linn

taking out his hands from his pockets, he placed them on your thighs. there was silence, only the sound of water bubbling between you two. he opened your thighs and stood between your legs, scanning your face.

"can we talk?" he asked. the softness of his voice made your gut dip with guilt even deeper. you shouldn't have yelled at him. he was so kind after you did and still–

you felt his hand making its way to the back of your neck, guiding your head towards him. his forehead rested against yours, hair gently brushing your skin. you closed your eyes, feeling a lump creating in your throat already.

"are you still mad at me?" dongmin questioned, voice calm as gentle breeze on a sunday morning.

"no" you croaked out.

"good" he huffed and before you knew it, his hands guided you by the neck to meet his lips.

once again, you allowed him.

the kiss was slow, pouring wordless apology from both of you. your hands found themselves seeking for him desperately, which just resulted in clutching his black top. he didn't rush but his hands on your neck guided you to deepen the kiss, angling your head in a way that allowed your lips to align comfortably.

only when he felt your breathing getting rigged and salty droplets on his tongue, he pulled away. not too far, he didn't want to.

his features softened and his hands slid from the nape of your neck to cup your tear stained cheeks.

"i-i'm sorry" you choked out, lower lip quivering. "i shouldn't have yelled. i just had a bad day…"

he stroked your skin in a reassuring motion, swallowing hard.

"and then i just… was too guilty to say anything. i'm sorry, dongmin" you sobbed. "i feel awful"

"it's my fault too. i'm sorry." he replied gently, wiping the falling pearly tears with his thumb.

"let's not fight over stupid stuff again" you sniffed and grabbed his wrists tenderly, looking up at him teary-eyed.

"and let's not do silent treatment, hm? i hated every second of that" he teased, canines poking out in a cat-alike smirk.

you just huffed, turning your head away.

"hey, don't sulk or i'll have to kiss it away again"

you just let go of his wrists and pulled him closer by his shirt.

"don't mind if you do" you whispered shyly and dongmin's hands sneaked once again to the back of your head, this time leading the kiss more passionately. your teeth clanked and you giggled through the kiss, tears already drying out in the corners of your eyes.

masterlist<3

the director had warned everyone beforehand.

“this scene is ugly,” he’d said, standing right in front of the monitors with a lukewarm coffee cupped between his palms. “if it doesn’t make me feel entirely uncomfortable, we’re doing the whole damn thing again.”

which was, all things considered, a completely normal thing to hear at eight o’clock on a freezing tuesday morning.

you had laughed, a small, breathless sound that got swallowed by the rustle of the crew moving equipment. seonghyeon had not. 

because unlike everyone else on the payroll, he’d already read the script seventeen times, pacing the floor of your shared flat until his socks wore thin, spending three whole days complaining about the dialogue.

“why does he say this to her?” he’d asked, pointing an accusing finger at the highlighted pages on the kitchen table.

“because he’s awful, hyeon,” you’d murmured, finishing preparing your shared açai bowl.

“but why is he so awful? there’s no justification for it. it’s just cruel.”

“because he’s the villain of the relationship. every story needs some friction.”

“i don’t like him,” he’d muttered, his lower lip pulling into a stubborn, childish pout that made you want to kiss him.

“you are him.”

“exactly. which means i am currently hating myself.”

and now here you both were—standing smack-bang in the middle of a fake apartment set that smelled faintly of fresh paint and stale timber. the red light on the camera was rolling. the overhead lights were glaring down, hot and unforgiving against the back of your neck, and your boyfriend of five years was looking across the space at you like he genuinely, thoroughly hated your guts which shouldn’t have affected you. you were a professional. you’d done this a dozen times before with a dozen different co-stars. except it did affect you; it was your first time acting out something so heavy with seonghyeon, of all people. 

it settled like lead in your stomach, because your boyfriend was annoyingly, devastatingly good at his job.

“action.”

☆

the argument had already been building for several scenes prior. months of accumulated resentment, heavy miscommunications, and quiet, festering hurt that had been left to rot in the dark. and now, in this cramped kitchen set, it finally exploded.

“you know what your problem is?” he snapped.

his voice wasn’t his voice anymore. the low, velvety cadence he used to whisper against your shoulder in the dead of night was entirely gone. it was sharper now. colder. a brittle, metallic sound that made the air in the room instantly drop by ten degrees. every single bit of warmth had been scrubbed clean from his features.

“you’re insecure.”

you stared at him, your hands curling into tight, helpless fists at your sides. the silence that followed was suffocating. it was the specific type of heavy, theatrical silence that made the entire crew on set forget to breathe, everyone freezing mid-motion.

“excuse me?” your voice came out like a rasp, barely carrying to the boom mic.

“everything has to be about you,” he said, and then he laughed. it wasn’t a nice laugh. it wasn’t that crinkly-eyed, breathless sound that usually filled your flat when you made a terrible joke. it was something ugly and mocking. “every single conversation we have. every minor disagreement. every little thing has to revolve around how it impacts you.”

your eyes began watering instantly. it wasn’t because you were genuinely upset—it was because you were acting. really acting, feeding off the terrifying hostility radiating from his posture. his shoulders were rigid, his jaw set so tightly you could see the muscle ticking beneath his skin.

“i supported you through everything,” you whispered, stepping back until your spine hit the edge of the prop counter. “every deal, every late night, every single breakdown.”

“supported me?” he scoffed, tilting his head back with a dark, humourless smirk. “you didn’t support me. you just made everything ten times harder than it needed to be.”

from the corner of your eye, you saw the boom operator visibly flinch, shifting his weight.

“harder?”

“you constantly need reassurance,” he said, closing the distance between you with slow, scary strides until he was towering over you, blocking out the studio lights. he leaned down slightly, his dark eyes entirely vacant of the boy who bought you pastries on sundays. “do you have any idea how exhausting that gets? it’s like pouring water into a bucket with a hole in the bottom.”

your jaw tightened, a genuine prickle of heat rising up your throat. “i asked you for honesty, yi-jin. that’s all i ever asked for.”

“you didn’t ask for honesty,” he hissed, his face inches from yours, his breath warm but his expression freezing. “you asked me to babysit your feelings. and frankly, i’m very fucking tired of being a parent to a grown woman.”

somewhere behind the black shroud of the monitors, the assistant director quietly whispered a thoroughly shaken, “shit, that was good.” because the chemistry between you two was terrifying. it wasn’t romantic anymore; it was just pure, unadulterated devastation. it was the sight of two people who knew exactly where the armor was weak, systematically destroying each other piece by piece.

the scene kept going, dragging out the agony. every line landed harder than the last, like physical blows in a ring. and then finally, just as the script demanded, your character completely broke.

“right.” your voice shook, the word cracking right down the middle. another long, agonizing pause. the tears were properly gathering now, blurring his harsh silhouette. “i think i finally understand it now.”

he said absolutely nothing, his arms crossing over his chest, his posture unyielding.

“you don’t actually love me,” the words came out so small, fragile enough to shatter if anyone moved too quickly. “you just love the feeling of being needed. you love the power of it. that’s it, isn’t it?”

the room went completely, utterly still. even the heavy cameras felt like they’d stopped whirring.

“and now that you don’t need me anymore…” you laughed once, a hollow, heartbroken sound that scraped against your ribs. “…i’ve just become a massive inconvenience to you.”

he swallowed. you saw his adam’s apple bob, a tiny, involuntary break in his composure, but his character stayed fiercely cold. “if that’s the ridiculous narrative you want to believe, go right ahead. see if i care.”

“no.” you stepped back, pulling yourself away from his space and shaking your head. “that’s not a narrative. that’s what you’ve spent the last six months showing me.” a heavy tear finally spilled over, tracking a hot line down your cheek. “and i deserve so much better than somebody who makes me feel this small.”

god, the director was practically falling out of his chair, leaning so far forward his nose was nearly touching the viewing screen.

“angel—” he started, reaching out a hand, his fingers twitching as if to grab your wrist.

“don’t.” you cut him off instantly, stepping entirely out of his reach. “don’t you dare call me that. you lost that right long ago.”

the nickname—the one his character had used throughout the entire script. the shattered, desperate look that crossed seonghyeon’s face in that exact split second nearly broke the remaining crew members.

“we’re done.”

with trembling fingers, you reached behind your neck, unlatching the silver necklace his character had given yours in the first act. you let it drop onto the wooden table with a sharp, metallic clink. then, without looking back at him, you walked straight out of the frame.

“cut.”

☆ 

nobody moved.

seriously, absolutely nobody moved a muscle. the entire room stayed frozen in place for three agonising seconds because somehow, you two had made a fake breakup feel like a real tragedy. 

the director just stared blankly at the monitor, his coffee long forgotten. the sound team stared intently at the floorboards. the makeup artist looked vaguely traumatised, clutching her powder puff like a weapon, and one of the production interns, juhoon, looked about two seconds away from an actual crying fit.

and then—“cut!” the director slammed his bound script shut against his knee. “that’s it! that’s the one!.”

everyone jumped. spontaneous cheers erupted from the back of the studio. applause rippled through the grips and gaffers. someone—probably james, your friend—near the fire exit actually shouted, “thank god!” because nobody wanted to sit through another take of that emotional warfare.

the absolute second the cameras stopped rolling, seonghyeon completely fell apart. “angel.”

you barely had time to wipe the wetness from your cheek before he was moving.

“angel, look at me.”

he was already crossing the set, his long legs eating up the distance between the prop sofa and the door.

“baby, please.”

“hyeon, wait, my mic—”

“absolutely not.”

he reached you in a second, his hands coming up to frantically grab your face. his palms were warm, a little damp with nerves.

he immediately leaned down to press a hard, lingering kiss to your forehead. then to the bridge of your nose. then your left cheek. the other cheek. your right temple. your chin. he was kissing everywhere except your actual lips, purely because his brain had short-circuited and he’d forgotten where basic human features lied.

“i’m so sorry,” he mumbled against your skin, his voice thick and entirely his own again.

“for what?” you laughed, though your ribs still felt a bit tight from the scene.

“everything. all of it.”

“you didn’t actually do anything, dumbass.”

“i called you insecure,” he insisted, his thumbs wiping away the remnants of your stage tears with fierce, trembling tenderness.

“your character called my character insecure.”

“same thing.”

“that is literally, by definition, not the same thing.”

he ignored you, pressing another desperate kiss to your forehead, his eyes dark with lingering guilt. “i hated it. i hated every single second of it.”

“you wrote four pages of notes in your script complaining about this specific scene, hyeon.”

“because it was mean! it was unnecessarily cruel to your character.”

“he’s supposed to be mean. he’s a terrible boyfriend.”

“well, i didn’t enjoy acting like one.”

you finally let out a proper, bubbling laugh, and the sound of it seemed to physically heal him. his broad shoulders immediately dropped an inch, the rigid tension melting out of his spine.

“there she is,” he breathed to himself, leaning his forehead against yours.

“you are so dramatic.”

“i’m entirely serious.” he slid his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and burying his face deep into the crook of your neck, inhaling the familiar scent of your shampoo from your hair that was let down. “i would never say those things to you.”

“i know you wouldn’t, baby.”

“ever.”

“hyeon, i know.”

“not even if somebody paid me a million.”

“they are literally paying you to do it right now.”

“you know what i mean,” he mumbled into your skin.

around you, the crew—especially martin from props and keonho from lighting, who were straining their necks to lean closer to the set like they were listening to some neighbour’s juicy gossip—collectively pretended to be very busy with cables. it was difficult for them, though, considering seonghyeon had apparently decided the entire studio needed to hear him worship his girlfriend to compensate for the script.

“you’re not insecure at all,” he said, shifting to kiss the top of your head. “you’re one of the most brilliant, confident people i’ve ever met in my life.” another firm kiss.

“and you’re so clever.” kiss.

“and funny.” kiss.

“and ridiculously, unfairly pretty.”

“seonghyeon, stop it.” you could feel your cheeks flushing red under the heavy foundation.

“and so talented.”

“hyeon, please.”

“and kind.”

“seonghyeon.”

“and every single room feels completely different the moment you walk into it.”

“that doesn’t even make any sense.”

“it makes perfect sense to me.”

you groaned, lifting your hands to cover your burning face. he immediately caught your wrists, gently pulling your hands away so he could look at you. “don’t hide from me.”

“you’re embarrassing me to death.”

“good.”

“everyone is literally watching us.”

“excellent. let them look.”

“eom seonghyeon!”

he grinned, a shameless, bright thing that crinkled the corners of his eyes. 

“angel, i just spent four agonizing minutes pretending i didn’t love you with everything i have.” he squeezed your fingers tightly, lacing them with his own. “i need at least ten minutes of proper recovery time from that trauma.”

from somewhere behind the lighting rigs, one of the staff yelled out, “take twenty minutes if you need, bro!”

“thanks, man!” seonghyeon shouted back over his shoulder without breaking eye contact with you.

“no one asked you, james!” you shouted towards the rafters at the same time.

the entire set erupted into a loud, collective burst of laughter, breaking the final remnants of the heavy tension.

☆ 

later on, while the crew was packing away the heavy diffusers and winding up the thick black cables, you found him sitting alone in the dim corner beside the monitor, quietly rewatching the playback of the scene. his expression looked oddly miserable, his chin resting in his palm.

you slid into the canvas chair beside him, rubbing a hand over his knee. “you alright?”

he nodded slowly, then immediately shook his head, letting out a heavy breath. “i hate it.”

“because it’s a sad scene?”

“because you looked genuinely hurt,” he whispered, turning his head to look at you, his eyes full of that soft, yearning vulnerability that always made your heart ache. “i know it’s just the script. i know it’s acting. but for a split second, when the lights were up, it felt entirely real.”

your heart melted into a puddle right there on the dusty floor. “hyeon.”

“when you took off that necklace and said ‘we’re done’?” he looked down at his own lap, picking at a loose thread on his trousers. “i actually felt physically sick to my stomach.”

you leaned sideways, pressing your shoulder against his comfortingly. because there he was—the exact same boy who got incredibly clingy if you left him on read for more than twenty minutes while you went shopping alone. the same boy who texted you a string of incoherent emojis every morning before his eyes were even fully open. 

“well, it’s a very good thing i’m not breaking up with you in real life then, isn’t it?” you murmured.

“an excellent decision on your part.”

“is it really?” you teased. 

“absolutely.” he turned towards you, pressing a tiny, sweet kiss to your forehead. then another one right between your eyebrows. and another one on your temple. “because i’m keeping you forever. you’re stuck with me.”

“that sounds slightly threatening, pretty boy.”

“it’s romantically threatening.”

“that doesn’t make it any better, i think.”

“angel.”

“what?”

his smile softened, becoming small, private, and deeply fond—completely, thoroughly seonghyeon again, with no trace of the script left in him. “thank you for never making me audition for the role of your ex-boyfriend in real life.”

you stared at him for a beat, deadpan. “that might genuinely be the most cringe thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“and yet you’re still with me.”

“unfortunately for my reputation, i am.”

“see?” he beamed, his chest puffing out as he looked around the emptying studio. “she loves me.”

“somebody please remove this man from the set,” you said dryly to the empty audience. 

“she absolutely loves me!”

“security!”

“the love of my life loves me!”

and somehow, despite the fact that he’d spent the entire morning making an entire film crew weep into their coffee cups, he ended the day exactly the way he always did—making you laugh until your stomach hurt.

© hyuneskkami ❦

but after closing everything softened.

the lights felt warmer. the air felt quieter.

you liked staying for those moments.

today you’d come to bring him lunch and somehow never left. now you were sitting on the couch in the waiting area while pretending to scroll on your phone and secretly watching him clean.

maki looked pretty when he worked.

you never told him that because he already had enough confidence for both of you.

his sleeves were pushed up slightly while he wiped down the counters. his hair was messy from touching it too much all day and every few seconds he’d stop to stare at something like it personally offended him before fixing it.

you watched him for a little too long.

he noticed.

of course he noticed.

he looked over his shoulder.

“…what.”

you blinked innocently.

“nothing.”

he narrowed his eyes immediately.

that expression.

he knew that expression.

you smiled.

he stared another second before putting the spray bottle down.

“that face means something.”

you shrugged.

“i’m just thinking.”

he turned fully now.

“dangerous.”

you laughed.

he walked over slowly and stopped in front of the couch.

you had to tilt your head back to look at him.

sometimes you forgot how tall he actually was until moments like this.

his shoulders blocked half the warm light.

“…thinking about what.”

you looked at him for another second.

then smiled.

“you’re cute.”

he blinked.

nothing.

then—

“…what.”

you laughed.

he pointed at himself.

“wrong person.”

you shook your head.

“no.”

he looked genuinely confused.

he glanced around his own studio.

then back at you.

“…this doesn’t make sense.”

you laughed harder.

he frowned.

“why are you laughing.”

you sat up straighter.

“because you said it like being cute is impossible.”

he crossed his arms.

“because i’m not cute.”

you stared.

this man had a tiny frog charm attached to his keys.

you pointed.

he immediately shoved the keys into his pocket.

“ignore that.”

you started smiling more.

he sighed.

then after standing there for another few seconds he quietly sat beside you.

not too close.

at first.

except he was tall enough that his shoulder still brushed yours.

you smiled to yourself.

he looked away.

you kept talking.

“i’m serious.”

he groaned quietly.

you ignored him.

“i think you’re cute.”

his ears turned pink.

“i think you act cooler than you actually are.”

he looked offended.

“excuse me.”

you continued.

“and i think you’re sweet.”

he dropped his head back dramatically.

“…stop.”

you looked over.

“why.”

he turned his head.

looked at you.

then looked away again.

quietly—

“…because you’re saying things.”

your expression softened.

oh.

you smiled.

you put your phone down.

then without saying anything you reached over and fixed a piece of hair falling into his eyes.

he froze.

completely.

your fingers stayed there for a second.

he swallowed.

looked at you.

and then did something so maki that it almost made you laugh.

he slowly moved.

until his shoulder pressed fully against yours.

pretending it wasn’t intentional.

you smiled.

he looked away.

after another minute he sighed.

then leaned.

not dramatically.

just enough that his head rested against your shoulder.

you looked over.

his eyes were closed.

you smiled immediately.

“…long day?”

he nodded once.

you reached up.

started playing with his hair.

his shoulders relaxed instantly.

he let out the smallest sigh.

you smiled softer.

“good job today.”

he stayed quiet.

you kept brushing through his hair.

“you worked hard.”

his head tilted a little more into your hand.

you looked at him.

and quietly said—

“i’m proud of you.”

he opened his eyes.

slowly.

looked at you.

“…again.”

your chest hurt a little.

you smiled.

“i’m proud of you.”

he stared.

then looked down.

his fingers played with the sleeve of your hoodie.

he laughed once.

quietly.

“…nobody says that.”

your expression softened immediately.

you turned a little toward him.

he shrugged.

“people compliment my tattoos.”

he looked down.

“or say the studio is cool.”

another shrug.

“but nobody really says they’re proud of me.”

you stared at him.

then reached over.

held his face in both hands.

because one wasn’t enough.

he looked up.

you smiled.

“well i am.”

he looked at you for a second.

then leaned down and kissed you.

soft.

slow.

not dramatic.

just warm.

when he pulled away he stayed close.

forehead touching yours.

then quietly said—

“…say more stuff.”

you laughed.

he looked embarrassed.

but didn’t move.

“…please.”

and suddenly he didn’t look cool anymore.

just your sweet ridiculous boyfriend who secretly came home wanting forehead kisses and compliments and someone to tell him he did a good job.

© yukiglow 2026

somewhere in the living room, one of the partygoers shoved another. it had started small with just raised voices and all, until a glass hit the floor and shattered loud enough to cut through all the other noise. 

“fuck,” someone laughed nervously. 

you leaned against the wall, sipping from your cup as a small crowd began to form around the scene. it wasn’t your first time seeing this happen at one of these parties. 

but then you saw him. james. 

he wasn’t shouting, which was the weird part. his jaw was tight in a way that resembled control, and his eyes were sharp like everything had been decided before the first punch even landed. 

it happened fast—a shove, a swing, a yell, and the dull sound of impact. 

a few people tried to pull them apart but james barely budged, knuckles already reddening like he’d done this a thousand times before. 

you watched for a second longer than you should have. not because you were shocked, but because it was… him.

he moved as if everything was calculated, yet also reckless—as if he didn’t care whether or not he walked away with blood on his knuckles. 

eventually, his friend, jaehyun, pushed through the crowd and swore loudly as he dragged him back. 

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” jaehyun snapped. 

james scoffed, wiping at his lip with the sleeve of his shirt. there was a smear of red, but he didn’t really look like he cared. 

“i’m fine.”

his eyes met yours for half a second. he didn’t react, but looked at you like you were a part of the background—just like the music, the lights, and everything else in the room. and then he looked away. 

you took a slow sip of your drink, scoffing to yourself. 

of course. 

he was just your brother’s friend. why did you care?

☆

two weeks later, you found yourself at yet another party.

the music was too loud, bodies pressed against one another; a lost earring here, a random drink left alone there. you were standing in the kitchen, the only moderately empty place left in your house—where your twin brother, riki, was hosting the party.

you held a red cup, like at every stereotypical university party, laughing a little drunkenly at something the guy in front of you said. you couldn’t remember his name—shota? seob? something with an ‘s’, you remembered that much.

he wasn’t pushy, but genuinely nice. maybe someone you’d like to be friends with, under different circumstances.

“—and yeah, that’s why i strongly feel that transformers is the best franchise that paramount has ever put out,” he said. you nodded along thoughtfully because you didn’t really know anything about transformers anyway.

suddenly, a warm hand wrapped around your wrist firmly.

“hey—!” you blinked, turning around.

it was him.

james, your brother’s closest friend.

without sparing the other guy a glance, just nodding politely, he pulled you away like it was a common occurrence. “come on.”

you stumbled slightly behind him, laughing slowly. “james, wait, wait—”

he only stopped when you were both out on the balcony, cool breeze ruffling your hair. 

he didn’t let go of your wrist.

“what was that?” you asked, teasing. you leaned against the railing, looking at the skyline.

you don’t notice his jaw tighten. “you don’t know him.”

“i was talking to him. kinda how it works.”

“he was hitting on you.”

“people… do that at parties, yeah,” you said slowly, confused. why did he care anyway?

annoyance flashed across his face, something else simmering underneath. “you drank too much.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “did i?”

“yeah.”

“wait,” you paused, gasping suddenly. “you look like him!”

he looked at you in confusion as you stepped closer to him, making him go still.

“...what?”

“my brother’s best friend. you look exactly like him!” you grinned crookedly with hazy eyes locked on his face.

“i am him. you said my name just a while ago,” he stared at you.

you paused for a second, thinking. “no.”

“no?”

“he’s meaner,” you explained, as if the difference was obvious. you reached up to poke his cheek, as if you were testing a theory. “and like… prettier.”

“oh, he’s pretty?” he echoed, his breath catching.“yes,” you said seriously. “annoyingly pretty. very unfair.”

a beat. neither of you moved as your breaths mixed in the space between your bodies. the music from the party faded into the background as the air shifted.

the hand that was still around your wrist loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. “you should sit down. you’re drunk as fuck.”

“you should stop whisking me away from nice guys,” you glared at him, but there was no real bite to your words.

“he wasn’t nice.”

you tilted your head, looking at his pretty eyes. “why do you sound jealous?”

“i’m not. jealous, i mean.”

you leaned into him conspiratorially. “you’re a terrible liar,” you whispered.

he exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. “you’re drunk, yn.”

“i’m fine. see. one, two three,” you counted on your fingers. “i can see fine. i’m barely drunk. i’m not even slurring my words!” you said proudly.

a comfortable silence wrapped around you before he spoke again. quieter, this time.

“i don’t like people looking at you like that,” he said slowly, as if saying it louder meant it would become terrifyingly real.

“like what?” your smile faltered.

“like i wasn’t already there.” his eyes met yours, determined not to look away.

the words weighed on your heart as you blinked rapidly, trying to process the heart-shaped sirens going off in your brain.

“that doesn’t even make sense,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him.

“it does.”

“no, it doesn’t,” you looked right at him. “you’re… you.”

he huffed out something between a scoff and a humourless laugh. “good argument. a great one.”

“i’m serious,” you pouted. “you don’t count.”

his expression shifts, eyes hooded. “i don’t… count?”

“yeah. you can’t. you’re, like,” you gestured vaguely with your hands, slightly sobering up, “permanent. like furniture. or… wait—no. like, background music. you’re always just there.”

“furniture,” he echoed flatly. 

“important furniture,” you corrected him, holding up a finger. 

he stared at you, jaw tightening. “right.”

“why do you look like that?” you furrowed your eyebrows. 

“like what?”

“like i insulted you or something.”

“you did.”

“i didn’t!” you protested, moving closer to him. “i said you’re important.” you invaded his space without thinking. 

“by comparing me to a damn chair.”

“a good chair! an important chair,” you nodded solemnly. 

he let out a short laugh that sounded more amused and fond than exasperated. he shook his head. “you’re so… impossible.”

“yeah? but you like me sooo much,” you grinned, swaying slightly on your feet. 

he stilled as the mood shifted yet again. “yeah.” he paused, his voice dropping lower so you couldn’t fully hear him. “that’s kind of the problem.”

you looked up at him again, staring at him like he was a complex mathematical equation, waiting to be solved. 

god, you loved math. 

“you are pretty,” you decided. 

“okay, you need some water,” he smiled fondly at you, eyes crinkling.

“no, listen.” you reached to brush your fingers against his jaw slowly. “has anyone ever told you that? because i feel like they should. you’re really really pretty.”

the tips of his ears began to turn red slowly. he inhaled sharply at the physical contact. 

“you’re drunk,” he repeated his previous words, but they sounded weaker this time. 

“maybe,” you mumbled. you stepped even closer, leaving barely any distance between the two of you. “but i’m also very right.”

he looked down at you—really looked. and whatever he saw in your eyes finally made him start saying what he wanted to. 

“don’t say stuff you won’t remember tomorrow,” he said seriously. 

“why wouldn’t i remember?” you frowned. 

“because,” he took a deep breath. “because you shouldn’t.”

“that’s stupid,” you shrugged. 

“yeah?” he cocked an eyebrow. “why?”

“i think i’d wanna remember you,” you muttered, your cold fingers still resting against his jaw, absentmindedly tracing circles. “this.”

it was like your words finally unlocked a hidden part of him. his hand came up, hesitating for just a second near your waist like he should maybe stop, but he pulled you in instead. 

the kiss wasn’t quick, nor was it rushed. 

it was careful at first, like he was wondering if it was real. if you’d pull away. if maybe he should. neither of you did. 

you leaned into him, as if it were the most natural thing ever. as if you’d done this a thousand times before. like you fit perfectly together. 

“yn, god.”

your hand slipped from his jaw to the back of his neck—grounding you, or him, or both. he groaned into your mouth. it made the ‘careful’ bit disappear. 

“james.”

months, no, years of something unspoken finally slipped through your lips into the small space you shared on that cold balcony. the kiss lasted so long, you forgot about everything else. the party. the random nice guy inside. the fact that you were kissing your brother’s best friend. and the fact that it was a terrible idea. 

the lack of oxygen to your brain only made it more memorable. his other hand rested against your cheek, caressing you softly. 

his eyes opened suddenly, and he pulled away as quickly as everything had started.

“…fuck,” he whispered. 

you blinked up at him, still slightly dazed, buzzing from the aftermath of… him.

“…hi,” you said softly. 

he stared at you. “you’re drunk,” he said for the third time that night, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. 

“jus’ a little,” you hummed. he dragged a hand over his face. 

“i shouldn’t have—”

“you kissed me,” you interrupted, like you were documenting it. 

“i shouldn’t have,” he repeated. 

“but you did,” you pressed. 

he exhaled sharply, trying to compose himself. “yeah, i did.”

“i liked it,” you muttered softly.

his eyes widened. “stop. don’t—don’t say that. not unless—”

“unless what?”

“unless you mean it. when you’re sober.”

“what if i do?”

he doesn’t reply to you. he can’t.

“stay here,” he guided you towards a chair on the balcony, hand on your lower back. “i’ll get you some water.”

you watched the back of his head as he slid the door close behind him slowly. 

☆

the next morning felt wrong in every way possible. not in a the-world-is-ending kind of way, but just… weirdly off. you woke up with a dull headache and a faint memory of cold air, and muffled music, and—oh. 

oh. 

you shot up in your bed, rising so fast your head spun. the balcony. the kiss. him. james. 

you flopped back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling like it had personally wronged you. 

“okay,” you whispered to yourself even though nobody was in the room. “okay. cool. okay. that happened.”

and then, your brain began trying to protect you: maybe it didn’t mean anything. you were drunk. he was just there. being… him.

you clung to your thoughts like a lifeline because the alternative was… worse. 

you don’t see him for two days after that.

which was very out of character for him, because he’s almost always at your house to hang out with your brother. 

riki didn’t even notice anything. you pretended to scroll casually on your phone while asking him the question that had been plaguing your thoughts for the past two nights. “where’s james been?”

“busy,” your brother shrugged. “why?”

“no reason.” you tried to ignore the way your heart drops to your stomach. “just haven’t seen him around much these days.”

on the third day, he showed up. you heard his voice before you saw him—the voice that had repeated ‘you’re drunk’ a billion times that night, as if that changed anything. suddenly, you went stiff. every one of your nerve endings stood on high alert. 

“—told mr. lee we’ll submit it later,” he was busy saying, walking into the living room like nothing happened. like nothing changed. 

you stood frozen in the kitchen doorway.

he looked up and found your eyes, and for half a second, he paused. a tiny pause. it was barely there, but you noticed anyway. of course you did. 

“hey,” he said, calm and collected. 

“hi,” you replied, even more so. 

without missing a beat, riki said, “she was asking about you.”

you shot him a glare. “i was not.”

“sure,” he smirked, not looking up from his phone the whole time. 

you risked another glance at james, but he was already looking away. 

and that’s how it began.

not with a fight; not because of any jealousy. 

with avoidance.

he stopped sitting next to you after that. he stopped teasing you like he used to, before… that night. he stopped looking at you for more than just half a second at a time, as if your face personally offended him. 

and you? you pretended it didn’t bother you. you talked to other boys when he was around—some of your brother’s other friends. you laughed a little louder on purpose. 

you acted like you hadn’t memorised the way his voice sounded when he said your name that night. 

whatever. 

the next weekend, there was another party; someone’s birthday. it was a smaller group of people this time. 

you considered not showing up, but you refused to be the one that avoided him.

so you went. but you didn’t look for him. 

well, not obviously, anyway.

you were mid-conversation with a guy—a nice one again— when you felt it. the feeling of someone watching you. your eyes flitted across the room and met james’. he was already looking. 

his eyes momentarily flickered to the guy you’d been talking to, and then back to you again. something unreadable flashed across his face, and then he looked away.

like it didn’t matter. like you didn’t matter.

well, fine then. if he wanted to act like that, you could too.

so, you stayed, and laughed, and smiled at all the right times, letting the conversation flow with this random nice guy for longer than you normally would.

you didn’t miss the way james’ jaw clenched and unclenched from across the room. even from so far away, you could see it.

he finally snapped about fifteen minutes later. you hadn’t even seen him approach you. you just felt his body behind yours.

“can i talk to you?” he asked. he sounded so polite, though there was clearly no room for argument. whoever you’d been talking to looked between the two of you, hesitating before taking the very obvious cue that he was no longer needed, and walked away.

and just like that, you were being pulled away again. déjà vu. except this time, you weren’t drunk, and neither was he.

“what the fuck is your problem, james?” you asked the second you were out of earshot of most of the party.

“my problem?” he repeated.

“yes! your damn problem,” you snapped. “you can’t just ignore me for a week and just—do this.”

“i wasn’t ignoring you.”

“you absolutely were.”

“i was giving you space.”

“i didn’t ask for any,” you said finally. he ran a rough hand over his face.

“you were drunk,” he said. that seemed to be the only sentence he knew to speak around you.

“what are you trying to say, james?”

“it shouldn’t have happened, yn.”

that stung a lot more than you expected. great. “...right. of course.”

“wait—that’s—that’s not what i meant,” he sighed.

“it kind of exactly is,” you let out a humourless laugh, crossing your arms. “relax,” you added sharply. “you don’t have to worry. i won’t accidentally kiss you again.”

his eyes changed. “that’s not—”

“then what is it?” you cut in before he could pull more words right out of his ass again. “because from where i’m standing, it looks a lot like you regret it.”

instead of saying anything, he just stood there. like a fucking statue. and that hurt more than anything he could’ve said.

“got it,” you sighed, turning to leave.

his hand caught your wrist. again.

“you think i regret that?” he said in a low voice.

“don’t you?” you said, without turning back to look at him.

he didn’t say anything for a second. until—

“no.”

your breath stilled. “then what?” you asked, exasperated.

his grip tightened slightly, holding onto the last thread of something he didn’t fully comprehend yet.

“you’re his sister.”

there it was. the unspoken rule. the line he assumed he couldn’t cross. 

“so?” you challenged him, finally turning back to look at him. “i was that before, too.”

“yeah, but i used to know how to handle that.”

“and now?”

“i don’t.”

his eyes dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second before coming back up to meet your eyes.

you swallowed. “that sounds like a you problem.”

“it is.”

“then stop making it mine.” you pulled your wrist out of his grip harshly and turned to walk away.

that was the worst part: the part where everything was so so real that you couldn’t ignore it, and also too complicated to fix.

☆

the conversation loomed over your head for a while. you thought about all the ‘almost’ moments you’d had in the past, the late night glances that lasted a little too long to be ‘just friendly’.

until one night, while you’re sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone mindlessly.

your brother’s friends had come over, but everybody had either clocked out in his room or went back home. except him.

he walked into the living room, and stopped when he saw you. you looked up to meet his eyes.

“we should probably talk,” he said. 

you hummed in agreement. “yeah. probably.”

he sat a little farther away from you this time—not too close, but not too far either.

“i meant what i said, you know?” he started. you raised your eyebrows. “about… about not regretting it. i don’t.” you didn’t respond yet. you didn’t know how to. “i just… i didn’t expect it to matter this much.”

you finally looked at him. ”it mattered to me, too,” you confessed. “a lot.”

he smiled. “figured.”you mirrored his sad smile. “great, we’re both miserable. love that for us. nice. people would looove having us at their parties,” you joked. he let out a quiet laugh. and for a moment, you didn’t say anything.

“i don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen,” he said softly.

“then don’t.”

“it’s not that simple, yn.”

“it never is.”

he waited a beat, organising his thoughts to produce a coherent sentence. “do you want it to… happen again?”

your heart backflipped in your chest. you held his gaze. “yeah,” you said, nodding. no alcohol or hesitation this time—just the raw truth.

something in his eyes finally settled. like a decision that had been pending for too long was finally made.

he shifted closer to you, nodd. “then we figure it out,” he said.

“even if it’s messy?”

“it already is.”

you couldn’t argue with him on that.

the corners of your lips tugged upwards without your knowledge. “okay.”

he nodded, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding for so long.

“come here,” he whispered, opening his arms.

you closed the distance, shuffling closer to him. he pulled you into his lap.

you leaned closer, determined to not let him get away this time.

and he didn’t.

for a second, he just looked at you, like he was checking if this was real; if you were real. like he was committing the moment you were sharing to memory before it even happened.

his hand came up slowly, not rushed or impulsive, settling against your cheek.

“you sure?” he murmured in a low voice.

“stop asking,” you said while nodding. and that was all it took.

he kissed you with intention this time, not hesitation. softer at first, as if he was pacing himself, like he knew how easy it would be to lose control when he was with you. his thumb brushed your cheek.

“you’re beautiful,” he muttered against your lips.

you kissed him back just as deliberately, closing the few millimetres of space he was trying to leave between you. your fingers slid into his hair, and the small breath he let out felt like a reward.

“you’re prettier,” you laughed, pulling back before leaning in again.

the kiss deepened naturally, a sort of push and pull—a song and dance, if you will—like something that had been simmering long enough. every time he pulled back a bit, you followed, not letting him retreat into his head this time.

his other hand found your waist, gripping tightly, trying to ground himself.

“you’re so—” he cut himself off, pressing his forehead against yours like he needed a second.

“what?” you whispered, breath uneven.

he shook his head, beginning to laugh. “nothing, just—”

you didn’t let him finish. you kissed him again, softer, but firmer in intention.

his hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, resting there familiarly before pulling you closer like he’d finally decided to stop holding back.

“you’re not furniture,” you said against his mouth, not pulling away entirely.

“good. i’d be a terrible chair,” he laughed. your lips touched every time one of you spoke.

“yeah, you would.”

his eyes flicked between yours. neither of you moved away.

and for the first time since that night on the balcony, it didn’t feel like something that kept slipping through your fingers—it felt like something you were both finally holding onto.

☆

the first time it happened, it was almost accidental. your brother was in the next room, yelling at someone on his phone—probably his friend, heeseung, who forgot to turn up to their band practice again—while you were in the kitchen, looking for some snacks.

you heard footsteps behind you. “you’re avoiding me again.”

“i’m in the kitchen,” you said dryly. “that’s just me existing, jamie.”

he huffed at your response. “you’ve been weird all day.”

“so have you,” you pointed out.

he waited a beat before spreading his arms out. “c’mere.”

you turned this time. “why?”

“because i said so.”

“that’s not a good reason.” but you stepped closer anyway.

he glanced at the doorway, looking for any sign of riki, and then back at you. “you’re doing that thing again.”

“what thing?” you murmured.

“acting like you don’t know what this is. what we are.”

you tilted your head slightly with a teasing smile. “maybe i don’t.”

“liar,” he said quietly, his hands finding your waist, pulling you closer.

he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth, just shy of your lips. the barely-there kiss still managed to knock the breath out of you.

and just like that, he stepped back—as if nothing happened. as if he didn’t just steal away your ability to think straight.

“what—” you started.

“your brother’s coming,” he muttered.

and right then, riki walked in. “oi, did you find anything to eat?”

you jumped, grabbing a random packet. “chips.”

he didn’t even question it. but when you glanced up, james was leaning against the counter, completely normal. like his hands weren’t on you two seconds ago. like he hadn’t just kissed you.

that’s kind of how it became a thing. your relationship didn’t have a definitive ‘start’ or anything. it wasn’t official or defined, just stolen.

it started with texts; nothing too obvious.

‘alive?’ he texted.

‘on the brink of death,’ you texted back.

‘dramatic ass.’

‘you like it.’

‘i do.’ and then he double texts, like men these days didn’t erase that concept. ‘meet me at our balcony.’

your heart did a stupid little flip, and the heart-shaped sirens in your brain went off like they did the first night everything started.

you met him there that night—same cold air. same spot. different energy between you.

“you keep summoning me like this,” you rolled your eyes teasingly.

“you keep coming,” he countered. you nodded your head as if to say ‘valid’.

he stepped closer, without hesitation this time.

“you’re not drunk,” he said with a tone of finality.

“i’m aware,” you hummed.

“and you still came.”

“also aware,” you smiled, glancing up at him.

“good.” his expression shifts to unveil something softer.

he kissed you gently, surely. like you’d both decided that this was something you wouldn’t be pretending away anymore. 

your fingers curled into his hoodie, pulling him closer without thinking.

he exhaled slowly against your lips, one of his hands sliding to your waist, the action dangerously familiar.

when you pulled away from him, you were smiling. “this is a bad idea.”

“yeah,” he agreed. but neither of you moved away anyway.

☆

after that, it got harder, but easier at the same time: harder, because you had to act normal around your brother and the others. easier, because you didn’t want to stop.

you started noticing little things; the way he always sat in places from where he could see you. the way his foot nudged yours under the table when no one was looking during dinners with your families. the way he passed you things and let his fingers linger just a second too long. the way he looked at you, like a secret only the two of you understood.

one night, however, it almost went wrong. your brother was right there. some of your mutual friends came over to watch a movie.

you were tucked into the corner, with james beside you. too close. your brother sat on the other end of the small couch, completely oblivious.

your hand rested between your bodies on a pillow. slowly, james’ fingers brushed against yours. you froze, not daring to look at him or at your hands, as his pinky hooked around yours. it was the smallest thing in the world, but somehow the loudest too.

your heart was pounding so hard, you were sure riki could hear it. instead, he just laughed at something on the screen, before getting up to get some snacks.

you pulled your hand back. “are you insane, yufan?” you glared at him, using his government name you rarely did.

“you didn’t let go, did you?” he grinned.

“that’s not the point,” you muttered.

“it kind of is,” he shot back.

“we’re going to get caught,” you emphasised.

“not if you stop overreacting,” he said coolly.

“i’m not, i’m being realistic. huge difference.”

he leaned closer, dropping his voice lower. “you look cute when you panic.”

you shoved his shoulder away with mock annoyance, rolling your eyes at him. “you’re so annoying.”

“you like me,”

“unfortunately,” you bit back without missing a beat. he grinned, but it wasn’t all teasing.

sometimes, it was quieter than that; like the nights you were too tired to play secret games.

james had stayed for a sleepover, but riki had clocked out long ago.

you sat on the floor with your back against the couch.

some cheesy drama was playing faintly on the tv, but neither you nor james were looking at it.

he sat beside you—close, but without touching.

“do you ever think about what happens?” you whispered. 

“what?”

“when we get caught.”

“…i do, but,” he shrugged. “it hasn’t stopped me yet.”

you glanced at him. “it probably should…”

“probably,” he paused. his voice turned gentler. “do you want to stop?”

“no,” you didn’t even hesitate. 

“okay.”

you realised that it really was that simple all along; no pressure or dramatic confession. just… choosing each other, even if it didn’t completely make sense yet. 

one night, after another one of your secret encounters, your forehead rested against his. your breaths came out in uneven pants. 

“we… this doesn’t feel all that secret anymore,” you whispered. 

his thumb brushed against your waist, tracing shapes into your skin. “yeah.” he swallowed. 

“is that… a bad thing?”

he looked at you, like really looked at you then. like he was trying to find the last missing piece of a puzzle that was meant to be solved long ago.

finally, he spoke. “i don’t think i want it to be.”

your heart skipped a beat. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

you smiled, just a little bit. “sounds like a problem.”

he laughed quietly. “kinda.”

but he didn’t pull away; rather, he pulled you closer. and that’s when whatever you had with each other began to shift from something secret to… something you knew wouldn’t stay hidden for much longer. 

☆

you knew you should’ve been more careful. you knew. so did james. but apparently knowing something and actually doing it were two different things. 

it happened on a relatively  normal day: riki was yelling at a game while smashing the controller in his hand. you sat on the couch, with james next to you. he was too close—not touching, of course, but so close that you could feel him beside you. 

it was late, and all three of you were tired. your guard was down—mistake number one. 

“oi, yn, get me some water,” riki called out without looking away from the screen. 

“get it yourself,” you groaned. “loser.”

“i’m in the middle of a match,” he argued. “dipshit.”

“sounds like a you problem to me.”

“just go!”

you rolled your eyes, getting up anyway. “unbelievable,” you muttered to yourself. “fuckface.”

as you passed james, his hand nudged yours subtly. quick enough that your brother couldn’t see it. you glanced down, but he wasn’t even looking at you. his fingers, however, brushed yours again, and he murmured. “bring me some too.”

you scoffed lightly. “get it yourself.”

he hummed. “mm… or maybe you could just be nice.”

you didn’t respond, but you returned to the room with two glasses anyway. 

mistake number two.

riki grabbed his glass without a second glance. “finally.”

but james looked straight at you. “thanks,” he said simply. it sounded so casual, so normal, but it wasn’t. because his fingers brushed yours when he took it, and lingered for just a second too long. 

you should’ve pulled away faster—but you didn’t.

and that’s when it happened: riki noticed. 

“james, man, what are you—” he cut himself off mid-sentence. you both froze, looking up. 

riki was staring. not confused or amused or anything; just staring at you both. at your hands, which were still too close. at the way you both pulled back your hands a second too late. 

“…what was that?” he asked calmly. too calmly. 

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. you didn’t know how to explain to your brother that you were with his best friend. 

“nothing,” james exhaled. 

wrong answer.

riki let out a short laugh that sounded borderline dangerous. “yeah?” he set his controller down and stood up. his eyes shifted between the two of you. “because that didn’t look like ‘nothing’ to me.”

“it wasn’t—” you started, but you didn’t know what you were going to say anyway. so you stopped. 

a thick blanket of silence wrapped around the room. 

“…how long?” he asked finally.

you blinked at him. “what?”

“how long,” he repeated. “has whatever this is been going on?”

you glanced at riki. but he wasn’t looking at you. he was looking at james. 

“it’s not—” you started. 

“don’t lie to me, by the way,” he snapped. you flinched at his tone. 

“i’m not lying,” you tried weakly. 

“then explain it.”

you couldn’t—not without spilling everything.

“it’s recent,” james said finally. your head snapped towards him. those were his choice of words?

riki scoffed. “define ‘recent’.”

“a few weeks.”

“a few weeks?” your brother repeated incredulously. “you’ve been sneaking around for weeks? great!”

“it wasn’t like that, man—”

“then what was it like?” riki ran a hand roughly through his hair. “fuck.”

nobody answered. there wasn’t a simple version of… this, to explain.

riki began pacing, trying not to lose it. “are you being serious right now?” he looked right at james. “out of everyone,” he paused. “her?” he pointed to you. 

“i’m right here,” you muttered as something twisted in your chest. 

“i know you’re right here, yn! that’s the problem!” he snapped. 

“don’t talk about me like i’m not a part of this!” you snapped back at him. 

“oh, you’re very much a part of this. which is why i want to know what the hell you’re thinking.”

“i’m thinking i don’t need your permission.”

“yes, you do—when it’s him!”

“why?”

because he’s my best friend!”

“and i’m your sister, not your fucking property, riki!”

he finally shut up. he looked between you and james again. frustration flashed across his face, morphing into hurt. 

“you didn’t even tell me,” he said quietly. it would’ve been less worse if he was plain angry instead. 

“i was going to,” you said unconvincingly. he scoffed. 

“when?”

you didn’t have an answer, so you didn’t say anything. he let out a bitter laugh.

“unbelievable.” be turned to james. “you—what, you thought this was a good idea?”

“no,” james said honestly, meeting riki’s gaze. 

“…no?”

“no, i knew it wasn’t.”

“then why—”

“because i like her.”

he said it so simply, without hesitating or backing down. your heart stopped. 

riki just… stared at him. “…you what?” he asked, as if trying to process it. 

“i like her,” james repeated. “it wasn’t planned. it just—it just happened.”

riki’s eyes turned towards you. “you?”

you swallowed. “yeah. i like him too.”

that was it: the rubicon. the point of no return. 

your brother exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding it in all this while. his eyes flickered between the two of you again, trying to figure out what to do with this—with you.

“this isn’t some problem to fix, riki,” you said. 

“this is messed up,” he muttered as if he didn’t hear you. 

“why exactly—?”

“because!”

“that’s not a reason, riki.”

“it is when it’s my best friend and my sister!” he paused. his voice dropped a little. “is this… serious?”

you inhaled. “yeah.”

james didn’t interrupt—didn’t correct you or downplay it. and that mattered.

your brother noticed, of course.

“right,” he sighed and  rubbed his face. “great. perfect. love this.” he paced again before stopping, and pointing at james. “if you hurt her, we’re done.” he turned to you. “you let him hurt you? i’m still blaming him.”

you almost laughed, despite… everything considered. “i need to lie down,” he muttered, walking to his room. “don’t talk to me.” he paused at the door before closing it. “this is so messed up.”

you finally exhaled as you watched him disappear into his room. 

“well… that went horribly,” you commented, flopping onto the couch. 

james let out a short laugh. “could’ve been worse.”

you turned to fave him. “how?”

“he didn’t punch me.”

“give it time.”

he grinned slightly, breaking the tension just a little—but it settled again; not as a secret or something hidden but… as something real. finally out in the open. 

messy and complicated, but real.

“you really just said that, huh?” you mumbled after a second or two. 

“said what?”

“that you like me.”

“i do,” he shrugged, like it was a fact. 

the heart-shaped sirens went off again. “idiot.”

“yeah?”

he leaned his head against the couch, sitting down on the cold ground.

“yeah.”

you slid down from the couch to join him. you leaned your head on his shoulder, humming.

“we’re dead,” you said. 

“probably.”

you nudged his shoulder and poked his side. “so worth it.”

☆

the first time you went somewhere that wasn’t your house, or your balcony, or somewhere hidden… it felt strange. 

“this is so stupid,” you muttered, but the smile on your face betrayed your words.

“you were the one who  suggested it,” james pointed out, handing you a stack of arcade tokens. 

“i didn’t think you’d agree!” you shrugged. 

“you asked. of course i’d say yes.”

you paused mid-step, looking back at him. “sounds like a bad habit.”

“probably,” he hummed. “but it’s working out great so far.” he grinned at you. 

the arcade was loud—not in an overwhelming way, but in a chaotic sense. bright neon lights flashed as machined beeped loudly, and children ran back and forth. 

“all right,” you clapped your hands together. “prepare to lose.”

“in what, exactly?” he raised an eyebrow with curiosity.

“everything.”

“you’re so cheeky,” he muttered, laughing to himself. “confident little shit.”

“i’m a correct little shit,” you retorted, grinning at him as you dragged him to a game. it was a basketball shooting one. “three rounds. loser buys food.”

“deal.”

you won the first round 57-12.

and the second: 61-12.

and the third: 68-12.

“oh my god,” you doubled over, laughing at him with tears forming in your eyes. “you’re genuinely so consistently bad at this!”

“i was adjusting!” he argued. 

“to what, failure?”

he scoffed and shook his head as you clutched his sleeve for balance while laughing your heart out. 

“you’re insufferable when you win, you know that?” he rolled his eyes playfully. 

“and you’re broke, you know that?” you wiggled your eyebrows at him teasingly. “food!” you ordered. 

he rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue—just bought you your usual order that he knew by heart. 

later, you wound up at one of those claw machines—the ones everybody knew were rigged, but tried to win anyway.

“don’t do it,” he warned you. 

“james, i can feel it in my bones,” you insisted, already inserting some coins. “this is my moment.”

“you said that for the last three games.”

“this one’s different!”

it wasn’t.

you failed—at least four times. 

“ok, wait,” you narrowed your eyes, leaning closer to the glass. your face was stuck to the glass, fogging up where your warm breath touched it. “this one’s rigged.”

“yeahhh, definitely not a skill issue,” he said seriously. 

“shut up!”

after your seventh attempt, he gently pushed you aside when you were mid-sigh. “move.”

“oh?” you scoffed. “you think you can do better?”

“watch,” he rolled his eyes playfully. 

you were praying on his downfall, in all honesty—mostly because you had an ego right now, but he got it in two tries. 

“shut up,” you groaned. “unfair.”

he handed you a small plushie with a shrug. “skill.” he reinforced as you mocked him and rolled your eyes. “i told you, skill.”

you looked up at him and thanked him softly. “thanks yu.”

he froze for a second at your tone before recovering quickly. “uh yeah, obviously.” he cleared his throat loudly. 

you hugged the soft toy a little closer than necessary, your eyes never leaving his. and for once, neither of you made a joke. 

☆

it was much later that month when everything shifted again. 

you were in your room, doom-scrolling your day away again, when you heard the front door creek open louder than it usually did. hushed voices followed—not your brother’s.

your heart stopped beating for a whole second when you stepped out into the hallway and saw him. james.

your breath caught. he looked wrong.

his lip was split—the skin was pulled tight and angry, already darkening into a scarily deep bruise that spread out in uneven rays of purple and blue. a thin trickle of dried blood stuck stubbornly to the corner of his mouth, and it cracked slightly every time his jaw shifted. you were scared it might reopen if he spoke too much. 

his cheek was swollen and the skin was puffed and tender-looking, like even touching it would make it worse. it was still red, as if the impact of the blow still lingered there. 

“what happened?” you asked worriedly, but it came out sharper than you’d intended. 

his knuckles were so much worse up close—scraped raw with the skin broken in patches as faint drops of blood clung there before slipping down into the creases of his fingers. dirt stuck to his wounds, shining darkly against the red—like he hadn’t really bothered to clean them… or maybe he didn’t get the time to. 

he looked up at you, and his eyes softened. “hey,” he said like it was a normal tuesday. as if he hadn’t shown up looking half-dead just now. 

“what happened?” you repeated, even quieter this time. 

riki glanced between you both and frowned. “some fight. stupid one. i told him to just come in and sit,” he muttered.

“i’m fine,” james added quickly. nobody bought his lie.

he held himself with a certain stiffness, not obvious at first glance, but it was there. if you looked long enough. and you always looked long enough when it came to james.

his shoulders were set too carefully—too practiced. his posture was a little too rigid to pass off as ‘fine’, because he looked like every movement had to be calculated and measured. even the smallest shift made him flinch and caused a near-invisible hitch in his breath. it wasn’t dramatic pain, not loud or attention-seeking, but the quiet kind that seeped deeply into the muscle and bone while making it known in subtle ways like the way he hesitated to move before he did—bracing himself for it to get worse, if he moved wrongly. 

wordlessly, you turned and walked towards the bathroom, gesturing at james to follow. he hesitated for a second before walking in behind you.

you motioned for him to sit before you grabbed the first aid kit. he sat as comfortably as a beat up person could, spreading his legs a little bit. you still didn’t say anything to him. 

you only looked at him, when you stood in the space between his legs. that’s when your eyes filled without warning. his expression quickly shifted from guarded to worry. 

“hey, hey,” he started immediately softly. “pretty girl, don’t—”

you blinked and sniffled but it couldn’t be helped; a tear slipped down anyway. 

“fuck you,” you whispered. 

“please don’t cry,” he muttered. he reached up slowly and brushed his thumb under your eye to catch your tears. 

“you’re hurt,” you pointed out painfully obviously. 

“i’ve been worse.”

“that’s not really comforting.”

he huffed out a small laugh, but it faded just as fast as it came when he saw another tear slip down your cheek. 

“i didn’t want you to see me like this,” he admitted under the quiet night. 

your hands paused mid-motion as the cotton pad hovered just above his scraped knuckles. a thin smear of yellow antiseptic glowed under the dim light, and for a second, you forgot what you were even doing. his voice an edge to it. 

“why?”

he didn’t answer right away, hesitating, and his hand tensed just a little slightly in yours. he curled into himself like he was bracing for another hit. 

you dipped the cotton back into the bottle of antiseptic, giving him some time, before pressing it to his skin. he flinched at the cool sting, but didn’t pull away. 

“because,” his haw tightened as if he regretted starting to talk at all. “i thought you’d think it was… ugly.”

your chest tightened at his words that sat wrong. the word sounded heavy and misplaced, belonging nowhere near him. 

you softened your touch and gaze equally without even realising it. you carefully turned his hand to check the other side. small cuts under along his fingers were faintly bruising beneath the skin. 

“james,” you said softly. you cleaned each of his fingers methodically, slowly, as if being gentle with him now could undo what had happened before. 

he swallowed and fixed his eyes over your shoulder and looked at anything except your face. 

“i stopped getting into fights,” he continued. almost like he couldn’t stop now. he spoke more rushed and quieter like they’d been on his tongue for too long. “after… you. after i realised that i liked you, and i just… i just didn’t want you to look at me like that.”

you reached for a clean cloth, nodding your head as you listened to him, letting him talk. your throat burned. 

you wiped away the excess antiseptic from his knuckles before dabbing them dry. your fingers lingered for a second longer as you traced the faint swell of the bruises. 

“it wasn’t my fault this time,” he added, sounding a little frustrated now. the tension crawled back into his voice. “it just happened. wrong place, wrong time.”

you nodded, and set the cloth aside. you shifted closer and brought your hand up to brush your thumb against his jaw. you slowly guided him to finally look at you. 

“you’re not ugly,” you whispered, because words seemed to loud for the moment. “you could never be ugly to me.”

he froze completely, unmoving in front of you. even his breaths paused, as if your words were a sweater that got hooked to a sharp edge in his heart. 

you didn’t look away—not when his eyes searched yours like he almost didn’t believe you; not when his expression softened in a vulnerable way.

instead, you reached for a cotton bud, dipped it carefully before bringing it up to the cut on the side of his lip. your touch turned more careful, more slower, like you were afraid of hurting him more than he already was. 

he inhaled sharply as the antiseptic stung his lip, and instinctively tightened his hand against your wrist before relaxing just as quickly. 

“sorry,” you mumbled. your thumb brushed lightly beneath his lips as if it would soothe the sting. you silently worked, cleaning up his wound and wiping away the last few traces of blood as your other hand steadied his chin.

when you were done, you pulled back a little to finally check his entire face: there was still a little bit of redness and swelling, but everything looked much cleaner and softer now. 

“does it hurt?” you asked. 

“a bit,” he shrugged in the way he did when he tried to look nonchalant, but failed. you frowned slightly, lightly tapping the edge of his cut to check if it would bleed again. 

you hummed to yourself, hands dropping slowly. neither of you moved away from the other. 

a silence—full of everything that had just been said and everything that hadn’t—settled between you. 

“people say you should kiss injuries better, right?” you said softly. 

he blinked before letting out a quiet laugh. “yeah?”

you nodded shyly even though you were the one who said it. “yeah.”

“i hurt my lip,” he said coyly, tilting his head. you huffed. 

“unbelievable,” you said while fighting off a smile. 

“just saying,” he shrugged. “medical advice.” a smile tugged at his lips that mirrored yours. 

you leaned in closer anyway, kissing him gently—carefully, like you were still scared to hurt him; like you were trying to fix it all.

when you pulled back, his hand came up to rest on your cheek. 

“you were crying,” he said in a tone that made you think he couldn’t get over it. 

“you were bleeding, fucker,” you shot back. 

“still am.”

“dramatic ass.”

“learnt from the best,” he shot finger-guns at you, like a guy from a decade ago would’ve done. you rolled your eyes, letting out a small laugh, which faded soon. 

“i really really hate seeing you like that,” you admitted. 

he studied your face for half a minute—your slightly puffy eyes, red nose, dried tear streaks across your cheeks, and your lips that still trembled a little.

“i love you,” he said, softer than anything he’d ever said before. 

the words hung in the air as your good old heart-shaped sirens returned. 

“you—” you blinked once. twice. thrice, for good measure. “you do?”

he smiled slowly. “yeah.” something in your chest unravelled completely.

“i love you,” you said in a single breath. 

he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he pulled you closer to press a kiss to your forehead.

“you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that, pretty girl?” he muttered. 

“you literally just got into a fight,” you whispered back. 

“and this still feels more dangerous,” he huffed softly. 

you smiled before pecking the corner of his lips. “good.”

and when he kissed you properly again, it felt certain. not like a secret, not like something that ‘shouldn’t be happening’.

like something you both finally stopped being afraid of, and something that was completely yours. 

❤︎ an ─── ৻ꪆ watch me reread this bro it’s my own comfort fic atp  ⠀·⠀⠀long ass fic btw we cheered · guys this fic is literally sunny’s and my (?) child, we’ve been preggers with this amazing baby for like 2.5-ish months 😓