so lovely

You sigh at the thought, blaming the pounding in your skull on last night’s cocktails with your girl friends and the tiny hairs still sticking to your damp shirt from a morning shower. You’re not ready for polite family small talk, questions about your job or relationship—or the endless commentary about how “you should really be settling down.”

You pull over your parents’ street, already noticing a whole luggage outside the house.

“Seems like she’s here.” You mutter to yourself, as you got out the car, quickly looking at the mirror to make yourself presentable, and totally not hangover.

Grabbing your bag, you try to summon your most convincing “I’m totally together” expression. If your mom’s friend was anything like she described, this was going to be a lot of chatter, a lot of smiles, and probably a few pointed questions about your love life that you weren’t ready to answer.

You knock on the door. “I’m home!” you annouce, and almost immediately, you hear your mom’s footsteps scampering over to open it. You chuckle at her cuteness—always so excited to see you, even when you barely had your life together.

“Finally!” she exclaimes, practically dragging you inside. “You’re just in time—she’s already here!”

You groan inwardly, bracing yourself for endless small talk and awkward introductions, but couldn’t help smiling at your mom’s enthusiasm.

When you came inside the house, in the living room, a middle-aged lady—seemingly the same age as your mom—sits on the couch, her posture polite but relaxed. She looks around with a warm smile that could make anyone feel immediately welcome, though your hungover brain mostly registered her as an interruption to your carefully curated morning recovery.

“She must be Mrs. Lee,” you say, glancing at your mom, who was practically glowing with excitement. You couldn’t help but grin despite yourself—your mom always had a way of lighting up a room, and apparently, it was contagious.

“Oh, my, she had grown up to be such a fine young lady!” Mrs. Lee greets with a smile, hugging you warmly.

You return the hug with a polite squeeze, your head still pounding from last night and your brain screaming too early for this kind of energy. “Thank you,” you mutter, secretly hoping your slightly messy hair and damp shirt weren’t too obvious.

“I’ve been telling her so much about you!” your mom chimes in, practically beaming. “All good things, of course.”

You smile faintly, wondering exactly how much she had told her friend about your chaotic, fun-filled nights out with friends—and mentally prepare yourself for a gentle roasting session disguised as small talk.

But Mrs. Lee just look at you softly, a motherly smile plastered on her face, as if she could see right through all the bravado you were trying to put on. It was the kind of smile that made you feel both warm and a little… exposed.

“What about your boy, Lee?” Your mom asks and Mrs. Lee claps her hands as if remembering a completely important detail.

“Right, right!” She laughs. “I told him to buy us some fruits at the supermarket! We can’t stay here and come empty-handed.” She smiles, in which your mom joking hits her arm. “What a hassle! But, thank you anyway,”

Mrs. Lee looks over to you. “I feel like you and my son could be such good friends too!” She grins, in which you awkwardly smile.

Great.

Another one of your mom’s friends trying to set you up with their good-for-nothing sons.

“Honey, help her get her luggage inside!” Your mom says, walking to the kitchen, already arms in arms with Mrs. Lee. You nod before walking towards the entrance.

That’s when you heard a car pull up outside.

The sound of tires against the pavement cut through the room, followed by the soft thud of a door closing. Your mom glanced toward the window almost instinctively, her face lighting up even more than before.

“Oh, perfect timing,” you can hear Mrs. Lee’s voice from inside. “That must be Heeseung!”

You decide to pay no mind to it, as you walked over to carry her luggage.

“Shit, what does she pack in here?”

“Clothes enough for two weeks.” A voice answers your little mutter to yourself.

A familiar one—deep, oh so soft, and far too recognizable—making your breath hitch as you stand straight.

“Do you feel good? Am I making you feel good?”

“Let go for me, baby.”

Your mind suddenly betrayed you, replaying the words spoken in that same voice two months ago—back when you’d been careless, impulsive, and not so smart.

Heat rushed to your face as the memory collided with this current moment. You turn to look and there he was, still wearing the soft eyes you had been so enchanted by that night.

Evan. Evan Lee. At least that’s what he introduced himself as.

The same eyes that had studied you under dim hotel lights now widened, just barely, before masking it with something polite and unreadable.

Mrs. Lee came out before you could even say anything, her voice bright and proud as she introduced you. You barely registered the words, too focused on the way he straightened beside her.

He nodded, polite and distant, the kind of courtesy reserved for strangers. “Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly, without a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

Then he smiled—easy, effortless—before turning to follow his mom into the house. He picked up her luggage, handling it with practiced care as he walked past you, close enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne.

He didn’t even glance back.

So he didn’t remember.

You had both been drunk that night, after all.

…

Dinner is already laid out by the time everyone gathers around the dining table a few hours later. The familiar smell of your mom’s cooking fills the room—warm, comforting, painfully normal for a moment that feels anything but.

You take a seat near the edge of the table, choosing distance over comfort. Across from you, Heeseung pulls out his chair and sits down smoothly, posture relaxed, expression polite. To anyone else, he’s just a guest—your mom’s friend’s son, well-mannered and quiet.

To you, he’s the man whose voice still lingers in the back of your mind—whose hands had memorized you in the dark, whose lips had left impressions you were foolish enough to think time would erase.

Conversation flows easily between your mom and Mrs. Lee, laughter spilling over shared memories from high school, old teachers, stories you’ve heard a hundred times before. You nod at the right moments, pushing food around your plate, forcing yourself to eat despite the tight knot in your stomach.

“So, Heeseung,” your mom says brightly, turning to him, “Are you okay with the spare room? Her brother hasn’t been home since his marriage, and she doesn’t want to give her childhood room for guests,” Your mom turns to you and snickers.

“That’s because I visit you and dad all the time, I still need a room here.” You groan softly, while Mrs. Lee laughs.

“Yes, ma’am. The room is just nice. Very well-kept.” Heeseung smiles at her.

“Well, that’s good,” she continues. “By the way, you two are around the same age. You should show him around a bit, don’t you think? This isn’t a city he always comes by.”

Your grip tightens around your utensils.

Before you can answer, Heeseung looks up—briefly, carefully—meeting your eyes for the first time since earlier. There’s no recognition on his face. No spark. Just polite interest.

“If she’s free,” he says simply.

If you’re free.

You force a smile. “Yeah. Maybe.”

The lie settles between you, heavy and unspoken.

Under the table, his foot shifts slightly—close enough to make your breath hitch, close enough to make you wonder if it’s accidental. He still doesn’t look at you. Still doesn’t acknowledge the past.

But your body remembers a different name.

And for the first time since he walked past you without a second glance, you realize something unsettling.

Heeseung might not remember you.

But Evan would have.

After dinner, the house settles into silence faster than you expect.

Laughter fades. Doors close softly. The hallway light dims until only a thin strip glows beneath bedroom doors. You lie awake longer than you should, staring at the ceiling you’ve known your whole life, listening to the unfamiliar rhythm of another presence in the house.

You tell yourself it’s nothing.

Just an old insignificant memory overstaying its welcome.

Eventually, thirst wins.

You slip out of bed, careful not to let the floorboards creak, padding your way toward the kitchen. The house smells faintly of detergent and leftover dinner, comforting in a way that almost makes you forget why your chest feels tight.

Almost.

The kitchen light is already on.

You freeze in the doorway.

Heeseung stands by the counter, sleeves rolled up, a glass of water in his hand. His hair is slightly tousled now, stripped of the careful neatness he wore earlier. He looks… different. More real. More like the man you left sleeping behind hotel curtains two months ago.

He looks up when he hears you.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake anyone.”

“You didn’t,” you reply, voice steadier than you feel. “I just—couldn’t sleep.”

He nods, accepting that without question. No tension. No recognition. Or maybe too much control to show either.

You grab a glass from the cupboard, deliberately choosing the one farthest from him. The tap runs. Too loud in the silence. You focus on the sound, on anything but the awareness of him standing only a few feet away.

“Your mom’s cooking was really good,” he says after a moment. “She didn’t exaggerate.”

You let out a small breath of a laugh. “She always does that.”

A pause.

Then, softer, almost absent-minded: “You mentioned earlier you don’t live here?”

“Not anymore,” you answer. “I moved to my own apartment a year ago.”

“Oh,” he says.

The word hangs between you.

You take a sip of water, finally glancing at him. He isn’t looking at you—his attention fixed on the counter, jaw relaxed, expression unreadable. If he remembers, he gives nothing away. If he doesn’t, then this ease is genuine.

You hate that you can’t tell which one hurts more.

“Well,” you murmur, setting the glass down. “Good night.”

He looks up then, meeting your eyes fully for the first time since dinner.

“Good night,” he says.

Still nothing. No crack in his voice. No hesitation. Just calm, polite distance.

You walk past him toward the hallway, careful not to brush his arm, careful not to slow your steps. Behind you, you hear him turn off the light.

In the darkness of your room, you lie awake again—heart louder now, thoughts sharper.

You were the one who left that morning.

You were the one who chose silence.

And yet somehow, standing in your parent’s kitchen, it feels like he’s the one holding all the control.

…

Morning comes too soon.

Sunlight filters through the curtains, thin and pale, landing across your face like an accusation. For a moment, you forget where you are—until the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen reminds you that you’re back in your parents’ house. And that you aren’t alone.

You sit up slowly, rubbing at your temples. The night had offered no answers. Just silence, politeness, and the unbearable calm of not knowing.

By the time you make it to the kitchen, your mom is already bustling around, apron tied, hair pulled back. Mrs. Lee sits at the table, sipping tea, looking far too refreshed for someone who traveled across the country.

“Morning,” your mom chirps when she sees you. “Perfect timing.”

You hum in response, reaching for a glass of water.

“Could you help Mrs. Yang walk her dog later?” she continues casually. “You remember—next door. You used to do it all the time when you lived here. Besides, litte Jungwon is in Uni now, so no one is there to help her.”

You pause.

“Maeum? Yeah,” you say. “I can do that.”

Mrs. Lee’s face lights up. “Walking outside right now would be so refreshing,” she says warmly. Then, almost as an afterthought, she turns toward the hallway. “Heeseung!”

Your stomach tightens at the sound of his name.

He appears a moment later, sleeves rolled up again, hair still slightly damp like he’s just washed his face. He looks… awake. Calm. Completely unaffected. “Hm?”

“You should go with her,” Mrs. Lee says easily. “It’ll be good for you to get some fresh air after traveling.”

Heeseung blinks once, then nods. “Sure.”

Sure.

Your mom smiles, clearly pleased. “Perfect! Two birds with one stone.” You force a smile of your own, even as your pulse starts to pick up. “Yeah. No problem.”

Heeseung glances at you—not searching, not curious. Just attentive.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says.

As you step outside together a few minutes later, the morning air feels too crisp, too quiet. The street looks the same as it always has. Familiar. Safe.

And yet, walking side by side with him, you’re painfully aware of the space between you—and how little it would take to close it.

You’re the one who left. It’s a one-night stand.

You remind yourself of that as you head toward the neighbor’s gate.

So why does it feel like this walk might be the first step toward something you can’t walk away from again.

Heeseung kneels slightly as Maeum charges toward him, tail wagging like it could knock him over.

“He’s… lively,” he says, keeping his voice casual as Maeum circles him, sniffing, then jumping up in excitement. A low chuckle escapes him, and you feel your chest tighten unexpectedly.

“Yeah, Maeum’s a handful,” you reply, gripping the leash before he decides to chase a squirrel or something worse. “But he’s harmless… mostly.”

Heeseung brushes a hand along Maeum’s back. “Mostly is good.”

Maeum barks happily, spinning between the two of you. There’s a brief moment where the dog seems to notice the tension radiating off both of you, but of course, he can’t name it.

“Shall we get going?” you ask, starting toward the sidewalk.

Heeseung falls into step beside you, careful not to crowd, careful not to overstep. Close enough to notice the little things: the way you tense when Maeum yanks, the faint crease in your brow, the subtle sway of your hair in the morning sun.

The street is quiet. Early birds call from the trees. Leaves rustle under your shoes. Maeum dashes ahead, then back, sniffing everything in sight.

“So…” you begin, trying to sound casual, “long drive yesterday?”

He shrugs. “Enough to make me remember why I prefer flights.”

You laugh softly. “Fair enough. It is kind of chaos on the road here sometimes.”

Silence falls for a few steps, filled only with Maeum’s padding and your own heartbeat.

Then Maeum stops abruptly, sniffing at a patch of grass right between you and Heeseung. The leash jerks. You stumble forward slightly, and his hand reaches out before you can think, steadying you.

Fingertips brush.

A fleeting touch—but it’s enough. Enough to spark memory, enough to make your stomach twist.

Heeseung doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t say a word. He takes Maeum’s leash and keeps walking.

And that’s the worst part.

Because whether he remembers—or is pretending—you have no idea.

And it leaves the quiet hanging between you like a question that refuses to be answered.

Maeum slows near the corner, distracted by something only he seems to find interesting. You stop with him, shifting your weight as you wait.

Your fingers curl in on themselves without you noticing.

A slow fist.

Tight enough that your nails press into your palm.

Heeseung’s gaze drops.

Not immediately. Not obviously.

But it lingers just long enough.

“You do that often,” he says.

You look up. “Do what?”

He nods toward your hand. “That.”

You follow his eyes, startled, and force your fingers open. Faint crescent marks bloom red against your skin.

“Oh,” you say lightly. “I guess I clench my hand when I’m waiting.”

“Or when you’re holding back,” he replies, tone even. Too even.

The street feels quieter suddenly.

You laugh, trying to brush it off. “You’re very observant.” He doesn’t smile. Not quite.

“Hard not to notice,” he says.

And just like that—

Your mind betrays you.

Dim light. Your back against unfamiliar sheets.

His voice low, close, asking something you can’t quite remember the words to—only the way your hand had curled then too, nails biting into your palm as you nodded instead of answering.

You remember looking down afterward.

The half-moon marks.

The way he’d gently pried your fingers open, thumb brushing over the indents like he was committing them to memory.

The leash tugs.

You blink, pulled back into the morning air, the quiet street, Maeum wagging his tail impatiently.

Heeseung is already looking ahead again, expression unreadable.

“You good?” he asks, as if nothing had happened.

You nod, heart racing, and start walking again.

But your palm still tingles.

Both of you continue walking with Maeum tugging on his leash once in a while, before stopping infront of a convenient store near the park.

“I’ll buy us drinks, anything you like?” He asks. You look at him as you shake your head. “Anything’s fine.”

He nods, entering the store while you wait outside while Maeum settles at your feet. Through the glass, you watch him move with easy familiarity— scanning the shelves without hesitation.

He came out a few minutes later with two drinks in his hand. Americano for him, and another for you.

Green Grape Ade.

“Green Grape Ade?” His voice rings in the loud bar music, looking at you with precise judgement, while you mockingly glare at him.

“What’s wrong with it?” You ask, voice slightly loud trying to drown out the music at the bar. He smiles.

“You’re original.” He clinks his glass againts yours, the ice chiming softly over the music.

“I just prefer sour drinks. Especially from the convenient store.” You drink as your gaze turn to him. He’s already staring at you.

He hums. “That’s why your face so sour?” He teases in which you gasp, mock-offense.

He laughs, before shaking his head. “That was a lie. You might just be the sweetest girl I’ve ever met.”

The memory fades as quickly as it came.

You’re back outside the convenience store, the morning air cool against your skin. The bottle in your hand is cold, condensation slick against your fingers.

Heeseung is already walking ahead with Maeum, Americano in hand, posture relaxed like he hasn’t just reached into something you never gave him permission to keep.

You take a sip. It tastes exactly how you like it. How you were imagining it when you were admant on telling Heeseung or Evan it was your favourite at the bar.

And for the first time since you woke up that morning, you wonder if leaving first had really meant leaving anything behind at all.

You catch up to them, glancing at Heeseung. He has a questionable smug look on his face.

“What?” You ask. He shrugs before looking at you.

“I have a lot of things I remember about you.”

…

A few hours pass.

The afternoon drifts by slowly, measured in the ticking of the clock and the occasional sound of movement elsewhere in the house. You spend most of it in your room, half-lying on your bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone without really reading anything.

Every so often, you hear his voice. Muted through the walls. Calm. Easy. Laughing lightly at something your mom says.

It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

When hunger finally wins over avoidance, the sun is already dipping lower in the sky. The house smells faintly of reheated food, warm and familiar. You take a breath before leaving your room, practicing a neutral expression in the mirror.

The kitchen is quieter now. You’re just about to turn the corner toward the kitchen when you hear your mom speak.

“…She’s been a little off today,” she says, voice gentle. “Probably tired. Or avoiding something.”

You pause without meaning to. Heeseung answers after a beat. “She does that.”

Your chest tightens instantly.

Your mom chuckles softly. “Does what?”

“Pulls back,” he says, careful. “When she doesn’t know how to react yet.”

Silence. Then the faint clink of a spoon against a bowl. “You sound like you know her pretty well,” your mom says lightly.

Another pause. Short. Measured.

“I had an impression,” Heeseung replies. “A while ago.”

An impression.

Your fingers curl at your side.

“Huh,” your mom hums. “That’s funny. She actually does leaves impressions on people,”

There’s a smile in Heeseung’s voice when he answers. “Yeah. She does.”

Your mom moves on easily, talking about dinner, about how long Mrs. Lee plans to stay. The conversation drifts, harmless again.

But you don’t move because impressions aren’t made in passing. They’re made when someone sees you up close. When you let them.

You step back quietly, retreating before either of them can notice you there. Back in your room, you sit down slowly, heart still racing.

He didn’t say you’d met.

He didn’t say when.

But he didn’t say you were strangers either. And somehow, that middle ground feels far more dangerous.

A soft knock echoes through your room a few minutes later.

“Hey… you awake?” Heeseung’s voice—calm, controlled, but just close enough to make your heart stutter.

You freeze. Your chest tightens, your pulse spiking. Act normal. Just act like you weren’t eavesdropping.

You smooth your hair with a trembling hand, blink rapidly, and open the door. “Yeah… just woke up,” you say, voice a little too bright, trying to sound casual.

Heeseung steps into the doorway, just enough to glance around your room. His eyes flick over you—not accusatory, not teasing—just aware. The way he looks at you makes the air between you feel suddenly heavy, like it’s charged with electricity you both can’t ignore.

“Your mom’s calling,” he says softly. “Everything’s ready.”

You nod quickly, gripping the doorframe as if it can anchor you. “I’m… not that hungry,” you murmur.

Heeseung tilts his head, that faint, knowing curve of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Uh-huh,” he replies, voice smooth, steady, and sharp enough to cut through your attempts at calm.

You step aside, but your foot catches on the edge of the rug. You curse under your breath, forcing a laugh. Too loud. Too sharp.

He doesn’t comment. He doesn’t need to. The silence itself feels deliberate, heavy. The space between you is so tight that you feel him even when he doesn’t touch you.

“I’ll be eating downstairs,” he finally says, straightening, eyes lingering just long enough to make your stomach clench.

“Okay… see you there,” you say, breath uneven, heart hammering.

He nods once, easily, and leaves, closing the door softly behind him.

The click echoes like a verdict.

You press your back against the door, sliding down slowly, hands trembling.

He knows I was listening.

He remembers… more than he should.

And he didn’t say a word.

The thought alone makes your stomach twist.

You straighten abruptly, forcing yourself to move. Down the stairs. To the dining room. To the table.

Every step is a battle between calm and the chaos churning under your skin.

Because you know tonight, nothing is going to feel casual. Not with him. Not after this.

The whole time during dinner, you caught him staring at you. Shamelessly at that, gave you a sheepish smile when you eye him suspiciously. He’d move his leg closer to yours, it’ll bump a few times, but he doesn’t pull away.

After dinner, you volunteer on doing the dishes. Your mom and Mrs. Lee’s voices fade into the living room, laughter and chatter blending together.

You take a steadying breath and move to the sink, rolling up your sleeves. Warm water runs over your hands, steam curling around your wrists. For a second, it almost feels normal. Almost.

Then you sense him before you hear him.

Heeseung steps beside you, quiet as a shadow. You tense instantly, shoulders stiff, fingers tightening around a plate.

“Need some help?” he asks softly, tilting his head. Not teasing, not accusing. Just calm, measured.

“I’ve got it,” you reply quickly, eyes trained on the suds, forcing the tone casual.

He doesn’t insist. He simply picks up a stray plate, moving closer than necessary, letting his hands brush yours ever so slightly as he rinses it. You flinch, heart hammering, but he doesn’t comment, doesn’t linger. Just present.

The silence stretches, heavy, almost oppressive. Every splash of water, every clink of a dish, echoes too loudly.

You scrub a pan a little harder than needed, trying to focus on anything else—the warmth of the water, the smell of garlic, the mundane rhythm of washing—but his quiet presence keeps threading through every thought.

He moves another plate, sets it down. Your hands brush again.

You feel your pulse spike, your chest tightening. Every subtle movement, every glance he doesn’t make—it’s all charged, all deliberate.

The kitchen is small. Empty. Safe. Except it isn’t. Not with him here.

You swallow hard, scrubbing away your nerves as the quiet stretches on, aware that he notices everything, even the things you think he can’t.

And somehow, that makes it impossible to breathe normally.

The sponge squeaks softly as you scrub, the rhythm steady but your thoughts anything but. You’re just about to reach for another plate when he speaks again.

“You know,” Heeseung says, evenly, like he’s commenting on the weather, “you’re not very good at pretending.”

Your hand stills.

“…Pretending what?” you ask, eyes fixed on the sink.

“That you weren’t listening earlier.” He sets a plate onto the rack, movements unhurried. “In the hallway.”

Your chest tightens. You swallow. “I wasn’t—”

He cuts you off gently. “You were.” Not accusing. Just factual. “You always stop breathing when you do that, though your eyes give it away, that you’re pretending everything’s fine.”

That makes your fingers curl instinctively around the sponge.

You let out a short laugh, more defensive than amused. “You don’t know what I ‘always’ do.”

He glances at your hand, then back to the dish he’s drying. “I know because I’ve seen it before.”

You twist the dish towel in your hands, knuckles whitening. The quiet stretches too long, presses too hard against your ribs.

“Are we really doing this?” You snap, turning to look at him directly.

He raises his eyebrows, “Do what?”

You gesture vaguely between the two of you, before sighing. “Implying things happened, without really saying it?”

He watches you for a second, expression unreadable—not defensive, not amused. Just… attentive.

“I’m not implying,” he says evenly. “You are.”

That only makes your chest tighten.

You scoff, turning back to the sink and reaching for another plate you definitely don’t need to wash. “Right. Of course. Because I’m the one who keeps bringing up impressions and ‘remembering’ and—whatever this is.”

He lets out a quiet breath, more tired than annoyed. “I brought it up once.”

“And you’ve been hovering ever since,” you shoot back, voice sharp but not loud. “So tell me—are we pretending we don’t know each other, or are we circling around it until I crack?” The words hang between you.

He sets the towel down, slow, deliberate. “I’m not trying to crack you.”

“Then what do you want?” you ask, finally facing him again.

He meets your gaze, steady. No smile. No games. “I wanted to know if you leaving meant what I thought it did,” he says simply.

Your throat tightens. “And what did you think it meant, Evan?”

His breath hitches at the usage of his other name, “That you didn’t want to stay,” he replies. “Not just that morning. In general.”

You laugh softly, but it’s brittle. “It’s a one-night stand.”

He nods once. “It is, but I clearly told you before we fell asleep, that I’d prefer you staying.”

Silence settles again, thicker now. The kitchen light hums overhead. Somewhere in the living room, your mom and Mrs. Lee laugh at something on TV.

“I didn’t leave because of you,” you say finally, quieter. “I left because staying would’ve made it… complicated.”

His jaw tightens just a fraction. “And now?”

You hesitate. “Now it already is.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, then exhales slowly. “Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

Neither of you move back to the dishes, he wipes the last plate before walking out of the kitchen.

APRIL 2025

The room is dim, lit only by the city glow slipping through the curtains. Everything feels slower, warmer—like the night hasn’t quite caught up with you yet.

You’re tangled in the sheets, limbs heavy, head resting against the pillow. Your skin is still buzzing, your thoughts pleasantly loose around the edges. Somewhere nearby, Heeseung shifts, the mattress dipping slightly as he turns onto his side.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low, a little rough around the edges.

You hum, half-laughing into the pillow. “I think so. Might need a minute to remember my name.”

He chuckles softly. “Fair.”

The pause lingers, easy and unforced. The city light paints soft lines across the ceiling, and for a moment, neither of you moves.

You’re the one who breaks it first.

“Evan,” you say, voice lazy, still warm with alcohol and comfort. “What do you actually do when you’re not… here?”

He exhales a quiet laugh, turning his head slightly toward you. “That’s a loaded question.”

You smile into the pillow. “I’m serious. You feel like someone with a very normal answer and a very complicated explanation.”

He considers that. “I work in the music industry. Producing. It sounds fancier than it is.”

“Everything sounds fancier at night,” you mumble. “Especially after drinks.”

“True,” he agrees. Then, after a beat, “What about you?”

You shrug, the sheets rustling. “Still figuring it out. I bounce around a lot, job-hunting.”

He smiles and run his hand on your hair, as if wanting to see your face clearly. “You’re tense, like there’s a lot going on here.” He softly taps on your temple.

You huff a quiet laugh, eyes fluttering shut at the gentle touch. “Is that your professional opinion?” you murmur. “Because I didn’t realize producers did mind-reading too.”

He chuckles, thumb brushing lightly through your hair, unhurried. “Not mind-reading. Just… paying attention.”

You turn your face toward him then, cheek sinking deeper into the pillow. “There’s always a lot going on,” you admit. “I just don’t like sitting still long enough to sort it out.”

“Why not?” he asks, not pushing—just curious.

You think about it for a moment, gaze drifting to the ceiling. “Because if I do, I might realize I’m not as put-together as I pretend to be.”

He hums softly, fingers still tracing slow, absent patterns. “That doesn’t sound like a bad thing.”

“Easy for you to say,” you mumble. “You seem like you’ve got things… handled.”

He smiles faintly. “I’m good at looking like I do.”

You glance back at him. “Really?”

“Really,” he says. “I just learned how to keep the chaos quiet.”

That earns a small smile from you. “Guess we’re not that different then.”

“Guess not,” he replies.

The room settles again, the air warm and slow. His hand stays in your hair, grounding, gentle—like he’s in no rush to let the moment slip away.

Neither of you says it, but the thought hangs there between you, soft and dangerous all at once:

This feels easy.

Too easy.

He pulls you closer, lips pressing on your temple as he sighs.

“I’d love it if you stay.”

And you felt your heart breaks a little when you doze off.

…

Three days.

Three days until he leaves.

And for the past two, he hasn’t said a word to you.

You can feel it in every glance across the kitchen, every step in the hall, every time the front door opens and closes. He’s there, moving around the house, calm and composed as ever, but the silence between you? It’s deafening.

You try to keep yourself busy—laundry, dishes, scrolling mindlessly through your phone—but the tension follows you everywhere. Even sitting in your room, pretending to read, you can hear him talking to your mom in the living room, laugh light and easy, and it makes your chest tighten.

Your mom insists on taking Mrs. Lee and Heeseung to the city’s famous park for a “little sightseeing and fresh air,” and somehow, you’re drafted along.

“Come on,” your mom says, practically bouncing. “You’ll enjoy it! The weather’s perfect, and it’s not a usual thing that we all went out together!”

So here you are, in Heeseung’s car with your moms at the back chatting mindlessly, pointing out shops, telling stories, laughing easily, while you sit in the passenger’s seat and him driving beside you.

He doesn’t say much, just drives with that calm, effortless composure that makes your stomach twist in ways you’re not ready to name. Your mom and Mrs. Lee chatter nonstop behind you, oblivious to the tight coil of nerves in the seat beside him.

You glance at him occasionally, catching his profile in the sunlight, the way his hands rest lightly on the wheel, the faint line of concentration in his jaw. He doesn’t meet your eyes, but you can feel the awareness there, quiet, unspoken, like a weight pressing just enough to make you swallow hard.

“I hope you like walking,” your mom says suddenly from the back, as if reading your tension, “the park’s beautiful this time of year. Lots of trees, fountains—perfect for photos!”

“Yeah,” you murmur, keeping your voice neutral, though your chest is still tight.

Heeseung hums softly, not answering but shifting slightly in his seat, just enough that you notice.

The car slows, pulling into the park lot. Sunlight streams through the windshield, glinting off the pavement and the scattered autumn leaves. Your mom practically leaps out first, Mrs. Lee following close behind, both chattering excitedly.

You take a deep breath, adjusting your bag, and slide out of the car. Heeseung steps out after you, calm and measured, slipping into the rhythm of the park like he belongs there—yet you feel every step he takes, each one a quiet reminder that the past two days of silence haven’t lessened the tension between you.

As the group moves along the tree-lined path, your mom and Mrs. Lee wander ahead, comparing flowers and pointing out fountains. Heeseung falls in step beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, walking slightly behind but close enough that you can feel the space between you shrinking.

“Nice day,” he says finally, casual.

“Yeah,” you reply, voice careful. “Not too crowded either.”

He hums softly, and you feel that subtle glance he throws your way—quick, unobtrusive, but enough to make your stomach twist again.

The silence between words is heavy, but not hostile. It’s loaded. Sharp. And as you continue along the winding paths of the park, you realize these three days—and these stolen moments in the quiet—might be harder than anything you expected.

You barely get a chance to say more to him before your mom is already digging through her bag.

“Phone—where’s my phone?” she mutters, then brightens. “Oh! There it is.”

Mrs. Lee laughs beside her. “You’re just as excited as ever.”

“Of course I am,” your mom says. “When do we ever get everyone together like this?”

Everyone.

You glance at Heeseung without meaning to. He’s still looking around, taking the place in quietly, like he’s memorizing it. First time here. First time seeing your city like this.

“Alright,” your mom says, raising her phone. “Group photo first.”

You shuffle closer, standing beside Mrs. Lee. Heeseung ends up at the edge, half a step apart from you, hands in his pockets.

“Wait, no,” your mom frowns. “Heeseung, come closer. You’re getting cut out.”

He obeys, stepping in just enough that his shoulder brushes yours—brief, accidental, but it sends a jolt through you anyway.

Click.

“Again,” Mrs. Lee says. “That one was blurry.”

You barely have time to reset before your mom adds, “Okay, now just you two.”

“What?” you and Heeseung say at the same time.

“It’s nice to have one of the younger generation,” your mom insists. “For memories.”

You exchange a quick glance with him—too quick to mean anything, too loaded to be nothing.

“Just stand there and act normal!” your mom says.

Easier said than done.

You stand side by side this time, not touching, but close enough that you’re aware of his presence—his warmth, the way he’s careful not to move too suddenly.

“Smile,” your mom sings.

You do. Heeseung offers something polite, restrained.

Click.

“That’s nice,” Mrs. Lee says warmly. “You both look good.”

You almost laugh at that.

As your mom reviews the photos, muttering happily to herself, you step back without thinking. Heeseung does the same.

You don’t make it five steps more into the park before your mom stops again.

“Wait—stand there,” she says, already lifting her phone. “The trees look really nice from this angle.”

Mrs. Lee nods enthusiastically. “Oh yes, the lighting is beautiful.”

You exchange a look with Heeseung. Not a look—just a flicker. A silent here we go.

Click.

You start walking again. Ten steps this time.

“Oh!” your mom gasps. “The fountain—Heeseung, you’ll love this. You two, go stand near it.”

“We just took one,” you say weakly. “That was over there,” she replies, like it explains everything.

So you move again, standing side by side while people pass behind you. Heeseung keeps his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, expression neutral. You keep your arms crossed, suddenly very aware of where you’re standing.

Click. Click.

Mrs. Lee laughs. “You look very natural together.”

You almost choke on air.

The walk continues. The photos do too.

By the flower beds.

Near the bridge.

In front of the pond.

Each time, your mom adjusts angles, steps back, waves you closer, tells you to smile more, tilt your head, stand straighter.

“You don’t have to look so tense,” she tells you at one point.

You laugh, tight. “I’m fine.”

Heeseung glances at you then, quick and unreadable.

At some point, he murmurs quietly, just for you, “If we keep this up, we’ll have enough photos for a family album.”

You blink, surprised.

“…I’m sorry,” you mutter. “She gets like this.”

He hums. “I noticed.”

There’s no edge in his voice. No teasing. Just observation.

Another photo.

Your shoulder brushes his this time, accidental. Neither of you move away immediately.

Click.

“Perfect!” your mom says.

You step away first.

The walk goes on, but your nerves don’t settle. If anything, they tighten with every forced smile, every staged moment, every second you’re made to look like something you’re very much not.

And the worst part?

Heeseung never once complains.

He just keeps walking beside you—calm, composed—letting the photos pile up like quiet evidence of something neither of you is ready to name.

You make it halfway up the stone path before it happens.

“Wait—wait, *here*,” your mom says suddenly, already lifting her phone again. “This spot is perfect. The water, the rocks—very scenic.”

You glance down at where she’s pointing and feel a flicker of hesitation. The stones near the edge of the stream are uneven, damp from the spray of the fountain nearby. The drop isn’t dramatic, but it’s enough to make you cautious.

“I don’t think that’s—” you start.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Mrs. Lee says cheerfully. “Just be careful.”

Famous last words.

You step forward anyway, because of course you do. Because this is not the hill you’re dying on today.

Heeseung follows a step behind you, quiet as always.

“Stand just there,” your mom says, framing the shot. “Yes, yes—perfect.”

You shift your weight slightly to adjust your footing.

And then your shoe slips.

It happens fast—too fast for you to catch yourself. One second you’re steady, the next the ground tilts and your stomach drops, breath punching out of you as you instinctively reach for anything.

Strong hands grab your arm.

Another slides to your waist, firm and immediate, pulling you back before you can even gasp.

You stumble—not forward, not down—but straight into him.

Your back hits his chest, solid and warm, his grip tightening just enough to keep you upright. For half a second, you’re frozen there, heart racing, fingers clutching at his sleeve.

He’s close. Too close.

You can feel his breath near your ear, feel the tension in his hold, the way his body adjusts automatically to steady yours.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, voice low—meant only for you.

You nod, a little too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, I—thanks.”

He doesn’t let go immediately.

Just long enough to make sure you’re steady.

Just long enough for the moment to stretch thin and dangerous.

“Careful,” he murmurs, almost instinctively.

Then—click.

“Oh my goodness!” your mom exclaims. “That was scary! But—oh, wait. Hold on.”

You stiffen.

“That one looked nice,” Mrs. Lee says, peering at the phone. “Very… natural.”

You finally step away, cheeks burning, suddenly very aware of how his hands had been on you, how easily he’d caught you, how familiar it felt in a way that made your chest ache.

Heeseung straightens too, composure snapping back into place like nothing happened. Hands back in his pockets. Expression calm.

But when you dare glance at him, his eyes linger on you just a second longer than necessary.

Your mom laughs. “See? Good thing he was there. You’d have fallen otherwise.”

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a laugh. “Good thing.”

The walk continues, the photos continue, but something has shifted.

Your heart doesn’t slow down.

And every time Heeseung walks just a little closer after that, you can’t tell if it’s accidental—

—or if he’s making sure you won’t fall again.

…

After dinner, you decide to hog the living room all by yourself, continue binge watching another C-drama you have postponed watching for the longest time.

It’s almost midnight, the moms had already wished you goodnight. You smile to yourself at the very well-earned time to yourself.

Or not?

Heeseung appears at the bottom, slightly disheveled, hair tousled like he’s just run a hand through it one too many times. He’s in simple grey sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt, the kind that clings just enough to show he didn’t bother thinking about how he looked.

His eyes are still half-lidded with sleep as they settle on the TV screen, expression calm.

He looks at you, before taking a seat.

“I watched this one.” He says softly. Voice hoarse with sleep.

“No spoilers, please.” You says, turning away to look at the TV. He laughs.

“Nothing to extreme, it’s a rom-com. Nothing can be a spoiler.” You clutch your heart, dramatically looking at him.

He shrugs. “What? It’s true. You know in the end they end up together.”

You sigh, leaning back. “Well, true that.” He lean back too, making your shoulders touch.

“Why did you wake up?” I look at him. “It’s barely midnight.”

“Can’t sleep. I mean, I kept waking up.” He replies, fingers tapping on his thigh. You nod, continue watching the romantic scenes on the TV.

“You enjoy stuffs like these?” He asks, not looking at you.

“Anything feel-good is enjoyable.”

“So the concept of romance, you like it?” He asks, carefully.

“Where are you going with this?” You look at him, eyes narrowing. He meets your gaze, his expression looking more earnest.

“Just wondering, if you’d like it in real life too.”

You scoff. “You and your nonstop bull—“

“Is it bullshit, really?” He asks, seriously this time. You felt your heart beating fast, you look away, just anywhere. Not sure where to look when he’s all up in your space like this.

“Evan.” You started,

“No, let me tell you this.” He straighten up, body now fully facing you, as he look directlt into your eyes.

“I’m sorry if I ever come up as pushy, talking about you with your mom, hinting at our past to her, making you feel things you don’t like, that wasn’t my intention.” He winces.

“I just…I just wanted to get to know you, really look at you. No dim lights of the bar, no dark night sky as we walk back to some hotel, and certainly no dark hotel room where I spent the whole night feeling good with the woman I knew nothing about.” He sighs.

“It’s just a one night stand, I get it.” He scoffs, “but what if I told you that I wanted more? That I regret waking up without your presence the next morning, how every sound you let out that night made me fantasize the sounds you’d make if it wasn’t casual?”

At this point, you were looking at him speechless. You’re not trusting your voice right now.

“Evan—“

“Heeseung.” He corrects. “Evan saw you first, but Heeseung fell for you.”

You fall silent again. Just staring at him like he didn’t just pour his heart out while you’re watching some corny C-drama.

“Say something. Anything.”

The TV continues playing, characters confessing under scripted rain.

But this?

This isn’t scripted.

And you’re not sure which feels scarier.

Your throat feels tight.

The drama’s background music swells dramatically, the male lead on screen confessing under artificial rain, but it feels distant—like white noise compared to the very real, very raw man sitting inches away from you.

You swallow.

“Heeseung…” you finally manage.

He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t interrupt. Just waits.

“You’re leaving in three days.”

It’s not the response he expected—but it’s the only one that makes sense in your head.

His jaw tightens slightly. “I know.”

“So what is this?” you ask, your voice quieter now. “You confess, we… what? Start something? And then you’re on the road back home in another city?”

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his already messy hair. “You think I haven’t thought about that?”

“I think you’re being impulsive,” you snap, but there’s no heat behind it—just fear. “You’re here. It feels intense. Nostalgic. But when you go back—”

“It’s not nostalgia,” he says firmly.

The way he says it makes you pause.

“It wasn’t just that night,” he continues. “I’ve tried to brush it off. I’ve tried to tell myself it was just chemistry. But then I see you here. The way you argue. The way you laugh with your mom. The way you pretend you’re tougher than you are.”

You glare at him slightly. “I am tough.”

His lips twitch faintly. “I know.”

That softness again. It’s worse than teasing.

“I don’t expect you to promise me anything,” he says. “I just needed you to know that I’m not playing around.”

Your fingers tighten around the blanket.

“You don’t get to say all that and then expect me to just… be calm,” you whisper.

“I don’t want you calm,” he admits. “I want you honest.”

The word lands heavily.

Honest.

You look at him then—really look at him. There’s no arrogance. No flirtation. Just a quiet steadiness that makes your chest ache.

“You think this is easy for me?” you ask softly. “Seeing you in my house. At dinner. At the park. Acting like we didn’t—”

Your voice falters.

“Like we didn’t matter,” he finishes.

You nod.

Silence settles again, but it’s no longer suffocating. It’s fragile. Balanced on something sharp.

“I didn’t plan to fall for you,” he says quietly. “It just happened.”

Your heart pounds harder at that word.

Fall.

“You don’t even know me that well,” you argue weakly.

“Then let me,” he replies immediately.

That catches you off guard.

“Let me know you properly,” he says. “Not just the version from one night. Not just the version that pushes me away when things feel too real.”

Your breath hitches.

“You’re scared,” he says gently.

“Of course I am,” you admit, almost frustrated. “You’re leaving. I don’t do long distance. I don’t do uncertainty, I…certainly don’t just date from one good sex.”

“And I don’t do pretending I don’t care,” he counters.

The drama on the TV ends its confession scene with applause-worthy music. You grab the remote and mute it.

The silence now is entirely yours.

“What are you asking from me?” you whisper.

He leans a little closer—not touching, just closing the space enough that you feel his presence fully.

“A chance,” he says. “Not a guarantee. Just… don’t shut the door before we even try.”

Your pulse is loud in your ears.

Three days before he leaves.

Three days to either build something—or protect yourself from it.

You look at him, eyes searching, trying to find a reason to dismiss this as temporary emotion.

You don’t find one.

And that’s what terrifies you.

“Say something,” he murmurs again, softer now.

This time, you don’t look away. You stare at him for one long, overwhelming second.

Your heart is racing too fast. Your thoughts are colliding into each other. Three days. Confessions. “A chance.” It’s too much. Too sudden. Too real.

You stand up abruptly.

“I—I need time to think,” you say, words tumbling out before you can filter them.

Heeseung rises halfway from the couch instinctively. “Hey—”

But you’re already stepping back.

“I just… I can’t answer you right now,” you add quickly. “It’s a lot.”

His expression tightens, but he nods once. “Okay.”

You don’t wait for anything else.

You bolt down the hallway, heart pounding, shutting your bedroom door a little harder than necessary. You lean against it, breath uneven.

Why now?

Why three days before he leaves?

Why does it feel like if you answer wrong, you’ll lose something you didn’t even realize you were holding?

You slide down against the door and press your palms to your eyes. You needed time. You just didn’t expect it to feel like this.

The next morning smells like butter and coffee.

You frown, your mom does not wake up early on weekends.

You shuffle out of your room, still half-asleep, hair messy, expecting silence. Instead, you hear the sound of a pan sizzling. You blink.

Heeseung is in the kitchen.

Sleeves slightly rolled, apron tied awkwardly around his waist (clearly borrowed), hair still soft and unruly from sleep—but this time he looks very awake.

Focused.

Your mom and Mrs. Lee are seated at the table, watching him like he’s some kind of five-star chef.

“He insisted,” your mom says the moment she sees you. “Said we should let him cook.”

He glances up at you.

Not smug, not teasing. Just steady.

“Morning,” he says.

You clear your throat. “Morning.”

He turns back to the stove. “Scrambled eggs or sunny side up?”

You blink. “What?”

“For you,” he clarifies. “How do you like your eggs?”

Your mom gasps softly. “He even asked me what you usually eat.”

You shoot her a look.

He continues like this is completely normal. “I made toast too. And there’s fruit.”

You step closer to the counter, still confused. “Since when do you cook?”

“Since always,” he replies casually. “You just didn’t stay long enough to see.”

Your ears burn, looking over to your moms if they notice it, they don’t.

He plates the food carefully—neatly, intentionally—and sets it in front of you first before sitting down.

That alone makes your stomach flip.

He doesn’t bring up last night.

Doesn’t push.

Doesn’t corner you.

Instead, he talks to your mom about the park photos. Asks his about souvenirs to bring home. Clears plates without being asked.

Too proactive.

Suspiciously proactive.

When your mom mentions needing to run errands later, he immediately says, “I can drive.”

When Mrs. Lee talks about wanting to visit a bakery nearby, he says, “Let’s go after breakfast.”

You watch him the entire time.

He’s not performing.

He’s consistent.

Intentional.

When your mom leaves the table to grab something from her room, and Mrs. Lee follows, you’re briefly alone in the kitchen.

He stands by the sink, rinsing dishes.

“You don’t have to… do all this,” you say quietly. He doesn’t turn around immediately.

“I know,” he replies then glances at you over his shoulder.

“But I want to.” There’s no pressure in his voice, just effort.

You swallow.

“You said you needed time,” he continues calmly. “I’m giving it to you.” The water runs softly between you.

“But I’m not going to act like I didn’t say what I said.” Your pulse stutters.

“I meant it,” he adds. “So I’ll act like I meant it.”

You stare at him and he turns the tap off and dries his hands slowly.

“I’m leaving in three days,” he says. “I don’t want to waste them pretending.”

And somehow, that hits harder than the confession itself.

…

From the moment breakfast ends, he doesn’t leave your side. Not in a suffocating way. Not hovering. Just… present.

When your mom asks you to help bring laundry out to dry, he’s already reaching for the basket before you can. When you struggle with the stubborn sliding door, he steps in quietly, fixing it without making a show of it.

“You don’t have to follow me everywhere,” you mutter at one point, adjusting the clothespins.

“I’m not following you,” he replies lightly. “I’m staying here temporarily too, remember?”

You glance at him. He looks almost amused—but there’s intention behind it.

Later, when you head to the small grocery store nearby because your mom forgot coriander, he walks beside you without even asking if he should come.

The afternoon sun is warm. The air smells like pavement and fried snacks from a stall down the street.

“So,” he says casually, hands in his pockets. “What did you want to be when you were younger?”

You blink. “What?”

“When you were eight. Ten. What was the dream?” You huff softly. “That’s random.”

“It’s not,” he says. “It tells me things.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You analyzing me now?”

“Maybe.”

You roll your eyes—but you answer anyway.

“I wanted to be a novelist,” you admit. “I used to write stories. Cringey ones.”

His eyebrows lift slightly. “You still write?”

You hesitate. “…Rarely now, in my notebooks in my apartment, or my notes app.”

“Why’d you stop wanting to be it?”

The question is gentle. Not invasive. Just curious. You shrug. “Reality. Expectations. It didn’t feel practical.”

He nods slowly, absorbing that like it matters.

“It still matters,” he says after a moment.

You glance at him. “What does?”

“The fact that you wanted to create something.”

Your chest tightens slightly.

He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t brush it off. Just lets it sit there like it’s important.

Back home, when your mom asks you to help reorganize some old boxes in the storage room, he follows again.

It’s dusty. Warm. Dim.

You crouch down to open a box of old photo albums. He kneels beside you, shoulder nearly brushing yours.

“That’s you?” he asks, picking up a picture of you at maybe twelve years old, hair shorter, smile wider.

You snatch it lightly. “Don’t judge.”

“I’m not,” he says. And he isn’t. He studies the photo like he’s memorizing it.

“You looked happy.”

“I was a kid.”

“And now?”

You look at him sharply. “What’s with the interrogation?”

“I told you,” he reminds you quietly. “I want to know you.”

There’s no rush in his tone. No desperation.

Just steadiness.

The day continues like that.

When you wash dishes, he dries them.

He asks about your university. Your friends. What stresses you out. What makes you laugh. What kind of music you secretly listen to when you’re alone.

At one point, he says, “You hum when you’re focused.”

You freeze. “I do not.”

“You do,” he insists softly. “You were doing it while cutting fruit earlier.”

You didn’t even realize.

“The thing you do with your hand? That too.” He points out, while taking your hand, opening it and see the crescent marks on your palm.

“You notice too much,” you murmur.

He doesn’t deny it.

“Someone has to,” he replies.

The living room is dim, only the lamp by the window casting a warm glow across the space. The TV is on but forgotten, some late-night rerun playing to fill the silence.

You’re curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked under you. Heeseung sits beside you—not too close, not too far—close enough that you’re aware of him without feeling crowded.

He’s been quieter tonight. Observing.

“Can I ask you something?” he says eventually.

You glance at him warily. “You’ve been doing that all day.”

A faint smile. “Humor me.”

You sigh. “Fine.” Only because you can’t resist his charming smile.

“That night,” he says carefully, “why were you really there?”

You stiffen slightly. “At the bar?”

“In another city. On a random weekend.”

“It wasn’t random,” you reply automatically.

He waits.

You stare at the muted TV screen for a long moment before answering.

“I party a lot with my friends,” you say finally.

He doesn’t react. Just listens. “More than people expect,” you add.

“Why?” he asks softly.

You let out a small breath through your nose. “Because it’s loud.”

He tilts his head slightly.

“Because when the music’s blasting and the lights are flashing and everyone’s moving,” you continue, “I can’t hear my own thoughts.”

The honesty surprises even you.

He doesn’t interrupt.

“You know how exhausting job hunting is?” you ask quietly. “Applications. Tailoring your resume for every company. Writing cover letters that feel fake. Preparing for interviews. Smiling. Selling yourself.”

His expression shifts—more focused now.

“And then the emails,” you continue, voice flattening. “‘We regret to inform you.’ ‘After careful consideration.’ ‘We’ve decided to move forward with other candidates.’”

You laugh softly, but there’s no humor in it.

“Sometimes they don’t even reply.”

Silence stretches.

“It gets to you,” you admit. “You start wondering what’s wrong with you. If you’re not good enough. If everyone else is moving ahead while you’re just… stuck.”

He doesn’t look away.

“So yeah,” you shrug lightly, though your chest feels tight. “I party.”

“To forget?” he asks.

“To breathe,” you correct.

You shift slightly, hugging your knees closer.

“When I’m out with my friends, I’m not the girl refreshing her email at 2 a.m. I’m not the candidate who didn’t make it to the final round. I’m just… me.”

He studies you carefully.

“And that’s why you were in another city.”

You nod.

“We’d just gotten two rejections that week,” you admit. “Back-to-back. I felt so stupid for getting my hopes up.”

Your voice lowers.

“So we booked a cheap place, took a train, and told ourselves we deserved one reckless weekend.”

“You call it reckless,” he says quietly. “But you sound calculated.”

You frown slightly. “What?”

“You didn’t go there to ruin yourself,” he says. “You went there to survive.”

That makes you blink.

“I like dancing,” you add quickly, deflecting. “I like dressing up. I like feeling wanted without having to prove I’m competent or impressive.”

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly at that word.

“Wanted.”

“It’s simple,” you say. “No resumes. No interviews. No expectations beyond having fun.”

“And me?” he asks gently.

You swallow.

“You weren’t part of the plan,” you admit.

His eyes don’t leave yours.

“I wasn’t looking for something serious,” you continue. “It was easier that way. Temporary city. Temporary connection. No future to mess up.”

“You think you mess things up?” he asks.

You give him a look. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“I’m not,” he says evenly. “I’m trying to understand.”

You hesitate.

“When you don’t get chosen enough,” you say slowly, “you stop expecting to be.”

The words hang in the air.

He goes very still.

“That night,” you continue, quieter now, “I wasn’t thinking about tomorrow. I just wanted to feel good. To not think about rejection emails. To not feel like I was behind in life.”

“And I was… what?” he asks softly.

“A distraction,” you answer honestly.

The word lands heavy.

But before he can retreat into it, you add—

“A good one.”

His gaze sharpens slightly.

“You were easy,” you explain. “Not in a bad way. You didn’t interrogate me. You didn’t act like you were doing me a favor. You just… were there.”

He exhales slowly.

“And when I woke up alone,” he says quietly, “it didn’t feel temporary.”

You look at him.

“I didn’t want to be just a distraction,” he continues. “I wanted to be something that stayed.”

Your heart stutters.

You look away first. “I don’t know how to let things stay,” you admit.

“Because you’re used to them leaving?” he asks.

The vulnerability in the room shifts everything.

He doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t crowd you. He just sits there, steady.

“You party to break free,” he says after a moment. You nod.

“I’m not here to take that away from you.”

You glance at him cautiously.

“But I don’t want to be another escape,” he continues. “I want to be something you choose even when the music stops.”

Your chest tightens again.

Outside, the night is quiet. No music. No flashing lights. No crowd to drown out your thoughts.

Just him.

And the terrifying possibility that this time, you won’t be the one walking away before you can be rejected.

The room feels smaller after that.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

The lamp beside the couch casts a soft golden glow across his face, catching in his eyes. The TV is still muted, forgotten entirely now. Outside, the world is quiet—no music, no city noise, no chaos to hide behind.

Just you.

And him.

“I don’t know how to let things stay,” you admit again, softer this time. “Nor how to stay.”

He doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He doesn’t try to fix you. He just watches you like your words matter.

“Then don’t decide forever,” he says gently. “Just decide now.”

Your heart pounds.

“That’s how it starts,” you whisper. “Now turns into later. Later turns into expectations.”

“And expectations scare you,” he says.

“They fail,” you correct.

He studies you for a long moment. Then he shifts closer—not abruptly, not cornering—just enough that the space between your knees and his disappears.

“I’m not an interview,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to impress me.”

Your throat tightens.

“I already like you,” he continues. “On your stressed days. On your stubborn days. On the days you party too hard to feel free.”

You huff softly. “I don’t party too hard, I still control myself.”

He almost smiles. “You know what I mean.”

The tenderness in his voice makes your chest ache.

“You don’t have to earn staying,” he says.

The words hit somewhere deep.

You look at him, really look at him. His hair is still slightly messy from earlier. He’s not styled, not composed like the first night you met. He’s just… him.

And he’s looking at you like you’re not temporary.

Your voice comes out barely above a whisper. “You’re leaving.”

“In two days,” he says.

“And then?”

“Then we figure it out,” he replies. “Or we try. Or we fail. But at least we won’t be wondering.”

Your breathing feels uneven.

He lifts his hand slowly, like he’s giving you time to pull away.

When you don’t, his fingers brush lightly against your cheek.

The touch is soft. Careful.

Nothing like that first night.

That night was heat and impulse and dim lights and stolen glances.

This is quiet.

Intentional.

His thumb traces gently along your jawline, barely there. You feel your pulse everywhere at once.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You swallow.

He doesn’t laugh at you.

Doesn’t tease.

His hand shifts slightly, cupping your cheek fully now. Warm. Steady.

“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly.

You don’t.

Instead, you lean in first.

It’s small. Barely an inch, but it closes the distance.

His breath brushes your lips before they meet. Slow. Careful. Testing.

When he kisses you, it isn’t rushed.

It isn’t hungry.

It’s soft.

Like he’s asking a question.

Your fingers clutch lightly at the fabric of his T-shirt without thinking. The kiss deepens just slightly—not intense, not overwhelming—just enough to make your heart feel like it might burst.

He pulls back a fraction, forehead resting against yours.

His voice is low. Almost unsteady.

“This isn’t an escape,” he says.

You nod faintly, breath mingling with his.

“I know.”

He kisses you again.

This time with more certainty.

Not claiming. Not demanding.

Choosing.

Your hand slides up to the back of his neck, fingers threading lightly into his hair. He exhales softly against your lips, one hand moving to your waist—secure, but not pulling you in without permission.

The world outside the living room feels nonexistent.

No rejection emails.

No interviews.

No expectations.

Just this moment.

When you finally pull back, your lips feel warm, your thoughts scattered.

“Now,” he murmurs softly, echoing his earlier words.

You let out a shaky breath.

“Now,” you repeat.

And for the first time, it doesn’t feel like something you’re running from.

It feels like something you’re choosing.

The living room feels impossibly small after that kiss. Your pulse is racing, every nerve on fire, yet your mind is dizzy in a way that makes thinking impossible.

Heeseung pulls back just slightly, his forehead still resting against yours, and you can feel the warmth of him everywhere. For a heartbeat, neither of you moves, the air thick with unsaid words.

“I—” you start, but your voice falters.

“I’ve got you,” he says suddenly, firm but gentle. His hands slide under your arms, and before you can protest, he lifts you effortlessly.

Your stomach flips. “Heeseung! Put me down!” you squeak, half-laughing, half-panicking, but you don’t resist.

“I don’t want to,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the side of your temple as he carries you toward your room. His voice is low, intimate, and the closeness makes your chest tighten even more.

Your room feels impossibly far and yet too close. The walls, the soft glow of your lamp, the familiar smell of your space—all of it is suddenly charged.

He sets you down gently on your bed, but the tension doesn’t leave. His hands linger near your waist, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of your shirt. You feel the deliberate weight of his gaze on you, assessing, quiet, patient.

“Are you… okay with this?” he asks, voice husky but careful, and you can’t tell if he’s asking about the kiss, being alone together, or everything.

You swallow hard, your pulse loud in your ears. “I—I think so,” you admit, your words trembling just enough to betray your certainty.

He shifts closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand resting lightly on the mattress near yours. You’re inches apart, every movement amplified. The air feels electric, charged with anticipation and heat.

His eyes trace your face slowly, almost like he’s memorizing every line, every shadow. “You’re warm,” he murmurs, voice softer now, almost a whisper.

Your breath catches. The room is quiet except for the distant hum of the city outside. Your fingers twitch at the edge of the blanket, trying to ground yourself, but he leans in, closing the space further.

His hand moves to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, brushing against your jaw as he does. You feel your own hands rise, unconsciously resting on his forearm. The intimacy is subtle, teasing—every touch deliberate, careful, yet charged with something unspoken.

“You’ve been on my mind,” he admits quietly, gaze locking with yours. “All day. Since breakfast. Even when we were doing the dishes… I couldn’t stop thinking.”

Your chest tightens. The honesty in his tone, combined with the nearness, makes your head spin. “Maybe you also have been lingering in my head all along for the past two months.”

“I—” you start, but he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It’s slower, deliberate, exploratory—but there’s a hunger there too, restrained yet unmistakable.

Your hands find his chest, fingers brushing against the fabric of his T-shirt, feeling the solid warmth underneath. The kiss deepens slightly, teasing, suggestive, daring—but still measured.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, reading your reaction, searching for consent in your gaze. Your pulse is racing, your thoughts scattered, but the answer is clear in the flutter of your heartbeat.

His lips hover over yours again, close enough that you can feel the warmth and breath, and for a moment, nothing else exists: no hesitation, no past regrets, just the two of you, the quiet room, and the thrilling, dangerous pull of something more.

And then he whispers, low and husky, “Do you trust me?”

Your answer is a shiver, a nod, a soft, “Yes,” barely audible—but it’s enough.

The air between you thickens, charged with a suggestion, a promise, a question that doesn’t need words—because the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s close enough to touch, it says it all.

…

Heeseung’s lips trail down your neck with a slow, teasing warmth—each kiss featherlight at first, then lingering just enough to leave faint tingles in their wake. His breathing is uneven but controlled, clearly trying to balance the haze with focus.

“Always smell so good.” He murmur between kisses. One hand rests tentatively against your shoulder while the other tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear before continuing his path lower.

Then he pauses abruptly near your collarbone as if remembering something, “I don’t have condoms with me,” He looks at you.

You huff, turning to your handbag. Pulling out the small foil packet, he smiles at you. “For your other one night stands?” You laugh.

“That was the plan, but I stopped doing thise after you.” He doesn’t question it, because he knows. You tug at his shirt, signalling you want it off.

Heeseung makes quick work of his shirt, tossing it aside before popping the button on his pants. His movements are fluid—confident but not rushed—as he steps out of them and kicks them toward the floor.

“Better?” He asks, voice low as he reaches for you again, now only in his boxers.

His fingers are gentle but eager as he helps you out of your own clothes—each piece discarded with care until there’s nothing left between you. His touch lingers on bare skin, like he’s relearning every curve after months of yearning.

"God… I love this,"he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “So beautiful.”

Heeseung trails kisses downward—slow, deliberate—each one hotter than the last. His hands follow, mapping your body like he’s memorizing it anew. When his lips finally reach the place you have been dying for him to touch, he glances up at you through his lashes, smirking.

“Want me to touch you here?”

You nod, he tsks. “Need to hear you, baby.” As his breath brushes your open folds.

“Yes.” You gasped, “Yes, please.”

He smiles, Heeseung doesn’t waste another second—his mouth sealing over you with practiced devotion. Every flick of his tongue, every hum against your skin is calculated to unravel you.

And it works.

His free hand grips your thigh, holding you steady as he focuses entirely on pleasuring and loving you—like this is the only mission that matters tonight.

Heeseung zeroes in on your clit instantly—his tongue circling it with just the right amount of pressure before sucking lightly. His eyes stay locked on yours, gauging every twitch and gasp to adjust his technique.

"This okay?" he murmurs against you, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear you say it anyway.

You nod, he hums in approval—taking your nod as permission to double down. His tongue flicks faster now, alternating between broad strokes and precise little darts while his fingers slip inside you, curling just right.

You yelp at the sudden intrusion, Heeseung pauses immediately—pulling back just enough to check your expression. His brows furrow in concern, but he keeps his fingers still inside you.

"Too much?" he asks softly, ready to adjust at your slightest hint. You shake your head, “It’s good, s’good..”

He exhales in relief—his tension melting into renewed focus. He resumes with even more care now, his movements deliberate and gentle as he coaxes you toward pleasure rather than overwhelming you.

"That’s it," he murmurs, lips brushing your inner thigh between words. "Just relax… I’ve got you."

“I’ll make you feel better than that night.”

He adds a second finger—stretching you gradually as his thumb replaces his tongue, rubbing slow circles over your clit instead. His eyes stay locked on your face, tracking every flutter of pleasure.

“Tell me if anything’s too much," he reminds, voice thick with concern beneath the desire.

Heeseung's touch remains gentle and attentive, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm that builds pleasure without rushing you. Every now and then, he glances up to make sure you're still comfortable—his expression soft with care even as desire burns in his gaze.

“So good for me, you’re so good for me.” He murmurs againts your skin, words warm and reverent.

He senses you're close—your breaths hitching, your body tensing around his fingers. He presses a final open-mouthed kiss to your clit before murmuring,

"Come for me, baby.”

His words are the last push you need—your climax crashing over you in waves as Heeseung rides it out with his fingers, his touch never faltering. When your tremors subside, he presses a kiss to your inner thigh and slowly withdraws his hand.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, crawling up to claim your lips in a deep kiss—letting you taste yourself on him.

“Need you, now.” You breath againts his lips

Heeseung groans at your words, his body responding instantly. In one fluid motion, he flips onto his back—pulling you atop him, before rolling the condom on with practiced ease.

“Ride me,” he rasps, before teasing his tip on your folds and guiding himself to your entrance. He hisses as you sink onto him—his hands flying to your hips, gripping hard as he adjusts to the sudden tightness. His head falls back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut for a second before he forces them open again, needing to see you.

"Fuck," he grits out, "You feel…"

Words fail him—too overwhelmed by how perfectly you take him in.

His breath comes in ragged bursts as you start moving—his hips instinctively bucking up to meet each of your descents. One hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you down into a searing kiss while the other presses possessively against your back.

He loses himself in the rhythm you set—every roll of your hips sending sparks through his veins. His hands roam your body, worshiping every curve as he murmurs praise against your skin.

“Gonna kill me like this, baby.” He cups your breasts as he pinches one of your nipples, you moan.

His control starts to fray—his thrusts becoming less measured, more desperate. He can feel his climax building rapidly, but he refuses to let go until you do first.

Heeseung flips you onto your back with surprising gentleness despite the urgency in his movements. The second he’s nestled between your thighs again, he surges into you—each thrust deep and deliberate.

"Look at me," he demands softly, cradling your face as his pace turns relentless. "Want to see you when we finish."

His thrusts grow erratic—his breath coming in sharp gasps as he chases his release. But even now, at the peak of pleasure, his focus stays on you, making sure you’re right there with him.

“Searched for you like crazy, kept..kept..asking around.” He went down to latch on your nipple, sucking softly and twirling his tongue making you whimper underneath him.

“Need the girl that made me fall hopelessly from just one night.”

Heeseung’s eyes lock onto yours, the intensity in his gaze nearly overwhelming as he pushes you both toward release. His thrusts grow sharper—each one hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb circles your clit with just enough pressure, making your moans slightly louder than before.

"Close?" he rasps, voice strained with restraint.

You nod frantically, your body coiling tight with impending pleasure. Heeseung’s answering grin is fierce—he can feel it too.

"Then let go," he urges, his own rhythm faltering as he chases his own peak alongside you.

The moment your climax hits—waves of pleasure crashing over you in relentless succession—Heeseung follows with a broken groan. His thrusts stutter before he buries himself deep, shuddering through his release as he holds you close.

For several breathless seconds, all either of you can do is cling to each other, sweaty and spent but utterly satisfied.

“Don’t go. Don’t leave this time.” He says, pressing a lazy kiss on your shoulder.

“Can’t run even if I tried,” you laugh, finally aware that you guys fucked in your childhood bedroom, in your parents’ house. With his and your moms just a few doors away.

…

Morning comes softly.

Not with alarms. Not with loud footsteps downstairs.

Just sunlight.

It slips through the thin gap in your curtains, warm and golden, stretching slowly across your walls, across your desk, across the edge of your bed.

You blink awake gradually, consciousness returning in pieces.

The warmth against your back registers first.

Then the weight around your waist.

Then the steady rise and fall of someone else’s breathing.

Your heart stutters.

Heeseung.

His arm is draped securely around you, palm resting flat against your stomach like it belongs there. Your back is pressed lightly to his chest, his face buried somewhere near the back of your neck, breath warm against your skin.

For a second, you don’t move, you just lie there and lets the reality settle.

Last night wasn’t loud or reckless or fleeting. It wasn’t dim bar lights and alcohol-blurred edges.

It was slow.

Intentional.

You remember how careful he was. How he kept checking in. How he looked at you like this wasn’t just physical.

Your cheeks warm at the memory.

Behind you, he shifts slightly. His arm tightens instinctively when you move.

“Mmm,” he hums, voice thick with sleep. “Don’t go.” You freeze.

“I’m not,” you whisper, even though you hadn’t actually planned to.

He exhales softly against your shoulder, clearly not fully awake yet. His fingers flex slightly against your waist, like he’s grounding himself.

The sunlight climbs higher.

You slowly turn your head just enough to glance at him.

His hair is a mess, falling into his eyes. His lips are slightly parted, expression relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before. No guarded composure. No teasing edge.

Just him.

Peaceful.

He blinks awake a moment later, eyes adjusting slowly.

There’s a brief second of confusion.

Then recognition.

Then something softer.

“Morning,” he murmurs. Your heart flips.

“Morning.”

Neither of you moves away.

Neither of you makes it awkward.

He studies your face like he’s making sure you’re real. Like he half-expected to wake up alone again. “You’re still here,” he says quietly.

You swallow. “So are you.” A small smile touches his lips.

He lifts a hand, brushing his thumb gently along your cheekbone. Not suggestive. Not urgent. Just… tender.

“Regrets?” he asks carefully.

You consider it. The sunlight. The warmth. The quiet. His arm still wrapped around you.

“No,” you answer honestly.

Relief flickers across his face so subtly you almost miss it.

“Good,” he murmurs.

Silence settles again, but it’s comfortable.

You’re suddenly aware of the house. Of your mom downstairs. Of Mrs. Lee probably already awake.

Reality creeping back in.

“We should probably get up,” you say softly. He groans lightly. “Five more minutes.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move. His fingers trace lazy patterns against your waist absentmindedly.

“Last night,” he begins quietly, “wasn’t just… heat.”

You turn slightly to face him more fully now, the blanket shifting around you.

“I know,” you reply. His eyes search yours.

“I meant what I said,” he continues. “About wanting more.”

The weight of it is still there. But this time, it doesn’t feel suffocating. It feels steady.

You reach out, brushing a piece of hair away from his forehead. “I’m still scared,” you admit.

“That’s okay,” he says immediately.

“But I don’t want to run,” you add.

Something shifts in his expression—something hopeful. “We’ll figure it out,” he says quietly. “One step at a time.”

He leaves tomorrow.

But right now, he’s here.

Warm. Real. Looking at you like you’re not temporary.

His hand slides into yours under the blanket, fingers intertwining slowly.

SEPTEMBER 2025

Three months later, your apartment feels both fuller and emptier at the same time.

Fuller — because his hoodie is draped over the back of your chair. Because there’s a mug he likes that you bought “accidentally.” Because your call logs are filled with his name. Because there’s a toothbrush tucked into the corner of your sink like it belongs there.

Emptier — because right now, he isn’t here.

Long distance wasn’t glamorous.

It was: falling asleep on video call, propping your phone against your pillow just to see his face, texting “reach home safe” every long rides he takes back home, syncing up dramas and pressing play at the same time,

It was him visiting every three weeks without fail. No excuses.

He comes by Friday night, spends the weekend before saying goodbye Sunday night. Sometimes with a small bouquet.

Sometimes with your favorite snacks.

Once with nothing but a tired smile and open arms.

And every time he left, the goodbye got quieter. Less dramatic. More heavy.

But you were trying. Both of you were.

Tonight, you’re expecting him again.

You’d cleaned the apartment earlier, even though he’s seen it messy before. There’s a faint scent of citrus from the candle you lit. Your heart always beats a little faster on visit days.

When the knock finally comes, you don’t pretend to be calm. You open the door.

Heeseung stands there with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

And that smile, the one that makes three weeks feel like three seconds.

You don’t even greet him properly—you just step forward and hug him. He laughs softly, arms wrapping around you tightly, lifting you slightly off the ground for a brief second.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs into your hair. When you pull back, you notice something. He looks… different.

Not physically.

But there’s a weight behind his eyes.

“What?” you ask immediately. He exhales lightly. “Can I come in first?” You narrow your eyes but step aside.

He drops his bag near the couch, looks around your apartment like he always does—taking it in, grounding himself.

You close the door.

“Okay,” you say, crossing your arms. “What’s going on?”

He runs a hand through his hair—a nervous habit you’ve come to recognize.

“I have news,” he says. Your stomach drops slightly.

“Good news?” you ask cautiously.

He hesitates just enough to make your heart pound.

“I’m moving.” The word hangs in the air.

Your mind scrambles. “Moving?” you repeat. “Where?”

He steps closer. “Here.”

You blink. “…What?”

“I got a transfer,” he continues, the words coming faster now. “There was an opening in the branch here. I applied a month ago.”

“A month ago?” you echo.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to promise something that might not happen.”

Your heart is racing now. “I got it,” he says quietly. “It’s finalized.” Silence fills your apartment.

“You’re… moving here?” you whisper.

He nods. “I don’t want to do long distance anymore,” he says. “Not when I don’t have to.”

Your brain is still catching up.

“But your mom? Your place? Producing?”

“She supports it,” he replies. “And my job is still my job. Just different location.”

You stare at him.

“You did this… because of me?”He steps closer until there’s barely space between you.

“I did this because I want a life where I don’t count down weeks just to see you,” he says. “Because I don’t want to miss small things. Your bad interview days. Your random 2 a.m. thoughts. Your victories.”

Your throat tightens. “I don’t want to visit you,” he continues softly. “I want to be here.” Tears prick at the corner of your eyes before you can stop them.

“You’re serious,” you whisper.

He cups your face gently, thumbs brushing just beneath your eyes.

“I’ve never been more serious.”

Your laugh comes out shaky. “You’re insane.”

“Probably,” he admits. “But I’m yours.”

note: freaking finally! i know i promised you guys this a month ago, and yes i’m alive. just wanted to wrap things up with my semester and have a small break after stressing out for finals, but alas! here we are! first work kinda nervous >< hope u guys love it!

just completely dead.

you twisted the key in the ignition again—nothing. not even a weak cough or a vibration—just silence. “baby, seriously? now?” your voice cracked with frustration as you let your forehead thud against the steering wheel—once, twice—hands gripping the wheel. 

“i just got you out of the workshop!” 

you were already running late, even dressed up nicer than usual—your baby tees that weren't oil stained for once, the one that hugged your curves just right, paired with shorts that fit, and the delicate necklace your boyfriend had given you last month. 

not to mention, your hair was done, a touch of makeup—with that fluttery feeling in your tummy because tonight was supposed to be special. weeks of texting, late–night calls, finally seeing him again…

and now you were stuck on the side of some forgotten highway with a dead car and no signal. 

you let out a shaky breath. thank god the sun wasn’t dipping yet—it was only around 4 p.m. there was plenty of daylight left, hours before the sky would think about turning purple orange. that bought you time to get some help and inform your boyfriend the car was broken.

except…

your phone had no signal.

“oh my gosh—is this a joke?” you shook your phone again, tapping the surface on your palm in hopes it’d suddenly receive a signal from somewhere. when it didn’t—you tossed your phone to the side, landing on the passenger seat. 

“okay… okay yn, think,” you muttered to yourself, leaning back and rubbing your temples. pop the hood? you weren’t a mechanic—you’d only do damage to the car. or wait it out—someone had to drive by eventually, right? 

you stared out the windshield at the empty road stretching both ways, the quiet was almost too loud. your eyes trailed up to the little hill. you could walk a little ways to see if you could find higher ground for signal?

but it’s so… high and your last meal was a brunch that was almost four hours ago…

sit here and… hope?

you reached for the door handle, about to step out and at least look like you were doing something, when a sound caught your ear—clearer and closer.

hoofbeats.

steady… unhurried… like the rider itself had all the time in the world. 

you froze, hand still on the handle, and watched from the rearview mirror as he emerged fully into view.

a lone rider on a sleek black horse, moving along the edge of the highway. dark jacket opened over a fitted black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. his black cowboy hat pulled low, shadowing his face just enough to make your stomach flip with curiosity.

the way he sat on the saddle—straight–backed, relaxed but controlled—that quiet confidence dripping off him. 

the man guided the horse closer, slowing to a stop a respectful distance from your car. the animal snorted softly, tossing its head to the side, and the rider leaned forward to calm it with a gentle pat on the neck.

then—those dark eyes lifted to meet yours through the mirror.

sharp. intense.

your breath hitched in your lungs—he swung down from the saddle effortlessly, boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. tall—taller than you’d expected—long legs, lean build … biceps… the kind of presence that made the wide–open desert space around you feel suddenly smaller.

he adjusted his hat with one hand, the other holding reins loosely, and took a few slow steps toward your opened passenger window.

“hey there,” he said, voice low and smooth like… whiskey over ice, a faint tint drawl curling around the edges. he tilted his head just slightly, studying you—and the dead car—with calm interest.

“car troublin’ ya?”

your mouth went dry and you swore you forgot how to breathe. up close—he was even more fuckin’ striking. high cheekbones, honey skin glowing in the sunlight, lips pressed into a subtle line that hinted at amusement. 

you… you didn’t know who this guy was—but fuck, he’s fucking hot. 

you swallowed, managing a small nod. “y—yeah,” you finally said, voice coming out softer than you meant. “it just… died. won’t start—and there’s no signal out here.”

his gaze flicked to your phone on the passenger seat, then back to you. one corner of his mouth lifted.

“mind if i take a look?” 

you gave him a small nod—he knew you’d say yes anyway, what option did you have? he stepped toward the front of the car. you popped the hood from inside, the latch clicking, then pushed the door open and climbed out.

the warm, dry, afternoon air hitting your skin.

sunghoon moved with that same unhurried motion, grace, looping the reins over his horse’s neck so she stayed put. he took off his jacket and rolled off his sleeves a little higher as he approached the engine, revealing his… toned forearms and biceps dusted with dust and sunlight.

you tried not to stare.

he leaned over the hood, one had bracing against the metal, the other tracing—his index and middle fingers—along the battery cables, checking connections… peering at belts and fluids… things that a pretty girl like you wouldn’t and shouldn’t know anyway. 

those nice… slender fingers… suited being somewhere… better.

your eyes travelled at the way his black shirt stretched across his back and shoulders when he shifted… the light caught the sharp line of his jaw. 

you stood a few feet away, arms loosely crossed against your chest, pretending to care about the car—but there’s a better view before you.

“battery looks fine,” he murmured, almost to himself. he straightened slightly, wiping a smudge of grease onto his jeans without care, then glanced over at you.

his eyes lingered.

not that… quick check–in if you were okay; but that slow… deliberate… lingering sweep—down the length of you. sunghoon swallowed in the baby blue baby tee clinging softly to your frame, the way your hair fell across your shoulders, the faint flush rising on your cheeks.

sunghoon tried so hard—so fucking hard—to not let his eyes fall onto the dip of your cleavage.

he failed.

when his gaze came back up to meet yours, he made it so obvious he was checking you out. there was something dark and unreadable flickering behind those orbs. curiousity—interest, something warmer than… the polite stranger act.

you shifted, suddenly hyper–aware of how close he was, how the faint scent of leather and sun–warmed skin drifted on the breeze. 

“there’s a leak,” he said finally, tipping his chin toward your engine. “that’s why she overheated and shut down.” his tone was matter–of–fact, but he held your eyes longer than necessary made it feel anything but casual.

“...oh,” you managed, stepping closer—to see what he was pointing at—but honestly, just really drawn into his aura. you were so close to see the faint sheen at his temple, the way his lashes cast shadows. you were so close sunghoon could see the droplets of sweat trailing down the side of your neck, the way your upper teeth caught on your bottom lip.

he didn’t move. 

instead, sunghoon stayed leaned against your car, arms loosely folded, watching you—not the engine—so painfully obvious it made your pulse flutter. 

wow—you had no idea what’s leaking… in terms of the car, at least.

“you headed somewhere importan’?” he asked, voice dropping a fraction lower. his gaze flicked to your lips, then back up before you caught it. you swallowed. “mmhm. i… was supposed to meet… someone.”

a beat. 

sunghoon’s head tilted slightly, the corner of his mouth twitched into the tiniest smirk. “must be real disappointed right now,” he said, soft and slow, eyes never leaving yours. your breath hitched and the tension coiled tighter, warm and heavy in your chest… spreading lower.

“i—it’s okay,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out shy and a little breathless. your laugh soft and nervous as you tucked a strand of hair. “they’ll understand.”

his eyes stayed on you for a beat, dropping down just a little on your collarbone—but that faint smirk deepened just enough to make your tummy flip. after what felt like hours, sunghoon pushed off your yellow car, straightening to his full height that just towered over you.

“sunghoon,” he said simply, extending his hand. his voice was low, steady. 

sunghoon, you rolled his name mindlessly in the back of your mind, tasting his name on your tongue. “mmhm,” you slipped your hand into his—warm and rough against your bare, softer skin—his grip firm but careful, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

the contact lingered, and neither of you pulled away first. 

“yn,” you answered. 

“yn,” he repeated, tasting the name like he was trying it out. a small nod, almost approving. sunghoon licked his lips before continuing. “pretty name for a pretty girl stuck on the side of the road.”

heat rushed to your cheeks and you quickly glanced away, pretending to look at the engine, but you could feel his gaze still on you. it’s so unfair, you thought. 

you broke it first. “well,” sunghoon sighed, closing the hood with a gentle thud, wiping his hands on his handkerchief he pulled from his back pocket. “car’s ain’t gonna fix themselves out here. leaking like that—you’re not drivin’ anywhere tonight without coolant.” 

you bit your lip, shaking your head, glancing at the empty hallway. “yeah… i figured.”

sunghoon looked at you—pity girl—then at his horse, then back at you—something flashed in his eyes. 

“look,” he said, running his fingers through his dark locks. “i’ve got tools back at the ranch. spare house, too. it’s only a couple miles down the road.” he tilted his head slightly, making his gaze feel more intense. 

“you can ride with me. get it fixed before dark, get your back on your way.”

your heart stuttered. ride with him..? ride him? on the horse? or…?

he must’ve seen the question in your eyes because the corner of his mouth lifted again. “my girl can take us both. or i can lead and walk, and you just sit pretty.” 

you swallowed, glancing at the sun still high enough in the sky, the golden light catching on his shirt. then your gaze flicked back to the horse—big, calm, but still a horse…

what about… stranger danger…? 

the thought slipped out before you could stop it, soft and uncertain, fingers twisting around the hem of your baby tee. 

“um… what about stranger danger?” you asked, half laughing to cover your nerves, cheeks heating up again. you supposed you could just… ask this kind sunghoon stranger to return with a pipe… or something…

“i mean, i don’t know you—you don’t know me… and you want me to just… hop on your horse and ride off to your ranch?”

sunghoon paused. for a second, his expression didn’t really change, but the corner of his mouth curved. he’d find your worry both endearing and adorable. 

cute.

“fair,” he said, shrugging. there was no defensiveness, or offense in it at all. he let his hand drop to his side, giving you space. “if you’re wonderin’ or scared, i get it. pretty girl alone out here—i’d be worried too.”

he glanced down the road in the direction he’d come from, then back at you.

“i live just a couple miles that way,” he continued, nodding toward a faint dirt turnoff you hadn’t noticed before. “there’s a diner right off the main road before you even get to my ranch—folks and ladies there know me.” 

a small huff escaped him. 

“or,” he added, tilting his head slightly, eyes softening. “we can walk the whole way. i’ll lead the way slow. you stay ten feet back if you want, i’ll even let you hold the reins.”

he said it completely serious too… like your comfort truly mattered more than getting back quickly. the sincerity in his voice, the way he didn’t push or be weird about it—just offering—made something in your chest loosen.

you looked at him again—you supposed… there was no point in waiting for other help to come by—and your heart gave a traitorous little thud. 

“mm… okay. lead me the way.”

you slipped your hand out—and his fingers closed around yours and he guided you toward his horse. the animal watched you with dark eyes—much like the owner—ears flicking as you approached. 

“easy now,” sunghoon murmured, more to the horse than you, running his hand down her neck. “snow’s gentle, she won’t throw you.”

he turned to you, smiling. “you ever been on a horse before?”

you shook your head, laughing nervously. “never… not even once—never had a reason to.”

a soft huff escaped him—almost a chuckle. “first time for everything.”

sunghoon moved to the side, cupping his hands together in a boost. “left foot here, grab the saddle horn and swing your right leg over it when i lift.” 

your heart pounded, but you did as he said. sunghoon’s hands settled on your waist as he hoisted you up, strong and sure, and then you were in the saddle—legs dangling awkwardly, gripping the horn.

“eek—!”

he chuckled, swung behind you in a motion he’d done a billion times, settling in close—really close. his chest brushed your back as he reached around you for the reins, thighs framing yours, the heat of him immediately and overwhelming. 

“you good?” sunghoon asked, voice low near your ear. you swallowed the lump in your throat, his warm breath hitting the shell of your ear. “m—mmhm,” you managed, hyper aware of every little shift and contact. 

sunghoon’s arm circled loosely around your waist just to steady you on the horse—and you felt the subtle shift of his body as he nudged the horse forward with his heels. 

snow started walking and rolling—making you sway instinctively. you tensed, gripping the horn harder.

“relax,” he said quietly, breathing now against the side of your neck. “lean back a little, i got you.”

you eased against him just slightly. his arm tightened the tiniest bit in response—reassured. the horse settled into a rhythm along the edge of the highway, hooves clopping against the dirt. the sun was still bright, golden, warm breeze carrying the scent of dry grass and… him.

for a minute, neither of you spoke. 

until sunghoon broke it.

“so… where were you headed, dressed up like that?”

you laughed softly, glancing down at your baby tee and your nice jeans. “just… meeting someone.” sunghoon hummed, a deep sound that vibrated against your back from how close he was. “poor lad, waitin’ somewhere wonderin’ where you are right now.” 

“probably,” you bit your lip, suppressing back a smile. 

another beat. 

his thumb brushed idly against the rein near your hip. “must be somethin’ special between you two,” he murmured, humming. “to get you out here lookin’ this pretty.”

your cheeks burned. you turned your head just enough to catch him—sharp line of his jaw… the brim of his hat shadowing his eyes.

“mayhaps,” you said softly. “could be i just like dressing up sometimes.”

sunghoon let out a quiet breath of laughter. “fair enough.”

snow kept walking, carrying you both on her strong body. you shifted slightly, getting used to the rhythm, and you slowly realised you weren’t as scared anymore. 

actually… it felt kind of nice. the warmth of sunghoon, the strength of his arms, the quiet that didn’t feel awkward at all. 

“so…” you said after a moment, corner of your lips twitched into a teasing smirk. “you do this often? rescue stranded girls on horseback?” 

his lips curved—just a little. “first time of everything.”

you smiled despite yourself. “lucky me, then.”

he didn’t answer right away, just tightened his arm a fraction, guiding snow off the highway and onto the dirt path leading to the ranch. “yeah,” he said finally, voice warm against your ear. 

“lucky me.”

——

sunghoon reached up for you, hands settling on your waist again—firm and steady—lifting you down like you weighed a feather. your boots hit the ground, but his hands lingered a second longer than necessary before he let go.

“welcome to the house,” he said dryly, gesturing at the perfect tidy yard. a faint smile tugged at his lips as he tied the reins. “come on in, i’ll grab you something while i check the garage.”

he led you up the porch steps and pushed open the front foor—no lock, you noticed. must be safe around here, you thought, humming. the cool air inside hit you—the faint smell of coffee and wood floors.

“make yourself at home,” sunghoon said, tipping off his hat and hanging it on a hook. his dark hair fell slightly messier without it, a few strands brushing his forehead. “water, iced tea, lemon—fridge it through there.” he nodded toward the open kitchen.

“i’ll be in the garage. shouldn’t take long.”

his space was simple and tidy—leather couch facing a fireplace, shelves lined with books and framed photos of … sunghoon and his friends. his six other friends. equally as fine. a worn acoustic guitar leaned in one corner, blankets folded neatly over the couch arm.

no clutter, nothing sterile either. 

just him.

you wandered through the big picture window overlooking the fields, the late–afternoon light pouring in soft. a few horses grazed in the distance. 

everything was peaceful in a way the city never was. 

the glass of lemonade cold in your hand as you turned slowly. your eyes landed on a small cluster of framed photos near the front door—one of sunghoon on horseback, younger; another him with an older man who shared the same features. must’ve been his father. 

you didn’t realise you’d drifted closer, drawn in by that smile on his face. you were standing right in front of it, lemonade tilted slightly in your grip—completely lost in the photo,

when the door swung open.

sunghoon stepped inside, grease smudged rag in one hand, the other pushing the door wide—and you startled hard.

the glass jerked in your fingers—cold lemonade sloshed over the rim, splashing down the front of your baby tee in a sticky streak that soaked straight through the thin fabric. 

“oh—gosh—” you gasped, jumping back a step, holding the glass out. sunghoon’s eyes widened half a second before he was moving, closing the door behind him with his boot and crossing to you.

“fuck, sorry—didn’t mean to scare ya’,” he said, voice rushed, already reaching for the rag in his hand. but it was dirty, so he stopped. “gosh, you okay?”

you laughed, breathless, embarrassed heat flooding your face. the lemonade left a cold, clinging patch right… across your front. “it’s fine, i wasn’t paying attention,” you mumbled, dabbing at the stain with your fingers instead. 

“was looking at your pictures.”

he didn’t move back, didn’t look away. the air between you felt suddenly too small and cold again… despite everything burning. 

“i’ve got spare shirts in the laundry room,” he said after a beat, eyes dropping to the stain—pervert—once more before meeting yours again. “clean ones, if you want to change.”

you nodded slowly, heart thudding in against your ribs. 

“mm.. yeah, sure,” you said softly, glancing up to him from underneath your lashes. “that… might be good.” 

——

you peeled off your soaked baby tee, the sticky lemonade making it cling uncomfortably. you’re only grateful your bra was there to soak the rest before the liquid reached your skin. 

his… white shirt was huge—falling halfway down your thighs and completely covering your shorts, sleeves past your elbows, the collar loose enough to slip off one shoulder if you weren’t careful. 

it smelled like sunghoon—clean cotton and traces of wood musk.

“... nice,” you caught your reflection in the small mirror above your dryer and laughed quietly to yourself. you looked swallowed whole by it.

just then, your eyes landed on something else through the reflection—his brown cowboy hat, hanging on a hook just inside the door. the different one from what he wore earlier. you bit your lip, glancing toward the door.

no signs of him.

just for fun, you never wore a cowboy hat before.

you reached up on your tippy toes and plucked it off the hook, settling in your head. it was too big, obviously—sliding down over your eyebrows until you had to tip it back with a finger. 

to be honest, you looked kinda… hot. yeah—seductive, almost. 

you smoothed his shirt down, adjusted the hat, and pushed the door open. 

sunghoon was leaning just against the kitchen counter, arms loosely crossed, looking down at his boots—but the second you stepped out, his head lifted.

and he froze. 

his gaze swept over you—deliberately. the—his—oversized shirt hanging loose on your smaller frame, the hem brushing your thighs (only the little ripped strands of your shorts were showing up), the way the fabric draped over your shoulders.

that… hat tilting playfully on your head.

everything about him stilled. even the air felt heavier. his pants got tighter.

“everything’s… big,” you giggled, laughing to break the sudden tension, tugging at the sleeve that swallowed your hand. you gave a small spin, the shirt flaring slightly—you held the hat by the brim. 

“like, really big.”

he didn’t laugh. didn’t even smile at first.

sunghoon just stared, his eyes darker than before, jaw tight, lips… wet. 

then he pushed off the counter, closing the distance in one slow step. 

“yeah?” he murmured, voice rougher, dropping an octave lower… low enough that you swore it vibrated in your chest. sunghoon reached out, fingers brushing the brim of the—his—hat, adjusting it slightly so it sat better.

so he could see your pretty face clearer.

his thumb grazed your temple as he did. 

“looks better on you.” 

your breath caught. he was close again—too close—hand lingering near your face. you could feel the heat radiating off him, the faint scent of his musk and sweat filling every inch of space between you.

he didn’t step back.

he took a slow step forward—then another.

until your back met the wall with a soft thud, the cool wood at your spine contrasting to what’s warming you up in front of you. the hat tilted slightly on your head as you tipped it back to look up at him, and his eyes—heavy lidded—locked onto yours.

“r—really?” 

his hand dropped from the brim, trailing down the side of your neck, over the loose collar of his shirt on you, until his palm settled at your waist. fingers splayed wide—possessive—puling you in just a fraction closer.

then his hand went lower, skimming the curve of your hip, thumb pressing lightly into the dip above your shorts. 

you didn’t want to move.

your hands came up instantly, fingers curling into the front of his black shirt, feeling his heart thumping under your palms. 

“mmhm,” sunghoon leaned in, forehead almost touching yours, breath warm against your lips. “you’ve been driving me crazy since i saw you in that car,” he said, voice low. “now you’re in my shirt, my hat—lookin’ like you belong here or somethin’.”

your lips parted, but no words came—just a soft, shaky exhale.

his gaze dropped to your mouth. 

“you do this often?” sunghoon murmured, his fingers drumming your skin. “wreck your car hopin’ some stranger’ll come along and fix it?”

you felt the words more than heard them… the teasing edge softened by the way his thumb traced your hip. 

“only cowboys like you,” you whispered, the words barely out before—

sunghoon closed that tiny gap.

he slammed his lips against yours—evoking a soft, surprised gasp out of you—his hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him and positioning his knee in between your legs. 

you melted almost instantly into his mouth, hands sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck, pulling him down as sunghoon angled his head to kiss you harder and deeper. his tongue traced your bottom lip, teasing, then slipped inside when you gasped for him—slow, hot, unhurried. 

it made your knees buckle and weak. 

sunghoon groaned quietly when you tagged at his hair, the sound rumbling through his chest into yours. “ngh—hngh—” you moaned into his mouth, tugging him down. the hat titled precariously; but he caught it with one hand, readjusting it on top of your head without breaking the kiss. 

both of his hands were back on you—one splayed across your lower back, the other cupping your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek, lifting your head up. sunghoon glided his tongue along your row of teeth, tasting you slow and thorough. 

a low hum rumbled in his chest when you parted for him, your own tongue meeting his in a slick curl that made you tighten your grip around his shirt. “hah—s—sunghoon,” you breathed out. your salivas mixed, messy and hot, a thin strand connecting your lips when he pulled back just enough to breathe—

only to dive back in harder, swallowing every little whimper and moan. 

sunghoon kissed like he worked for it… having complete control like he would with snow—angling your head to take it deeper how he wanted it to be. your back arched against the wall as his hand on your lower back slid lower, palm running along the globe of your ass before it spread over the curve of your hip.

“ah—,” you gasped as he pressed forward. you felt the head line of his cock beneath his jeans against your stomach—he was just as wrecked as you were.

sunghoon broke the kiss only to drag his mouth along your jaw, teeth scraping at the sensitive spot under your ear before coming back to your lips, no less filthy than before—long and wet and deep that left you dizzy.

your pussy was growing crazily wet and warm—heat pooling your tummy as you began grinding and rubbing yourself on his knee. 

“still wanna get that car fixed?” he whispered, teasing against your swollen mouth, lips brushing but not quite kissing.

you panted, looking up at him through half lidded eyes, before answering by pulling him back in, kissing him open–mouthed and desperate, fingers threading through his hair to keep him there. he groaned into you, low and raw, and kissed you back just as deep.

sunghoon’s hands roamed—down your sides, slipping into the loose fabric of his shirt on you—until he suddenly spun you around in a smooth motion—your palms hitting the kitchen counter with a slap. 

“hngh—?” you gasped as he pressed in behind you, chest to your back, hips slotting against you. sunghoon didn’t stop kissing you—his strong… bigger hand came up to your jaw, fingers curled around your soft jaw as he turned your head sideways so he could claim your mouth from this new angle.

deep.. messy, relentless—the other hand splayed across your tummy, pulling you flush.

“fuck,” he murmured, grinding slow and deliberate against the curve of your ass through your shorts, the friction sending sparks down your cunt. a low rumble vibrated from his chest as he rolled his hips again, his hard on pressing hard between your asscheeks. 

sunghoon’s lips broke from yours to drag wet kisses along your exposed side of your neck, teeth grazing the skin as he left angry lovebites before he turned your face toward him again, capturing your mouth in another horny kiss. 

all while his hips kept that rhythm—rubbing against you, clothed but undeniably fucking horny. “you feel what you’re doin’ to me?” 

you could only whimper in response, arching your back and pushing against him—eliciting a groan out him, deeper, his hips snapping forward—so fucking hard—before he slowed.

you pulled back to catch your breath, knees weakening as you braced yourself on your forearms. the words slipped out before you could stop them—half plea, half teasing.

“are you going to keep humpin’ me, or are you going to let me ride you, cowboy?” 

the air went still for a beat.

the corner of his lips twitched—and so did his eye—sunghoon scoffed dryly. you barely had time to register the shift in his energy and demeanour before his palm cracked against your ass through the denim. 

not gentle.

a firm, stinging smack echoed in the kitchen made you gasp, jolting forward against the corner. 

“watch that mouth,” he hummed low against your ear, body still pinned, his hand caressing the globe of your ass where he’d just smacked them. “you don’t get to call the shots just yet.” 

you breath hitched at the first rush of the sting, at the command of his voice. you bit your lip to keep another bratty remark to yourself—but failed to hide the way your hips rolled back against him. 

he huffed before he moved—hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady, turning you just enough to guide you back against the counter before he sank down. 

slowly.

until sunghoon was on his knees behind you, eye level with the curve of your ass, one palm smoothing over the spot he’d just smacked. “i’ll tell you what to do,” he murmured, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your jeans. he didn’t ask; just straight up unbuttoned them with a quick flick of his slender fingers and tugged everything down in one drag—

jeans and panties together—until they pooled at your knees. 

“mmmh,” cool air hit your skin, but only for a second before his warm hands were back on your asscheeks, spreading them apart from behind. “hold still, pretty girl,” he muttered—and just like that—

his mouth was on your cunt. 

no teasing and no hesitation—just confidence dripping down like your juices down your thighs. sunghoon licked a long, flat stripe up your centre, groaning low at the taste that he’d been starving for. “ungh—oh gosh,” you gasped, knees buckling on his face as you gripped the counter harder, shaky moans slipping out.

sunghoon’s tongue circled your clit from behind—once, twice—sucking the little pea in pressure that made your hips jerk back against his face. “fuckin’ hell, so sweet,” he rasped. his strong arm banded across your lower tummy, locking you in place—on his handsome face, sharp nose digging between your ass.

he didn’t let you move or shift as much as he slipped his tongue inside your cunt—sliding back up, in and out, flicking, and swirling around inside. “s—sunghoon, sunghoon,” you moaned softly, eyes fluttering. 

wet sounds filled up his kitchen, filthy and so fucking obscenely loud—his mouth working you open, lips sealing like he’s making out with your pussy lips now before it moved around your clit again and again, sucking until your thighs trembled.

he sucked and tugged the pea towards him. 

it’s something you’ve never, not in the years of your life, ever experienced. every time you tried to push back down for more, sunghoon only tightened his hold and slowed down like he’s telling you that you’re not in charge here. 

then, he dragged his tongue in lazy, torturous strokes until you whined, before speeding up suddenly—fast with relentless flicks that had you gasping his name. “your tongue feels s’good, oh fuck,” 

his free hand came up between your legs, two fingers sliding into you without warning, stretching you tight cunt and curling deep and stroking in time with his tongue. the combo wrecked you badly—your head dropped forward, forehead pressing to the cool counter as your toe curled inwards on itself.

“w—what—?! oh, fuck, sunghoon—” 

he hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks in your tummy, and doubled down. “gotta stretch you out before i give you the real thing,” he murmured against your wet cunt, sucking hard, fingers thrusting faster, pressing on that spongy spot inside. 

your legs shook as you began subtly riding on his two fingers as he flicked your clit with the tip of his tongue. “‘m cumming, wanna cum, cum—,” you whined adorably, chest heaving as pleasure swelled up in your gut.

“mmhm—?” sunghoon hummed teasingly, you felt the corner of his lips twitched. you tightened around his fingers—walls spasming around his digits. sunghoon curled his fingers inside and traced his name against your walls. 

he’s so fucking filthy, it’s disgustingly hot.

an ecstasy tidal wave quickly rushed over you—and before you knew it, your walls pulsated before you came right on his fingers and tongue, against his face. “oh fuck—!” you cried out sharply, curling your hands into fists as you hung your head low.

every limbs of yours felt like jelly, your body twitched—clenching around him as he licked you through every pulse, gulping down your juices and squirt that trailed down your inner thighs. 

“fuck, you’re so sweet, so good,” he moaned, slowly pulling his fingers out that left you empty almost instantly, pussy squeezing the thin air. your thighs trembled in pleasure as sunghoon spread your asscheeks with his wet fingers, pressing one last slow, deliberate long lick from your sensitive clit up to your entrance. 

“good girl,” he whispered, hands smoothed up your sides before rising behind you. 

“now… about that ride you wanted…”

you turned in his arms, still buzzing, still twitching, legs unsteady. sunghoon’s eyes were swimming with lust, lips slick and swollen from you. the hard line of him pressed against your hip through his jeans—impossible to ignore. 

a slow, wicked smile tugged at your mouth as you sank down now—your turn, mirroring the way he’d just knelt for you—until you were on your knees in front of him. 

sunghoon’s breath hitched, hand automatically coming up to lift the brim of his hat to look at your face. you looked up at him from under your curled lashes, palms sliding up his thighs, feeling his cock tense and twitch under denim. 

“fair’s fair, cowboy,”

he exhaled a rough laugh, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “you don’t have to—”

but you were already popping the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down slow enough to make him groan—preparing himself. “don’t have to what?” you asked innocently, tugging everything down just enough, and his—

his cock sprang free—thick, heavy, flicked dark and already leaking precum at the tip. 

your eyes widened and your breath hitched, his cock throbbed right in front of your eyes—it casted shadow over your face. your lips parted, a gasp escaped your lips.

sunghoon was fucking big—no, huge—the biggest you’ve ever seen before. 

you could tell it was painful for him from the way his cock twitched in neediness, a low hiss escaped from his lips. “shit… surprised?” 

you wet your lips before swallowing the lump in your throat. there was… almost no way it’d fit in your mouth, much less your pussy. but you wrapped your hands around him—even with both hands, it still wasn’t enough to hold his whole cock—stroking once, twice, feeling him throb in your grip.

sunghoon’s head tipped back slightly, jaw clenched, but his eyes stayed locked on you. 

you continued jerking him off in your hands, dragging every skin, feeling every veins, milking more of his precum that trailed on the side of your hands. “i thought only horses have big cocks…” you murmured before leaning in—tongue flicking out to taste the bead at the head, salty and warm—before taking him into your mouth in one slow slide.

“but i guess their owners have too…?” 

“fuck—” the curse tore out of him, low and husky, fingers tightening at your hair as his hat tipped to the side a little. he didn’t push, just holding as you took him in deeper, lips stretching around him. 

you only managed to take half of his cock inside your mouth before pulling back almost all the way, tongue swirling around the tip, then took him again, deeper this time, cheeks hollowing. sunghoon tasted manly—sweaty, but not the nasty kind. just… a man. 

his hips twitched, but he let you set the pace yourself. you worked him slow at first—wet, messy suckings, hand twisting in strokes at the base at the same time as your mouth—then faster, taking him in as far as you could until the tip hit your uvula, and your eyes watered.

“yn, fuck,” he groaned your name. your mouth was warm and wet, like entering a slimy, hot pond, cock totally engulfed in your saliva. it felt heavenly. you were disheveled and messy—but still so hot. glossy and smudged lipstick over your lips, leaving a pink ring mark around his cock with your flushed cheeks.

every time you pulled off to breathe, you looked up—watching his handsome face, thick brown furrowing, lips parted before his canines dragged the bottom lip, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he fought not to thrust and fuck your mouth.

you hummed around him, the vibration sending sparks up his cock that made it twitch and he cursed again, “just like that,” he murmured.

you took him inside your mouth again, this time picking up your speed and pace in sucking him—the tip hitting the back of your throat, causing you to gag and roll your eyes behind. 

his veins glided along your wet tongue, sunghoon squeezed his eyes shut as wet, clicky sounds filled the space. sunghoon falls into his temptation and thrusts his hips upward, hitch in his breath as you deepthroat him. 

“shit, ‘m cummin, fuck,” 

his whole body went rigid, hips jerking shallowly before spilling hot down your throat, pulse after pulse. your eyes widened but didn’t pull away, taking it all. contrasting from how soft you hummed around him while he shuddered through it, curses and your name tumbling from his lips.

your throat worked in gulps as you swallowed his milk down, hands steadying his thighs. sunghoon sagged back against the counter, chest heaving as you eased off low—lips sliding along his cock until he slipped free with a pop.

a thin strand of cum and spit connected you before breaking.

“hah… hngh,” you looked up at him, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb before slipping it inside your mouth to lick it clean, a smug little smile tugging at your messy lips. sunghoon stared down at you, breathing ragged, furrowing. 

“jesus fuckin’ christ,” he muttered, running his hand down his face before reaching down to haul you up by your arms until you were pressed against him, foreheads touching. “you’re g’nna kill me.”

then he kissed you—deep, filthy—combining both the taste of him and you on your tongue and groaning into it. his hands slid down to grip your thighs, turning and lifting you easily onto the counter. 

“my turn again,” he murmured, hiking up your—his—shirt until it bunched at your waist. you were fully exposed to him from the hips down. “i ain’t stoppin’, so don’t tell me to.”

you only whimpered in response as sunghoon’s palm splayed across your lower stomach, holding you while the other hand wrapped around his cock, guiding himself to your entrance. the head of his cock scooped your slickness.

sunghoon teased you by slipping in just the head, stretching you and barely enough to evoke a soft gasp from your lips. from behind, he smirked at your reaction, looking down at how your slick hung down from his cock. 

“easy now,” he muttered, hissing as finally pushed in slow. the stretch was immediate though, thick and burning in the best way possible. you gasped aloud, head falling forward, fingers clawing at the granite as he sank deeper—inch by inch—until he almost bottomed out with a low, guttural groan against your neck.

“oh my fuckin’ god, sunghoon,” you cried out, feeling him in your stomach. “shit, you’re perfect,” he rasped, pulling back almost all the way before snapping his hips forward, hard—burying all his inches inside you. the slap of skin echoed in the kitchen as your body jolted forward with the force, the hat you’re wearing tipped sideways.

he set a relentless, needy pace from the start—deep and punishing thrusts that had you moaning and crying with every slam, his hand on your stomach pressed down his bulging cock through your flesh, feeling the skin swelling.

his other hand gripped your hip, steadying you while his fingers dug hard enough to bruise, pulling you back to meet every roll of his hips. “so goddamn tight,” he hissed, teeth grazing your shoulder. 

“takin’ me like you’re made for me.”

every thrust only dragged your walls, the head slamming and bullying that soft spot inside you, forming a wave of pleasure that coiled tighter and tighter until you’re left trembling against the counter. your breath hitched, babbling his name.

“more—more, more, more,” you whined. sunghoon didn’t let you up, his fingers moved down to work on your clit, rolling and rubbing his middle finger on that little pea as his hips snapped forward without mercy. 

sunghoon’s so horny it’s fucking crazy—he fucked into you deep and hard, every thrust punching air from your lungs. sweat beaded along his neck, rolled down his collarbone; dark hair stuck to his forehead—barely leashed hunger. 

he was always like this when he finally snapped—weeks, sometimes months, of nothing but endless ranch work and journey, early mornings, late nights, calloused hands busy with fences and horses and hay to even think about getting laid. 

there’s almost no time for bars, patience for games (although he liked to indulge himself in dart games), just pure, pent up need stacking higher and higher. 

so when you showed up—pretty, stranded, looking at him with those wide, pleading eyes, spilling lemonade down your shirt and ending up in his clothes and hat, space, hands…

 a girl like you, soft and city–sweet and practically begging to be taught how the town works, walking straight into his world—he couldn’t have stopped if he tried. he didn’t want to stop. 

a guttural sound tore out of him when you tightened, fingers rubbing your clit harder, pressing down. “fuck—take it,” he rasped. “take every fuckin’ inch,” 

you gasped, blossoming with excitement and arousal. your pleasure spills out in trembling moans, breathy cries mixing with the echo of your skin slapping together. “fuck, fuck, it feels so good, hoonie,” 

his eyes twitched before he delivered a smack against your asscheeck, the flesh jiggling before he quickly smoothed it down with his hand. “good,” he panted, clamping his teeth down on your shoulder. the sound of his balls slapping against your cunt reverberated through the kitchen. 

“wanna cum, a—again, please,” you pleaded, lips parting as you hung your head down. his cock was able to delve deeper from this position of your leg on the countertop, spreading your thighs further. “hm—? cummin’ again already?” sunghoon chuckled softly, slamming and bucking his hips up that the tip slammed against your cervix.

you nodded eagerly, whimpering. you’re so overstimulated—couldn’t think straight at the way your pussy spasmed around his throbbing length. “please, please i wanna cum real bad,” you whined, pleading. 

sunghoon dragged his nails and held your hips, his cock dragged against your velvety walls. “show me,” his words broke apart, the rhythm of his hips frantic and desperate. he wasn’t as close to cumming, and he wished to keep fucking you—but he supposed city girls didn’t have a lot of stamina. 

“cum on my fuckin’ cock, baby,”

you cursed out loud as a gush of warm liquid squirted out and down on your thighs—and his cock totally engulfed him warm and wet. he was buried so deep inside you, not moving as much to allow you to steady yourself. 

the orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami—overwhelmingly relentless. your vision whited out at the edges, walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses, milking him, pulling him deeper like your body refused to let go. 

heat bloomed low in your tummy and spread in shocks as your body twitched, slumping on the counter. “oh gosh—oh my gosh,” you whimpered, thighs trembling, breath sharp, desperate gasps.

“fuck—look at you,” sunghoon rasped, fingers digging into your hips as he thrust through your climax, chasing his own release in the tight, slick grip—still not pulling out. “soakin’ me like that…” 

you felt vulnerable and claimed—there was no fucking way any other men can ever come close to this—sunghoon, his demeanour, his energy, his cock—ever again. not your boyfriend, not any boys anywhere. 

the wet mess between your legs proof of how thoroughly he done fucked you up.

“hngh—ah, i…” your words trailed off as you panted, pussy twitching around his cock… you stayed like that for a long moment—bent over his counter, wearing his shirt, his hat—his chest heaving against your back. 

sunghoon caressed the globe of your asscheek, spreading to see his wet cock and the way your squirt dripped down on his tiles. “you what?”

you shook your head, biting your bottom lip to stifle another whimper, then turned your head just enough to meet his gaze—eyes glassy, cheek adorably flushed, with that little bratty smile.

“i still haven’t ridden the cowboy…” 

sunghoon’s eyes widened for a fraction before a grin spread across his face.

“oh darlin’,” he chuckled softly. “you’re takin’ the reins.”

——

“oh fuck—!”

the sound tore out of you, high and whimpery as sunghoon licked straight up between your pussy lips one long stroke. no teasing this time—just pure filth and hunger. his tongue plunged inside you, swirling and thrusting back and forth inside your cunt, lips sealing around to suck hard.

your hands flew to the wooden headboard for balance, gripping the wood, hips rocking instinctively against his handsome face. the tip of his nose brushed your clit every time you moved. 

sunghoon groaned into you, the vibration going up your cunt. his hand held your hips from falling, the other wrapped around his throbbing cock, jerking off the taste of your cunt and the sound of your moans. 

wet sounds filled this room now, his nose brushing your clit as he devoured you from below. 

“hoonie—fuuuckkkk,” you whimpered, head falling back as you quickly held the hat on your head. sunghoon insisted—begged—you keep it on your head. said it’s fuckin’ hot, said you’re—

his.

sunghoon answered by clamping his teeth down on your flesh, not hard that it’s painful, but enough for you to feel the pressure and his canines. his one hand left your hip to reach up and palm your tits, thumb flicking the nipple while he sucked your clit relentless. 

there’s no way you could last much longer. not like this—not with him eating and tongue–fucking you like a straved man. 

and from the way his hips rolled up in his grip, cock leaking against his hand—he was loving every second of it. 

“hoonie, here it is’, oh jesus,” your voice broke as you grind harder. the orgasm hit like a bungee—your whole body tensed as your thighs trembled and kept his head locked between you as you came hard down on his face. 

a rush of warmth flooded out of you again, coating his mouth, chin, and sunghoon licked you clean, drinking your liquid down. your legs gave out completely and you sagged forward against the headboard, panting, shaking, the aftershocks rippling through you as he gentled his tongue in soothing licks to ease you.

slowly, sunghoon lifted you off him—guiding you down to straddle on his hips again. his face was slick with you, lips red and swollen, eyes dark and triumphant as he looked at you—hair a mess, tipped hat, chest heaving. 

your nipples perked up.

“fuck,” he rasped, cupping your tits. “you taste even better the second time.”

you collapsed forward onto his chest, feeling his cock hard and hot against your stomach. 

sunghoon wrapped his arms around you, one hand stroking your back, the other tangling in your hair. “ready to be a cowgirl, babe?” he murmured against your temple, hips rolling up once—his cock glided against your tummy. “or you need another minute?” he teased.

you whimpered and shook your head, already shifting your hips and straightening your spine. you placed your hands on his toned chest, biting your lip. 

“no more minutes,” you murmured, flicking your thumbs over his nipples. “i want my cowboy now.”

he grinned, rolling his eyes playfully. 

“then take him.” 

you didn’t need to be told twice.

you sank down slowly at first—teasing the head along your folds, coating, moving your hips and drawing it out until his hands gripped your hips. silent warning to not tease him—he ain’t the strongest soldier here.

you giggled softly before taking him in one smooth drop, all the way to the hilt.

“ngh—!” the stretch burned perfectly, filling and stretching you up that you both groaned at the same time at the pleasure. your head tipped back slightly, his fingers digging into the flesh. sunghoon was thick, hot, throbbing inside and you felt every inch as you adjusted, walls fluttering around him.

you were pretty, tight, warm—wrapping around him nicely.

“fuck,” he hissed, eyes squeezing shut before he opened them again, watching the lewd expression on your face. “juuust like that… ride me, pretty cowgirl,” 

you began—rolling your hips in deep, lazy circles, grinding down so he hit every spot inside on every pass. your hands braced on his chest, nails dragging lightly over his skin as you lifted yourself and sank back down.

like a cowgirl—sunghoon let you lead for a while; watching you through half lidded eyes, one hand slipping up to play with your tits, thumb teasing your nipple in the same breath as your movements. the other stayed on your hip, guiding but not controlling. 

he lets you take what you want.

but that only lasted a while.

you started moving faster, riding, hoping (more like a bunny, than a cowgirl)—tits bouncing so lewdly, pitchy little ah, ah ah’s moans escaping your lips. the slap of skin got louder, his cock disappeared as quick as he saw it.

sunghoon couldn’t stay still anymore.

his hips snapped up to meet you halfway, driving deeper, harder, making your cries louder as pleasure spiked suddenly. 

“that’s it,” his voice wrecked, sitting up suddenly so you were chest to chest, his hands on your hips as he lifted you up and down on his cock, pulling you down harder onto every thrust. 

“fuckin’ ride me just like that—use me,”

you clung to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, moving together in a frantic rhythm. your sweat dripped down on his skin as his did too, sunghoon’s mouth found your neck where he sucked marks into your skin as you clenched tighter. 

“hoonie, hoonie, so good, feels s’good,” you whimpered, holding his hat on your head with one hand, the other wrapped around his neck.

“come on,” he chuckled low and filthy against your throat, your head tipped back. one of his hands palmed your tits, pinching your perky bud. “keep ridin’ me like that. fuck—takin’ my cock so good. you’re made for this ranch—made for me,”

you nodded, his balls slapping the curve of your ass as you go—giggling—just mind fucked over his cock. 

“love it, don’t cha?” he kept going with his filthy talks, breath hot against your skin. “love bouncin’ on a cowboy you just met, creamin’ all over him while your little guy’s waitin’ somewhere,” sunghoon hummed, lips grazing the slope of your shoulder. 

“bet he’s never fucked you this good—never made this pussy cream so many times in one evening.”

you moaned louder, clenching at his voice and words. he grinned against your neck, thrusting up harder to meet you. 

“say it,” he rasped, rolling your nipple slow and mean between his fingerpads. “tell me how good you’re gettin’ it.”

“hoonie—” you whined, walls fluttering wildly. 

“say it,” he coaxed, hands dropping to grip your ass, guiding you faster, deeper. “tell me whose cock you’re gonna be thinkin’ about from now on,”

you were too far gone to care—pleasure coiling tight and how low in your tummy. “yours,” you gasped, hat tilting crooked as you slammed down faster. “only yours—hoonie, fuck—only you, wanna be yours,” 

sunghoon’s cock twitched. “that’s my girl,” he praised, voice dripping sin, hips snapping. “cream this cock again. milk me—let me feel that pretty pussy.”

and with his mouth on your collarbone, fingers twisting your nipple, his thick cock dragging your velvety walls—you came.

your whole body seized—back arching, a broken cry tearing from your throat. another rush of warmth flooded out of you, soaking where you joined, dripping down his length and onto his thighs. the fourth orgasm rolled through you, thighs shaking. 

sunghoon groaned as well, holding you tight but he didn’t follow you over the edge—not yet. the night is still young, after all. his cock throbbed inside, impossibly harder, slick with release, but he gritted his teeth, letting you ride the aftershocks while he stayed buried. 

“hngh—i—hah,” you slumped forward, panting against his chest, hat slipping sideways. sunghoon caught it and settled it back on your head. “came so pretty for me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“but i’m not done with you yet.”

he didn’t give you much time to recover before his arms hooked under your knees and he flipped you onto your back. the air left your lungs as your body bounced lightly on his mattress. “hm—?” 

sunghoon folded you in half, knees pushed to your shoulders, hips tilted up—completely open, bare, exposed, and pinned beneath him in a deep, filthy—

mating press.

the hat finally tumbled off your head and onto the pillow. you barely noticed before sunghoon picked it up and wore it himself.

sunghoon loomed over you, dark hair falling into his eyes, cock still rock–hard and wet as he nudged back inside in a slow thrust. the new angle dragged him deeper than before—stretching you wide, pressing and making your eyes roll back from pleasure. 

“fuck… look at ya,” he chuckled, hips rolling slow to let you feel every thick inch. “takin’ me so deep… pussy made for me, wasn’t it?”

you could only nod and whimper, looking up at him with doe, glassy eyes and swollen lips from clamping down. you looked so fucking feastible like this—body filled with his lovebites, nipples perky and red from pinching, your sweaty and glossy skin—

so perfect.

sunghoon only meant to help a poor stranded girl with her broke down car, he swore—but he supposed ending the day with a girl didn’t sound so bad.

he began moving—long, solid hard strokes that punched the air from your lungs each time he pulled up. the position left you no room to move, no escape from the overwhelming fullness, every thrust driving him against your g–spot. 

sweat dripped down from his brow onto your chest—sunghoon crashed his lips against yours in open mouthed kisses with tongue involved. “tell me again,” he snapped his hips to draw a cry out of you. “who’s makin’ you feel this good?”

“you—hoonie, only you—,” the words slipped out rushly. sunghoon chuckled, the headboard knocked against the wall from the way your folded body rocked with every thrust, breasts bouncing. sunghoon gripped the backs of your thighs to keep you spread wide and pinned.

“gonna ruin you for anyone else,” he rasped, eyes locked on where you joined—his cock disappeared inside you over and over. “everytime you close your eyes, you’re g’nna remember how deep i got, how hard i fucked you, how many times i made this tight pussy come.”

your heart thumped, tummy’s doing cartwheels at his words. “yes! please, please, please—’m cumming!” you gasped, back arching as you dragged your nails down his shoulders. sunghoon’s relentless thrusts hitting your soft spot without mercy. 

the coil snapped again—you came with a cry of his name, walls clamping down around him in tight, waves, another nth gush of warmth soaking you both as you whole body shook helplessly in his hold.

“fuck,” sunghoon cursed filthy, fucking you turned erratic as he chased his own high. a few more deep, brutal strokes and burying himself to the hilt—sunghoon spilled inside of you, pulsing hot and endless streaks of semen, hips jerking through every wave. 

he held your hips up, milking himself dry as your pussy spasmed around him, squeezing every last drop. “shit… shit…” he panted, staying pressed for a long moment as he lazily thrusted his cum inside.

both of you panted, trembling, sweat slick, and spent. your body twitched in pleasure, eyes fluttering shut as you catch your breath. slowly, carefully, sunghoon eased your legs down, letting them fall open around his hips as he pulled his cock out.

cum dribbled down your puffy, swollen cunt, messy—sliding down your folds and onto his sheets beneath you. more followed as your body slumped down.

sunghoon’s gaze dropped between your legs before back on your face—his hand gently stroking your thigh like he couldn’t stop touching you. his cowboy hat tilted crookedly on his head, casting a shadow over his eyes as he fixed it. 

you whimpered—too sensitive and overstimulated—but didn’t pry him off when he pushed his cum lazily inside just to watch you shiver. finally, sunghoon leaned down, lips brushing to exhaustedly kiss you—your lips, cheeks, and temple.

“you okay, darlin’?” he murmured, arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest as he rolled to the side. sunghoon tucked you against him, tangling your legs together. 

you nodded into his neck, fingers tracing idly. “more than okay.” you murmured, “never been better.” sunghoon huffed a hum, kissing the top of your head. 

“good,” he said simply, voice low in the dim room. “‘cause car’s definitely ain’t gettin’ fixed anytime soon,” he murmured, pulling the blanket to cover the two of you. “means ‘m keepin’ you here till mornin’. maybe longer.”

the last of the daylight had faded into deep twilight.

oh well—

your… ex boyfriend waiting somewhere could sit tight and wonder all he wanted; his plans had been bucked off the trail the moment the real cowboy rode in. 

this filly had found her herd, and she wasn’t wandering back to any old pasture soon.

you supposed some breakdowns are just detours to exactly where you’re meant to end up.

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ♡໒꒱.°⑅ @yenienha @hoonsocks @imnotyizhuo @nesquikluvr @hhoneyhan @jjongsies @s3ouln1 @hiddencavernsun @stellargolden @astelunar @somuchdard @eirlyscloud @slu33yblushlace @solonenova @jinsuus <3

warnings 𖢥⊹ ࣪ ˖ mentions of violence, blood, wounds // mild cursing // multiple kiss scenes bc jake is just so kissable whoops // slowslowburn // jakehoon bromance keeps me alive // jake pines & yearns & longs & yearns.. // concept of 'casual' dating // superhero & mcu elements & easter eggs :3 // jake is a loser but spider-man is a smooth-talker heh

°˖➴ .ᐟ 𖢥 addie ── FINALLY !!! i have finally, finally finished a full fic for the first time in literal forever and i'm actually so excited for this one bc i freaking love mcu & spiderman & jake so freaking much you guys dont understand...spidey was my first ever childhood crush i think i literally made a post abt it somewhere here on my blog ages ago...so my reaction when i got this anon request for this fic?? i cheered. ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵) ty for being patient with me and for all the words of support & encouragement & love throughout the process <333 if you've been here some time and read my other works you know i literally get myself way too indulged into the whole process,,,but i really did have so much freaking fun writing this so i really hope you guys like all 25k words of spidey!jake :3

sim jaeyun has a lot of secrets.

like the fact that he’s secretly (but not so secretly) a giant nerd and, frankly, a genius with the probable IQ of someone who can calculate pi to the 500th decimal in his head just for fun. or maybe the fact that he’s definitely smart enough to hack into the school’s database and find copies of the finals’ answer keys under ten minutes flat.

but he doesn’t. because again. sim jaeyun is a genius (and because he’s scared of getting caught. but mostly the genius thing).

sim jaeyun pours his milk before cereal. he sleeps on his stomach. he doesn’t separate his white socks from his colored ones. he’s terrified of cats. he loves rom-coms. he’s spider-man. he can’t fall asleep without his favorite build-a-bear. and he doesn’t know how to ride a bike.

but his most important secret? he has the biggest crush on you.

so big that he’d say it’s more top-secret than the fact that he uses 5-in-1 men’s soap and being the city’s web-slinging, crime-fighting, red-and-blue spandex-wearing superhero.

and in all honestly— it’s not like the latter is even that secret anymore.

because another thing about jake? he sucks at keeping secrets.

he figured this out about two weeks into accepting his new life post-radioactive-spider-bite—right around the same time he decided yeah, sure, i can totally handle having powers and a double life. and not freaking out every time he accidentally shot a web out in his sleep.

he figured this out when park sunghoon, his longtime best friend, accidentally found jake’s suit in his room. and by accidentally, we mean jake just…left it lying out. on his bed. in plain sight. because he forgot to put it away the day sunghoon came over to share his history notes.

that was the day sunghoon declared himself jake’s “guy in the chair.”

so yeah. jake sucks at keeping his spidey secret…a secret.

but his crush on you? oh yeah.

that one’s highly classified (except from sunghoon. because again—guy in the chair).

“you should probably stop staring before it gets creepy.”

jake blinks.

he stops staring at you—across the cafeteria, laughing with your friends, completely unaware of how he’s most definitely about five seconds away from writing your name in bubble letters with a pink glitter pen on his notebook cover.

he turns his head toward the voice. sunghoon, of course.

“actually, too late. it’s creepy,” sunghoon adds before casually chewing on the cafeteria pizza that’s always a little too suspiciously rubbery but no one ever questions it for their own sake.

jake sighs, his eyes going back to your figure across the busy room. “you think she’ll talk to me in chemistry today?”

sunghoon doesn’t even blink. “she has to talk to you. you guys are literally lab partners.”

“that’s different,” jake mutters, chin in his hand, eyes never leaving you once. “i mean, i could ask what her favorite color is or something…”

sunghoon stares. jaw slack. full deadpan.

“that’s a joke, right? please tell me that’s a joke. because i don’t know what funnier—the fact that you have the pick up lines of a first grader, or the fact that even i know that you know you don’t have the guts to say anything to her that’s not directly related to ionic bonding.”

jake whips his head to his best friend, the look in his eyes being nothing less than betrayed, “i so totally can!”

“jake,” sunghoon says slowly, voice lowering, “you broke the test tube in your hand last week when she asked what your weekend plans were.” a pause. “then you ran out of the room. without saying anything.”

jake groans. drops his head into his arms on the table. “okay, i specifically remember saying we would never bring that up ever again.”

sunghoon chuckles, hands raised, “just saying.”

a brief silence falls over the table as jake lifts his head up in despair. he goes back to probably-definitely-not-so-subtly watching you from across the cafeteria.

“you should just…y’know—” sunghoon nudges jake’s side. “—get your lil buddy to help you out.”

jake freezes. turns to his best friend in horror, “my…lil what now?”

sunghoon’s palm smacks the side of jake’s head before his voice drops to a whisper, “your alter ego, idiot.”

jake rubs the side of his head, staring at the way sunghoon is casually sitting there like this is a perfectly reasonable suggestion.

“you heard me,” sunghoon continues when jake makes no sign of responding, the look on his face enough to tell sunghoon he thinks he’s probably borderline psychotic. “go up to her as spider-man. be mysterious. say something cool. i bet she’ll be super impressed and instantly fall in love with you.”

“that is literally the worst idea you probably could’ve ever thought of.”

“is it?” sunghoon shrugs, smug as he leans back in his chair. “because seeing as your track record so far is either a) breaking glass around her, or b)…actually, no. yeah, that’s it. that’s all i got. your track record sucks, bro.”

jake groans for the nth time and lets his head thunk onto the table this time with a soft clunk. “i hate it here.”

“you’re not even going to consider it?”

jake lifts his head just enough to glare his eyes at sunghoon, “do you hear yourself? you want me to flirt with her…while wearing spandex. in full mask. while i talk like this—” his voice drops to the deeper, definitely-not-as-disguising-as-he-thinks-it-is tone he uses while saving the city at night. “‘hey. i know i’m wanted by, like, a hundred bad people out there, but also, what’s your favorite color?’”

sunghoon grins. “add a little web trick and shoulder touch and boom—she’s yours.”

jake deadpans at him, his voice returning to normal, “do you even like me? are we even friends?”

sunghoon shrugs. pops a fry in his mouth. thinks for a second. “you’re entertaining.”

jake groans again. slumps dramatically into his seat, staring at the too-bright fluorescent lights in the ceiling above him. “i can’t flirt as spider-man me,” he mutters. “that sounds like a nightmare. i can’t even talk to her as me me.”

“duh. that’s kinda the entire point.”

“and then what, huh?” jake dramatically throws his hands up. “i take her on a date while web-swinging through the city? and if i drop her?”

“i dunno,” sunghoon takes another unbothered bite of his rubber pizza. “use two webs? you’re the one with the sticky powers, i don’t know it works!”

jake lets out an exasperated sound.

sunghoon pats his back, attempting to be the supportive friend he is. “face it. it’s the only way she’s ever gonna know you’re slightly even remotely cool and do anything more than read books on like…i don’t know—how physics makes the earth spin or something.”

jake pouts. “i am cool!” “you own a build-a-bear named woofy.” “he’s a comfort object!” “exactly. that’s why spider-man has to take the wheel from now on.”

jake stares at sunghoon, shakes his head, and starts packing up his completely untouched lunch.

“whatever. i’m going to chemistry,” he mutters, swinging his backpack around his shoulder with a huff, despite the fact that class doesn’t start for another twenty minutes.

and it’s not like he needs to get to class early to ask the teacher questions or get extra help on the homework or anything normal and productive like that—don’t be ridiculous.

because here’s the thing. jake getting to class early means one very important thing: he gets to his seat—the one next to yours—before you do.

which means you have to acknowledge him first. which is crucial.

because if the roles were reversed—jake does not trust himself to be able to acknowledge you first and say hi without choking on his own air or probably knocking over a glass beaker that wasn’t there before but would somehow magically appear because that’s just jake’s luck in the process.

regardless, it works. the system works. he’s perfected it by now. because it’s about half way through the school year and without fail, every time you walk into class and jake’s already sitting there—busy pretending like he’s reading some article on his laptop when in reality his senses are going haywire over being overwhelmed by your entire presence that he already felt from down the hallway—you always greet him first with the same airy, cheery tone in your voice, bright smile, hair flowing, perfume floating in the air—

"hi jake!"

jake's soul ascends.

he looks up (too fast), catches himself (too obvious), and tries to play it cool with a little nod and smile that definitely looks a little more like a grimace (too tragic).

"hey." nailed it.

you smile casually as you plop your backpack down on the lab table you share with him and start pulling out your notebooks for the day. and jake just stares ahead like a soldier at war. his hands are sweating. his feet are bouncing. his entire nervous system is screaming at him to say something, anything.

and as if the universe decided to play a casually cruel trick on him—

"...so what's your favorite color?" "so, any fun weekend plans?"

both your voices overlap. you both freeze. turn to each other at the same time. blink.

"oh—" "—sorry, you go—" "no, you first—" "okay—wait—i, i forgot—"

silence. you hold back a smile. jake wishes to melt into the earth and hopes he never reincarnates.

"i was just gonna ask," you say, a small smile still playing on your lips that it makes jake's brain actively start doing 360s, "if you're doing anything this weekend."

jake short-circuits.

say something. be mysterious. be cool. be normal. channel spider-man. but maybe...not spider-man when you talk to him. spider-man when he talks to everyone else. "i'm...uh." he clears his throat. tries again. "probably just, y'know. working."

you tilt your head, eyes sparkling with curiosity, "working?"

"yeah," jake nods, too quickly for his own liking, then stops himself. "like—side gig."

if a side gig came with at least two new bruised ribs some nights and meant saving a city from criminals, but yeah, okay. sure. side gig.

your brows raise. "that's cool! what do you do?"

jake freezes. panics. what does he do.

he can't say spider-man.

he also can't say he has the molecular build of an eight-limbed arthropod and can stick onto walls with only his bare fingers.

and he definitely can't say i spend 70% of my free time thinking about you and the other 30% swinging off buildings.

"...delivery." he says it like he's mysterious. cool. totally normal.

you blink. as if waiting, as if expecting him to elaborate.

he blinks back at you.

"delivering...what?"

"...pizza."

(and he did once deliver a stolen pizza order back to its rightful owner after webbing the thief to a lamppost. that totally counts.)

"oh," you nod slowly, giving him a genuine smile. "that sounds fun!"

jake gives a thumbs up. mentally smacks himself in the face repeatedly. but then, his brain suddenly catches up to the situation at hand and before he can stop himself, he blurts—

"wait—uh, why do you ask?"

and then you break eye contact, glancing down at your notebook, and jake pretends not to notice your fingers suddenly fidgeting with one of your many too-colorful pens.

"well," you start, and jake is trying his very, very best to ignore the fact that his senses can pick up on your heart beat. "we've got the final coming up next week, and i don't know—you always seem like you know what you're doing in class, so—"

she thinks im smart? oh my god. she notices me? even when i’m not breaking glass? oh my god oh my god oh my—

"—i was hoping maybe we could study together?" you look up at him again, your eyes wide. "or go over the study guide one last time or something. but it's totally fine if you're busy working! and that makes sense, you probably don't even need to study, you're, like, uber smart and stuff, so—"

"no."

your words come to a halt and your mouth is left slack.

jake smacks himself. mentally. again. and again.

"...oh, um—"

jake coughs suddenly, a little too loud, a little too forced. "sorry! i mean—no...no, i'm not busy. yes, i'm down. down. to study. together. yeah."

he takes note in the way your shoulders slightly relax and the way you release a breath of what sounds like relief and amusement at the same time.

then, a soft smile makes its way to your face again, "okay! okay, cool!"

jake doesn't know if he should scream, sob, or launch himself into the sun.

he smiles back. "cool."

there's a pause.

"wait—but what about work?" your head tilts slightly, a soft crease forming between your brows.

shit.

"oh. right," jake mutters, clearing his throat as his hand casually brushes through his hair as if he thought this one through (he, in fact, did not).

quick, lie—wait, no. casual lie. lying is not cool. don't lie to the girl you like. you're simply protecting her. be mysterious. be cool. be normal.

"i'm...sure the pizzas will be okay for a night! yeah. they have flexibility. my job, i mean. not the pizzas. my manager's chill."

your smile brightens at his answer and jake decides launching himself into the sun is dramatic. in fact, he thinks the sun came out today just for him.

"okay, yay!" you're beaming. "sounds like a plan."

jake also thinks his heart just tripped over itself.

"here, let me—" you rip off a corner of your notebook and start scribbling something down with one of your pens before sliding the slip of paper over to his side of the table, "—give you my number and you let me know when and where works best, yeah?"

and jake is simply a guy. a guy entirely entranced.

it's the way you lean a little closer to the desk, tongue peeking out at the corner of your mouth in concentration. the way your hair shifts when you tilt your head, the gentle swish of it brushing over your shoulder. the way your bracelets softly clink together when your hands move. the way you smoothly push the small slip of paper with your number and name signed with a small smiley face towards him like it's no big deal.

jake stares at the paper like all those nights of manifesting finally paid off and this small slip of notebook paper is first proof that a manifestation journal really does work.

your name. your number. a tiny smile doodled next to it.

it's the cutest thing he's ever seen.

he looks at the note. then at you. then back at the note.

how did this happen. what did he say? was it the pizza lie? no, it couldn't have been the pizza lie.

"cool," jake eventually says, but he realizes he's said cool one too many times and it comes out so high-pitched, he's genuinely unsure if he said it out loud or just squeaked like a mouse.

and you just simply smile back at him, soft and sweet and light, and jake decides to revisit the potential idea of self launching into orbit.

and when the teacher enters the classroom, immediately starting the lecture, jake turns back to the front of the class, trying his very best to focus—

"pink."

it comes out as a low and soft whisper. jake's head jerks slightly towards you, and you're leaning in, just slightly enough for your shoulder to brush against his.

"...i—what?"

you smile, your eyes crinkled at their corners as you look at him, "my favorite color. it's pink."

then, you turn back to the whiteboard, already scribbling down your notes like you didn't just change the entire trajectory of jake's future.

jake doesn't move. jake, in fact, doesn't hear a single word of whatever the teacher is saying about the synthesis and characterization of something-something-carbene-molecular-something.

all he knows is:

he's seeing you this weekend.

your favorite color is pink.

and tucked into the back of his phone is now a piece of corner notebook paper with your number on it.

and, of course, it's written in pink.

jake doesn’t know what he’s going to tell sunghoon about first—the fact that the favorite color pick-up line potentially worked, or that he has an actual study date with y–

wait.

“do you think it’s a study date?” jake’s voice is muffled by a peanut butter protein bar, his legs dangling off the edge of some random apartment building he deemed clean from bird poop to sit on.

there’s a long beat of silence from the other end of his phone that’s perched beside him on speaker, before sunghoon finally answers.

“i think it’s your chemistry lab partner…who needs to study for an exam…with her super genius bench partner,” sunghoon pauses. “but yeah. it’s definitely also a study date.

jake fist-pumps the air. “right?! that’s what i’m saying!” he leans back on one of his palms, staring down at the blur of streetlights and car headlights below, watching the tiny dots of normal people go about their normal people lives after their normal people days.

“god, i’m gonna say something dumb. i always say something dumb. i’m gonna probably tell her my favorite element is, like, carbon, or something. that’s not even a fun one,” jake sighs as he watches the sun slowly set along the skyline in front of him.

there’s a long, suffering sigh from the phone. “please, for the love of God and everything He created, do not tell her what your favorite element is.”

jake frowns, even though he knows sunghoon can’t see it. “you don’t think it’s charming?”

“remember what happened in the sixth grade when that girl asked for a pencil and you gave her an entire lecture on valence electrons and then she never spoke to you ever again?”

jake makes a face. “okay, but she didn’t specify what kind of lead she needed—”

“just…be normal,” sunghoon cuts in. “be jake.”

jake goes quiet. because that’s just the problem, isn’t it? because jake isn’t normal.

“normal” and “jake” haven’t belonged in the same sentence since he woke up one random morning with super strength, freakish reflexes, and abs (not that he’s complaining about the abs. but still. he knows his two-day-a-week gym habit and occasional protein bar didn’t cause them).

normal isn’t waking up in the middle of the night because your fingers literally fused to your bed frame. normal isn’t learning how to navigate puberty while also learning how different wrist angles shoot out different types of webs. normal isn’t lying to your mom about why your laundry always smells like burnt rubber and concrete dust and weirdly enough, hot dogs.

and normal definitely isn’t sitting a hundred feet above the city at 10PM on a friday night with your best friend on speaker and your spandex suit hidden under a hoodie, trying to decide if your biggest life crisis is:

a — the rise of petty city crime or b — the way your ridiculously pretty chemistry partner smiled at you and made you question your entire being in 0.2 seconds

but when he thinks about you?

when jake’s with you—he’s just jake. no suit, no webs, no…fear of potential death. 

he feels like a regular teenage boy. the kind who worries about history finals and likes stupid memes and builds lego sets with his best friend on saturdays and has a crush on the cute girl in his chemistry class.

with you, he doesn’t feel like a science experiment. or a secret. or an accident waiting to happen.

he just feels like…jake.

“i just—dude. i didn’t even have to pull the spider-man card!” jake sits up a little, legs now swinging. “like. at all. she said i was smart! jake-smart. i didn’t need to save a cat or catch a bus or—”

“—instead,” sunghoon’s monotone voice cuts in, “you told her you deliver pizzas for fun and somehow it worked.”

“you’re the worst guy in the chair.”

“and yet, here we are. you’re still call—”

“wait” jake freezes. sits upright. his head tilts slightly. “hold on.”

something in the air hits him. his senses prick. muscles tense. tingling. sounds slow, scents sharpen. the world zooms in all at once.

“i gotta go,” jake stands up, his voice muffled by shoving the rest of his protein bar into his mouth, already slipping his mask over his head.

“duty calls,” sunghoon replies casually, like this is the third time this week (it is). “be safe!”

“love you, bye!” jake says before the hanging up and shoving his phone into his backpack and thwipping it to the rooftop wall in one motion. it’ll probably still be there later. hopefully.

on most nights, it is still right where he left it, waiting patiently after the hours of his city-saving. but right now, jake couldn’t care any less about his belongings. he’s already airborne, swinging building to building with smooth, practiced ease. he follows the tug in his chest, the sense of something being slightly off. a scuffle. somewhere just a block or two away.

and on most nights, you’re careful. you’re observant, aware. you know how to check left, right, then left again before crossing the street. you stick to the well-lit sidewalks, don’t take shortcuts, avoid the sketchy alleyways your parents used to warn you about growing up.

and you also know, deep down, that you probably shouldn’t have stayed at this library this late. but here we are.

you’re barely a block from the bus stop you just got off at when it happens. a shadow moves—quick, low, but intentional. he’s stumbling. smirking. slurring.

your stomach drops immediately.

“hey, pretty thing,” he calls out, “where you off to this late?”

“not interested,” you mumble, clutching your bag closer to your body, steps picking up faster.

“oh, come onnn,” he draws. you hear his footsteps behind you. too close now. “just a little chat—”

you turn over your shoulder just in time to see his hand land slightly on your shoulder, just where your bag strap sits.

but before you can even react—

THWIP.

it happens before you can even blink.

the guy disappears. yanked off his feet. with a yelp, he’s slammed against the nearest parked car on the street with a heavy thud, followed by a line of white, sticky substance trapping his sides.

and suddenly, another one hits his hands. then his ankles. then his chest.

until it’s all around him and he’s stuck to the car like a decal himself.

you freeze, not knowing what just happened or what the hell you’re supposed to do now. your heart is racing, your brain playing catch-up, your breathing paused.

and as you’re staring at the man-shaped cocoon, wondering if this is what finally wills you into full-blown psychosis—

a figure drops from above. with absolutely zero subtlety. and lands directly in between you and said webbed-up guy in a crouch.

dressed in red and blue. head to toe. and so much spandex.

spider-man.

“wow,” he says deadpan, turning to point at the man-turned-car-decal. “okay. that was, like, a solid ten out of ten on the creep scale. would’ve been a nine, but then you touched her. so. automatic point deduction.”

the guy groans beneath the webbing. “what the—who the hell are you?”

spider-man throws his arms up in exasperation, gesturing to himself like it’s obvious.  “spider-man, dude. the webs? the spider logo on my chest? keep up.”

he then turns to you, brushing off the imaginary dust from his hands. “you know, if i had a nickel for every time some scuffy guy tried the whole grabby in an alley thing this week, i’d have like…four nickels.”

a beat. you’re still frozen. eyes wide. jaw slack.

“which isn’t a lot. but it’s weird that it happened that many times. should probably do something about that. or i guess that’s my job.”

the man groans from behind him, squirming, “get this shit off me man—”

“shhh,” spider-man shushes him, raising a hand. “don’t speak. we’re in a delicate moment of justice here.”

then, he turns back to you, head tilting. the eyes of his mask dilate as they squint at you.

his voice softens. “hey. everything okay?”

and you’re still frozen.

because there are many things you don’t believe in. you don’t believe in narwhals. you don’t believe that tarot cards can predict your love life. you don’t believe in flushing ice down the toilet to make it snow the next day, and you probably, maybe, sometimes don’t believe in birds being government spies.

but spider-man? you didn’t know if you believed in him or not. sure, you’ve seen the headlines. heard the rumors, watched the blurry phone footage. but never with your own eyes. until now.

“uh…” you nod quickly, eyes still wide, mouth still slightly ajar. “i...yeah. thank you. for that.”

and jake tries his best to keep his cool. exhales behind the mask, trying to not completely lose it.

to not completely combust when the literal crush of his life is standing in front of him, somehow glowing even under a dim, flickering street light. to not think about the very real fact that he just saved you from whatever-he-refuses-to-think-about that he just saved you from.

so he gives a casual shrug.

“that’s what they pay me for.”

you blink. “you get paid?”

jake stills. “uh, well. no. not technically. emotionally, yes. and sometimes sweet old ladies buy me churros.”

you blink again, but this time, your lips twitch slightly. “…okay. right.”

jake clears his throat, straightening up, placing his hands on his hips all awkward again and then putting them down when he realizes he probably looks like a cheap superhero mascot like that.

this part—this part—he’s usually good at. web the creep. leave a note for the cops. call them in. that’s how it usually goes. what doesn’t usually happen is…this. saving the girl he likes. the girl who doesn’t know she’s the girl he likes. the girl who definitely doesn’t know he sits next to her in chemistry and pretends to read when she walks in.

the creep behind him groans again. jake spins around on his heels and double thwips a neat string of webs over the guy’s mouth.

“aaaaand silence,” jake mutters, nodding to himself. “look at that. instant peace. should’ve probably done that twenty seconds ago.”

he turns back around. and you’re smiling now. it’s small and slightly shaky, but it’s there. jake notices. of course jake notices.

“are you sure you’re okay?” his voice dips again, gentler now.

you nod. “yeah, i think so. seriously…thank you so much.”

and jake hesitates—heart thumping, nerves sweating, because you are literally standing in front of him and he has the mask of spider-man on right now but the confidence of jake from chemistry. but still, he manages, "get home safe, yeah? you shouldn’t be walking alone this late. city’s full of creeps and…men in spandex.”

you let out a quiet laugh. “noted.”

“cool,” jake lets out, throwing up an awkward thumbs up and he makes a mental note to stop using the word ‘cool’ and to stop using thumbs ups as a defense mechanism.

he clears his throat and takes a casual step back as you watch him, still unmoving, as if you’re still trying to convince yourself he’s real.

“alright,” jake says, pointing his hand up to the building behind you before saluting you goodbye with the other. “spider-man…away?”

he fires. latches perfectly. but the fact that he actually, out-loud, said ‘spider-man away’ gets to his head and so he doesn’t time the swing quite right and his foot hits the top of a recycling bin on the way up. and he really hopes you didn’t see it happen (you did).

he lands on the rooftop above you, immediately crouching down out of view, chest heaving as his brain catches up to his body, still processing what just happened. heart still hammering, fingers still tingling.

then, after waiting a few seconds, he peers his head carefully over the line of buildings down the street and watches your figure walk away. head down, bag hugged close, pace quicker now.

and of course, because he’s jake—and spider-man (but mostly because he’s jake)—he follows you from above. quiet, careful, out of sight. just to make sure you make it back okay.

and when you finally reach your apartment building and unlock the front door, he still waits.

waits until he sees a light flicker on in your bedroom window. waits until he sees your figure draw your curtains closed. waits until he knows you’re safe. only then does he finally exhale.

he drops onto the roof of a nearby pizza place—the one that claims they sell dollar pizza but it’s really $1.49—pulls off his mask with one hand and runs the other through his completely wrecked hair.

“jesus christ, jake,” he mutters to himself, a hand dragging down his face. “spider-man away? really?”

he shakes his head at himself, partly in shame, partly in disbelief, but mostly in shame, then stretches out his legs, groans at the ache in his biceps, and swings back towards the first rooftop where he left his backpack.

and thank god it’s still there. because once he unwebs his bag and fishes through his textbooks, unknown food wrappers, and decathlon club fliers to take out his phone with just merely 12% battery left, he clicks on your contact. stares at the blank message field. then he types.

JAKE (10:42PM) : hey! it’s jake (from chem lol) hope your night’s going okay :) also still good to meet at the cafe near school tomorrow? maybe around noon?

he stares at it. rereads it six times. changes lol to haha. then back to lol. deletes the smiley face. then the whole message. then retypes it word for word.

eventually, he hits send.

and jake, bless his heart, keeps staring at the screen. forgets it’s nearly 11PM. forgets that his mom, who thinks he’s in bed, is probably gonna check in on him any second now (and yes, jake is nearly a legal adult. but he also grew up with chronic nightmares, so. check ins are necessary at times).

but then his screen lights up. your name. a single message.

Y/N (10:43PM) : yes :)

he feels his entire body exhale. or light up on fire. he’s not sure of the difference, honestly. and jake’s also not sure how long he sits there smiling at his phone like an idiot.

he doesn’t remember swinging back home. he doesn’t remember sneaking back into his room through his fire escape. he doesn’t even remember showering and wincing at the sting of soap against his fresh cuts and scratches.

because all he’s thinking about is your text. which is probably why he also forgets to set an alarm.

so when he wakes up the next day at 11:45AM, twenty minutes away from the café he promised to meet you at in fifteen minutes, and absolutely zero minutes ready to leave his place—he’s in full blown panic.

“oh crap, crap—ow, damn it—crap,” he’s mutters, runs into a chair, accidentally smears toothpaste on his hoodie sleeve, and grabs the first protein bar he sees—cookies & creme this time—before sprinting out the door. but not before kissing his mom on the cheek goodbye.

his hair is still damp. his backpack is half-zipped. he’s 85% sure he applied deodorant twice and toothpaste once. or maybe the other way around.

and by the time he barges into the corner café that sells overpriced matcha lattes with the grainy oat milk but has good lighting and free wifi and outlets to use so it’s deemed a good study spot anyways, he immediately zeroes in on you at the small corner table—pen in hand, sipping from a cup casually and not at all aware that your mere existence and the way the little beam of sunlight shining through the café windows reflecting on you is already sending his sleep deprived state into overdrive.

he makes—or more like stumbles—his way over, just in time for you to glance up and catch his eye.

“hey!” you smile, so warm and relaxed that it almost makes jake forget he sprinted over in mismatched socks. “you made it.”

“yeah—sorry,” jake exhales, pulling out the seat across from you and placing his stuff down. “i stayed up late, forgot to set an alarm, then couldn’t find matching socks, i had this blue one on and then a red—“

jake stops himself. looks at you. gives you a sheepish smile. “sorry. you don’t need to hear about the whole sock saga.”

you giggle as you look up at him, “what a shame, i was kinda invested to see where that was going.”

jake tries not to float.

“and it’s fine, jake. really. if it makes you feel any better, you’re only like twelve minutes late.”

jake lets out a nervous chuckle as he slides into the seat across from you, “thanks. i’m usually only, like, ten minutes late, so this is all new to me. including the study date part.”

jake freezes. your eyebrow quirks. why did he say that. why. did. he. say. that.

a small smile tugs at your lips, “study date?”

jake’s eyes are frozen and blown wide as he stares at you in horror from across the table, stumbling over his own words, “i mean. i—no, not a date! unless…unless you wanted it to be a date, which is fine! not just fine! i mean, it’s fine if you wanted—i just assumed that—well sorry, i shouldn’t have assumed—that would be non-consensual and i’m really big on, like, mutual respect and consent and—”

he stops.

jake needs to stop. he should stop talking about consent before he even got to ask you how your morning’s been like a regular human being does.

your stare lingers for a beat longer before you break into laughter, hand flying to your mouth, the other holding onto the table in front of you to support yourself as you snort. “jake.”

jake sinks slightly in his seat. wishes he was sinking into the earth. “yeah?”

your laughter softens into something gentler, and you look up at him, sure and simple and steady. “it’s okay. let’s call it that. a study date.”

you know how your laptop sometimes freezes because it’s firing a million tasks at once and then the fan starts whirring violently before the entire thing decides to just shut off and it has to take a few minutes to recover before rebooting itself back up to be able to fully function again?

yeah. that’s what’s happening to jake. right now.

“oh. okay. cool. cool, cool, cool,” he tugs at the collar of his hoodie. stop it with the cool, jake, we talked about this. and whatever you do, do not throw up a— he throws a thumbs up at you. puts it away. tries to recover. “i’m very…pro…studying.”

you grin at him. “clearly.” the dating part? not so much.

and after that, thing settles. in that warm, weirdly comforting way things do when you’ve either known someone your entire life or just long enough to know you want to.

textbooks open, laptops propped, flashcards highlighted, questions exchanged, your iced matcha is slowly disappearing while jake’s iced americano just sits there untouched—slowly watering down because jake forgets coffee makes him jittery but he was in a state of panic when he got to the counter so…here we are.

“wait, can i ask you something kinda random?"

you glance up from your notes, giving jake a small nod. “yeah?”

jake’s eyes land on the back of your laptop and he gestures vaguely to it. “why is your laptop covered in like…fourteen different beluga stickers?”

your head tilts as you follow his gaze and—yup. it’s true. it’s covered with not only fourteen little cartoon belugas, but also otters, starfish, and a little whale in the corner that isn’t so little and cost you a whole whopping five dollars at the book fair.

you blink at it. “oh, right.” a small smile then tugs at your lips. “i’m kinda obsessed with ocean life. it’s, like…one of my things.”

and jake is silent. not because he’s judging. no, he recites the periodic table in alphabetical order to help him fall asleep at night, so he can’t judge. but because—god. you say that like it’s the most casual thing in the world and not the most adorable sentence he’s ever heard.

“like, belugas are my favorite sea animals,” you continue, your own voice picking up from your own excitement now. “they’re just so cute and squishy looking. and they always look like they’re smiling? and granted i’ve never met one, but if i did meet one, i just know it’d be kind.”

jake is still not saying anything. he’s watching the way your hands move animatedly, the way your eyes light up, the way your voice lifts when you say the words “if i did meet one” like it’s the most natural thing in the world to meet a literal beluga.

“they do look pretty nice,” jake adds eventually, absolutely trying his best to fight the grin off his face. “for a whale, i mean.”

your eyes widen as you suddenly gasp and lean in over the table towards jake, catching him off guard. “okay, i’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

jake freezes. and he doesn’t know how and he doesn’t know when, but he’s pretty sure he messed up somehow just by trying to impress his crush by complimenting a beluga.

“belugas aren’t whales,” you say, matter of fact, “they’re actually a type of dolphin, despite the name. common mistake.”

“oh,” jake just blinks and nods like this is a totally normal conversation. like he isn’t currently being lectured by the cute girl from his chemistry class about beluga whales. beluga…dolphins? not whales.

his eyes flick briefly to your hands, still hovering mid-air, animated from your explanation. then to your face, your eyes sparkling just a little bit too much for him to blame it on the café lighting. and everything—every little detail jake seems to notice and learn about you—makes jake feel like his heart is about to beat out of his chest.

“sorry,” you pause, noticing his stare. “i just…i really love this kind of stuff. it’s all just so fascinating to me. it’s kinda like whenever you start freaking out over, i don’t know…cis-trans isomerism in alkenes?”

jake chokes on his spit. smooth.

“wait,” he’s coughing, sitting up straighter, “how do you know that i—wait, how do you even know about cis-trans isomerism?”

“what can i say? i’m observant,” you look at him over the rim of your cup as you take a sip, casually shrugging, a small smirk on your lips.

and jake just casually tries not to freak out.

because, sure, jake has had his fair share of realizations through out his lifetime. like the day he woke up and found out he could suddenly stop a bus with his bare hands. or the time he discovered he’s mildly allergic to cauliflower. but this? this might top the list.

because you notice things. about him. him. and it short-circuits his brain. just a little. maybe a lot.

jake tries not to smile too hard. tries not to read too much into it. tries not to wonder if you notice the way he leans closer during chemistry labs or the way his voice raises half a pitch when you talk to him or the way he purposely gets to class early just so he could talk to you before.

they’re the kind of thoughts that keep him up that night. the kind that plague his entire mind until the only thing he’s thinking about when he falls asleep that night and the only thing he’s thinking about when he wakes up the next morning is…you.

and for the next few days, that’s just about the most exciting thing that happens to jake. the next few days for him go pretty normal.

and by normal, jake means boring. and by boring, i mean on monday, spider-man stops a bodega robbery and gets a pat on the back from the police officer and a sprained ankle. on tuesday, he wakes up late and almost misses his history final (which honestly would’ve been preferable). and on wednesday, you text jake for help on a chemistry review question. which is actually very exciting and not at all boring nor normal, despite how hard jake tries his best to act normal.

on thursday, however, jake stays late in the school computer lab to tinker with his web shooter tech. and that’s when sunghoon pulls up in front of him, dropping two small pieces of paper on jake’s mess of wires and tools and notebook doodles.

“bada-bing, bada-boom,” sunghoon announces as he plops into the chair next to jake.

jake looks up. sunghoon’s spinning awkwardly slowly in the swivel chair, arms out like a king clearly waiting for applause.

jake squints at the slips of paper. then back up.

“sunghoon.” “yes?” “why are we binging and booming and why are there clown fish on my web shooters?”

sunghoon beams. the kind of beam that makes jake’s spider tingle feel immediately and instinctively nervous. "because, my friend,” he begins proudly, “i am your guy-in-the-chair and thanks to me, you are now officially going on an aquarium date this weekend.”

jake blinks down at the two tickets. then looks up at sunghoon. blinks again. “wait. i’m going on a what with who now?”

sunghoon’s face falls flat. “with y/n, you idiot. who else would i be sending you to the aquarium with? me?”

jake’s jaw slackens. eyes widen. heartbeat pounding, “what—why, why, why, would you do that?”

sunghoon’s brows furrow as if the answer is the most obvious one in the world (and it is), “because you like her? and now you can take her to see those things she has fourteen of on her laptop that she likes so much. beluga whales or whatever they were.”

jake opens his mouth to argue—then shuts it. looks at sunghoon very, very, seriously. “beluga dolphins. they’re beluga dolphins. common mistake.”

and sunghoon could give two flying farts about beluga whales versus beluga dolphins versus beluga birds for all he knows, but because jake’s his best friend, he tries not to judge.

“…okayyyy, beluga dolphins.” he claps jake on the back and jake flinches. “anyways! you. y/n. aquarium date. this weekend. bada-bing. bada-boom.”

friday is the most un-normal and the most un-boring day of them all.

because on friday, right when jake slams his locker shut at the end of the day—ready to go home and debating if he should build his brand new imperial star destroyer lego set or practice different swinging techniques off the library roof—

“JAKE!”

and jake’s spidey sense could not have predicted what happens next. because before he can even register his own name, jake’s slammed into. stumbling. arms flailing. back hitting the lockers behind him.

and it’s you. you, clinging to him in a hug. smiling. glowing. and jake is dying. screaming. ascending.

“I GOT A 99,” you smile as you look up at him, eyes sparkling and wide.

jake swallows hard. his hards are still awkwardly hanging at his side, unsure whether to hug you back or just spontaneously combust into dust right then and there.

“wait. the chemistry exam?” he manages, voice higher than usual.

you nod so fast it’s a blur. “yes!—i think it’s a little stupid she docked me a single point just because i rounded wrong on that molarity question—which, yeah, i know you warned me about. but it’s fine. i’m literally a chemistry genius.”

jake lets out a breathy laugh, looking down at you—still warm, still wrapped around him, still lighting up like the literal sun in the middle of the school’s halls.

“you are,” he says, and it comes out softer than he expected.

and then you’re looking up at him again—close, glowing, happy—and jake swears the whole world pauses. like the only thing that has ever mattered to him is this exact moment. like someone hit pause on everything except you. the shouts, the lockers slamming, the overhead announcements—he doesn’t hear any of it.

all he knows is you. the way your smile curves just slightly more on one side. the scent of your shampoo. the feel of your arms around him and the way his pulse has never been louder in his entire life.

jake doesn’t think he’s ever felt this way about someone before.

and like you suddenly realize how long you’ve been holding onto him, or maybe just how close the two of you are—you slowly pull back. not all the way, just a half-step, your arms slipping from around his middle. you clear your throat, eyes flickering to a locker, then to a ceiling.

“um—thanks to you, though. seriously,” you say, voice softer now, “for all your help. and studying with me.”

and jake is still staring. still dazed. “oh! no, yeah. yeah yeah. totally. i had fun. it was fun.” he swallows again. please stop saying fun. “so fun.” yeah. he’s absolutely a lost cause.

but you laugh. and god, jake loves your laugh. he wants to bottle it up, carry it around in his pocket, and use it like a power-up when he’s out fighting criminals at night.

and it’s in that moment, somewhere between your grin and the sound of your giggle still ringing in his ears, that it hits him.

this is it. this is the moment.

jake clears his throat. wipes his palms on the sides of his jeans like it’ll help. glances off to the side before looking back at you.

“listen, so um—” he’s already fumbling. “i was wondering—like if you’re free this weekend, and only if you really, really want to, seriously no pressure at all because i know you’re probably busy, but—”

he pauses. breathes. tries again. “—but if you’d be down, i, uh—i have two tickets to the aquarium. and since you’re really into the ocean and stuff i thought—”

“oh my god,” you interrupt, eyes lit up. “you got tickets to the aquarium?”

jake nods so fast he swears he looks like a bobblehead.

“yeah! well—no. technically sunghoon got the tickets but—”

“ohhh, like you and sunghoon were going to go together?” you tease, grinning now. “that actually sounds kind of fun—”

“wait. wait—no.” and jake nearly panics, his hands waving. “no, no, no, i mean—i’m trying to—”

jake inhales sharply. gets a grip. “do you want to go with me? this weekend? to the aquarium?”

“oh!” you blink up at him, clearly surprised—but not in a bad way. your voice goes a little softer. “like…just us?”

“yeah,” jake nods, trying to sound chill and not at all like he’s internally combusting. which is definitely, 100%, happening right now. “i mean—if you want. if you don’t, it’s totally cool. i’ll just…give the ticket to my mom or something. she likes fish. i think. probably. i’ve never actually asked—”

“jake.”

jake stops. looks at you again. “yeah?”

you smile. all fond and amused and sweet. “i’d love to go to the aquarium with you.”

and jake completely loses the grip he thought he had a strong hold of.

“wait, really?” “really.” “oh,” jake breathes. “cool. cool, cool, cool.” you tilt your head, “you’re doing the repeating thing again.”

“i know,” jake groans, dragging a hand down his face. “i literally had a whole mental intervention about this, it’s not working—

you laugh. again. and jake ascends. again.

“okay,” you say, stepping back just enough. “aquarium this weekend. it’s a date.”

jake ascends a third time.

“right,” he says, barely recovering. “totally. i’ll—uh, i’ll text you the details?”

you nod, already backing away towards the main doors, “can’t wait!”

and forget the imperial star destroyer set or brand new swinging techniques. jake 100% knows what he’s doing tonight—and it’s sounding a lot like googling beluga dolphin facts. 

later that night, jake’s perched on the edge of a random rooftop—one leg dangling off the ledge, a protein bar in one hand, his phone in the other, glowing with an article titled: top twelve facts about belugas that will shock you.

but then—his spidey senses prick.

because at exactly 10:32PM, like clockwork, your usual bus pulls up to the stop below the building he’s seated at.

okay. so maybe it’s not exactly a coincidence he’s here. and maybe this roof isn’t that random after all.

and maybe, just maybe, he’s made it a habit to make sure you get home safe every night. it started with just one night—making sure you got home safe after last week’s incident. then it turned into two. then three. then…every night. at exactly 10:32PM. now it’s a full-blown instinct he hasn’t admitted to anyone (especially not sunghoon) because, well…he likes making sure you get home safe. sue him.

when he sees your figure step off the bus, jake immediately straightens. the hairs on his arms prick up. his pulse quickens. his palm slightly sticks against the protein bar wrapper. and this is just a regular friday.

except—it really isn’t. because today, you—you, the very smart and very funny and very pretty ocean-loving girl who sits next to him in chemistry—hugged him today and agreed to go on a date with him and oh god.

so actually, nothing about today was regular. not even close. and nothing about what jake is about to do is regular.

instead of just watching from above like he has the past week… he swings.

with a few quick, practiced motions, he webs himself building to building, bouncing off a wall to land neatly right in front of you on the sidewalk.

and you scream. “what the—oh my god—” you jolt back mid-step, instinctively clutching your bag closer to you.

“ah—sorry! sorry!” jake holds his hands up, immediately regretting his dramatic entrance. he straightens up from his crouch, brushing dust off his suit. “that probably looked a lot cooler in my head.”

you narrow your eyes, still trying to catch your breath, looking not totally convinced, “right.”

jake rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

then, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to be nearly ambushed by a red-and-blue-suited vigilante, you simply adjust the bag on your shoulder, sidestep him, and continue walking down the sidewalk.

jake blinks behind the mask, stunned for a second, before quickly scrambling to catch up.

“you know,” he says, effortlessly falling into step beside you, “if i didn’t know any better, i thought we agreed you wouldn’t be walking home alone this late.”

you glance over, the corners of your mouth slightly tugging upwards, “and if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you’re starting to follow me, spidey.”

“woah,” jake fake-gasps. fake-clutches his chest as if offended. “spidey? oh wow. we’re already on nickname basis and i don’t even know yours.”

you snort. “y/n,” you say, finally looking at him fully. “it’s y/n.”

jake’s heart does a triple flip. he thinks he’s heard your name a thousand times already—slipped through conversations with sunghoon, when your teacher calls out your name during attendance, in his dreams—but somehow, this feels new.

he flashes a smile you can’t see behind his mask, “y/n.” he repeats it like it’s the most important thing he’s ever learned. he then points to himself. “spidey.”

you laugh again, this time loud and real and soft and sweet. and suddenly, jake’s night feels warmer.

“yeah, i got that,” you say, shaking your head. “thanks for the clarification, spidey.”

there’s a short silence after that—comfortably quiet, but not empty. both your footsteps crunch against a thin blanket of scattered leaves, the echoes of your steps bouncing off the dimly lit sidewalk. somewhere in the distance a dog barks faintly. a bus drives by.

“shouldn’t you be out—” you finally speak again, glancing up at him, “—stopping carjackings or getting churros from old ladies?”

jake hums, the sound low in his throat. be mysterious. be cool. be normal. "well yes,” he clears his throat and adjusts his web shooter just to do something with his hands, “but it’s also part of my duty as your friendly neighborhood spider-man to make sure the citizens of this city get home safe.”

you raise a brow, smirking, “is it also part of your duty to walk every single citizen home after saving them?”

“…well. not exactly,” he tries not to sound nervous. tries. “just the ones i think are…pretty.”

you freeze mid-step. your breath catches, feet stopping entirely.

jake does the same. his heart might actually fall out of his chest. “that’s—” he coughs, scratching the back of his neck. “that’s just you, by the way. if that wasn’t…super clear.”

your mouth parts. but no words come out. only your eyes react—wide, soft, blinking.

“oh—" you eventually say, softly and unsure, as if you’re trying to figure out if the literal spider-man is trying to flirt with you. “thanks? i think.”

and jake is 98% pretty sure he’s redder than his own suit right now. “yeah, yup. of course,” he says, voice cracking ever so slightly as his mind searches for anything, something else to talk about. “uh…so any fun plans this weekend?”

smooth. so smooth.

you blink, still looking at him a little weird, but your smile comes back almost instantly as you two start walking again, “actually yeah! i’m going to the aquarium tomorrow.”

jake’s heart does another little flip. yes. yes, yes. she still wants to go. she’s still going with me—

“with this guy,” you add casually, kicking a pebble in your way.

jake feels his heart do a little pause. “a guy?” he says, wincing when it comes out just a little too quickly, a little too high-pitched. “oh. a guy guy. wow. a guy.”

you nod along, completely oblivious, mind clearly elsewhere, “yeah, he’s pretty great. got us the tickets and everything.”

jake nods stiffly, staring straight ahead like the lamp post across the street is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen in his entire life, “nice. that’s…really nice. sounds like a pretty solid dude.”

“totally,” you grin up at him, and it’s the kind of grin that makes jake’s lungs forget why they exist in the first place. the crinkle of your eyes, the curve of your mouth, the gentle ease in your voice—it all hits him at once. the most perfect storm.

“a little awkward,” you continue. “says ‘cool’ way too much. but he’s really sweet. and funny. and a genius.”

and jake combusts on the spot. jake thought he knew what happiness was. he thought getting accepted into the school’s robotics team felt good. he thought shaking hands with the mayor after saving him from a limo crash was peak fulfillment. he even thought finishing the millennium falcon lego set with sunghoon in a single night was the height of his serotonin levels. but this? hearing you talk about him—about jake—with that softness in your voice, that tilt in your smile, that warmth in your eyes?

oh yeah. this is what true happiness is.

and by the time jake returns back to earth, the two of you are approaching your apartment now—he recognizes the street by heart at this point.

you come to a stop in front of your building, turning to face him beneath the glow of the overhead lighting, “thanks for walking me, by the way.”

jake shrugs, hands shoved into the sides of his suit awkwardly, “it’s part of the job description. gotta make sure my favorite citizen gets home safe.”

you give him a look. one of those lingering ones that makes jake wonder. the kind that lasts a beat too long.

“…favorite, huh?” you raise a brow, lips quirking into a soft smile. jake’s heart stutters. “top three, at least.” you giggle again, shaking your head slightly, “night, spidey.”

“night, y/n,” he murmurs quietly before you go in, watching as you head inside. the door clicks shut behind you, and jake’s world immediately feels a little dimmer.

jake stands there in the quiet for a second. and then— he fist pumps the air in celebration, kicking his leg up like an animated character, “yes, yes, yes!”

with the goofiest grin under his mask, jake flings a web up toward the apartment building across the street and launches himself in one fluid motion. he lands with practiced ease, sitting in his usual spot just as the light flickers on in your bedroom window.

he’s still grinning. still breathless. still absolutely unable to believe what just happened.

with a newfound confidence, jake pulls out his phone from one of his suit pockets and unlocks it.

JAKE (10:54PM) : hey! just wanted to say im excited for tomorrow :) hope you have a good night y/n

he doesn’t hesitate before hitting send this time.

and when he wakes up the next morning, jake is still smiling.

no nightmares. no forgotten alarms. no dreading history finals. just the lingering memory of yesterday—from the hug to the walk last night, from the way you smiled at him to the way you said ‘night, spidey’, from the way he swears your laugh is not permanently stored in his brain’s top five sounds of all time.

now, he’s staring up at the massive curved glass in front of him, a large ‘beluga whales here!’ sign above him. you’re already right up against the glass, peering inside like you’re looking at the most fascinating thing in the world.

and to you—it is. to jake? his answer would be very different. his answer would look a lot like you.

because you’re right there, next to him. shoulder brushing him. looking effortlessly beautiful in the soft dim blue light of the tank.

and jake is trying very, very hard to look calm, cool, and collected. despite the fact that he’s sweating through his button-up because he’s nervous, giddy, and definitely sprayed way too much cologne (two spritzes max, sunghoon said. jake did six. he panicked).

but you—you look completely at peace. you’re smiling, your eyes lighting up with wonder, one palm pressed gently against the glass as you watch one of the belugas swim past.

“they’re literally smiling,” you whisper, completely in awe. “look at them. they’re so pretty.”

jake glances at you. then the belugas. then back at you.

he’s not entirely sure who you’re talking about anymore.

“yeah,” he says, a little breathlessly. “they’re…really pretty.”

at that, you turn to look at him and jake has to force himself to not look away. he smiles at you when your eyes meet his. and your smile is soft. soft and amused. like you knew what he was saying. like you’re choosing not to call him out on it.

“so,” you eventually say, tilting your head to look up at him. “on a scale of one to ten, how ridiculous does this shirt make me look?”

jake glances down at your outfit—you’re wearing an oversized t-shirt now layered over the outfit you picked out for today. it’s bright blue, has a cartoon fish giving a thumbs up, and across the front in bubbly letters sits, ‘fish makes life betta’.

your eyes landed on it the second you two walked past the gift shop. and you had to have it. immediately, of course.

jake had laughed at first when you turned to him, holding up the shirt against you, eyes wide. “should i buy this?” you asked, not a hint of sarcasm in your tone.

and that’s when jake realized, you meant it.

and that was also the exact moment jake realized he’s absolutely, undeniably, hopelessly gone for you.

“negative twelve,” jake says now, very seriously, despite the smirk on his face. “you look unironically very cool.” you scoff, “you’re such a liar.” jake shrugs, still grinning. “did that get me a couple more points at least?”

one of your eyebrows quirk, like you’re surprised by the sudden confidence. and honestly? so is jake.

there’s a beat—one of those soft, lingering ones carrying a silence that feels full with something unspoken. the kind that hums quietly below the surface. the kind jake could live inside forever.

then, your lips twitch into a smile. “mmm…maybe half a point. you’re up to, like, an 89.5%.”

jake lets out a soft, breathless laugh, eyes still on you, “i’ll take it. that’s like…a B plus.”

“better than what you got on the history final,” you say, already smirking.

jake’s eyes widen as he gasps, “hey—what!? that was so uncalled for.” you laugh again, clearly enjoying this. “you got a 73, jake.”

“a 74!” he corrects you, his voice now a pitch higher. “it was curved! and i woke up late! blame it on sleep deprivation.”

“that…still sounds like barely passing to me.”

jake narrows his eyes at you playfully, “okay, you know what? i’m deducting your points for emotional damage. 99.5%.”

you gasp dramatically. “you can’t deduct points!”

“better than what you got on the chemistry final,” jake says, eyebrows quirked, feeling ridiculously proud of himself for that one.

your eyes widen—equal parts shocked and impressed, “touché, jake. touché.”

and jake just grins, heart pounding so fast he swears it’s about to break out of his ribcage and up and run.

your smile lingers for a little longer before you glance away for a moment, returning your gaze back to the tank in front of you, watching as the belugas swim past lazily, weightless and floating like clouds. and you think there’s something oddly calming about them. it makes the whole world slow down.

jake watches you instead.

the lights from the tank dance against your skin, your features glowing blue and soft and perfect. your hands are simply at your side, head tilted slightly as you follow their movements with your wide eyes. you’re not even saying anything—but you don’t need to.

jake swallows hard. takes half a step closer to you.

“hey,” he says quietly. you look over. “yeah?” “i’m really glad you came today.”

your expression shifts—just a little. surprised, maybe. but then, it softens. into something gentle and honest. “i’m glad you asked,” you say, just as quiet.

and jake is so close. so close, that he can feel the slight brush of your pinky against his own. and suddenly, the air feels heavier. tighter. packed with nerves and possibilities and hope and everything that makes jake’s senses want to scream into a pillow.

and jake, because he’s still jake, blurts out the first thing his brain lands on— “let’s take a picture with a beluga!”

you blink. but then, your laugh bubbles up again as you nod, stepping close behind him as he’s already fumbling to pull out his phone.

the photo is slightly blurry. your shirt is bright and front and center. jake’s smile is too wide, and yours is somewhere between a laugh and a look—

one that’s angled towards him instead of the camera.

the walk back later that night is quiet. not the awkward quiet. not the quiet filled with weird tension. but soft quiet. warm quiet. the kind of quiet that settles over jake like his favorite blanket—thick and safe and familiar, the kind that jake feels whenever he’s tucked into bed after a night out around the city.

and when you two walk side by side, you’re close enough that jake can feel your sleeve brush against his every few steps. and the sidewalk is wide. but neither of you move away. not even once.

street lamps shine above you, the city hums quietly around, and jake—who literally has the ability to swing between skyscrapers and soar through the air—feels like he’s floating for the first time in his life.

because he’s definitely not thinking about how he can catch the small traces of your perfume or how your hand keeps brushing his. and he’s definitely not spiraling over whether or not you’re thinking about how his hands keep brushing yours back.

and right when he’s mentally trying to calculate just how fast his heart is currently beating (and if his calculations were correct, he thinks he’s at 142 beats per minute)—

you stop walking.

jake halts a half step ahead, blinking in surprise as he turns back to face you, “everything okay?”

you bite your bottom lip. squeeze your eyes shut for a second. “yeah. yeah—i just…” a breath. “i have to tell you something.”

and that knocks the air straight out of jake’s lungs. he steps towards you instinctively, his steps quiet against the pavement until he’s standing right in front of you—frozen under the soft glow of the streetlight overhead.

“okay,” he says, trying to sound normal. which is hard. because jake is currently experiencing what can only be described as sensory overload. 

he tries to not notice the way you’re fiddling with the hem of your incredibly bright blue shirt. or the way you’re blinking too many times. or the way he can literally hear your heartbeat from where he’s standing. and he calculates 143 beats per minute. maybe 144.

“i—um…i actually didn’t really need help with chemistry,” you blurt, eyes still focused somewhere near his shoelaces in front of you. “i know exactly what cis-trans isomerism in alkenes is. not only because i thought it was really cute when you explained it in class that one time, but because i genuinely think it’s super cool so i did my research project on it last—”

you pause. “…which is super irrelevant. oh my god—wait, let me backtrack.”

then your words start tumbling. “i just—i thought you were really cute. and smart. and witty. and honestly, probably a little awkward too but, like, in a cute way. and i didn’t know how else to talk to you outside of class. i figured you were too busy or not really into random girls asking to hang out. so i panicked. even though i have a 98 in chem right now.”

you stop. take a breath—finally.

jake, however, does not. jake’s entire being has stopped functioning. his brain is blank—no thoughts, just the steady, continuous static of oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. every nerve in his body is on high alert. his spidey senses are firing—heart pounding, breath caught, fingertips tingling. it’s like his body’s trying to prepare him for a fight, when really? he’s just trying his hardest not to melt into the ground.

and jake can feel everything. the warmth of the streetlight on his back. the shift in the breeze between you and him. the exact distance between your body and his. it’s all too much and not enough and jake is losing his mind.

and when you notice his frozen stare, you wince—your eyes squeezing shut again as you start mumbling, “oh my god. i’m so sorry. okay, let’s just forget i said—”

and jake, because he’s still jake, doesn’t think.

jake kisses you.

it happens before he can overthink it. which is entirely a lie, because jake always overthinks.

but this time, it happens before he could spiral through every worst case scenario. before he could remind himself of all the ways he could possibly screw this up.

all he knows is that you were standing there—rambling, flushed, perfect—and he just had to.

his hand finds your cheek instinctively, warm and unsure and trembling ever so slightly. and when his lips meet yours—it’s gentle. so gentle, like a question asked without words. like an answer given all at once.

and jake is still spiraling. his senses are everywhere—you smell like faint citrus and something a little like vanilla, your grip on his shirt is tight, and your lips are soft, so soft, moving with his like you two have known this rhythm forever.

everything is heightened for him. blurred and focused at the same time. and the kiss isn’t perfect—his nose bumps yours and you step too close and accidentally hit his shoe—but none of that matters.

because this is real. because it’s you.

and when jake finally, slowly, pulls back—just barely—both of you are breathless.

both heartbeats loud enough for jake to hear. quite literally.

“you think i’m smart?” you let out a small scoff as your eyes meet his, his shirt still under your grip, “out of everything that just happened, that’s what you’re focusing on?” “i mean,” jake shrugs, helplessly smiling, “i’m just making sure i heard that part correctly.”

you laugh louder now—relieved and warm and everything jake wants to hold onto forever.

the rest of the night moves slower for jake. literally slower. like neither of you want the moment to end—your steps gradually slowing the closer you get to your apartment building. jake keeps his hands in his pockets, fingers still tingling, goosebumps still on his skin. every now and then, he steals a glance your way, just to make sure this is real. that you’re real.

and when you reach the front of your apartment building, jake’s chest tightens the tiniest bit. you stop at the base of the stairs. so does he.

“well,” your voice is quiet as your eyes flick up to his. “i’ll see you at school on monday?”

jake nods, trying to look cool, calm, and collected even though he’s pretty sure he’s still at 142 beats. “yeah. for sure. monday.”

you smile, soft and a little shy. “night, jake.” “night, y/n,” he echoes, offering a tiny, awkward wave that makes you smile as you slip through the door.

jake lingers for a second longer, watching until the door clicks shut. then he spins on his heel, a giddy smile on his face, stumbles three steps down the sidewalk and—

“holy shi—” he physically clamps a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming.

jake fist-pumps the air. once. twice. spins in a circle. nearly trips and eats it on the curb. but he doesn’t care.

he kissed you. he kissed you. and you kissed him back.

and jake is back to nearly launching into orbit.

his fingers are still trembling as he pulls his phone out from his pocket, text message already full of typos from typing too fast when the screen lights up—

incoming call : GUY IN CHAIR 🧠

“DUDE,” jake answers instantly, breathless and borderline yelling. “i was just about to text you—I KISSED HER!”

a beat.

“WHAT?!” sunghoon’s voice explodes over the phone. “you KISSED her? you KISSED HER? oh my god.”

jake is pacing now, still walking down the street but barely aware of it. “i know. it just happened. i don’t even know—like, we were walking, then she stopped and told me she didn’t even need chemistry help and that she just needed an excuse to talk to me and i literally blacked out so i don’t remember the rest—”

“oh my god. oh my god.” “i KNOW.” “like, wait—you kissed her-kissed her?” “i KISSED her-kissed her, dude.” “bro.” “i know.”

they’re both beaming. celebrating. somewhere above him, a very confused old lady stares at jake from her window as he dances in the middle of the sidewalk like he just won the lottery.

“wait. wait, crap—” sunghoon cuts in, tone suddenly serious. “hang on, i called you for a reason.” jake freezes mid-spin, “huh?”

“guy in chair duties,” sunghoon’s voice shifts. “there’s a call coming through the police scanner. armed robbery. bank on 23rd and main. it just came in, like, thirty seconds ago.”

jake stops. groans. “you’re kidding me,” he mutters under his breath.

“sorry, man.”

without missing a beat, jake glances around for any people—then ducks into the nearest alleyway.

“can’t a guy catch a break?” he mumbles, already yanking off his button up, his suit already underneath (because—obviously, you can never be too prepared), then bunches up the shirt and webs it to the brick wall in one fluid motion.

sunghoon’s voice buzzes through his phone, “good luck, spidey.” jake pulls the mask over his face. “i’ll just tell you the rest on monday.”

“copy that.”

“thanks, hoon. spidey’s on it.”

turns out—spidey, in fact, was not on it.

he doesn’t know if he should blame it on the fact that he was mildly (extremely) mentally distracted by the memory of kissing you under the warm streetlight, or the fact that those robbers had insanely good aim, but either way:

jake comes home with a black eye, a rapidly darkening bruise on his cheekbone, a bullet graze burning across his left side, and what he’s 97% sure is a dislocated ankle.

“crap, crap, crap,” he mutters under his breath, wincing as he carefully locks the window behind him. he drops down from the ceiling with a thud, trying not to yelp out in pain when he lands on the ankle that he’s now 99% sure is dislocated. the apartment is quiet. his mom’s probably asleep. hopefully.

jake rips off his mask and immediately grimaces at his reflection in the mirror, “jesus.”

his right eye is already swelling. there’s dried blood going down the side of his face. his suit is slightly torn and singed and still sticky over the wound at his ribs. he presses a palm there, breathing through his teeth.

it’s fine. he’s fine. totally fine.

the shower was probably the most painful part of the night. every drop stings, and there’s something really, really humbling about trying to wash off dirt and dried blood while also replaying the moment you kissed him in perfect clarity over and over again in his head.

and jake’s been at this for a while now. out patrolling, out fighting crime, out throwing dad jokes to creeps at night. but he’s never had a night like this. not with this much chaos, not with this much feeling.

an unexpected bullet. a slam against concrete. some dumb goon with a perfect punch. but right before it? you. you in an obnoxiously bright blue t-shirt saying ‘fish make life betta’. looking at him like that. kissing him like that.

by the time jake stumbles out of the bathroom, patched up with some teenage mutant ninja turtles bandages and wrapped in an oversized hoodie, he’s exhausted.

every limb aches. every muscle screams. every brain cell thinking of you.

and by the time monday rolls around and he wakes up to his alarm at 6:32AM—because he snoozed it for 32 extra minutes—jake frowns at what he sees.

his black eye looks worse, his face is, at least, five different shades of blue, purple, pink, and his ankle is still swollen. every step sends a jolt of pain up his body that even breathing feels like a core workout.

so jake does what any emotionally and physically fatigued teenage superhero would do.

he fakes food poisoning.

when his mom knocks on his door to get him up for school, jake meekly groans out a quick, “mooom. i’ve been projectile vomiting since, like, 3AM. i think it was the fish tacos.”

jake did not eat fish tacos.

but she buys it anyways, says something about him getting rest, and how she’s going to the store for medicine.

and jake sighs. mentally blesses his mom’s heart. attempts to fist pump weakly. fails. winces in pain. then, he turns his phone completely off, buries himself under his blanket, and with nothing but the hazy image of beluga whales, a reminder that he needs to wash his bloodied suit, and you—jake finally falls asleep.

the next thing jake can comprehend is more than twelve hours later. a lot more than twelve hours later. when he blinks awake—it’s pitch black, his body is still aching, his phone is dead, and—

there’s knocking. soft, but persistent.

he stumbles out of bed with a groan and a wince, croaking out a low, “coming..” while he limps over with one arm holding his side before he whips his door open and—

it’s you. jake blinks. you blink. your jaw drops.

“y/n,” jake blurts out, eyes wide. he rubs them once. twice. hopes, prays, this is just one of those weird fever dreams that feel way too real that he gets whenever he sleeps for too long.

but then you rush forward, brows furrowed and eyes flicking from his black eye, to the bruise on his cheek, to the way he’s leaning heavily on one leg with the other slightly elevated—

yeah. this is not a fever dream.

“what are you—what—how—what are you doing here?” jake stammers, instantly turning around, nerves spiking as he quickly scans his room for any incriminating spidey-like props.

suit? mask? web shooters? where did he put that damn mask—

“i texted you, like, fourteen times,” you say following him in, concerned painted all over your face. “you didn’t show up to school. you weren’t answering. i panicked and your mom let me in—jake.”

you stop. jake stops. your voice drops.

“what in the world happened to you?”

jake did not plan for this part. well, he didn’t plan for any of this. “i—uh,” he turns to you, eyes wide. “i…fell.”

your eyes flick down to his knuckles—bruised, battered, and definitely the aftermath of punching something hard. you raise a brow.

jake follows your gaze. panics.

“jake—did you…get in a fight?” “what?!” his voice goes an octave too high. he clears his throat. tries again. “no. no, no. i don’t—fights? me? no. i don’t—i don’t get into fights. that would be very…un-cool.”

you give him a look that says you clearly don’t buy it, but to his relief, you don’t push.

but because jake is still jake, he continues anyways. “i…i was biking—” jake doesn’t know how to ride a bike. “—without a helmet. bad idea, don’t do that. and then i hit this…massive pothole. huge. basically fell off and hit the curb and…and yeah.”

you blink at him. and jake’s panicking, so he’s still going.

“—and then a pigeon flew into me…?” you blink again. “a pigeon.”

jake nods quickly, as if that could convince you anymore (it doesn’t). “a pigeon! you know how they are. dumb pigeons.”

there’s a pause. you stare at him from halfway across the room. jake stands there awkwardly with his hands by his side.

you sigh. cross your arms. “you’re a really bad liar.”

jake looks at the ground. his ears turn red. then he looks back at you with a small, sheepish smile on his face. “yeah,” he admits softly. “kinda am.”

jake moves to sit on the edge of the bed, and you take that as an invitation to sit next to him. there’s a silence between you two again as jake fiddles with the ends of his hoodie, his face warm from either the bruising, the fact that you just called him out, or the fact that somehow, someway, you’re here. in his room. on his bed.

you glance sideways to look at him. then at the floor. then back at him again. you nudge his knee with yours. “…well,” your voice comes out quiet. “are you okay? at least?”

jake looks up. meets your eyes.

and they're wide and worried and so completely focused on him. and for the second time in twenty-four hours, jake thinks his heart might literally give out.

he nods once. swallows. “yeah. yeah, i am. thanks, y/n.”

the moment lingers as the same warm hush settles again between you, like some kind of quiet, mutual agreement—like hey, i’m here, and yeah. i care. and no, i’m not going anywhere. and jake doesn’t know what to spiral about first.

the fact that:

you haven’t left.

you haven’t pried about why he looks like a literal punching bag.

you care.

you shift a little, reaching into the backpack that jake hadn’t even noticed you brought, and pull out a packet of neatly clipped papers.

“i brought the chem notes from today,” you say, holding them out in between you. “there was a pop quiz, and i figured you might want the stuff we reviewed after.”

jake blinks down at the packet, then up at you. then back at the packet. he tries to act normal when he brushes against your fingers when it takes he from your hand. fails spectacularly.

“and,” you continue, eyes flicking to his for a second before focusing somewhere behind him. notably, the crooked bill nye ‘science rules!’ poster taped to the wall. “i just…wanted to see you.”

and jake, quite literally, forgets how to form words for half a second, but you don’t notice. your knee is still against his and he thinks he’s memorized the smell of your shampoo at this point.

“anyways—” you clear your throat and the shyness in your tone makes jake forget how to breathe. “—there’s this documentary they’re playing at the theater tomorrow.” you pause, as if gauging his reaction but jake’s pretty sure he’s blacked out right now. “it’s about—um—deep sea ecosystems? something about bioluminescence and predator-prey adaptations and this super weird jellyfish migration they just discovered.”

jake blinks hard. shakes himself back to reality. realizes this definitely, 100%, isn’t a fever dream. but surely, he’s dreamt of something like this before.

“that…sounds amazingly weird,” is all he can manage to say, nodding slowly.

“i figured,” you give a little half-shrug, “maybe you’d wanna go with me?” then you nudge his shoulder this time. “if you’re not still crippled by then, that is.”

there is a full three seconds of stunned, stunned silence. then, jake scrambles to sit up straighter, eyes wide, “yes. yeah—yes, i’d love to. with you. to see the jellyfish. yeah.”

you smile at him, “cool.” and jake can’t stop smiling back. he’s 98% pretty sure he looks like an idiot, but 100% knows he doesn’t care in the slightest.

you push up from the bed before grabbing your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder. “alright then,” you say, clapping your hands together. “i should go. rest up, okay?”

“i will. i will,” jake nods quickly, still a little dazed. “can’t be too crippled for tomorrow.”

you let out a soft laugh as he follows you to the front door. and when you step outside, you pause in the doorway—hovering like there’s still something on the tip of your tongue.

jake’s hand lingers on the doorknob. you glance up at him. open your mouth, then close it again.

then finally, quietly—you try again. “i, um…” you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “about the other night…”

jake’s heart rate spikes. your eyes flicker up to meet his, and they’re a little unsure. as if searching.

“i wasn’t sure,” you admit. “when you didn’t show up to school and didn’t answer my texts…i didn’t know if maybe—”

you trail off for a second, then finish in one quick breath: “if maybe you regretted it.”

and jake—bruised and aching and completely out of his mind for you—feels the air knocked out of him all over again.

his entire body goes still before he reboots all within 0.5 seconds. “no,” he says. fast. too fast, jake. “god, no.”

your eyes lift again.

“i didn’t regret it. not even a little bit,” his voice stumbles, his nerves are on fire, and his chest tightens with something dangerously close to hope. “i think…i think i relived it a million times in my head, honestly.

jake lets out a small chuckle—partly pathetic, but entirely sincere. “i meant it,” he murmurs. “every second of it.”

you shift your weight from foot to foot, “okay.” a reassured smile rests on your face. “just checking.”

jake exhales, rubs the back of his neck, and looks at you with something boyish and sorry. “i don’t regret it, but i do regret not checking my phone. that was stupid.”

you smirk at him, “a little bit.” jake grins, releasing a short breath of relief as he leans a little against the doorframe, “i’ll do better.”

you hum, giving him a certain, knowing look. “i’ll hold you to it,” your voice drops a little, and before jake can fully process the shift, you lean in—just barely, but yet just enough—and place the lightest kiss to his cheek.

and jake goes completely still. because it’s not dramatic, and it’s definitely not cinematic by any means.

not when you’re both standing in the middle of his apartment hallway, under a flickering light his super refuses to fix no matter how many maintenance requests his mom files. not when there’s a suspicious cloud of weed-scented air coming from the new college neighbors, who obviously do not care about the no smoking indoors sign. and especially not when jake’s ankle is still swollen, his ribs still sore, and he’s wearing star wars pajama pants with a hole in them that he’s praying you didn’t notice.

but it’s warm. and real. and so vulnerable it makes jake’s heart yearn in the most inconvenient way. like breathless honesty wrapped in nothing but silence and the glow of someone who cares.

you pull back slowly, your cheeks a shade pinker than before, your eyes still on his. and jake—well, he’s pretty sure his entire body is red head to toe. his cheek tingles from where your lips just were and his senses are so hyper-focused on you, he doesn’t even notice the pain of his wounds anymore.

“goodnight, jake,” you say finally before turning and going down the hall. and jake stands there, watching you—entirely, irrevocably, shamelessly, gone.

when you’re finally out of sight, jake finally stands up straight, snapping himself out of it and shuts the door behind him, limping his way back to his room when—

his eye catches the clock. 10:43PM. crap. you really need to stop walking home this late.

and suddenly, jake’s adrenaline kicks back in. not from the kiss. okay, maybe a little from the kiss. but mostly because it’s you, and you’re walking home alone, and, yeah, you live a five minute walk away from his but what if something happened, and then— yeah.

with no hesitation, jake locks his room door, goes into his closet, and grabs his suit—still battered and bloodied and roughened up, but it’ll do. two minutes and one-struggle-to-put-on-a-suit-when-half-crippled-later, jake is quietly hobbling out of his window, praying his mom is asleep.

he swings himself easily onto the rooftop of his own building, easily spotting you already a block down. he keeps to the rooftops, stealthily going from building to building until—

his damn ankle. his ankle—which he clearly forgot about for a hot business second—catches on a loose gutter and the next thing jake knows is pain, the taste of concrete in his face, and a loud-and-not-so-subtle crash, bang, clang.

“crap, crap, shit—” jake stands up, dusting his suit off, one leg propped up as he balances on his good one. “ouch, god—” “spidey?” oh god. jake freezes. peeks over the edge.

and there you are—fifty-something feet below, staring up at him, brows furrowed, arms crossed. “oh—” jake gives an awkward wave from where he is. “—y/n! hey! hi. what’s—uh—what’s up?”

jake steps back to duck out of sight, muttering a stream of whispered curses to himself before inhaling sharply and flinging himself down from the rooftop, landing right in front of you with the composure of someone with a screaming ankle and bullet-shaped wound in their abdomen.

you arch a brow. “…is this the part where you admit you are following me, after all?” jake straightens up slowly. and painfully. “i—what? no. i was, uh…” he gestures vaguely down the block. he has no idea what he’s pointing to. “getting pizza. dollar slice. late night craving.”

“uh huh,” you squint, clearly not believing him. “if i promise to stop walking home this late, will you stop stalking me from rooftops?” jake pauses. tilts his head. “define stalking.” you let out a small laugh, half-exasperated, half-fond.

“fine then,” you say, shrugging, “c’mon then. you’re already out. i’m coming with you.” jake blinks. “…coming with me to…where?”  “to get pizza,” you’re walking now, already turning without second thought. “duh.”

ten minutes and two lukewarm pizza slices later, you’re sitting shoulder to shoulder on your fire escape. the air is thick with humidity and smells faintly of marinara, melting cheese, and rusted metal. there’s a low buzz of cars below in the distance, and the stars up above are mostly hidden.

you’re chewing in silence. jake, on the other hand, is holding his slice in his hand in fear—too nervous to even lift his mask up to eat it. thankfully, you don’t notice. or if you do, you don’t mention it. either way, he’s relieved.

you knee bumps his. “so why do you do it?” jake startles slightly, his eyes dragging over to you beneath his mask, “why do i…do what?” you take another bite, still staring out across the street. “spider-man. why do you do what you do?”

he follows your gaze to the building you’re looking at. gives a weak shrug.

“i…didn’t really have a choice, i guess,” he offers quietly. that makes you turn. “you’re being forced to do this?” “no—no, not like that,” he’s quick to shake his head. then he pauses. thinks for a second. “it’s more like…one day, i woke up with these powers. and i realized i could do something with it, you know? like something good. and if i have the chance to…shouldn’t i?”

you’re silent for a second. then you glance over, studying the smooth fabric of his mask like you’re trying to see the face beneath it.

“so you fight crime and get beat up on the daily…willingly?” you shake your head, a small scoff escaping your nose. “you’re better than me, spidey.”

jake lets out a short breath—half of a laugh, half of a sigh. “someone has to. i mean, if i just sit back and watch bad things happen…then it’s like the bad things happen because of me.”

you nod slowly, your lips pressing together in thought. “yeah. that makes sense.”

there’s another pause. quiet, mutual. a pocket of space in the noise of the city where nothing exists but your knees pressed side by side and the pizza box going cold between you. you shift beside him, letting your legs dangle freely off the fire escape. “you’re a good guy,” you say eventually, turning to shoot him a soft smile.

jake swallows hard. his heart’s somewhere in his throat, and he doesn’t quite trust his own voice not to crack, so he simply nods—just once—and turns his gaze back out to the horizon.

“welp,” jake finally says, voice low, a little reserved, “i should probably get back to…you know. my thing.” you tilt your head, eyes narrowing playfully. “like walking your favorite citizens back home?”

“that part—” jake scoffs under his breath, then smirks behind the mask, “—is already done.” then, because spider-man is still jake, he throws up a finger-gun for good measure. he hates himself.

you roll your eyes, but the same smile stays on your face, “you’re unbelievable, spider-man.”

“i try.”

jake slowly rises to stand on the narrow ledge, glancing down at you one more time. the moonlight hits your cheek just right. you’re still holding the crust of your pizza slice, legs swinging, your eyes slightly narrowed like you’re trying to figure something out. and for the third time in twenty-four hours, jake still feels like his heart might give out.

he gives you a little salute, meant to be casual, but he feels anything but. and then, without thinking—he says it.

“see you tomorrow.” a beat of silence. jake’s face blanks. his body completely stills. you blink up at him. “…tomorrow?”

crap. crap, crap, CRAP.

jake’s silence goes for a second too long. then he scrambles for cover. “i mean—uh—hypothetically,” jake stammers, waving a gloved hand vaguely. “like, if you’re…out again. tomorrow. late at night. which you shouldn’t be. because, you know. laws.”

you give him a look. “laws?” “yup,” he taps his chest with two fingers. “spidey laws.” you let out a small giggle and lean back against the railing, arms loosely wrapped over your knees. “right. goodnight, spidey.”

jake clears his throat and bids a small, “night, y/n,” before shooting his web to the corner of the next building and swinging himself out of sight.

and jake doesn’t stop smiling the whole way home. not even when he peels the suit off with a small wince. not even when he collapses into bed, muscles aching and bruises throbbing and heart racing.

but the panic eventually sets in. and it’s early evening the next day by the time it does for jake.

jake stands in front of his closet, yanking hangers out as he quickly skims and tosses another outfit into the rejected pile.

sunghoon lies on the bed behind him, sprawled out horizontally, lazily twisting a rubik’s cube with one hand and scrolling on his phone with the other.

“you know,” sunghoon says without looking up, “it’s literally just a movie. actually, it’s barely even that. it’s a documentary.”

jake whips around, ignoring sunghoon’s comments, holding up a navy button-up in one hand and a graphic tee in the other. “which one says i-tried-but-didn’t-try-too-hard-because-i’m-not-100%-sure-what-we-are-quite-yet-but-just-enough-try?”

“…okay,” sunghoon says, twisting the cube into a perfect, one-colored side. “i’m just…gonna ignore everything you said. but go with the navy.”

“perfect,” jake grins at first, before his eyebrows furrow slightly. “wait, wait, wait. do you think she suspects anything?”

sunghoon lowers the cube. looks at jake. “about you liking her? bro, you kissed her—dude, it’s so obvi—she knows, trust me.”

“no,” jake hisses, yanking off his shirt and then buttoning the navy one on. “about me. like me me. like, spider-man me.”

sunghoon pauses. eyes jake. “what? why? what did you do?”

jake tries to fight back the dumb grin growing on his face as he runs his hand through his hair. “i walked her home.”

“okay…” sunghoon gives him a look that says he’s not impressed. “and i walked my grandma home last week, what’s your point—”

jake rolls his eyes and glances at him through the mirror. “as spider-man.”

“wait—” sunghoon gasps. “so you did end up using your lil guy!”

jake turns to sunghoon, face horrified, “can we please stop calling it my lil guy—”

but before sunghoon can respond, a sudden crackle of static cuts through the air from where jake’s police scanner sits on his cluttered desk.

“—reports of an assault in progress near 37th and bay. suspect is armed. five victims. officers en route. any nearby units respond.”

the air stills. sunghoon immediately sits up. jake’s head jerks towards the tracker. sunghoon’s already reading the look in his best friend’s eyes, “don’t.” jake doesn’t answer.

his eyes are locked on the scanner. his jaw tightens. his mind already racing.

assault in progress. you. suspect is armed. documentary. weird jelly fish. 37th and bay. you. five victims. y/n. y/n. y/n. y/n.

sunghoon watches him carefully, like someone trying to talk a bomb out of detonating. “jake. don’t even think about it.” “i’m not!” jake blurts, too fast, too high, and the crack at the end gives him away.

sunghoon groans. “dude. you have another date. with y/n. you’ve been waiting for this for so long.” “i—i know,” jake’s voice rises in panic. and he’s trying so hard not to panic. “but what if no one gets there in time? w—what if…it’s close. i can handle it. i’ll be quick.”

“jake.” sunghoon gapes at him. “quick? you literally limped up the stairs today. you barely beat that guy from the other day!”

jake doesn’t hear him. in fact— jake’s navy button-up is already off.

“i’ll be fine!” “you still have a bullet scar in your stomach!” “exactly, sunghoon. scar. practically healed. no biggie!” sunghoon throws his hands up. “you can’t be serious—”

“i’ll be done and early to the theater. i swear, hoon.” jake is already tugging the suit halfway over his upper half, wincing at the movement but powering through. “i’ll swing in, swing out. three minutes, tops.”

sunghoon groans louder. and jake is already yanking the window open. “jake.” his friend’s voice softens slightly. “don’t blow this. you like her. she likes you.”

jake pauses, foot on the ledge, mask in hand. he turns back towards sunghoon, lips tight, shoulders tense. “i do like her,” he murmurs.

he pulls the mask down over his head anyways.

“but you know me, sunghoon. you know i can’t be the guy who looks the other way.” and sunghoon does know. of course he knows. this was always a losing battle from the start. because he knows his best friend, he knows jake. knows his heart wasn’t just made of gold, but forged in it. soft and stubborn, foolish yet fearless. the kind of heart that doesn’t back down, even when it knows it should. the kind that tries anyways.

so sunghoon doesn’t push any further. he presses a hand to jake’s shoulder and gives it a firm pat.

“you better not be late.”

jake offers a crooked salute with two fingers—part promise, part apology— and falls backwards out the window.

a flick of his wrist, a few shots of web, a sharp whoosh of air as jake swings into the wind—and the night cleans the rest of his loud thoughts out of his head.

because as much as he wants to see you—as much as he’s worrying about being late—he can’t think about that right now.

and so one fight, a couple hard punches to the gut, a potentially dislocated shoulder, and a webbed-up criminal later—

jake is limping his way back across a rooftop ledge, blood in his mouth and the taste of guilt already rising up like bile behind it.

he lands with a grunt just outside his window on the fire escape, cracking it open and tip-toeing in. he stumbles into his room—still half-messy from earlier—navy button-up on the floor, rubik’s cube on the bed.

jake groans softly, one hand pressed into his side, the other slowly dragging his mask off. his jaw aches. his ribs throb. his other ankle is definitely going to bruise. but his heart? sinks when he finally turns on his phone.

6 missed messages. 3 missed calls. all from you.

Y/N (7:41PM) : hey! just got here early :)) but no rush!!

Y/N (7:57PM) : are u on ur way?

Y/N (8:03PM) : jake? is everything okay?

Y/N (8:16PM) : im going in now…meet me inside when u get here?

Y/N (9:45PM) : jake if u forgot u can just tell me

Y/N (10:12PM) : i hope ur okay

jake stares at the screen. sits on the edge of his bed, defeated. like he might fall apart.

because jake has seen a lot in his short lifetime. he’s seen back alleyways soaked in red. he’s seen broken glass way too many times a teenager ever should. he’s seen someone take a swing at him with a crowbar. he’s seen bruises bloom on his ribs and vanish before anyone could ask questions. he’s seen criminals twice his size fall, and he’s seen friends—good people—get hurt anyways.

but this? this wrecks him. this has jake in shambles.

because he missed it. he missed you. and before he could talk himself out of it—before he even knows what he’s going to say—he’s tapping on your name and pressing the call button.

it rings once. twice. three times.

“jake?” your voice is soft. cautious. like you didn’t know if you should answer, but did anyways.

jake swallows hard, voice caught in his throat.

“i’m sorry.” a pause. it hangs in the air and jake already wants to scream. “i’m so sorry,” he says again, voice low, words falling out fast, as if trying to outrun his own guilt gnawing at him. “i—i didn’t mean to—i was gonna be there, i swear i was gonna be there, but then something happened and—”

“hey,” your voice cuts through. not loud, not pressing, not angry. “it’s okay.” but it’s far from it. not in jake’s head. not when the image of you sitting alone in the dark theater has already carved itself into his brain. not when he can hear the disappointment in your voice.

jake licks his lips. he can hear the shift of your weight rustling against your bed. maybe you’re curled up somewhere in the dark. maybe you’re still in the outfit you wore to the movies. maybe you cried, and maybe you didn’t. and maybe jake will never know.

“no, no it’s not,” jake manages. he winces—at the pain growing at his ribs, at the mess he’s made, at himself. “i—i didn’t even text, i—god, i’m such an idiot—”

“you’re not an idiot, jake,” you say. and your voice is tired, but never cold. “i was just…worried.”

“i’m okay. i promise. and i promise i didn’t forget,” he whispers. “not even a little.” and there’s so much more jake wants to say.

“…did something happen?” you ask gently. jake’s fingers tighten around the phone. “yeah,” jake says, the sound barely coming out. “kind of.”

another beat passes. a small exhale from you. “do you want to talk about it?” and jake’s throat closes up.

because he wants to. god, he wants to. he wants to tell you everything—about the fight, the chase, the guy with the knife, the way his side still burns, the way he pictured you waiting outside the theater for him with every swing and every hit he took and every punch. he wants to tell you he didn’t forget. that you were the only thing on his mind the whole time.

but he can’t. he knows he can’t.

“…i—i can’t.”

you’re quiet again. but this time, jake can feel the shift even over the phone. and it’s not annoyance, it’s not cold. jake doesn’t think a single bone in your body could ever hold an ounce of bitterness. just disappointment. sadness.

“…okay.” your voice barely goes through. jake squeezes his eyes shut. his fist balls up the sheet under him. “i’m sorry,” he whispers again.

you inhale through your nose, “it’s okay. i just—i didn’t know if something happened. i didn’t know if you were hurt...or if i said something wrong.”

jake’s stomach twists—sharp and awfully close to throwing up. and this time, it’s not from the amount of times he took it to the gut today.

“no,” he blurts, too quickly but he doesn’t care. “no, it wasn’t you. you didn’t do anything wrong.”

another long, still silence.

“alright…well,” you murmur eventually, voice light in that way people use when they’re trying not to sound disappointed. “i’ll see you at school then, i guess?” 

“yeah,” jake nods, even though you can’t see him. “yes. yeah, tomorrow.”

you don’t say anything else. and neither does he. you end the call first.

and jake stays frozen, still on the edge of his bed, phone still pressed to his ear even after the line goes dead with a soft click.

he shuts his eyes, letting the dark swallow him whole. and as he groans, rubbing a tired hand over his face—wincing at the physical pain, but mentally cursing at the emotional one—jake can’t stop hearing your voice in his head.

everything is too much.

halls buzzing, lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking. the overhead lights are way too bright, and the air smells like gym socks and cafeteria mystery meat.

and it’s all overwhelming. well, it should be, at least. especially for someone who has heightened senses that feels everything a hundred times more than the regular human being. sharper, louder, closer.

but jake barely notices any of it. he’s already halfway down the corridor, eyes immediately locking in on you the second he walked through those doors. and as far as he’s concerned, nothing else matters. 

you’re at your locker, spinning the combination without looking, when jake finds himself next to you before he knows it.

he clears his throat, “hey.” you glance over. “oh,” you say, blinking. “hi.”

jake steps a little closer, a little hesitant, nerves jumbled in his gut. “look, y/n. i’m really sorry. i still am.”

you shake your head almost immediately, pulling out a book and shutting your locker gently. there’s a polite smile on your face as you look over at him, “jake. it’s okay. really.”

"it’s not—” he says, frowning, his voice coming out rougher than he intends. his ribs still hurt. his ankle’s still swollen. his face still bruised. but none of that stings half as much as the way you’re not meeting his eyes right now. “you had every right to be pissed—”

“i wasn’t pissed, jake,” you cut in gently. “i told you. you just worried me…that’s all.”

that makes jake shut up. his throat closes up. because worried might be worse. worried means you care. and he let you down anyway.

and that’s it for a moment. the silence that follows stretches a little too long—lockers clang in the background, someone yells about running late to class. the world keeps moving—but jake doesn’t.

“i’m glad you’re okay,” you finally say, voice quiet as your gaze skims across his face, lingering just a moment too long on the faint bruise along his jaw.

jake exhales slowly. tries not to flinch under the weight of your concern. because how? how can you still look at him like that—with care, with softness—when he doesn’t know what he even did to deserve it?

and the worst part is, he’s terrified he already lost you before he ever even earned you.

“…so,” he says, the word catching in his throat awkwardly yet hopeful all at once, “how about we try again?” your head tilts, an unreadable curiosity replacing the worry in your eyes.

jake lets out an uneven breath of nervous laughter as he searches your eyes. “tomorrow night? you, me. that corner diner with the insane milkshakes and greasy burgers. then we can regret it together afterwards.”

you only look at him for a beat. then, just slightly, your shoulders relax. and jake watches it happen in real time—the way the tension lifts just slightly, the curve of a small smile tugging at your lips.

like sunlight cutting through a cloud. like a sign from the universe that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t completely ruin everything.

“okay,” you breathe, a small laugh escaping with it. “that…actually does sound kinda fun. maybe not the grease part, but…yeah. at least we can suffer together.”

you then step closer, nudging him lightly with your shoulder, a playful glint in your eye, “you’re paying, by the way.”

jake grips the straps of his backpack with both his hands, smiling at you like a child offered candy. “done and done.”

“alright, well,” you step back with a glance down the hall, “i should probably head to class.”

jake nods back, eyes still watching you, “yeah, yeah, right. me too.” but he doesn’t move. just keeps watching you, unsure if he should try pinching himself.

you look back at him one last time, “jake?”

jake’s half-way on his heels when he stops at the sound of your voice again. “yeah?”

“it really is okay,” you reassure. and it’s real. honest. grounded. and everything jake needs to hear.

he smiles, a little too lopsided and voice a little too fragile when he speaks again, “i’ll see you?”

“counting on it,” you grin before turning back and making your way to class.

the rest of the day blurs for jake. he aces the pop vocabulary quiz in english, he steals some of sunghoon’s fries from his tray, he accidentally dents his locker door when closing it because he forgets he has literal super strength.

but it all passes in a haze. muted and unimportant. because the only thing that cuts through the noise is the thought of you.

every hour stalls. every minute another reminder that the best way to distract himself from the chaos of his head is the same thing that causes it in the first place—

seeing you. obviously.

“you know,” his voice comes from above, playful and easy, “i probably sacrifice at least two churros a night just making sure you get home safe instead of saving the world out there.”

“jesus christ—” you jolt back, nearly tripping over your own feet as jake—spider-man—drops down beside you later that night on your walk back home. you instinctively swat at the air as if that threatens him. at all.

“wrong guy,” he quips, sticking the landing in a crouch and straightening up. “but i do appreciate the enthusiasm.”

your face drops and give him a deadpan stare. “you really gotta stop doing that.”

“me?” jake clutches his chest dramatically through the suit before jutting a thumb behind him towards absolutely nothing. “i could totally leave right now and earn myself some churros.”

you huff out a breath, rolling your eyes even as your lips twitch towards a smile, “then why are you still here, spidey?”

“because,” jake answers simply, falling into step beside you, “it’s part of my friendly-neighborhood-spider-man-civic-duties to make sure my favorite citizen gets home safe.”

you snort, shaking your head lightly as you tilt your head at him, “fine. let’s get going then.”

jake smiles beneath the mask—too wide, too hopeful, too much. and you don’t see it, but he feels it—feels you—in every corner of himself. and jake hates how badly he wishes this could just be him. no mask, no lies, no secret. just jake. just you.

once you two make it a block or two (jake lost count), jake coughs a little too awkwardly, breaking through the quiet, “sooo…what ended up happening with that aquarium guy?”

you falter for half a second. it’s quick, but jake notices. not because his jake-tingle makes him notice everything, but because he’s watching. especially you.

you start walking again just as fast, trying to pretend the question didn’t rattle you at all before you clear your throat, “what guy?”

“y’know,” jake gestures vaguely, hands flailing, “the guy-guy. the one who took you to see the belugas—”

oh no. jake stops. shuts his mouth. he did it again. you stop too. turn to look at him slowly.

“…how do you know about the belugas?” jake looks at you. the lenses of his mask widen. then narrow. blink. squint.

“i—uh—” jake rubs the back of his neck, the suit suddenly feeling a little too tight, a little too warm. “i saw a billboard. yeah. i was swinging around the other day and—and there was this massive ad. big and blue and very…beluga-like.”

there’s a beat. reason #1115 why jake’s going to launch himself into orbit. but you buy it anyways, settling with a small side-eye before walking again, “okay…right.”

“yeah,” jake exhales under his mask, recovering with a casual shrug, “anyways. belugas…the aquarium guy?”

you hum, the sound barely audible as if you’re thinking, “he’s…cool. he’s alright.”

and jake’s heart caves in a little. okay, maybe a lot. he pretends to nod, to be chill, to not feel like maybe he’s witnessing his entire world fall apart in front of him right now and he can’t do anything about it.

“damn,” he manages to squeak out, voice lighter than how he feels. “just alright?”

you glance at him briefly before looking back at the sidewalk, “no, no—he’s…he’s really nice,” you say and jake swears he can feel the syllables in your voice individually bruise his ribs. “he’s just…confusing. i don’t know.”

and jake, because he’s jake, watches you. watches the way your voice dips quieter. watches the way your shoulders curl in just a little, watches the way your mind trails off.

“confusing…” he says slowly, carefully, testing the ice. “like you…don’t like him?” and jake doesn’t know why he asked that. he doesn’t know if he wants to hear the answer.

“yes. no. i—i don’t know. i think i do.” a small pause. you kick a pebble. “but sometimes it’s hard to tell if he…if he actually cares? or if i made the whole thing up in my head.”

jake blinks hard. looks away. swallows. bites the inside of his cheek to keep everything in. because you didn’t make it up. not even a little. and god, if only you knew how desperately he cares—how much of his life he’s unintentionally rewritten around you.

his heart screams to tell you everything. that this is his chance, that he can fix everything right here, right now. but his brain knows better.

“i think…you should give him a chance.”

you look up, surprised. and jake doesn’t know why—but that hurts too.

“seriously,” his eyes flick forward again. “he’d be lucky. you’re smart. and thoughtful. and…even though you have the survival instincts and awareness of a sea turtle, you’re…fun. and honestly kind of unbelievable.”

and for a spilt second, jake forgets. forgets that he’s not just jake. forgets he’s not just a teenage boy talking to his crush. forgets that to you, right now, he’s not the awkward guy that stammers next to you in chemistry and accidentally breaks glass beakers in his hand. forgets that he’s spider-man—the one you seem to trust a little more freely than the boy who let you down.

and that’s what hurts the most. because when you glance up at him now—there’s that feeling again. the pocket of air that only ever exists between you and him. a space that feels warmer than the rest of the world, like the universe took a breath and exhaled only around the two of you.

and it’s always there, somehow—whether he’s wearing the mask or not. whether it’s spider-man and you eating cold pizza on your fire escape. whether it’s you and jake laughing over a lame pun your teacher used in class. and jake knows that air. craves it. has memorized the shape of silence it holds.

but right now, it feels more like spider-man gets to live in it. not jake. and that realization twists something sharp and quiet inside his chest.

because jake’s the one who likes you. jake’s the one who knows you like your matcha lattes even with the grainy oat milk that makes the texture weird. the one who knows you only ever take chemistry quizzes with your favorite pink pen because you think it gives you good luck. the one who gets to share sour patch kids with you under the lab table when you both think no one is looking. but jake’s the one who messed up.

and spider-man’s the one who gets to be here now.

he looks at you—you standing there, eyes soft, smile just a little sad—and he’s willing himself not to say anything stupid. not to ruin the moment. not to cross that line he drew. not to let it get to his head every time he realizes the only way he can be close to you right now…is by being someone else.

and so jake locks in.

the next morning, he wakes up early—which, in jake terms, really means waking up at his regular time and only hitting snooze twice instead of his usual six. he throws on a hoodie that he sniffed to make sure it smells like detergent and not like it’s overdue for a wash, looks in the mirror, and brushes his hair. like actually brushes it, and not just run his hands through it and hopes for the best. he walks the full twenty minutes to the café where he studied with you, orders your usual—the matcha latte with the grainy oat milk—adds a smiley face and heart on the side of the cup next to your name, and books it to school. he arrives early to school, for once, and goes straight to your locker—not before dodging a frisbee mid-air, a frantic girl running with an art project in hand, and a couple making out aggressively by the vending machine.

when you close your locker door shut, you look up surprised—jake in your view, holding the matcha out like an olive branch. if olive branches wore oversized hoodies and had a mild existential crisis fifteen minutes ago.

you blink. then you smile and take the cup. jake gives himself a mental high five. nailed it. and when you softly ask him to walk to you to your first class? jake nearly does a backflip. (he doesn’t. he plays it cool. barely.)

when chemistry rolls around later in the day, jake’s the first one to say hi this time. when the teacher is busy not looking, jake leans in and says a really, really stupid joke about ionic bonds and valence electrons and regrets it immediately but you laugh. you laugh and jake’s day is immediately better than any other day he’s had this week. at some point, you nudge his knee and when jake looks down—your hand is there, holding out a pack of sour patch kids. jake takes it as a good sign. or maybe a sign of impending life-long romance. either way, he takes one and tries not to make it weird. (and he still does. he accidentally eats two at once and chokes a little. but it’s fine.)

when the bell rings and class is over, you’re both packing up when you glance over and smile at him, “I’m excited to see you later tonight.” and jake thinks he misheard. thinks he’s hearing things because just three weeks ago, the most he’s ever said to you was either something about the periodic table or…running out of the classroom after breaking a glass beaker with his bare hands. but then your hand lands on the sleeve of his hoodie and gives him the slightest squeeze, and jake malfunctions.

jake gives you a thumbs up. because he panicked. he panicked and thumbs-upped (he will never learn). but you smile anyways and say your cute little goodbye before leaving class.

and the rest of the school day is irrelevant to jake because the rest of the school day doesn’t involve you. well, except in his head. sure, jake goes to lunch. sunghoon won’t stop talking about the new valorant expansion pack and how his computer lags everytime he tries to peek a corner—but jake’s just thinking about how your hair looked in the sunlight this morning when you asked him to walk you to class. sure, jake gets his pop quiz back in history with a big, fat, b minus written on top in red marker. normally, he’d spiral, because he really should be getting his history grade up. and normally, he’d wince at the mental image of his mom scolding him later over it—but he’s too busy replaying your laugh in his head. sure, jake goes to robotics club after school. he’s supposed to help calibrate the parts for their new battle bot but he accidentally installs a cord backwards, and now the bot is stuck running in circles—because jake sim is currently preoccupied.

preoccupied mentally drafting a speech that goes something like, “hey, i like you. a lot. possibly way more than i should but i don’t really care because you always smell good and your smile makes me want to rip my hair out and the memory of kissing you is in my dreams everynight. can i be your boyfriend? please? maybe? i’ll buy you weird oat milk drinks forever and buy you more beluga stickers even though, respectfully, you probably shouldn’t own any more.”

it’s still a work in progress.

and later that evening, jake is pacing back and forth in his bedroom, mentally preparing himself for tonight. his spider-man suit lies crumpled somewhere in the back of his closet half-covered by a flannel, a calculus textbook, and one sock he still can’t find the missing half to. he makes a mental note to wash the suit. eventually. later. not tonight. tomorrow. whatever. not important.

because tonight, he’s just jake. just jake, a regular teenage boy. just jake, a regular teenage boy with no responsibilities except to make his crush and hopefully soon-to-be-girlfriend happy.

just jake, nervously fixing the collar of his nicest hoodie, debating whether or not to wear the cologne his mom got him two birthdays ago. just jake, combing his fingers through his hair and wondering if you like it better pushed back, down, up, messy, styled, or, hell, shaved off entirely because he will do it if it gets him one (1) smile from you. just jake, practically grinning to himself because he’s going to see you.

jake checks the time again. 7:24PM. he’s early, which is good. which is the plan. because early gives him time to get to the diner first. early gives him time to find the best booth, which is the one near the corner window so you two can watch the sunset together and sit far from the kitchen door to avoid the smell of peanut oil. early gives him time to breathe and mentally run through everything he wants to say.

hi y/n. you look really pretty. i missed you—wait no, you saw her literally three hours ago, don’t say that—i was thinking we could split the strawberry milkshake together—wait is she lactose intolerant?

jake grabs his phone, wallet, the flowers he picked up at the corner deli on the way home. it’s wrapped in too much plastic, a little crooked, one of the carnations is sticking out, but it’s pink and soft and entirely you coded.

and jake makes his way to the diner, sneakers scuffing against the sidewalk, heart doing backflips in his ribcage as he turns the corner and sees the neon lights of the diner come into view just a few more blocks down. one of the lights of the sign is flickering in and out, going back and forth from diner to din_r. it’s perfect. you’re perfect. he just needs to get there.

buzz. buzz. jake looks down at his phone in hand.

incoming call : GUY IN CHAIR 🧠

“yo, i’m gonna call you in, like, a few hours,” jake answers without thinking, barely breaking his pace, “i’m on my way to the—” “jake.” and sunghoon’s voice is tense. urgent. the kind of urgent that tightens something in jake’s chest. jake stops.

“it’s bad. really, really bad,” sunghoon’s voice is strained and jake doesn’t like it. doesn’t like that feeling in his gut. the pull, the weight, the way his skin pricks, the way every muscle in his body tenses.

jake shuts his eyes closed. exhales sharply. runs a hand through his hair. “how bad?”

“like…warehouse near the port is up in flames and there’s a hostage situation and no one’s close enough to get there in time.”

and just like that, jake feels it. the way the air changes, that familiar shift in gravity. that tug in his chest like a string being pulled into two opposite directions.

jake doesn’t say anything. he looks back down the street, stares at the diner. he’s so close. so close to getting there. so close to getting to you. “i can’t, sunghoon. not tonight,” he swallows hard, his voice cracking on the words. “i—i don’t even have my suit.”

there’s a beat. “jake,” sunghoon says, softer yet not any less urgent. “they’ve got kids.”

jake’s eyes flutter closed again. presses the heel of his hand to his forehead like he can press the guilt away. he doesn’t move. and for a second—just one—he thinks maybe, maybe, he could keep walking. just this once. just tonight.

but he knows better.

the responsibility. the pull. the price of the mask. it’s never not there.

his grip tightens around the bouquet. the plastic crinkles. he sighs, slips out a curse word or two under his breath, and—

“jesus christ,” jake mumbles, already turning on his heel. “tell the fire department i’m on my way. and tell them to hurry.”

and jake’s already running—sprinting back in the opposite direction back to his apartment. sunghoon hangs up and jake?

jake doesn’t stop. he doesn’t even look back.

jake doesn’t know what time it is. doesn’t care. smoke still clings to his skin, the faint sting of ash burned into the fabric of his suit. his lungs ache, and his hands are scraped raw from tearing open too many metal doors and carrying too many people to safety.

but he’s alive. they’re alive. 

and yet. all jake can think about—is you.

you, maybe waiting in that booth. you, maybe sipping a milkshake through a striped straw, twirling it slowly and glancing at the door every couple minutes. you, maybe checking your phone. frowning. getting up. leaving.

god.

he doesn’t even stop to change. just swings home, crawls through his fire escape, throws a hoodie over his soot-covered suit, runs a wet hand through his hair, and jumps back out the fire escape again. he swings and swings until he lands in an alleyway near the diner, tripping over a trash can and throwing a curse word at it as he stumbles into the street and—

runs into you.

your arms are crossed tight against your chest, your head’s down. you’re walking the other way, unaware of the chaos behind you.

jake’s voice cracks before it can even form your name. “—y/n. y/n, i—”

you stop mid-step, your head turning at the sound. and when you turn and see him, you pause—the expression on your face unreadable.

“jake?” your brows furrow. “what the hell—where did you even come from? and why do you smell like—” you stop yourself. exhale shortly. shake your head. “you know what? never mind. i—i’m going home.”

you turn again. and jake panics. he starts after you, picking up his pace to match yours “wait—look, y/n, i’m so, so, so sorry. i swear i can explain—”

that’s when you stop in your tracks. you turn, finally facing him. and the emotions written on your face are everywhere—confused, hurt, tired, and somewhere beneath all of that—still soft.

“okay,” you say, looking him in the eye. “then explain.”

jake opens his mouth. closes it. he swallows. his lips open again.

"i—" his throat burns. and it’s not from inhaling a building’s worth of smoke from earlier. "i can’t. it's...complicated."

silence.

you stare at him. eyes wide. quiet. sad. disappointed. the kind that hurts jake more than if you were angry.

when you speak up again, your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, “look, jake. i don’t know what’s going on with you. and i’m not mad. but…you’re just really confusing. and clearly, you’ve got something going on.”

you take a breath and fold your arms tighter around yourself, “—and while this was fun and all…i just—i don’t know if this is going to work out anyways.”

jake blinks. his stomach drops. he takes a step closer. “wait—no, y/n, i—”

and you keep going. “plus,” you let out a small laugh but it’s the worst kind of laugh—the kind that’s awkward and forced, like it’s there only to preemptively make up for the words coming after. “i’m just gonna be honest with you.”

jake doesn’t breathe. you look him in the eyes.

“i think i like someone else anyways.”

and that does it. jake’s world tilts sideways. the words hit him like a punch—no, worse, because he’s felt bad punches before. this feels like that moment in freefall right before the web catches you, except this time there’s no web. just the fall.

“you…like someone else?” is all jake manages to let out before the words get caught in his throat. he thinks he might throw up.

you nod. slowly. hesitantly. and jake feels like he’s unraveling.

he doesn’t know what to say. he wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants to tear his stupid hoodie off and tell you everything. that he missed the date because he was saving lives. that he wanted to tell you he’s falling for you. that he bought the damn bouquet and practiced a stupid speech and picked the booth with the best view and no peanut oil smell. that he only missed it because he was trying to be good. good enough. worthy.

but all that comes out is air. because he can’t tell you. because he shouldn’t tell you. because spider-man doesn’t get to be selfish. because jake doesn’t get to be just jake.

your fingers fidget as you glance back down at the ground. you rock slightly on your heels before your voice breaks the silence again, “but hey. no hard feelings, yeah? friends?”

and that might be the final blow. and jake doesn’t even know how to respond. his brain stutters. because what is he supposed to say—”friends? no? actually, i wanted to ask you to be mine tonight, and now i can’t even tell you why i missed it?”

so instead, jake does what jake always does. he pretends. he nods, forces a smile—too quick, too wide, the kind that pulls at his cheeks but doesn’t reach his eyes.

“yeah,” he says. his voice cracks, but he clears his throat like that’ll fix anything. “yeah. of course. friends.”

you nod back and offer a tight smile, “i’ll see you at school, then. goodnight.”

then you turn. and you walk away. jake doesn’t move. the weight of your footsteps fade, but the words still echo in his ears.

friends. someone else. no hard feelings.

his chest feels hollow. like someone scraped everything out and forgot to fill it back in. like he just lost something he never even got the chance to have in the first place.

and spider-man’s the one who saved the day. and it should feel like a win, but it doesn’t. because although spider-man saved the day, jake’s the one who let you down. 

jake was too late. too late, too secretive. too much of everything and still not enough of what you needed.

“maybe it’s not as bad as we think.” sunghoon’s voice is cautious, but not exactly convincing from his slouched position in jake’s desk chair, spinning slowly like he’s debating whether now’s a good time to leave (it’s not. he’s been trying for the past hour. jake made him stay.)

jake lets out a guttural groan in response, already face down on his bed, limbs sprawled out in distress. a pillow is smushed over his head, in attempt to block out the agonizing, soul-crushing reality that is his life.

“it’s over, sunghoon,” jake muffles into his mattress. “over with a capital O. capital V. all the damn letters—over before it even started.”

jake flips over, sending the pillow to the other side of the room, “she likes someone else,” he says hollowly, staring blankly at the ceiling. “i was so preoccupied with everything else that i didn’t even notice she—who else could she even—”

jake cuts himself off mid-rant. because it doesn’t matter. doesn’t matter who you like. doesn’t matter how it happened.

it just matters that it’s not him. that you like someone. and it’s not jake.

jake presses a hand to his head, “god. i’m such an idiot.”

sunghoon lets out a low whistle and starts fiddling with one of jake’s pens, “okay. you’re not an idiot. you did what you had to do, and you did the right thing.”

jake lets out a small sigh, quiet and defeated, finally looking at his friend, “but when do i get to stop sacrificing to do the right thing?”

silence stretches out between them. the ceiling fan above them whirs. the clang of metal pots and pans echo from down the hall—which means jake’s mom is attempting to make meatloaf again. which means the fire alarm will probably go off in ten minutes, maybe eight. the room smells faintly of jake’s two-birthdays-ago cologne, and the burnt tinge of unwashed spandex crumpled somewhere in the room.

sunghoon taps the pen against the desk, eventually breaking the silence, “so talk to her. as spidey.”

jake sits up in his bed and gives sunghoon a look.

“talk to her as spider-man, tell her to give ‘jake’ another chance,” sunghoon repeats, throwing air quotes around his friend’s name.

jake gestures to the ceiling. the wall. the existential void of absolute nothingness around him. “sunghoon. that’s…messed up. morally. ethically. logistically. probably emotionally.”

“i mean,” sunghoon shrugs casually as if this is the answer to all of jake’s problems, “spidey’s already friends with her, anyways. and you told me yourself—it feels like she’s closer to him than she is to you.”

jake throws both hands in the air. “WE’RE THE SAME PERSON.”

he then lets out an inhuman noise and flops backwards onto his bed again, “whatever, man. this is probably for the best anyway,” he mutters. “spider-man should’ve never gotten involved in the first place. it’s safer this way. especially for her.”

a beat passes. jake stares up at the glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to his ceiling from the sixth grade. he blinks once.

“plus, let’s be honest. i’d probably screw it up more somehow. say something dumb and let it slip that it’s been me all along.” jake pauses. “—or honestly, she probably already knows i’m spider-man. which is even worse, because now she probably hates both versions of me.”

sunghoon’s quiet for a moment. just keeps spinning slowly in jake’s chair, the wheels creaking faintly. “…so what? you’re just gonna stop walking her back home now?” he finally says, lifting a brow. “isn’t that for her safety too?”

and yeah. yeah, he has a point. so jake doesn’t stop.

he just stops being seen. and that’s what jake does for the next few days.

so jake falls into this routine without really meaning to. he goes home from school, puts on his suit (it’s clean now, don’t worry), and spends the next few hours either returning stolen bikes or webbing carjackers to brick walls or showing tourists the right direction.

and somehow, someway, jake still finds himself in the same spot at the end of the day—sitting crouched on the ledge of the rooftop across from your bus stop, a hoodie pulled over his mask, hands stuffed in his sleeves.

at 10:32PM, your bus rolls up right on the dot.

at 10:33PM, you step off. same oversized totebag on your shoulder. same way you pull your phone out and unlock it in the same three motions. same streetlight that flickers just before you pass it.

and jake watches you go home. makes sure you’re okay. makes sure you’re safe. all without making himself seen.

and only when your apartment window lights up does he finally feel okay, finally swings away, the wind cold and sharp in his lungs—but not as cold as the air around him whenever you’re not there.

he does this again the next night. and the next. and the next.

and at school, jake falls into rhythm here, too—if you can call it that.

you still sit next to him in chemistry. still copy formulas off the board. still hand in the same worksheets, laugh politely when the teacher makes a pun about avogadro’s number.

but you don’t share your sour patch kids anymore. and jake doesn’t make any stupid chemistry jokes to make you laugh either, because…he can’t think of any. because all the funny ones were ones he saved for you, and they don’t feel worth saying out loud anymore.

you talk to him, sure. when you need the answer to question six, or to ask if he got the quiz grade back. but there’s space between you now. quiet, aching space. and jake doesn’t know how to fill it.

but by the end of the week— all routines fly out the window.

because it’s friday night. and jake swings to the usual rooftop across from your bus stop, a half-eaten churro in one hand—courtesy of the sweet old lady who bought it for him after he showed her where her train station is. because it’s 10:30PM when jake lands on the roof, tossing his backpack to the side when he looks up and—

he freezes.

because sitting there, cross-legged on the ledge—on his ledge—backlit by the moonlight and the yellow glow of the streetlamps below—is you.

jake chokes. he stumbles back, the eyes of his mask blown wide immediately, “what the—y/n?! what are you—how did you—wh—”

and you’re sitting there, blinking and staring at him, unfazed. like you’ve been waiting. you don’t move. you just raise a brow.

“okay, so first you start walking me home every night, then you stop showing up, but still choose to stalk me from a distance? i don’t get you, spider-man.”

and jake is so confused right now. “i—what’s going on?” jake sputters, arms half-raised in shock and disbelief. “how are you even here right now, how did you even get up here?”

“you’re not exactly subtle, y’know,” you deadpan, ignoring his question as you tilt your head up at him. “every night you walk me home? i know this is where you drop your bag off and wait for me to get off that bus. i know you sit on that rooftop across from my place to make sure i’m okay every night. your silhouette is literally not that subtle.” then you gesture vaguely around the rooftop. “also, the webs everywhere? kinda a dead giveaway, don’t you think?”

jake’s mouth opens. nothing comes out. and if it weren’t for the mask, he’d be catching flies.

you stand now, arms crossed tight as you take a step closer to him. you take a deep breath before you ramble, “i don’t know. i’m just—i’m so confused, spider-man. i told the guy i like that i liked someone else. and i don’t even know if that was true or if i just panicked. but the truth is, i don’t even know if the guy i actually like likes me back, or even knows how to talk to me, or if i’m just completely losing it—”

“—wait.” jake tilts his head, still frozen in his spot. “wait, which guy? like the guy-guy? aquarium guy?”

you groan and start pacing, squeezing your eyes shut like you’re trying to make sense of the situation as well.

“yes. yes, of course the guy-guy, aquarium guy—who else would i be talking about? there’s no other guy—”

“you just said you told the guy-guy you liked someone else.”

“i did! i think! i—look, i don’t know! maybe i said it just to protect myself from the fact that the guy-guy doesn’t like me back. but now i might actually like this other guy—”

“okay, okay—hold on, back up,” jake steps back to process. holds up both his hands. “so there’s guy-guy you maybe like…and now a new guy…?”

jake’s mind is reeling. his insides might come out. who is the new guy? is jake even guy-guy? no. yes. maybe? jake has to be guy-guy. or else he’s gonna scold sunghoon for being very unoriginal for the aquarium date idea.

you stop pacing. you turn to him with wide eyes, like you’re mentally begging yourself to shut up, don’t do it, but your mouth moves anyways.

“…you,” your voice is quiet. barely audible. but yet, so loud and clear and more than anything else jake has ever sensed before. “i like you.”

and for a second there, jake thinks maybe he misheard, because it sounded a lot like you just said you liked him. spider-man. and there’s absolutely no way. there’s no way you said that. there’s no way you meant that.

there’s no way this is happening.

there’s no way the girl he’s been hopelessly staring at from across the cafeteria for god knows how long now, the girl he’s been walking home at night to make sure she’s safe even she didn’t know, the girl that witnessed him choke on two sour patch kids at once in the middle of chemistry—is standing here. on this rooftop. telling him that this entire time he’s been tangled up in a love triangle…with himself?

and jake? jake is actively malfunctioning. he says nothing. he does nothing. he thinks nothing.

and you seem to take jake’s stunned silence as pure horror— because you panic.

“oh my god. oh my god—i’m insane,” you whisper, moreso to yourself than him. “i knew it. i knew that guy-guy shattered my brain and messed me up so bad i’m actually losing it.”

you start pacing again. and jake’s legs don’t work, so he just watches.

“like—i don’t even know what you look like under that mask. what if you’re, like…thirty? what if you don’t even have a nose?” your voice rises in disbelief at your own choices. “what if i’m just projecting everything onto this idea of you, because you’re sweet and funny and walk me home and call me your favorite citizen and—god, i’m actually going delusional—”

jake takes a few more steps back, shaking his head once, then twice, like he’s trying to physically undo the entire past five minutes of his life. or reset his entire nervous system.

his hands fly to his hair as he turns away from you, staring up at the sky, muttering incoherent words to himself before he lets out a groan, “i—what the hell—i can’t believe i’m doing this, i’m gonna hurl. oh god—”

then, he turns around. takes one unsteady step towards you. his heart is racing. but without another word—

he yanks the mask off. and his hair is a mess (from the mask). his cheeks flushed like he’s been sweating (he has). his eyes wide like he’s terrified (he is).

“y/n.” your jaw drops. you blink once. twice. you stare at his face. at his hair. at jake.

“…JAKE?!”

your voice echos—loud. probably throughout the entire city, if jake’s being honest. your arms flail so wildly it looks like your brain is about to evacuate your body. you blink hard, like if you do it enough times, this fever dream might just break.

“are you kidding me right now?!”

jake flinches. his eye twitches.

you immediately start pacing again—back and forth, borderline hyperventilating, “YOU? you’re spider-man?! YOU??” you shout again, turning to point at him like he committed fraud. “how—hell—you literally broke a glass beaker last month—this can’t be real—”

jake raises his hands defensively, “okay, to be fair, you caught me off guard by asking me—”

“OH MY GOD,” you groan, throwing a hand into your hair, fisting a small bunch. “i told you i liked you while you were you pretending not to be you. that’s…that’s messed up, jake!”

“okay—yes, i see how that was a little—”

“you…you called me pretty but ignored my texts but still walked me home that night and…i’m so confused right now.”

jake scratches the back of his neck with one hand, the other dropping uselessly to his side, mask still in hand, “well…yeah. but also, like, i thought you picked up on it.”

“WHY WOULD I THINK YOU’RE SPIDER-MAN?” you practically screech, your steps halting as you spin to face him, full disbelief painted all over your face.

jake blinks. “i don’t know! i figured the voice, the walk…literally anything—”

“i don’t listen to people’s walks, jake!” you pace faster now. like if you don’t move, you might actually implode.

jake makes a desperate, helpless noise before he tries again, “look, y/n—can..can you just stop for a second and—”

“no, jake! i’m spiraling!” your voice hits a new level of pitch that makes jake wince. again. “i told two different guys i liked them this week and it turns out they’re the same guy and somehow that makes it worse?! do you know how emotionally unstable this makes me? i ranted to you about YOU—and you let me! oh, you’re so done for jake si—”

and that’s when he does it.

jake shoots a web. it catches your waist. and your rant cuts off mid-sentence as you’re suddenly pulled into him.

with a small yelp, you crash into his chest, hands reflexively splayed across his alarmingly solid chest. your nose is inches from his collarbone, and jake’s hands settle on your waist, immediately grounding you in place.

and you don’t have time to orient yourself—and jake doesn’t give himself time to pause or doubt it before he does it.

jake kisses you.

no hesitation, no overthinking, just all of jake—crashing his lips onto yours, immediately silencing you.

and you don’t stop him. you can’t stop him.

because your lips are already moving against his, messy and fast and a little too much. your fingers fist into the fabric of his suit like you’re trying to anchor yourself and you swear—you swear—you can feel his heartbeat under your fingertips. and all of the sudden, you’re hyperaware of everything. how his mouth is warm and desperate and tastes a little like cinnamon churros and familiarity. how the air between you is sharp, your noses brushing, breath mingling in short gasps—all too much and not enough all at once.

and when you pull away briefly to take a breath—realization hits you. your palm smacks against his chest once. then again. then rapid fire.

“wait, wait. wait. did you just web me?” the words tumble out of you in a half-laugh, half-accusation. and to be frank, you don’t know if you should be angry or attracted right now.

and jake’s still breathless, forehead practically resting against yours, as you feel his chest rise and fall with each shaky exhale. his voice is low, steady. a little hoarse.

“y/n—” jake whispers, so close you can feel the shape of the words against your mouth, “—shut up.”

and then he kisses you again. slower, this time. deeper. like an apology, like a confession, like something that feels way too big to name.

jake’s hand curls tighter around your waist, the other sliding up gently, carefully, until his fingers find the back of your neck, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear in his hold.

and all you can do is lean in. closer and closer, like if you press hard enough, you’ll disappear into him. disappear into that small pocket of space that only exists between you and him and never come back out.

it’s uncoordinated, a little too frantic. but it’s everything. the shock, the nerves, the confusion all blur into static. and this time, when jake pulls back, just barely, you cant help the tiny, unintentional whine that escapes your lips as you chase his without thinking.

jake exhales a breathless, shaky chuckle against you before he kisses you again. a quicker one this time. and then another. then one to the corner of your mouth. and then your jaw. and then he’s pulling back again, this time slower, eyes fluttering open just as yours do too, his hands still around you, the web still holding you against him.

“hi,” jake whispers. it’s soft and raw and boyish. and so, so real. “it’s me.”

his thumb brushes along your jaw as he swallows hard. your heart stumbles, your eyes searching his face—his stupidly soft brown eyes, the little scar on his chin, the mole near his cheek you’ve always noticed. it’s all him.

the boy who walked you home. the boy who doesn’t know how to talk to you in class. the boy you fell for. all this time.

you’re still pressed to his chest, body still tangled up in his arms, lips still tingling, mind still fuzzy. your voice comes out in a whisper, “i can’t believe it’s been you this entire time.”

he nods, a shy, crooked smile on his face, “it’s always been me.” and then his expression falters, just slightly. “i didn’t mean to lie to you. or miss our dates. i just…i didn’t know how to be this,” he gestures to his suit, “and how to be just jake, either.”

and you just blink, unmoving in his arms, still a little breathless. because there’s something in his voice. something fragile.

“so…so that day you missed school? and you were all beat up?”

jake presses his lips together, guilt painted all over his face, “yeah, i actually did get into a fight. i lied about that part.”

your eyes narrow, “with who, jake?”

jake shrugs like it’s no big deal. “some guy with six arms. real tentacle problem. you should’ve seen the damage i did on him though.”

your mouth gapes.

“i’m kidding—” jake laughs, eyes sparkling now as his nose slightly bumps against yours. “it was a bank robber. kind of. honestly, it’s all a blur now. all i remember was thinking about kissing you that same night after the aquarium.”

you let out a scoff, part processing, part amused. “and the diner night? when you suddenly showed up out of no where?”

jake nods, pulling you in just a little tighter. “suit was under my hoodie the entire time. not fun, by the way. spandex gets sweaty…fast.”

“gross,” you mutter, scrunching your nose as you instinctively tug your hands away from his chest—only to stop halfway, leaving them right where they are anyways. then, after a beat, you slap his chest again. “i can’t believe you told me to give yourself another chance. i don’t know if i should be mad at you or kiss you again.”

jake makes a face and gives a tiny shrug, “well, if you’re asking for my opinion…” he tilts his head. “i definitely have an answer. but i might be biased.”

you roll your eyes, letting out a small laugh as your hands find the back of his neck now. “this is insane, jake. you’re genuinely insane,” you whisper quietly, eyes flickering from the spider emblem on his chest then back to his face.

jake grins down at you, eyes bright, one hand brushing a stray strand of hair away from your cheek.

“yeah? well you like both jake and spider-man,” he tilts his head. “so i think that makes you just as insane.”

you gasp dramatically, smacking his arm like you’re offended. jake laughs, that easy, familiar sound filling the room between you—and the air goes warm again.

there it is. that space. the one he’s always had with you—except now, it’s his. fully his. not just spider-man’s, not a half-version hidden behind a mask.

just jake, who also happens to wear spandex and save the city. just jake, who sucks at high school history and has feelings for the pretty girl in his chemistry class. and just jake—who finally doesn’t have to choose between you and the suit.

you breathe in, watching him carefully. “so…” you begin. “now what?”

jake pauses. and then he smirks. that boyish, reckless, completely jake smirk.

”how about i take you on a proper date?”

your brows lift, your head tilts. “yeah.” you beam up at him. “i’d like that. tomorrow?”

jake shakes his head slowly, leaning in briefly with a mischievous smile on his face.

“now.” you blink. “…now?”

“JAKE—” your scream cuts through the sky as you’re being flung between skyscrapers, clinging yourself around jake’s neck, legs around his torso like your life depends on it.

which, to be fair, is quite literally the case right now.

“—WE’RE NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN—”

jake just laughs, a breathless, exhilarating sound—his mask back on, one arm tight around you as the other shoots another web out, latching onto the building you two swing past.

“are you sure?” he yells over the fast wind. “because you look like you’re having so much fun—“

“JAKE—“

another swing. another scream. another terrified, stupid, perfect laugh.

the city blurs below. the stars blur above. and somewhere in between it all, you feel his heartbeat against yours.

jake’s grip tightens—instinctively, protectively—as you fly past neon signs and glowing windows and the tiny people beneath and the hum of a city that never sleeps.

and in that moment, your panic settles into something else. something warmer.

so don’t try to stop him.

you just hold on tighter.

𖢥⁺₊°˖ tenk u again for all the love & support, always <3 (& special ty for my love ronnie @heejamas for the beluga dolphins fun fact & being my support throughout this entire proces <333 hehehe)

m.list here!

his eyes followed every movement of his hands on your body, so absolutely pleased with the way you fit so perfect in his hands, like your body was formed and molded with his touch in mind. all for him.

up to your shoulders, back down your waist to your plush ass, back up your spine to the nape of your neck, where he massaged and caressed lovingly, oh so gentle with you. your soft sounds of satisfaction were like music to his ears.

he'd then wrap locks of your hair around his veiny hand like a rope, give you a soft tug, then pull your upper body up by your hair like he was lassoing a stallion.

chan would press your back against his heaving chest, on your knees, flush to his body. his cock would slip inside of your dripping cunt, sliding in with such practiced ease you moan long and pathetically.

keeping his hand tightly wound in your hair, his other would wrap around your front, pressing his scorching palm against your lower stomach, kneading and caressing, pressing and pushing, letting you feel every sinful inch of him buried in your guts.

"god you take me so fucking easily, it's disgusting." he'd press his plush lips against your hot ears, nipping at your lobe and kissing the side of your throat like he was starving.

rolling his hips against you, feeling every tantalizing inch of him sliding in and out in and out, his fat tip dragging against your g-spot with every greedy thrust. tilting your head back over his shoulder, he'd turn your head to face him, slotting his lips with yours, growling and grunting into your mouth, sliding his tongue over yours, and swallowing your moans like they gave him life.

you clench around him and he moans loudly into your mouth, the vibrations of his voice traveling down your throat. you couldn't believe this was actually happening to you.

"fuck baby..." he pulls from your lips with a slick pop, pressing his open mouth against your cheek, groaning and sighing at how warm you felt around him.

"channie..." you whimper, every thrust of his cock inside you sent another gush of wetness between your thighs, so sensitive and begging for him to bury himself so deep in your pussy you could feel him in every corner of your overheated body.

"you're so fucking wet." he kisses down your throat, pushing his hand further against your stomach, squeezing the hair at your scalp, moaning at the gentle whine that slipped from your mouth. "don't think i've ever had a girl so soaked for me."

he sped up his hips, sinking his teeth into the flesh above your collarbone, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as he lost himself to your soft insides.

"i know your perverted little brain is reeling about this, isn't it, sweetheart?" trailing his lips back up to your ear and yanks your head back, drawing a short yelp from your swollen lips.

"your favorite idol, driving his cock into you like the filthy slut you are, taking it so well." his tone was sinister and dripping in lechery, his whispers going straight to your foggy brain. "does me so deep in your guts really do it for you that bad, baby? you're practically stupid already, and we've barely started."

your eyes rolled, and drool slipped down the corner of your lips, your impending orgasm dangerously close to literally knocking you unconscious.

"are you even listening, hm? or are you too fucked out. you cumming already?" chan winced when you clenched around him again like a vice, and he felt your neck flex as you nodded drunkenly, voice breaking when you parted your lips to speak.

"c-close, channie... please..f-fuck..." chan pressed his cock impossibly deeper into you, smiling sickly when your moans shot upward in pitch at the switch of angle.

he pushed your body back down so your elbows were on the mattress, his hand still wound in your hair. he pulled so your back arched beautifully below him, using your hair to help piston his dick in and out of you at a brutal rhythm that had you crying and whining out.

"yeah... look at that arch, stupid slutty girl, so fucking good for me..." chan groaned, growing impossibly harder inside of you as he used your body like a doll, gnawing on his bottom lip at your willingness to bend and break for him. you were cumming in no time, your body shaking, and your voice going quiet as you struggled to breathe.

your moans rose in pitch as chan continued to fuck into you through one of the most earthshattering orgasms of your life, your second one already lighting that flame in your stomach, overstimulation beginning to set its course.

"c-channie!" you moaned, reaching a hand back to try and push his lower stomach to get him to let up. he only pulled your hair harder, laughing at your pathetic whines.

"baby, just cause you came doesn't mean i'm done. you lie there and you take it, you owe me at least 4 more orgasms, dont you?" you cried out at a particularly targeted thrust that made your breath catch.

"yeah ya do," chan groaned. fucking into you with reawakened fervor, his hand slipping around and rubbing rough, sloppy circles against your clit. "can't wait to have you fucking ruined for me, pretty baby, gonna ruin you tonight, every time you see my face anywhere you'll get flashes of tonight in your pathetic little brain and writhe for my touch again. gonna completely destroy you."

you moaned pathetically, your second orgasm washing over your body and nearly taking your soul with it. and chan kept fucking. kept kneading and pressing and touching and molding your pussy to the shape of his cock, his touch burned into your skin, and his words branded into your skull.

because if there's one thing bang chan wasn't, it was a liar.

When you turned seventeen, Jay gave you his favourite hoodie before flying to Seattle for a month to visit his relatives. You wore it religiously while he was gone, just to feel a little closer to him. 

And till now somehow, Jay still orbited your everyday life.

“You’re late,” he said without looking up, eyes fixed on some game playing on the TV.

“I wasn’t even supposed to come today.”

“But you did,” he replied, finally turning to glance at you. His grin was lazy, a little smug. “Couldn’t stay away from The Jonginator 3000.”

“Gross,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Please never call yourself ever that again.”

You crossed the room and dropped onto the other end of the couch, knees curling up beside you as your shoulder brushed his. Jay made space for you without saying anything. 

“Here,” you muttered, digging through your tote bag and tossing a bag of chips his way. 

He caught it one-handed. “Oh, how you spoil me.”

“Well, that’s because you’re unbearable when you’re hungry.”

“And equally as charming when I’m full,” he added with a wink.

You bit back a smile, tilting your head with mock thoughtfulness. “Hm… I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate,” you said.

You liked to believe your friendship with Jay could weather even the strongest storms but lately, you weren’t so sure.

It wasn’t that anything had gone terribly wrong. 

It was quieter than that. Slightly more subtle? Things had just… started to change. Not in ways you could clearly name, but in the little things. 

You and Jay were friends. Best of friends, even.

Your mum had worked for his family for almost a decade, taking care of his grandmother, the same woman you’d come to call Grandma, too. Jay never minded. His grandmother never corrected you. If anything, she loved it. Jay was an only child, and without a granddaughter of her own, she’d folded you into her life without hesitation.

His family had always been kind. They treated your mum with respect, and you never felt looked down on.

But lately, something had started to shift. Nothing harsh or particularly cruel. Just… small things, little things you were starting to piece together.

Maybe it was the way people talked about the future now about colleges, cities, careers. Plans that didn’t involve waking up in your childhood bedroom. Plans that didn’t include walking into Jay’s room, knocking once before flopping onto his bed to rant about terrible Netflix documentaries you’d force him to watch.

But most of all, they were plans that didn’t include both of you.

Maybe it was the realisation that Jay was heading somewhere you couldn’t afford to follow.

And maybe Jay was starting to realise that too.

You loved him. Almost too much. You didn’t like putting a label on it. Romantic, platonic, it didn’t matter. All you knew was that he made you laugh when you wanted to cry, and he made you smile when you were knee-deep in anger.

And losing that? Losing him? Somehow, that scared you more than anything.

You’d left for the bathroom a little over five minutes ago, but it took nearly three just to get back to Jay’s room.

You were about to push open the door, fully prepared to return and absolutely obliterate him in the game you’d been playing, when you heard a voice.

“Baby,” his mum said gently.

You froze. Your hand hovered just above the doorknob. Something about her tone stopped you. It sounded serious… a little too serious for you to barge in like nothing.

So you didn’t.

You stayed where you were, just outside his door, waiting for the right moment to step in.

“Mom, I’m not going,” Jay said. You could hear the sound of him ruffling his hair, followed by a long sigh.

His mum exhaled softly. “Jong, it’s a tradition. The family went there. I went there. You—”

“I’m not going,” he repeated, firmer this time.

There was a pause.

“If this is about…” she began before letting out a deep breath. “Look, I love her. You know I do. I treat her like a daughter too, but baby, this is a big deal. You have one foot in the door and you’re throwing it all away?”

“Mom—”

“No, listen to me.” Her voice cracked slightly. “You can always come back to her, but this… this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

A long stretch of silence followed, thick and heavy, before she spoke again, softer now but still thick with tension.

“I’m not saying she isn’t good for you. She is. She’s smart, she’s pretty. She’s… kind. But do you really think the two of you have anything in common besides growing up together?”

Oh. Oh. Oh…

So this was how they saw you: not bad, not unworthy…just not enough. Not for him. 

“Baby,” she said, “the two of you are on different paths and…well, Jong, you were meant for greater things. Big things.”

Through the small crack in the doorframe, you caught a glimpse of Jay, sitting on the edge of his bed, brows furrowed, elbows resting on his knees. He wasn’t answering. He looked like he was thinking about it.

That hurt more than anything.

You backed away quietly, each step careful, like even your breath might give away that you had been listening. When you reached the top of the stairs, you glanced down at your feet, your socks, mismatched and worn. They had never felt like such a statement before. And now, in this house, with its icy cold Italian marble floors, they felt impossibly…prominent.

You were rushing toward the door when something made you pause. The second living room, the one you’d always walked past, never into. You turned, just a little, just enough to see it.

The walls were lined with frames. Studio portraits of Jay and his parents, always dressed to the nines, always looking like they belonged on the cover of some high-society magazine. There were formal family shots with his extended relatives, his cousins in their prep school uniforms, their parents with Rolexes and pearl earrings, champagne glasses in hand at some gala that probably changed the world without you knowing.

Then your eyes landed on the final frame tucked in the corner.

Jay, standing beside the minister at a government scholarship ceremony. A navy suit that fit him too well. His parents beaming on either side of him. The plaque in his hand gleaming. You remembered that day vaguely, he had texted you something self-deprecating about tripping on stage. You had laughed then.

You weren’t laughing now.

Because all of it somehow was starting to feel like a mockery of just how different your worlds really were. There was a bitter sting in your chest, and you weren’t sure if it was jealousy over a life you’d never live, or the ache of knowing someone you liked so much came from a place you could never quite reach.

While Jay had birthday dinners at restaurants you didn’t even know existed, yours were made of takeout leftovers and cakes baked in a neighbor’s oven. Jay had a whole wall of proof that he belonged. And all the while, you didn’t even have matching socks.

—

Jay: Did you just leave? Without saying goodbye? 🙁

You didn’t reply.

You were too deep in your own spiral…spinning, crashing, drowning in thoughts you didn’t ask to think. His mom had been right. About everything.

She hadn’t been cruel. She hadn’t even sounded angry. Just… honest. Like a mother trying to protect her son from making a mistake. And maybe you were the mistake. You knew she liked you. You knew the whole family did. But that didn’t change the fact that you’d always been her daughter, the caregiver’s daughter. Not one of them. Not really.

And for the first time in your life, you felt it, not just the distance, but the pity. Ten years of your mom’s hard work, all the quiet pride she carried, all the long nights and it suddenly felt like none of it mattered. You were just the tagalong. A nice girl with nowhere better to be.

You were never someone in that house. You were just... there.

Your phone lit up again.

Jay: I’m coming over.

Your eyes flew open. “Damn it–” you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie.

You: Don’t.

Jay: Huh?

You: I’m fine.

Jay: But you left so soon?

You: I had to take a shit so I left.

There was a pause.

Jay: I have a bathroom, you idiot.

You: It’s too fancy. I like mine better.

Jay: LOL well at least say goodbye next time. I went around the house like an idiot looking for you for 10 whole minutes.

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering. You wanted to say more. 

But you didn’t want him to pity you too.

—

Jungwon stood beside you, rhythmically tapping two fingers against your back, drumming out a song only he could hear. You hunched forward at the front desk, shoulders tense, chin propped against your palm as you glared at the dusty computer monitor displaying your completely empty Tuesday schedule. 

You part timed at Goober Galaxy, an indoor playground targeted for kids ages 3 and up. Today was quiet. It was the perfect shift for a breakdown. Unfortunately, Jungwon hadn’t gotten the memo.

You swatted his hand away without even turning around. “Cut it out.”

He laughed, and leaned over the counter so that his chin now rested on his folded arms beside yours. “I’m bored,” he declared, eyes scanning your blank expression.

“Then go find something to do.”

“I like bothering you,” he said with a smile.

You turned to glare at him, grabbing the nearest pencil and holding it up like a weapon. “I’ll stab you with this.”

“Ooh, how scary,” he said, grinning wider. 

“Shut up.”

You didn’t mean for it to come out as sharp as it did. Jungwon blinked, his smile faltering just a little but only for a second. You dropped the pencil back onto the desk and folded your arms, slumping deeper into your chair. You’d been like this all day: distracted, fogged over, stuck in your own head with thoughts of you and Jay.

It’d been two days since you left Jay’s house without saying goodbye. Two days since you’d heard his mother’s voice echoing in the hallway, reminding him that people like you didn’t belong in their world. 

He’d been texting you ever since. But every time your phone lit up with his name, your heart clenched so hard it made you nauseous. You couldn’t answer. Not when you didn’t know how to exist next to him without feeling small.

You didn’t realize Jungwon had moved until he dropped onto the beanbag beside your stool with a dramatic huff, his legs splayed out in front of him, head tilted toward you.

“Okay,” he said, “seriously. Who is it?”

You didn’t answer.

“Come on,” he continued, tapping his foot against your shoe. “Tell the master of Women who has you acting up like this.”

“I highly doubt you even know what a woman is.”

You let out a breath through your nose and glanced at him. Jungwon’s dark hair tousled from where he’d been running his hand through it, polo shirt wrinkled, name tag barely hanging on. He was annoying and loud. But he was also one of the only people who understood what it meant to want more than you were allowed to have. You both had jobs instead of highly paid tutors, worn-out sneakers instead of new ones, savings goals that felt like they’d never be reached.

He didn’t know what was wrong. Not exactly. But he knew enough to ask.

Still, your voice caught in your throat. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it aloud: I overheard Jay’s mom say I don’t belong in his world and I think she’s right and now I can’t even look at him without wanting to cry.

So instead, you mumbled, “It’s nothing.”

Jungwon didn’t push. He just leaned back with a sigh and said, “You know I’ll keep annoying you until you tell me, right?”

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. “I know.”

He grinned. “Cool. Just making sure we’re on the same page.”

You sighed then tilted your head toward him, your voice quiet. “D’you ever think we’ll be bigger than we are right now?”

Jungwon blinked, caught off guard. “I mean… I heard Mr. Kim say we stop growing after we turn 18, but I’m not too sure.” He tilted his head dramatically, thinking hard. “Though… I have been drinking more milk lately so all fingers crossed!”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant! I meant... just us. Will we ever be bigger than this? Than who we are now?”

He looked at you, his smile fading into something gentler. You didn’t usually say things like this. “Like... spiritually? Emotionally? Or like tax bracket-wise?”

You stared at him flatly.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, raising both hands in surrender. “I get it. You mean like, in the world.”

You nodded slowly, your voice tightening. “I mean…look at us….We’re just... two kids. Two random people in this giant fuckin’ world. And there are people out there who are so much bigger than us. So much more important. Doing things that matter. And we’re just here. Doing this.”

Jungwon leaned his head back against the beanbag, legs stretched out in front of him. He looked up at the ceiling for a long moment before shrugging. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But I like where I am.”

You glanced at him, brows furrowed. “You like working for scraps?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Well... it’s a Tuesday afternoon, and I’m hanging out with the prettiest girl I know. So yeah. Not bad.”

You shoved his shoulder, trying not to smile. “Be serious, Won.”

His expression softened then, all teasing drained out of it. He shifted to face you more fully, his voice quieter. “Okay. You’re upset. And since it’s you, and you don’t get like this unless it’s something big, I’m guessing this is about Jay.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Jungwon reached out and gently poked your forehead. “Then let me say this clearly: you need to stop letting that big, overthinking brain of yours spiral.”

You exhaled shakily.

“I know Jay. Not like you do, obviously,” he added with a small grin, “but well enough. And I know, for a fact, that Jay doesn’t give a single fuck that we’re working at...” He looked around and grimaced. “Goober Fuckin’ Galaxy.”

You laughed.

“I’m serious,” he said, nudging your knee with his. “That guy looks at you like you invented…I don’t know…the freaking internet? It clearly doesn’t matter what job you have, or where you come from. You’re not small to him. Not to me. Not to Hee. Not to any of us.”

You didn’t reply, but something in your chest eased…just a little.

The bell above the entrance gave its usual pathetic worn out ding, but you didn’t look up…no one came to Goober Galaxy on a Tuesday. That was the whole point of working Tuesdays. 

“Uh oh,” he muttered beside you, sitting up from his beanbag.

“What?” you asked, barely glancing over.

“Lover boy incoming.”

Your brows knit together as you turned and froze.

Jay was standing in the entrance, chest rising like he’d sprinted from the subway (which he’s probably never taken), hair tousled in that way that looked both accidental and annoyingly perfect. In one hand, he held a bouquet of white daisies wrapped in soft brown paper. In the other, a box of chocolates with a ribbon tied so tight it was starting to crumple the corner.

And then you noticed it, the faint red splotches blooming across his knuckles, creeping up his wrist. His grip didn’t falter. Jay was allergic to flowers. You’d known that since forever, since the day he sneezed through an entire spring picnic and blamed the pollen for his watery eyes.

Your heart twisted.

Suddenly, you felt awful. And soft. And maybe a little bit in love all over again.

He walked straight toward you, eyes never leaving your face, and you hated the way your breath caught.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “I’m sorry.”

You blinked, completely thrown. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, pushing the flowers into your hands like they might prove his sincerity. “I don’t know what I did. But whatever it is, I’m sorry, okay? I—I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t even realize something was wrong until you stopped replying and then I thought maybe it was something I said or maybe I looked at you weird and—”

“Jay—”

“I was going to come yesterday, but I didn’t want to be pushy. And then I tried calling again this morning but I figured maybe you were busy—”

“Jay.”

He finally paused, breath short, his eyes scanning your face with desperation. And just like that, your chest ached in another way.

He didn’t know. He thought he did something wrong. And he came all the way here just to apologize for a mistake he didn’t even understand.

You looked down at the daisies, hands curling around the brown paper. The stems were still wet. Fresh, which means he got the flowers that day. 

God, he was sweet. Stupidly, painfully sweet.

Before you could say anything, Jungwon cleared his throat loudly from behind the counter. “Sooooo,” he drawled. “You got her flowers and chocolates? What do I get?”

Jay turned to look at him with the flattest, most unimpressed expression you’d ever seen. Without a word, he reached into his hoodie pocket, pulled out a single crumpled bill, and tossed it onto the counter.

“A dollar,” he said.

Jungwon stared at it. “That’s it?”

“You’re lucky I didn’t give you lint from my pocket.”

“Then…I’ll just have the dollar.” Jungwon muttered, pocketing the dollar.

Jay turned back to you, lips parted like he wanted to say more but the words didn’t come.

Jungwon hadn’t moved.

He was still standing there, hovering way too close, arms crossed, eyes bouncing between you and Jay like he was watching the tension build. His eyes crossing between you and Jay’s a silly grin on his stupid face.

You shot him a look. “Can you get lost?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered. “It’s Tuesday. I’m bored. I wanna see how this plays out.”

“You want entertainment?”

“Desperately.”

You sighed through your nose, then shoved the box of chocolates into his chest without looking. “Here. Take this. Go sit in the ball pit and eat this.”

He stared at the box, then back at you. “These are from him, though.”

“I don’t care. Just go.”

A smug smile bloomed on his face as he clutched the box. “You know what? Say less.”

And with that, he strolled off, climbing into the nearest corner of a giant ball pit, where he immediately sprawled across the plastic balls.

You turned back to Jay, your eyes flicking upward to meet his.

He was still watching you, brows drawn just slightly. His arms were at his sides now, hands twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for you or give you space. He didn’t know what he’d done, but he knew something had changed. And it was killing him.

You looked at the flowers still in your hands. You looked back at him. You weren’t sure which one made your chest hurt more.

So you said it.

“I heard what your mom said that day.”

His entire expression shifted subtly. His mouth parted, but he didn’t speak.

“I didn’t mean to,” you added, softer now. “I was coming back to the room and I just… I overheard the entire conversation.”

Jay’s shoulders tensed. He looked down for a second, then up again, jaw clenched, eyes searching your face. 

You swallowed. “I wasn’t avoiding you because I was mad. I just… I don’t know...I didn’t know how to act.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just blinked slowly, like the words were still settling into place.

“Look,” Jay said finally, his voice low but firm, “you don’t have to worry about it. I’m not going anywhere—”

“Jay,” you cut in, your voice sharper than you meant, “I’m not worried about that.”

You looked down, fingers tightening around the bouquet of daisies in your hands. The stems crinkled slightly in your grip.

“I’m not mad about what she said,” you said quietly. “I’m just... she’s right.”.

His mouth opened slightly, brows drawing together like he didn’t understand how those words could’ve come from you. His chest rose as if to argue, but he didn’t speak yet. He couldn’t.

You lifted your gaze slowly, and your throat burned. “She’s right, Jay. We don’t have anything in common besides growing up together.”

He shook his head immediately, stepping closer. “You’re more than what she said—”

“Jay,” you said again, this time with a bitter laugh laced into it, “who are we kidding?”

He sighed when you cut him off.

“I work in a stupid kids’ playground called Goober Galaxy. You’re in every high-end after school academy, tutoring centre, test prep institute money can buy. You’re made to get straight A’s, made to end up at some fancy university. Made to do something big. I’m not.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” he said, his voice cracking just barely at the edges. “Do you think I ever looked at you and saw anything less?”

Jay exhaled shakily and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “I’ve liked you since the day you showed up behind your mom in that stupid little yellow dress you hated. You were hiding behind her, and God—” he let out a soft laugh, almost breathless, “The moment you sat beside me, you punched me in the shoulder and said I had a dumb name. I’ve liked you since then.”

Your eyes fluttered up to glance at him, but only for a second, before dropping back to your shoes. He reached out gently, fingers brushing under your chin, and tilted your face toward his.

“I loved that version of you,” he said, eyes locked onto yours. “I love this version of you. I’ve never thought you were less than me. Not even once. It’s always been you.”

The silence that followed clung to the air, thick and trembling.

You stared at him, barely breathing, barely able to believe this was real. 

“Jay–”

“UH GUYS, CAN I COME OUT NOW?” Jungwon’s voice rang out, followed by a hacking cough. “I THINK I SWALLOWED THE RIBBON.”

You almost burst into laughter. Almost. 

But instead, you did the one thing you’d been aching to do for far too long.

You leaned forward over the counter and kissed him.

Jay froze for just a split second, stunned. His hand hovered uncertainly beside you, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you. But his eyes fluttered shut, and when you pulled away, his lips chased yours like he didn’t want it to end.

His cheeks flushed immediately. He laughed softly, a little dazed. “I didn’t think today would end up like this.”

You smirked. “Do you want me to take it back?”

He shook his head quickly, still smiling. “No. I just... I wish it wasn’t in front of—”

The both of you turned.

Jungwon was now sitting fully upright in the ball pit, legs criss-crossed, waving at you. A half-eaten piece of chocolate dangled from his fingers.

“I think I’m the first person to ever witness a love confession in Goober Galaxy,” he said. “A sentence that has never, ever been said before in the history of mankind.”

Jay groaned and dropped his head onto the counter with a thud. “Why are you like this?”

He tilted his head, beaming like he’d just officiated a wedding. “So… can I come out now?”

You and Jay both answered without missing a beat.

“No.”

—

The two of you had been dating for a whole month now and sneaking around had become a normal occurrence for the two of you.

A month of stolen glances, hushed giggles, and kisses behind closed doors. You came over under the same old pretense, “I’m just hanging out at Jay’s while waiting for Mom to finish work”. It was familiar. There was nothing to question.

Except now, every time you stepped into his room, the door clicked shut behind you and the rest of the world disappeared.

You’d start out pretending to study. Laptops open, notebooks flipped to blank pages, a pencil stuck behind your ear. Jay would sit beside you, his knee pressed against yours, trying really hard for maybe ten minutes. And then he’d look over.

You’d barely meet his eyes before his lips were on yours.

Usually, soft first then it goes deeper, slower, the kind of kissing that made you forget what time it was. It’d be 4:30 one moment and 6:00 the next. He’d push your hair behind your ear, you’d tug lightly on his hoodie, and the math textbook between you would be quietly shoved to the floor by someone’s feet.

It always ended the same way. A knock at the door. Your mom’s voice floating in, “Come on, time to head home!”

You’d jolt apart, breathless, cheeks burning, smoothing out your hair and reaching blindly for a notebook. “Okay!” you’d call out, voice a little too high. Jay would flop back onto his bed, dramatic and pouty.

Your mom would open the door, glance in, see the two of you surrounded by notes and open textbooks, and nod. “I’ll wait downstairs.”

“Just five more minutes,” you’d reply automatically.

She’d leave. And before you could even stand, Jay would hook a finger through your sleeve and pull you gently back down.

One last kiss. And then another. And then five more, because he always said one wasn’t enough. He’d press them to your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, grinning like an idiot.

“Do you really have to go?” he’d mumble, arms still around you.

“She’s literally my ride home.”

“I could give you a ride.”

You snorted and leaned back just enough to look at him. “You got your license like... five minutes ago.”

“Exactly. I’m freshly certified. I’m a responsible driver.”

“Jay,” you said flatly, “I heard what grandma said about you hitting the curb”

Jay groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. “What a snitch.”

You laughed, pulling away gently as you stood up. “That’s a no, by the way. You’re not driving me home.”

Jay pouted, tugging lightly on your hand. “You don’t trust me?”

“I trust you. I just wanna go home in one piece tonight.”

Still pouting, he leaned up and kissed your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “One day you’ll be begging me for a ride.”

“Sure. The day you stop kissing the curb.”

—

It was another ordinary day, or at least it had started that way. You were in Jay’s room, lying beside him with your head propped on your hand, half-listening to him ramble about something stupid Heeseung had texted. His hand was resting on your knee, your fingers loosely interlocked until the knock came.

The door creaked open a second later.

“Oh,” his mother said, her smile soft but surprised. “You’re here.”

You sat up immediately, your hand slipping out of his. You nodded politely, reaching for your bag even though you weren’t meant to leave for another hour. What used to feel like home now made your shoulders tense. Jay noticed. Of course he did.

“Are you staying for dinner?” his mother asked, stepping inside like she always had.

You shook your head quickly. “No. I was actually just about to leave.”

“So soon?” she pouted slightly. “You haven’t eaten dinner with us in a while.”

“I just have a lot of homework to get through,” you replied with a rehearsed smile, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You turned to Jay, silently asking if he’d stop you, if he’d ask you to stay. But he saw it. The unease in your body, the way your smile didn’t quite meet your eyes. He wanted to reach for you, to pull you back down and kiss the worry out of your forehead. But he didn’t.

He just nodded. Smiled like it didn’t hurt.

“Go,” he said gently.

And so you did.

The door clicked shut behind you. 

Jay stood there for a beat, staring at the closed space you’d just filled. Then he turned back, meeting his mother’s gaze across the room.

She crossed her arms. “Is something wrong?” she asked, frowning now. “She hasn’t stayed for dinner in almost two months.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Mom.”

“I think there is.”

Jay exhaled, his jaw tight. And he hated it…hated how something that was once easy had turned into this sharp-edged discomfort. How your laughter had grown quieter. How he had to love you in secret all because the life carved out for him didn’t have room for anything outside of perfect.

Over the past two months, Jay had started to feel something sour curling inside him. A quiet resentment. Not towards you. Never you. But toward everything else. Toward the silent expectation to carry generations of ambition on his back. He loved his mother, God, he really did. But that love didn’t soften the frustration. It didn’t erase how badly things had shifted between you both since that night.

He had so many things to be grateful for. But all he’d ever really wanted was you. Just to be by your side. And somehow, even that felt like something he wasn’t allowed to have.

“Mom, drop it,” he said, voice flat.

She frowned, stepping further into the room. “Jongseong, you’ve been acting different since the day—”

“That’s because I’ve been talking, and you haven’t been listening,” he snapped.

Her expression faltered. “What do you want me to do, Jong? Your dad and I have worked tirelessly for this opportunity—”

“That I didn’t ask for!” His voice cracked, hands clenched at his sides.

“You are going to that university. It’s in your blood. It’s good for you. And deep down, you know it too. If I told her how important this is, how good it is for you, I’m pretty sure she’d be supportive.”

“Don’t tell her.”

She froze.

“Baby—”

“Don’t. Tell. Her.” he repeated, each word heavier than the last.

His mother blinked, visibly thrown by his tone. And Jay just stood there, chest heaving, trying to hold back the rest of the words rising in his throat. Because if he said more, he wasn’t sure what would come out.

He just knew this: She wasn’t allowed to take you from him, too.

—

The two of you had wandered into a small alleyway market off the main district, less glossy, more charm. Little stalls lined both sides, selling handmade accessories, mismatched shoes, thrifted bags with peeling zippers, and the kind of bracelets that cost just enough to mean something, but not enough to break a wallet.

You stopped in front of a table full of them, rows of braided cords, beaded charms, faded ribbons wrapped around thin, bendy wire. You held up one with small star-shaped beads, smiling a little to yourself.

Jay hovered beside you, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes scanning the stall. “You sure you want one of these?” he asked, not unkindly, just confused. “There’s a place down the street that does custom silver bands. We can go there. I’ll pay.”

You shook your head immediately, the smile slipping off your face. “I don’t want anything too expensive,” you said quietly. “I just want something pretty.”

Jay frowned. “Yeah, but we could get something prettier. Something that’ll last. I just—why not get something better?”

You didn’t say anything at first, just lowered your hand. Something in your chest twisted. He didn’t mean anything by it. You knew that. But it still hit the wrong nerve.

You turned to him, jaw tightening. “Just because I’m buying cheaper things doesn’t mean they’re ass, Jay.”

He blinked, startled. “I didn’t even mean it that way,” he said, voice low but tense. “I just meant—if there’s something you want, I’ll get it for you. That’s all. You don’t have to—”

“I don’t want anything,” you cut in, too fast, too sharp. “Not with your money.”

The silence that followed was instant.

Jay’s brows lifted slightly. He’d been reaching for your hand without even realizing it, but at that, he pulled back. Just a fraction. Just enough to make your heart drop. His expression didn’t shift much, just the tiniest flicker of hurt. But that was worse. You could tell when he was trying not to show it.

You reached for him quickly, fingers wrapping around his hand before he could pull away further. Your grip tightened, desperate.

“I’m sorry,” you said, softer this time. “I didn’t mean it. I just—sometimes I feel weird. I don’t know.”

Jay looked at you for a long moment. And then, wordlessly, he pulled you into his arms. 

Your face pressed against his chest, your fists gripped onto the fabric of his hoodie. He didn’t say anything.

“I just want to give you everything,” he whispered after a long silence.

And even though your throat burned, you didn’t cry. You just nodded, clinging to him.

—

Jay stared long and hard at the framed certificates on the wall of his father’s office.

He’d been sitting there ever since he got back from your little date.

You’d cried for almost 30 minutes before finally falling asleep on his shoulder. He’d felt every quiet sob, the uneven rise and fall of your chest. Like being with him hurt.

He knew you loved him. God, he loved you just as much, probably more. But seeing you in that much pain simply because the two of you came from different worlds made his chest ache.

He didn’t care about any of it. Not the money. Not the future his parents had mapped out. Not the name on the wall in front of him.

But you did.

He didn’t know how to fix it. How to make you believe you were never less than him. That you’d always been the best part of his world.

“Jong?”

Jay’s head snapped up. His mother stood at the door, peeking through. He cleared his throat and quickly wiped away a single tear he hadn’t realised had fallen.

“Mom,” he said, nodding stiffly.

He hadn’t spoken to her since the last time she tried to push him into going.

Jay had already made peace with attending a good university in Korea. One that meant a thirty-minute drive from you. One that didn’t require a time zone between your hands. He didn’t care about prestige. He didn’t need legacy. He just needed you.

Because no place could feel like home unless you were there.

He wanted a small, lived-in apartment where the walls were filled with pictures of the two of you, some crooked, some blurry, all perfect. He wanted late mornings and lazy nights, strumming his guitar while you sat on his lap, flipping through TV channels.

He didn’t want boardrooms. He wanted breakfast in bed. He wanted you in his hoodie, laughing at something stupid, your legs tangled with his on the couch. He wanted to choose that life.

He just didn’t know how because his life wasn’t his.

His parents were successful, respectable, powerful, intimidating in every room they walked into. And Jay? He was their only child. The heir. The one meant to carry it all.

He didn’t want to seem ungrateful. He knew he was lucky. But sometimes…he wished he was at Goober Galaxy right next to you. Sweeping floors, handing out stickers, chasing after toddlers. Living the kind of life he got to choose.

He wished he could trade places with Jungwon, just for a moment. To know what it felt like to live freely, to love without strings.

But he wasn’t Jungwon.

He was stuck. Caged by expectations that didn’t belong to him. And no one had asked if he wanted them.

“Your dad wants to see you.”

Jay blinked. His mother was still standing in the doorway, phone in hand, the screen already lit up with a call. He swallowed. She passed it to him without another word.

Jay sat up straighter, the back of his neck already tensing as he accepted the phone. His father's face filled the screen, sharp suit, crisp tie, backdrop of a sleek conference room somewhere in Hong Kong. The time zone difference didn't matter. His father always made time when it came to lectures.

“Jongseong,” his father began without pleasantries, eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s this I hear about you not wanting to attend Oxford?”

Jay opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He glanced at the wall, at the same framed degree he’d been staring at moments earlier, and felt the familiar weight return to his chest.

With his mother, he always knew what to say. How to deflect, how to counter her logic with his own. But with his father… it was different.

With his father, Jay always felt like a little boy again.

Like he wasn’t the man of the house, but a kid sitting at the edge of a chair too big for him, trying not to swing his legs.

With his father gone so often, Jay had stepped into the role by default…holding things down, keeping things quiet, managing expectations. But every time his dad reappeared, even just through a screen, it was like the years peeled off and left him exposed.

He felt his mouth go dry. His fingers curled tightly around the edge of the phone.

“I’ve… decided not to go,” he said finally, voice quiet but steady.

There was a pause. A beat of silence that buzzed louder than any scolding.

“Decided?” his father repeated, eyes narrowing. “Jong, we don’t just decide things. You know that.”

His voice rose, firm and cold.

“We’re not like anyone else. Do you understand that? You don’t get to just throw away opportunities people would kill for.”

Jay swallowed again, throat tight. He wanted to argue. He wanted to say I don’t want it. I never did. But the words sat heavy in his chest, unmoving.

He didn’t want any of it. But how could he say that to a man who had spent his entire life building it?

“I—”

“Son,” his father’s voice dropped, deeper now, tinged with concern. “I didn’t… we didn’t build this by making decisions that went against our family. We built this by honouring tradition. By upholding it.”

“Dad—”

“We’re not just… anyone, Jongseong. You have to remember that. Even when it comes to the people we keep close.”

Jay’s eyes flicked to his mother, still standing in the doorway. Her gaze faltered just slightly.

So she told him. About you.

Of course she did.

And now it wasn’t just about the university anymore. It was about you. About everything he’d kept safe and sacred. Everything he thought he could keep separate.

—

You barged into his room with your bag slung over your right shoulder, hair slightly windblown..

“School was so boring!” you groaned, flopping straight onto his sofa. Without warning, you dropped your head onto his lap, staring up at the ceiling.

“But you wouldn’t guess what happened though,” you continued, grin creeping onto your face. “I got an A for Biology and Hee got an F, so now he has to retake the test. He looked like he was about to cry—”

You stopped mid-sentence.

Jay wasn’t laughing.

He wasn’t smiling.

His eyes were somewhere else, fixed on a spot just past you, like he wasn’t really here at all. 

Your smile faltered.

You sat up slowly, shifting your weight until you were straddling his lap. His hands instinctively moved to your waist, but his gaze was still lost. So you reached for his face. Your hands cradled his jaw, thumbs pressing gently into the softness of his cheeks as you squished them together.

“Jay?” you said softly, brows furrowed. “Where’d you go?”

That finally pulled his eyes back to you.

He blinked, like surfacing from deep water, lips parted as if he’d forgotten how to speak.

“Jay?” you repeated, your voice quieter now, more cautious.

Jay shook his head quickly, almost like he was trying to shake something off. Then his hands tightened around your waist, grounding himself.

“Baby,” he murmured.

“You okay?” you asked, eyes searching his face.

He nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

Ever since the call with his father, the decision had been made for him…he would be going to Oxford. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a discussion. It was a statement, sharp and final. There was no room to disagree, no room to even think. 

Not that he had a choice. He never really did.

Jay had spent the entire night buried under the covers of his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as the hours ticked by. His phone had lit up over and over again, messages from his mom, soft knocks at the door but he hadn’t moved. 

He didn’t want to read what she had to say. He didn’t want to hear reassurances...not anymore. Because the truth was, nothing anyone said would make it feel any better.

And now here you were, sitting in his lap, smiling like the sun, laughing about your day, trusting that the world hadn’t just changed for him entirely.

He didn’t know how to tell you.

Didn’t know how to say he was leaving.

Didn’t know how to break your heart when you had only just handed it to him.

But he had to.

Because he was leaving.

At this point, it wasn’t about academics. It wasn’t about prestige. It was about control.

His father thought this was the cleanest way to fix things.

Remove the distraction.

Remove the attachment.

Remove you.

Jay felt it in his chest, this sick, sinking sense of being packaged up and delivered to a life he never chose. Like this would be better. Like this would make things easier. Not for him. But for them.

—

You were worried.

Jay wasn’t acting like himself. He wasn’t snarky, or smug, or sarcastic in the way you’d come to love. He wasn’t cracking jokes or teasing you every time you said something dumb. He was quiet and distracted. 

Jay was usually good at hiding things. But today… today, whatever it was had cracked through.

So naturally, you turned to the two most emotionally stunted people you knew.

“I think he’s broken,” you declared, arms folded on the table in front of you. “Like, actually broken.”

Jungwon blinked. “Did you try turning him off and back on again?”

“I’m serious, Won,” you said, glaring at Jungwon, “He hasn’t texted me all day. And yesterday, he...was so different? I don’t know what’s wrong but it’s not nothing.”

“Have you considered…” Jungwon began, “that he’s just constipated?”

“Jungwon, I swear to God—”

“I’m just saying, emotional constipation and actual constipation are cousins.”

“Please shut up,” you muttered, face in your hands.

Across from you, Heeseung was flipping through his notebook like he wasn’t listening. But then he spoke, casually, without even looking up.

“Why don’t you plan something lowkey for him?” he said. “Like, something you guys used to do. Remind him what home feels like. He clearly needs it.”

You and Jungwon both froze.

Then slowly, you turned to look at him.

Heeseung glanced up, blinking at your silence. “What?”

Jungwon pointed at him dramatically. “Holy shit, that’s the first good idea you’ve ever had.”

You side-eyed Jungwon. “You haven’t had a good idea today either, Won.”

“Yeah, but I usually do,” he shrugged, sipping his drink. “So this makes up for it.”

Still, you leaned back in your chair, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you let the idea settle.

Something simple. Something that would pull Jay out of whatever fog he was in and back into the version of himself he only ever seemed to be around you.

Maybe Heeseung was right. Maybe it wasn’t about fixing anything. Maybe it was about reminding him that he was loved.

–

You sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows resting on your knees, hands fidgeting with the sleeve of your hoodie. Jay was upstairs grabbing something, his keys maybe, or a jacket, or just taking forever like he always did. You’d planned everything with Jungwon and Heeseung down to the detail. A quiet dinner at your place. His favourite food, his favourite people, and a homemade banner Jungwon insisted on duct-taping across your kitchen ceiling.

You tapped your feet against the floor, eyes flicking between the staircase and the coffee table in front of you.

“Oh—hey!”

You hadn’t expected to run into his mom.

She came out from the hallway with a small stack of neatly folded towels, pausing slightly when she saw you there. Then her face relaxed into a smile, almost like the kind you couldn’t quite read.

“Oh, you’re here early,” she said lightly, crossing into the living room. “Jong’s still upstairs?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Said he’d just be a minute.”

She set the towels down on the armchair, smoothing one absent-mindedly. “How have you been? It feels like I haven’t seen you properly in ages.”

You stiffened slightly. Not out of rudeness. Just… because you never knew how to be around her anymore. Not since that night.

Still, you tried to keep your voice even. “I’ve been okay. School’s been a little hectic.”

“Mmm, I remember those days,” she said fondly. “So much pressure to figure everything out. Especially now.”

She gave you a knowing look, and you tried to return it, even though your stomach twisted.

A moment of silence passed. You glanced down at your hands.

“I really haven’t seen you around much,” she added gently, “Not even for dinner.”

You gave a small shrug. “I’ve just been… busy.”

Her gaze flicked to the corner of the room, almost like she wanted to say more. But then she smiled again, too quickly.

“I’m actually waiting for a delivery,” she said, as if to fill the quiet. “Should be arriving soon.”

“Oh?” you said, seizing the normalcy in her tone. “Something exciting?”

She waved a hand. “Just a new luggage set.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Ooh, another vacation, Mrs. Park?”

She laughed softly. “Oh, no, not for me. It’s for Jay, we’re giving it to him before he goes to Oxford.”

And just like that, the world stopped.

The words didn’t even sound dramatic. Just a casual statement, something said mid-sentence, in passing.

But your brain latched onto it like it was the only thing that mattered.

Your mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.

Oxford…

Oxford?

Jay was going to Oxford.

Your chest constricted. “Oxford?” you repeated, and you hated how your voice sounded small and uncertain.

Mrs. Park blinked, like she was only just realizing what she said. “Oh… oh, didn’t he tell you?”

Your heart dropped.

Your ears started to ring.

“He’s been accepted for early enrolment,” she continued, her smile faltering just slightly. “We’ve been sorting everything out this week. He’ll finish his last semester online and leave by the end of next month.”

End of next month.

That was four weeks.

Four weeks.

Four weeks left with Jay, and he hadn’t said a word.

“I thought you knew,” she said gently. “I’m so sorry, I assumed—”

But you didn’t hear the rest.

You could barely hear anything past the blood rushing in your ears. Your throat tightened. The lump rising felt sharp, like glass. 

You nodded. Or at least you think you did. Some vague, stiff movement that looked enough like understanding to make her stop talking.

Upstairs, you heard Jay’s door creak open. His voice called out, cheerful and completely unaware.

“You ready?”

You stood up too fast, your legs unsteady. The smile you threw on felt like someone else’s.

Because right now, your heart was already cracking. 

And he didn’t even know yet.

–

Jay was finally driving you. In his new car.

It was sleek, glossy black, still smelling faintly of showroom leather. The dashboard glowed with lights, the music system softly playing an instrumental track you barely registered. You’d never ridden in a car with him driving before. A month ago, that would’ve made you tease him endlessly, maybe fake a scream when he made a sharp turn, joke that your life was in his hands now. He would’ve laughed, reached over to pinch your knee, and said something stupid like, "Relax, I got my license in one try."

But now, you just sat there… quiet.

Your hands stayed clamped in your lap, fingers twisting into each other until you found the skin along your thumb and picked. You pulled. Peeled the hangnail until a thin trail of red welled up against your nail bed. You rubbed it away quickly with the sleeve of your hoodie.

Jay’s eyes flicked over from the road. Then back. Then again.

“You okay?” he asked carefully, hands still gripping the wheel. “You haven’t said a word since we left.”

You nodded. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. Because how could you?

How could you turn to him and ask ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’  How could you ask ‘Was I supposed to find out from your mom? Like a stranger?’

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry and beat your fists against the dashboard and shake the truth out of him. 

“Baby?”

His voice pulled you out of your spiral. Your head snapped up.

“Huh?”

Jay glanced over again. “Something’s clearly going on.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, your voice too tight to be convincing.

He didn’t buy it. “Is this because I’ve been acting weird? I swear it’s all good now. I’m good.”

You shook your head and tried to laugh, but the sound came out cracked and hollow. “No, no. I just—”

Jay gave you a look. “Now I know you’re lying. You’re not about to pass that off as your real laugh.”

“I guess I’m just… worried, that’s all,” you said, brushing a loose thread off your jeans.

Jay’s brows knit. “Worried about what?”

You stared out the window, watching the blur of trees and apartment buildings pass. Your voice dropped. “The future.”

He didn’t press. 

He turned onto your street, easing the car to a slow stop right outside your house. The engine purred into silence, but the tension between you roared. Still, you didn’t move. You didn’t speak.

He waited, hoping, maybe, that you’d open up. That you’d say something. But you didn’t. You just shrugged, gave him a vague “I guess,” and unbuckled your seatbelt like the conversation had ended.

The car locks clicked open.

You were already halfway out the door.

Jay cursed softly under his breath and slammed his door shut a second later, jogging after you. You’d unlocked your front door with shaky fingers and were about to step in when he caught up.

“You’re mad,” he said from behind you.

“I’m not mad.”

“Yes, you are.” His voice was tense now. “Baby, c’mon, did… did I do something? I’m sorry. I really am.”

You stopped in the hallway. Still didn’t turn.

Your heart thudded in your chest, hard and loud. You didn’t want to look at him because you knew that if you did, you knew everything would fall apart. You’d been holding it together and he was tugging on the last thread without even knowing it.

But it was the way he apologised, when he didn’t even know what for, that did it.

You turned.

Your eyes were red. Not just teary, bloodshot, swollen, like you hadn’t slept in days. You weren’t crying yet, but your expression… it was wrecked. Like someone trying to hold back a flood that had already started leaking.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered.

Jay froze. He looked at you like you’d just split him open.

“Tell you what?” he asked softly, though the dread was already sinking into his eyes.

“That you were going.”

Jay’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

And then the pain hit again, your words echoing off the hallway walls, hanging between you like smoke.

“I…” He tried. God, he tried.

But the words didn’t come.

Because how could he explain it? How could he say, ‘I didn’t want to see this look on your face?’ How could he say, ‘I tried fighting for us but it wasn’t enough?’

You shook your head slowly. “You were going to leave without telling me.”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, it wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it?”

Jay stepped closer, voice trembling now. “I didn’t want to lie. I just… I kept waiting for the right time. But every time I saw you, I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to see you look at me like I was already gone.”

“But you are,” you choked out. “Aren’t you?”

His face crumpled.

“I didn’t choose this.”

“Not telling me was a choice. Your choice.”

Jay dragged a hand down his face, chest rising with shallow breaths. He looked older in that moment. 

“I tried to stay. I told my dad I didn’t want to go. I told him this—” he gestured between the two of you, eyes glassy, “you — this is what matters to me. But he didn’t care. He never does.”

Your lip trembled, but you held it. “Then you should’ve told me.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

He took another step. Close enough to touch now, but he didn’t. Not yet.

“I was scared you’d hate me.”

You looked up at him then and for the first time, he saw it all: the betrayal, the grief, the love.

“I don’t hate you,” you said, voice breaking. “I just didn’t want to be the last to know you were leaving.”

Jay’s breath hitched. His shoulders dropped.

“I’m not trying to leave you,” he said, so quietly it almost sounded like a plea. “They’re just making me go. Please.”

You didn’t answer. Your throat was too tight.

He stepped forward, slowly, gently cupping your face with both hands.

“You’re the only thing I don’t want to leave behind.”

And this time, when the tears came, you didn’t stop them.

Your face crumpled as you collapsed into his chest, your arms wrapping tightly around his middle like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go. Jay held you immediately, his hands splaying across your back, his cheek resting against the top of your head. .

“I’m not leaving,” he said suddenly, the words tumbling out in a single breath.

You blinked up at him through wet lashes. “What?”

“I’m not leaving,” he repeated, more firmly now. “I never wanted to go. I’m not going. I’m staying.”

You pulled back slightly, brows furrowing. “Jongseong… you can’t just up and ignore your parents—”

“I’m not ignoring them,” he cut in, “I’m just finally standing up for myself. Look. I don’t even want to go. If I’m not allowed to make my own choices about my own future, then what am I? A puppet?”

“Jong…”

“God, I love them,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated but honest. “I love my parents so much. But if they truly give a shit then they’ll just have to respect me enough to let me make my own decisions. They can’t keep deciding my life for me and call it parenting because it’s not.”

You hesitated. “Jong, you’re not doing this solely for me, are you?”

Jay sighed.

“I’ll admit that a huge part of me wants to stay because of you,” he said, not flinching. “Of course I do. But it’s not just that.”

He stepped back slightly, just enough to look you in the eye. “I don’t want to be living somewhere where I don't know anyone. I don’t want to start over. I don’t want to wake up in a city that doesn’t have you, Hee, or Won. And c’mon, there are good schools here — great ones, even. I can still make something of myself without crossing an ocean for a name, all while being here…with you.”

You searched his face, your chest tight.

“But your dad—”

“Can live with my decision,” Jay said, quiet but certain. “I’ve been pretending I could live with this, but I can’t. Not anymore.”

He took your hands, thumbs brushing over your still-shaking fingers.

“I’m happier when I’m with you,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “When I’m here. With you guys. Near the people who make me feel like I’m already enough.”

You swallowed hard. His grip tightened.

“I’m not giving that up for a future that doesn’t even feel like mine. So please…don’t make me go.”

You breathed, like you’d been holding it in, “Okay.”

He sighed like the weight pressing on his chest had finally loosened.

And then he kissed you.

There was no hesitation, no inch of space left between you. It wasn’t delicate or careful, it was immediate, all heat.

His hands slipped from yours and rose to cradle your face, palms warm against your cheeks, thumbs brushing the corners of your mouth like he needed to feel you. His lips crashed into yours. 

Your breath hitched in your throat. You leaned into him instinctively, your hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. His nose brushed against yours, his lips parting against your bottom lip, tasting the salt of your tears.

It wasn’t perfect. It was messy, and rushed, and aching. His mouth trembled just a little when he kissed you. Jay’s thumb traced along your jaw, slow and reverent, while his other hand slid behind your neck.

Your knees felt weak. Your lungs burned. But none of that mattered. Because he was kissing you.

“So… like, uh… do we come out now or…?”

You and Jay froze.

From behind the sofa, Jungwon slowly popped his head out, holding a cake with “Stop Being Sad!” scrawled messily across the top in blue icing. Heeseung followed a beat later, scratching the back of his neck.

“We could, like… pretend we aren’t here,” Heeseung muttered, glancing down at the cake as if he suddenly regretted every life choice that led him to this moment.

You and Jay instinctively pulled apart, both of you flushed and teary-eyed, your breaths still uneven. It wasn’t exactly how you wanted to be seen.

Jungwon winced at the sight of you two. “Uh. Sorry? We were gonna jump out and yell surprise, but like… then you guys were fighting then the next thing we knew you were kissing so–”

Jay dragged a hand down his face with a low groan. “Oh my god. What are you guys even doing here?”

“We were going to throw a surprise feel-better party,” Heeseung said flatly, lifting a plastic bag of takeout containers, “but if I’m being honest, I think we're the ones more surprised.”

Heeseung sighed before continuing, “We even brought your favorite food. Well… kinda. I think Jungwon ate half the fries while we were waiting.”

Jay didn’t say anything. Just let out a slow breath and sank into the sofa, his body folding inward like something was caving in. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. His thumbs rubbed together, a nervous habit. One you’d seen since you were kids.

But Jay didn’t look at anyone.

His eyes were fixed on the floor, staring through it.

You watched him from across the room, your own shoulders still tense, fingers curled around the frayed edge of your hoodie sleeve. He hadn’t said much since the kiss. Since the apology. Since he told you he was staying. And now, sitting there in your living room, he looked smaller somehow. 

He was staying. But that decision came with consequences and Jay knew exactly who he had to face next.

The thought of confronting his father made his chest tighten. Not just in fear but in something closer to shame. Not because he regretted his choice. But because he knew what that choice would cost him. What it had always cost him.

The memory came back before he could stop it. A flicker of a younger version of himself, standing in the marble foyer of his family’s house, backpack still on, heart pounding after sneaking back in too late. His father’s voice slicing through the silence. “You skipped prep school?” His tone wasn’t surprised. It was more like disappointment. And then the yelling came and it didn’t stop. Not till three hours later.

But all Jay could remember was the way your face had looked earlier that day, eyes wide and glowing under a canopy of fairy lights at the amusement park. The way your hand had never let go of his. How you’d smiled like the whole world had finally opened up for you. And how, just for that one afternoon, he didn’t care about anything. He just wanted you to feel like someone had chosen you.

And now, he was choosing you again.

Except this time, he had no idea how to explain that to the man who had spent his whole life choosing everything for him.

The room had gone quiet, heavy with the things no one wanted to say aloud.

Jungwon, seated cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, glanced up and studied Jay’s profile for a moment. Then, gently, he asked, “Thinking about how you wanna talk to your dad?”

Jay’s jaw tightened. He nodded once, not looking up. “Yep.” The word left his mouth flat, clipped, like he didn’t trust himself to say anything more.

He leaned in further, pressing his hands together, elbows braced against his thighs. His voice dropped to a murmur. “I don’t even know how to start. It’s like… the moment I stand in front of him, I’m twelve again.”

You moved before you could stop yourself.

Quietly, you crossed the room and eased down beside him on the sofa. The cushion dipped beneath your weight, your knee brushing his. His shoulders didn’t flinch, but they didn’t relax either. 

You slipped your hand into his.

Jay blinked. Looked down at your fingers curled around his.

And when you spoke, your voice was soft. “Do you want me to be there?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he stared at your joined hands, breathing slowly through his nose like he was trying to think. But you could see the shift. The hesitation that made your stomach turn.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Your brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”

Jay let go of your hand slowly. He rubbed his palm against his jeans and sat back slightly, like creating space might help him form the words he was scared to say.

“I just… I think it might be easier if I go alone,” he said. “He’ll be less... intense. If it’s just me.”

You frowned. “Jay.”

He didn’t look at you.

“That’s not the real reason, is it?”

Jay shut his eyes, jaw clenched. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. “No. It’s not.”

“Then what?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

He hesitated. Again. And when he finally spoke, it was carefull.

“He just… doesn’t understand,” Jay said slowly. “Why I want to stay. Why that matters more than prestige or legacy or whatever. And bringing you into that conversation might just… complicate things. He’s upset. It’ll pass.”

But you heard it.

The way he didn’t say it.

You sat back slightly, looking at him now, “Complicate things,” you repeated.

Jay nodded faintly.

You stared at him for a moment, piecing it together. And then your voice came out flat. “You mean to say... they don’t think I belong in your world.”

Jay’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “No. Those aren’t my words. I’d never—”

“But they’re his,” you said softly. Not accusatory. Just… hurt.

Jay’s voice broke as he reached for you again. “I…I don’t agree with anything they’re saying.”

But the words, even as warm and trembling and full of love as they were, couldn’t take back what you already knew. 

You blinked hard. 

“It’s funny…I really thought they liked me,” you said, more to yourself than him. “I really did. I thought I was like family.”

“You are. To me, you always have been.”

But that wasn’t the same.

You looked down at your lap, your fingers now curled in on themselves. “So all this time… they just smiled at me and still thought I wasn’t enough.”

Jay’s hands fell to his sides. His voice cracked. “It’s not about you—”

“It is, though,” you whispered. “That’s exactly what it is.”

He didn’t argue. Because he knew. And you knew he knew.

You looked down at your lap, your fingers now curled in on themselves. “So all this time… they just smiled at me and still thought I wasn’t enough.”

Jay’s hands fell uselessly to his sides. His voice cracked, almost a whisper. “It’s not about you—”

“It is, though,” you said, quieter now. “That’s exactly what it is.”

No one spoke.

Not you, not Jay and not Jungwon or Heeseung, who had been silently sitting off to the side, exchanging hesitant glances as if trying to gauge whether they should stay or disappear. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. 

Then, slowly, you stood up.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” you said, your voice strained but steady. “I just… I think I need some time alone.”

Jungwon blinked, rising immediately without protest. “Of course,” he said gently, grabbing his jacket.

“Take all the time you need,” Heeseung added, pulling Jungwon by the arm, guiding him out of the room.

And just like that, it was only you and Jay.

He hadn’t moved. But his eyes never left you, still wide, still searching, like he was waiting for some version of you to reach back out and say this wasn’t real. That you didn’t mean it.

You exhaled sharply, hugging your arms across your chest. “Jong, I need time. Alone.”

He rose to his feet, almost stumbling forward. “I can’t possibly leave you alone with all these thoughts—”

“With what thoughts?” you snapped, voice wobbling. “That your parents think I’m not good enough for you?”

Your throat tightened as tears welled up again, threatening to fall. “For the record, Jay, I’m precious to other people too.”

And that cracked something in him.

Jay’s breath caught in his chest as he watched you fall apart in front of him.

He couldn’t speak. He should’ve swallowed his fear. Should’ve protected you better. But instead, here you were, crumbling under the weight of his parents’ ignorance and all he could do was watch it happen.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

You were already shaking your head. “Jay, they’re right,” you said, your voice cracking as tears spilled down your cheeks. “I’m crying because they’re right.”

“No,” he said quickly, stepping closer.

“They’re not—”

“Look at us!” you cut in. “From the moment we got together till now, we’ve been fighting over the same thing. Me and you. We don’t belong in the same world. And you know it.”

Jay flinched.

You took a breath but it came out in pieces. “What’s gonna happen in the future, huh? When you’re out there doing all these big world things and I’m just… I’m just stuck. Working at a stupid kids’ playground, scraping money together just so I can go out with my friends like a normal person?”

You couldn’t breathe between sentences now. It was all tumbling out, everything you’d been burying deep inside.

“No,” he muttered under his breath. Then louder, “Enough.”

You startled at the sharpness in his voice.

“That’s enough,” he said again, stepping forward in two long strides before pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you so tightly. “Stop. Please,” he whispered against your hair. “Just stop.”

You didn’t fight it. You were too tired. Too worn. You just stood there, pressed against him, your hands balled.

“I love you,” Jay said suddenly, voice rough. “I fucking love you. How can you even say that? That you’re not enough?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face now, his forehead pressed to yours.

“I don’t care about status. I don’t care what my parents built. I don’t care about any of it. The only thing I care about is you.”

His chest rose and fell too fast, like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.

“I spend day and night thinking only about you. I always think about you. Dreaming that someday, I’ll get to wake up next to you and not have to keep it a secret. That I can walk out into the world and tell everyone that you’re mine. That I chose you. Over everything.”

You didn’t speak, didn’t move. Your heart felt like it was breaking and being stitched back together at the same time.

“I don’t care where we live,” he said fiercely. “I don’t care if it’s some shabby motel room or a one-room apartment over a laundromat. I just care that you’re there. Right beside me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

His voice softened, cracked down the middle.

“If my mom and dad can’t see that? Then fine. Whatever. Let them be blind. Because… the only thing I’ve ever really wanted, the only thing that’s ever mattered, is this.”

He gripped your face tighter, thumbs brushing your tear-streaked cheeks. “Us. Our relationship. You.”

Your chest shook with the sob you hadn’t meant to let out.

And this time, when you collapsed into him, it wasn’t from sadness.

It was from the unbearable weight of being unconditionally loved.

–

Jay’s house had always been intimidating in a quiet, understated way not because it was large or lavish (although it was), but because of the tension that wafted it in the air. A kind of coldness that never really went away, even when his mom was smiling or his dad was out of town. You felt it now more than ever as you stood in the hallway outside his father’s office, the sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor echoing louder than you wanted it to.

You were in a pretty little dress, nothing flashy, just enough to look presentable. Your hair was done in a half ponytail, neat and soft, something you’d fixed just before you came even though you knew it wouldn’t change anything. Jay had decided to bring you with him. After everything, the two of you had spent the night talking, curled up together on your couch, deciding that no matter what happened in that room, you would walk out together.

Even if that meant Jay leaving with three suitcases and no home to return to.

When the heavy double doors to the office opened, thunder cracked outside, almost like the sky itself was warning you. Jay flinched. So did you. But still, he stepped in first, fingers tightly curled around yours, and you followed behind him into the room.

His father sat behind his massive mahogany desk, posture straight, glasses perched low on his nose, the blue light from his laptop casting sharp shadows across his face. He looked like any other wealthy middle-aged man, if you were being honest, if you didn’t know better, you’d never guess how much power his voice held over Jay. How that man could reduce him to something so small with a few words.

“Close the door,” his father said without looking up.

Jay obeyed wordlessly. The soft click of the door shutting made your heart pound louder in your ears.

The silence was unbearable. The only sounds in the room were the quiet clack of his father’s typing, the occasional pop from the crackling fire in the fireplace, and the rush of blood in your ears. You could feel Jay’s hand trembling in yours as he led you closer toward the desk.

His mother sat just to the side in one of the leather armchairs, perfectly composed. She looked at your joined hands, then up at you both. Her expression was unreadable, but when she exhaled, you caught the faintest trace of defeat in it. 

Jay stopped just a step short of the desk. You could feel the tension in his body, the rigid line of his shoulders, the way he shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other like he was grounding himself.

He cleared his throat.

“I’m not going.”

The typing stopped.

The silence that followed was louder than anything else that had come before it. His father slowly closed the laptop, fingers steepled over it as he raised his head. And then, he smiled.

Not a kind smile. Not even a confused one.

It was the kind of smile you gave when you thought someone was playing a prank on you. Condescending. Amused, but in that way that made you feel small.

“Not going?” he repeated, voice low but laced with ice. He leaned back in his chair. “And who exactly made that decision?”

Jay’s grip on your hand tightened.

“I did,” he said, voice steady but strained. “Because it’s my life.”

There was a moment where the room stood still.

Then came the slam.

THWACK.

His father’s palm hit the desk with a force that made you flinch and Jay instinctively step a little in front of you.

His dad’s face darkened, his voice rising now. “You did?” he echoed. “You decided to throw away Oxford. Throw away everything we’ve worked for. Everything I’ve sacrificed for this family. For what? Her?”

Jay didn’t respond.

His father’s eyes flicked to you, cold and sharp. You tried not to shrink under it, but it was hard, your chest felt like it was caving in on itself. He continued, now addressing his son with pointed disgust. “I always knew you were impulsive, but I didn’t think you were stupid. Do you understand what you’re giving up?”

Jay stayed still. Then slowly, he nodded.

“I do,” he said softly. “And I’m still not going.”

His dad scoffed, jaw tightening. “This isn’t just about you. This is about our name. Our reputation. Do you think you can waltz out of this house and pretend like your choices don’t affect the rest of us? Do you think—”

Jay stepped forward then. 

“I’m not pretending. I know they affect you. But this—” he motioned between you and him, “this affects me too. And for once, I’m choosing the life I want to live.”

You could feel your lungs struggle for air.

Jay’s mom shifted in her seat, something soft flickering across her face. Her eyes moved back to the two of you, and this time, it lingered. 

His dad rose to his feet.

“Then you can pack your things,” he said coldly. “And leave.”

Jay didn’t say a word. He just grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the office like the walls themselves were going to swallow him whole if he didn’t move fast enough. The last glimpse you caught before the door shut was his father, still standing, his expression unreadable save for the sharp stare he gave you and his mother, her eyes lingering on you.

Then you were in his room. The room you’d spent so many years in. The room where you studied on the floor for hours, where you once fell asleep watching movies with your legs tangled together. But now, it felt different. Felt almost unfamiliar despite the million times you’ve been in there.

Jay was moving fast, throwing open his wardrobe doors, yanking shirts and jackets off hangers, pulling drawers open and emptying clothes into an open suitcase. It was all happening so fast you could barely process it. You stood there, frozen by the door, the click of the doorknob behind you still echoing in your ears.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. Your limbs were locked in place like your body had gone into shock. Guilt rose steadily in your chest, thick and choking.

“Baby…” your voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t think… shouldn’t we talk? Shouldn’t there be more to it than just this?”

Jay didn’t stop packing. He only glanced at you briefly, his eyes hard, lips set. “Talk about what?” he said sharply. “They’re never going to listen.”

You walked over to him slowly, your hand reaching for his arm, grounding yourself. “I just… I don’t want to be the reason you stop talking to your family. This is heavy, Jay. This burden—it’s heavy as hell.” Your voice cracked near the end, and you hated it. Hated how weak you sounded. Hated how helpless this all felt.

Jay finally paused, his shoulders still heaving with frustration. He turned to you, placed both hands gently on your shoulders, thumbs brushing your skin as if that alone could reassure you. His voice dropped, low and tender, full of a kind of pain that was older than this moment.

“Baby, this isn’t about them right now. It’s about me. About trying to live my own life. I’m so tired of living a version of me that only exists to please them. I’ve been the perfect son for years, and now…” His hands tightened, eyes boring into yours. “Now I’m just trying to take my life back.”

You looked up at him for a long second, your breath caught in your chest, and then you slowly nodded. Wordlessly, you stepped beside him and knelt, beginning to fold the wrinkled clothes he had shoved into his suitcase. You couldn’t fix anything, not really, but you could help him pack.

He watched you for a moment. The way your eyes were lowered, expression unreadable. Guilt settled heavy in his stomach. He knew you were hurting not because of something you did, but simply because of who you were. And how his family had decided that was somehow… not enough.

Then he felt it.

Eyes on him.

Jay turned toward the door.

His mother stood there, a hand still clutched lightly against the frame, her face soft and wet with tears. Her gaze flickered from him to you, back again. “Jong…” she said, her voice cracking. “Don’t go.”

His heart squeezed. God, he’d always had a soft spot for her. For the way she brushed the hair from his eyes when he was sick, for the quiet way she defended him during family dinners. She loved him and he knew that. But when it came to standing up to his father, she never stood a chance.

“Mom…” he said, his voice breaking.

“Jong, please,” she whispered again.

He looked down. Then at you. You stood slowly now, standing behind him, your hands twisted tightly together, fingers fidgeting in a desperate attempt to stay grounded.

Jay swallowed hard. “I’m not going,” he said, barely more than a breath. “And if it’s too much for you or Dad to handle, then I’ll leave.”

His mother stepped into the room, shaking her head, eyes red. “I tried talking to your father—”

“He’s not going to change his mind, Mom.”

“He can. We can try.”

Jay let out a bitter laugh, short and sharp. “I’ve been trying. For years. And nothing’s ever budged.”

She stepped closer, voice pleading now. “What if you went? Just for now? You could visit every few months—”

“Because I don’t want to!” Jay’s voice rose, his frustration boiling over, his fists clenched at his sides. “The love of my life is here. I want to be here. My friends are here. You’re here. I don’t want to go somewhere where I don’t know anyone, where I have to pretend like I’m someone I’m not.”

He was crying now. A mess of breathless anger and heartbreak. He looked at his mom, desperate for her to see him. To see you.

“You used to tell me stories, remember?” he said, voice trembling. “How Dad courted you for three years. How you didn’t even like him at first, but he waited. You told me about your love story growing up. And now what? I don’t get to have one?”

His voice broke completely.

“I’m in love with her, Mom,” he whispered, his hand reaching behind to find yours again. “And I can’t let you or Dad take her away from me.”

The door slammed open with a violent crack, bouncing off the wall behind it. You jumped, your breath caught in your throat as Jay instinctively turned, stepping back to shield you behind him.

His father stood in the doorway, tall and unmoving. His expression was unreadable.

Jay stiffened in front of you, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides as he positioned himself like a barrier. He didn’t say anything. Neither did you. It was like the two of you were back in school, caught sneaking out past curfew, facing down a teacher.

“You’re comparing whatever you have with her to the story of your mother and me,” his father said, his voice calm but sharp, every syllable slicing through the room like glass. “So tell me, Jongseong. What makes you so sure she’s the one?”

Jay blinked. “What?”

The question caught him off guard. Of all the things his father could’ve said… that wasn’t it.

His father took a slow step forward, hands still tucked neatly into his pockets. “You’re willing to give up your education. Your future. Everything your mother and I worked for. You’re willing to throw it all away for her.” He didn’t look at you when he said it, only at Jay. “So explain to me. What makes you think the two of you are so special? What makes you believe this is real? That it’s not just some immature, irresponsible decision for a—” his voice dipped, “—a passing fling.”

You felt the breath leave your lungs.

Jay’s shoulders tightened in front of you, his jaw clenching so tightly you could see the muscles twitch. He didn’t move at first. Just stood there. 

You swallowed hard, your eyes locked on the back of Jay’s hoodie, your fingers trembling at your sides.

Jay turned slowly, just enough to glance back at you. His eyes met yours for the briefest second.

He looked back at his father, drawing a breath.

“I know,” Jay said, voice steady, though it cracked faintly at the edges. “I know because I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. I’ve never fought this hard for anything before. And it’s not a fling. It’s her. It’s always been her.”

His father raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And that’s supposed to be enough? A feeling?”

“No,” Jay replied, firmer now. “It’s not just a feeling. It’s the fact that I see my entire life with her. Not just today. Not just tomorrow. All of it. I don’t care if we’re rich or broke or living in a shoebox apartment. I want her there with me. I want to wake up next to her, argue with her over dumb things, bring her coffee when she’s tired, learn how to braid our daughter’s hair if we ever have one…that’s how sure I am.”

You blinked, your heart thudding so hard it hurt.

Jay stepped forward, his voice rising slightly. “You want to know what makes this real? It’s that when I think about what makes me feel safe, what makes me feel like I have a home, it’s her. Not a country, not a job, not a title. It’s her.”

He turned and reached for your hand again, threading your fingers through his, holding you tightly like he was afraid the world might tear you away at any moment.

“And if you can’t see that,” Jay said, looking directly into his father’s eyes now, “then maybe it’s not me who’s being reckless. Maybe it’s you for thinking love has to come with a some sort of societal hierarchy.”

The room fell silent again.

Jay’s father didn’t move. His face didn’t change.

“Then so be it,” he said.

Jay stiffened, not expecting him to fold, at least not like this.

“I expect three schools you’re planning to apply to. On my desk. Monday morning.” His gaze flicked between the two of you, briefly, unreadable. “Top three in the country. Or you’re going to Oxford. That’s the deal.”

And just like that, he turned and left.

The sound of his shoes against the hardwood echoed down the hall. The door clicked shut behind him.

You turned slowly to Jay, still gripping his hand, still trying to find your footing.

His eyes were locked on the door his father had disappeared behind. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move.

You gently brushed your thumb against the back of his hand. “Jong?”

He blinked, once. Then again. And finally turned to look at you.

“He didn’t say no,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “He didn’t… shut the door.”

“No,” you said softly, stepping closer. “He didn’t.”

Jay nodded slowly, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders. Not completely.

Because this wasn’t a win.

But it wasn’t a loss either.

–

Things at home were still tense. No one had said much since the confrontation. His dad mostly kept to himself. His mom cooked in silence. Meals were eaten quickly and apart. It felt like everyone was walking on glass, afraid one wrong step would crack it all open again.

You were at Jay’s place, waiting for your mom to finish work so she could swing by and pick you up. The rain had just stopped outside, leaving the windows streaked with droplets, a quiet stillness hanging in the air like the whole world was holding its breath.

You were both sitting cross-legged on his bed, half under the covers, half sprawled out with glossy brochures scattered between the pillows and across the floor. Jay was holding one upside down, dramatically squinting at it.

“Do you think they give scholarships for people who have a traumatic past?” you asked, grinning.

He scoffed. “Please. I deserve a full ride just for surviving my father.”

You laughed, nudging his arm. He retaliated by leaning in, pressing a teasing kiss to your temple, then one to your nose, and then your lips, just a light brush, slow and sweet.

“You’re distracting me,” you mumbled against his mouth.

“Mm,” he hummed, grinning. “Good.”

You rolled your eyes, about to swat his shoulder again when the door creaked open.

Both of you froze.

Jay’s mom stood at the doorway, a brochure in her hand, her expression unreadable. She cleared her throat gently. “How about this one?” she asked, her voice even.

You blinked. Jay sat up straighter. “Huh?”

She walked in and handed the brochure over, and as you took it, your fingers grazed hers. It was another local university, one that hadn’t been on either of your lists but was known and reputable. A place his father wouldn’t hate.

And then you understood.

She was helping. In her own way.

Your lips parted slightly.

Jay’s mom sat down beside you on the bed, smoothing her skirt down as she exhaled.

“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes flickering to yours. “For everything you’ve gone through these past few months. I wish you told me the truth. I wish you told me you and Jongseong were together. I would’ve fought harder for the both of you.”

Your throat tightened. You swallowed hard.

“But then again,” she continued, her voice lowering, “I was wrong. You heard what I said that day… about you not being in our world. And I was wrong for thinking that.”

She turned toward you more fully, her tone warm but earnest. “What Jong said was right. At the end of the day, we’re all just people. Status, names, connections… they shouldn’t matter. And I’m sorry I ever made you feel like they did.”

You nodded slowly, blinking through the sting in your eyes. You weren’t sure what to say, maybe because there was too much to say. 

–

The sun was merciless, high above the stadium, baking the crowd in waves of heat and happiness. You were squinting into your mom’s phone camera, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jay, both of you dressed in identical deep navy cap and gowns.

Your mortarboard was already slightly crooked. Jay’s tassel kept swaying into his mouth.

“Mom,” you groaned, “that’s like the hundredth picture you’ve taken just today.”

Your mother didn’t even look up from her camera. “And?”

Mrs. Park, standing right beside her, chuckled warmly, nudging your mom like they were old best friends now which, frankly, they kind of always had been. “The two of you look so cute in your cap and gown,” she cooed. “We have to document this. For memory sake, c’mon!”

Jay groaned under his breath but smiled anyway. You rolled your eyes dramatically.

“A little kiss for the camera?” your mom added with a wink.

“Gross, Mom,” you muttered, already turning your head away.

Too late.

Jay took your chin gently and turned your face back toward him, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “I won’t say no to a free kiss,” he murmured, smug.

You shoved his chest lightly, but the laughter broke through before you could even pretend to be mad. “Ugh. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Behind you, a familiar voice cut through. “Okay, lovebirds, let’s not forget who the actual valedictorian is.”

You turned just in time to see Jungwon walking up, cap perfectly straight, robe pressed to perfection, not a single wrinkle in sight. 

And then, Heeseung who was trailing behind him, in a gown that looked like it had been stuffed into a bag.

The sleeves were slightly too short, the zipper was half-stuck, and it hung off one shoulder.

“I can’t believe my parents didn’t spring for a second gown,” Heeseung said, exasperated, lifting a loose sleeve. “I’m stuck wearing my brother’s ratty one from two years ago. I found a mint in the pocket. Unwrapped, by the way. I swear to God, he’s the filthiest creature on Earth.”

Jungwon didn’t even pause. “You look stupid.”

Heeseung blinked back at Jungwon, completely deadpan. “Thank you, Jungwon. As always, a pillar of encouragement.”

Jay snorted into his sleeve. You were already wheezing, clutching your side as the two of them launched into another round of sarcastic bickering that made you question how either of them made it to graduation.

“Oh…hold on,” Heeseung suddenly perked up, biting his lip and raising a brow. “Some girls from the junior classes just showed up to congratulate me.”

You rolled your eyes. Jay muttered, “Here we go…”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Heeseung said, already straightening his sad excuse of a gown, “Won, you’re coming with.”

Jungwon blinked. “And why the hell would I do that?”

“I need a wingman. Jay’s taken, and I need someone to distract the extras while I move in on the main event.”

“Stop talking,” Jungwon said immediately.

“C’mon, please?”

“Just stop talking and I’ll go.”

“Sweet. Let’s go,” Heeseung grinned, already dragging him away.

You and Jay watched them go.

“Are we… sure he graduated?” you asked.

“Honestly?” Jay shrugged. “A miracle.”

But then, a throat cleared.

You turned, laughter freezing in your throat.

Jay’s father stood a few feet away in a crisp suit, arms crossed, sunglasses pushed up on his head. He didn’t say a word right away. Just looked at the two of you, at Jay in his cap and gown, hand intertwined with yours.

Jay’s hand stiffened slightly in yours. You looked at him and caught the faintest flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

To be fair, since the Monday Jay had placed the list of his top university applications on his father’s desk and then got into those schools, no less, there hadn’t been much conversation. Just the occasional grunt, nod, or one-word answer. It wasn’t new. Jay never expected his father to be warm. He could live without it. Had done so for most of his life.

But right now, Jay held his breath.

His father stepped forward, slow but sure, gaze unreadable. You tightened your grip on Jay’s hand without realizing it.

He stopped in front of Jay. His eyes scanned him once then paused on the crumpled gown, the slightly crooked cap, and then your intertwined hands.

“Well,” he said, voice low. “You wore the cap properly.”

Jay blinked, unsure if that was a jab or a compliment. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

And then, Jay’s father reached out.

To you.

He adjusted the tassel on your cap, gently sweeping it from the left to the right side.

“You’ve graduated too,” he said, not looking at you directly, but something in his tone softer than before. “Should wear it properly.”

You didn’t move. 

Then his father stepped back. He looked at Jay for a long beat, something tight in his jaw, but his voice steadier this time.

“You did good,” he said. “Better than expected.”

That was it.

Jay’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Because those few short words, that deadpan delivery, that subtle nod was his father’s way. And Jay knew, as frustrating and emotionally constipated as it was, that was as close as he’d ever get to hearing “I’m proud of you” out loud.

Before either of you could say anything, Mr. Park had already turned away, his footsteps slow and composed as he made his way through the crowd. He nodded at your mother and Mrs. Park in passing, the gesture polite. 

Then, weaving through the field, he crossed paths with Heeseung who, at that moment, was mid–peace sign, tongue out, and clearly trying to impress a group of younger girls.

Mr. Park came to a halt. Looked him up. Then down.

“Fix your collar, boy,” he said in the most unimpressed tone known to man, “You look stupid.”

Heeseung blinked. He turned to Jungwon, stunned. You and Jay were already doubled over trying not to laugh.

A minute later, Heeseung made his way back to the two of you.

“Guys,” he said, eyes wide, “who was that and why was he mean?”

Jay rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, that’s… my dad.”

“Oh,” Heeseung said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, he seems lovely.”

“I lowkey agree with him, though,” Jungwon added, eyeing Heeseung’s wrinkled sleeves.

“That’s because you’re an asshole,” Heeseung snapped.

You turned toward Jay, stifling your laugh behind your hand as Heeseung and Jungwon continued to bicker beside you.

Jay slipped his hand into yours giving it a gentle squeeze. His thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly, and when you glanced up, his gaze was already on you.

“Hard to believe we made it here,” he murmured.

You smiled, stepping closer until your forehead touched his. “Well… I kinda had a feeling we’d make it.”

“Weren’t you the same person who cried for two hours because you thought I was leaving?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

“Still… I would’ve chosen you,” he said quietly, just for you. “Even if it meant packing up and leaving with nothing but you.”

You leaned in, kissed him gently, then pulled back just enough to speak. “Lucky for you,” you said, your smile matching his, “I came with everything we need.”

“Okay, kids! Group photo!” Mrs. Park called out, already motioning for you, Jay, Heeseung, and Jungwon to squeeze together.

You groaned playfully, but there was no use resisting. Jay laced his fingers with yours and tugged you forward, Heeseung fixed his borrowed gown while Jungwon rolled his eyes and tried to smooth his already-perfect one.

“Closer!” your mom called, squinting at the screen. “Act like you like each other!”

Heeseung threw an arm over Jay’s shoulder. “That’s a big ask.”

“Oh, as if you’re any better.” Jungwon scoffed, flicking Heeseung’s forehead.

“Smile!” Mrs. Park added, then laughed. “Okay, last one and then we’ll go for dinner!”

The four of you leaned in, grinning wide for the camera. Jay’s hand slid to your waist and pulled you in, close and quick, pressing a kiss to your cheek just as the shutter clicked.

You squeaked in surprise, eyes wide, but the warmth on your face gave you away instantly.

“Now that’s burned into our graduation photo. Great,” Jungwon groaned.

“Unless… you want all of us to kiss you too?” Heeseung suggested, wiggling his brows.

Jungwon blinked. “No. I don’t really… I don’t want that.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, already leaning in.

“Let’s do it,” Jay said, grinning.

Before Jungwon could escape, the three of you planted a kiss on his cheeks all at once.