☆ DUSK TIL DAWN | Z. YUFAN X READER
prev « m. list » next &&. apocalypse au smau, non-idol au, friend group!cortis, fem-implied reader, etc.
♬.ᐟ now playing: blackbird
all content is purely fictional !
days since impact: eight
IT’S BEEN ONE HELL OF A DAY. you’d spent the better part of your arrival reuniting with your families and briefly recounting the experience of trying to find them after the fallout. despite best efforts, tears were shed.
now you’re up on the hills overlooking the camp, having slipped away for a moment of peace after what has been definitively the most insane week of your entire life.
as relieved as you are to have found your family and the boys’, there is a part of you that’s a little sad the adventure is over. as chaotic and jarring as the journey had been, you had never felt closer to your friends and to james than you had this past week. add to that the stress of figuring out what comes next? you sigh, arms crossed tight over your chest to preserve warmth and provide any small comfort.
and like always, whenever you are sad, james finds you. you turn when you hear footsteps and relief sinks deep in your bones when you see him come up the trail behind you.
he smiles softly when he sees you, standing to meet him. his hands reach out to hold yours, both of you just taking in the other’s presence for a moment, savoring the peace and quiet after a crazy day.
you pull yourself in with his hands, falling into his arms when he opens them to you. your body melts against his, taking refuge in the warmth and stability of his chest as he wraps his arms around you.
“what’cha thinking about?” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you. his voice is thoughtful, but there’s a knowing look in his eye that makes you feel seen in a way that, for the first time, doesn’t scare you.
you give a weak shrug. “just…thinking.” you trail off, gaze wandering to the overlook and the view of the sprawling survivors camp below you where the boys are probably enjoying being babied by their families after your harrowing adventures. you guess you all didn’t know how good you had it until it was almost all gone…
“i don’t think i can go back to the way things were,” you admit. you don’t know where long weekends at the lake and afterschool band practices and late night convenience store runs with the boys fit into this new world. you don’t even know where you fit.
“me neither,” james confesses, hands wandering to find your own once more. he tugs them once, gently, just enough to get your attention. you barely meet his eyes when he leans down to kiss you again.
it’s not the hurried, desperate kiss from before. this one is different. slow, rhythmic, and reassuring as warmth travels through your entire body. this one says, it’s going to be okay. you fit right here, in my arms.
you’re almost dizzy when you both finally pull apart for air. the sun is beginning to dip below the mountains in the distance, but you’re not cold anymore. not when james is so close, holding you between his arms, with those eyes that light you up from the inside out. they gleam when a smile takes over his face, one so bright you can’t help but smile back.
“LET’S FIGURE IT OUT TOGETHER.”
💭 — the thrilling conclusion has arrived! thank you so much to everyone who has kept up with the series, i really really hope you’ve enjoyed it!! ik had a blast writing it <33
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
ok I know everyone’s considered Ryland grace wearing an “I put the ace in space” t shirt but. have we considered the infinitely funnier option of putting this shirt on eva stratt
📬 ❤︎ seonghyeon 𝔁 gf!reader ─── ৻ꪆ when the coffee on the nightstand is the only thing left behind.
❤︎ warnings+tags (contains spoilers) ─── ৻ꪆ ANGST, non-idol!au, slice of life (?), established relationship, major character death, illness, grief, panic attack, hurt / comfort, ft. keonho
💌 ❤︎ notes ─── ৻ꪆ this is inspired by a k-movie i’d seen this year but idk what possessed me to write this now of all times 😭 i forgot the name of the movie but i think about it every fucking day omfg.
❤︎ wc ─── ৻ꪆ 2.4k
𝄞 𓏸 my cortispilledmasterlist »﹙合﹚
❝ tracklist ❞ ─── glimpse of us—joji ❦ supermarket flowers—ed sheeran ❦ fourth of july—sufjan stevens ❦ spring day—bts ❦ breathe—lee hi ❦ untitled, 2014—g-dragon ❦ above the clouds—day6
he hated that the mugs didn’t match.
when seonghyeon first brought his boxes over, stacking them neatly by the door of your cramped third-floor apartment, he had stopped dead in front of your open kitchen cabinet.
“they’re all different,” he said, pulling out a chipped blue tourist mug from a city you’d never visited.
“they all hold coffee,” you told him, barely looking up from your phone.
“not the point.”
“it literally is.”
the next day, there were four identical cream-colored mugs sitting neatly on the shelf. they were heavy, smooth, and expensive enough that you scolded him for spending the money. but he just smiled, that slow, lopsided thing that always made your chest feel tight, and filled one up to the brim for you.
☆
you hated mornings; he lived for them.
every single day, he’d slide out of bed before your alarm could even think about going off. you’d bury your face under the heavy duvet, groaning at the sudden shift in weight beside you, but he’d just chuckle, a low, gravelly sound thick with sleep.
he’d tie his long hair back with whatever stray hair tie of yours he’d managed to steal from the nightstand, padding down the hallway in his bare feet.
he didn’t even like coffee, he thought it tasted like burnt earth, but he made it anyway. because you loved it.
twenty minutes later, he’d return, pressing a soft, cool kiss to your bare shoulder. “angel.”
“mmm…”
“coffee.”
“five more minutes.”
“you said that ten minutes ago.”
“i’ll say it again.”
he’d sigh, that dramatic, fond sound he always made, and place the warm mug on your nightstand. then he’d crawl right back under the blankets, wrapping his long limbs around you like an anchor, pulling you back into the warmth until you were both running hopelessly late.
☆
the apartment slowly became a beautiful, tangled mess of the two of you.
his oversized hoodies migrated into your closet, smelling of cedarwood and your shared laundry detergent. your expensive skincare started crowding his shaving cream by the bathroom sink.
and then, there were the sticky notes. it started as a way to remember groceries.
buy eggs. and chocolate! LOTS of chocolate!!!!!!
don’t forget rehearsal <3
but then it turned into a game.
he’d hide neon yellow squares with i love you scrawled in his messy handwriting in the cruelest, funniest places—you’d open your laptop in the middle of a serious lecture and find one stuck to the screen. you’d pour a bowl of cereal and see it staring at you from the bottom of the box.
once, you walked three blocks with a scratchy feeling in your left shoe, only to pull it off and find a crumpled note that read: you’re really cute when you’re annoyed.
☆
you knew every version of his habits, just like he knew yours.
you knew that when he was deeply anxious, his hand would automatically go to the back of his neck, rubbing the skin until it turned red. when he was thinking about a problem, he’d bite the inside of his cheek.
and when he was upset, he didn't scream or slam doors. he just got quiet. not a cold, angry quiet. just… heavy. like he was carrying something too big to share.
☆
“you’ve been quiet today,” you remarked one rainy tuesday, leaning your chin on his shoulder while he stared out the window.
“just tired,” he murmured, turning his head to press his lips to your temple.
“you’re lying.”
he’d just laugh, a little hollowly, the sound getting lost in the patter of rain against the glass. “had a rough day at work. don’t worry about it.”
you wrapped your arms tighter around his waist, burying your face in his back. you didn’t know it then… you didn’t know that he wasn’t tired from work. you didn’t know he was just standing there, looking at you, and silently grieving a person who was still sitting right in front of him.
☆
there was a small, irregular dent in the hallway wall right outside the bathroom.
neither of you ever repaired it, even when the landlord came by for inspections. you’d cover it with a poorly placed coat rack.
it had happened during your second winter together—an old, cheesy playlist was blasting from the living room speakers, and both of you were sliding around the hardwood floors in thick wool socks. he had grabbed your hand, spinning you around with entirely too much momentum, and attempted to dip you dramatically.
instead, his foot slipped and you both went airborne.
your shoulders collided with the drywall, leaving a perfect, shallow crater. you had laid there on the floor for ten minutes, tangled in each other’s limbs, laughing so hard that your stomachs ached and tears streamed down your faces.
“you know, we should fix that,” he had said months later, tracing the edge of the dent with his thumb.
“mhm.”
“we’re never fixing that, are we?”
“nope.”
it was your favorite mistake.
☆
then came the morning the air felt freezing. you blinked your eyes open, the bedroom unusually bright. the sun was already high, cutting sharp lines through the blinds. your alarm hadn’t gone off.
you turned your head. the other side of the bed was empty, the sheets cold. but the nightstand had a cream-colored mug on it. a faint wisp of steam was still rising from the dark liquid.
“you’re spoiling me,” you murmured into the quiet room, stretching your arms above your head. no answer.
you sat up, the silence in the apartment suddenly feeling incredibly heavy. it wasn’t the warm, sleepy silence of a lazy sunday. it was empty.
“seong?”
nothing.
you pushed the covers off and walked out into the hallway. the kitchen counter was spotless. the living room was perfectly still. you glanced at the entryway—his keys weren’t on the brass hook.
a strange, fluttering panic started to rise in your throat, entirely irrational.
you opened the hallway closet to grab a jacket. his heavy winter coat wasn’t there. only yours, hanging lonely on the rack.
you ran back to the bedroom, throwing open the closet doors. the left side—his side—was completely bare. the hangers were empty, rattling against each other from the draft. you pulled open the dresser drawers. no hoodies. no sweatpants. no silver watch left on the vanity.
“no, no, no,” you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
you stumbled out to the living room, your eyes darting to the photo wall. the grid of black frames you had spent hours leveling together. you stopped breathing.
you were standing alone in every single frame—you at the beach, smiling broadly at an empty shoreline; you at a cafe, holding up a forkful of cake toward a camera that captured nobody; you standing by the dent in the hallway wall, laughing hysterically at nothing at all.
there was no seonghyeon. there had never been a seonghyeon in the prints. it was just you, posing with a ghost. your hands started shaking so violently you had to grip the edge of the drywall to keep from falling.
you stumbled into the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face, trying to wake yourself up from whatever nightmare this was. but when you wiped your eyes and looked up, you saw it.
a neon yellow sticky note, taped neatly to the bottom corner of the mirror.
the handwriting wasn’t yours. it was his.
good morning, angel. if you’re reading this... today’s one of the days you forgot me again. it’s okay, though. the doctors said it would happen. read the notebook in the bedside drawer. i’ll wait.
—s.
your legs gave out. you crawled back into the bedroom, pulling open the nightstand drawer with weak, trembling fingers. underneath a stack of old mail sat a thick, leather-bound notebook.
you opened the cover. the first page was dated three years ago.
if you don’t remember me today, my name is eom seonghyeon. i’m your boyfriend. we’ve been together for six years. you have early-onset alzheimer’s. some mornings you wake up remembering everything. some mornings… i’m just a stranger in your bed.
—s.
the world collapsed in on itself. you looked back at the wall of photos—it’s the cruelest part of the routine he built for you.
on your good days, when you remembered him perfectly, he would take photos of you. he loved capturing your laugh, the way you looked when you were happy, or just you standing in the apartment you shared. but he purposefully didn’t put himself in the frames on the wall.
because he knew what happened on your bad days—if you woke up with a completely blank mind, looking at a stranger in your bed, and then went out to the living room only to see photos of yourself hugging a man you didn’t recognize, it threw you into a violent, terrifying panic. you’d feel trapped, paranoid, and unsafe in your own home.
so, to protect your sanity on the days you forgot, he curated the apartment to look like it belonged only to you. he took down every photo of himself. he made sure the wall only showed you—looking happy, safe, and entirely at peace.
he hid the photos of the two of you together inside that notebook, buried in the nightstand, waiting for the moments you were strong enough to look for them. he erased himself from your sight just to keep you from being afraid.
suddenly, the memories rushed back, but they were warped, recontextualised with a sickening clarity.
the repeated conversations. the moments you’d wake up in the middle of the night, terrified, asking the man beside you who he was and how he got into your apartment. the way he would gently, patiently introduce himself all over again, showing you his driver’s license, showing you the matching mugs, never once raising his voice.
he had been rebuilding your entire shared life from scratch, every single morning, one agonising memory at a time.
you flipped the page, tears blurring the ink.
today you cried because you thought i deserved someone who could remember me. you apologised thirty-two times until you fell asleep.
angel… i don’t stay because you remember me. i stay because you’re still you.
—s.
you flipped further, the pages turning into a blur of dates, sticky notes pasted onto the paper, small polaroids of the two of you actually together—the ones he kept hidden from the walls so you wouldn’t get confused on your bad days.
and then, you hit the final page. it was dated two months ago. the handwriting was shakier than the rest.
my cancer came back. i didn’t tell you because every day you still knew my name felt too precious to spend being scared. i didn’t want your remaining memories of me to be filled with hospital gowns and machines, you know? if you’re reading this… i probably couldn’t wait any longer. my body gave out.
i’m sorry i won’t be there to make coffee one day. but i know you’ll still check the nightstand. so i asked the hospice nurse to come by early and leave one there for you that day. just one last time.
love you. always.
—your seonghyeon
you looked back at the nightstand. the coffee was still warm. it had been made by a nurse who barely knew your name, following a strict set of instructions left behind by a dead man. because the only person who loved you enough to learn exactly how many seconds to pour the milk was gone.
he had spent his final years keeping you whole while his own body was quietly falling apart, and even when he was completely out of time, he had still managed to remember enough for the both of you.
did you love him? did you miss him?
you stared at the cream-colored mug, your mind a blank, terrifying slate, crying for a man you couldn’t even fully picture anymore.
then, the front door clicked open. the sound was too loud in the dead silence of the apartment, making you flinch. heavy, hesitant footsteps padded down the hallway, stopping right at the bedroom doorway.
“hey,” a voice whispered.
you looked up through a thick blur of tears. it was keonho, seonghyeon’s younger brother. you knew his face—your fractured brain held onto that much—but his eyes were red, his shoulders completely slumped under a dark jacket.
keonho took one look at you sitting on the floor, the leather-bound notebook clutched to your chest, and the single cream-colored mug cooling on the nightstand.
he didn’t ask what was wrong. he didn’t have to. he connected the dots the second he saw the pages open in your lap.
he dropped his keys on the dresser and crossed the room in two strides, dropping to his knees right into the dust beside you. he didn’t care about space or boundaries; he just pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in a tight, crushing hug that felt like a desperate attempt to hold your breaking pieces together.
“he’s gone, isn’t he?” you sobbed against his shoulder, your fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket. you couldn’t even visualise seonghyeon’s smile clearly right now, but the hollow space in your chest was agonising. “keonho, please. where is he?”
he squeezed his eyes shut, a hot tear spilling over his cheek onto your hair.
“he died yesterday afternoon,” he whispered, his chest heaving as he finally let himself break down. “at the hospital. he went really quietly. his last couple of days… he was so weak, but he kept making me promise over and over that the nurse would bring the coffee this morning. he made me swear it.”
you buried your face into keonho’s shoulder, the two of you shaking, crying so hard the small bedroom felt suffocating. you were grieving a ghost you couldn’t fully see, and keonho was grieving the brother who had loved others more than his own life.
“i’m sorry,” you sobbed, the guilt suffocating you. “i’m so sorry i forgot him. i forgot him while he was dying.”
“don’t say that, please,” keonho wept, rocking you back and forth on the hard floor. “don’t say that. he knew. he always knew it wasn’t your fault. he loved you so much.”
the room grew cold as the morning stretched on, the mug on the table turning completely icy, but neither of you moved. you just held onto each other in the wreckage of a story that had ended a day too soon.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
📬 ❤︎ seonghyeon 𝔁 gf!reader ─── ৻ꪆ when the coffee on the nightstand is the only thing left behind.
❤︎ warnings+tags (contains spoilers) ─── ৻ꪆ ANGST, non-idol!au, slice of life (?), established relationship, major character death, illness, grief, panic attack, hurt / comfort, ft. keonho
💌 ❤︎ notes ─── ৻ꪆ this is inspired by a k-movie i’d seen this year but idk what possessed me to write this now of all times 😭 i forgot the name of the movie but i think about it every fucking day omfg.
❤︎ wc ─── ৻ꪆ 2.4k
𝄞 𓏸 my cortispilledmasterlist »﹙合﹚
❝ tracklist ❞ ─── glimpse of us—joji ❦ supermarket flowers—ed sheeran ❦ fourth of july—sufjan stevens ❦ spring day—bts ❦ breathe—lee hi ❦ untitled, 2014—g-dragon ❦ above the clouds—day6
he hated that the mugs didn’t match.
when seonghyeon first brought his boxes over, stacking them neatly by the door of your cramped third-floor apartment, he had stopped dead in front of your open kitchen cabinet.
“they’re all different,” he said, pulling out a chipped blue tourist mug from a city you’d never visited.
“they all hold coffee,” you told him, barely looking up from your phone.
“not the point.”
“it literally is.”
the next day, there were four identical cream-colored mugs sitting neatly on the shelf. they were heavy, smooth, and expensive enough that you scolded him for spending the money. but he just smiled, that slow, lopsided thing that always made your chest feel tight, and filled one up to the brim for you.
☆
you hated mornings; he lived for them.
every single day, he’d slide out of bed before your alarm could even think about going off. you’d bury your face under the heavy duvet, groaning at the sudden shift in weight beside you, but he’d just chuckle, a low, gravelly sound thick with sleep.
he’d tie his long hair back with whatever stray hair tie of yours he’d managed to steal from the nightstand, padding down the hallway in his bare feet.
he didn’t even like coffee, he thought it tasted like burnt earth, but he made it anyway. because you loved it.
twenty minutes later, he’d return, pressing a soft, cool kiss to your bare shoulder. “angel.”
“mmm…”
“coffee.”
“five more minutes.”
“you said that ten minutes ago.”
“i’ll say it again.”
he’d sigh, that dramatic, fond sound he always made, and place the warm mug on your nightstand. then he’d crawl right back under the blankets, wrapping his long limbs around you like an anchor, pulling you back into the warmth until you were both running hopelessly late.
☆
the apartment slowly became a beautiful, tangled mess of the two of you.
his oversized hoodies migrated into your closet, smelling of cedarwood and your shared laundry detergent. your expensive skincare started crowding his shaving cream by the bathroom sink.
and then, there were the sticky notes. it started as a way to remember groceries.
buy eggs. and chocolate! LOTS of chocolate!!!!!!
don’t forget rehearsal <3
but then it turned into a game.
he’d hide neon yellow squares with i love you scrawled in his messy handwriting in the cruelest, funniest places—you’d open your laptop in the middle of a serious lecture and find one stuck to the screen. you’d pour a bowl of cereal and see it staring at you from the bottom of the box.
once, you walked three blocks with a scratchy feeling in your left shoe, only to pull it off and find a crumpled note that read: you’re really cute when you’re annoyed.
☆
you knew every version of his habits, just like he knew yours.
you knew that when he was deeply anxious, his hand would automatically go to the back of his neck, rubbing the skin until it turned red. when he was thinking about a problem, he’d bite the inside of his cheek.
and when he was upset, he didn't scream or slam doors. he just got quiet. not a cold, angry quiet. just… heavy. like he was carrying something too big to share.
☆
“you’ve been quiet today,” you remarked one rainy tuesday, leaning your chin on his shoulder while he stared out the window.
“just tired,” he murmured, turning his head to press his lips to your temple.
“you’re lying.”
he’d just laugh, a little hollowly, the sound getting lost in the patter of rain against the glass. “had a rough day at work. don’t worry about it.”
you wrapped your arms tighter around his waist, burying your face in his back. you didn’t know it then… you didn’t know that he wasn’t tired from work. you didn’t know he was just standing there, looking at you, and silently grieving a person who was still sitting right in front of him.
☆
there was a small, irregular dent in the hallway wall right outside the bathroom.
neither of you ever repaired it, even when the landlord came by for inspections. you’d cover it with a poorly placed coat rack.
it had happened during your second winter together—an old, cheesy playlist was blasting from the living room speakers, and both of you were sliding around the hardwood floors in thick wool socks. he had grabbed your hand, spinning you around with entirely too much momentum, and attempted to dip you dramatically.
instead, his foot slipped and you both went airborne.
your shoulders collided with the drywall, leaving a perfect, shallow crater. you had laid there on the floor for ten minutes, tangled in each other’s limbs, laughing so hard that your stomachs ached and tears streamed down your faces.
“you know, we should fix that,” he had said months later, tracing the edge of the dent with his thumb.
“mhm.”
“we’re never fixing that, are we?”
“nope.”
it was your favorite mistake.
☆
then came the morning the air felt freezing. you blinked your eyes open, the bedroom unusually bright. the sun was already high, cutting sharp lines through the blinds. your alarm hadn’t gone off.
you turned your head. the other side of the bed was empty, the sheets cold. but the nightstand had a cream-colored mug on it. a faint wisp of steam was still rising from the dark liquid.
“you’re spoiling me,” you murmured into the quiet room, stretching your arms above your head. no answer.
you sat up, the silence in the apartment suddenly feeling incredibly heavy. it wasn’t the warm, sleepy silence of a lazy sunday. it was empty.
“seong?”
nothing.
you pushed the covers off and walked out into the hallway. the kitchen counter was spotless. the living room was perfectly still. you glanced at the entryway—his keys weren’t on the brass hook.
a strange, fluttering panic started to rise in your throat, entirely irrational.
you opened the hallway closet to grab a jacket. his heavy winter coat wasn’t there. only yours, hanging lonely on the rack.
you ran back to the bedroom, throwing open the closet doors. the left side—his side—was completely bare. the hangers were empty, rattling against each other from the draft. you pulled open the dresser drawers. no hoodies. no sweatpants. no silver watch left on the vanity.
“no, no, no,” you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
you stumbled out to the living room, your eyes darting to the photo wall. the grid of black frames you had spent hours leveling together. you stopped breathing.
you were standing alone in every single frame—you at the beach, smiling broadly at an empty shoreline; you at a cafe, holding up a forkful of cake toward a camera that captured nobody; you standing by the dent in the hallway wall, laughing hysterically at nothing at all.
there was no seonghyeon. there had never been a seonghyeon in the prints. it was just you, posing with a ghost. your hands started shaking so violently you had to grip the edge of the drywall to keep from falling.
you stumbled into the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face, trying to wake yourself up from whatever nightmare this was. but when you wiped your eyes and looked up, you saw it.
a neon yellow sticky note, taped neatly to the bottom corner of the mirror.
the handwriting wasn’t yours. it was his.
good morning, angel. if you’re reading this... today’s one of the days you forgot me again. it’s okay, though. the doctors said it would happen. read the notebook in the bedside drawer. i’ll wait.
—s.
your legs gave out. you crawled back into the bedroom, pulling open the nightstand drawer with weak, trembling fingers. underneath a stack of old mail sat a thick, leather-bound notebook.
you opened the cover. the first page was dated three years ago.
if you don’t remember me today, my name is eom seonghyeon. i’m your boyfriend. we’ve been together for six years. you have early-onset alzheimer’s. some mornings you wake up remembering everything. some mornings… i’m just a stranger in your bed.
—s.
the world collapsed in on itself. you looked back at the wall of photos—it’s the cruelest part of the routine he built for you.
on your good days, when you remembered him perfectly, he would take photos of you. he loved capturing your laugh, the way you looked when you were happy, or just you standing in the apartment you shared. but he purposefully didn’t put himself in the frames on the wall.
because he knew what happened on your bad days—if you woke up with a completely blank mind, looking at a stranger in your bed, and then went out to the living room only to see photos of yourself hugging a man you didn’t recognize, it threw you into a violent, terrifying panic. you’d feel trapped, paranoid, and unsafe in your own home.
so, to protect your sanity on the days you forgot, he curated the apartment to look like it belonged only to you. he took down every photo of himself. he made sure the wall only showed you—looking happy, safe, and entirely at peace.
he hid the photos of the two of you together inside that notebook, buried in the nightstand, waiting for the moments you were strong enough to look for them. he erased himself from your sight just to keep you from being afraid.
suddenly, the memories rushed back, but they were warped, recontextualised with a sickening clarity.
the repeated conversations. the moments you’d wake up in the middle of the night, terrified, asking the man beside you who he was and how he got into your apartment. the way he would gently, patiently introduce himself all over again, showing you his driver’s license, showing you the matching mugs, never once raising his voice.
he had been rebuilding your entire shared life from scratch, every single morning, one agonising memory at a time.
you flipped the page, tears blurring the ink.
today you cried because you thought i deserved someone who could remember me. you apologised thirty-two times until you fell asleep.
angel… i don’t stay because you remember me. i stay because you’re still you.
—s.
you flipped further, the pages turning into a blur of dates, sticky notes pasted onto the paper, small polaroids of the two of you actually together—the ones he kept hidden from the walls so you wouldn’t get confused on your bad days.
and then, you hit the final page. it was dated two months ago. the handwriting was shakier than the rest.
my cancer came back. i didn’t tell you because every day you still knew my name felt too precious to spend being scared. i didn’t want your remaining memories of me to be filled with hospital gowns and machines, you know? if you’re reading this… i probably couldn’t wait any longer. my body gave out.
i’m sorry i won’t be there to make coffee one day. but i know you’ll still check the nightstand. so i asked the hospice nurse to come by early and leave one there for you that day. just one last time.
love you. always.
—your seonghyeon
you looked back at the nightstand. the coffee was still warm. it had been made by a nurse who barely knew your name, following a strict set of instructions left behind by a dead man. because the only person who loved you enough to learn exactly how many seconds to pour the milk was gone.
he had spent his final years keeping you whole while his own body was quietly falling apart, and even when he was completely out of time, he had still managed to remember enough for the both of you.
did you love him? did you miss him?
you stared at the cream-colored mug, your mind a blank, terrifying slate, crying for a man you couldn’t even fully picture anymore.
then, the front door clicked open. the sound was too loud in the dead silence of the apartment, making you flinch. heavy, hesitant footsteps padded down the hallway, stopping right at the bedroom doorway.
“hey,” a voice whispered.
you looked up through a thick blur of tears. it was keonho, seonghyeon’s younger brother. you knew his face—your fractured brain held onto that much—but his eyes were red, his shoulders completely slumped under a dark jacket.
keonho took one look at you sitting on the floor, the leather-bound notebook clutched to your chest, and the single cream-colored mug cooling on the nightstand.
he didn’t ask what was wrong. he didn’t have to. he connected the dots the second he saw the pages open in your lap.
he dropped his keys on the dresser and crossed the room in two strides, dropping to his knees right into the dust beside you. he didn’t care about space or boundaries; he just pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in a tight, crushing hug that felt like a desperate attempt to hold your breaking pieces together.
“he’s gone, isn’t he?” you sobbed against his shoulder, your fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket. you couldn’t even visualise seonghyeon’s smile clearly right now, but the hollow space in your chest was agonising. “keonho, please. where is he?”
he squeezed his eyes shut, a hot tear spilling over his cheek onto your hair.
“he died yesterday afternoon,” he whispered, his chest heaving as he finally let himself break down. “at the hospital. he went really quietly. his last couple of days… he was so weak, but he kept making me promise over and over that the nurse would bring the coffee this morning. he made me swear it.”
you buried your face into keonho’s shoulder, the two of you shaking, crying so hard the small bedroom felt suffocating. you were grieving a ghost you couldn’t fully see, and keonho was grieving the brother who had loved others more than his own life.
“i’m sorry,” you sobbed, the guilt suffocating you. “i’m so sorry i forgot him. i forgot him while he was dying.”
“don’t say that, please,” keonho wept, rocking you back and forth on the hard floor. “don’t say that. he knew. he always knew it wasn’t your fault. he loved you so much.”
the room grew cold as the morning stretched on, the mug on the table turning completely icy, but neither of you moved. you just held onto each other in the wreckage of a story that had ended a day too soon.
📬 ❤︎ brother’s best friend!james 𝔁 f!reader ─── ৻ꪆ situationship turned boyfriend james
❤︎ warnings+tags ─── ৻ꪆ i’ve never been in a situationship bro leave me alone if you find sumn wrong in the fic idc idcccc ⠀·⠀⠀forbidden romance like it’s not ‘my family will have your head if you love me’ but more of an ‘i’m the last person you should be seen with’ </3 ⠀·⠀⠀don’t question why there’s always a party or hangout all the time shhhhh ⠀·⠀⠀reader is riki’s sister (riki = niki (enha) or maki (&team) or taki (&team), any of them work, your wish!) ⠀·⠀⠀15+ for making out & drunk encounters but that’s about it ⠀·⠀⠀slightly graphic description of injuries in the end
💌 ❤︎ notes ─── ৻ꪆ proofread by the best proofreader ever aka my wife aka sunny ( @jjuhyeons ) I LOVE YOU SO MUCHHH BABY THANK YOU FOR PROOFREADING AND MAKING THIS FIC BETTER 🖤 ⠀·⠀⠀and HAPPIEST BDAY EVER TO COERBLR’S FAV GRANDMA @hollyoongs 🥹🥹 i hope this james fic makes for a good birthday gift for you, my lovely resident james stan 🩵 (also thank you & ivy for implanting twilight!james in my mind (even tho that’s unrelated to this fic) bc everytime i see someone convert to that agenda, i think of you <3)
❤︎ wc ─── ৻ꪆ 8k
𝄞 𓏸 my cortispilledmasterlist »﹙合﹚
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 😓
You finally pick up after the tenth missed call from your ex.
“James? I can’t hear you.” You press a finger into your other ear, though it barely helps. The bass is pounding straight through your chest, the DJ switching tracks without warning. Beside you, Danielle shoots you a questioning look the second she hears his name.
“Babe, where the hell are you? It’s so loud.”
You stay planted in the middle of the dance floor, moving absentmindedly to the rhythm, lights flashing across your face. Phone in one hand, drink in the other.
“Don’t call me that.” You let out a soft breath. “I’m at the club, James.”
“What—” you hear him sigh sharply, like he’s dragging a hand through his hair. “What are you doing at the club?”
You lean your head closer to the phone, then pull it away again, pretending the music swallowed his words.
“What did you say?”
A beat of silence, then louder this time, strained. “What the fuck are you doing there, Yn?”
You shrug, even though he can’t see it, letting your gaze drift over the crowd. You take a sip of your drink before answering.
“You know… clubbing. Dancing. Having fun. Stuff people do at clubs.”
He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “You think you’re being funny, don’t you?”
You tilt your head, feigning confusion, even as a small smirk tugs at your lips.
“What do you mean? I am.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he mutters. “I’m coming over.”
That wipes the expression off your face.
“No, you’re not.”
For a moment, all you hear is muffled noise from his side. Shuffling. Keys. Then the unmistakable sound of a door slamming.
“James, stay in your fucking room. Don’t you dare come here.” You raise your voice, though you’re not even sure he can hear you over the music, or over whatever he’s doing on his end.
No answer.
You pull the phone closer. “I swear, if you even try, I will drag you right back out myself.”
The low rumble of an engine cuts through the line.
“Don’t worry, princess,” he says, voice quieter now but edged with something you don’t want to name. “I won’t ruin your night.”
The line goes dead.
You stare at your phone for a second, then scoff. “Yufan, you bitch,” you mutter under your breath, shoving it into your bag.
Danielle is already gesturing for you to follow her somewhere quieter, her brows raised in silent questions. You nod and push through the crowd after her, the music fading slightly as you move toward the hallway.
“So?” she asks once it’s at least possible to hear each other. “What does James want this time?”
You glance back toward the dance floor, jaw tightening. “He’s coming here.”
Her eyes widen. “He’s what?”
You exhale sharply. “James is coming here.”
“I heard you the first time,” Danielle says, incredulous. “Why the hell is he coming here?”
You let out a dry laugh, crossing your arms. “I don’t know. Maybe because he can’t stand the idea of me having one night without him breathing down my neck.”
The thought only makes your anger flare up even more. “I can’t stand him.” You run both hands through your hair, exhaling sharply as you try to steady yourself.
After a moment, you force your shoulders to relax and look at Danielle. “Let’s go back.”
She studies you for a second, then nods.
You both return to the dance floor, letting the music swallow you whole again. The bass is louder now, heavier, like it’s pressing into your chest, drowning out everything else. Lights flash across your vision, bodies moving around you, too close, too fast. You let yourself get lost in it.
Or at least, you try to. Because even as you move, even as you let Danielle pull you further into the crowd, your mind keeps drifting back. To him.
To the call.
To the fact that he’s probably already on his way.
To your breakup that same day.
Your phone feels heavier in your bag, and your chest does too.
And just like that, your mind drags you back to this morning.
The air had felt wrong. Too quiet, too tense, like something was already breaking before either of you said a word.
“You didn’t answer me last night.”
James’ voice had been calm, but you knew better. You could hear it underneath.
“I told you, I was out with Danielle,” you replied, already tired. “I wasn’t checking my phone every five minutes.”
He let out a dry laugh, pacing once across the room before turning back to you. “Yeah, I figured. You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”
You frowned. “Doing what?”
“Whatever you want. Whenever you want. Like I don’t exist.”
Your eyes narrowed. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” he shot back. “I call you, you don’t pick up. I text you, and you reply hours later. What am I supposed to think?”
“That I have a life?” you snapped. “That not everything revolves around you?”
His jaw clenched. “I’m your boyfriend. It’s not crazy to expect you to answer.”
“And I’m not your responsibility,” you fired back. “You don’t get to monitor me like that.”
“I’m not monitoring you, I’m trying to know where my girlfriend is at two in the morning.”
“I told you where I was.”
“That’s not the thing.”
“Then what do you want, James?” Your voice rose. “A live update every ten minutes? My location on 24/7?”
“At least then I wouldn’t feel like I’m being shut out.”
For a second, you hesitate. But instead of softening, you doubled down.
“Maybe you are,” you said, quieter now. “Maybe I want some space.”
His expression shifted immediately. “So that’s what this is about?”
“I don’t know what this is anymore,” you admitted, frustration creeping back in. “All we do is argue about the same things.”
“Because you keep pushing me away.”
“Because you keep suffocating me!”
The silence that followed was sharp. Heavy.
“You think I’m suffocating you?” he asked, his voice lower now.
“Yes,” you said, without hesitating this time. “Fuck, yes. I can’t breathe, James. I feel like everything I do is wrong unless it includes you.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” he said, running a hand through his hair, pacing again. “I just… baby, I care about you. I worry.”
“No, James,” you shook your head. “You don’t trust me.”
“I do trust you.”
“Then act like it.”
“I wouldn’t have to ask if you didn’t make it so hard!”
You let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, so now it’s my fault?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Your chest felt tight now, your voice shaking despite your effort to stay composed.
“I’m tired, James,” you said. “I’m tired of explaining myself. I’m tired of feeling guilty for living my own life.”
He stopped pacing, looking at you like he didn’t recognize you anymore.
“So what,” he said slowly. “You’re just done?”
You hesitated.
Because you weren’t. Not really. But staying felt just as impossible.
“I… I think I am.”
The words came out quieter than you expected, but they hit just as hard.
He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re seriously breaking up with me over this?”
“It’s not just this,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “It’s everything. It’s how you look at me like I’m doing something wrong all the time. It’s how I feel like I have to choose between you and… myself.”
“I never asked you to choose.”
“You made it pretty clear.”
Silence stretched between you again, heavier this time.
“You know what?” he muttered after a moment. “Fine. If that’s how you feel, then go. Do whatever you want.”
You flinched slightly at the words, but you forced yourself to stay still. “Maybe I will.”
Neither of you moved. Neither of you said what you actually meant.
Stay. Don’t go. Fix this.
But it never came out. Instead, he looked away first, jaw tight.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe you should.”
That was the moment something cracked. Not cleanly. Not completely. Just enough to hurt. You swallowed, forcing yourself to nod, even though it felt wrong.
“Yeah,” you echoed.
And somehow, that was it.
Danielle disappears somewhere along the way, pulled into the crowd by a boy you don’t recognize, and just like that, you’re on your own again.
Fine. Better, even. You let yourself sink back into the music, letting the bass take over, letting your body move without thinking. The DJ switches tracks, and the opening beats of Telephone cut through the noise, familiar and addictive.
You smile despite yourself. This, you can handle.
You move with the rhythm, letting the flashing lights blur your surroundings. At some point, your eyes catch on someone across from you. A guy. Cute. Tall, easy smile, the kind that lingers just enough to make you look twice. He notices. Of course he does.
Your gaze holds for a second longer than necessary, something playful flickering there. He starts making his way toward you, slow, confident, weaving through people like he already knows how this goes. You tilt your head slightly, not looking away.
Maybe tonight doesn’t have to be complicated. Maybe…
A touch. Light. Familiar.
It settles at your waist, barely there, but enough to make your breath catch for just a second.
You don’t turn around immediately. Because you already know.
It’s in the way his fingers rest, hesitant but certain. In the warmth of his hand. In the faint trace of his cologne that cuts through everything else, grounding you despite the chaos around you.
James.
Of course it’s him. For a moment, you let it stay like that.
Let yourself exist in that split second where nothing has to be said. Where the music is loud enough to drown out everything you’re supposed to feel. Where it almost feels like nothing changed.
His hand doesn’t tighten, doesn’t pull you closer. It just stays there, like he’s waiting. For you.
You close your eyes briefly, steadying yourself. Then you turn. And there he is.
Closer than you expected. Close enough that you don’t have to shout, even with the music blasting around you. His eyes are already on you, searching, like he’s been standing there longer than you realized.
For a second, everything else fades. It doesn’t feel like you broke up. It doesn’t feel like anything ended at all. And that’s exactly the problem.
You force your expression to stay neutral, even as your heart picks up.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, raising your voice just enough to be heard, even though he’s right there.
He lets out a quiet breath, something almost like disbelief crossing his face. “I told you I was coming.”
You scoff lightly, glancing away for a moment before looking back at him. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”
“Yeah?” he says. “You sound disappointed.”
“I’m not,” you reply quickly. Too quickly.
His gaze lingers on you, like he caught that. For a moment, neither of you moves. The music pulses around you, people brushing past, but there’s this strange stillness between you. His hand is still at your waist.
You notice. He notices you noticing. But neither of you pulls away.
“You looked like you were about to have fun,” he says after a second, his tone casual, but there’s something underneath it. Something tighter.
You follow his gaze briefly, back to where the guy had been. He’s gone now. Of course he is.
You turn back to James, lifting a brow slightly. “Maybe I was.”
His jaw tightens, just enough for you to catch it.
“With that guy?” he asks, trying to sound indifferent.
You shrug, leaning back just slightly, testing the space between you. “Maybe.” The word hangs there. Provoking.
His hand shifts at your waist, not gripping, but not letting go either.
“You move on fast,” he mutters.
You tilt your head, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “We broke up, remember?”
“I remember,” he says, meeting your gaze. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
You let out a quiet laugh, though there’s no real humor in it. “Good thing it’s not about what you like anymore.”
Something flickers across his face again. Frustration. Maybe hurt. But he doesn’t step back, and neither do you.
The music swells around you again, the chorus hitting, people jumping, shouting, completely unaware of the tension threading between the two of you.
“You really don’t care?” he asks, softer now.
The question and his tone almost break your composure. But you are able to hold it together.
You meet his eyes, steady, even if it takes everything in you. “Not anymore.”
It’s a lie. And the way his gaze lingers on you tells you he knows it.
The way his eyes stay on yours makes it obvious. He doesn’t believe you, not for a second.
The music swells, the chorus hitting hard, bodies pressing closer as the crowd moves in waves around you. Someone bumps into your shoulder, but neither of you reacts. It’s like you’re standing still in the middle of everything.
“Yeah?” he says, leaning in slightly so you can hear him better. His voice is lower now, rougher. “Then why do you still look at me like that?”
Your breath catches, but you recover quickly, scoffing as you turn your head just enough to break the intensity. “You’re imagining things.”
“I’m not,” he says, closer now. “You do it every time.”
You shake your head, trying to laugh it off, but it comes out weaker than you intended. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re avoiding it.”
“I’m not avoiding anything.”
“You are,” he insists, his voice firm but not loud. “You won’t even look at me properly.”
That’s what makes you snap your gaze back to his. “Happy now?” you challenge. You’re too close.
His eyes drop, just for a moment, to your lips, and that tiny movement sends a rush through you that you hate how much you still feel.
You take a small step back, but he follows. Not enough to trap you. Just enough to close the space again.
“You really meant it?” he asks, quieter now. “This morning.”
Your chest tightens. You know what he’s asking, and you know what answer he wants.
“Yes,” you say, even though it doesn’t come out as strong as you hoped.
His jaw clenches. “Didn’t seem like it just now.”
You cross your arms, putting something between you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.”
He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair again, frustrated. “You let me stand here. You didn’t push me away. You didn’t even look surprised.”
“And?” you press.
“And that’s not what people do when they’re over someone.”
You look away again, swallowing. “I never said I was over you,” you admit before you can stop yourself.
The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret them. But it’s too late. Something shifts in his expression immediately. Hope, quick and dangerous.
“Then why are we doing this?” he asks.
You shake your head, stepping back again, putting a little more distance this time. “Because not being over someone doesn’t mean staying is a good idea.”
He stares at you like he’s trying to figure you out all over again. “Since when do you walk away from things you still want?”
You let out a quiet breath, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “Since it started hurting more than it should.”
For a second, he doesn’t respond. The music keeps pounding, the lights flickering, but everything between you slows again.
“I can fix that,” he says suddenly.
“James—”
“I’m serious,” he cuts in, stepping closer again. “I know I’ve been… too much. I get that now. But I can fix it. Just—” he stops, searching your face “please don’t throw this away like it’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” you say quickly, your voice softening despite yourself. “That’s the problem.”
“Then don’t act like it is.”
You hesitate. God, you hesitate. Because standing here, with him this close, with his hand still hovering like he wants to touch you again but isn’t sure if he’s allowed… It would be so easy. Too easy.
“You don’t get it,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s not just about what you feel. I was suffocating, James. I meant that.”
His expression tightens. “And I said I’d fix it.”
“It’s not something you fix overnight.”
“Then give me time.”
You look at him, really look at him this time. He means it. And that only makes it worse.
“I can’t promise anything,” you say quietly.
“I’m not asking for a promise,” he replies. “I’m asking for a chance.”
Your heart stutters.
The song shifts again, blending into the next track, the moment stretching just a little too long.
You should walk away. You know you should. Instead, you stay.
“That’s exactly what you’re asking for,” you murmur.
“Yeah,” he admits, not even trying to deny it. “I guess it is.”
Silence settles between you again, but this time it’s different. Less sharp. More uncertain.
His hand finally moves, brushing lightly against yours, like he’s testing the boundary.
You don’t pull away. Not immediately. And that’s all he needs to notice. “See?” he says softly. “You’re still here.”
You swallow, your fingers twitching slightly against his. “Don’t read too much into it.”
“Too late.”
You almost smile. Almost. Instead, you pull your hand back, just enough to remind both of you where you stand.
“Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
He exhales, nodding slowly. “You’re the one making it hard.”
You shake your head, a quiet huff escaping you. “You showed up at a club after we broke up. What did you expect?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Then, softer, almost honest, “That you’d still choose me.”
Your chest tightens again. And this time, you don’t have a quick response.
Because the truth is… You don’t know if you wouldn’t.
The realization lingers between you, heavier than anything either of you has said so far.
The music shifts again, bass rolling through your chest, lights flashing too fast, too bright. Someone brushes past you again, laughing, pulling a friend along, but it all feels distant. Your focus stays on him. On the way he’s looking at you like he’s waiting, like he’s not leaving this time without an answer.
“You always do this,” you mutter, quieter now.
“Do what?”
You glance away for a second, then back at him. “You say things like that and expect me to just forget everything.”
“I’m not asking you to forget,” he says. “I’m asking you to stay.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither is walking away when we both know this isn’t over.”
You let out a shaky breath, shaking your head. “You don’t get to decide that, James.”
“Then tell me I’m wrong, Yn.” His voice isn’t loud, but it cuts through everything. “Tell me you don’t feel anything right now,” he adds, stepping closer, closing what little distance you had left. “And I’ll leave.”
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Because you can’t. Because standing this close to him, feeling the warmth of him, the familiarity, the way your body reacts before your mind can catch up. You feel everything. He notices. Of course he does. A small, almost relieved exhale leaves him as his gaze softens.
“That’s what I thought.”
You should step back. You should say something. Instead, you stay exactly where you are.
“You’re so annoying,” you whisper, but there’s no real bite to it anymore.
A faint smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah. You’ve mentioned that.”
You roll your eyes, but it’s weaker now, your guard slipping without you meaning to. “This doesn’t fix anything,” you say, even as your voice softens.
“I know,” he replies. “I’m not trying to fix everything right now.”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
He hesitates for the first time. Then, honest, “Be here. With you.”
That does it. Something in you finally gives. Not all at once. Just enough.
You exhale, your shoulders dropping slightly, the tension you’ve been holding onto loosening just a little. “You’re unbelievable,” you murmur.
“And you’re still here,” he says again, softer this time.
Your eyes flick up to his. Too close. Way too close.
Your heart is racing now, loud enough that you’re sure he can hear it over the music.
For a second, neither of you moves.
Then his hand lifts slowly, giving you enough time to pull away if you want to. You don’t.
His fingers brush your cheek, warm, familiar, sending that same spark through you all over again.
You close your eyes for just a moment. That’s all it takes. When you open them, his gaze has already dropped to your lips. And this time, you don’t pretend you didn’t notice.
The music fades into the background again, everything narrowing down to the space between you.
You could still stop this. You know you could. But you don’t. Instead, you lean in first. Just enough. Just enough to close the distance.
And then his lips are on yours.
It’s soft at first. Careful. Like he’s still not entirely sure you won’t pull away. But when you don’t, when your hand comes up to his shirt, gripping lightly, something shifts.
The kiss deepens, not rushed, not messy, just… familiar. Like something you’ve both missed more than you wanted to admit.
Your mind goes quiet. No arguments. No tension. No this morning. Just him. Just this.
For a moment, it feels like nothing ever broke.
Until it does. Reality creeps back in slowly, the music, the people, the weight of everything you said earlier.
You pull back first, your breath uneven. For a second, you just look at each other. Too much said without words.
“That was a bad idea,” you whisper.
But you don’t step away. And neither does he.
His forehead almost rests against yours as he exhales softly. “Yeah.”
A pause. Then, quieter, “But I don’t regret it. You’re so beautiful, baby.”
Your heart stutters again. You swallow, trying to find your footing, your logic, anything. “This doesn’t change anything,” you say, though it sounds less convincing now.
“I know,” he says.
But the way his hand is still resting against your cheek says otherwise. The way you’re still standing there says everything.
And deep down, you both know this isn’t over. Not even close.
hii i wanted to request like vaping or smoking with cortis and what flavor do you think they would have and the tricks they would do!!!
🚬Smoking with Cortis🧘♀️
Desc - Cortis OT5 and what they would smoke
Tags - underage smoking / might be inaccurate / I’ve only vaped once so be nice to me / I do not condone smoking and or vaping please keep your lungs healthy!!
Note - Hiii thank you for sending a request!! My requests are actually currently closed but I saw this and wanted to write it bc it was already in my head
• I definitely think James is more of a smoker rather than someone who vapes, I mean just look at the guy. He definitely smokes Newport reds I don’t care what anyone says.
• James isn’t the type to want to smoke near you especially because he thinks it’s a gross habit of his and he doesn’t want you to inhale his second hand smoke. Even though you LOVE the smell on him mixed with his cologne, he finds you so weird for it.
• Although just because James doesn’t want you to smoke he 1000% thinks it’s extremely attractive when you do, especially when it’s from his own cigarette, he just can’t seem to keep his lips off of you when you taste like his cigarettes.
JUHOON - E-cigarettes
• Juhoon is a hnb kinda guy. He prefers mint and specifically uses evo black menthol. This doesn’t mean he doesn’t vape. When he can’t find the sticks to his e-cigs he likes to get a Miami Mint geek bar.
• French inhales always
• While hanging out you started to grow a habit of opening and closing the case to his e-cig so he randomly decided to let you decorate and put stickers on it. He ended up having cutesy pink stickers on it for a while till you wanted to redecorate it for the holidays.
• While out with him he will always ask you to hold it in your purse, he says it makes his pants sag more.
MARTIN - vapes
• BLUE RAZZ TILL HE DIE 🤣🤣
• Martin loves to learn stupid tricks. You’ll randomly get a call from him showing off a new one he learned like he genuinely learned how to walk on water. While hanging out he will try and teach you how to do some of them but ends up getting mad if you do it smoother than him. Martins go to is smoke rings and he always tries to put his head in them.
• Martin does not care where the vapor goes as long as he blows it out. Randomly while you’re talking he will blow blue razz in your face and apologize even though he’ll do it again in like five minutes.
• Has his stupid skull drawing on the back of it.
• LOVES watching you vape, he finds it so sexy when you blow the vapor into his mouth for him to breathe in, he will literally ask you if he can second hand smoke from your lips all the time. He thinks it’s peak romance.
SEONGHYEON - vapes
• I can see him with literally any flavors but mostly cherry or watermelon ice (he likes minty fruit ones) Bought an ice Açaí one for shits and giggles but ended up really liking it.
• Absolutely hates any vape that is candy flavored or anything other than fruit or mint, finds it so disgusting.
• Seonghyeon is very greedy when it comes to vaping, whether it’s between his own vape or someone else’s. He never lets anyone hit his vape because he sees it as a waste of his money, but you’re the exception luckily. He’s a total hypocrite though…whenever his vape is burnt or he just doesn’t have it he will always ask to hit someone else’s every 5 seconds practically burning it out himself.
• Jellyfish master
KEONHO - vapes
• Lowkey out of all of the members Keonho definitely wouldn’t smoke since he’s a swimmer and shit and they are strict about that stuff but that’s besides the point
• BANANA TAFFY I don’t care if I’m biased he definitely hits that banana taffy
• No matter what the circumstances are Keonho will always get his banana taffy, he doesn’t like the idea of committing to buying a different flavor because what if he doesn’t like it and wasted like 20 bucks. So he will 100% always ask you to hit yours especially if you got a new flavor he’ll be on that shit using it like it’s his.
• While doomscrolling with him on your bed while absent mindlessly vaping he’ll randomly say “watch this!!” As he fails to French inhale.
• Keonho has one of those vapes that has a screen on it (he calls you from it when his phone dies)
• Always drops it during the worst times; in front of your parents, teachers, his own parents, or after telling someone he doesn’t vape when they ask to hit.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
( syn. ) a boy (?) from the forest finds you again at midnight
( tags ) implied f!reader ⋆ vampire!james ⋆ twilight (ish) au ⋆ warnings: implications of harm, violence, and death to reader, A.K, E.S, && E.M; blood; kissing (suggestive) ⋆ two oneshots ⋆ darker setting, darker themes ⋆ songs linked above :D ⋆ word count: 5.1k
#🫖: dedicated to my beautiful @liliikkuma and the anon who was excited for a twilight-esque fic 🥹🥹 this one technically isn’t my twilight one LOL that will come out later this autumn (i also wanna write vampire hcs for them 😹 (you’ll know who im talking abt by the end of this)) for now have small one-shots of vampire james because the edits were making me go craaaazzyyyy does he know i’m insane?
“You shouldn’t be here.”
You spin around to the voice, supposedly behind you. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t startle you–you hadn’t even heard another pair of footsteps in the few minutes you’ve been walking through this silent, winding, forest.
You’ve braced yourself, but there’s no one there–only the lush, evergreen staring back at you. You scan the scene for a second longer, even though you can feel that you’re alone.
The lack of sleep recently must be making you hear things, and you set a mental reminder to ask for an increase in your melatonin dosage when you get back home from this town. From Forks. Washington’s Olympic Peninsula; a place you’d never voluntarily step foot in if it weren’t for the paper desperately needing something fresh to publish.
You press your lips into a thin line and shake your head, willing yourself to wake up and focus.
When you turn back, a figure is standing before you.
You can’t help but let out the gasp that escapes you this time, taking a step back, trying to calm yourself.
“Sorry.” He says, raising his eyebrows in an almost taunting-like way. “Did I scare you?”
“Maybe.” You offer a small chuckle, easing tension, and clear your throat. “I didn’t see you come up.”
He’s taller than you, though his rugged cap planted over his messy hair might have something to do with it. You do a quick intake; sharp bone structure, onyx dark eyes, and hollow, pale cheeks. So, so pale, he looks almost deathly.
“Not much sun around here.” He says, as if offering an answer for your thoughts.
Your breath hitches. “What?”
“It messes with the light. Why you didn’t see me.” His eyes are burning into yours, willing you to accept his explanation.
“Oh,” you force out, nodding. “Right.”
He simply watches as you swallow and force yourself to steady your thrumming pulse. A task that’s not as easy when he’s looking at you like he has intentions if you move even a muscle.
Your intuition–one that’s never been wrong before–is yelling at you to back away even more; to run until you see someone else; to flee this scene because you know all too well about strangers and solitude.
“Like I said, you shouldn’t be here.” He echoes.
Finally, something on script. Something you can work with.
Your investigative days have led you on strange pathways before; places you legally shouldn’t have been, but over the years of experience, you’ve learnt how to sweet-talk your way out of trouble. You straighten your back–Forks will not make you another statistic.
“Right! I’m so sorry. Is this private property? I had no idea…” Feigning innocence, eyebrows furrowing in distress. “I tried following the main river.”
The boy–if you can even call him that–is quiet for a moment. Something is gleaming in his eyes, as if he has you exactly where he wants.
“You’re alright. No, it’s not private property, but the woods aren’t safe for a girl like you.”
You let a humourless scoff. He’s playing into your act a bit too much.
Using the opportunity to eye him down properly, your gaze doesn’t miss a single detail. You’ve seen him before. You realise. Though you can’t recall where, or when, you know his face. You wouldn’t forget one like his.
The vague familiarity calms you down. You’re really grasping onto straws here, but it’s a slight relief knowing he’s a little less harmless.
The edge of his lips twitch.
“The woods wouldn’t be safe for a guy like you, either.” You finally respond. “You can’t be that much older than me.”
A slow, deliberate, smile spreads across his face. His features were almost too perfect, that the expression makes him look more real.
“I’ve been twenty.”
The way people talk here is so strange.
You wait for anything further, and he offers none.
“Not much older than me,” You confirm.
He only hums.
He turns his attention to a long, fallen log covered in fern, wildflowers sticking out messily. Bending down gracefully to pluck one out of the bunch, the boy gently dangles it in front of your fisted hand at the side of your hip.
If this was his way of pleading trust, you hate how it works.
Opening your palm, you let him drop the light pink wildflower into it, fingers curling around it to flex your body into moving again. You hadn’t realised how still you’ve been since he appeared.
The boy begins to walk in the opposite direction you were heading.
Without meaning to, you walk with him.
“I haven’t seen you before.” His voice is softer now. Curious. Itching to get you to keep talking.
You recognise the path he’s taking you down–you’re retracing your steps.
You didn’t want to leave the forest too early, given this morning was practically spent settling into your motel room, but the endless branches of hanging canopy weren’t giving you much to work with either.
“I only just arrived.” Your answer is plain. You’ve got to start asking questions too, the boy could be of use, after all.
“The tourists usually skip this part of Washington.”
“Not a tourist.”
“Then what are you here for, Miss…?”
You state your name, followed by “SBS,” with a fiddle of your lanyard. Your bright photo identification plastered across it.
“A reporter!” The boy marvels, “We don’t get many of those. I’m surprised our police haven’t reassured you away.”
“Oh, they tried.” Memories of Martin–the scrawny, blonde intern at the station–flash in your mind. He had to have been freshly graduated from high school with the way he stuttered in attempts of refusing an interview. “But my boss–she says there’s something sinister going on over here. So, I’m not leaving until I have a story.”
“Do you believe her?” But his tone is off, as if there’s a right or wrong answer to this question, and not one of opinion.
He faces you, and you feel the spotlight burning your cheeks. “Two seventeen-year-old boys missing in the span of a month? I’d say that’s pretty sinister.”
He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but then closes it again. After a pause;
“The logic is there.”
“You…” The sentence can’t come out. He turns to look at you again, tilting his head to implore you to go on. “You don’t seem to agree?”
A clench of his jaw. “Live long enough, you tend to get used to how small towns work.”
He looks away now, taking in the vastness of green surrounding the two of you.
“You’re a Forks local, then?”
His head rocks side to side, as if weighing the answer. “Something like that.”
“Local enough for a statement, at least?”
“I’ll give you one, if you let me see you again before you leave town.”
For the second time since meeting this boy, you’re taken aback. The shock even makes you stop walking. “That is an extremely unprofessional deal.”
“You’re writing about a retired case.” He chuckles, commanding you with his hand to keep moving forwards. “I hate to break it to you, but the Ahns and Eoms don’t want to cry to the media about their boys anymore. I think I’m the best chance you’ve got.”
You simply shake your head, and in a trance-like state, you continue to follow him. “Families of victims are always looking to get the word out there. If I don’t get something from them, I’m sure there are others who will talk.”
“None as good-looking as me, though.” He grins, teeth flashing your way. His face snaps back frontwards though, hiding it as quickly as it came.
Though you feel the urge to scoff again, you technically can’t disagree.
He’s unbelievably gorgeous; an alluring way about him that you’ve never found in the city boys you’ve dated in the past. His cologne even, the way it’s breathing off his heavy coat, is enough to make you dizzy.
A satisfied expression forms on his face at your silence.
Before you know it, you’ve nearly stepped out of the alienating forest of Forks.
You can tell, because at the very first sight of a building, ‘HAVE YOU SEEN AHN KEONHO?’ posters are plastered across the walls.
The reminder of the disappearances settles down any attempts of flirtation and humour that were about to surface. The boy watches as you stare, and lets the weight of it all sink onto a moment of silence between the two of you.
“Off the record?”
You turn this time, ears piqued in interest, but he’s not next to you anymore. You’ve realised you’ve kept walking ahead a few steps, as if getting closer to the pictures of the lost boy will give you a clue on where he’s gone–where they’ve all gone.
“Yes?” You pry, especially as you watch him slightly chew on the inside of his cheeks.
“You were right to go into the woods to investigate. There’s a reason no one has published anything about Forks.” He says this in a rush, a slight octave above a whisper–like he shouldn’t reveal this to you. Like he shouldn’t be talking to you at all. “But if you’re smart, you really won’t come back here. You won’t stay for long, either.”
You slowly read between his lines, half comprehending what’s trying to say. Your chest steadily rises in increasing bursts at his warning.
You try to remind yourself that you’re safe now–you can hear the bustle of the streets much up ahead, indicating there are more people around on the other side, if need be. Such safety produces bravery, you’ve come to find out.
“You know something, don’t you?” The plant in your palm, almost crushed.
You seem to catch a dip in his head, but you’re not certain.
“What is it?” Your eyes frantically searching his now, “An animal? Some sort of voodoo ritual?”
You trace back to all you’ve read about the history of Forks.
It’d be impossible not to do research for the case of this town; generations of boys slipping from existence every few decades, no questions asked, no pleas answered.
You remember how many speculated beasts that roam in the night, or how other sources simply passed down folktales; history coming into fruition. Though you didn’t believe them entirely, the isolating experience of the forest makes you rewire your beliefs on what could rationally be happening in a town that’s left off the maps.
His eyes are narrowing down to look at you through them. He’s about to respond, until a branch nearby snaps. A noise–a warning–made by someone who knows how to stay quiet.
Then the crunching of leaves as heavy boots make their way closer.
“James, you’re frightening the poor girl.” A different voice says, and you whip your head to another boy stepping out from behind the trunks covered in moss. “I can hear her heartbeat from here.”
He’s slightly taller. His voice is slightly deeper too. A multitude of differences between him and the first boy, James, with the exception of his complexion also being ghost-like.
“Hello,” He dips his head low, like a bow. “I apologise on his behalf. James doesn’t know what he’s saying, really. He likes to play with his fo-”
“Friends!” James finishes. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
His eyes haven’t separated from yours this whole time, and they brighten when you nod.
Pleased, he turns to the boy standing next to him now. “Juhoon,” James sighs. “You’re interrupting my time with my new friend.”
Juhoon’s face is stonecold. “Carlisle sent me. He could tell you were up to no good again.”
James rolls his eyes. “Not a single moment of peace or privacy with you around,” He mumbles to himself.
You can’t help but revel in this dynamic; you don’t even care where this Juhoon came from, you’re relieved to see James acting like a real person. For a second, he almost didn’t seem like one.
James blinks in your direction.
He keeps doing this, you note to yourself. As if you’re saying all of this out loud, and he’s reacting like second-nature. It’s odd to find yourself in proximity with someone as perceptive as you consider yourself to be.
“Hello, Juhoon.” You greet, finally taking your gaze off of James.
The seemingly younger boy doesn’t take your late attention to heart. “You’ll have to excuse us, friend of James, our father wants us home.”
You can’t help but smile at his childish antics, and send another nod his way, outlining understanding.
Then, to James, “I want my statement.”
It’s unspoken you’ve consented to what comes with it.
Juhoon watches at how James’ smirk is forced to the ground; as if he’s guilty, as if he’s caught.
He can only sigh at his older brother.
“Carlisle’s right. You are up to no good again.” Juhoon disrupts the moment, glancing between the two of you.
Your eyebrows rise at this. “You walk girls out of the woods often, James?”
Hearing him say your name isn’t helping him wipe the smug expression off of his face, even though he knows he has to. “Only the pretty-”
A slight breeze picks up from your direction, and you can feel your hair lift off your shoulders. You grumble at this cursed weather, even if the wind only lasts for just a moment.
It’s enough for Juhoon.
It’s enough for James.
It’s enough for something to shift.
In the split-second you took to pat down your hair-do, your instincts have spiked up, something suddenly stirring inside of you to run.
Looking back at James, his eyes have gone impossibly darker. His nose slightly flares from impulse, his dry lips part from want, his nails dig beds into his flesh from restraint.
You almost feel like prey, and when James hears this thought–because you can feel him react to it with the quirk of his mouth, you’re not sure if you want to agree to his deal anymore.
“Hey!” Another voice calls from behind. The three of you, disrupted from the bubbling tension, look across the field to see a lanky boy, six foot three, waving both arms in the air with glee.
Do the boys in this town just not know how to approach social situations properly?
With the biggest grin on his face, Martin-from-the-station is huffing and puffing when he finally reaches you. “There you are!”
The shift in the air is gone–you feel like you can breathe again.
“Hi?” You grimace, but he puts up a finger, indicating he needs another minute to catch his breath.
“I was meant to tell you earlier, you’re not supposed to go into the woods.” He manages, through shortness of gasps. When he can stand up right, his eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Bad place.”
“I got the message,” You’re about to point at James and Juhoon, but when you look behind you, they’ve been replaced with the silence of Fork’s lush again.
Even their absence startles you, they were just there.
Were they ever with you at all?
Martin, ignorant to your internal turmoil, takes your arm and drags you closer to the town. His warm hand grounding you, as you make it back to the centre of the graveyard of a city.
You hate admitting James was right.
The Ahn girl had slammed the door in your face, and the parents of the second boy who disappeared, Eom Seonghyeon, only stared blankly in disbelief. The people around town had completely avoided you too; picking up their things when you sat at a table near them, crossing the street when you began to walk their way.
Small towns keep their secrets like no other.
Hours later after leaving, you’re drawn to take a wander in the forest again, to see if you could find something this time. Or to see if James would come find you again. The more you pondered on your interaction, the more you knew both options were really an individual one.
You never got his statement, and so you’re back to square one.
Martin, the young boy who had been eager to get you back into town according to the wishes of Chief Swan, was at least useful by directing you to the town’s (one, and only) library. You guessed a historical report was better than going home tomorrow empty-handed.
Which is how you got into this position: crouched on the floor in between bookshelves, one table-lamp dragged to your corner, it being your only source of light, as you flip through the volumes of social and political notes of Washington State.
Forks: A History, is keeping you company tonight.
It could really be considered an antique, how it had been collecting dust for what seems like a millennia the way it made you sneeze when you first pulled it out.
Most of the information is a bore; records of architectural developments taking up the majority of pages, but you continue to seamlessly turn the page regardless.
Your mind swirls back to James again.
His scent.
His voice.
The way he looked at you.
You kept his wildflower in the back pocket of your pants, tucked away for when you want to remember him after you leave Forks. You decide it’s such a shame a pretty boy like him is stuck here, in this peculiar, rainy place. Even if he was peculiar, himself.
You can feel yourself getting so distracted–you almost jump in fright when James’ face appears in front of you as you flip the page.
Delusional girl. Saw a nice face once and now he’s apparently everywhere. The sleep deprivation really is getting to you. You almost chuckle out loud to yourself.
You let yourself take a miniature break from reading–it’s not like you were comprehending any of the literature anyways–and rub your eyes. When you look back down at the page though, James’ face is still there.
You have to take several blinks, press the book up in front of you, and illuminate the lamp right onto the centre of the page because you truly cannot believe your eyes.
James.
It was really James.
A splitting image of him, standing behind a woman sitting down, and next to a man, both just as beautiful as him.
A family portrait, with ‘1908’ stamped in a faded, red, onto the paragraph right next to them.
This chapter is dedicated to Dr. Carlisle Cullen, his beloved wife, Dr. Esme Cullen, and their only son, Yufan Cullen. In establishing Forks’ first public hospital, we thank the medical developments that have been brought to our town from the family’s arrival. The Cullens, who volunteered their time preaching aid and wellness to our patients, have immortalised their well-wishes in their generous donations before their departure from Forks, ten years after Forks Hospital opened in 1908. The funding for the public healthcare of Forks’ citizens will be felt, centuries from today. Though the Cullen family may never read these words, the people of Forks dedicate their lives to their munificence.
1908?
You know this is mathematically impossible–that this boy printed in a historical volume is the same as the one you talked to in the forest only a mere hours ago–but you could draw his nose, his eyes, his cheekbones, the curve of his neck’s apple blindfolded, and you’d have a replica of the image before you.
And Carlisle. That had been the name Juhoon referred to as his father earlier today, too. That was too much of a coincidence to ignore either. This was him. This was James–of this, you’re absolutely sure.
You slam the volume closed. Specs of dust fly about, but you can hardly bring yourself to care. You knew something was off with him, with this town, with these people.
You had to go home. Now.
Though the library hall felt huge when you first stepped in, it’s suddenly claustrophobic. You can’t stand being here anymore, willing yourself to gain enough mobility to crawl up and push the cursed book back to where you found it.
“Hello, again,” a familiar voice says.
You go still. Leaning on the bookcase for support, as you linger your fingertips on the volume.
“How long have you been there?” Your voice is weak, hoarse from dehydration. You’re still facing the bookshelf, too anxious to turn around.
“I only just arrived.” James says simply. He whispers your name, a command for you to look his way. “Will you let me see you? That was our deal, was it not?”
“I don’t need your statement anymore.” You somehow breathe out.
You’ve memorised the escape route from when you walked in, a habit you’ve picked up since childhood.
“You’re leaving already?” He asks. If you could see him, you’d see the pout painting James’ lips too. “But we’re only starting to have fun.”
You close your eyes in defeat.
It’s impossible to resist. It’s intoxicating how his voice coaxes you to abandon all ideas of exiting, and instead, face him.
“There she is.” James almost sighs, as he steps closer. “You look pretty, in this light.”
He stops right in front of you, and you press your spine further into the bookshelf.
James looks divine, too. His features are even sharper against the shadows, with only his eyes changed–a stark difference you notice only because you were staring at them so intently earlier. They’re topaz now, and as he watches you take him in, you can feel your heart bursting in your ribcage.
You’re scared, oh, you’re so scared.
You’ve never given thought to how you would die, coming to Forks has changed this in the span of a day.
“Yep. I still look scary if I don’t smile.” James tells you. His grins will be earned though. He can’t seem to stop them from appearing every time he’s with you–his dimples coming out from hiding, the way he steps out from the dark.
“Yufan,” you say before you can stop yourself.
His head flickers back; in surprise, in disbelief, in awe–neither of you know. He’s quiet for a beat. Glancing between your eyes, dangerously close to you. And then, slowly;
“No one has called me that name in a long time.”
James is silent again, and you realise he’s listening. You force yourself to not think of the portrait, but of course, trying to not think of something, makes it flash in your head like a screen just for his eyes.
A small curl at the tip of his lips again, “I knew you were a smart girl.”
“That’s all you have to say?” You swallow.
“I didn’t know they printed that.” He says more to himself than in response to you. “I should probably get rid of it when I’m done with you. Would be a problem if others connected the dots, don't you think?”
You can only nod. You’re still fearing for your life–you don’t want to question what his middle phrase means, because something has fused within this feeling; pure want.
Having him so impossibly close, the tip of his nose nudges yours.
You pull your face back, head now hitting the volumes of books.
“James, you’re freezing.” You say astonished, reaching one hand to cautiously place it on his cheek. It stings you to touch.
Your palm isn’t as warm as he wishes it was.
“You too, it seems.” James mumbles.
“What?”
Before you can blink, his jacket is slipping off of his broad frame. James brings you forward by the waist, only by a step, to pull it over your shoulders.
His scent hits you even harder, and you feel your knees buckle slightly. The jacket doesn’t provide any warmth, given it was on him this whole time, but the way it envelopes you, and how his arms find their way on either side of you to push you back up against the bookshelf again is making your body heat up uncontrollably.
“James,” You start, shaking your head as if denying this as reality. “Or Yufan. Who are you? What are you?”
“We don’t need to say it out loud.”
These dismissals are only making you think more rationally, which you’re grateful for.
“Those boys,” You feel something forming in your throat. You will yourself not to struggle as you ask, “Were you the ones behind their disappearances?”
James only sighs. His newest younger brothers were the last thing he wanted to think about, but he’s swimming through your thoughts and the posters are magnified on all of them right now.
“They’re okay,” He attempts at reassuring.
The confirmation that he really did have something to do with them makes your blood cold. Your mind is going back and forth: run away from him, get closer, run away, get close.
All you can make out now is his name, chanting in your mind like a mantra.
This he likes.
“Are you going to do to me, what you did to them?” You ask.
His eyes look away from yours for the first time since he arrived, looking up to think.
“Women don’t deserve to hurt like this,” He states plainly. He shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I’m just going to take care of you tonight. Alright?”
You can’t wrap your head around the things he’s saying. Something about hurt, or something about care. To you, the two were the same.
James’ eyes are back on you now–not your eyes though, only your lips. The sight, makes you look at his. If you tipped forward just slightly, they’d touch.
You’d be kissing him–this creature, this monster, this boy.
A chuckle at the nicknames, all of them heard endlessly before. He likes your suggestions though, in fact, he has to answer it directly;
“Do it.”
James?
“I’m here,” He coos.
Get out of my head.
“You first,” is the last thing you hear, before he closes the short distance and plants his mouth onto yours.
James immediately takes your bottom lip as his, claiming ownership, kissing it as if he has millions of times before.
One of his hands moves from gripping the bookshelf, his pointer finger tracing the outline of your ear, the other fingers following in suit. His hands drag all the way down across your jaw, until he places it on the base of your neck to tilt your head up.
The cold makes you shiver into his mouth, and the small opening allows him to deepen the kiss, all parts of him, aligning with every part of you.
Your hands are delicately scrunched on the edges of his shirt, pulling him closer, no doubt leaving crinkles into the fabric. Your head is spinning as you kiss him back, you can’t even focus on any specific detail, he’s all too consuming.
James demands attention by tilting his head the other way now, swapping positions with you, tasting you from the other side. It’s a state of bliss, the two of you have found, and in doing so, you’ve both lost track of time.
How long has passed?
Minutes?
Hours?
You don’t care. You don’t want it to end, even if your breathing is getting heavy as James doesn’t let you break for even a second.
You feel his teeth graze your bottom lip. You mirror, following his lead, doing the same to him. It tickles at first and you take pleasure in this new, unexplored sensation.
That is until, the tips of a sharp one pierces through your tender flesh.
You gasp in white, hot, pain.
You try to pull away, but James has one hand on your neck, the other moving to your waist, locking you in place.
His name comes out of your mouth as a beg, tears brimming your eyes at the sting of how the canine sinks in. His tongue is quick to go over the mark, soothing it, before his lips pucker at the familiar taste, on instinct swallowing what melts out.
James smells metal, and the gravity of what he’s done finally hits. His eyes fly open, stepping away from you immediately, moving impossibly quick, he hits the bookshelf you’re standing across.
The impact of his body is so hard, a few books come crashing down.
James’ expression is one of shock, and his hand reaches up to wipe his mouth–the drips of blood, mixed with saliva that shine on the back of his palm is enough to fill him with dread. What has he done?
“No,” he repeats in whispers, over and over. “That wasn’t meant to happen.”
James was only meant to kiss you. He was only meant to be close enough to get a dose of your scent. To touch you, if you’d let him. He was never meant to do this.
In a panic, James spills your name out, profusely apologising for his actions–his actions you haven’t even understood completely, too focused on how red is trickling down your bottom lip, almost reaching your chin.
“James?” You call out, as a way to calm both yourself, and him down, but it doesn’t work. You want to tell him it’s okay, to comfort him into explaining why he looks so distraught.
James can’t stay here, he can’t look at you knowing his poison is pulsing through your veins. You won’t feel it now, just the initial sting, but you’ll feel it soon enough, and he can’t be around to watch.
His head is shaking and your fear earlier is nothing compared to how he has you now. You’re confused, and you’re anxious, you just want him to hold you again.
You know he knows you’re thinking this.
It’s why him vanishing in the next passing heartbeat hurts even more.
The light from the lampshade stutters, and you have to train your eyes to stay on the fallen books, and wrap his jacket around you even tighter, to convince yourself he was real.
You leave the library in the state James left it in too; the workers tomorrow will be concerned at the drops of crimson staining the carpet.
You don’t remember the short walk back to the motel room, the hours you laid wide awake in the hard bed, or the girl who somehow manages to functionally wipe away last night’s mess and force food down her throat as the sun rises above Forks.
It’ll be the last time you see the sun. You don’t know it for certain, but you can feel it—your intuition, saying its farewell, as it leaves you now, too.
You only gain back a sliver of human consciousness when Chief Swan pins a new poster to the community board of the motel’s breakfast diner. You wonder how long it’ll be until you have a matching one too—it seems James got to work after he left you stranded. The poster, a confirmation of it. Five words peek out from the boy’s printed photograph.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
lower case letters, emojis, scattered pin yin with your limited chinese, and oddly enough strings of numbers.
strings of numbers when it was late at night, when you were swaddled in blankets, the light of your phone burning your eyes, and when words became apparently to much effort to type for him.
you never questioned it.
atleast, not until now.
you glance up at him, his eyes focused on his phone, one hand scrolling while the other rests on your legs thrown across his lap, tracing circles absentmindedly. you laugh.
"okay, spill, what are these numbers?"
you hold your phone up to his texts from last night.
520530530530530530
"are they area codes?" he laughs at your question.
"god no shǎ guā,"
"don't call me silly," you compalin automatically. your voice quickly dissolves into giggles when he tugs you suddenly, tugging until you're pulled against his chest, legs straddling his lap, and his hands settled warmly on your waist.
"you really haven't known this whole time?" he grins, looking up at you.
"well i'm asking now, so come on. tell me,"
"520 sounds like wo ai ni,"
his fingers tap along your waist.
"i love you"
the room seems to warm.
"530 sounds like wo xiang ni. i miss you,"
"you spammed it five times,"
"i missed you five times,"
"five times?"
"i always miss you five times,"
". . .that's stupid," you mutter, face flushing, "so what the hell? you've been sending me secret romantic number codes this whole time?"
"yes," he laughs, "i have,"
it goes silent between the two of you, and you watch as he picks up his phone, typing something. your phone pings.
520 1314
you look back at him, "that one's new,"
"mm"
"what's 1314?"
"yī shēng yī shì," he says quietly, "forever and ever"
you blink. he repeats it in mandarin one more time.
pov: james's ig story posts + results after the break up (clue: he lowk still wants u)
( 💬 ) oneshot for my james smau that will be released....one day ig "i think i kinda you know" ! lemme know if ya'll fw it n wanna be tagged 🤷♀️ (btw the main trope isn't this lol)
