiet jokes, inside ones, the kind that don’t need explanation.

at one point, she props herself up on her elbows and watches you instead of the ocean.

“what,” you ask.

“nothing,” she says. “just… i forget sometimes that i get to have this.”

you meet her gaze. “have what?”

“someone who chooses me without trying to own me.”

your chest tightens. you reach out, brushing your thumb along her cheek. “i don’t want to own you. i just want to walk with you.”

she swallows, nodding once. “yeah. that.”

the heat drives you back into the water again.

this time, the waves are gentler, rolling in slow and steady. daniela wades out ahead of you, then turns around, water lapping at her hips. sunlight glints off droplets on her skin.

she holds her arms out. “come on.”

you step toward her, and when you reach her, she wraps her arms around your neck, legs brushing yours under the surface. you rest your hands at her lower back, grounding her as the water shifts around you.

she rests her forehead against yours. “you ever feel like the ocean knows things?”

you smile. “all the time.”

she closes her eyes. “i think it knows i’m happy right now.”

you stay like that, swaying slightly, letting the water move you. nothing else matters. not the future, not the noise waiting back home. just this exact moment.

later in the afternoon, clouds gather, soft and slow, shading the beach. the light turns muted, cooler, and the air feels thick with the promise of rain.

daniela stretches out on the towel again, this time on her stomach, chin turned toward you. you sit beside her, tracing lazy patterns into the sand.

“when i was younger,” she says suddenly, “i used to think happiness was loud. like… big moments. stages. applause.”

you listen.

“but this?” she gestures vaguely between the two of you, the beach, the sky. “this feels more real.”

you nod. “loud things fade. quiet things stick.”

she smiles at that. “you always say stuff like that.”

“occupational hazard,” you joke.

she reaches for your hand, threading her fingers through yours. “i’m serious, though. i don’t feel like i have to perform here.”

you squeeze her hand. “good. you don’t.”

the first drops of rain hit the sand, darkening it in small spots. daniela laughs, pushing herself up.

“round two?” she asks.

you’re already standing.

the rain comes fast, warm and sudden, drenching you both in seconds. the beach empties quickly, but you don’t run. you spin daniela around, her laughter bright against the sound of rain. she grips your shoulders, steadying herself, eyes shining.

she kisses you again, rain mixing with salt and joy, and for a moment it feels like the world has narrowed down to just the two of you under a gray sky.

eventually, soaked and breathless, you retreat inside.

you towel her off first, careful and slow, hands lingering just enough to feel intimate without crossing into urgency. she watches you the whole time, expression soft, trusting.

“my turn,” she says, taking the towel from you.

she dries you with the same care, fingers brushing your skin, grounding you. it feels like love in its simplest form: attention.

that evening, you order room service and eat barefoot on the floor, sharing bites and stories. daniela talks about her family, about music she wants to make someday that sounds like this place feels. you tell her about dreams you haven’t said out loud before.

she listens. really listens.

when night settles in again, you sit by the window, watching the rain fade and the moon rise over the ocean. daniela leans into you, quiet now, content.

“promise me something,” she says.

“what?”

“that we won’t forget how this feels when things get busy again.”

you kiss her hair. “we won’t. we’ll come back to it. to each other.”

she exhales, satisfied, and rests her head on your shoulder.

outside, the ocean keeps moving. inside, you hold her close.

and for the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel heavy.

it feels open.

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you didn’t expect your exchange semesters in korea to make you rethink your entire personality, but moving into a tiny apartment complex where the walls were thin enough to hear your neighbor sneeze definitely humbled you.

your neighbor, by the way, was yoonchae.

as in: bright-eyed, quick-moving, talks-fast-even-when-you-understand-nothing yoonchae.

you met her your first week in seoul when she caught you struggling to open your mailbox like it was a boss fight. she’d stepped up beside you, pressed something, twisted something, and the box popped open.

she’d pointed at it proudly and said something in korean that your beginner-level textbook brain classified as: “i helped you. applaud me.”

you bowed too many times. she laughed. warm, a little shy, and way too cute for someone who just watched you lose a fight to a metal box.

you learned quickly that she didn't know much english.

she learned even quicker that you didn’t know much Korean.

it was a recipe for disaster.

and, somehow, friendship.

most evenings you’d find her outside the building practicing dance moves, or eating ice cream even when it was freezing. when she noticed you passing by, she always waved frantically like you were a celebrity instead of the foreign kid who regularly got lost between the convenience store and home.

one day she pointed at your oversized hoodie, made a little “ooh” sound, and then, without explanation, walked into your personal space and tugged gently at the sleeve.

“펴줘…” she said.

you had no clue what that meant, but she was holding your wrist, so you said yes to whatever she wanted (you always do). she gestured for you to take off the garment, snatched it from your grasp, and then tugged the hoodie over her head and gave a satisfied smile.

“you just… stole that,” you said, helplessly amused.

she didn’t understand, but the grin said she absolutely did.

and that was the beginning of the “borrowing” era.

sweatpants.

your dodgers hat.

your black tee that looked like a dress on her.

one time, somehow, your slippers that were too big for her.

you tried teaching her the phrase “can I borrow this?”

she learned “borrow,” but used it like a threat.

“borrow,” she’d say, pointing at your closet.

“no,” you’d answer.

“yes.” she’d take it anyway.

you attempted to teach her basic english, because she’d asked, pointing to your notebook, to herself, to you, saying in broken english, “please… teach?”

you tried.

you were terrible.

you explained phrases badly.

you pronounced things too quickly.

you used slang.

you got impatient and drew pictures.

she still learned exactly zero things from you.

your korean? somehow worse.

you once tried to tell her you were “going to eat dinner” and instead said, confidently, “i am becoming dinner.”

she laughed so hard she fell sideways on your couch.

communication between you two existed in the space between words. gestures, expressions, stupid little noises when something was cute or funny. you didn’t need to understand every word to like her. and you did. way more than you should.

but then she got accepted to dream academy, a chance to pursue her dream of being an idol.

the morning she left, she knocked on your door wearing your hoodie again, her favorite victim of theft. when you opened the door, she did her usual little wave. but she looked… nervous.

she said something in korean that was too fast for you. You caught only bits. thank you, maybe. fun. something that might’ve been friend.

then she pressed something into your hand. your old keychain she’d been stealing off your backpack for months because “cute”, and smiled.

you said, “text me,” even though you weren’t sure she understood.

she nodded like she did.

after she left, your hallway felt weirdly quiet. your apartment, colder. your hoodie rack in your closet? empty. you stared at the space where the hoodies should hang and thought: well, at least it’s getting more use with her.

she messaged sometimes. pictures from training, blurry selfies, sometimes selfies where she looked exhausted. her english improved by maybe five percent. your korean improved by two.

you cheered her on as best you could, even if time zones murdered you. When she debuted with katseye, she sent you a message that simply said:

“i… made it :)”

you saved it.

and then you graduated.

you’d gotten used to korean convenience stores and tiny apartments and hearing yoonchae rummaging in her room next door. going home felt like being unplugged from a world you’d just learned how to navigate.

but you packed up and moved back to california anyway for university.

your parents greeted you with loud hugs and loud questions and louder cooking.

you slept in a bed that didn’t shake every time the subway rolled underground.

you showered in a bathroom where you had elbow room again.

and you missed korea anyway.

you missed being lost.

you missed the noise.

you missed yoonchae.

she was in los angeles now with her group. you were also in los angeles too, starting school at ucla. but los angeles is huge, busy, chaotic. you figured you might never run into her unless destiny was feeling dramatic.

destiny was feeling dramatic.

it happened on a tuesday.

you were at your local café, half-asleep, regretting your schedule. you pushed the door open and there she was. hood up, mask on, hunched over a drink.

you wouldn’t have recognized her if she hadn’t looked up the exact second you walked inside.

hwe eyes widened so much you thought she might scream.

you froze with your hand still on the door handle.

she stood.

you stood.

someone behind you asked you to move because you were blocking the door, but you literally could not move.

then she scrambled toward you, nearly tripping on the rug, grabbed your arm, and shook you like she was confirming you were real.

“you—here—why?!” she burst out in english so good it startled you.

“you speak!” you answered, pointing in disbelief.

she nodded proudly. “i learn. a lot.”

you laughed, stepping back to look at her. she was wearing your hoodie. or, well, her hoodie now. you’d accepted its fate long ago.

“did you seriously keep that?” you asked.

she tugged the sleeve like she used to and nodded. “is mine.”

you sat with her at a small corner table, because apparently you were too stunned to say no to anything. she pulled her mask down and studied your face like she was memorizing it.

“so…” you said. it was all you had.

“so,” she echoed, smiling with her whole face.

conversations worked now. not flawlessly. her english still had gaps, your korean still had chasms, but you could actually talk. she told you about debut life. about the moving. about LA traffic. about sore feet and long nights and missing the little apartment hallway in korea.

“you never visit,” she teased.

“i didn’t know you lived so close to my campus!”

she gasped. “really?!”

“really.”

she sat back, processing, then grinned. “then… we can meet more.”

“yeah,” you said softly. “we can.”

she looked at your outfit then, eyes narrowing in that familiar mischievous way.

“borrow?” she asked, pointing at your jacket.

“no. absolutely not—"

she slid the jacket off your shoulders anyway.

somethings never change.

over the next weeks, she found excuses to see you.

“practice is near you.”

“filming is near you.”

“i am hungry near you.”

she’d finish schedules tired but still show up outside your dorm wearing one of your shirts. though now, at least, she asked before taking something… most of the time.

her english got better with every conversation.

your korean got better because she corrected you constantly.

“it’s not ‘나는 밥이다,’” she said once, giggling.

“what did I say?”

“you said ‘i am rice.’”

you threw a pillow at her. she dodged easily.

once, after a long day, she leaned her head on your shoulder during a car ride. one of the managers had agreed to drop you both off. she mumbled something that you barely caught.

“mussed you,” she slurred sleepily.

you pretended your heart didn’t explode.

another time she showed up at your apartment wearing your sweatpants. your huge sweatpants, and said, “these are good,” like she’d discovered gold.

“that’s because they’re mine,” you said, pulling at the waistband.

she swatted your hand away and held the pants like they were precious.

“no. mine,” she insisted.

when she posted on instagram a few weeks later. selfie, hair cute, caption full of hearts, and she was wearing your hoodie again, you nearly dropped your phone.

your friends texted you instantly.

“bro is that YOUR hoodie??”

“are you dating a celebrity??”

“explain or i kill you.”

you did not explain.

mostly because you had no idea how to explain anything.

the truth was: neither of you had ever labeled it.

you just… drifted toward each other. first in korea, now in los angeles. she wasn’t subtle, but she also wasn’t reckless. she touched your sleeve when she talked. she grabbed your hand when crossing streets. she pouted whenever she had to say goodbye. but she never actually said the thing.

then one evening, you were walking her back to the group dorm. she was wearing, predictably, your jacket. she kicked a pebble on the sidewalk and said, very quietly:

“so we are… what? friends?”

you blinked. “i mean… what do you think we are?”

she stopped walking, tugged the jacket sleeve over her hands, and looked up at you with that same nervous expression she’d had the morning she left for dream academy.

“i think… i like you,” she said. “before. in korea. now. still.”

you breath caught. it felt like the city quieted for a moment, even though los angeles never shuts up.

“i like you too,” you admitted. “i mean, i thought it was obvious.”

she puffed her cheeks. “no! you don’t say!”

“i thought the stolen clothes made it obvious.”

“that is just fashion,” she argued.

“you stole my slippers, ‘chae.”

“fashion,” she repeated, dead serious.

you laughed, and she smiled like she’d won something.

“so…” she said, stepping closer. “can I be… girlfriend? your girlfriend?”

your heart dissolved. “yeah. yeah, you can.”

she nodded firmly, satisfied, then tugged on your sleeve. “good. then this—” she pointed at the jacket she was wearing “—is even more mine.”

you groaned. “iliterally just gave you the title and you already—"

but she grabbed your hand, swung it between you both, and said, “let’s go,” as if the world had always been this simple.

and maybe with her, it kind of was.

because even with the languages and the distance and the hoodie theft, she always came back around to you. walking beside you, stealing parts of your wardrobe, smiling like she meant it.

borrowing things.

borrowing time.

never borrowing feelings. those were returned, always.

ang when she leaned her head on your shoulder again as you walked, you didn’t need a shared language to understand anything.

she was yours.

and you, god help your closet, were hers.

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you don’t expect to be fake-dating an international pop star when you fly to l.a. for a weekend.

you especially don’t expect that pop star to be megan skiendiel from katseye. charming, infuriatingly confident, and currently pacing in front of you like she’s plotting a heist in the katseye dorm.

“okay, hear me out,” she says, her voice lilting slightly when she’s excited. “if you pretend to be my girlfriend for, like, two weeks, maybe three, jonah will finally get the message.”

you blink at her, trying to process. “you want me to be your fake girlfriend… so your real ex-boyfriend stops stalking you?”

“‘crazy ex’ is a little dramatic,” she says quickly, then sighs. “actually, no. it’s exactly right. he’s been showing up at the studio, the hotel, the gym.” she throws her hands up. “like, bro, i’m trying to do squats in peace.”

you can’t help a laugh, even though she’s serious. “and you think me, some random girl from colorado, will fix this?”

her eyes narrow, studying you. “not random. you’re an olympic snowboarder, remember? half the internet thinks you’re made of ice and caffeine. jonah will freak if he thinks i’ve moved on with someone who could probably bench-press him.”

you snort. “that’s flattering, but you realize the only thing i bench-press is my board bag.”

megan grins. “still counts. you’ve got that wholesome ‘mountain girl’ vibe. snow suit, freezing-to-death aesthetic. totally opposite of what jonah thinks i go for.”

you cross your arms, pretending to be offended. “so basically i’m your decoy?”

she grins wider. “my very cute decoy.”

you ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “you realize people are going to notice, right? your fans. the internet. and i’m not exactly ready for global chaos.”

megan shrugs, her dark ponytail bouncing. “we’ll keep it low-key. a few ‘accidental’ sightings, some couple selfies. easy.”

“right,” you say dryly. “because fake dating never spirals out of control in every single rom-com ever made.”

“exactly,” she says with mock sincerity. “we’ll be the exception.”

you stare at her for a long beat. she looks at you with those disarmingly confident eyes, the kind that make you forget she’s a pop star and remember she’s also the girl who once tripped over her mic cable during rehearsal and laughed harder than anyone else.

“fine,” you say finally, pointing at her. “but i have ground rules.”

megan leans forward, smirking. “oh, i love rules. hit me.”

“one: no weird pda in public. i’m not a prop.”

she nods solemnly. “respect.”

“two: you tell your team. i don’t want to get ambushed by pr.”

“deal.”

“three,” you say, hesitating just a second too long. “no actual kissing. this is fake dating.”

her smile falters just slightly, then she recovers, teasing. “wow, you’re no fun. what if jonah’s watching? what if we need to make it look real?”

you roll your eyes. “we’ll cross that bridge when we—”

“practice,” she interrupts, eyes glinting.

“practice?”

“yeah,” she says with exaggerated innocence. “you know, to make it believable.”

you groan. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet,” she says, stepping closer, her grin softening just a little, “you’re still here.”

the air between you tightens for a moment, enough that you can feel the energy shift before one of her bandmates yells from down the hall, “megs! you left your phone in the fridge again!”

you both break into laughter, the tension snapping.

she grins at you over her shoulder. “welcome to the fake-girlfriend experience, colorado.”

“can’t wait, hawaii” you mutter, already regretting every life choice that led you here.

but when she winks and disappears around the corner, you realize, your heart is beating way too fast for someone who’s just pretending.

three days after agreeing to the wildest plan of your career, you find yourself standing outside a café in silver lake while megan skiendiel adjusts your jacket collar like you’re about to walk a red carpet. she’s wearing sunglasses the size of saucers and acting way too calm for someone about to fool half the internet.

“relax, colorado,” she says, tugging on the zipper until it’s crooked again just to mess with you. “all we have to do is grab coffee and smile once. easy pr.”

“right,” you mutter. “because paparazzi photos are the definition of easy.”

“you handle olympic judges,” she says with a grin. “you’ll survive a few cameras.”

you snort. “at least judges don’t hide in bushes.”

her laugh spills out, light and genuine. you shouldn’t notice how it warms the cool morning air, but you do.

when the barista calls your names, megan insists on paying. “my treat,” she says, winking at the fans already pretending not to stare. “my girlfriend gets only the best overpriced caffeine.”

you choke on a laugh. “you’re enjoying this way too much.”

“of course i am,” she says sweetly. “it’s the first time i’ve dated someone who can land a 900.”

you give her a side-eye. “you googled snowboard terms, didn’t you?”

“maybe,” she admits. “i also learned what a ‘stomp pad’ is. you’re welcome.”

you shake your head, smiling despite yourself. somewhere behind the counter, a phone clicks. someone’s taking pictures. megan notices too and instinctively threads her fingers through yours.

her hand is warm, confident. you remind yourself this is acting. a performance. still, your pulse betrays you, racing ahead of the script.

later, in her car, she’s scrolling through social media. “look at this,” she says, holding up her phone. “#l/niendiel is already trending.” 

you groan. “that sounds like a bad christmas movie.”

“exactly! we’re iconic.”

“you mean ridiculous.”

she nudges your arm. “same thing.”

there’s a beat of silence, comfortable but charged. then she says, more quietly, “you did good out there. thanks for… not running away.”

you shrug. “hey, i’ve competed at the olympics. public humiliation is kind of my hobby.”

she laughs, then glances at you sideways. “you know, if we’re going to keep this up, we should maybe—”

“don’t say ‘practice.’”

she grins. “—work on our chemistry.”

you roll your eyes, but she’s already leaning closer, her expression teasing yet cautious. “just so it looks natural,” she adds.

your heart thuds. you can smell her vanilla perfume and faint traces of espresso. you tell yourself it’s acting, that you’ve trained for higher-pressure moments.

but when she stops an inch away and whispers, “we’ll practice later,” before turning the ignition, you realize you’re in far more danger here than on any mountain.

by midweek, los angeles is buzzing, and megan’s worried. fans are starting to speculate, and jonah’s occasional sightings in the city aren’t helping.

“you know, colorado,” megan says, flopping onto her dorm bed, “people are starting to think we’re more than friends. and jonah… he’s definitely noticing.”

you groan, leaning against her desk. “suspicious? we’ve only held hands twice and gone for a coffee. that’s it.”

“and yet,” she smirks, “we need to make it convincing. which means…” she wiggles her eyebrows. “kissing practice.”

your eyes widen. “megan, we’re in your dorm room. i’m an olympic snowboarder, not…whatever this is!”

“it’s just a peck,” she says, grinning. “fake, believable, and absolutely necessary. for jonah.”

you hesitate, but she pats the bed beside her. “come on, pretend girlfriend. let’s make him jealous… convincingly.”

you sit down awkwardly, heart racing. megan leans in. “close your eyes. totally fake. totally platonic. no feelings involved.”

you do, and then she pecks you on the lips. quick. light. perfectly “fake.”

except your heart doesn’t get the memo.

pulling back, you stare at her. “that… that was a thing.”

“a thing?” she laughs, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “adorable, maybe a little dangerous for your heart.”

“dangerous?” you mutter. “it’s just acting!”

she tilts her head, smirking. “if it feels real… that’s part of the plan. for jonah.”

you shake your head, breathless. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet,” she teases, leaning closer, “you keep coming back for more.”

and just like that, pretending starts to feel dangerously real, and it’s all for jonah.

by the next 2 weeks, your fake relationship has escalated into a full-blown show. except jonah thinks it’s real. every café in silver lake, every boutique on melrose, every rooftop in hollywood hills feels like a potential stage.

“colorado,” megan says as you both walk past a line of brunch-goers on a street, iced lattes in hand, “remember: casual couple energy. totally believable. we’re practically professional.”

you groan. “casual couple energy? megan, i’m an olympic snowboarder. i deal with snow, altitude, and gnarly courses, not… this.”

“and yet,” she teases, bumping your shoulder lightly, “you’re doing it anyway. see? progress.”

across the street, jonah casually leans against a food truck, sipping a smoothie. his gaze lands on you two, and he raises an eyebrow.

“perfect timing,” megan whispers, sliding her hand into yours. “for appearances.”

you feel the familiar flutter in your chest, but you play along. megan leans in for a quick peck — light, deliberate, and perfectly convincing. jonah’s jaw tightens, and you resist the urge to grin.

“see?” megan murmurs, brushing a hand along yours. “totally believable. totally real to him.”

you roll your eyes but secretly admit: it feels real anyway. every laugh, every accidental brush of fingers, every teasing glance in the la sun is setting your heart on fire.

“you know,” megan says, tossing a throw pillow at you as you flop onto her bed, “this whole pretending-to-be-a-couple thing? it’s way more stressful than i thought.”

you laugh softly, rubbing your eyes. “stressful? that’s one word for it. heart-racing, stomach-flipping, completely distracting… yeah, that’s another.”

she smirks, rolling onto her side to face you. “you know, colorado… sometimes i forget we’re pretending.”

you blink. “what do you mean?”

“i mean… i like you,” she admits quietly, voice soft but steady. “not for appearances. not for jonah. me. i like you.”

your chest tightens. you stare at her, words caught in your throat. “i… i like you too,” you whisper, voice barely audible. “and i think i’ve been pretending less than i thought.”

for a long moment, you just look at each other, the weight of the week, the laughter, the awkward kisses, and the late-night talks all hanging in the air.

then, slowly, almost cautiously, megan leans closer. you don’t pull back. your lips meet in a tentative kiss, soft at first, testing the waters, but then deeper, more certain, more real.

it’s clumsy, a little awkward, and completely perfect. hands brush, fingers intertwine, and you realize that all the “practice” was just a warm-up for this moment.

megan pulls back just slightly, forehead resting against yours, grinning. “see? told you pretending could get messy.”

you laugh softly, heart still hammering. “messy? that’s one word for it. but… yeah. real feels a lot better than fake.”

she nods, her eyes shining. “much better.”

for the first time all week, you stop thinking about jonah, the cameras, or appearances. it’s just you and her, in her dorm room, and the unmistakable truth that what started as a fake relationship has become something real. something neither of you wants to end.

“and just so we’re clear,” she teases, brushing your hair back, “all future ‘practice’ sessions are completely optional.”

you shake your head, smiling. “optional, huh? i’ll hold you to that.”

she winks. “good. because i don’t want to go back to pretending. not ever.”

and in that dorm room, with los angeles sparkling outside the window, you realize the line between fake and real doesn’t exist anymore. because this, you, her, the laughter, the kisses, is completely, undeniably, real.

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tokyo airport smelled faintly of coffee, disinfectant, and jet fuel. a mix that always made y/n’s shoulders tighten. the terminal was a blur of chatter and camera flashes, but her eyes stayed fixed on manon. pale under her mask, hood up, airpods in, trying to melt into anonymity. she wasn’t doing great, anyone could see that. covid recovery had left her thinner, slower. still, manon was stubborn enough to walk through arrivals instead of taking the damn cart you had arranged.

you followed a few feet behind, broad frame cutting through the crowd like a ship through water. your black t-shirt strained at the shoulders; you had been mistaken for an athlete more than once, and you didn’t correct them. her job wasn’t to talk, it was to watch.

then it happened, it as sudden, silent. one second manon was upright, the next her knees buckled. the thud of her bag hitting the tile punched through the noise.

“shit, manon!”

you were at her side before the first gasp rippled through the crowd. manon’s face had gone slack, color draining fast. you yanked out an airpod, faint sound from a tiktok still leaking from it , and felt her pulse. weak, but there. people shouted in japanese, someone ran for help, another splashed bottled water onto her cheeks.

manon’s lashes fluttered. her first words, slurred and barely audible: “my… tiktok stopped.”

you almost laughed, except your chest was still pounding. “you fell,” you said gruffly. “you scared the hell out of everyone.”

within minutes, airport medics appeared with a wheelchair. y/n scooped up manon’s dropped passport and bag, walking beside her and megan as they rolled her toward the medical bay. people crowded, it didn’t matter. you shot one look over your shoulder and the crowd parted.

when you reached the medics office, megan was pacing, phone glued to her ear.

“what happened? i saw that she fainted in line— oh my god, manon, are you okay? you look like a ghost! sophia’s gonna kill us!”

manon gave a weak thumbs-up from the chair. “just… forgot i was human for a sec.”

megan’s face twisted in half worry, half relief. “you forgot? girl, you passed out in immigration. that’s not forgetting, that’s international drama.”

you stood off to the side, arms crossed, still trying to steady your pulse. your eyes met manon’s, hazel against dark brown, and something passed between them. not quite gratitude, not quite apology. just tension, old and electric.

“i told you to let me push you,” you muttered.

“and i told you i’m not eighty,” manon shot back, though her voice wavered.

megan groaned. “oh my god, can you two not flirt while she’s half-dead?”

you turned away, hiding the faintest smirk. “wasn’t flirting.”

“sure,” megan said, smirking now herself. “and i’m not about to send this in the group chat.”

manon laughed. a small, real sound, and your shoulders finally dropped an inch. the worst was over. for now, at least.

but as they wheeled manon toward the car, you kept a hand hovering just above her shoulder. steady, protective, unwilling to admit she cared more than you should.

because bodyguards don’t get attached. except sometimes, they do.

taglist: @pizzachicken @vanillakirstein @variantauxx @skz-xii @fein4lararaj @buzzinuconn @hellokittyloverrxox @bitchesbrokenpromises @yoonchaesno1 @vinvinvin-who

doberman puppy!dani who is excitable at all hours, experiencing zoomies constantly while ragdoll kitten!reader watches from high up on a shelf lazily

when doberman puppy!dani gets too hyper, you gently bat at her nose like, “enough,” and she immediately melts, whining softly and curling up beside you

doberman puppy!dani who is super protective and growls a bit when people get too close but hides behind you when someone actually confronts her.

you sleep in tangled limbs: doberman puppy!dani sprawled across the bed like a starfish, you curled in the smallest ball, tail flicking in mild annoyance but secretly loving the warmth

doberman puppy!dani who greets you like it’s been years every time you come home, bouncing and whining until you pet her

ragdoll kitten!reader who shows affection subtly. brushing your head against her shoulder, or curling up beside her silently

doberman puppy!dani who licks your cheek mid-conversation; you hiss, offended, but she just grins and does it again

during storms, doberman puppy!dani gets restless and you calm her with quiet purrs and slow strokes through her curls, scratching at that special spot behind her left ear that you both share

doberman puppy!dani who tried to fit into your cat tree one day. it ended… badly

ragdoll kitten!reader who once knocked her drink off the table out of spite. she barked so loud you flinched. you both sat in silence for five minutes after

taglist: @pizzachicken @vanillakirstein @variantauxx @skz-xii @fein4lararaj @buzzinuconn @hellokittyloverrxox @bitchesbrokenpromises @yoonchaesno1 @vinvinvin-who