#doesn’t have to be yellow I don’t think but day bright is disgusting are you serious

[peterthepark]

𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐲

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

tags: 18+ very graphic smut, rough van sex, dirty talk, analplay, sub!eddie but also very much switch!eddie, lust at first sight, major mutual pining, a sprinkle of perv!eddie but hes sexy so its okay, (1) guest appearance by dustin, post vol. 2 fix-it fic, 7k filth

summary: she’s the girl next door. eddie is the metalhead freak who’s just barely clearing his name after a whole town fiasco. opposites attract but certainly not like this, and certainly not in the back of eddie’s van.

a/n: pov vol 2 ended on a positive note and eleven miraculously fixed everything so a freshly-graduated eddie can now live his life to the fullest!!!!!!!! aka what should’ve happened… minors dni. not for u.

It’s rare for Eddie Munson to be roaming the white-picket fence suburbs of Hawkins. It feels like a fantasyland — golden retrievers and tabby cats, designated trash days and bright, green grass full of yellow daffodils, oak trees with makeshift swings and wooden playgrounds built by loving fathers. It’s too perfect, too uncanny, and Eddie knows deep down that he doesn��t belong in such a world as nice as this one. 

But the suburbs of Hawkins are also welcoming.

When he gives Dustin a ride from school to home, when the noon is at its peak, golden rays and soft sprinklers making rainbows rise from the soil, he thinks — for a moment or two — that he belongs. He could if he wanted to. When Henderson invites him over for dinner, or when Harrington needs help fixing his car, when Mike needs relationship advice (as if Eddie could know anything about that) and when Robin wants to know more about Iron Maiden to impress the metalhead ladies, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, it isn’t so bad on this side of town.

That is until he saw you. And he realized then why everyone called this part of Hawkins a slice of paradise.

Pretty college student. Cut-off shorts from the Gap paired with baggy baseball tees, and a cute nose always stuffed in a romance novel or — some days — a textbook. Glossy lips, adorable socks and checkered picnic blankets where you’d lay out on the too-pristine yard, kicking your legs back and forth as if acting like eye candy was your specialty. 

The perfect poster girl of Hawkins with just enough rough edges to be labelled the girl next door. 

Only, Eddie doesn’t live next door to you. Dustin does. 

“The least you could tell me is her name, Henderson. I don’t want gas money, I want her name. Spelled out for me, syllable by syllable. Government name.” Eddie rambles, shifting impatiently in the driver’s seat as Dustin leans over the passenger window from the outside. “We’re sitting ducks here, man. What if she sees us spying on her damn fence like some creeps?”

The curly-haired sophomore sighs, fingers strung together as he frowns at his older friend, “You are a grown ass man, Eddie. All you have to do is ask her, just say hi, make an impression or something! You can’t just be looking at her from afar everytime you come over, blasting this Metallica shit…”

“You are on very thin ice, boy.” Eddie wags a finger at him, wide eyes bouncing between Dustin and the front of your house. “I don’t know her like you know her. I don’t wanna be weird, especially after just putting all this town satanic cult bull behind my ass. She might think — dammit, I don’t know… I just wouldn’t wanna scare the girl, okay?” He sucks in a deep breath, shrugging the thought off with a hopeful smile, “Not this time.”

“Disgusting.” 

He snaps his head towards Dustin, reaching over and rustling the cap on his head with a playful smirk. “You’re disgusting, you fuckin’ booger.”

And as if on cue, like every other day he’s been through this neighborhood, Eddie watches your figure emerge from the porch, picnic blanket and weathered paperback in hand. His jaw goes slack at the image of your denim overall-clad frame, nothing but a bikini-like bra underneath the number while a fresh cigarette dangles from your lips. So much skin — the exposed flesh of your neck, the salty beads of sweat rolling down your collarbone, the cherubic glow of your complexion and the alluring blush of your lips as you sit out on the yard. 

Fuck.

A loud boom pulls the metalhead from his trance. Dustin’s palm comes down against the flimsy van door. “Earth to Eddie? Get a grip, you’re drooling.” 

And all he can really say is: “She’s so damn pretty.”

Maybe he’s overreacting. Maybe he’s just really that in-deep with a girl who he has never, ever spoken to. Maybe he’s a pervert rather than a misunderstood freak and this is all just completely wrong of him. But, god, it feels so right to stare. Eddie can’t help it, especially once you catch sight of Dustin and send him an adorable little wave — then your eyes flicker over to Eddie’s dumbfounded expression inside the van, where you wave at him too. 

And the twenty one year-old swears he dies. Right at that moment. His heart skips several beats all at once, possibly even flatlining as a small smile falls upon your graceful features, bursting right out of his chest even as you look away and immediately redirect your attention to the walkman in your pocket like you hadn’t just casually murdered him alive. 

Fuck me, he thinks.

The next time Eddie sees you, he gets a little more than a wave. He’s reveling in this newfound attention as he bounces down the steps of Dustin’s porch and catches sight of you on the other side of the fence, already staring his way before he sends you a nerdy two-finger salute with a close-lipped smile. And just before he reaches the sidewalk, your sweet voice stops him in his determined tracks. 

“Metallica at three p.m. in this neighborhood is a death wish, you know.” 

Eddie turns slowly on his heels, shoes facing you before his whole body follows hesitantly. He’s trying to wipe off that stupid expression on his face, lips parted into a skinny ‘O’ that makes him look like a fish out of water as you finally make eye contact. He heats up immediately from the inside, belly churning and throat tightening when you give him a once over. And it seems like you don’t exactly care for subtlety either — blown pupils raking over his tattooed arms, taking in the torn rips of his shirt-turned-tank-top and the tanlines just above his elbows. 

He hopes you think that the scars on his body are just as badass (if not, more) than his tats. 

Say something. “Didn’t know music was on a schedule.” Eddie manages to follow along with a shrug, lips tugging to the side nervously.

In response, you smile. You fucking smile as if he hadn’t just said the most stupid response ever. It’s gentle, airy, almost effortless as crescent-like lines shape your warm cheeks and you cup a hand over your eyes, adorably squinting through the bright sunlight. “Oh, believe me, I had Iron Maiden on blast one time and ever since then, the whole block has been thinking I’m some sort of cult apologist.”

His heart grows like a balloon filling with helium, voice even going so far to climb several octaves of excitement as his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “You… you listen to that kind of stuff?”

You play with the lacy strap of your top. You’re beaming widely at him from the other side of the fence. “Do you judge books by their covers, mister?”

“No, ma’am.” Eddie swipes the glistening pad of his thumb across his bottom lip, stifling the grin that threatens to spread across his mouth. Sheepish, he shakes his head. “I think I underestimated you then. I’m… I’m sorry I…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m kidding. Seriously though, I have a bunch of mixtapes back in my room. Ozzy, Dio, some Sabbath. No one really gets it, but you… you seem like you do.”

And Eddie wonders: could you get any more damn perfect? The suburban denim dream, the girl next door, the quintessential concoction of every teenage boy’s fantasy and every teenage girl’s desire… listens to metal music? And not just AC/DC or KISS (because everyone loves those guys), but the same music he’s grown up with and loved? 

He can’t help but picture you in your bed, records spread out across your comforter as you switch between Dream Evil and Peace of Mind. Your limbs stretched out on the mattress, shirt riding up with nothing but black panties underneath as you rock out to his favorites. 

Yeah. He’ll think about that one a lot.

“I definitely get it. I do, I really do. I love metal.” Eddie rambles, hoping to keep your attention by stalling this conversation as much as possible. You nod at him with those big, innocent eyes and roll your fleshy lip between your teeth, keen to every stupid word that falls from his tongue. “But hey, it can be our little secret, then.” He leisurely gravitates towards the van while you match his strides, taking note of his quavering pitch and the use of Eddie’s own hands waving through the air wildly as he attempts to withhold his nervousness. “And again, just for peace of mind, I didn’t mean to judge. I figured…”

“Madonna?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles. Feels the anxiety in his stomach build even more. “Nothin’ wrong with Madonna, though. Sexy tunes. Can’t deny that.”

Sexy tunes. Come on, Munson.

But that draws a giggle right out of you, “Sexy tunes, indeed.” Then, you’re both leaning against the side of his van. No fence or Dustin coming between the two of you, just your sweaty bodies and Hawkins’ summer heat seeping through your thin clothes. You hold your palm out, fingers welcomingly outstretched. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” 

Eddie’s gaze bounces from your smaller hand to the doting expression on your face before gingerly enveloping it in his own. “Eddie. Edward. E-Eddie. You can…” You give him a gentle squeeze, a sure smile dusting over your lips. “You can just call me Eddie, or whatever. Whatever you want, Y/N.”

“Well,” You laugh again, and Eddie blushes profusely at the lighthearted noise. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Whatever.” You share another one of those looks, and he swears that this time — this time, your eyes do all the talking that needs to be done. “I think we’ll get along really well… Eddie.”

His name has never sounded so perfect out loud.

Eddie sees you again. 

And again. Every time he drops Dustin off. Again. Leant against the side of his van. Talking and talking, until there’s nothing to talk about — but it’s rare. He always has something to talk about, even when his voice fails him and he stutters or stumbles over syllables because you’re so fucking pretty and he’s… he’s just Eddie. But you see him differently than the others, so he supposes that maybe being “just Eddie” isn’t such an awful thing after all. 

Again, you talk. The sidewalk. Along the road. On your lawn. Sometimes, Eddie will even join you on your blanket, skim through your books and take note of what you read, then he’ll recommend “true” literature like Lord of the Rings or something else with elves and witches. 

Summer has never felt so long. 

Again.

Until again becomes every afternoon. Even on the days Dustin doesn’t need a ride home anymore. Even on the days he has to practice with his band at four, but he can always just come see you at three and drive back because it’s no big deal. Even on the days your parents say you need to stop talking to that Munson boy because he’s no good, but who fucking cares? 

Again, anyways.

You’re not scared of him. He’s not scary. He never was.

And so afternoons turn into nights. And nights consist of sneaking out to Eddie’s van that he’s parked a few houses down the street, because God forbid he talks to the innocent girl next door. Innocent is one fat hoax. You’re smoking pot with him in the back of his fucking van for Ozzy’s sake, giggly and unrelenting as you sit next to each other and drench yourselves in the scent of weed and Eddie’s drugstore cologne while Metallica plays faintly in the background.

He’s all man, but soft with his eyes. Soft in the way he looks at you. Crude in the way he secretly desires you. Now that he knows you, really knows you, you aren’t just beautiful. 

You’re completely devastating. 

You take a long drag of his joint, wincing as the paper sizzles and burns orange. “Fuck, I wish I tried getting high sooner. You’re a horrible influence, you know that?”

Eddie hums with a toothy grin, fiddling with the pair of flimsy headphones in his lap. “And yet you still meet me back here every night.”

“Why do I even do that?” 

“Um, ‘cause I got, like, really fucking good ‘A’ quality weed and impeccable taste in music.” He shrugs nonchalantly, eyes following the mold of your lips around the bud. “Easy there, tigress. Don’t hog it.”

“You said…”

“I said, you could have one hit. And now, I’m confiscating it.”

You groan in protest as Eddie leans over to your side of the van and snatches the blunt from you, tossing it into a mushroom shaped ashtray as he gazes at you curiously. “Since when did you become so mean to me?”

“Weed is meant to be treasured, Y/N. And plus, I’m always mean.”

He has to admit — there has been tension between the two of you ever since your afternoon catch-ups turned into late night talking. Maybe he’s imagining it, but surely you feel it too. The bubbling in his stomach when your elbows brush in such a confined space. The heat rushing to his cheeks when you laugh and place a hand on his thigh, or the dizzy rush flooding your forehead when he picks a flyaway strand of hair off of your shoulder. The increase in your heartbeats as you stare at each other for a minute too long, even sneaking in a second glance because you just have to. 

“You know what you should treasure?” You quirk a brow at him. A smirk tugs upon your lips as you dig through your pocket and pull out a cassette tape, shaking it in front of Eddie’s face. “This week’s mix I made you.”

“My mix is better.” He flicks his walkman open, switching out the tape inside for the one you hand him. “Here’s yours, ma’am.”

And he supposes that no one really expected that his friendship with the girl next door would be founded on trading music with each other. Ever since you and Eddie found out your tastes were in alignment, you made it a goal to introduce new songs to him — Madonna included. Sexy tunes. 

You think he could get used to the oddity of The Cure. He thinks he can convince you that Guns N’ Roses will eventually be a rock sensation. You’re skeptical. Maybe.

So you marinate in each other’s stagnant presence, leaning on opposite walls of his metal tin can of a van, holding your own walkmans with ears caressed by Koss headphones and lids shut as your heads bob to the acoustics. Eddie can’t help but crack an eye open, sneaking a peek at your chewed lip and your look of concentration. 

“I like this one.” You pipe up, feeling his stare on you. He glances away before you can actually catch him, training his gaze on the mess of blankets behind the driver’s seat. “You know, your choices this week are very interesting, Munson.”

Suggestive. His choices are suggestive, is what you’re thinking. From the first to the last track, the list of songs messily etched onto the cassette with the most boyish handwriting you’d ever seen, you can only hope that the metalhead holds some sort of attraction for you in the same manner you do for him. 

Eddie chuckles, and winces apologetically at you. “I still hate The Cure, by the way.”

You nod unconvinced, and pull one of the cups of your headphones away from your ear. There’s a smile of amusement, an interested dimple in your cheek. “And yet you included The Perfect Girl on here?” 

“Only because it made me think of you.”

For once, he realizes that he has flustered you. Your jaw goes slack, your pupils widen, brows softening before your nose crinkles at him. “Shut up, Eddie.”

His palms raise in a peaceful surrender, ringed fingers wiggling adorably. “You asked, Y/N.” A beat. Then you’re playfully throwing a jacket at his face and squealing before he instinctively lunges forward at you, gentle hands pulling you back by the elbows. Despite the struggle, eventually he’s pinned to the floor of the van and you’re on top of him straddling his soft belly. “Get off, you monster!” He near-giggles, sputtering as his hair gets into his mouth and he feels your body racking with laughter. 

“You’re so rude to me. Like the rudest. When has The Cure ever hurt you?” You pant out, chest rising and falling steadily as you both catch your breath. Eddie’s headphones haphazardly hug his head, walkman in the palm that rests above him. “Do you treat your girlfriend this way, hm?”

“No girlfriend.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mmm, I thought it was obvious.” He replies quietly, the sound comes out more like a soft moan rather than an agreement. His plushy lips are wet with saliva, tongue poking between the pink flesh as his eyes flicker from your parting mouth to your curious, swirling irises. “S’why I’m here with you.”

“So I’m the second choice is what you’re…”

“Please, you are farthest from the second choice, sweetheart.” Eddie laughs, ribs rumbling against his torso. Only then does he become hyper aware of the way your breasts push up against his shirt, the warmth of your skin intermixing with his, your nipples hardening against the thin white fabric of your camisole. Sweetheart, you repeat. Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart. “Do you have one?”

“A girlfriend?” You ask, tone playful and curious.

Careless Whisper echoes through his headphones; your mixtape is still looping through his walkman as you trail your fingers down his wrists and brace yourself on his chest. 

Fucking hell. It’s ironic. It’s pathetic. George Michael needs to shut up. Why is this damned song on here? He’s struggling to think, struggling to focus on the words coming from your mouth, struggling to keep it in his pants because you keep shifting farther and farther away from his stomach, and more and more towards his crotch. Focus. Tune out that stupid saxophone.

“Sure.” He shrugs breathlessly, tingling with anticipation. 

“Nope.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Not yet, no. Why is this a conversation, Eddie?” You bite your lip cheekily, knees planted firmly on either side of his lean body when you gaze down at him then survey the still-lit joint resting on his ashtray. Silence, then: “Can I have a hit? Please?”

Eddie glances at your lips, fixating on how your tongue darts out to lick at the sticky gloss. The moonlight casts a glow over your frame, highlighting the path of your curves through your tank top. And without really taking his eyes off of your beautiful face, his fingers reach for the blunt, a blush spreading across his chiseled cheeks when your hand brushes against his to grab it. 

Please.

A sizzle rustles through the heavy air as you take a slow drag.

And Eddie can’t help himself. Not this time.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?”

You’re slowly tossing the perfectly-good blunt aside, leaning down and lazily grabbing Eddie gingerly by his chin. 

He thinks you’re gonna kiss him.

And before he can lift his head to meet you, instead, you’re blowing a puff of smoke between his parted lips with an exhale. “Fuck… ing… heck…” He instantly groans, eyelids drooping as your ass pushes against him teasingly like you hadn’t just shotgunned into his goddamn mouth. Party trick. You flutter your lashes bashfully, dimples poking at your cheeks as Eddie gapes at you just inches away from your face. “Y/N, where the fuck did you… learn that?”

You sigh. “Eddie Munson, you just keep on underestimating me.” 

“I really do, I really fucking do…” He huffs, knuckles turning white around his walkman as you sensually tug his headphones off. “I just — just thought you were…”

“Innocent? Oblivious? I may be your girl next door fantasy… or whatever the fuck you Hawkins boys think about me…” You smirk, taking Eddie’s much-larger hands into yours and placing them firmly on your hips. “… but I am not fucking blind… you’ve been acting so off this entire night, must need something to take the edge off, don’t you?”

Fucking Ozzy. He can’t take it. His lips tug into a wince. “That easy, huh?”

Red-handed, you coo. “The easiest.”

“So technically you’re calling me easy, then?” Eddie jokes, heart pounding against his chest as he tenderly digs his fingertips into your love handles.

This is what he’s wanted. This is it. 

And it’s not a fucking dream at all. It’s absolutely heaven. 

Just like heaven.

“Eh, I think it’s endearing. The way you…” He curses under his breath as you lean over and trail your mouth up his jawline, biting his earlobe. “… savor me… savor looking at me. The way you think I don’t notice your stare, when your eyes wander a couple inches down whenever I talk? Oh, you think you’re so slick. I’m not naïve. Why do you think we hang out in your van at night?”

He shudders when your teeth find the cool surface of the guitar pick around his neck. “You’re evil, sweetheart.”

“And you’re horny, but maybe I shouldn’t talk about that.”

“No, definitely…” Eddie laughs nervously, swallowing as he looks down at you. “Definitely not. I’m… fuck, I’m fine. I’m good.”

“Or, maybe I should.” Back and forth banter. It’s natural with you. Too natural, almost like it has always meant to be like this between the eager pair of you. You don’t kiss him, not yet. He can wait. “Acting like a gentleman, like my friend, when in reality you can’t help but think of banging me everytime we see each other?”

“M’sorry, okay? We are friends — fuck, Y/N. Can’t focus… can’t exactly t-talk when you’re on my lap like that.”

Heat pools to his lower stomach, breaths quickening as his hands mindlessly drift down to your upper thighs, squeezing your skin through your little shorts when you grind against him. “Like this? How does it feel? Touching me, feeling me on you like this?”

Eddie’s eyes are dark, almost black in the dim shadows of his van. He looks up at you with the most dilated, entranced look, and you swear it almost makes you break. “Feels… feels so nice. Warm. I just… fuck, I don’t… don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna do… Y/N, goddamnit…”

“I think it’s both clear what we want, no?” You press a kiss to his cheek, running your thumb along the skin beneath his lower lashes. His self-control is slowly diminishing, inch by inch, he feels himself melting in your presence. “I stare, too, just so you know. I stare a lot.”

“Yeah?” Eddie lifts a shaky hand, nervously cupping your jaw and nudging his nose against yours. His voice ghosts your skin, raspy and more of a whimper than a command. “Tell me about it.”

Your mouth hovers over his, lips barely brushing against each other. Touching, touching, touching, only to pull away at the very last second. He can almost just taste the marijuana from your tongue, almost taste the honey dripping from your voice as you peck the corner of his lips. Almost. “I look at your arms, and your really cool tattoos, then I picture… where else you have them on your body…” You gasp into his ear as his hips rut into you, his fingers drawing shapes against the side of your face. “Picture your lips on my chest… kissing me, leaving marks… bruises, hickies, whatever you want, Munson. Your mouth between my — my thighs… tugging on your hair because you’d be so good to me, wouldn’t you?”

“M’want you so bad. You don’t know the half of it.” He whispers, stroking a knuckle across the shadow of your cupid’s bow. “Please… let me… fuck, let me kiss you. Please, Y/N. Want it so bad. Been wanting you ever since summer started. Makin’ me crazy, got me feeling like I’m insane with the way I just… just obsess over us.”

He’s earned it. 

“Like I said, whatever you want.” You grin devilishly.

Eddie’s lips finally collide with yours, erotically wet and far from smooth. It’s incongruous, sweaty skin rubbing against each other and clothes rustling as Eddie sits up, your arms swaddling his lanky frame while you crane your neck to kiss him deeply. His hair is in your mouth, his nose smushed against the side of your face, strained groans slipping from his throat as he traverses down your neck, selfishly licking the divot of your collarbone before his palms are venturing under your camisole. 

“You’re so fucking hot.” He whines, lashes fluttering against your thin bra as he pulls your top over your head. He’s mouthing at the cups, biting at the stringy lace of your push-up before he’s tugging the material down to reveal your nipples. “I just… fuck, I’m just in awe of you. You’re the perfect girl, and I get to have you.” He wraps his lips around the hardened bud, moaning as he alternates between the two and litters your flesh in dark hickies. You fist his hair, caving into his frame. “You’re so sexy. Just… fucking… took the words out of me, leavin’ me speechless… I’ll make you feel so f-fucking good if you let me.”

Your head rolls back as he kisses up the underside of your chin, meeting your lips in a more tender kiss. Your nails trail underneath his Iron Maiden ringer tee, lightly tracing over the raised scars on his abdomen, his belly, skimming over his sparse happy trail and the subtlety of his v-line. “You’re all talk, Eddie… wanna make me feel good?” He nods meekly, the veins in his neck flexing as you stroke his brow bone. “Think you should start by undressing me…”

“Christ, please.”

And without a beat, Eddie’s reaching around you to unclasp your bra, tossing it aside so that it lands over the back of the driver’s seat. He kisses his way down your belly, the little pudge when you sit, only for him to lay you down on your back, clumping up a bunch of jackets to make a pillow for your head. His fingers unbutton your shorts, tugging them down the length of your legs with your panties until they get caught on your Chucks. 

He takes those off too. Quite frankly, chucks the Chucks across the van with a squeaky mutter of ‘goddamn shoes…’  before he’s pocketing a lineup of chunky rings into his jeans.

Eddie’s mouth makes up for the dorky mishap, his lips make haste against your tender calves, biting the squish of your thighs and nudging his nose against the glossy patches of arousal on the inside of your skin. He inhales the scent of your cunt, and you jerk with a moan of surprise as he kisses you there, open and fluttering for him while he lays on his stomach.

He’s never seen such a pretty pussy. It emboldens him, leaves him brazen and aching for more even though it’s the first time he’s ever seen you this naked. Even though he’s barely even had you, he still needs more.

“Need you so bad it hurts.” Eddie growls, looking up at you with a smirk as you gnaw on your bottom lip. “You’re just… fuck, how did you get this wet? God, you’re unreal, baby… let me? Please? Let me… let me eat it… I’ll do anything…”

Let me. Let me. Let me. It’s his mantra. You’d be lying if you deny that it stirs something animalistic within you.

You nod violently, biting down on your forefinger as he props you up against the wall of the van and parts your knees even further before he’s shoving his face into you. Your hands dart straight into his curls again, pulling and tugging until you’re holding him by a wiry ponytail, watching the eager way he suckles at the bundle of nerves just at the apex of your sex. 

Eddie feels like a fucking virgin. Desperate. Impatient. Aggressive. He’s too excited — it displays itself when he slips two digits into your needy slit, taking in how you instantly buck against him. You need him. Need him in the same manner he needs this. His ego fires up as he drives his fingers further, running his tongue over and back and down your clit until your grip on his hair becomes suffocating.

“Having fun down there, h-hm?” You croak. Even with his head buried between your thighs, you’re mischievous, challenging, witty. He’d fuck the brains out of you if he could, but honestly, he isn’t even sure if he could survive one second with his cock in your little fist. “Fuckkk. You’re makin’ me feel so good, Eds…” Your head hits the metal wall, a soft bang that goes unnoticed with all the squelching and creaming as Eddie scissors his fingers. 

“You’re so perfect. You’re so perfect, I love the way you look right now, s’fucking hot… could cum just by watching you.”

“Yeah? Just wait — just fucking wait till I suck you off.”

Eddie can’t wrap his thoughts around it. His tongue, his hands, where he’s buried inside you. He’s wanted this, ever since the start of summer, and he’s here with the girl he thought was untouchable — the perfect girl with a perfect, filthy secret that is him. 

You’re grinding your mound against his mouth, quivering jaw unhinged in the darkness of his large van. His eyes flicker up to your tits, slick with his spit and your own as a dribble of saliva falls from your lips, tainting your skin. 

For once, you aren’t put-together. He’s ripping your façade apart at the seams and leaving nothing to sew back.

“You’re a fucking mess, Y/N… oh, I do this to you?” He’s touching you till you’re vibrating and mewling. He’s lapping every drop of you up, tasting you permanently on his lips as he prods at your clit. “Fuck, honey…” Eddie bites you, hard enough to nurse a bruise on the inside of your thigh. “Please cum for me, yeah? Jus’ look how wet I’ve gotten you, sweetheart… you’re practically — oh, my god… you’re practically gaping… you wanna cum that bad?”

You really can’t help it. Not when he’s cooing at you with that whiny voice, teasing and suggestive as your cunt spasms over his pink knuckles. Your hips rise from the carpet flooring, and Eddie leaves another bite-mark on your stomach as slick trickles out of you. You don’t moan. You don’t scream, nor cry. Just a broken whimper and a restrained, quiet utterance of Eddie’s name beneath your breath. 

Somehow, it makes his cock pulse even harder.

He gently kisses your cunt, running a soothing tongue over the bruises he’s left and the dip in where your hip meets your thigh. “Fuck, that was hot.” He smells the aftermath of your orgasm, really smelling you this time, and it ends up driving him nuts. “Oh, Y/N… your pussy…” You follow his gaze, letting out a lewd sound as Eddie admires the puffiness of your folds, swollen and open from his work. You jolt as soon as he tries to spread you. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry, d-didn’t mean to get so damn rough with you. You tasted so fucking nice, s’all.”

“No, I…” You brush his hair away from his face, pushing his bangs aside as he sits up and wedges himself between your knees. “I love rough. I can take it. I can take this.” Your other hand palms him through his jeans, before you’re dipping yourself beneath his waistband, hairs prickling at your skin as you grasp him. “Do you want me to be rough with you, Eds? Because I just… I really, really want your cock, and I… I dunno if I can hold myself back…”

“Oh, you little slut.” He gasps brazenly as you pull his shirt off, eyes wide at your sudden conviction for him, “Take it. Take me, Y/N. I’m all yours, whatever you fucking want.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby.”

You smirk, helping him kick off his jeans and boxers. Your cunt pathetically gapes for him once he’s bare, contracting around nothingness as Eddie takes your place against the wall. He leans back, and you just stare — drinking him in the same way he drinks you in. Your puffy nipples, still damp from his spit, your darkened neck a testament to his artistry, your mouth parting in awe as you fit his erect cock into your hand. Barely.

He’s big — lengthwise, and it curves heavily in your grasp as you lean down to pop him between your lips. Eddie nearly knees you, palms flying to cover his face as he desperately cries your name. “Y/N… oh, f-fucking… oh, Jesus…” You rake your nails up and down his thighs, licking a stripe up his manhood as you play with his sopping tip.

You chuckle in amusement around him, “Such a leaky cock. You like that, Eds? Mmm, you messy boy. All this pre-cum and I’ve… aw, I’ve barely touched you. Tell me what feels good, ‘kay?”

“S’all of it… all of it is — it’s good… fuck, words are so… words…” He melts even more as you sheathe him into your mouth, stuttering as he feels you hold back a gag. Your whole body convulses, back arching upwards as Eddie watches you take and take and take. “Oh, Y-Y/N… you just keep — keep getting better and better. Holy shit.” His belly aches with desire, tightening with each bob of your head and every seductive blink of your eyes. “You’re gorgeous. Thought about you.. whenever you’d — mmm, whenever you’d lay out on that darn lawn, what if I took you right there? What if I just… fucked you on that grass…”

“You and your dirty mouth, Munson.” You glare up at him in feigned annoyance, jerking his shaft with fast, purposeful movements. “I think it’s funny… how you pretend like you’re such a nice guy when really, you’re only a perv for me.”

“So what? Are you gonna punish me?” He challenges beadily, tongue poking out between gritted teeth like he could win this fight. “Or are you gonna fuck me, pretty girl?”

And just like that, the air changes. He feels the shift, the veil that falls over your eyes, nothing but sex and his scent running in your mind.

“No, Eds.” You move to straddle his thigh; your bare cunt dragging against his scarred skin. “I’m gonna make you beg.” 

You take him into your fist again, stroking him between the generous suction of your lips and the sweep of your tongue. He tastes good to your surprise, and then you’re creating a pool of spit that trickles from his abdomen to his balls. 

Messy girl. “Christ, Y/N.”

You release him with an erotic pop! — there’s stringy saliva connecting you to the crown of his cock, your throat is raw, his dick impatient, twitchy and excited. “You wanna fuck me so bad, you can’t even think straight. Look at my hand right now, look how tiny it looks when I hold you…” You grind yourself against his knee, groaning with him as you quicken your pace. Your brows furrow, a wicked grin ghosting itself over your features. “Baby, are you going to cum already?”

“Y/N, don’t s-stop. I’m beggin’ you, please…”

“Oh, you’re begging? This is what you call begging?”

“Please, s’too hard.”

“Too hard? What’s too hard? Me not letting you cum, or…” You give him one good jerk, twisting your fist so that your thumb brushes over his white-coated tip. “… your cock? Because you’re awfully, awfully rock hard right now. I bet it hurts doesn’t it, my love?” My love. His eyes gloss over. Your mouth hugs the shell of his ear. “You wanna cum?”

“Y-Yes…” He near-whimpers. Desperate. “Wanna cum so badly.”

“No.”

You release him for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. His climax dwindles back to square one, and his leg thrashes out in dismay. There’s sweat beading down your forehead, drops forming on Eddie’s brow bone as he scowls at you. 

You kiss him, almost like an apology, but Eddie can tell you’re not sorry. Far from it. You enjoy this, enjoy getting him off just to start over and make him beg. Is it so sick that he likes it? The more you stretch this interaction out, the more he gets to touch you. Like now, as you swing your knees on either side of him, his palm gingerly clasping the nape of your neck as he presses your face to his.  

“Let me fuck you? Let me be inside?” He pleads, nudging his nose against yours in anguished yearning. He drags his hand over your cheek, enveloping your jaw with outstretched fingers. “Just wanna bury myself inside you and stay there. Don’t even wanna cum anymore, I promise. I promise I’ll fuck you so good, m’not pathetic like the other guys… wanna feel you jus’ dripping on me, Y/N.”

You don’t answer, just gasp into his parted mouth as you line each other up. The angry head of his cock catches on your swell, snagging your clit before his tip lodges itself inside you and he — quite literally — goes rigid. You curse, slowly sinking down his length until your pussy refuses to take more. 

“You’re s-so big.”

Eddie feels like he’s going to fucking burst. “Sweetheart,” He pants, panicked and frenzied as you squeeze around him. Your head lolls onto his shoulder, arms thrown around his body as he tangles his slender fingers into your scalp and pulls you impossibly closer to his chest. “Sweetheart, I can feel every p-part of you… you’re so — fuck, just like that, you wet messy thing.” He whines, the curve of your ass coming down against his lap as you keenly bounce on his cock. He meets you with gentle thrusts, your cunt already milking him thin. “Look at you, fuck, you’re loving this.”

“E-Eddie…” Your tits are squished against his pecs, his necklace sandwiching itself between your damp skin. “More. More. Give it…”

“You can’t take it, baby. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I can take it. I can. It’s not enough, I’m telling you.” You rut your hips stubbornly, guiding his palms to your waist before he’s carefully rolling you onto your side and hiking your calf over the tender slope of his shoulder. “S’not nearly enough, Eds.”

“Okay.” He breathes out, inhaling deeply as he slips himself deeper inside you. The stretch stings harshly, flashes of white prickling at the cones of your vision as he splits you raw and wide open. “Is this enough? You fuckin’… god, you perfect whore…” Your spine tingles as Eddie tugs you closer by the hip, ramming himself into you relentlessly. “… such perfect tits, a perfect leaky cunt…” He presses a kiss to your ankle, before flipping you onto your knees so that he can fuck you from behind. He wants to see you, see you flutter for him, feed his sick thoughts and relive the nights where he jerked himself off in this very van in empty parking lots to the idea of you. “… and this perfect ass… another hole waiting to be used, right, Y/N? You’d let me use it, wouldn’t you? If I’m nice enough, I bet you’d let me fuck it…”

Fucking hell.

You cum as soon as he dips the pad of his thumb against the responsive ring of muscle. You both grow feral at the sensation. Soaked. Pussy chafed raw from his cock. You can’t tell whose fluids are whose, if it’s Eddie’s spit or yours, if it’s your juices or his — the embarrassing manner in which your cunt just sucks him in, the tight walls of your ass fluttering around his gentle finger as he drives into you.

How is the van still upright? Eddie doesn’t know. 

He’s an Ozzy clusterfuck of strangled, broken sounds and you’re a broken record player of Eddie-Eddie-Eds-Please, I’m cumming!

He doesn’t stop. Even when you’re shaking and bent-half in now missionary, he sheathes himself inside you till his pelvic bone is crushed to your body. “You feel so good, I’m sorry… I can’t — can’t stop, baby…”

“Don’t. Don’t stop, it’s a-alright.” You heave out, interlocking fingers as his glistening cock disappears into your used cunt. “It’s a l-lot, but it’s okay.” Eddie’s body engulfs you, your heels digging into the dimples in his lower back as he pounds into you. “You’re such a good — good boy, fuck…”

“Yeah?” He bites your throat. “Say.” The under-swell of your boob. “It.” Your arm. “Again.”

“Good boy. Such a good boy, fucking me the way I deserve.”

“Fucking you like you’re a slut.”

“Fucking me like I’m not the girl next door…” You chuckle, breathy and airy before he knocks the wind right out of you. “The whole town is gonna call me a w-whore for once.”

“Suits you better.”

You swear your soul leaves your body. You’re dying. You are dead, nearly limp in his fumbling boyish hands as he cradles your head against his chest and wipes the sweat from your eyes like he loves you. His balls slap against your loosened rim, his thumb putting pressure on your clit until you’re frantically pushing him away. 

“I can’t cum again. I can’t.” You sob in pleasure, clawing at his tattoos as if they could save you from his insatiable hunger. “Eddie!”

“Need it, need your cum again, Y/N.” Eddie growls, thrusts stuttering and cock pulsating wildly before he’s spitting onto your sex as if you needed to be any more wet. “I-I think you’re so… so fucking cool, you’re just… you’re too good for me, but I fucking adore you.”

I adore you.

I adore you.

You can’t even talk anymore, vocal chords ripped right out of your throat as your stomach cramps, cramps, cramps and then drops to a low point. Crashing. Flatlining. Clenching hopelessly.

You nearly choke Eddie as a hand flies out to touch him, pulling him close as your walls trap him for a second time. Only now, he’s locked in tight, unable to move, unable to go anywhere and he fucking cums immediately because it’s just too inviting. You feel him seeping out of you, painting your holes with his sticky cum as he stills there like a good boy. He grunts against your lips, kissing you poorly as his orgasm eats him alive. 

He’s milked. Spent. 

Eddie collapses on top of you, one leg jutted straight and the other bent as he embraces you close with his whole weight resting on your frame. How can he already miss something he just had? Gaining your strength, you kiss down his shoulder, fingertips swirling over muscle and scar tissue and ink as the smell of him floors you.

It’s so Eddie. Woody, earthy, with a spicy fresh top note reminiscent of oak moss and a hint of gasoline, dry cedar and herbs. It makes you dizzy in the best way possible. He’s drenched in the girlish smell of sex, sweat and salty but you’re eager to taste him anyways.

My good boy, you think. 

“Are you okay?” Your voice comes out raspy and winded, almost sickly but Eddie knows it's a good-sick. 

“Yes, yeah. I just… need a sec.”

“Hm, don’t take too long, Munson.” Shit. Is this over already? Just like that? “Might get wet again.”

Oh. It’s a joke. 

And he laughs, wheezy and exhausted as he irritatedly tugs his own hair out of his mouth. “You’re gonna be the death of me, ma’am.” He leans back on his hinges to properly look at you, your cheeks rubbed red-raw from his teeth and your abused, achy cunt still stuffed full of his prick. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alive.”

“Barely.”

“Barely.” You repeat heartily, shaking your head at him with a look of bewilderment. “S’gonna hurt when you pull out, you know.”

“Are you telling me to stay here forever?”

“If you admit that you like The Cure, then yes…” You bite your lip, drumming your fingers against his wrist. “… I’ll let you stay there forever.”

Forever. You both push down the giddy, cheesy smiles that threaten to spread across your faces. 

“Never. Never ever.” Eddie chuckles. When he tenderly and patiently pulls out, a wet rush slowly floods out of you, his fingers frantically plug you shut — his thick, translucent cum dripping from his knuckles as he selfishly fucks his hot spill back into you like the perv he is. “But that can stay there forever.”

A freak, but not in the way Hawkins thinks.

You melt at the feeling, limbs spasming awkwardly as he spreads himself over your pussy distractedly. His eyes are so goddamn soft, kind, attentive — even when he’s pushing some of it into your poor asshole, he’s still the sweetest guy you’ve ever hooked up with. 

He kisses your clit before he lovingly hikes your panties up your legs. 

Fucker.

“Did I ruin you, sweetheart? Awfully quiet.”

You scoff, shimmying into your shorts and camisole as Eddie tucks himself back into his boxers. “Just wondering how you expect me to climb back into my window after all that.”

“Who said anything about climbing…” He laughs boisterously, leaning over and fixing the strap of your bra. “What do you say I walk you to the porch, ring that bell and introduce myself to mom and pop?”

You stare at him like he’s crazy.

“Absolutely not, Eddie Munson.”

He finds himself liking the suburbs a lot more.

Only this time, he doesn’t imagine himself surrounded by picket fences and golden retrievers, mailboxes with his last name painted in unreadable cursive or having to mow his front lawn at seven in the fucking morning. 

Eddie doesn’t need to when Hawkins’ slice of paradise is just next door. 

And he gets to taste it every fucking day and night. 

So, fuck it. He’ll climb your window so you don’t have to wobble back to your house with his cum dripping down your leg. He’s a gentleman, railing you in the abandoned parking lot of Starcourt because you can’t handle the embarrassment of getting caught by someone at home. He’ll cover your mouth in the shed in your backyard so the neighbors don’t complain about the howling coyotes that have gone loose in the neighborhood. 

God forbid they have coyotes, right? 

But really, they should be worrying about the devastatingly gorgeous girl next door and her favorite, good boy with a dwindling hatred for The Cure.

Even though, the album is growing on him.

He’ll never admit that, though.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things fluff #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things season 4

[suzypepper]

There was this f*mily vl*gger I used to watch and they were so cute so fun but then she replaced all?? of the light bulbs in her house with day brights and threw out all their lamps and I was like oh hell no and now I’m against the whole genre. Made me more ethical I guess

#talking #doesn’t have to be yellow I don’t think but day bright is disgusting are you serious #operation table

[mediumgayitalian]

“Oh, shoot, sorry. Go back to sleep. Sorry.”

Nico shifts, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. The light in the infirmary is low, and strangely soothing. It’s almost hard to keep his eyes open. But he manages, rubbing his knuckles under the curve of his eyesockets, and searches in the dark until he finds what woke him up.

Will stands a couple feet away from his bed, figure curled and shadowy, owlish eyes wide and almost unnaturally reflective in the dark.

“‘S’okay,” he mumbles. “Couldn’t really sleep anyway.”

“Oh.” There’s a shuffling sound, and suddenly Nico feels warmer where Will has stepped closer. “You in pain?“

“No. Just bad at sleeping.”

“Hey, me too.”

Surprise at Will’s easy admission and a little bit starstruck at the bright flash of Will’s grin, Nico doesn’t have the chance to beat himself up over being so flippantly open. His teeth seemed to glow as much as the whites of his eyes, which would be creepy, except it’s hard to feel anything but calm as a cool night breeze wafts the scent of lavender from the sill planters in every inch of the infirmary, and it’s hard to think of Will as anything but warm. Especially the hand he places, briefly, on the curve of Nico’s knee.

“Insomnia?”

“Something like that.”

“Still. Sorry for waking you up.”

Nico hums, fiddling with his skull ring. “Why were you up, anyway?”

“Oh, I won’t have time to sleep for another couple days.”

There’s a mellow cracking sound, and then all of Will’s knuckles begin to glow a soft, sunset yellow. Nico startles.

“Apollo thing,” Will explains. A smirk is now visible at the corner of his mouth, forcing a dimple on his right cheek. In his hands, almost hard to see under the glow, are three small vials of something Nico doesn’t recognize. “Getting meds and salves in order.”

Hesitantly, Nico drags his gaze away from the clinking glass bottles, forcing himself to meet Will’s eyes. They’re ridiculously bright. Is that an Apollo thing, too?

“Why does that mean you can’t sleep?”

Will gestures to the myriad of occupied beds outside the curtains Nico has pulled up. “Shitton of injured, man. I got way more people than I got stuff. I prepped for the Romans beforehand, obviously, but I didn’t have a good hand on their numbers and didn’t prep enough. I’m short on supplies. Haven’t slept since Gaea did.” At Nico’s look of alarm, he quickly assures, “But don’t worry, I had Cecil brew me something strong. It’s disgusting, so I think it might be his Coffee Redbull Matcha Heartstopper Special, With A Shot Of Crushed Caffeine Pills For Good Measure, but I’m not sure. Hands are only a little shakey, though, feel.”

In a mirror of a few days ago (fuck, Nico hopes he’s kidding; how long can people go without sleep?), he darts out and rests his hands under Nico’s. Sure enough, they’re trembling, although nothing nearly as bad as before.

“Dangerous levels of sleep deprivation aren’t as bad as delivering a baby, huh.”

Will shudders. “Don’t even joke.”

He looks so genuinely horrified that Nico can’t help but laugh. All they’ve seen, all they’ve suffered — and golden boy is gagging at the miracle of life. If Nico wasn’t so sure that he’d seen at least as many gory nightmares as Nico, if not more, he’d tease him for being squeamish.

…Actually.

“What kind of school nurse wannabe is squidged out by birth?”

“Nurse?” Will squawks, snatching his hands away (Nico finds his own hands, strangely and suddenly, cold). “I didn’t go to seven years of med school to be called a school nurse wannabe!”

Nico narrows his eyes. “You didn’t go to med school. You’re fifteen.”

“As I said.” He grins teasingly. “I didn’t go.”

It takes Nico a second, but when he gets it he cannot physically hold himself back from kicking him. Solace, weak from muffled laughter, stumbles sideways into a lamp.

“Ay! Be careful, you wanna kill the camp’s only brain surgeon?”

“If he’s being annoying,” Nico bites back. He can’t quite stop smiling, and he’s embarrassed about it, but thankfully the darkness hides his face. “There’s no way you’ve done brain surgery.”

The shitty cot Nico’s been coerced into camping on for the next three days creaks as Will perches on the edge of it.

“Have so. In the woods, two years ago, removed a brain tumour. Stressful as shit.” He flashes another sideways grin. “Couple dozen more medical emergencies under my belt, and I might actually be as qualified as a nurse in this country’s garbage medical system. Thank the gods for them, honestly. They do a shit lot more than a lot of doctors claim to.”

Sensing the topic change for what it is, Nico doesn’t press any further. “That what you wanna do?”

“Aw, man, I don’t even want to think about it. The idea of someone else running this infirmary gives me a stress ulcer. Y’all do a lot of stupid shit and frankly some of the procedures I have performed exist in no medical textbooks anywhere, medical or no.” He snorts. “Anyways.”

His hands are blazingly warm again, almost like sun through a maginifying glass, when they pat his shin twice. He stands, stretching — more bursts of light appearing along the length of his spine, lighting what his fading knuckles leave out.

“Try to sleep again, Neeks. You’ll need it.”

“Maybe I should be the one to say that to you,” Nico says. Will waves his hand dismissively, and in a fit of impulse Nico reaches out and grabs it, meeting his raised eyebrow with a stubborn set to his jaw. “I mean it, Will. No one’s awake right now. I just woke up. Why don’t you crash for an hour or so? I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

Will hesitates. “If anything happens, that’s on me. It — I can’t let it be on me.”

“Do you trust me?”

Stupid question. Of course Will doesn’t trust him, Nico let someone die in front of his eyes, Nico is the bringer of death and darkness, why would he —

“Yeah.” Will sighs. Nico looks up, startled, but the medic is eyeing one of the few spare cots, face screwed up in consideration. “You’ll wake me?”

“Immediately,” Nico assures hastily. He nods his head at the bunk next to him. “Sleep, man. You look like you need it.”

“Oh, well, just what I’ve always wanted to hear from you. You look stunning, by the way.”

Nico knows it’s a joke, but he flushes anyway. Thank Hades again for the dark infirmary, and the length of his hair.

“Whatever. Sleep or don’t.”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

In seconds he’s out of his flip-flops, slightly-scratchy blankets turned up and wrapped tightly around him all the way up to his neck.

“Thanks, Nico. I owe you.”

In the next breath, he’s out, all that’s visible of him the flutter of his light eyelashes and the tangled mop of blond hair. He snores, slightly, with every puffed exhale; a tiny, stuttered sound, not unlike a cat. It’s kind of cute, and Nico’s smiling before he realising.

“You don’t owe anybody shit.” He shakes his head fondly, leaning back onto his pillows to keep an eye out. “Goodnight, Will.”

#i think nico would be very protective very early. and i am correct #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #nico di angelo/will solace #nico/will #will/nico #nico di angelo & will solace #smart will #will i lvoe u like so much truly #100 ways #100 ways to say i love you #my writing #fic #longpost

[rithmeres]

ok i mentioned that i watched hxh 1999 the other week when i was sick and i also rewatched 2011 (minus the ch*m*ra *nt arc) so here r some expanded thoughts on the 2 adaptations:

why tf would 2011 cut kite out of the first episode(s). this is unforgivable. it UNBELIEVABLY weakens the entire ch*m*ra ant arc (i hate it to begin with but cutting gon’s previous connection to kite makes is so much stupider)

2011 hisoka would tear 1999 hisoka to PIECES. 99 hisoka is just kinda weird and off-putting but 2011 hisoka is TERRIFYING and charismatic and seductive and disgusting and 85% of the heavy lifting is done by namikawa daisuke’s voice acting but he has so much more PRESENCE in ‘11

99 gon is so babey omg. look at him

2011 killua is also extremely babey and i like that, but i also like how he seems a bit older in 99. i don’t prefer one take over the other i just like the flavor variations it adds

99 cut most of the kastro fight?? WHY?

2011 really nerfed leorio lmao when i was watching 2011 i was like theres no way this guy should have passed the hunter exam. but in 99 it’s a little more believable because he’s not a complete dolt. justice for my man he ain’t done anything wrong

the choreo and technical aspects of kurapika vs uvo are better in 2011 but 99 really hammers home how disgusted and conflicted krpk is over the whole thing. i loved his prayer before the fight begins and his breakdown when it ended. how completely done in he was by just one fight with one spider. 2011 focuses more on his anger and doesn’t give it the gravity it needs (KURAPIKA ⛓️🩸IS DROWNING🌊IN AN INDESCRIBABLE EMPTINESS 🕳️🚶‍♂️🎸🎸🎸🎶🎶😝) (WHAT WERE THEY THINKING)

the fight between chrollo and the zoldycks seemed weird to me in 2011 because it takes place in a bright yellow room. 1999 gave it a much darker atmosphere that i think it deserves

it CANNOT be understated just how much of a difference mozart’s lacrimosa/dies irae makes in 2011. the 1999 requiem was so empty without it

i know it’s filler but i really really like how gon meets leorio first in 99. they have such a special relationship and i think giving them a little side quest together before they meet the other boys was an inspired choice

they were not kidding, 1999 chrollo really does look like michael scott. tf

in 1999 kurapika actually seems like a boy. i cant explain it but 2011 kurapika will always be a girl to me

99 has a wealth of truly incredible gifs. illumi girl why did you fall like that. gon so real for bootyshaking when he gets same day shipping on his ps2. killua canon buttslapper friend. there's so much going on

#hxh #hxh spoilers

[kahlanmars]

PAPER RINGS part. 3

Hello friends! This is the 3rd chapter. What can I say? I'm sorry? I'm sorry!

MASTERLIST

3. This is my place, I make the rules

When you arrive at District Twelve everything looks different. In a month the citizens really made progress and rebuilt almost everything, and now Twelve is a reminder of what it has been, and at the same time it’s new. 

Haymitch is waiting for you at the station, with a box on his hands and a smirk on his face. You want to kick the expression off of his face, preferably with a kiss.

You give to him your bags - you dyed them pink, and now they are flashy and sparkly - and you jump into his arms, hooking your legs to his waist. 

«I’m all yours for a whole week.» You whisper against his lips. His smirk becomes a genuine smile. 

«Sure you don’t want to make it a month?» He proposes and he smacks your ass. 

«Mhh, so not sure. It’s good to be here.»

It is good. You missed the place, and you missed your home. When you arrive and you open the bedroom’s door something sneaks out in the blink of an eye, though. You yell, because it’s little and black, but not so little.

«Haymitch what was that? A spider?»

«Babe, if that was a spider we would have a problem.» He mocks you and he returns with a baby kitten in his arms. It’s so little, a baby pet, that it’s odd in Haymitch’s arms, a man so tough and strong. You want to kiss him even more.

«And who are you?» You gasp. It’s adorable. It’s utterly adorable and it’s a mini puppy, you’ve always wanted a puppy. «It’s beautiful, so beautiful!»

«Listen, Katniss found it. She was hunting.» The cat watches you with yellow wary eyes. It’s a black small thing, with little ears and claws. It doesn’t trust you yet, of course, but you can only imagine the amount of cuddles you’ll give it when it will. 

A pet in Twelve is not something common. Animals are for eggs, milk, hunting, labor or food. In the dark days it wasn’t uncommon to eat even pet animals, because starving makes you do things you always found disgusting. But watching the Hunger Games, you saw capitol citizens with their dogs or cats in their purses. Ridiculousness aside - most of the poor pets were even dyed bright colors - you promised yourself you would have a pet when you grew up.

Of course it didn’t happen until now.

«Hunting? A kitten in the woods?» Oh, what happened to his poor mother…

«Yeah, and Katniss doesn’t need food so much anymore, but another in Twelve… She didn’t want it. It reminded her of Prim’s pet.» You remember Primrose’s pet from Thirteen, an angry red big cat who Pet always carried around. You think the name is something that concerns flowers, like… Buttercup. Yeah, the name is Buttercup. Now he is in Two, with Prim and Mrs. Everdeen.

«And you took it? You?» You are giggling. He hates it. He is not one for pets or so he believes. He has the geese and when Peeta suggested eating one of them, his temper got so much worse they abandoned the idea. Their geese have names. Peeta, Katniss, Johanna, Finnick… the rudest one is Johanna.

«It was either that or a stew.» 

«Oh stop it, you big softie.» You get up to kiss him on the cheek. He smells like shampoo and you want to kiss him so much he forgets his name, especially if he has a cat.

There is a small part of you who is annoyed, because this house is where you are going to live and he didn’t ask you if you wanted a cat, but he saved the puppy. That’s the big thing here.

«Don’t make anything out of it.» He warns you. He always wants you to know he is not a great person. Like he didn’t save your life more than once, like he didn’t sacrifice his well being for you, like he didn’t ease your pain for months after the shooting. 

«What’s its name?» You completely ignore him, focusing on those little paws. Oh yes you are a little tiger!

«Stew.» He shrugs. 

«…Stew?» You try not to laugh. 

«Yeah. It was either that or Roast.»

«You’ve named the kitten “Stew”?» You repeat, in disbelief. Only Haymitch could think of something like that, and it’s utterly cute. You know he would hate the word, but it’s cute. «Oh, I love you so much!»

You go for a kiss, but the cat does not agree and it’s fast to use their claws. You have to clarify one or two things. First: Haymitch Abernathy is yours.

«Oh, calm down, kitty. She’s jealous.» You explain like it’s something she has done multiple times. You have no idea, maybe she just hates you.

«Suddenly it’s a she?» He laughs, and then he starts talking to the cat like a complete idiot. Adorable. «Don’t hurt mama.»

«She is a daddy’s girl.» You snort. Nonetheless, you are determined to win this cat. 

He takes her to the cat’s bed - you can’t believe he made a cat’s bed - and then you are free to kiss him properly. 

«Hi daddy.» You murmur in an allusive tone.

Of course, you mean the cat’s daddy, but at the word you could swear he growls - a sound so arousing you are determined to make him do that everytime you can - and he sweeps you out of your feet. «You are testing my patience.»

«No patience to test, take me.» You whisper, a little overwhelmed by the fast movement of your allegedly old boyfriend. 

«How was that thing before? I love you so much?» He smirks. Your weight must be heavy on his knees, but he doesn’t mention it, you don’t know if out of pride or he is stronger than what you may think.

«So much it hurts.» You confirm. 

«Do you want to go somewhere tonight? We even have a restaurant now.» You can’t imagine the Hob with something like a real restaurant, but it’s a nice surprise. You and him, in public. It’s new. In Capitol City nobody knows you, but in Twelve he is the Victor, and everybody saw you growing up. It could be embarrassing to see you two together, even after Thirteen. You are not big on public affection. Well you would be, he is more discreet. 

«What? Of course I want to! And I’d like to go to the Hob later.» You answer happily.

«Later?» He smirks, but you stop him.

«Now I have to work.»

He rolls his eyes. «Are you fucking kidding me?»

A smile creeps on your lips and you pull him closer to you. «Yes, Mr. Abernathy, I was fucking kidding you. Come and give me a proper welcome.»

You weren’t fucking kidding him. You gave up and pretended because you saw he was about to get annoyed, and you enjoyed a romantic dinner with your husband to be, but you really have to work. The plan is simple: you will look for every dress and outfit you might find, from Holly and her friends, and then you’ll try to enlighten the similarities, the common points. 

The next day your mother comes into the house with a huge bag full of clothes, scarves, shoes and everything she thought could have helped. It’s a great thing, exactly the reason why you are in the Village.

Holly looks pretty. She has an autumn flower dress down her ankles and her hair is wrapped in a brown braid. She even wears a little bit of makeup, some eyeshadows and mascara, you suppose. After Thirteen it’s weird to see her like this, but a good weird. Life is better now, and she gets to enjoy it. She still works as a midwife, but now she doesn’t have to fear for the life of the babies she helps because of the Hunger Games. The relief must be immense.

«So, these are all my dresses. Some I had but I used the fabric to make other ones, but I managed to keep one of your grandmother's.»

«It’s more than what I hoped for, mama. Thank you so much!» You taste the fabric. You can work with that, you think. It’s tough and thick for winter and dry and thin for summer. In Capitol City they don’t pay attention to those things, because they have air conditioning in every room and they can wear whatever they want. In Twelve winter is freezing cold and summer is so hot you might faint if you are not used to it, and nobody has a ventilator.

«How are you? You look a little pale.» 

«Thanks mom, you always say the right thing.» You add, sarcastically. Your sarcasm became worse after Haymitch.

«No, I mean, I don’t want you to tire yourself too much. You look skinnier too. Do you eat in the Capitol?»

You shrug. «I may have skipped lunch sometimes, I have to work. But it’s just for six months and I cook dinner.»

You didn’t notice a change in your appearance. For twenty years you suffered from lack of proper food, so if something happened is that now you have a more balanced diet than before. Yes, you didn’t eat once or twice because you needed to finish an important job, but everyone does that in the Capitol.  

«I did not send you to Capitol City to starve.»

You roll your eyes, but you understand food is a big topic for her. She was the one responsible for your health when you were a kid, and more than once she pretended she wasn’t hungry so you could have another slice of bread. For her it’s appalling that you don’t eat because you don’t want to.

Before you could answer Haymitch comes to the door.

«Hey, you are here.»

«My love!» You get up and immediately kiss him fiercely. You decide to ignore the glance your mother gives you. Honestly, it’s all his fault. He deliberately decided to wear a black shirt, and black suits his blue eyes so much. 

«To what do I have the honor of all this?» He asks, licking your lips, before he goes for another peck.

«You are here with me and I get to kiss you whenever I want.» You watch him like he hung the stars to the sky, and it’s even embarrassing at times.

«Yeah, with no regards to your poor mother.» Holly adds.

«You should be happy that I’m so happy and well treated.»

He seems uneasy, though, and it can’t be because of your mom because he repeatedly said he won’t be embarrassed because he kisses his wife.

«Babe, I didn’t know you were there.»

«You don’t think I’m in my house?» You raise an eyebrow. 

«I said to Marjorie I can keep Ivy for an hour.» He said to Marjorie. That means they talk. You try, you really try not to be jealous. In Thirteen he chose you. He could have had her, but they decided they weren’t into each other anymore. You trust Haymitch. You love him, so you have to trust him.

And yet he didn’t tell you about the job for her. He didn’t mention he talked to her again. But, maybe it’s just because for him it’s natural. Do you mention every time you help Perla or Lora? Nope.  

«It’s not a problem, I can take care of Ivy.» You answer, a little bit puzzled. You did it before, you like the kid.

At this moment the very infamous Marjorie arrives. She is always so beautiful it stings. Curly blonde hair and blue eyes, she looks like she is a movie star. She is so bright, and she is tall, much taller than you. She wears a light blue dress with gold embroideries, and her makeup is little but it’s there, to cover all the imperfections. You forgot to put on your makeup today - something that happens when you are in Twelve - and now you feel less pretty than before. Rationally it’s so stupid, Haymitch knows your face. You make love to him, sleep with him and shower with him, you can’t do that with your makeup on. But what if he does a comparison now?

No, stop. You are just panicking about nothing.

«Hi! Oh, Daisy you are back.» She comments, and you can tell by her voice she is not happy at all. It’s no news you don’t like each other, it became a bit of a joke during your days in bed. She came with Ivy and commented sarcastically for the whole time, it was even funny. It’s not funny now.

«Indeed I am. Oh hi little lady!» You immediately hug Ivy, who screams “Auntie Daisy! Uncle Mitch!” and it makes you happy. Auntie and Uncle it’s ok. And Ivy, you love Ivy. Sometimes you think you got it wrong, you should have kept the baby and now your life would be very different. She is growing up so much. Her blonde hair is wrapped in two braids now, pure Twelve style, and her eyes are so shiny. She can talk now, not good but she tries a lot. And she is adorable like the kitten.

«I just have to do some work and I didn’t think it was right for Ivy.» Yeah, you can agree with that. Holly was forced to take you with her during the labors and you didn’t like what you saw most of the time.

«I love spending time with my niece. Isn’t it right, little lady? What do you want to do?» You hug her and she plays with your hair. 

«Stew!» Ivy yells, with an acute voice that you can have only when you are two and a half. 

«She likes the cat.» She explains. If she likes the cat and the cat likes her, that means she is familiar with the house. 

«I figured.»

«Haymitch spends an awful lot of time with Ivy.» Marjorie has the nerve to add. And it’s odd, because he never told you anything about it. Never mentioned in the phone calls, never talked during the weekends. Either it’s not important, but you doubt that, or he is hiding something from you. 

«Oh really?» 

«She is wonderful with him.» You try not to be affected. Is he spending a lot of time with her too? She moves in the house like she owns it. She knows it. And it’s impossible she knew it from before, because the Abernathys used to live in the Seam.

She has been here more than once.

In your house.

«Well she must be very happy with her grumpy uncle.» You try to smile. The first rule is not to be affected by the enemy’s words. You don’t want to be humiliated, so you have to pretend you already know everything. Of course you know she cleaned your home when you were away. Of course you know Haymitch spends an awful lot of time with Ivy. Everything is okay and mutual and you don’t have a problem at all with it because you are confident and you trust your partner.

«She really is. And she needs a male figure in her life.»

You nearly choke when even Holly raises an eyebrow. The audacity. First because Holly didn’t give you a “male figure” in your life and you grew up well - really well if you may add - and second, is she implying he could be her dad?

«Today she has to stay with me instead. Why don’t you go laying down for a bit?» You turn your face to Haymitch, who seems oblivious of all this. «We didn’t sleep tonight, you must be so tired.»

It’s a low blow, you are well aware. Referring to your night, to your sex life and also being awfully domestic it’s the only weapon you have right now.

«Yeah, maybe for a while. You should rest after» He kisses your cheek, Ivy’s cheek - “G’bye uncle Mitch!”, she answers - and he goes upstairs.

«Do you want a hand with Ivy?» Your mother asks, but you raise your shoulders. You are fuming with rage but not against the poor kid.

«No, you can go with Mar if you want.» 

And when you stay alone with the blonde baby, you pretend everything is okay.

It’s dinner time when Marjorie takes Ivy away and you are tired. You fix an easy dinner, and you start sketching while you are eating.

«Was that really necessary?»

Haymitch asks. You didn’t see him coming, he was asleep and you let him. He has trouble sleeping, and it got worse after Thirteen, when he decided he wanted to stay sober. You don’t help in that, keeping his night busy, and so if he falls asleep you are more than happy to let him be.

You don’t play dumb. There’s no use in that.

«Of course. I have to remind her what’s mine. I didn’t think you noticed, though.» You murmur.

«I noticed, I just have a really hard time not humoring you.» He really has a hard time not lying to you too.

«Good.» You accept his kiss, but you don’t let it go. «Why are you spending time with her?»

«I’m not.» He denies.

«You are. You are spending an awful lot of time with Ivy.»

«Yes, and she’s not there. Look, she needed some help.» You can get that she needed help. Maybe the documentation to be a nurse was late, it’s possible. What you can’t get is that he didn’t tell you. 

«And you made her your maid?» You snap. A maid. It makes you mad, you are a maid, well you were, his maid. And he did tell you that he wanted you because you needed a job, yeah, but also because he liked you.

He was a gentleman about it, you didn’t even realize it. But if this is his modus operandi you can’t help but feel worried.

«What the fuck are you talking about?» 

«Did she keep the house clean?»

«Sometimes.»

«And you didn’t tell me.»

«I didn’t think it was important.»

«Haymitch - what the hell? You don’t think it’s important? It’s my stuff too!» The thought of Marjorie going into your things makes you so mad. What if you had a pregnancy test? And what about your doctor’s documentation? You have some things about Doctor Aurelius in here, some meds when you need them. Your letters with your mother. Your fucking diary. You don’t trust Marjorie enough to be sure she didn’t read your personal stuff to use it later.

«She did it once or twice!»

«And what about the kitten? Why are you making all these decisions without me?» That’s the main focus. He is not alone anymore, you have to take the decisions in two. That’s what a marriage is.

«You don’t live here.»

«For now!»

«Well it’s my house.»

You stop, and you know he saw the flesh of hurt in your eyes. So it’s his house, just his. You are just an attraction, a trinket of the house. There is the fridge, the carpet, the sink and the Daisy. 

«No, Daisy I didn’t mean-»

«No, no, ok. It is your house after all.» Because it is, and suddenly all these words from Holly make sense. When she told you to beware, to earn something from yourself, never trust a man completely, always being independent. You knew these words were true, but you were so stupid to think Haymitch didn’t apply to the category. Because he is so perfect. So handsome and sweet. Truth is you are still in the honeymoon phase and you don’t know how he behaves with a wife, you only know how he is around his young hot girlfriend.

«Don’t be stupid.» He growls but this time it’s not arousing, it’s annoying. He doesn’t get to be angry, you didn’t do anything wrong. You begin to climb the stairs, but he easily takes your wrist. He knows better than this.

And you are not stupid. He is not the smart one. You are not stupid, you are not stupid. He is just angry.

«Can I pack my bags over your bed?» You answer bitterly, freeing your arm with a movement.

«Sweetheart… no, wait, pack your bags?»

«Yeah. I have the clothes, so I can go back to the Capitol.» You resonate. You could have done this in a day, you just wanted to spend time with him but if the situation is like this it’s better for you to return to Effie’s home and keep doing your job.

«Sweetheart, stop.» He takes your wrist again, but gentler this time, so you let him. You still like his touch.

«You are calling me “Baby” a lot.» You complain. 

«And…?» He looks lost.

«Something is wrong when you call me baby.»

«Or I like the term and I was afraid to be creepy before.» He smiles. «C’mon, we are good, you and I. We are great.»

“We are great”. You haven't spent a week together in a long time. He doesn’t want to do a single thing for the ceremony, and he makes you feel like you are trying too much. And he doesn’t like Capitol City even on the weekends.

«Are we?» You whisper.

«Yes!» He is certain about it. You know he loves you, you know that. Or, he loved Hunger Games Daisy. Daisy in Danger. Does he love you now? Now that life is calm and you don’t have any danger upon you?

«You don’t want to know anything about the wedding. I’m doing everything. You didn’t even ask Peeta which cake you wanted! And I thought it was about the ceremony but now you are deciding a lot without me.»

He rolls his eyes. «It’s a kitten.»

«A cat is a family pet.» It feels like he doesn’t understand what is wrong. And he doesn’t because for him it’s his house. What if you didn’t like a cat? What if you wanted to travel all the time? Or you wanted a dog for protection? He never discussed that with you just like he never discussed having a maid. 

«I thought you would have loved her.» He is sincere. He looks sincere and part of you just wants to end the discussion and kiss him, you don’t handle his face well when he is sad.

«I adore her. But you don’t adopt a puppy without telling your future wife.» You try to be calm about it, because you are tired. You just want to end it.

«It’s just a cat. If it is about Marjorie…» But it’s not just the cat, it’s the concept!, you want to scream, but screaming is not the solution.

«I’m not putting a number because I’m jealous, but she is trying to get to you.»

«She needs help. Your mother is helping her too.»

«Oh please.»

«Do you want me to deny help because my little girlfriend is jealous?» You don’t like the mocking tone he uses for the word “Girlfriend”. You like to be his girlfriend, you are proud to be his girlfriend.

«I want you to tell me when you hire someone! But of course it’s your house so you can do whatever you want.»

«Twice! For fucks sake, she cleaned twice!»

«She enjoyed it a lot when I didn’t know that. You humiliated me. And you made her a secret to keep.»

«"You humiliated me”?! Are you out of your mind?»

«Yes! Yes indeed I am! I have doctor’s receipts to prove that, I think Marjorie saw them!»

«Now you are twisting my words. You know what I think? I think you are making that up. Yes, I’m the great evil! Stay in Capitol City with your Effie and your fucking glitters!» It hurts again that he thinks that of you.

«How dare you.» Your lips are wobbling. Big girls don’t cry, you remind yourself. If you shed a tear it means you’ve lost, and you love to win. You have to handle this like an adult, not like a whiny teenager.  

«I dare because it’s true. Let’s go to the Cinema like the Capitols, let’s dress like the Capitols, let’s fucking live like a Capitol!»

«I spent every night working on my useless wedding dress, I have four hours of sleep per day and now you tell me I want to live like a Capitol? I wish!»

«Yes Daisy, you are a fucking martyr!» He screams. 

«I never said that!» You burst into tears, and he immediately takes you in his arms. It’s warm and nice against him, but you remember all his words.

So you take a step back. 

«Let me go.» You murmur, and you take your purse. «I’ll take a walk.»

The walk is not like you expected it. You wanted to be angry, but you are just sad. You and Haymitch don’t fight, you discuss, and you never raise your voice. You don’t like when he screams. He rarely does that now, because you have the habit of covering your ears and he understands he is hurting you.

He loves you. You knew he wasn’t perfect but you accepted it. He became so much better in a few months. He quitted alcohol and that is huge, he raises the geese alone, he helps you in every way possible. He even tries to make friends on your behalf, you are always scared he doesn’t have any friends when you are in the Capitol.

And you are not perfect either. You are whiny, you are busy, a spoiled pest most of the time, you moved across the country to chase your dream and that’s good, but he is alone. And he handled that great, without telling you anything wrong. He is tired because of the weekends, he is always on the train and that’s stressful. And he has Katniss and Peeta to care about, now that he is Katniss’ legal tutor he has a major responsibility. It’s not easy.

This is stupid. You want your boyfriend, you love him and he loves you. You can work things out, you are sure of it, love is enough.

You quickly walk back to your house, ready to apologize, and you open the door.

Just to see Haymitch and Marjorie kissing in the kitchen.

#bad feeling #haymitch x fem!reader #haymitch abernathy x reader #fanfiction #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x you #the hunger games #haymitch imagine #woody harrelson #haymitch abernathy #paper rings #daisy pinecone #princess daisy #thg fanfiction #thg #thg katniss

[abyssalstories]

Life with Death

I’m finally being sent on my very first reaping! I’ve been so excited for this day I could barely focus on getting packed up. Although this day came a lot sooner than estimated I can’t wait, I’ve overheard some other reapers saying the humans are really entertaining. Some of these humans actually believe we exist but their guesses on how we look and act are completely off or so I’ve heard I don’t actually know. Thankfully I was able to finish packing my stuff before the big send off. I'm kind of sad to leave but It’s gonna be great in the human realm I just know it! I take one last look around my room, my posters of shadow workers eerily smile at me reminding me all reapers must reach perfection before leaving this realm, on second thought I’m happy to be going.

Taking a step towards the door I remember something, I run to the corner of the room and pull up one of the floorboards and reach into the darkness it reveals, retrieving a small plushie. Its eyes glow bright yellow and its body midnight black with pure white wings and a faded glowing ring floating above its head. I still don’t know how that thing doesn’t fall off but it’s better that way “I could never forget you” I whisper as I hide it in my secret coat pocket. I rush out the door, shutting it behind me.

After a bit of searching I found the door labeled departure room. The sign looks heavily damaged but that’s normal I think, slowly opening the door I step inside “Hello? It’s a little dark in here, is someone here?” I try to look around stepping a little further into the room when the lights suddenly flash on startling me, I quickly realize the five other reapers surrounding me I’m about to say hi but I see they don’t look happy “Welcome little Koral to your great finale” The reaper in front of me announces in a proud voice “We have been chosen to guide you to your purpose” another reaper adds as they all take a step back and start chanting in a low drone “Wait do I get to say goodbye?” I quickly ask but get no response so I stand silently as they continue their chanting but as I listen to what they’re saying unease flows through my heart I don’t understand what the words mean but I know this isn’t the departing spell, I’ve read about this before it’s the banishing spell. Before I can warn them they have the wrong spell I feel a burning sensation ripple through my head. I feel the flames erupt inside my skull like the embers of a dying universe, my vision fades and then there's nothing but dark.

“My child lost and fading, she knows your pain and she is waiting. Heal her soul with our gift long untold, Follow her undying love and we shall meet in the stars above.”

I’m startled awake suddenly by something shaking me. My eyes are greeted by a police officer's stern expression “Hey kid you're freaking everyone out, stop screaming already” He says gesturing to the people walking on a nearby path, most of them aren’t even trying to hide their disgusted glares. “Sorry officer it won’t happen again” I reply sheepishly as I sit up “You’re lucky I haven’t made you sleep elsewhere, you’re not supposed to loiter here” He points to a sign nearby “I was just leaving anyway thank you sir” I stand up and grab my belongings quickly walking away.

As soon as I’m out of sight I rush into a nearby alleyway. Careful not to step on any broken glass, I crouched behind a dumpster “That nightmare again, no something was different this time but what is it all supposed to mean?” I mumble to myself “What am I saying it’s just a stupid nightmare it doesn’t mean anything, it felt so real though” I stare into my dirt covered hands wishing an answer would just appear before me. No, it's hopeless to just stand around feeling sad. I have to keep moving, it’ll be fine I’m thinking when my stomach grumbles “I need food anyways” I step out of the alley and make my way to my favorite spot to look for food.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This is so boring! Why do I have to make these stupid burgers, it’s the weekend we’re closed today!” I sigh as I pick up the last one of the burger patty’s off the grill with a spatula and place it on a bun. “Mom I’m done with the burgers” I shout through the little ordering window “Thank you sweetie I would do it but I have to restock our supply, just put them in a bag next to the dumpster out back please” she shouts back “Wait what? Why did I make them then?” I ask, getting no response I groan and head to the back door. Mom usually has a reason for what she does. I hope this time isn’t an exception. Stepping outside I pause for a second to take in the beautiful night. The sudden rustling of plastic startles me, I run back inside slamming the door behind me “Sweetie are you okay?” mom asks, peeking through the window “Mom there’s something in the garbage can!” I squeal in response but she just smiles at me “Oh he’s early today, that’s fine just go give him the bag then, I’m sure he’ll be happy” she disappears again before I can respond. I get it now she’s just feeding another stray cat, she really has got to stop before they start coming inside for food.

When I arrive back outside I hear the cat still digging through the dumpster, I slowly step to the edge of the overhead spotlights shine “Hey cat I got some food for you, I hope you’re hungry it’s burgers” As soon as I speak the rustling stops, I see it’s silhouette hop out of the dumpster. It’s a little big for a cat though, probably one of those fat ones “It’s kinda weird to give burgers to a-” the last word catches in my throat as a figure that is in fact not a cat steps into the light but quickly takes a step back “Who are you? Where is the other lady?” The figure questions me

#story #tw death #wip #ongoing #fiction

[greysadv]

Pink flamingo

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It doesn't make Pink Flamingos a masterpiece. And I don't think YOU, the reader, or anyone other than Waters could have pulled that off.

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So, although the movie is so disgusting that I wish it had never been made, it is not a squalid film. Pink Flamingos has panache! It has a free-wheeling sense of daring-do that borders on innocent fun. The bright pink color of flamingos comes from beta-carotene, a red. Could YOU recognize the virtues of, let alone even find, someone like Edith Massey? I doubt it. For flamingos, the phrase You are what you eat holds more truth than it might for humans. Waters' actors had a style, no matter how bizarre, that is rarer than most depravities. And it's not just a matter of WHAT they will do, but HOW they do it. Yes, GOOD! You couldn't because, first of all, I doubt you have the same quality of acquaintances that Waters had and put into into his early movies. Even if you - yes YOU out there - the reader, wanted to make the most disgusting movie in the world and even if you had the money and the skills that John Waters lacked in 1972, you couldn't make a film as good as he did. And then there is the primary purpose behind Pink Flamingos - to make the most disgusting, revolting movie possible, perhaps even conceivable. well, they are better than in porn flicks and even some straight-to-video movies, but, jeez, not by much. The camera work is a hair's breadth above home movies the acting and story are. Those who call it "great" or a "masterpiece" are plain wrong, they don't recognize what they are seeing. it looks a hell of a lot better when you're drunk. Having finally seen it again only recently, this time sober, I'm here to tell you. A college dorm had rented a print, and in a drunken state I've not achieved again this past quarter-century, I went to see it. In ancient Rome, flamingo tongues were eaten as a rare delicacy.I first saw Pink Flamingos in the mid 70's, back before VCRs. It is also the smallest and the deepest in colour. The lesser flamingo ( Phoeniconaias minor), which inhabits the lake district of East Africa and parts of South Africa, Madagascar, and India, is the most abundant. The former has a pink band on each of its yellow legs, and the latter was thought extinct until a remote population was discovered in 1956. Two smaller species that live high in the Andes Mountains of South America are the Andean flamingo ( Phoenicoparrus andinus) and the puna, or James’s, flamingo ( Phoenicoparrus jamesi). The Chilean flamingo ( Phoenicopterus chilensis) is primarily an inland species. ruber roseus) of Africa and southern Europe and Asia. Description: Kwik Kombos are formulated mixes tested for consumer performance in a range of. ruber ruber) and the Old World flamingo ( P. Downloads: High resolution Image 1.58 mb. There are two subspecies of the greater flamingo: the Caribbean flamingo ( P. The greater flamingo ( Phoenicopterus ruber) breeds in large colonies on the coasts of the Atlantic Ocean and Gulf of Mexico in tropical and subtropical America. You can still register on the day of the race by printing off the below form and bringing it the day of the race.

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Online Registration for this year’s run is now closed. The run/walk is the same weekend as the world famous Pink Flamingo Softball Tournament.

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[chibi-mushroom]

Been forever since I’ve written, but I hope it’s worth a minute.

I am a queen.

I look over my domicile for any piece out of place. It may not be perfect- we just chased out the noisy people with their yellow tape and disruptive nature. That acrid smell of blood was starting to bother me for the strength of it, but at least it kept others away and brought large birds that I could pick off easily. They don’t understand that you should never be full. Contentment makes you lazy and stupid. Perfect targets for me. For my babies. They can learn how to hunt; it’s the only way to survive in this world. We don’t rely on anyone else and they don’t ask for favors. In this alley in the city it’s kill or be killed.

As I sniff through the trash, I notice lots of new surprises. There’s food that people like, soft baked goods that’s much too sweet for my liking and only serves to make me sick. It also smells like it’s been in the snow for too long.Trinkets used for a night. I noticed among the foul smelling bottles that there’s a small pair of figurines: one in black and white and another in all white holding a pink thing in its hand. That’s not what bothers me though.

Just under several ripped up papers that have a picture of the same man and woman over and over in different settings is the brown scratchy material that brings to the surface a far off memory that I had since forgotten. The more my paw brushes against it, the more my hackles rise. Bile sits at the back of my throat and I can feel my lips pull back in a snarl.

Wrestling.

Darkness.

High pitched laughter.

Flight.

Water.

Sleep.

The babies.

Winter is coming. I can’t afford to think about anything like that. I must find suitable food for my babies. They will one day be on their own and I must do my duty. Once they are ready they will find their own kingdoms. Ones that don’t intrude upon my own.then this whole cycle will begin again and again and again until I am dead and gone. For the moment I must hunt.

Food is growing scarce as the darkness creeps up ever earlier and earlier in the day. It crowds out the warmth of the sun and casts shadows all over the place. I like shadows. There’s safety in it’s cool protection. It doesn’t matter that it only increases the cold bite of winter. It doesn’t matter that it invades everywhere, no matter time of day. Just one more thing to ignore and forget as I go about my business.

One bird caught later, my little ones eat. It’s thin, but I’m confident that I can catch another. The sweets in the trash have proven to be a good distraction. I take only a little food and leave the rest for them. All is well.

Until it’s not.

A giant, walking into the alley. Immediately my children look up at it and begin mewling pitifully. I see my teachings have meant nothing. As it moves closer, I put myself between them and begin to hiss and flex my claws. I make myself as big as I can; this has worked in the past. Unfortunately, they’re not backing down. They simply take a step forward and say something in a low tone.

I fight as ferociously as I can, but my scratching doesn’t seem to bother them. They just continue to speak in that sickeningly sweet low tone. They’re addressing my babies now and I bite against the cage until I lay down out of exhaustion. By time I came back to, my babies were sleeping in a box with a soft looking blanket next to me. I sniff over each one to make sure they’re alive and well. Their bellies are full and I smell something sweet and comforting- like the milk I once drank off my own mother.

Disgusting. But perhaps….? NO!

In this clean and bright new environment, I’m finally realizing how itchy my fur has become. There are patches i hadn’t taken a moment to recognize and several scars from toms who have tried to take my territory. I’ve defeated them all, and yet somehow it’s all gone in a moment. Taken just like I am when the human has returned. What transpires next can only be described as torture.

Wrestling.

Bright light.

Low voices.

Water.

Warmth.

I am returned to my babies.

This is repeated for weeks. We are given the ability to come and go as we please, but I find a high perch and stay there, keeping a watchful eye over my new domain and kingdom. We are given food and water, but they can’t break me. It won’t be long until I’m back on my own.

It isn’t until one day when I see how my babies- now grown- have grown to trust these people. They aren’t the giants that I once imagined them to be. I’ve been given a home. A family of sorts. I can’t trust them yet, not until I can see to the safety of my little ones.

#original project #train of thought

[theangstyboiblog]

Is This Betrayal? Chapter One | Silco x Fem!Reader

Description: It’s been over a decade since you stood on the rooftop between Piltover and Zaun. Now the wife of an elite scion, your life is, on the exterior, shining gold and bright white. But within the walls of your home, your marriage festers. Then your husband invites a newly acquainted, mysterious business associate to dinner. And your own personal little hell turns so much worse.

Warnings: abuse. angst. Uh oh guess who's coming to dinner...

Fic Masterlist: Prologue

Note* this takes place two years after episode 1 of Arcane.

12 Years Later

Dull, grey eyes watch you through the mirror as you pin the last of your hair back. “You’re staring,” you grumble. The gaze doesn’t leave you, only glowers more. It makes your stomach turn. Not out of fear, though those eyes have been known to terrify you more than once. No, right now, all you feel is disgust and disdain and a pinch of boredom.

“You went out into the city today,” a man’s voice says, low and threatening says from the edge of the bed.

“I did.”

“Why?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I needed to see the apothecary for more liniment oil. And I wanted to feel the sun on my skin, not simply see it through a window.”

“You should have sent Miri. Who else did you see?” he asks and you take a breath. There it is. The real question.

You let out a sigh as you dab your cheeks with a little rouge. “The flower girl on Bodsman row, a squad of enforcers, two of the councilmen’s wives, a garbage man, a street cleaner, three dogs sniffing each other’s assholes—need I go on?”

Those grey eyes narrow. He’s silent for a moment, then another. “For an undercity girl, one would think you’d be more grateful,” he says.

“To who?” you ask nonchalantly.

“Who do you think?” His question sits in the air like a heavy gas, choking you to death.

You look down and grab a tin of eyeshadow, your other hand taking a light brush, gold shimmering on the strands of horse hair as you dip it in the tin. You look back into the mirror, turning your head as you paint along the rim of your eyelid.

“What more do I have to be grateful for today, Daiden? You can only pull me out of poverty so many times before the story begins to get old.” The bed creaks and you watch as he stands, hands closed into fists at his sides. You twist around and peer up at him, one hand on the back of your chair, the other holding your eye brush over the counter. “I saw no one today because I know no one.” He steps towards you. “That’s what happens when your husband keeps you sequestered from anything that walks about on two legs and has a fucking mind of its own.”

Smack.

The sound of his palm striking your cheek fills the room before it all falls to silence. Your head turns with the sudden force, the flesh and skin stinging. But your eyes do not water. You don’t even let out a gasp. You’re silent. The wall, embroidered with roses and vine fills your vision before you slowly turn your head and look up at Daiden, gaze burning.

“Do you feel better now?” you ask him, fully prepared for another slap. But it doesn’t come.

Somehow, he gets ahold of himself. Maybe it’s because a tiny part of him knows how monstrous he is. Maybe it’s because you’re not begging him to spare you another strike. Maybe it’s the way the clock behind you shows there’s only fifteen minutes until dinner.

Daiden’s golden hair lays stringy over his brow and his face, a near snarl, slowly morphs back to calm. The fire in his eyes abates and he reaches down, fixing the vest of his suit. “Finish getting yourself ready,” he orders, before he turns to the door. He smooths his hair back as he reaches the door, pulls it open, then twists around to look at you one last time. “And try not to humiliate me again tonight,” he seethes.

The floor shakes beneath your bare feet as the door slams shut behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s an incessant humming that fills your home at all hours of the day. Electric lamps, their bright yellow bulbs send long shadows along the walls into the far corners where the light is blocked or isn’t reflected off mirrors and a gaudy golden banister. The skin of your palm slides across the freezing metal as you make your way down the stairs. The hem of your blue satin dress trails behind you, the cloth cut at the hollow of your throat before it falls back over your shoulders in a deep plunge down your back, skin exposed. Golden chains keep the fabric in place. You hate them.

So of course, it’s Daiden’s favorite dress. He might not be able to shackle you to the wall but he always finds ways to remind you that you are bound, even if no one else can truly see the bindings.

“There you are,” a woman’s voice carries from the bottom of the stairs. A woman dressed in black with silvering curls steps out from the doorway hands clasped in front of her.

“Miri,” you greet quietly as her gaze flits to the sitting room.

“Master Daiden, seems jovial tonight.”

“He’s always jovial where an influx money is concerned,” you reply dully.

The pair of you share a look. She glances at your left cheek. A heat lies there that isn’t from a blush. You know there’s nothing there for her to see. You fixed it in the mirror before you came down. But you know that she knows. And that’s what’s so upsetting. Humiliating.

“I’ll bring you some tea?” she asks.

You nod. “And keep the wine back for as long as you can?” you whisper as she starts to turn. She glances at you, lips parting before they close tightly. Then she nods. Miri leaves you, disappearing down the hall towards the kitchen.

You take a slow, deep breath, eyes falling to the bangles round your wrists. You finger them quickly counting all seven before pushing your shoulders back and walking towards the sitting room. The hum of the lamps is drowned out by music coming from the record player in the corner. Your husband stands big, tall and hulking in front of the fireplace. His back is turned as he stares into the flames. You step forward, leaving the hardwood floor behind and allowing the rug to dampen your footsteps. Your eyes are drawn to the glass of bourbon in his hand and you close your eyes.

Great. Looks like he’s already starting.

Two years and you’d learned every habit of your husband’s and how his personality seemed to shift as he indulged in them. The first few drinks in him were fine. Good even. Like magic he’d turn… not kind but bearable. He’d mostly ignore you. Sometimes not. Usually, he’d boast to anyone who’d listen how grand a prize he’d won to have you as his beautifulwife. The undercity maid he’d rescued from destitution and raised up to be a fine lady in fine clothes, with fine perfume. He’d keep it up for the first hour. Then the alcohol would bring out something dark inside him.

All you could do was stave off that darkness: distract him or hide the liquor.

“So, this business venture of yours…” you start, watching carefully as Daiden twists around to look at you, cheek flushed and you can’t help but wonder how many drinks he’s already downed. Better stop him from taking another. “It’s viable?” you finish.

A sour look flashes over Daiden’s face. “Of course, it’s viable. Do you think me that much a fool?”

Yes.

“Of course not,” you simper as you sit down on the arm of the lounge, smoothing your skirts. “I’m only curious as to who it is we’re entertaining this evening. I assume you want me to charm them.”

“I want you to smile and do what you do best,” Daiden says, raising his glass and taking a sip, “stay silent.”

I can do that, you think bitterly as Miri walks in carrying a tray of tea. You turn away from Daiden flashing her a smile as she walks to the table on the far side of the room.

Knock-knock.

A sudden rap come from the front door followed by the ringing of the doorbell. Miri looks over her shoulder, startled, and hurries to set down the tray. You stand as Daiden watches with hooded eyes and a suspicious look on his face.

“I’ll get the door,” you announce. As you turn, Daiden’s voice follows you.

“Let Miri do it– hurry up, woman,” his voice grows smaller as you leave the room.

Taking a deep breath, you push yourself forward quickly as another ring of the bell sounds. You breathe out, fixing your hair as you come to the front door, hand reaching out to grasp the handle. A grand and elegant grin grows on your lips as you pull the door open. The scent and sound of summer rain hits you.

“Welcome, Mr.—"

All the air in the world disappears. Your lungs stop working. Your knees feel weak. Your heart refuses to follow any known rhythm. From beneath a wide brim hat, a red-eye glowers as the man at the threshold peers down at you. He reaches up, pulling the hat off and the lamplight above the door glances over his skin. He’s split, down the middle between someone you used to know so well, and someone you’ve never met before. Your eyes can’t help but stare at the scars that mar his left cheek, the shadows that have claimed his skin.

“Sil?”

Ducking his head to the side, his lips pull up into a sharp smirk. “Madam Kaya, I presume?” he asks.

You’re speechless. He’s dead – not dead but gone. It’s been ten years, no, more than that – what happened to him? His face. No, focus, he can’t be here. Why is he here?!

“Y-yes,” you falter, voice breaking. Footstep’s echo across the hardwood behind you. A big hand pulls the handle out of your grasp, wrenching the door open wide.

“Silco, sir,” Daiden greets, shooting you a look. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m afraid I may have startled your wife,” Silco says, his voice sending a chill down your spine. Reaching up he drags two long fingers down his scarred cheek. “My appearance tends to have that effect on people.”

Daiden smiles thinly and turns to you, setting a hand on your shoulder. “My apologies,” his fingers dig into your flesh, “she should know it’s rude to stare.” You try not to wince as pain erupts over your collarbone. Turning back to the doorway, Daiden pulls you aside and waves. “Please, come in.”

A chill settles deep in your bones as you move with Daiden allowing Silco to step over the threshold and into your home. Water droplets cover his shoulders, rivulets running down to the hem before dripping over the floor. He pulls off his outer coat as Miri moves behind him, taking it quickly. He stands proud and tall in fine clothes, finer than you ever saw him wear when you were younger. Black and red. They’re good colors on him, but they make him seem hard and unyielding.

“Thank you for welcoming me into your home,” Silco says, shaking hands with Daiden before clasping his hands behind his back. He glances over your husband’s shoulder and you want to look away, but you can’t. You don’t want to.

“Can I get you a drink?” Daiden asks, clapping a hand on Silco’s shoulder, and leading him into the sitting room. You follow behind them quickly, as though a rope is tied round your middle pulling you after them against your will. With their backs turned you take a moment to let your fear and sorrow show on your face. It cascades from your eyes to your mouth, bottom lip trembling as you fight back the tears that are beginning to sting, insistent that they deserve to fall. But you force yourself to take a breath, and as Daiden turns and waves you over brusquely, you force a small smile back on your lips.

You want to run. You want to stay. You want to grab Sil by that glossy silk shirt of his and shake him this way and that until he’s forced to tell you what the fuck is going on, where the hell he’s been and why he’s here now. You want to dash forward and throw yourself at him and sob into his chest. So many wants. You know you’re not likely to fulfill any of them.

And as you join them in the center of the parlor, and the dinner gong rings, as Silco’s marred eye glances towards you, looking you up and down, you can’t help but wonder how the hell you’re going to make it through the rest of the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s unbearable. It’s torture. If Daiden ever wanted to truly hurt you, if he knew what sitting across from the one person you’ve ever loved more than anything else did to you, he would never have to hit you again to cause you pain.

But instead, he seems to remain oblivious to the glances you pay his guest, to the way you hold your breath everytime the man looks at you. Instead, he tells his version of your life story. And that in itself if torture enough.

“Y/N was born in the undercity,” he tells Silco as you shift uncomfortably, chasing chopped carrots around the curve of your plate with your fork. “Crossed over after the revolts and was lucky to be hired on as a maid here,” Daiden says looking at you with something in his eye that an outsider might mistake as fondness. “I don’t think anyone can blame me for being beguiled,” he finishes with a lewd grin, taking a drink from his wine glass. Mid-sip he stops and shakes his head as a thought occurs to him. “Except for my mother. I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me for my choice of wife.” You hold back a sigh, glancing across the table. Silco laughs along with Daiden, but he doesn’t once smile. Instead that gaze, so unbalanced and strange stares straight through you.

“What brings you to the upper city, Sil – ahem, Silco?” you ask suddenly, the most words you’ve said since you sat down. You heart is thundering in your chest as both he and Daiden turn to look at you.

“I’m looking to expand processing and shipping for my wares,” he tells you quickly. Setting down his fork, Silco shrugs his shoulders and shifts in his chair. “And Piltover is a bright spotlight full of wonder and opportunity. I often find myself wondering what alluring secrets it has that would lure our people out of the fissures.”

You can’t help but feel like those last few words are markedly meant for you. You clench your teeth and narrow your eyes. “Topside has clean air, good food – and we don’t often watch our loved ones disappear, never to be heard from again.”

A hand slides over your thigh, before closing up, fingers digging into your flesh. You look to the side to find Daiden staring at you. He shakes his head. You push his hand away and turn back to Silco, fury burning in your eyes.

Silco’s not watching you, and he smiles softly, his gaze growing distant as he looks out the window, rain pattering against the panes. “They don’t always disappear forever. People have a habit of popping up when you least expect it.” He turns back to you.

Your hands, fists now, grip the silk of your skirts beneath the table, quakes running through your bones. You stand up. The feet of the chairs squeak against the floor as both men stand with you, Silco faster than the inebriated Daiden.

Your husband sets down his drink. “Y/N—"

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I’m not feeling well,” you say smoothly, stepping out from the table. “I’ll leave you two to ruminate over your new partnership in my absence.”

Picking up your skirts you turn on your heel and all but run for the door leading to the hallway. It wasn’t a lie you told them. You feel as though any second you might hurl whatever meager amount of dinner you were able to stomach. Speaking of stomachs, yours is turning, twisting in knots as you climb up the stairs.

You make it to your rooms, throwing open the doors before dashing to the bathroom as tears begin to fall down your face. Everything feels so hot, so close. You can’t breathe. You can’t stop the nausea attacking you. You fall to your knees in front of the toilet, hands gripping the porcelain rim as you retch and cough and gag. Footsteps, the sound of heeled shoes, echoes behind you. A cool, slender hand brushes over your brow as you vomit.

You cry, let out a whine as your legs draw up beneath you try to stave off another bout of sickness as fingers card through your ruined hair. Another palm settles on you back patting to a soft rhythm as your stomach seizes again.

“Shhh, let it out, Miss,” Miri’s voice murmurs as you cough. Panting, you turn your head and look up at her, tears in your eyes as your body feels limp. Her gaze falls. “You were doing so well with the apothecary’s tonic. Is it—”

You swallow, throat burning, and shake your head. “No, it has nothing to do with that,” you tell her, tone biting.

She watches you, face morose and stagnant before reaching down to pat your knee. She stands. “I’ll get you that tea, dear,” she says softly, before leaving you alone, curled up next to the toilet, its cold porcelain a frigid comfort as you cry silently on the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve been sitting at the top of the steps for an hour, muffled voices carrying up to you. You can’t understand what they’re saying, only discern who is speaking. Daiden dominates the conversation, his boisterous voice growing louder by the minute. Then Silco’s voice answers, soft, low. They carried on like this as you stared at the door, waiting to catch another glimpse, waiting to watch him walk out your front door, to leave again.

It’s been a few minutes since any noise made its way to you. Silence. Your fingers fidget with the hem of your dress. What are they doing?

The door to the drawing room slides open and hold in a gasp as Silco steps out into the hall. He looks this way and that before pulling the door closed behind him and stepping towards the coat rack by the door. You stand, bare feet padding down the stars silently as his back turns to you, black rain coat thrown over his shoulders. He reaches for his hat as you reach the final step. His hand freezes mid reach. His head tilts. He turns.

“Feeling better, Y/N?” he asks, marred eye glinting in the lamplight.

You stare at him, hands hanging loosely at your sides. “Where have you been?” you ask weakly, voice a mere whisper.

Silco’s shoulders shrug as he lets out a huff of a laugh. “Our home. In Zaun,” he answers and you shake your head.

“Don't lie to me. I searched for you. You were gone. I thought you were dead.” You step down leaving the carpeted stairwell, the soles of your feet clashing with the cold wooden floor. As you move closer to him, he stays in place, eyes watching you like a hawk. You stare up at him. Your hands rise up, fingers outstretched to take his face between them. He grabs you by the wrists before you can get within an inch of his skin.

“Such familiarity,” he says, glancing at the drawing room door. “What would your husband think?”

Pushing your hands away he turns and takes hold of his hat. He puts it on as you stand frozen, hand still outstretched in mid-air. Pulling up his collar, Silco goes to the door and pulls it open. You expect him to stalk out over the threshold immediately, to disappear into the night, never to be seen or heard again. Then he twists round to look at you.

He looks you up and down. “Gold isn’t your color,” he informs you.

Your eyebrows rise up in surprise. But before you can say anything, he’s gone. The door is closed and all you can hear is the blasted hum of the house lights flickering high above on the crystal chandelier.

~~~~~~~~

READ CHAPTER TWO HERE

A/N: So, thoughts on Daiden? Silco? Are ya entertained? <3

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#silco x reader #Silco #Arcane #silco x oc #arcane league of legends #silco league of legends #silco arcane #silco angst #arcane silco

[planetsano]

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 𖥔 ⭒ ִ ׂ you only call me when you’re high !

synopsis — “Mikey, talk to me just once..” You hiccup. “Please don’t make me beg..” No, no, he wants you to beg. Fuck, he wants to hear you cry for him so bad. Mikey knows you’d look so fucking pretty for him with fat tears running down the flushed apples of your cheeks and a runny nose.

warnings — bonten mikey, toxic behaviors and relationships, (one sided) phone sex, sadism, dacryphilia, (m) masturbation, perversion, mentioned drug use, potential spoilers.

character — sano “mikey” manjiro.

Thinking about how Bonten! Mikey calls you every now and again to make sure you’re still breathing. You’re that piece of his former self that he just can’t seem to let go and he’s certain he hates you for it. Your pretty face and sweet voice plague his mind at the tiniest things that remind him of you, like seeing your favorite color or how you used to get so excited over trivial shit. He remembers how happy you would get seeing a family of ducks at the pond by the park he would often take you to so he could spend some time with you. Or how you always scolded him for being “too harsh.” Mikey often wonders how you would feel about him now if you knew how he was today— would you be scared of him? disgusted? disappointed? He wonders, especially when he calls you at 3:24 AM with who knows what in his system provided by his right hand, Sanzu.

Thinking about how he sits on the edge of his bed looking out the full wall made of glass in his dark suite. The city outside is the only light source being provided as Shibuya’s bustling nightlife is on full display as he looks onward. It was a spectacular view with skyscrapers meeting the skyline in the distance and glowing lights that ranged from a warm yellow to a cool toned white with a few specs of reds and other bright colors from the restaurants, storefronts and billboards that decorated the city. It was eerily quiet in the room compared to the outside, anyone could hear a pin drop. A blaring silence as he sat still in his dark aura.

Mikey sat with his elbows resting on his knees, one of his hands falling limp in front of him while his other hand held his phone up to his ear. He stared blankly at his slender hand, eyeing the bruising of his knuckles caused from a punch he landed to someone earlier that day. Mikey broke his nose but he almost wants to scoff at the red, purple and bluish discoloration but he can’t find the energy to do so. It is annoying though, he’s going to have to look at his hand for the next few days and be reminded of the scumbag who didn't even deserve to be glanced at let alone touched by him.

Thinking about how the ringing of the line would be awfully loud in his ear in comparison to the dead silence in his condo. An unfamiliar feeling of anxiety was being invoked in him when the fourth ring sounds and you still haven’t picked up yet. It’s usually an immediate answer when he calls. He wonders if you’re finished with him this time. Would it hurt? Mikey likes to believe he wouldn’t. He’s.. completely numb, why would you cutting ties with him hurt? It’s what he wanted in the first place when he disappeared years ago..

And yet, if that was truly the case then why does he even make the attempt to reach out to you? Sure, it’s on his own time. You wouldn’t hear from him for months and months on end and when you would attempt to reach out to him you got nothing in return but a call log filled with red. There’s still a want to hear your voice, why is that? Mikey knows the answer but before his thoughts could run any farther he was met with your voice.

“Mikey,” God, your voice is as sweet as ever and he fucking hates it. “How was your day? I miss you— well, I always miss you..” He can hear the hurt in your voice as it trailed off nearing the end of your sentence and as fucked as it is— it makes his cock twitch to life underneath his black yoga pants. He’s not sure.. why, but he doesn’t really care to find out.

Maybe it’s the sick sadist in him coming forward, shamelessly enjoying how he’s been causing you mental and emotional pain over so many. Or maybe it’s the fact he’s being yearned for in a way he hasn’t known in years. Sex is so easily accessible, Mikey had hundreds of women at his disposal but you.. you miss him. Miss him. It was amazing, really. Mikey knew he was a piece of shit, you didn’t didn’t know the extent to which he was, but the fact that you say things like that after he broke your heart and abandoned you is.. bizarre to Mikey.

Thinking about how it’s most likely a combination of both possibilities along with how.. pathetic and naïve you are clinging onto and accepting any kind of contact and attention from him because you’re still in love with him. Unconditional love was a beautiful thing in concept, but no one talks about how toxic it can become. To Mikey, the thought was intoxicating. He could quite literally do whatever he wanted to you and you would still come back to him. You’d still love him all the same as you did years ago when you both were younger.

You’re just a kicked puppy who keeps going back to the foot— not knowing any better because you crave love and care from the owner. It gave Mikey a sick sense of power over you that he couldn’t find anywhere else. You make him feel like he’s alive again. You’re a drug all on your own it seems.

“I saw something that reminded me of you today,” He hears you shift on the other line, the sheets that rustled slightly underneath you sounded through his receiver. “It was a necklace and it had your birthstone in the center. It was really pretty, so I bought it..” Your voice trails off again into a silence as your brain works to think about something else to say to fill the silence. Mikey can’t see you but he can hear the soft zipping of you moving the twinkling peridot stone along the thin chain around your neck.

Thinking about how this version of Mikey is a bit of a twisted pervert so he leans back onto the cool sheets of his king sized bed and pulls out his already half hardened cock from its confinements. He silently spits into his hand to get himself slick enough for his hand to glide up and down his shaft with ease as his mind wanders off to your appearance as you make mindless conversation on the other line. He knows what you look like today, you’ve sent him pictures before over text. You’re still as beautiful as he remembers, only in a more mature way. Your hair was longer, body curvier and fuller and the baby fat from your face was lost and replaced with a more refined beauty. People would describe you as gorgeous or beautiful rather than cute or adorable today.

“Oh! I got promoted too! Isn’t that cool, M?” He’s not listening but he hears you. Your voice is only furthering his arousal, he doesn’t necessarily give a fuck about what you’re actually saying to him. “Being a personal assistant isn’t too bad, but sometimes I think about when we used to talk about running our own bakery.” Again, the bitter sweetness in your voice is impossible to miss as you speak.

Mikey remembers— he remembers all the nights you used to spend over in his room and you would ramble about your future with him. You were so happy when he suggested opening you guys’ own little sweet business, you immediately started coming up with names. It was a sweet memory but the things that used to satisfy and make him “happy” are no longer of concern, he views it all as meaningless now. That feeling he felt back then is lost, he looks back and feels nothing.

Thinking about how Mikey’s high makes him feel like he’s sinking deeper into the bed, drowsy and heavily lidded as his senses are heightened and elevated. His hand moves in long and languid motions while he strokes his now fully hardened cock himself to your unassuming voice as you continue to ramble.. His hand skill fully twists around his shaft as his hand moves upward, giving his cock head more stimulation. He coats his fingertips in more of his warm lubricant before wrapping his hand around the base of his cock again to give himself a firm squeeze.

Thinking about how the silence always gets to you on the other line but you’ve conditioned yourself to be grateful that he even reaches out to you in the first place. It gives you the tiniest hope of light that maybe he does still love you and maybe you’d be able to see him soon if you just tried hard enough. You believed that you could “fix” him, that it would all be okay if you were in each other’s arms again. That’s why you continue to put yourself through this same cycle but when will it be over? When will it be enough? You wanted your happy ending with Mikey, you were desperate for it, but will it ever even happen? You’re at your end and you know it.

“..You can’t keep doing this to me, you know?” You state, your voice finding a fake confidence that quickly wavers into a whimper. “It’s not good for me..” He’s listening now and his hand is rubbing at his cock at a quicker speed.

“Do you even care?” He listens to you ask, your voice crack and senses that you’re becoming more distraught as the seconds on the call continue to pass. His breathing is picking up, chest heaving as he feels his orgasm build up in the pit of his stomach.

“Mikey, talk to me just once..” You hiccup. “Please don’t make me beg..” No, no, he wants you to beg. Fuck, he wants to hear you cry for him so bad. Mikey knows you’d look so fucking pretty for him with fat tears running down the flushed apples of your cheeks and a runny nose. The thought of it makes his cock jump and another clear fat bead of precum ooze from the tip of his angry cock. He doesn’t bother wiping it, instead choosing to let it run down the underside of his dick. It eventually gets smeared into his shaft by the movement of his hand, mixing into the spit he used to lube himself up moments before.

“Please.. Please talk to me,” Mikey hears your soft weeping through the phone turn into full blown sobs and it drives him insane. It feels good.. It feels so good being the cause of your pain. His heart is racing and he feels alive for the first time in so long. A small but sadistic smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he nears his high.

“Why did you leave me? I thought you loved me, Mikey..” You’re a sniffling and stuttering mess by this point. The worst thing about this whole thing is that you don’t even know the love of your life is on the other line silently getting off to your despair.

Thinking about how his silence to you right now feels like he’s digging through your chest to snatch your heart out with his bare hands then crushing it with all his strength between his fingers. You hate him. You hate him for leaving you and you hate yourself for still being in love with him after all these years of neglect, suffering and silence.

“I hate you!” You choke out through your sobs. “I fucking hate you so much, Manjiro..”

Thinking about how Mikey immediately spills his load at that. His cock spurting six thick white ropes of his seed into the still air. He makes a mess with some strands of his cum landing on his pants, his sweaters and even on his face. The rest trickles down his knuckles and fingers as he continues to milk himself. He's delirious with euphoria right now. His blank face now dusted with a heavy shade of pink with strands of his blond hair sticking to his forehead. He’s lost his cool and aloof exterior. It's now been replaced with glossy, crossed eyes and slightly parted lips that threatened to spill his tongue out.

“Why do you do this to me?” You ask, broken.

Thinking about how the answer to your question is that he still loves you and he misses you, but there's something so satisfying about making you hurt as much as he does on the inside. Maybe you’ll learn to understand why he’s the way he is someday then you can finally be together— suffering in a shared darkness together.

© all content belongs to rekiri 2021. do not modify or repost.

#mikey x reader #sano manjiro x reader #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers smut #tokyorev smut #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader smut #tr x reader #tr smut #tokyorev spoilers #tokyorev #bonten #bonten x reader #mikey sano #mikey tokyo revengers #mikey imagines #tokyo rev smut #tokyo rev x reader #tw.drug use #tw.toxic relationship #tw.dacryphilia #tw.sadism

[dkfile]

the soulmate service

❛ pretty at every hour of the day but especially prettier under the glow of the sunset. ❜

word count | 31.0k (31,023) genre | fluff, angst, soulmate au, summer break au, (one-sided) rivals to lovers ━ matchmaker!vernon, older brother!soonyoung

the soulmate service has one purpose: to help those who drew the short end of the stick and ended up without a person to live their forever with. after the heart wrenching realization that the boy you’ve loved since you were thirteen isn’t the one meant for you, you put your love life in the hands of vernon chwe — which, now that you think about it, is probably a very bad idea.

★ warnings | ambiguous/open ending, mentions of unrequited love, lots of bickering between vernon and reader, pining (?), there’s angst but it’s minimal

THE RED STRING, more commonly known as The String of Fate, appears on an individual’s finger at the exact minute they turn eighteen. The string may either: (1) turn gold if the individual falls in love with their soulmate by 24 hours after first contact, or (2) be cut if said person and their soulmate fail to fall in love.

ZERO.

At thirteen, you’re convinced Lee Seokmin’s your soulmate. You’re sure of it.

It’s basic logic — you’re similar, and not just in the favourite colour and favourite animal type of way (although yes, you both like the colour yellow and yes, you both love dogs), but also in the way where his dream date is the same as yours, and the only difference between the wedding you’ve envisioned and his, is that Seokmin’s doesn’t involve a tremendous balloon arch (but that can be negotiated).

Seokmin’s gold. His eyes are sugary, and he keeps his pinky promises, and the hair at the back of his head is untameable. His smile is radiant in every sense of the word, holding the effulgent type of brightness that blinds.

Your brother recognizes the puppy dog love when you’re sixteen and no longer trying to hide it. He tells you it’s a childhood crush you’ll get over and that it better happen fast, because there’s no way he’s ever letting you, lovesick, anywhere near his best friend.

And then you tell him that Seokmin’s your soulmate — you’re sure of it; as sure as the floor beneath your feet, as the gravity keeping you grounded. When you turn eighteen, the universe will only prove your suspicions and your string will be gold because you already love him.

“That’s not how it works,” Soonyoung deadpans, snatching the dish rag from your hands.

You’re not fazed by the disgusted look Soonyoung gives you at your response. “We’ll defy the universe, then.”

But you don’t. Because Seokmin turns eighteen before you, and two months before fate presents you with its one of a kind eighteenth birthday gift, he finds his soulmate.

And it’s not you.

Monday, June 28 22:39 p.m.

soonyoung: i can’t believe you wrote a sappy paragraph for ur insta caption soonyoung: we aren’t leaving until tmrw in case you forgot

seok oh come on soonyoung give your siblings a break

you: yeah can you blame me 😕 i’m gonna miss seokmin a lot

seok aw 😓❤️

soonyoung: wait hold on what about me?

you: goodnight

soonyoung: HEY soonyoung: WHAT ABT ME ???

JUNE 29.

“I’m telling you, it’s going to rain and everything’s gonna get soaked.”

“It’s not going to rain.”

“Grab the tarp just in case.”

“I checked the forecast five times—” with the weather app opened, you shove your phone into Soonyoung’s face, only to almost drop it after he swats it away. “—and it says it’s not gonna rain. It doesn’t even say there’s a 10% chance. Clear skies all throughout your entire road trip.”

“Okay,” Soonyoung nods, poking his tongue into his cheek. “Okay. But can you just grab the tarp?”

You scowl at him, pocketing your phone into the back pocket of your jeans. “I’m not getting you the fucking tarp,” you hiss. “Mostly because I don’t even think we have one.”

Seokmin appears beside you and nudges your shoulder. “Yeah, we’ll be fine,” he gives his best friend a reassuring smile. “But I already put it in the back of your truck.”

Soonyoung, annoyingly melodramatic, sighs in relief. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Seokmin only shrugs in response and takes Soonyoung’s place across from you when the latter hurries to help your dad with one of the boxes. You’re not surprised when Seokmin gives you the same dazzling grin you’ve fallen in love with, shoving his pockets into his sweater despite the fact that the sun burns.

His stuff is haphazardly stuffed in boxes he found in his basement and thrown into Soonyoung’s beat-down pickup truck. A college pamphlet is folded in half and tucked into his back pocket and he wears the expression of a boy desperate to leave home. Excited to leave home.

Seokmin’s leaving.

Him and Soonyoung both, because you could never find one without the other. Their gap year has given them a lot of time to reflect and figure out what they wanted to do with their lives. And when they figured it out, they enrolled into the same college. And now they’re moving away.

“So, will you miss us?” Seokmin asks. It’s a stupid question but he doesn’t know it.

“No,” you scoff. Seokmin bites his tongue to stop from smiling and your heart pangs, “I don’t think I will. The house will be peaceful now — you and Soon won’t come barging into my room without knocking anymore.”

They won’t barge into your room anymore. Your heart pangs again.

Seokmin rubs his cheek, long fingers grazing honey skin. “I’ll miss you too,” he says sincerely. Behind him, Soonyoung talks with your parents, rolling his eyes at your worrying mother but hugging her nevertheless. Your finger twitches to move towards Seokmin one last time and touch him before he disappears.

But he was never yours to begin with. He was always his soulmate’s — he just didn’t know it until he met them in the candy section of a convenience store during one of his and Soonyoung’s many spontaneous trips out of town.

It’s been months and it still hurts. “I know you will,” you reply and watch as he takes a step back, then another. He’s making his way towards the car. “I made your life very interesting, you know.”

His smile is the most infuriating thing about him. “Oh, without a shadow of a doubt.” And then he turns to Soonyoung and hugs your parents too. Bitterly you wonder why he didn’t hug you, but you know it’s for the best if he didn’t; you wouldn’t have been able to let go.

Soonyoung and Seokmin enter the car, your brother settling into the driver’s seat because, despite them both being god awful drivers, Soonyoung is better. The car door slams and you step beside your parents by the fence and watch as the flick in Soonyoung’s wrist sets the ignition to life.

“I’ll see you in August?” you shout, unconsciously rubbing your index finger and thumb over your right pinky. Before, you’d be itching for your eighteenth birthday to arrive, but now you just want it over and done. Your family wouldn’t have that, though — they believe in love and happy endings and everything in between.

You hear Soonyoung’s voice. He’s always been loud and you hate that you’ll miss it. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” he exclaims, and reaches over Seokmin to poke his head through the window. “Bye!”

The car jerks forward while Soonyoung is still sprawled on Seokmin’s lap. Your mom yelps. “Didn’t I tell you to make sure the car was in park?” your dad chides, stomping over to the car and Soonyoung hurries to sit back in his seat.

“It was!” Soonyoung whines. “I just put it in drive because we’re leaving.”

Your dad rubs his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

Even though you can’t see him, you know Soonyoung’s grinning like the pain in the ass he is. “I love you, dad.”

Your dad grumbles. “I love you, Soonyoung.”

But Soonyoung doesn’t stop talking. “I love you, mom! I love you, Y/N!”

You hear Seokmin grunt, “Dude, where’s my ‘I love you’?”

“I see you everyday. I’m not gonna give you one,” Soonyoung scoffs. Then he shoves Seokmin into the side of the door gently and your stomach twists.

With one last goodbye, Soonyoung stomps on the gas and the car zips away. Your mom rolls her eyes as she moves to walk back inside of the house, grumbling about how horribly fast of a driver her son is. Your dad follows, asking if she wants a ride to work tomorrow, and you only watch the car until it turns the corner and disappears as it whizzes by your neighbour’s house.

It’s not fair, you think. You know Seokmin. He knows you. You’ve known him for your entire life and you love him for all his faults and his flaws. It’s cruel that the universe let you fall for him all while knowing that he was never meant to be with you.

But falling was never the universe’s fault.

It was yours.

JUNE 30.

A random 80s song Soonyoung’s downloaded isn’t what wakes you up this morning.

“Rise and shine!”

It’s Kim Jiwoo.

You groggily blink up at the ceiling, only to automatically squint as the sunlight pours through the window. Your black curtains — your oh so lovely black curtains that keep the sun out and let you sleep peacefully — are drawn, but that’s not what you’re focussed on. No, what you’re focussed on is that Jiwoo’s matched her big and bright smile with a sweater you’re pretty sure is yours.

Your head hits the pillow. “It’s too early for this.”

Jiwoo watches as you turn to face the wall away from the window. “The sun’s already up,” she says as if you don’t already know. “And we’ve got places to be. So get ready.”

Deciding to ignore the statement, you ask, “How did you even get in?”

“Your family’s very creative when it comes to hiding a backup key,” Jiwoo quips sarcastically and you make a mental note to talk to your parents about hiding the key under the welcome mat. “It’s insane how you guys haven’t been robbed yet.”

You shuffle to stare at Jiwoo. “Wait, so mom and dad didn’t let you in?”

She shakes her head. “No, they were still asleep when I got here. I made them eggs though.”

You can practically imagine your parents walking down the stairs only to find their kid’s best friend scrambling eggs in the kitchen and greeting them with a cheerful good morning. Visualizing your father’s expression is easy enough — he’s always been flawed when it comes to hiding his emotions.

Mom says you get that trait from him.

“Do you ever sleep?”

Jiwoo smiles. “Got five hours last night,” she shrugs. “And bought an extra large cup of coffee before getting here.”

Of course she did. No rest for the wicked.

Having no energy to retort, you nod, “Okay.”

Jiwoo blinks at you. “Are you not going to get up?”

Shuffling to rest against the headboard, you ask, “Why are you here?”

“Oh, it was this whole thing,” she waves her hand dismissively and shakes her head. “Soonyoung texted me yesterday and he was talking about how down you looked yesterday before him and Seok left—”

“They were leaving,” you interject quickly, hoping this conversation isn’t going in the direction you predict it’s going to go in, “of course I was sad.”

Jiwoo attempts to brush her bangs out of her eyes. “Soonyoung thought you’re still upset about the whole soulmate thing,” she replies and raises her eyebrows at your frown. “Your brother’s more observant than you give him credit for.”

You grumble. “Whatever.”

“Y/N, you can’t act like this all summer.”

“Like what?”

She waves her hand again with an air of nonchalance, but from the look on her face, you know she’ll drag you out of bed if she has to. Jiwoo’s always been as stubborn as she is optimistic.

“Like this,” she gestures towards you. “Heartbroken over a man who never even knew that you loved him. Actually, no — heartbroken over a man who isn’t even here.”

You pout. “Seokmin’s not that far away.”

“He’s far enough,” Jiwoo sighs. “Listen, he’s a great guy, Y/N, but he’s not worth crying over.”

She’s right. You know Seokmin’s a good person and you know you shouldn’t be upset over him. Yeah, you love him and he doesn’t love you back, but that isn’t his fault. You should get over him, you should put this behind you and focus on the remaining time you have left with Jiwoo before she packs her bags and heads to South Korea.

But it’s hard, especially since you believed your whole life that Seokmin was your soulmate — and also a part of you doesn’t want to let that thought go.

Jiwoo grabs your blankets and snatches it off your body. “Get dressed,” she isn’t able to stop the pity from blooming in her eyes. The sight of it bothers you, so you plant your feet on the floor and trudge towards your closet. “I’ll be downstairs when you’re done.”

Halfway through the bus ride it hits you that you still don’t know where Jiwoo’s taking you. She tells you it’s a surprise while her usual happy-go-lucky grin is replaced with one with an undertone of mischief. You can count on one hand the amount of times Jiwoo’s scheming face has ended well for you with two fingers left to spare.

Saying you’re a little suspicious is an understatement.

Eventually, she hops off the bus and leads you into a vaguely familiar Target store; the one you usually go to is walking distance from your house, and you would never go out of the way to bus to a different one.

Goosebumps rise on your skin the moment you enter the building, engulfed in the air-conditioned atmosphere and the overplayed songs blasting through the speakers. The store’s not as crowded as you expected it to be; the employees are tired and the Starbucks is empty.

Jiwoo grabs your wrist and drags you past the checkouts until you reach a small store with a rack of pamphlets and magazines placed near the entrance. The exterior walls are pastel pink and ‘THE SOULMATE SERVICE’ glares down at you, painted in a dull red. Inside, two employees talk amongst themselves behind the counter.

Your eyes rake over the store’s name again. “In case you don’t remember,” you say softly to Jiwoo, noting how some of the paint is chipping away, “I’m not eighteen and I haven’t found my soulmate.”

“Yeah, well,” Jiwoo purses her lips and takes a step inside, “who better to help you get over Seokmin than the best matchmakers the world has seen, right?”

You immediately don’t like the sound of that, but before you can attempt to get any more information, Jiwoo’s skipping off to one of the employees who doesn’t look particularly happy to see her. You take a pamphlet by the rack and flip through, scowling at the description written at the front:

Here at The Soulmate Service we help people who want to find love. Whether it be those who couldn’t find it or those who did but were never loved back—

After annoyedly placing the pamphlet back onto the rack and realizing that artificial images of happy couples are plastered all over the walls, you decide that sticking by Jiwoo is better for your sanity. Although, when you get to the front desk, you can tell the employee she’s bickering with grows frustrated by the second.

“Oh, great,” the employee grunts when you fill in the empty spot on Jiwoo’s left, “you must be the person Jiwoo won’t shut up about.”

Jiwoo scowls. “Your customer service is awful,” she turns to you and hugs your arm to her side. “This is Winn. He’s my neighbour.”

“Moving into the house across from hers was the worst thing to ever happen to me.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jiwoo replies. “I’m getting you more customers and this is how you treat me?”

Your eyes widen at that. “Wait, no,” you chuckle nervously, “I’m not a customer.”

Winn quirks an eyebrow and looks from you to Jiwoo.

“Yes, you are,” Jiwoo says firmly, fixing you with a stern look. “Remember what we talked about earlier?”

“Ah, yes,” you quip in a sarcastic wistful tone, “I’m heartbroken and sad and Seokmin is great but he’s not worth crying over.”

“Exactly!” Jiwoo exclaims, brushing off your rancour. “Winn, here, has someone who can help you. Getting over first loves and all that.”

The exasperation on Winn’s face is painful. “No, I don’t. This is a soulmate service, Jiwoo, and in case your friend isn’t extremely desperate to find someone to fill in the void fate left behind, then I can’t help.”

“But Y/N does need a void filled!” Jiwoo argues. “Have I told you that she thought her soulmate—?”

You shove her. “Hey!” you exclaim. “You can’t just tell random people the ups and downs of my love life!”

“You don’t have a love life,” Jiwoo always remembers to add an extra flair of drama in everything she does. From the look she gives you to the way she throws her arms up, “that’s the problem.”

On the tip of your tongue, there’s a retort. An argument, a response you want to give her, because you do have a love life… Well, except for the fact that you don’t. Going on a few dates during high school but never pursuing a relationship because you believed your world revolved around a boy who never loved you doesn’t count as having a love life. In more ways than one, what you feel for Seokmin never counted and never will.

You may love Seokmin but he was never yours. It repeats in your mind as Jiwoo turns back to argue with Winn. The mantra never stops, as if your head is desperately trying to send a message to your heart, reminding it that the wound sliced through it has to heal, and what better time than to start now?

Somehow, when your hand squeezes Jiwoo’s, she knows the message you’re trying to get across. She squeezes your hand back — in comfort, in reassurance, in a way that tells you you’re going to be okay.

You just hope she’s right.

JULY 1.

You know who Vernon Chwe is, but you wouldn’t necessarily call him a friend.

(He’s a pain in the ass.)

In kindergarten, your brother had boasted about how he was the nicest kid in his class and sent you a condescending smirk that made you kick his shins — which only proved his point that you’re the meanest person he knows. Obviously, he was wrong (as first grade boys always are) and to prove it, you went to the first lonely classmate you saw in the sandbox and helped him build a sandcastle. Only, after getting the inevitable praise from your fellow classmates, he took all the credit, and you were beyond mad.

Back then, the silent treatment deemed an appropriate punishment, but Vernon didn’t seem all that bothered by it. Even if you didn’t speak to him years after kindergarten ended.

On the first day of fifth grade, Mrs Sinclair had put a seating plan on the projector and, to your dismay, you had to sit beside Vernon for potentially the rest of the year. He drew on the table, tucked his foot at the back of your chair leg to make you trip, and send you a snobbish grin whenever you looked back at him. Whenever he got in trouble, he liked dragging you down with him, too, and you spent many wasted lunchtimes in the classroom with Vernon while your friends played outside.

Eventually, two months before the school year reached its end, Mrs Sinclair decided enough was enough and decided to move you.

“You and Vernon have been causing too much trouble for me this year,” she had commented with a clipped tone that made you want to talk back and retort that you never did anything wrong. But you kept your mouth shut, because at least you were being put far away from him.

You didn’t attempt to try and be civil with Vernon after that — not in junior high or in high school, because he would always cause a ruckus at the back of the classroom, slip mocking love notes into your locker on Valentine’s Day, and plastered his prom king campaign posters over yours.

(You didn’t win, but he didn’t either, so you count that as a victory.)

You can’t believe this is the person who’s meant to help you get over Seokmin.

“Winn says he’s one of the best matchmakers he has,” Jiwoo tries to reassure you over the phone after you spot Vernon sitting on the park bench. “Obviously I don’t know if that’s the truth since Winn hates my guts. And also Vernon’s barely an adult, but,” Jiwoo pauses for a moment, choosing her words carefully, “at school Vernon always seemed to be a hopeless romantic, right?”

“I can’t believe this,” you practically spit. “I want out.”

Jiwoo gasps dramatically through the phone. “What? Are you kidding? You can’t do that!”

“I’m not going to let Vernon Chwe of all people dictate my love life.”

“Okay. Again, it’s not like you have one—”

“I’m leaving, Jiwoo.”

“No, wait!” Jiwoo says hurriedly. “Just give this a chance, okay? A week, tops. If you don’t like it by then, you can be a sucker and give up.”

“No.”

You can already imagine her lips forming into a pout. “Please? Winn’s gonna kill me if I made him go through all that trouble only to have you back out.”

Your mouth opens to argue again and you almost suggest that this is has to be some sort of practical joke. Or, maybe, Vernon just happened to sit in the same spot Winn told you to go for your first meeting. Maybe, Vernon is being a clueless idiot as per usual, and has nothing do with any of this.

But then his eyes flicker from the trees and land on you, and from the way his mouth curls, you realize Winn’s told him who his next client is.

You forgot how aggravating his grin is. “I have to go,” you growl into your phone. The venom is misdirected; Jiwoo shouldn’t be on the receiving end of it, but there’s just something about your annoyance for Vernon that makes you lose control. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Um, okay,” Jiwoo replies and lets you hang up first.

As you walk towards the bench, slipping your phone into your back pocket, the mirth on Vernon’s face grows. You liked it better when you graduated and didn’t have to think about him again. Only a few days into summer vacation and he’s here, trouble tainting his expression and a haunting grin that’s only purpose is to irritate you.

“Well,” Vernon begins when you stop in front of him, “long time no see, Y/N!”

Your jaw clenches, hating the way your name rolls off his tongue. “Don’t call me that.”

“What, would you rather I call you Kwon?” he scoffs. “I thought we were past the stage of being on a last-name basis.”

“This is unbelievable,” you ignore his statement and plop yourself on the far end of the bench. You aren’t looking at him. He can only be seen through the corner of your eye, but he still somehow manages to cloud your vision. “When the hell did you decide to pick matchmaking as a profession?”

Vernon shrugs. “It’s only a part-time job,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate when you sneer at him. How on earth did Vernon manage to land a part-time job at a matchmaking agency? “But today isn’t about me. It’s about you, isn’t it?”

You rub your eyes and repeat, “This is unbelievable.”

Vernon ignores you. “I didn’t know you were eighteen yet.”

He tints the statement with something heavy that you can’t quite decipher, but you don’t bother fretting over it. “I’m not. I’m just here because—” you stop, “—only because Jiwoo wanted me to find someone.”

The corners of his lips pull inwards and he whistles, low and amused. “Love life is that bad, huh?”

Scowling, you say, “Shut the fuck up. I doubt your love life is as exciting.”

Vernon looks far from offended. “You’ve got me there, Kwon.” Somehow, you hate that he calls you by your last name even more. Maybe he should just never address you. “Anyway, we should probably start this meeting, yeah? I’ve got to meet with two clients in an hour,” he sends you a wink, “They’re very happy together, actually. Did Winn ever tell you I’m the best in the game?”

You’re tempted to reach into your pocket and call Jiwoo, repeat to her that you won’t go through with this Soulmate Service thing, but you won’t. For some reason, you think doing so will only amuse Vernon more and you’ll lose to him.

You’re aware that this isn’t a game and willingly hanging out with Vernon goes against everything you stand for. But doing this means wiping that stupid grin off his face, and that’s more than enough for you.

“Unless you forgot, you’re supposed to be setting me up with people,” you drawl. “So what’s your game plan, Chwe?”

His grin widens.

Thursday, July 1 16:05 p.m.

Maybe: Vernon: hi is this yn?

you: you’re ruining my afternoon

moron: oh it is!!! moron: thought you gave me the wrong number or something ):

you: well the idea to was very tempting

moron: … ouch

Thursday, July 1 23:11 p.m.

you: by the way are you ever gonna tell me what your plan is you: because you only just smiled at me and said you had to go

moron: is this your way of saying you liked my presence?

you: no what the hell

moron: relax i’m just kidding 🙄 moron: but you don’t need to worry! i’ve got it handled ;)

you: yeah that doesn’t really calm me. just tell me what ur plan is

moron: are you always this desperate?

you: fuck you you: can you cooperate for once and do what i ask you

moron: tsk tsk always so controlling moron: better get some sleep, kwon! we’ve got an early morning tomorrow

you: what does that even mean you: helloooo??? you didn’t answer my question

you: vernon. you: asshole Read 23:44 p.m.

JULY 2.

Tucked under your bed, in a box of paraphernalia from past school years, are two worksheets, one from the end of seventh grade and the other from eighth. Your teacher, Ms Edwards, believed in growing from feedback, and scoured for it everywhere — whether it be from fellow colleagues or her students. At the end of the year, she would give her class a worksheet — decorated with the special border effects on Microsoft Word to indicate the sheet wasn’t for marks — and tell them to answer the questions.

Your answers were half-assed:

What was your favourite part of the year? I liked the science projects we did and when Ms Edwards let us go to recess early.

What are you looking forward to this summer? Sleeping in.

But they were sincere. The only reason you liked Ms Edwards so much was because she didn’t care for letting you leave before the bell. Plus you’re pretty sure all your classmates responded to the second question with the same answer, but it was true, wasn’t it? Who didn’t like sleeping in?

When you pull back your curtains and scowl at the familiar car parked in your driveway, you come to the conclusion that Vernon Chwe always has to ruin things — even your rhetorical questions.

You push the front door open, mumbling a goodbye to your mother and drag yourself towards the driveway. Vernon stands exactly like he always does — leaning against something, arms folded, conceited grin — you don’t know why you expected him to be any different than when you saw him last. He still carries himself in an annoyingly smug way.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he snickers when you stop in front of him. “Sleep well?”

He raises an eyebrow when you hiss, “It’s seven-thirty.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.”

“Then why, pray tell, did you wake me up?”

When Vernon shrugs, you swear your eye twitches. “Your socks don’t match, by the way.” He pushes himself off his car and moves to open the door. “We need to get started.”

You make no move to walk to the passenger side, even when he juts his chin towards it. “You’re setting me up with people already? At seven in the morning?”

“Not even close,” Vernon responds. He taps the roof of the car. “Now get in, we’ve got places to be.”

“Places to be—” you repeat incredulously, “I’m not getting into a car with you.”

Vernon tsks, putting himself in between the car and its door. “Yeah, of course. You don’t have to get in if you don’t want to. But,” he taps his chin, “I could call Jiwoo, ask her to convince you to deal with me — and you’ll do it, since Jiwoo’s always been persuasive. Like, scary persuasive.”

A threat lies in his sentence, like he’s trying to get something from you. Vernon enjoys getting reactions out of people — more specifically, you.

“How do you have Jiwoo’s number?”

Vernon furrows his eyebrows, the joy in his eyes growing at your confusion. “We’re neighbours,” he snorts. He doesn’t give you time to wonder if he’s lying or not, because he continues. “So, are you getting in or not?”

You scratch your cheek in frustration before scowling and walking around the car. “Yeah, I’m fucking getting in,” you say aggressively, throwing your hood over your head to cover your eyes. Hopefully, the crimson fabric will be enough to shield the egotistical smirk Vernon won’t hesitate to send you during the car ride.

Vernon waits for your seatbelt to click before he pulls out of the driveway. He doesn’t drive as fast as you thought he would — in fact, he’s pretty slow. Cars whir past, some of the passengers turning in their seats to get a glimpse of Vernon’s car. You swear you saw one of your old classmates spin and stick their tongue out at you.

Awkwardly, the tips of your fingers graze the controls of the radio. You pause, waiting for Vernon to comment about you touching stuff without permission, but when all he does is hum, you continue to fiddle with the radio. It takes you a while to figure out what button does what and, for a moment, you’re certain you accidentally turned the air-conditioning off. The thing is, though, is that you’re too prideful. You’ll be damned before you ask Vernon for help.

It’s bad enough he’s playing Cupid for you.

A love song filters through the speakers and with haste, you switch the station to something else.

Vernon takes a moment to let the melody register before he raises an eyebrow. “Country?”

You tug on your hood and push the conversation into a different direction before you have to argue about music. It’s too early for this. “So, not only do you wake me up early, tell me to get into your car without telling me our destination, but you also don’t tell me the plan to—”

“Helping you fall in love?”

“What—? No,” you sputter. “The plan to help me find somebody that I like and likes me back.”

“So basically,” Vernon starts slowly, “a plan to help you fall in love.”

Playing with your bottom lip, you opt to ask him another question that will, hopefully, get you an answer. “Where are we going?”

Vernon doesn’t miss a beat. “Walmart.”

You halt, staring ahead at the road ahead before dropping your hand. “Yeah, because Walmart is always filled to the brim with people desperate for love,” you say, sarcasm dripping from your tone. When Vernon doesn’t bark back with a retort of his own, you face him. “You’re joking, right?”

“We’re not going to Walmart to find the love of your life,” Vernon tries to clarify, but it does nothing to swat your confusion. “We’re going because I need to run some errands, and I think spending quality time together will be good for us.”

The bewildered scoff falls from your lips before he even finishes his sentence. “What, are you setting me up with yourself?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Vernon tuts. “For me to find the perfect person for you, I have to get to know you.”

Narrowing your eyes, you ask, “And how long are you going to be doing that?”

In more ways than one, Vernon is careful. He’s gentle when red flashes at the stop light and he slows the car to a stop. He’s cautious when he glances over at you. “A month, maybe.”

You gape at him. “You’re asking me to spend a month with you?”

“God, it’s not that bad,” he protests. “We’ve gone to school our whole lives, what’s one more month to you?”

“Well, back then I didn’t willingly talk to you,” you argue, turning in your seat as much as your seatbelt will allow, “I only talked to you because you would only fuck off if I did.”

“Okay, first of all, ouch,” he looks at you like your protests have taken a toll on his very fragile ego. “Second of all, would you rather have thirty-one bad blind dates or spend thirty-one days with me?”

Without a beat, you say, “Thirty-one bad blind dates.”

The light turns green and Vernon steps on the gas. “I’m not as bad as you make me seem,” he comments, casting a glance at you. “I don’t even know why you’re doing this Soulmate Service thing.”

“Winn didn’t tell you?”

“Winn didn’t tell me,” he confirms. “Not like he knew much, anyway — only that you’re heartbroken and sad and have no love life.” He pretends not to notice the embarrassment flushing your cheeks when he observes the road before making a left turn. “You know I was only joking when I said that your love life was abysmal, right? You surely had to have had something if you’re heartbroken.”

Pulling at the seatbelt so it stops digging into your skin, you respond, “Yeah, I guess so.”

“I don’t remember you being in a relationship, though.”

Curiosity clouds his vision, but if he thinks that you’re going to just spill everything your heart has been bottling up, then he’s wrong. “It’s complicated.”

Vernon scoffs amusedly as he pulls into the parking lot. “Of course it is.”

MY FINDINGS ON YN KWON:

ENTRY ONE: July 2.

Y/N’s definitely not a morning person. Not very willing when it comes to me getting to know them, but that’s not surprising at all (I’ll just have to work with that, I guess.)

Still unsure if they hate me or I just annoy them. Is that just the same thing?

Friday, July 2 14:57 p.m.

you: thanks for the gummy bears

moron: yeah no prob moron: but you know they place those things by the checkout just so the customer impulsively adds them to their cart, right?

you: duh you: but you can never say no to gummy bears you: besides i didn’t pay for it sooo

moron: ah so you’re EXPLOITING me

you: sure

moron: has anyone told you you’re a dry texter

you: only dry w/ you

moron: god you’re awful Read 15:15 p.m.

JULY 3.

“Wait, explain this to me again,” Jiwoo brings her face up to her camera, and all your screen displays are her big eyes and confused frown, “Vernon’s plan was to bring you to Walmart?”

You stop shuffling through your clothes and glance at her from your closet. “No, he was using it as a way to get to know me,” you explain lazily, “something about how it’ll help him with the whole thing.”

Jiwoo raises an eyebrow. “Is he setting you up with himself?”

“I said the same thing!” you exclaim. “No, apparently it’s better to know me and set me up with someone he knows I’ll like than to send me on fifty blind dates that’ll end horribly.”

“Right,” Jiwoo murmurs thoughtfully, pulling her face away from her phone and blinking rapidly to adjust to her surroundings, “and you’re fine with that?”

Taking a stranded hanger at the end of the rack, you throw it onto your bed so you can remember to put it away later. You miscalculate the strength of your toss and it lands on the carpet. “Well, I have to spend time with him either way. This will get rid of him faster.”

Jiwoo taps her lips. “And how long will he be, quote on quote, getting to know you?”

“Please don’t say it like that.”

Jiwoo smiles. “Say it like what?”

“Like that,” you reply, moving to grab your phone from its place against your lamp. You accidentally kick the hanger and it slides under the bed; you’ll forget about it until the day you finally decide to tackle the mess that lives under there — which probably won’t be happening anytime in the near future. “Like you’re implying something.”

Your best friend hums, entertained by the warning look on your face. “And what could I possibly be implying?”

The phone lands at your side when you let it slip from your grasp. “I’m not having this conversation.”

Jiwoo is left to stare at your ceiling and you make sure not to look at the FaceTime call in case she gives you a knowing look. “You still didn’t answer my question,” she says, voice muffled by your fuzzy blanket, “how long are you two hanging out for?”

“Not that long.”

“Okay, be a little more specific.”

You wince. “A month or so.”

“A month?” she shrieks.

“Or so!”

“That doesn’t even—” an exhale leaves Jiwoo’s mouth, incredulously amused. “Jesus Christ. You’re hanging out with Vernon Chwe. By choice.”

You pull at your cheeks and then squeeze them just so your fingers have something to do. “Can we please talk about something else?”

From the way Jiwoo agrees eagerly, you can tell she has something to tell you. “I talked to my aunt yesterday,” she says cheerfully. Now you grab your phone so you can see how the smile lights up her face. “She said she’s getting my room ready. Oh, and she was telling me about places she’ll show me when I get to Korea!”

Your eyes soften at the glow in her eyes. Everything about Jiwoo has always been luminescent. “You sound excited.”

“I am!” she nods, shuffling in her bed to find a comfortable spot. “And she introduced me to her neighbours — they have a girl, Jungeun, she’s a few years older, but she’s really nice!” Jiwoo places her hands on her cheeks. “You know it’s not too late for you to come with me.”

You play with your earlobe. “I know, Jiwoo, but it’s fine.” The offer is tempting — the idea of spending a year in South Korea, away from it all, holds a type of euphoria and adventure that could almost push you to give in. But wanderlust, no matter how hypnotizing it is, doesn’t flood your veins as much as it surges through Jiwoo’s or Seokmin’s or Soonyoung’s.

Home has always been here and you have a feeling you don’t have to search for it anywhere else.

Jiwoo pouts. “It’d be more fun with you there.”

“I bet,” you laugh, “but I think you’ll have an amazing time there, with or without me.”

“Yeah, but,” Jiwoo starts, biting her lip. She’s going to protest, you know she is — she always does when this topic is brought up, and the only way to get her to drop it is to take her mind off it. She looks at you, analyzing your face through her phone screen before she sighs and says, “we can hang out later, then?”

Your heart drops a little at her offer. “I would, but I’m supposed to meet Vernon soon and I don’t know when he’s supposed to come.”

“Ah, ditching me for a date,” Jiwoo says sarcastically, but her eyes overflow with mirth. “I see how it is.”

“It’s not a date!” you protest immediately. “And it’s already two and he isn’t here yet, so maybe he forgot.”

“So he stood you up.”

“Oh my God.”

As Jiwoo laughs, your mother peeks her head through your door, greeting Jiwoo with a cheerful hello before turning her attention to you. “The same boy from yesterday is here,” she says, head resting on the frame, “are you sure you want to be dating when your birthday is so soon?”

You gape as Jiwoo’s cackles fill the room. “We’re not dating,” you stammer. You look at your phone. “Jiwoo, I’m going.”

“Have fun on your date!” she taunts.

Your mom stares at you as you drop your phone onto your nightstand. She gives you a grin, the sort that’s big and all-knowing. “Are you sure—?”

“We’re not dating,” you repeat, standing abruptly from your bed and slipping past her in the doorway. “Please don’t tell Dad about this.”

“If he’s not your boyfriend, why do you care if your dad knows?”

“Because then he’ll tell Soonyoung,” you spit as if the name physically hurt you. Knowing your brother, he wouldn’t hesitate to tell Seokmin, and just the thought has you shuddering. “And he has a big mouth.”

She looks as if she wants to add something else but bites her tongue. “I have to go to work, I’ll be back at ten. Your father is at your Aunt Gemma’s, he’ll probably get home around that time, too,” she reaches the stairs before you, despite you already standing at the banister. “Don’t burn the house while I’m gone.”

Once she reaches the floor, she waves to Vernon, whom you hear politely say goodbye. When she closes the door, you stare at it for what feels like an eternity before sighing and hurrying down the stairs. The faster you face this problem, the faster it will go away.

The problem grins at you the moment your foot hits the floor. He’s spread out the entire Harry Potter movie series onto the coffee table.

“Took you long enough!”

“Shut up,” the scowl only reserve for him appears on your face as you round the couch and sit beside him. “Better make this quick, Chwe. I’m meeting Jiwoo after this.”

Vernon shrugs. “You can invite her to come. We’re having a movie night, anyway, and this might go until ten.”

Eight hours with Vernon. You think you might actually combust — not in the good way, either. “Jiwoo’s busy,” you say, “and I don’t think she finds the idea of spending time with you very pleasant.”

“Have you ever thought that, maybe, people don’t hate me as much as you do?”

You kiss your teeth, pretending to ponder on the question before shaking your head. “No, I haven’t. I guess I always assume people despise you, but can you blame me?” you ask rhetorically. “Have you met yourself?”

“Yeah, I don’t like myself very much either.”

“Don’t agree with me.”

Vernon smiles, grabbing the DVD to the first Harry Potter movie and stands to fumble with the DVD player. “I can never win with you, can I?”

Instead of humouring more than you already have, you take the copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix that lies in front of you and examine the back. “You know there’s this thing called Netflix, right?” you scoff. “Why waste all this money on DVDs?”

He sits beside you after watching the DVD satisfyingly glide through the player. He plays with the TV remote until the screen flashes to life. He knows what he’s doing, and if you were any more sleep deprived than you already were, you would think this was his TV and not yours. It might as well be, though; you didn’t even know you had a DVD player.

“It feels more authentic watching the movie this way,” responds Vernon. “And having these—” he points to the scattered pile of movies, “—makes the experience better. It’s nice to have a physical copy of your favourite things on hand. Also, the entire series isn’t on Netflix.”

He fiddles with the remote once he hits play and the familiar theme song drifts into your ears. He makes an argument about the joys of watching behind the scene clips DVDs provide that streaming apps don’t. You almost argue and say that those types of things can be found on the internet easily with a simple YouTube search, but Vernon’s face display an emotion you didn’t even know he was capable of having.

Passion kisses his skin, taints his eyes, and even though you hate him, you’re not going to argue about something he’s so passionate about.

“I’ve also found that these movies are good when it comes to getting to know people,” Vernon starts slowly when you don’t reply to his ramblings. If you didn’t know any better, he’s a little flustered. “Whether or not a person likes Harry Potter says a lot about them.”

You lean back casually. “I don’t hate it.”

“I remember you had an embarrassingly long phase in middle school where you were in love with one of these characters,” Vernon sighs in a sarcastically wistful way. “Which one was it again? The one that died…”

“A lot of characters die in this series, Chwe.”

Vernon claps his hands together, as if an epiphany just came to him; as if he didn’t already know the answer. “Cedric Diggory! That was his name!”

“Oh, shut up,” you snap. “I can’t believe I’m spending eight hours with you.”

Vernon reaches over into the bag by his socked feet and pulls out a tattered pink journal. “Eight hours where I’ll be getting to know you and writing everything I find onto here!”

He flips through the pages and stops at one halfway through. Your jaw goes slack at the writing on the top.

“My Findings on Y/N Kwon?” you screech, ripping the journal from his gasp. “You’re making this sound like I’m some sort of science experiment!”

Immediately, Vernon goes to defend himself, “Well, I needed to sound professional!”

“It’s not like you’re gonna be analyzing me—”

“Technically—”

“You know what I mean!” you snarl. You grab a stranded pen your dad left lying out and about on the coffee table to scribble into the notebook.

“Hey!” Vernon protests moments before the ink touches the page. “You’re ruining it! I decorated the page and everything to make it look pretty — careful of the hearts!”

You ignore him, and instead messily write underneath the top line: What I Learned Today About Y/N Kwon. You’re not pleased with the title, but it’s the best you can come up with without getting distracted by the movie playing in front of you.

“This is better.”

“It’s worse,” Vernon grumbles, taking his notebook back. “It’s long and is at the very end of the scale for creativity.”

“It’s better.”

He looks at you, eyes narrowing for a split second before he scoffs and turns to face the TV again. For the first time since you’ve ever known him, Vernon Chwe doesn’t egg you on or spit out another comment meant to do nothing but jab harshly at your sanity. For the first time since you met him years ago in that sandbox in kindergarten, Vernon Chwe keeps his mouth shut.

You smile.

One point for Kwon.

MY FINDINGS OF YN KWON WHAT I LEARNED TODAY ABOUT Y/N KWON:

ENTRY TWO: July 3

Still has the pyjamas they wore at Quinn Jenkin’s disaster of a slumber party in sixth grade. They still wear the pyjamas, too, despite that it barely reaches their ankles and there’s a big hole on the right knee.

Thinks McGonagall is better than Hagrid, which is completely wrong and incorrect and will not listen to a word of my argument.

Hopeless.

Saturday, July 3 23:38 p.m.

ji: are u sure you weren’t just on a date?

you: um yeah?? if i was you’d be the first to know you: why

ji: because it’s almost midnight and vernon just came home ji: and when i asked him where he was so late at night he said he was with u… 🤨

you: oh my god you: why would u ask him that you: why are you even out this late

ji: i was chasing a moth out of our house when i saw him ji: BUT THAT ISNT THE POINT!! what were you doing w/ him???

you: we just watched the harry potter movies!!!!!

ji: so?

you: SO definitely not a date. do you know how unromantic those movies are? so much death and sadness

ji: the more you keep on denying it’s a date the more i don’t believe you

you: icb you please leave me alone.

ji: denial isn’t healthy btw Delivered

Saturday, July 3 23:47 p.m.

moron: goodnight, kwon

you: eat ass Read 23:47 p.m.

JULY 4.

When it comes to your family, gatherings never turn out to be as small as they intend it to be. Take the Fourth of July barbecue for example: your dad invites Aunt Gemma, and her nightmare of a daughter invites her next-door neighbours who then invite their book club, who just so happens to involve Jiwoo’s family, so Jiwoo invites Lee Chan because the Lees own the donut shop by Target and she wants discounts.

“I think they spiked the punch,” Chan says. The barbecue takes place at the park by your house, which makes Chan feel slightly less guilty for dumping the contents of his cup onto the grass. “It tastes worse than usual.”

Jiwoo pouts. “Hey, I made that!”

Chan drops his cup into the nearest trash can and sits on the wooden bench, his back leaning against the table behind him. He ignores the exhilarating sensation of the burning wood against his skin and shrugs, “It was bad, Jiwoo.”

You half-heartedly attempt to kick his foot with yours, but miss and hit the grass instead. “Give her a break, Chan.”

The minimum amount of shade the tree branches provide is not enough to cover all three of you. Parts of the sun’s rays manage to slip past the gaps between the leaves. One particular ray bursts at your back, and you feel the unwelcome heat trickling up your spine. Jiwoo seems unbothered by the sun and instead takes a sip of her punch to prove to Chan that it isn’t as bad as he claims it is. Your lips tug at the straw of your juice box because her punch is bad, but you're far from strong enough to break that to her.

“Who did you invite?” Jiwoo asks when it becomes clear nothing will change Chan’s mind.

“Just a few friends,” he replies, eyes flitting behind you and Jiwoo in search for them. “Um, Seungkwan from the drama club—”

“Oh, I think he used to sit behind me in AP Chem!” you point your finger at Chan and drop it when he nods in confirmation. “He seemed nice but he never stopped talking about Glee.”

“One of his many flaws,” Chan affirms.

Despite the fact that you and Seungkwan have spoken on multiple occasions, both at school and outside of it, the two of you were never close enough to consider each other friends. Granted, it could be because there was an unspoken agreement between you that you wouldn’t acknowledge each other at school unless speaking was mandatory, or eye contact was made while you guys were walking down the hallway and it was rude to not send a tame smile. Seungkwan always pictured himself to be the main character, but in your life, he was nothing more than an extra.

Until functions like these came along. There’s a magic to gatherings that you can’t quite describe — it pulls people together. In fact, the last time you actually had a conversation with Chan that wasn’t started because of academics was at his parents’ New Year’s party. You haven’t spoken to him in months and now the two of you talk as if you’re old friends.

“And who did Seungkwan invite?” Jiwoo wonders.

“Well, some of his friends,” Chan answers, “which he has a lot of. A few have already gone off to do God knows what, but the rest stayed behind and he brought them along.”

You try to think of who Seungkwan associates himself with but fall flat when the only people you can remember have already upped and left. In hopes to find a familiar face that will jog your memory, you glance over your shoulder, only to be met with an overbearing grin that makes you want to crawl into a hole.

Maybe you and Seungkwan were never friends because you never bothered to care for each other, but because his best friend is the bane of your existence.

“Hey, Chan!” Vernon greets with bothersome cheerfulness. He throws an arm over your shoulders which you immediately shrug off, causing Chan’s eyebrows to rise and Jiwoo’s smile to widen. “Didn’t think I’d see you here!”

Chan eyes Vernon’s arm and then your irritated sneer before smiling. “Jiwoo invited me.”

Vernon peers over and grins at Jiwoo. “Oh, I didn’t see you!” he says loudly. “Hey, Ji — oh, Seungkwan’s here too.”

Seungkwan, hair freshly dyed blonde, looks concerned with Vernon’s sudden enthusiasm. “Right, hi,” he timidly says, nodding at you, Chan, and Jiwoo. “Hope you don’t mind we brought along a couple of other people.”

“That’s fine! The more the merrier,” you then turn bitterly to look at Vernon. “Shouldn’t have brought him, though.”

Seungkwan dismisses your sourness with a shake of his head. “I forgot you two hated each other.”

Jiwoo places her cup on the table after she takes a seat beside Chan. “Hate’s a very dangerous word to throw around,” she warbles, eyes glinting before she opens her mouth again to throw you under the bus, “they went on a date yesterday.”

Chan rips his back away from the table and sits up straight. “What the fuck?”

Your eyes widen in horror. “Jiwoo!”

Beside you, Vernon’s smile drops, his eyes narrowing in Jiwoo’s direction before he yelps when Seungkwan smacks his arm. “So that’s why you ditched me last night!” he gasps, feigning hurt. “Dude, I was counting on you to help me endure family game night and you ditched me for a date?”

Vernon rubs at the red spot on his arm. “We weren’t on a date!”

If looks could kill, Jiwoo would be in a lot of trouble right now. “I can’t believe this,” you mutter. “Jiwoo, I swear to God. We talked about this.”

The boy beside you gasps softly. “Aw, you talk about me?”

Exasperatedly, you close your eyes. “Please shut the fuck up.”

Chan and Seungkwan share a look before the former points towards the portable table by the playground structure and gives you a dangerous smile. “Y/N, could you get me a drink? And not any of that god awful punch—”

“Fuck you, Chan!”

“Shut up, Jiwoo, I’m asking Y/N for—”

You deadpan, “I’m not getting you a drink. Get it yourself.”

“Oh, get me one, too!” Seungkwan says hurriedly as he takes the other spot next to Chan. “But don’t get me that nasty, cheap stuff.”

“Cheap stuff—” you scoff, pointing your thumb in the direction of the table, “—we got all of that from Dollar Tree.”

That response is all Seungkwan needs. “Vernon knows what I like,” he hums slyly. “He can accompany you while you get Chan—”

You already know which direction Seungkwan’s trying to shove this conversation towards. “Absolutely not.”

“Suit yourself,” Chan grins wickedly. “We can just sit here and talk about your date.”

Vernon doesn’t seem at all bothered by the teasing. You two have become the targets of the gathering and yet he doesn’t bat an eye. Instead, his attention lands on you — as per usual — doing a horrible job at keeping your annoyance at bay. You always lose control when it comes to him.

Sneering, you say, “What juice box do you want, Seungkwan?”

The boy in question leans towards Chan and lifts his chin to see the table better. “No offence, Y/N,” he tuts, “but I don’t trust you to get me a drink without poisoning it.”

“You’re saying you trust Vernon more than me?” You really shouldn’t have been expecting anything else. After all, Seungkwan and Vernon have been attached at the hip since kindergarten.

“Well,” Seungkwan eyes you strangely, “yeah, I do.”

Beside you, Vernon tucks his hands into his pockets. “What makes you think I won’t poison you?”

The threat, anything but harmful, causes Seungkwan to wave his hand dismissively. “You won’t,” he says confidently. “And if you did, I’d kill you.”

Vernon shrugs. “Alright.” Then he offers his hand for you to take. “Let’s go.”

Glowering at the hand, you spin on your heels and stalk towards the table of cold refreshments. Vernon closes his fist and lets it fall to his side before he quickly catches up with you, the freshly mowed grass tickling his skin. He watches his surroundings — from the kids half his size chasing each other around the park, to your aunts gossiping under the shade of the birch tree. It takes him thirty seconds to think of something to say, which might just be a new record.

Thirty seconds of silence. Thirty seconds of you lingering in Vernon Chwe’s presence without him opening his mouth and ruining everything.

If only he could always be so quiet.

“I never noticed Gemma’s hair was red,” he comments casually.

“It’s not her natural hair colour,” you explain, although a part of you knows you don’t have to. “She dyed it last week. It used to be this weird shade of brown.”

“I figured,” Vernon scratches his cheek. “But at the New Year’s party it looked exceptionally weirder. The lighting in Chan’s house is shit.”

You’re about to agree but then you frown and slow your steps. “Wait,” you say, causing Vernon to halt as well, “you were at Chan’s New Year’s party?”

“Yeah? Do you not remember? I was in the kitchen and you walked in looking for a glass of water before you saw me and immediately left,” he stares pointedly at your tattered white Converse. “Have you noticed that when you want to quickly leave a situation, you walk away with your heels off the ground. You kinda walk like you’re tip-toeing.”

Vernon Chwe, ever the observer. At the sudden observational comment, you lift your feet up and gently shake them before walking again.

Now that you think about it, you do recall seeing Vernon at the New Year’s party, but every time you see him outside of school, you make an extra effort to dodge any sort of contact. Unlike instances with Seungkwan, you and Vernon don’t chit chat.

“Not surprised you don’t remember,” Vernon clicks his tongue. You don’t bother to correct him. “After you saw me you clung to your friends and your brother. You do that a lot at functions like these.”

The statement hangs in the air, but that’s not what you’re focussed on. Vernon’s attended more than enough of these get-togethers to know what you do at all of them, and yet you don’t remember seeing him at any — minus the one at New Year’s, but you wouldn’t have realized if he hadn’t told you.

When you don’t reply for the second time, Vernon speaks up again, and that’s what snaps you out of your thoughts. “Are Seokmin and Soonyoung not here?”

You stop in your tracks again at the mention of Seokmin, but Vernon pays no mind since you’ve both reached the refreshments. As he starts digging through the cooler in search for something for himself, you say, “No, they left a few days ago. They got into college and wanted to familiarize themselves with the environment there ahead of time.”

Vernon takes one of the only Pepsi cans left. “They wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, huh?”

You want to agree with him because it’s true. Soonyoung and Seokmin spent their gap year at home because it was what they were familiar with — and they didn’t want to dig into their college funds for money to use for travelling — but eventually they agreed they were meant for bigger things, and they weren’t going to find it here.

However, agreeing means coming to terms with the fact that you aren’t enough for Seokmin stay. It’s a selfish thought. You know that leaving is easier said than done, and it pains him being far away from you because he’s known you his entire life and he loves you. Not in the way that you want him to, but he does.

He hurts, too.

In the end, you decide to talk about Vernon instead. “Well, do you want to get out of here?”

His answer doesn’t surprise you. “Yeah,” he says, wiping his hands, wet from melted ice, onto his shorts. “Far away from here. Seungkwan has a friend who lives in New York and we’re going to stay with them for a year.”

“And you’re not coming back?”

“Never.”

You smile as you grab a grape juice box for Chan. “Then that’s just great! I’ll finally able to get rid of you.”

Vernon’s lips part. “What, are you saying you want to stay here?”

“I want to travel, yeah, but I like it here,” you answer. “There’s so much in this town, you know? So much to do.” Your eyes flicker to the other end of the park and your smile softens. “There are these houses a couple of minutes from here — they’re broken beyond repair, but I think I could fix them if I tried hard enough. And I could fix the playground at our old middle school so kids won’t have to worry about scratching their limbs on busted parts.”

“Ah, so you want to be like those people on HGTV,” Vernon murmurs teasingly despite the admiration flooding his irises. “Like the Property Brothers.”

You roll your eyes at the remark. “Sure,” you say. Vernon is sure that today is the first day since kindergarten that you haven’t replied to his statements with a snark. His fingers dance on the soda can. He thinks he likes your conversations better this way.

Jiwoo’s arm slings over your shoulder and she shoves her phone into your face, startling both you and Vernon. “Hey, guess who it is!” she exclaims, her hand unable to stay still. “Guess, guess, guess.”

From the way your eyes light up, Vernon comes to the conclusion that you know who it is. “Oh, hey!” you exclaim, fondness melting your voice. Suddenly, your eyebrows furrow. “What are you doing?”

“Flipping a pancake,” the voice on the phone says. “I think I’ve got it. Watch—”

First comes the sound of failure, then Jiwoo winces. “You definitely don’t have it.”

“Okay, one: fuck you. Two: I’m trying.”

“You’ll become a master at it in no time,” you laugh. “Probably not in the near future, though.”

“Whatever,” the voice grumbles. “How’s the party over there?”

“Mediocre,” you reply, taking Jiwoo’s phone from her hands. When the device is pulled from her grasp, she looks up and finally notices that Vernon’s there. “How’s Soonyoung?”

The person on the other end makes a noise that sounds like a meh. “He’s alright. A little homesick, but I’m sure he’ll be fine. How are you? Anything new and exciting happening to you over there?”

Before you can answer, Jiwoo leans into you so her face is in the camera. “Oh, you won’t believe it. Y/N’s dating someone!” She ignores your protests and takes her phone back. She’s quick; Vernon doesn’t notice she’s beside him until she places her hand on his shoulder. “Seokmin, this is Vernon!”

Seokmin grins. “Hey, I remember you!” he exclaims. “Wait, don’t they hate each other?”

“Well you know what they say about hate and love—”

“Shut up,” you glower, prying Jiwoo off Vernon before he can properly introduce himself. “We’re not dating, he’s just—” you pause, “—he’s just helping me.”

Seokmin snorts. “With what?”

You open your mouth and Vernon’s sure you have an answer already formulated in your mind when people ask this question. He knows you’ll mention being set up with someone, a summer fling of sorts. Maybe you’ll throw in something about the Soulmate Service, too, but you never mention that you’re heartbroken.

But you don’t say any of those things. Instead, you give Seokmin a smile of hope and heartbreak. “Nothing important.”

The pieces click into Vernon’s head like a puzzle while you give all your attention to Seokmin, listening to him ramble about the new people he’s met and the karaoke bar close to campus.

You always use a different tone when you talk to Vernon. With him it’s always irritated scoffs and annoyed sneers, clenched fists and gritted teeth. He has never bothered to notice how you talk to other people because he used to assume that you talked to them all the same and reserved something else for him.

But there’s something hidden in the layers of your eyes when you talk to Seokmin. No matter how much you try to hide it, Vernon can see the affection and the adoration and the love.

When you finally look up, something flashes in Vernon’s gaze. The bottom half of his face is hidden as he brings the Pepsi up to his lips, but you know that his mouth curls.

He knows.

WHAT I LEARNED TODAY ABOUT Y/N KWON:

ENTRY THREE: July 4

Ironic how they’ve always wanted to stay and the person they’re in love with has always wanted to go.

Sunday, July 4 20:58 p.m.

moron: thnx for inviting me

you: technically i didn’t invite you. we invited aunt gemma you: and somehow, in the web of party invitations, you happened to get one too

moron: yada yada yada you know what i mean moron: at least you didn’t kick me out

you: we were at a park. i couldn’t have kicked you out even if i wanted to you: and trust me, i wanted to

moron: you’re always saying stuff like that but you know what? i think you’re growing fond of me

you: don’t flatter yourself

moron: still in the denial phase. i see, i see moron: you’ll admit it soon enough Read 21:14 p.m.

Monday, July 5 12:09 p.m.

moron: someone definitely spiked the punch last night

you: you drank the punch?

moron: only towards the end of the night moron: my head’s killing me

moron: i don’t think i can hang out today

you: so i get a day off???

moron: don’t sound too excited moron: give me a fact about yourself tho so i can put it in my notebook

you: no thanks

moron: oh come on moron: please?

you: you know me well enough that ‘please’ isn’t gonna work on me you: just make something up

moron: i don’t have the mental capacity to think

you: not my problem you: get better soon though

moron: is this you being nice to me?

you: don’t get used to it Read 12:24 p.m.

JULY 6.

You are not worried about Vernon Chwe. That’s ridiculous. You’re only standing on his doorstep with a bag of his favourite 7/11 snacks because your mom overheard Jiwoo telling you over FaceTime that he’s sick, and she sent you to his house to make sure he feels better.

“What are you doing here?” Vernon asks, blinking at you when he opens the door.

“Heard you weren’t feeling well,” you respond curtly. When his eyebrows rise significantly, you shove the bag full of sour gummy worms and flamin’ hot Cheetos into his chest. “I wasn’t worried about you.”

He licks his teeth. “You’re here because I’m sick,” he states, letting the plastic bag dangle from his fingers. “I would say that means you were pretty worried.”

You purse your lips. “I’m leaving.”

“No, wait,” Vernon starts with a tone so nonchalant that it shouldn’t make you stop and listen to what he has to say. But you do, and he seems to have known you would because all you see when you turn to him is satisfaction. “Do you not want to come in?”

“No.”

“I don’t have cooties, Kwon.”

“Yeah, but you have germs,” you glower, “and I don’t want to get sick.”

“I’m not sick,” Vernon says honestly. “My head just hurts because of Jiwoo’s punch. Something wasn’t right with that drink — Chan texted me yesterday and told me the same thing.”

“Yeah, Jiwoo’s not very good when it comes to making things edible...” you muse. Vernon nods in agreement before he steps off to the side, waiting for you to walk in. Really, you could just shake your head and begin your trek home, but the bus stop is far and your legs are tired. You’re being offered rest, and who are you to turn it down?

You kick off your shoes and victory grazes Vernon’s lips as he lets out a triumphant sigh. After he closes the door, he leads you into the kitchen and drops the plastic bag onto the counter. As he rummages through the cheap snacks you’ve bought, your eyes stray from the pack of gummy worms he drops onto the granite and onto the fridge behind him, childhood photos and crayon drawings gripping onto bright magnets.

There’s a picture of your second grade class all wearing identical medals around their necks, smiling victoriously at the camera. You vaguely remember the day — to officially put an end to second grade and welcome you into third, your class had a soccer game; the winning team would get popsicles, but due to Seungkwan bursting into tears after his team lost, everyone ended up getting popsicles anyway.

“Do you want some ice cream?” Vernon stares at you, the bag now empty, looking as if the slightest of movements will make it fly away. “We’ve got a tub of vanilla and some crushed cones. You could sprinkle them on top.”

You drum your fingers on the countertop, contemplating, before nodding hesitantly. At your agreement, he gives you a bright smile before turning to rake through the fridge. He looks different like this — dressed in striped blue pyjamas with tired but glossy eyes begging to push the loose strands of hair away. Perhaps it’s the headache from Jiwoo’s punch, the liquid blending into his bloodstream, that makes him look like this — softer and approachable; better than he usually is on typical days.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Vernon deadpans, tossing an ice cream scooper from his left hand to his right. “You look as if you might fall in love with me.”

And just like that, the bubble is broken.

You scowl. “No way in hell.”

Vernon peels the lid off the ice cream tub, and for the second time this week, he says, “I’m not as bad as you think.”

He gives you a look glazed with an emotion your heart begs you to figure out. But your head instructs you to do otherwise, and after the handful of pain your heart has forced you to go through, you decide to trust your head more.

“No,” you proclaim, gracefully taking the cup Vernon hands you, “you definitely are.”

WHAT I LEARNED TODAY ABOUT Y/N KWON:

ENTRY FIVE: July 6

Has never liked ice cream cones much. Says they don’t like it when the ice cream melts and uncomfortably clings to their fingers.

Gets this pretty look in their eyes when they’re lost in thought.

Tuesday, July 6 18:06 p.m.

moron: i never thanked you for the gummy worms and cheetos moron: so thank you

you: yeah it’s no problem you: but this is a one time thing. i won’t be opening my wallet for you anytime soon

moron: you have a very weird way of showing me you care about me

you: when are you going to get it through ur thick skull that i don’t actually like you

moron: truthfully?

you: obviously

moron: probably never Read 18:29 p.m.

Wednesday, July 7 09:33 a.m.

moron: WAKE UP

you: what the fuck you: WHY ARE YOU IN THE DRIVEWAY

moron: i’m feeling better!

you: what did i tell you about waking me up

moron: okay 1.) it’s not even that early

you: it’s 9:30

moron: and TWO: we didn’t see each other on the fifth so it’s only fair if we make up for lost time

you: i can’t believe this

moron: we’re going shopping

you: … you: hold on let me shower first

moron: ok moron: wait are you just going to make me wait outside

you: i’m showering please don’t speak to me

moron: ??? moron: I CAN SEE U FLIPPING ME OFF IN THE WINDOW moron: have you ever thought that maybe you’re worse than i am Read 09:49 a.m.

Thursday, July 8 07:08 a.m.

moron: hey

you: WHAT THE HELL

moron: you know the drill!

you: IT’S SEVEN you: please turn your loud radio player off i’m about to have a headache

moron: not until you get downstairs

you: please you’re making me hate uptown funk

moron: well yes that’s one of my goals moron: uptown funk aged like milk

you: this is one of the reasons why i don’t like you

moron: ????!!? Read 07:35 a.m.

Friday, July 9 16:04 p.m.

you: today was awful

moron: actually i thought it was pretty fun

you: washing other people’s cars was not fun

moron: quit lying

you: i’m not

moron: i know you were having fun you were smiling whenever i splashed you with water moron: your smile is pretty by the way

you: . thanks

moron: are you not gonna compliment mine?

you: your smile is okay

moron: WHOA HOLD ON moron: DID U ACTUALLY JUST ? moron: ????

you: you asked me to compliment you and i did

moron: I DIDN’T ACTUALLY THINK YOU WOULD??? moron: OH MY GOD!!!!! Read 16:37 p.m.

JULY 10.

Something has shifted. The stars have realigned themselves and the earth is trembling because something has rocked your world and put things out of place.

Out of place meaning that you’ve grown into the habit of waking up before eight because you know a certain someone’s going to park in your driveway and wake you up with a popular overplayed song from 2016. And shockingly, you don’t mind waking up this early, because you have a whole day ahead of you. A day where you can make new memories and learn new things and admire the relieving feeling of the sun hiding behind a cloud. Or you can rip it to shreds.

Out of place meaning that whenever your phone buzzes with a new notification from Seokmin, the ache has subsided. It’s still there — making itself known as some sort of sick reminder — but it isn’t as violent it used to be. You feel a little less empty.

Out of place meaning that Vernon Chwe was probably right about him not being an entirely awful person. That doesn’t mean his flaws still aren’t painfully transparent. He chews with his mouth open and drives ridiculously slowly and he prefers the purple gummy bears over the red ones, but he isn’t half-bad at making oatmeal cookies and he smells nice; like coconut and strawberries.

You wouldn’t say you like him, per se — years of hatred isn’t going to be swept away by a week of spending quality time. You’re just saying that, maybe, the idea of him you’ve created in your head isn’t the real Vernon you’re sitting in front of right now.

“It isn’t as burnt as the first batch,” he winces, dropping a tray of inedible brownies onto the cooling rack. You snicker, amused at his fifth attempt to prove oatmeal cookies aren’t the only things he can bake. He looks up at you, pouting, before asking, “Try again?”

Apron sprinkled with flour, you nod and hop off the stool to start making more batter while Vernon walks to the trashcan to dump the brownies. When he meets you back at the counter, lazily taking the oven mitts off his hands, he grabs the cookbook and reads over the instructions for the umpteenth time before looking up.

And then you two start over.

WHAT I LEARNED TODAY ABOUT Y/N KWON:

ENTRY NINE: July 10

Complains about how I’m a horrible baker but clearly isn’t very good at baking either.

Hoping to God Y/N becomes famous on HGTV because they are definitely not cut out for Food Network.

Monday, July 12 07:34 a.m.

moron: today i’ve decided we’re staying as far away from the kitchen as possible

you: smart idea

moron: and we’re going shopping instead moron: mostly because i was too lazy to think of anything to do last night and partly because seungkwan says there’s a party tmr

you: so we’re shopping for YOU

moron: well yes i figured you wouldn’t pass an opportunity at styling me moron: and also for you, if you want, bc apparently seungkwan also told chan and chan definitely told jiwoo so jiwoo’s definitely dragging you along

you: you’re right but you know what i’m hoping you’re wrong you: whose party is it anyway?

moron: i don’t know someone who went to a different school ig cause i’ve never heard of this person in my entire life moron: all i know is that they’re turning 18. so they’re throwing a rager while their parents are out of town

you: of course they are

moron: i’m abt to leave the house btw get ready

you: yeah yeah i’m already doing it

moron: also we’re making a lot of progress!

you: wdym

moron: this is the first imessage conversation we’ve had where you’ve said i was right AND said that an idea i had was smart

you: aw that’s true!

moron: … i feel like you’re gonna say something else

you: and FUCK you vernon chwe

moron: there it is Read 07:48 a.m.

JULY 13.

Vernon’s body stings — his arms, his legs, his heart. He’s been sitting beside Chan for a solid two hours because they managed to snag a free spot on the sofa, and seeing as the party’s guest list seems to be never-ending, they’ll never manage to find a place to sit if they abandon ship. Him and his friends have come up with a plan: two people sit on the couch while the other roams free and comes back in thirty minutes. But Seungkwan hasn’t been true to his word, the little shit.

A tingling sensation floods the veins in Vernon’s limbs. His heart is ablaze for one of two reasons. One: Before Seungkwan left, he handed Vernon a strange concoction that definitely had too much alcohol in it (or maybe he’s just a lightweight). Or two: his most recent client hasn’t shown up yet. That or you’re avoiding him — which you probably are.

He brings the red plastic cup to his mouth and lets the liquid burn his tongue. It does nothing to ease his chest.

Chan’s fingers do a dangerous dance on his phone, thumbs pressing the caps lock button before they type a long and displeased message. For good measure, Chan even adds the extra iMessage effects so Seungkwan knows how mad he is. Vernon, on the other hand, has accepted that sitting on a sofa at a stranger’s eighteenth birthday party might as well be what fate has planned for him tonight, although he doesn’t really believe in fate and his legs are begging him to stand up.

“Where is that little—” Chan begins grumbling under his breath, squinting at his bright screen. He goes on a mindless rant about how he needs a new phone because his current one won’t update to get dark mode, but upon hearing a loud call of his name, he snaps his head up.

Jiwoo has curled her hair for the night and adorns a bright pink shirt that she’s thrown an oversized white jacket over, which is definitely a bad idea. Never wear white to a party for a teenager who’s freshly turning 18. Vernon learned that the hard way.

“Hey!” Jiwoo exclaims loudly over the music. She sends Vernon a warm smile. “Why are you two sitting down?”

“Seungkwan’s a bitch,” Chan responds, as if that explains enough. Jiwoo seems to understand and nods. “Did you just get here?”

“Yeah, a few minutes ago,” she glances around the room to get a good look of the party-goers. “I was in the kitchen with Y/N before Wooyoung decided to drag them away. They’ve been talking for God knows how long — whenever you put those two together they never shut up.”

Vernon never recalled you being friends with Wooyoung. All he knew was that you two used to have yearbook together and that he’s handy with a camera. He frowns and shuffles uncomfortably in his seat.

He chugs his drink and lets the bitterness itch his throat before he stands up abruptly. Jiwoo blinks at him while Chan begins to scramble on the couch as if someone’s going to plant themselves beside him now that Vernon’s stood up.

“I’m gonna go get a new drink. Jiwoo, can you keep Chan company?”

“Actually, I promised someone I would—”

Vernon grins, stepping aside so he’s no longer within arms reach of Chan. “Thanks!”

“Wait—!”

Chan grabs Jiwoo’s wrists and drags her down beside him, beginning his spiel about why they need to occupy this couch until Seungkwan comes back. Vernon only gives her an apologetic smile before he weaves through the guests and the blood finally starts flowing into his legs.

It takes him a few wrong turns before he makes it to the kitchen. When he arrives, Wooyoung’s loudly talking to somebody else while you’ve seated yourself onto the kitchen island. Wooyoung’s too invested in his conversation that he doesn’t seem to notice that you’ve drifted off, staring at Vernon in the doorway.

You hop off the counter, apologizing to Wooyoung who only shakes his head in dismissal before slowly walking towards Vernon. When you’re close enough to grab his wrist and drag him out of the doorway, you do. A lazy smirk appears on your face upon spotting his necklace, and you greet him with a, “I didn’t actually think you would wear that.”

He unconsciously fiddles with the string around his neck. The beads are smooth against his fingers. “You bought it for me and told me to wear it.”

“Yeah, well, when have you ever listened to me?”

The corners of his lips quirk up as he presses his side against the wall. “I guess never,” he hums. He eyes you for a moment, pondering on what to say next before he decides to ask a question he already knows the answer to. “Did you just get here?”

“A few minutes ago,” you reply without any bite. “You?”

“Been here for two hours,” he sighs. “Me and Chan have been sitting on the couch because we were waiting for Seungkwan—”

“Oh! I saw him not too long ago. He went outside with a few of his other friends and some other people I don’t know. Heard them talking about beer pong.”

Vernon almost snickers at the memory of Seungkwan telling him over the phone that he’s going to practice beer pong to the point where he becomes unbeatable. Practice for frat parties, he had said.

The smallest of smiles appears on his face. “Of course he is.”

You stare at him for a few moments expecting something, but when Vernon doesn’t move a muscle, you raise an eyebrow. “Are you not going to join him?”

“Beer pong isn't really my thing.”

You take a sip of your drink. “Loser.” You smack your lips together, letting your taste buds get used to the fluid. Then, you confess, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

His head gently hits the wall. “What are you talking about? We saw each other yesterday.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, I know, I was just observing something. That should be part of your little journal entry thing: Y/N Kwon is observant.”

Vernon’s cheek barely grazes the wall when he shakes his head. “I’m definitely not putting that into my notebook. I’m not just going to let you make stuff up about yourself and put it in,” he scoffs. “You’re far from observant.”

“That is absolutely not true!” you clamour. “I’m so observant! Like, did you know that you always mouth the words to songs on the radio no matter how much you claim you dislike them. Oh, and you do this thing with your face when you get confused— I don’t know how to explain it, but—but— oh, and you fiddle with the collar of your shirt a lot.”

Vernon’s lips are tempted to go against his brain. He’s tempted to laugh at your demeanour and chuckle at your ramblings, but then he glances down at the cup in your hand — similar to the one he’s holding now — and he realizes with a sigh that alcohol is the reason why your words lack their usual venom. And to think you’ve finally gotten over your petty little grudge.

You scowl at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason. You just have an eyelash on your cheek.”

You use your free hand to harshly rub at the skin underneath your eyes before you blink up at him. “Better?”

He scans your face, looking for something that was never really there. “Better.”

There’s barely anything left in your cup but you still take another sip, attempting to get every drop down your throat. Then, out of the blue, you ask him without hesitation, “Do you believe in love, Vernon?”

It’s a heavy question, but it’s one he should already have the answer to. After all, doesn’t believing in love fall under his job description? Shouldn’t he, top matchmaker for your town’s Soulmate Service, believe in fluttering hearts and butterflies in the pits of his stomach? Shouldn’t he believe in it despite its ups and downs and heartbreaks? Shouldn’t he look past its flaws and put his faith in it although he’s never experienced it in the first place?

It’s a heavy question and he doesn’t have an answer.

“Do you?”

Answer a question with a question of his own. Classic move.

“Yes,” you say. “I think I do.”

“What does that mean — you think you do?”

“Well, I just— I don’t know,” you heave a sigh, lazily dangling the rim of the cup between your fingers. “Believing in that sort of thing is written into my DNA. Mom and Dad fell in love, so did their parents, and their parents… love works out for us. And, like, I’m sure Soonyoung will love his soulmate the moment he meets them, but— I don’t know.”

His hands fly up to the necklace again, moving his fingers from bead to bead and shuffling the accessory around his neck. “Do you think you’ll love your soulmate if you ever met them?”

You still, thinking it over for a moment before clearing your throat. You opt not to answer his question, which he supposes is fair. “Random question,” you announce, although Vernon’s sure this question is something you’ve been thinking about for a while. “If you’ve loved someone your entire life but they aren’t your soulmate, do you think you would be able to fall in love with someone else? Do you think you could do that? Even if you can’t imagine yourself feeling like that for another person?”

“I don’t know,” he says softly. “I think you could if you tried.”

The gears in your head turn to the point where you’ve zoned out, unaware that your eyes are glimmering as you stare at him. Vernon’s lips suddenly feel chapped and his throat feels dry. When he licks his lips, you blink rapidly and straighten your posture at the same time as him.

There’s something about this party that’s messing with both your heads, he’s sure of it.

You stare at him for another moment before lifting your cup and shaking it beside your face. “I’m gonna get another drink.”

He doesn’t see you again for the rest of the night.

WHAT I LEARNED TODAY ABOUT Y/N KWON:

ENTRY TWELVE: July 13

Love is tricky. Maybe helping them get over Seokmin will be harder than I thought.

Wednesday, July 14 12:33 p.m.

moron: do you wanna have a day off today? so you can cure that hangover?

you: m not hungovre you: hungover

moron: ...yeah for sure

you: FUCK U i’m just tired you: please don’t bother me today

moron: okay i’ll just see you tmrw then ??

you: yeah yeah thank you thank you thank you you: do you need a fact or something to write in your notebook?

moron: oh? what’s this? you’re offering to help ME?? moron: 🚨🚨🚨 NEVER BEFORE SEEN!!!! 🚨🚨🚨

you: you’re a nuisance

moron: love you, kwon!!! Read 12:55 p.m.

JULY 15.

He’s toeing dangerous territory.

He should not be searching the attic in the late hours of the night, flipping through old photo albums stored in long-forgotten boxes. He should not wonder what went wrong with his parents when he knows what did. He should not be getting so caught up in what-ifs because his mother’s done it enough and he saw how it almost destroyed her.

Jealousy should not rush through him upon seeing happy couples on the streets. Jealousy is an ugly, ugly thing that will rip him to shreds if he isn’t careful and he shouldn’t let such a gnarly thing tear him from limb to limb.

He shouldn’t be fretting over the meanings behind double texts and impish smiles. He shouldn’t lay in bed at night as the moonlight slips through the crack in his blinds and think about a question he can’t answer.

Do you believe in love?

Shivers run up his spine until he realizes it’s not shivers, but water.

Of course he just had to space out during a water fight.

“Eat shit, Chwe!” you howl with laughter before it’s replaced with a yelp when the cold water from Seungkwan’s gun hits your leg. He chases you down the street, screaming to avenge his fallen friend, all while Vernon stands hopelessly by his downright awful hiding place behind the bush. He watches you shriek as you try to shoot Seungkwan with water. He notes how the sun brings out the warmth in your eyes, and how your footing is incredible for somebody running backwards.

Do you believe in love?

He doesn’t have an answer, but maybe he’ll have one soon enough.

WHAT I LEARNED TODAY Y/N KWON:

ENTRY FOURTEEN: July 15

Terrible at water gun fights. Definitely blinded Seungkwan with their horrendous aim. (Seungkwan forgave them, though. Who wouldn’t?)

JULY 16.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“The fair is open to everyone.”

“No, yeah, I know,” Chan nods slowly, his eyes narrowing at you and Vernon. The latter takes a bite of his donut. “But why are you guys here? No, actually— why are you guys here together?”

You scrunch your nose. “He invited me to come so I did.”

“He invited you to come—” Chan scoffs. “This is unbelievable. I thought Jiwoo was only joking when she said you two were dating! Oh my God. I have to text her right now, why would she even—?”

Vernon almost drops his donut when you push him out of the way to grab Chan’s wrist. “We’re not dating!” he shakes your hand off and goes behind the counter of the booth to look for his phone. “Chan, we’re not! We’re here as—” you blink, glancing at Vernon briefly while thinking of a word to describe your relationship, “—colleagues.”

Chan stops the search for his phone. “Colleagues?”

You hesitate. “Yes.”

The boy stares, mind reeling as he tries to come up with a response. “Yeah,” he clicks his tongue, “I don’t believe that at all.”

You huff and your shoulders droop slightly before taking out some change and giving it to Chan. “Fair enough. A bag of donuts, please.”

Chan takes the money then turns to put the fresh donuts into a bag. When he hands it to you, he plasters a fake smile and pushes you away. “Have a good day! Please leave so I don’t have to endure you and Vernon’s mushiness. I’m here to work, not third-wheel.”

“What the fuck?”

Vernon grabs your wrist and turns you so you’re facing the rides. You miss just how quickly Chan’s displeased smile turns into a scarily knowing smirk, and the short glare Vernon gives him before he turns to face you. “We’re here to enjoy the fair, not argue with Chan,” he chastises, “so where are we off to first?”

You shake your wrist out of his grasp. “I don’t know. Anywhere’s fine.”

His fingers twitch by his side before he runs a hand through his hair. “The spinning teacups it is, then.”

“What— no— are you crazy?” you stammer, staring at him disbelievingly. “The last time I went on those things I had nightmares for two weeks! Those things have come straight from hell, Chwe. No— we’re going on the ferris wheel.”

The disgusted look he gives you tells you a thing or two about his thoughts on what you just said. “Okay, first of all: the spinning teacups are legendary. Second of all,” his eyebrows bunch together when you open your mouth to protest, “the ferris wheel is the most boring ride here.”

You start walking towards the rows of game booths, watching kids and teenagers alike attempt to win only to fail. The games have always been rigged, anyway. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like you.”

Vernon groans, trailing after you like a kicked puppy. “Can you stop saying things like that? People are going to think you still hate me.”

“Good, because I do.” Chan must’ve laced his donut with something because Vernon’s sure you’re lying, which can’t be true because ever since kindergarten, you’ve been convinced he’s dead set on ruining your life. “And better that than people thinking we’re dating, right?”

“I don’t get why you’re so intent on denying that—”

“You’re not my boyfriend, Chwe,” you interject, rolling your eyes. “Of course I don’t want people thinking you are.”

Sarcastically, he comments, “Why are you so hellbent on hurting my feelings?” When you line up at the ring toss instead of answering, Vernon dusts the remaining cinnamon sugar onto his pants and says, “You know these things are rigged, right?”

“Yeah, whatever,” you mutter, digging into your pockets for change. “This is the only booth that gives you that giant elephant if you win, and Seokmin’s been wanting one since he was fifteen, but he has lousy aim, so...”

Vernon stiffens momentarily. You’ve gotten into the habit of casually mentioning Seokmin ever since the fourth — at first, it was just absentmindedly throwing his name into the conversation whenever high school was brought up, but then it gradually turned into pointing out his favourite ice cream place and what movie he would watch when he’s sad. At this point, Vernon’s sure you’re going backwards in terms of getting over him, and if this keeps happening, you’re never going to like the person Vernon sets you up with by the end of the month.

Which is quite sad, since Vernon spent all of last night trying to find people who would best suit you. What a waste of time.

You throw the first ring and miss. Then the second, then the third. The bored teenager behind the counter gives you an insincere smile before calling the next person to come up. When you meet Vernon’s eyes, you immediately scowl.

He grows defensive quickly. “I didn’t even do anything!”

“You were supposed to cheer me on!” you argue. You continue your trek around the carnival and he unknowingly lets you lead him towards the ferris wheel. “What’s going on with you, anyway? You’re always spacing out.”

“Just thinking.”

“What could possibly be happening in that hollow head of yours?”

He doesn’t seem too offended by your statement. Maybe it’s because your words are lacking in acidity, which you’ve noticed keeps on happening, no matter how much you try to worm just a touch of poison. “I was watching this movie earlier and it was just really sad, and it had me thinking if you just — I don’t know — believed in love?”

You take a bite of your donut. “Never took you to be the rom-com type of guy.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

Once you’re sure there’s no more mini donuts in the brown paper bag, you drop it into the nearest trash can you pass by. “Of course I believe in love,” you scoff. “Why? Don’t tell me you don’t. I’m putting my trust in you to set me up with the perfect person and you’re telling me you don’t even believe in—”

“I do,” he says quickly. You won’t be able to tell if he’s lying because he isn’t sure if he is. “I do believe in it. I was just asking you a question. No need to get defensive.”

“You know, we aren’t close enough to be having these types of conversations,” you tut. “Next thing you know, you’re going to ask me if I believe in fate.”

“Well, do you?”

“Do you not?”

“I do,” he replies. You side-eye him skeptically. “Of course I do.”

He notes in his head that maybe you don’t remember the conversation you had with him at the party a few nights ago.

Upon noticing that the line to the ferris wheel is short, you tug on his sleeve and drag him there, ignoring the way his confused blubbering turns into childish whines. Both of you are sitting in one of the carts in no time, and when you let go of his arm, he finally shuts up.

“We could’ve gone to the teacups,” he mumbles under his breath, staring outside.

“We just ate donuts. There’s no way I’m gonna go on that ride with a full stomach,” you say drily. “Besides, once the ride starts you feel like you’re on top of the world. And you can see my house from here!” To prove your point, you jab your finger out the window once the ride starts moving.

Vernon narrows his eyes. “That’s definitely not your house.”

“Close enough,” you shrug. “It’s nice up here, don’t look so upset — look, the sun is setting!”

“How romantic.”

You glance at him with a disagreeing frown. The cart shakes whenever you stomp your feet on it excitedly and he’s sitting in a spot where he’s positive the sun’s glare is ruining his eyesight. When the ferris wheel stops, the both of you aren’t at the top, but instead underneath the cart that is. Vernon wonders if the people there are loving this ride as much as he’s hating it.

Ferris wheels are boring. They’re cliché and overrated and lack the excitement factor that he’s always searching for. It fails to give him the adrenaline he so desperately needs in his system because this ride is made for those who enjoy the outside view, whereas Vernon really couldn’t care less.

But there’s something about the way you point at the booths you passed by and the rides you have yet to go on. The smile on your face is something he’s seen from afar, but he’s never on the receiving end of. Up close, he realizes that there’s a faint dimple on your left cheek that only appears when your lips tug upwards, and when he looks away he can’t stop thinking about it.

The ferris wheel moves again. When you look at him, a smile still apparent, for a crestfallen moment he expects it to disappear. But it doesn’t fall, nor does it waver. Instead, it grows a little wider.

Vernon thinks he feels lighter.

WHAT I LEARNED TODAY ABOUT Y/N KWON:

ENTRY FIFTEEN: July 16

Pretty at every hour of the day but especially prettier under the glow of the sunset.

Hates the spinning teacups. (SHAME!)

JULY 17.

Vernon will never understand why people love rain.

The humidity is appalling as it is, and when it’s mixed with rain, the outdoors grows a little more suffocating. The moisture in the air kills his insides and makes his head spin and he wonders why people enjoy running out their houses and splashing in puddles while the water soaks them head to toe. Sweat mixes with raindrops, mud sticks to the bottoms of shoes, and yet people love it.

A long time ago, Vernon noticed he associates weather with people. His mother is skies filled to the brim with dull, grey clouds and brief zephyr. Seungkwan is the days where the sun is too bright, the breeze is lacking, and the only comfort anybody can find is under the trees. Chan is days where the wind just won’t quit, and the gust of air is enough to send someone over the edge. His father is rain. It fits him — the stifling air and the raindrops falling from clouds filled with despair.

On a good day, his dad is a man who goes to work everyday with the comforting thought that he has the respect of his colleagues. He has pictures of the annual office Christmas parties sitting on his desk and pens he buys on periodic business trips are all kept in a mug he doesn’t remember receiving. He is, without a doubt, good at his job, and he loves the praise that comes along with it; the claps on his back and the invitations to personal parties outside of work. On a good day, he’s perfect.

On a bad day, he’s a man with a family.

A man with a wife he fell out of love with a long time ago and a son who draws superheroes on paper but his family on walls, because he wants to see them whenever he walks by.

Vernon feels a surge of anger at the thought of his dad. He glares at the clouds and he wonders why people love this weather because all it ever reminds him of is pain.

Then there’s a laugh. It’s melodic and loud until it’s interrupted by the raindrops landing in your eyes. You sputter, rubbing at your eyelids before shutting them and letting the rain hit your face. You two were supposed to enjoy a day at the park, but it started pouring out of nowhere, and when Vernon suggested to just go back to his house, you insisted on staying.

The rain tickles your face and sticks to the fabric of your clothing when you turn to him and laugh at his sour expression. You tell him, eyes lively, to stop looking so upset, and then you’re grabbing his hand and dragging him around the park, having no regard for the mud.

He wants to go back to his car. He’s going to ruin his shoes and he wants to leave because the rain reminds him of his father and he doesn’t want to be upset over somebody who abandoned him when he’s here with you.

But then you give him that smile again, the same one he saw yesterday at the fair, and he feels the words die in his throat.

“What’s going on with you?” you ask him, blinking to get rid of the water on your eyelashes.

He watches as confusion clouds your vision and then he shrugs. He doesn’t know.

WHAT I LEARNED TODAY ABOUT Y/N KWON:

ENTRY SIXTEEN: July 17

There’s this thing about them, like they can brighten up something without meaning to. Like the flowers blooming in spring while it’s raining.

Sunday, July 18 10:09 a.m.

you: requesting for a day off today

moron: wtf why

you: something came up

moron: … am i allowed to ask what

you: oh yeah it’s nothing bad you: seokmin just asked if i could help him with something so

moron: seokmin?

you: yes lee seokmin you: my brother’s friend ????

moron: no yeah i know

you: ok lol u just sounded confused

moron: we’re texting

you: 🙄 U KNOW WHAT I MEAN. you: i’ll text you later tho or something. if i remember to

moron: yeah sounds good 👍

Sunday, July 18 22:47 p.m.

you: damn it’s been 12hrs you: me and seokmin’s call ended a while ago but i forgot to text you sorry you: is it gonna be an early morning tmr?

Sunday, July 18 23:04 p.m.

you: okayyy i’m assuming ur sleeping you: u didn’t even say goodnight!!! the lack of decency you have is appalling you: see u tmrw tho Delivered

JULY 22.

Contrary to the message you sent him on the eighteenth, you didn’t see Vernon the next day. Or the day after that. You’ve been Chwe-less for four days which, strangely, is an all-time record — even when he was still a nuisance, Vernon had unknowingly weaselled his way into your everyday life. And you figured that he was going to keep avoiding you, because the look on his face when you enter the Soulmate Service tells you he wasn’t planning on texting you anytime soon.

Jiwoo walks in before you do, holding a Tupperware with fried chicken to give to Winn, and you stand off to the side, watching her make conversation with other employees while she waits for him to come out from the back. Vernon does his best to stay busy, reorganizing pamphlets and dusting off the counter to avoid looking at you.

He’s never been good with confrontation.

He’s so caught up in making sure to avoid you that he doesn’t notice Jiwoo is standing right in front of him until she’s snapping her fingers.

Vernon’s careful not to hit the rack of magazines he just finished setting up. “Hey.”

“Hey!” Jiwoo says enthusiastically with a touch of skepticism. “I feel like I haven’t heard about you in forever.”

He frowns. “I saw you this morning.”

“No, yeah, I know,” she nods, briefly glancing over her shoulder to make sure you aren’t eavesdropping on their conversation. Vernon sees that you’re currently talking to Tessa, a red-haired girl around twenty-two, who’s also waiting for Winn. He’s been in the back for a while now, trying to figure out what to do about one of his flaky clients.

(“It’s so cliché,” Winn scoffed earlier while he was examining some papers, “this guy is, like, incapable of letting himself feel anything. Typical afraid-to-fall-in-love trope. It’s nauseating.”

Vernon had laughed, simply agreeing, although a pool of shame swam in his stomach.)

“I just meant,” Jiwoo adds, pursing her lips, “that Y/N hasn’t complained about you in so long. Which is weird, since you’ve always been a conversation topic — even more so now because you’re… you know.”

Vernon nods awkwardly. “Right.”

Jiwoo eyes him, clearly expecting more than his clipped response, but continues anyway, “I never properly thanked you for doing this — God, what would you even call this? — matchmaking thing?” she ponders over her choice of words before nodding. “I know Y/N complained a lot about the whole getting to know them thing — and I admit I thought it was a waste of time since their birthday is in a couple weeks — but I think this is good for them! And for you, too.”

Vernon, rooted to his spot, barely manages to say, “Sorry?”

“Well, you know what heartbreak does to a person,” Jiwoo explains. “Though Y/N will never admit they’re sad because of pride or whatever. I don’t know, I personally think it’s stubbornness—”

“No, I meant the other thing,” Vernon says quickly, his eyes flitting over to you, who has managed to slip away from Tessa’s less than riveting ramblings. “About their birthday?”

“Oh! Right!” the girl in front of him hums. “It’s on August second. Speaking of, I’m throwing a not-so-surprise surprise party that day, so you can drop by if you want! I’m sure Y/N would want you there.”

“Um, I don’t know—”

“Just come,” Jiwoo licks her lips. She knows he’s going to decline — for a reason she’s not entirely sure — but attempts to stop him from doing so. “They’ll want you there. They’ll say pretend your presence is needed for the whole get to know you plan you came up with, but I think it’s bec— oh! There’s Winn!” she moves to the side, nearly shoving Vernon on her way to the counter, quickening her pace to beat Tessa there. “I’ll talk to you later, Ver— move!”

You snicker as Jiwoo huffs at Tessa before you take a seat on one of the chairs.

Vernon fiddles with the sleeves of his sweater and contemplates the two options weighing down on him. He could stay where he is, avert his attention to the mess two kids had made by the entrance, or maybe to the greasy fingerprints staining the mirrors. He could forget everything Jiwoo just told him and be on his merry way back behind the counter and pretend thoughts of you don’t plague his mind like a virus.

Or he could talk to you while you wait for Jiwoo to finish arguing with one of the customers.

He decides to do the latter.

The moment he enters your line of sight, he thinks something flickers in your eyes. Or maybe there’s something wrong with the lights — he’s been bugging Winn to do something about that.

(He concludes that it’s the lights. False hope almost ruined his mother, he will not let that happen to him, too.)

“And to think I finally got rid of you,” you drawl.

Vernon smiles.

WHAT I LEARNED TODAY ABOUT Y/N:

ENTRY TWENTY-ONE: July 22

Birthday: August 2

JULY 23.

Seven A.M., Vernon sends you the first message since the eighteenth. Seven-thirty A.M., he pulls into your driveway to find you already waiting for him on the doorstep.

He rolls his window down and greets you with a smile. “You’re up early.”

“You told me you were coming,” you fire back, tugging at the hem of your sleeves. “Where are we even going?”

“Nowhere,” he responds, and then brings the window back up. The gaze he gives you is expecting, waiting for you to either enter the car or protest like you always do at this hour in the morning.

You surprise both him and yourself when you do the former, buckling in your seatbelt before kicking your feet up onto the dashboard. Beside you, Vernon stares, waiting for you to complain and leave the car or to pester him about where he’s taking you. When you do nothing except turn the radio on (you pick the country station to spite him), Vernon shifts the gear to reverse and backs out of the driveway.

You don’t say anything for the first few minutes of the ride, afraid that your voice will push him away. You tell yourself you’re worried because the future of your love life has unfortunately landed in the palms of Vernon’s hands, but you remember the feeling you got every time you woke up with your phone void of his usual chirpy good morning messages, and you realize there’s more to your worry than you’re letting yourself believe.

Terrified, your fingers twist the dial of the radio and bring the volume up.

“Are you not going to ask where we’re going?”

You don’t reply for a while, and Vernon assumes it’s either because you didn’t hear him — why did you have to make the volume so loud? — or because you’re ignoring him. After Dolly Parton’s voice is replaced with a commercial, you say, “I did when you got to my house. You decided to be a prick and say nowhere.”

He frowns. “Why are you calling me a prick?”

“Because you are,” you say simply. Your eyes wander to the trees outside. “You know there’s nothing on this side of town, right?”

“Yes,” he rolls his eyes. “Can you get your feet off my dashboard?”

You comply, only to slip your shoes off and bring your knees to your chest. You lose yourself in the surroundings, watching the outside turn into a blur of blue and green; the breeze from the air conditioning calms you while the silence that blankets you two does not.

You never asked Vernon why he fell off the face of the earth or why you never got an explanation about his sudden disappearance in the first place. No text, no hello, not even one of those obnoxious cat GIFs he always sends you in the middle of the night. The curiosity climbs up your throat like bile, and you think you might choke on the concern if you bottle it up.

“Where have you been these past four days?”

Vernon’s grip tightens on the steering wheel before he feigns a nonchalant shrug. “I just got busy,” he says. He glances at you, sees that you’re expecting more than his half-assed reply. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

They say curiosity killed the cat, but that wasn’t so bad, right?

“It’s whatever,” you mutter. “Not like I was worried or anything.” You were definitely worried.

Vernon only smiles, and after a few moments, he pulls into a gas station. “I’m gonna go fill up the tank, you can go inside and get some snacks.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt when he unbuckles his. “For what?”

“Well, typically, when someone gets hungry, they eat food.”

“Fuck you,” you say, not unkindly. “I still don’t know what you’re planning on making me do today, and I’d like to know.”

“We’re just driving around. To do that, though, we need a full tank,” Vernon replies simply. He shoves a ten dollar bill into your hand. “That should be enough to buy a few things — chop, chop, Kwon, we don’t have all day.”

You scowl at him as you open the door. “Don’t boss me around, Chwe.”

When you enter the store, lazily greeting the clerk behind the counter who only gives you a half-hearted hum in response, you make your way towards the first aisle you spot, which only happens to be the candy aisle. You try to refrain from getting too many things, opting to play eenie-meenie when you have trouble picking which candies to get and which ones to not.

Tucking a pack of sour straws against your side, you walk out of the candy aisle in case you lose any ounce of self-control you have left, and make your way towards the rack of chips on sale until you notice a display of shirts near the front counter. A mischievous smile appears on your lips, and you grab the closest shirt you see then drop your stuff in front of the clerk to pay.

The clerk, dressed in a tacky red polo shirt, has absolutely no right to give you a judgemental stare after they see the shirt. “Nice choice.”

You purse your lips. “It’s for my friend.”

“Ah,” the clerk nods understandingly, then juts their head to Vernon, who stands outside, whistling under his breath. “Best friends or just friends?”

Frowning, you ask, “What’s the difference?”

“Well,” the clerk starts, dropping your items into a bag, “surely you know. You just stiffened and you keep on glancing over at him as if he can hear this conversation.”

“I’m not!” you exclaim defensively.

“From your reaction I’m assuming it’s just friends,” they observe. “How would you like to pay today?”

You slam the ten dollar bill onto the counter and grab the bag from the clerk’s hands. “Keep the change. Have a nice day.” You huff, stomping out of the store and making your way towards the car, entering it without giving Vernon a nod of acknowledgement.

The boy raises an eyebrow at your demeanour. After what feels like hours — two minutes — he slips inside the car and dreadfully decides to ask what all the huffing and puffing is about. “What’s going on with you?”

“The worker is awful,” you pout your lips. “I’m gonna give this hellhole a bad review on Yelp.”

Vernon stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Stop being so dramatic.” He hands you his palm, wriggling his fingers ardently. “Where’s the change?”

“I don’t have any.”

“How much stuff did you buy?”

“Just some sour straws and a family size bag of chips. And something else. Told the clerk to keep the change.”

“What the fuck?” Vernon’s jaw goes slack. “You don’t just do that! You just said that clerk was bad! And what if I needed that?”

You go digging through the bag and unfold the shirt. “I hope this makes up for it, though! Isn’t it cute?”

“Keep Calm and Love California?” Vernon reads the shirt then wrinkles his nose. “You wasted my money to buy yourself a shirt? A corny one, too — I thought they stopped putting Keep Calm on everything after 2016.”

“It isn’t for me, dumbass,” you shake your head, holding up the shirt next to his face. “It’s for you!”

Vernon pushes the fabric away from him. “What makes you think I would want that?”

“It’s funny,” you shrug, shoving the shirt back into the plastic bag. “And the blue brings out your eyes.”

If you notice his lips parting and the soft glance he throws your way, you don’t say anything about it. He doesn’t reply to you either, instead staring out the window to hide the blood rushing up to his cheeks.

Ripping the bag of sour straws open, you ask, “Where are we going for lunch?”

Vernon snaps out of his daze. “Uh, there’s a McDonald’s near here,” he answers, driving the car back onto the road. You don’t question how near it could possibly be, since there’s barely anything where the two of you are now. Just plain fields and the occasional cow sightings. “Don’t eat all of those sour straws.”

Chewing obnoxiously on the candy and ignoring his comment, you say, “Hey, I was thinking a few days ago about this whole thing.” You wait for him to reply, but he only nods for you to continue. “And since my birthday’s coming up soon — it’s on the second, you better get me something — maybe we should halt this matchmaking thing? Just in case I meet my soulmate on my birthday — which I doubt, but…”

Vernon clenches his jaw. “It could happen.” He tries to be assuring. “I’ve heard of people who met their soulmates on day one.”

“But the chances are slim,” you drum your fingers on your thigh. “You agree though, right? You’ll stop your whole waking me up early and all that note-taking in your notebook just until my birthday?”

“Definitely not,” he counters without a moment of hesitation. “But here’s what I’ll offer: I won’t set you up until after your birthday.”

“Fine,” you relent.

He gives you a brief smile. “Common ground.” He gestures to the pack of sour straws on your lap. “Gimme, I wanna have at least one before you eat them all.”

You roll your eyes but give him one nonetheless. When he takes a bite, the sugar is bitter — and so is his heart.

WHAT I LEARNED TODAY ABOUT Y/N:

ENTRY TWENTY-TWO: July 23

DO NOT TRUST WITH MY MONEY!!!

Saturday, July 25 23:06 p.m.

moron: new movie just came out on netflix moron: seungkwan told me it’s HORRIBLE!!! do you wanna watch???

you: … but seungkwan said it’s bad

moron: well YEAH but watching bad movies is so fun moron: it’s a real self-esteem booster, i’m telling you

you: are you implying i have horrible self-esteem?

moron: don’t we all?

you: got me there you: send me a netflix party invite ❤️

moron: ????

you: WRONG EMOJI

moron: aww you love me that’s so cute moron: but i have to tell you, kwon… i’m afraid i can’t return the feelings

you: i’m setting your car on fire as we speak

moron: please do not say stuff like that. it actually almost happened once and it was the most traumatic experience of my life. my car + fire hits very close to home, do not joke about that

you: [image attached] you: got the gasoline

moron: PELASE STAY AWYA FEOM MY CAR Read 23:34 p.m.

JULY 26.

On a day where the sun refuses to set but the breeze is just right, you find yourself sitting cross-legged across from Vernon Chwe at the playground that started it all. Except the sandbox is occupied by Jiwoo, Chan, and Seungkwan — the former of which doesn’t care about getting sand on her white shorts — and you and Vernon have situated yourselves at the top of the wooden playground structure.

Nostalgia hits you like a truck. You remember that you would always stand here, proclaiming yourself ruler of the world until the bell rang and you had to slide down the pole to run back to class. You remember falling every time you went on the monkey bars and the familiar burn you felt on your skin whenever you went down the slide. You remember the sandbox, littered with colourful pails and shovels, and the boy you helped because you thought he was lonely.

Vernon’s notebook lies beside him, and you suddenly realize that you don’t know as much as he knows about you. You know the simple things — like he loves mint chocolate ice cream and he’s more of a dog person than a cat one — but it feels like it isn’t enough. It feels as if he knows the veins underneath your skin, the beating of your heart, and the ivory of your bones, but all you know about him is his untamed hair and big smile. He’s spent so long observing you with the intent of getting to know you that he knows every detail you hide under the surface, and there’s a queasy feeling you get in your stomach when you realize that you can’t say the same.

And so begins the game of twenty questions.

“This is a very important question,” you announce, leaning forward. Vernon looks bored, wanting to move on from this game to another, but he has yet to make a protest. “On a first date, would you rather go to a gaming café or a dog one?”

“Dog one,” he answers simply. “My turn. Math or science?”

You frown. “That’s such an awful question.”

“I don’t even know why you’re insisting on playing this game,” he says. “What difference does it make if you know my favourite colour or not?”

Your back hits the wood. “Nothing,” you mumble, “but it’d be nice to know, right?”

He gives you a confused smile, indicating that he still doesn’t follow. It’s stupid that you’re playing twenty questions with a boy you’ve known since before you hit double-digits, but to you, Vernon has always been nothing more than a pain in the ass. Someone who created spitballs and launched it at your head when the teacher wasn’t looking, someone who always showed up to school with bruises from his skateboard and cuts on his arm. Someone who sat three seats to your left and two rows down from you in Mr Winston’s History class.

You remember your graduation ceremony, when you took your high school diploma and looked amongst the sea of faces in the crowd. You spotted Jiwoo, whooping and cheering, and Seokmin and Soonyoung were yelling to the point where you thought they would be kicked out. Your parents were taping the whole thing on camera, and you were sure the video would be uploaded onto Facebook by the time you got home.

But you only spotted Vernon after the ceremony at an after-party, not when you were onstage, looking for people who made your chest swell with pride — who are important to you — because just a few months ago, you didn’t care about Vernon Chwe.

But today, here, you do, and you wonder when all that changed.

You stretch your legs, feet hitting his. “Whatever. Math,” you say, answering his question. “My turn. Do you think, if you weren’t such an asshole in kindergarten, we would’ve been friends?”

“You mean if I didn’t take credit for the sandcastle?” he wonders, to which you nod your head. “Honestly? I don’t know. Maybe. It’s kind of hard to imagine us being friends. Still feels unreal that you’re looking at me right now and you don’t look like you’re about to rip my head off.”

“Careful there,” you hum. “If you keep saying stuff like that I might get the idea that you’re in love with me.”

“Shut up.” He flicks a pebble at you but ends up missing. “My turn! When did you start believing in love?”

“What the hell? Why are you asking me such a deep question?”

“Because you got mad at my other one!”

“Because it was terrible—”

“It was not!” he huffs and gently kicks the soles of your shoes. “Answer the question.”

You click your tongue and play with your bottom lip, pondering your answer. “Um, I guess ever since I was small? I’ve been surrounded by it my entire life, I was kind of forced to believe in it — well, not forced, but you get what I mean. But on top of that, I just thought the idea of soulmates was so fascinating, you know? Like, the universe just picks a person for you.”

“Right,” Vernon says softly. “But sometimes people don’t fall in love. Sometimes people don’t want to.”

“Well, yeah,” you mumble, “but I just thought the idea was cool and everything. You turn eighteen and the universe grants you its red string, and the other person tied to you is who you’re meant to be with — the perfect person.”

He tugs at his fingers. “Sometimes the perfect person isn’t the perfect person, Kwon.”

You pout. “Yes, I know, I’m just saying! Why do you keep saying stuff like that — you’re going to make me think you don’t believe in love.”

“I don’t believe in soulmates.”

This causes you to straighten and sit upright. “What?”

He bites the inside of his cheek. “I just don’t believe the universe has picked the right person for me.”

“What makes you think that?”

There’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite place. It’s gentle, anguished, and dull all at the same time.

“Just a feeling.”

WHAT I LEARNED TODAY ABOUT Y/N:

ENTRY TWENTY-FIVE: July 26

(Too?) Passionate about the universe’s ability to tether them to a perfect individual. Might be so caught up in the ideology of a flawless specimen that they’ll meet their soulmate only to be disappointed.

JULY 28.

Vernon really would rather be doing anything else other than sitting on Jiwoo’s porch helping her plan a not-so-surprise surprise party, but here he is, notebook by his side, as the girl scrolls through Pinterest on her laptop. He’s not surprised to find out that she has a whole board made exclusively for occasions like these — what he is surprised about is that she says she needs his help.

“Should we back the cake ourselves or pay someone else to do it?” Jiwoo moves to stretch her legs. There’s red marks on her skin from the wood. “Maybe we could convince Chan to bake something — you think we could scam him into making it without paying him?”

“No,” Vernon replies. “We definitely wouldn’t be able to scam him. I’ll worry about that, though. What’s Y/N’s favourite cake?”

“Red velvet,” Jiwoo answers before going back to look at her laptop. “Okay, so we have the cake, the venue—”

“We have the venue already?”

“Yeah — have you not been paying attention at all?” Jiwoo scoffs with a shake of her head. “It’s at my aunt’s place just a few houses from here; she’s out of town.”

Vernon glances over his shoulder then nods. “That’s it then, right? I can go home now?” he moves to stand up but Jiwoo’s quick to grab his wrist. “Jiwoo, I have to meet Y/N in, like, ten minutes—”

“Just text them that you’ll be late,” Jiwoo suggests. “I just need your help with one more thing.”

Vernon huffs and moves to grab his phone, distracted enough for Jiwoo to shuffle in the corner of his eye without raising too much suspicion and grabbing his notebook. He vigorously types across the keypad as messages from you continue to come in, and he doesn’t notice Jiwoo’s flipping through his observations until he looks up the same moment she shoves the notebook in his chest.

“Ow—!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What the hell is wrong with me?” Vernon repeats, examining his phone to make sure his last text to you was sent. “What’s wrong with you— were you reading the notebook?”

“I needed birthday present ideas, Vernon,” Jiwoo replies, scooting back when he furrows his eyebrows. “I thought your notebook was gonna help because I assumed the facts you’d have in there was stuff like oh, they mentioned how they love this pretty necklace or they said that when they were younger they always wanted a Squishmallow, but the stuff you have in there is not helpful at all! Well, not helpful to me, maybe more for you—”

“Because it’s supposed to be for me,” Vernon squabbles. “Why would you even need this notebook anyway? They’re your best friend.”

Jiwoo rests her arms on her knees. “I wanted to get them something extra special,” she says. “I’ll worry about the present later, though. Vernon, you seriously have a problem.”

“What?”

“I was only joking about you and them falling in love but,” she pauses, gauging his reaction, “I guess I wasn’t that far off.”

Vernon’s eyes almost pop out of his skull. “What are you talking about?”

Jiwoo doesn’t answer his question. Instead, she says, “Aren’t you supposed to be finding them a summer fling?”

“I am.”

“Okay,” Jiwoo starts reluctantly, testing the waters to see if her next question will push him away. They’ve lived side-by-side for over ten years — she knows what scares him and what doesn’t. “Then why is the stuff you have written down telling me otherwise? Don’t tell me you’ve actually caught feelings.”

His stomach twists. “I haven’t.”

Jiwoo purses her lips and stares at him for a moment before her eyes travel down to his hands. “When’s your birthday again, Vernon?”

He doesn’t answer because she knows.

His phone dings and another notification from you appears on the screen. He glares at Jiwoo and stands up, grasping his notebook as if his life depends on it. As if all his secrets will spill from the pages if he so much as loosens his grip.

“I have to go,” he mutters begrudgingly. “I’ll see you later.”

He walks down the steps and starts the short journey back to his front door when Jiwoo calls for him. He stops, already halfway across Jiwoo’s front lawn, where cigarette butts litter the yellowing grass and weeds sprout up from beneath the ground.

Jiwoo’s voice echoes. “Just don’t get yourself hurt.”

The grip on his belongings tighten. Then he promises, “I won’t,” although he isn’t quite sure if he’ll be able to keep it.

WHAT I LEARNED TODAY ABOUT Y/N:

ENTRY TWENTY-FIVE: July 26

Their favourite cake is red velvet.

Tuesday, July 27 03:02 a.m.

moron: why are you sending me snaps

you: can’t sleep

moron: ah i see

you: yeah it’s awful 😒 you: how about you? can’t sleep as well?

moron: no i just binge-watched a ton of movies

you: …

moron: hey if you want we can facetime and i can talk with you until you fall asleep moron: i can sing you some lullabies… read you some bedtime stories… count sheep with you

you: ok no i don’t want you singing to me you: but we can facetime

moron: really ?????

you: yeah it’s not like i have anything better to do

moron: didn’t actually think you’d agree to that

you: ? why

moron: no reason moron: calling u rn Read 03:15 a.m.

JULY 31.

WELCOME HOME SEOKMIN AND SOONYOUNG!

Although you haphazardly threw this poster together and you didn’t bother to make sure all the letters fit (the last two letters of Soonyoung’s name are squished into the side. For your sake, you’re going to pretend it looks like it says Soonyoung, not Soonyou), you’re still proud of it. Glitter stains your fingers and glue has gotten onto your favourite pair of fuzzy pajama pants, but you still put a smile on your face when the familiar beat-down car pulls into the driveway.

The first thing Soonyoung does when his foot hits the concrete is stare at the lopsided g of his name. He doesn’t greet you with a hello because he briefly seems to have forgotten that you haven’t seen him in weeks, and instead greets you with an annoyed: “Why is Seokmin’s name first?”

You almost drop the poster. “Hi to you too.”

“No, seriously,” Soonyoung shuts the door of his car and examines the poster before gently taking it from your hands. “Why is he first? I’m your brother, I should be first — hey, Seok, look at this.”

In all his glory, Seokmin steps out of the car and lugs a red duffel bag over his shoulder. He smiles at you. “Hey,” he says, then looks at Soonyoung. “Oh, did you make this? It’s so nice, love the amount of glitter that you used— does that say Soonyou?”

You smile sheepishly. “I ran out of room.”

Soonyoung turns the poster around so he’s staring at it yet again, and then he looks up at you with an unappreciative frown. “Do you have no respect for me at all?” he asks overdramatically, and you can’t believe you ever missed this. “Seriously? Soonyou?”

“Just be glad I made a poster in the first place, ungrateful prick.”

Soonyoung flicks your forehead then shuffles over to walk through the open door. “Are Mom and Dad here?”

“They went out to get some food,” you answer, stepping in after Seokmin and Soonyoung do. “Jiwoo’s here, though.”

“Wonderful,” your brother drawls, slipping off his shoes and walking into the kitchen where Jiwoo places two toasted pop tarts onto a plate. “My sibling doesn’t put half of my name on the ‘Welcome Home’ poster, Mom and Dad aren’t home when I get here, and Jiwoo’s eating all the pop tarts.”

Jiwoo licks her thumb and, without looking up, says, “Hi, Soonyoung. Hi, Seokmin.”

Soonyoung places his car keys onto the counter and looks at everything with a genuine smile before his eyes meet Seokmin’s. “Home sweet home.”

“Cheeseball,” you snort, taking the poster from your brother and placing it next to his car keys. “How long are you guys here for?”

“Until the last week of August,” Seokmin replies, glancing at Soonyoung for confirmation before turning back to you and nodding. He leans over to take a piece of Jiwoo’s pop tart. “Anything we missed while we were gone?”

Jiwoo gives Seokmin a warning look when he tries to take more of her food. “Nothing much. Y/N’s really grown a lot, though,” she grins at your raised eyebrows. “They’ve finally let go of their petty grudges.”

Seokmin hops onto the counter. “Oh, are you talking about Vernon?” he opens the cabinet beside his head to shuffle through the food in hopes of finding something to snack on. You’re glad you hid all of your gummy bears in your room before they arrived. “How’s that going, by the way? Are you guys serious? Is he your soulmate?”

You blink. “We’re not dating.”

Both boys ignore your comment. “Y/N’s birthday isn’t until Monday,” Soonyoung sticks his head into the fridge and opens a can of LaCroix.

“Okay, let me rephrase then: do you think he’s your soulmate?”

“Oh, imagine how cute that would be. You’re not sure if he’s your soulmate but then, when you turn eighteen,” Soonyoung grins from ear-to-ear as he watches you struggle to interject. The devilry in his eyes does nothing to ease you, “the string’s already gold.”

You might strangle Soonyoung right then and there. He can’t seem to remember the food he needed to buy at the grocery store or why he walked into a room, but he’ll remember a conversation he had with his sibling when they were sixteen. You bite your tongue and discreetly flip him off.

Seokmin furrows his eyebrows. “Um, I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Well, then they’ll defy the universe!”

Your eye twitches. If you could, you’d go back in time and prevent that conversation from ever happening.

Jiwoo glances at you and then starts to shift the conversation while you look out the window and spot Vernon walking towards your door. Quickly, you turn to make sure nobody’s noticed you focussed your attention on something else, but Seokmin already follows your line of sight and he grins.

The first time he grinned like that was on the last day of first grade when everyone had to put all of their art projects into their bags to take them home. Seokmin and Soonyoung, who ventured from their classroom to yours, had decided it would be hilarious to dump their water into your backpack and ruin the drawing you’d been boasting about for weeks. It was an awful thing to do — you wouldn’t stop crying on the way home — and the two of them were grounded for a week.

He grinned like that in fifth grade too, when he brought Soonyoung a cupcake and sang happy birthday to him before smashing it in his face. He grinned like that in middle school when you told him you liked Joshua Hong to get him off your back, and he created a cheesy WILL YOU GO OUT TO THE DANCE WITH ME? poster on your behalf and gave it to him.

He’s grinning like that now.

Seokmin practically jumps off the counter and shouts an excuse to Soonyoung about grabbing his things while you follow after him, saying you’ll help. You nearly trip on your own two feet when putting on your Dad’s Crocs and racing after Seokmin to make sure he doesn’t say anything to Vernon that’ll embarrass you.

Vernon’s tilting his head at Soonyoung’s car, wondering about its familiarity, before widening his eyes at the sight of Seokmin walking hastily towards him and you not far behind.

“Hi,” Seokmin says, all smiles and optimism. “I’m Seokmin.”

Vernon has to blink multiple times before nodding and shaking Seokmin’s hand. “I’m Vernon.”

Seokmin is still smiling while you place your hand on your knees and try to catch your breath. “I’m aware!” Before the conversation can turn awkward, he adds, “I heard you’re dating Y/N! That’s great — I know how much of a handful they can be.”

You hit his arm. “I’m right here.”

He ignores you. “I wish I could say I’ve heard such good things about you, but Y/N’s always complained, because they used to hate you and everything.” Seokmin shoves his hands into his pockets, and his eyes glint because he has yet to proclaim the last part of his piece that you assume will only punch you in the gut. “But — what was the saying again? — there’s a fine line between love and hate?”

Vernon’s lips part and he looks over at you in hopes to get a hint of what to say. You’re too busy trying to wrap your head around Seokmin’s last sentence. “Um,” Vernon chuckles nervously, “we’re not dating.”

You nod slowly. “We’re friends, Seokmin.”

“Ah,” Seokmin hums, throwing a look of embarrassment, but you know him well enough to pick it apart. Usually, Seokmin does things without thinking, but you’re sure there’s an ulterior motive to this conversation. He’s testing a theory and making sure it’s right. “That’s my bad, then.”

He salutes, makes a short comment about going back inside and pats you on the shoulder. You inhale, patiently waiting for the ache to come. But your heartbeat remains steady and you think, for the first time since you’ve known Seokmin, you can finally breathe.

Once Seokmin’s out of earshot, you turn to Vernon. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Vernon eyes your front door. “He’s back?”

“Only for a couple weeks,” you reply. “Why are you here?”

“I thought we could hang out,” he takes a step back and gestures towards Soonyoung’s car and then towards your house. “But if you want to catch up with them, that’s fine, I can just text you later.”

“No, actually—” you bite your tongue and search Vernon’s expectant gaze. “We can hangout. I’ll see them later, anyways.”

Vernon waits for you to change your mind — he gives you plenty of time to do so, too, and when you show no sign of going back, his lips quirk up to form a small smile. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” you exhale, falling into step beside him. “Where to?”

WHAT I LEARNED TODAY ABOUT Y/N:

ENTRY THIRTY: July 31

They consider me a friend? No, I am not smiling like an idiot right now.

AUGUST 1.

Vernon doesn’t expect to spill his heart out to you with one hour left until August second, but here he sits, grass tickling his calves and eyes sprinkled with stars, and then the words fall from his lips like a bottle overflowing with water.

“I don’t believe in soulmates because it didn’t work out for my parents,” he says softly. He’s afraid if he talks any louder, the entire neighbourhood will hear. “My mom doesn’t like talking about it so I don’t know the entire thing, I just— they loved each other until they didn’t.”

You open your mouth to apologize to him but realize that won’t help — it’s obvious Vernon doesn’t care about it much anymore, but you can’t just stay silent.

He speaks up again. “Do you remember our conversation at that party a few weeks ago?” He spots you shaking your head from the corner of his eye. “You asked me if I believed in love, and I didn’t answer you because I didn’t know if I did — which is weird, right? How can I work at a place meant for love when I don’t even know if I believe in it?” You don’t know what to say, so he continues. “But I think I have an answer now. I believe in love, but maybe not for myself.”

This, however, you have an answer to. “Vernon,” you protest, shaking your head. “Don’t be ridiculous. So many people love you.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I mean the soulmate type of love, the one fate just—”

“Don’t say that,” you interrupt, straightening your spine and turning to face him. “You said the same thing when we were at the playground.”

He scoffs. “Because there isn’t someone for me.”

“You don’t know that,” you say immediately. He gives you a look that tells you that he doesn’t believe your words, and he thinks you don’t believe them either — but you do. “There’s somebody out here for you, Vernon. Maybe you just haven’t met them yet.”

He blinks. “I have.”

“What?”

“I have,” he turns from the caring pools in your eyes just in case he falls into the deep end. “I met my soulmate a while ago.”

Your lips part. “What?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs incredulously, as if he can’t believe it either. “They didn’t want me, which wasn’t surprising. This is my point, Y/N — love just doesn’t work out for me.”

You slump, hands falling behind you to steady yourself as you look away from him. Your head spins and your eyebrows furrow, and, because your curiosity threatens to spill over, you ask, “When’s your birthday?”

He bites his lip, wondering if it’s worth telling you.

And it is. It’s worth it because, after what seems like forever, you two have finally found common ground. When you look at him, you smile with no annoyance or irritation or burning hot rage. When you look at him, it’s like the world grants him oxygen to breathe.

“February eighteenth.”

(The stars hold their breath, waiting—)

The next words that fall from your lips are the wrong ones to say. “That’s the same day as Seokmin.”

(—and they sigh.)

WHAT I LEARNED TODAY:

ENTRY THIRTY-ONE: August 1

Maybe the best nights aren’t spent rewatching The Vampire Diaries until the sun rises. Maybe they’re spent next to Y/N Kwon.

AUGUST 2.

Okay, so maybe this party isn’t so bad. You’ll admit that you half-expected Jiwoo to invite dozens of people neither of you know, but the party started an hour ago and all you’ve seen are familiar faces.

For the time being, you’re in the kitchen with Soonyoung and Seokmin, the former sitting on the counter while Seokmin leans against it. They’re rambling about the new people they’ve met on campus, their potential new classmates, and you nod along. When your brother animatedly throws his arms up in the air whilst telling a story about their second day on campus, you realize that Seokmin and Soonyoung are probably better off away from here. And you don’t start crying at the realization.

You’re sure you’ll always miss them, but that’s what makes reunions like these so memorable. You’ll see Soonyoung during spring break and send Seokmin photos of stuffed animals you know he’ll love and for you, that’s enough. Here, spending time with your brother and your friend is enough.

“And there’s this guy, Jihoon, amazing dude,” Soonyoung's voice booms. “He makes music and stuff. I don’t know how all of it works but seeing him do it is just so— God, I don’t even know how to explain it.”

You smile then look at Seokmin. “How about you? Met any other cool people?”

Seokmin opens his mouth to answer but Soonyoung interjects before he can. “He’s been spending all his time with his soulmate instead of meeting other people.” Despite Soonyoung’s bitter tone, he nudges Seokmin with his elbow and grins. “He’s so in love it actually makes me sick.”

“I’m not— shut up,” Seokmin hisses. Something tells you his flushed cheeks aren't from the alcohol. “I met some people, too. Like Minghao whose dorm is across from us, he’s nice, and— yeah, I guess going to college with your soulmate is a bonus.”

“Don’t downplay it like that,” you tell him. “Admit it, you’re in love.”

Seokmin exhales. You’ve never seen that type of love in his eyes before. “Yeah,” he says, lips turned upwards, “yeah, maybe a little.”

“I told you,” Soonyoung quips, ruining the moment entirely, “the love is ruining him, Y/N. It’s ruining him.”

“Fuck off,” Seokmin laughs and shoves Soonyoung’s side, which only makes Soonyoung whine about the booze spilled on the floor. “You’ll be like this too once you meet your soulmate — granted you don’t end up running them away.”

Soonyoung shakes his head with a grin. “Low blow.” Before he brings the cup to his lips, he nods to you. “And I probably won’t meet my soulmate for a long time. Probably never, really. But I can’t say the same for Y/N.”

The colour drains from your face at the thought that you’ve lost track of time. You glance at your hand and then the clock and then back at your hand again. It’s nearing eleven-thirty — you have around thirteen minutes until the red string of fate ties a knot on your pinky.

As if he can read your mind, Seokmin’s eyes soften. “Hey,” he mumbles. It’s a surprise you can still hear him above the loud chattering around you, “I know you’re nervous, but you don’t have to be. The string will appear on your hand and feel weird for a few days, but you’ll end up forgetting about it. And on the off chance you meet your soulmate tonight,” he pauses upon noticing a group of friends entering the kitchen. His eyes fall on a certain brunet boy, “then is that so bad?”

Vernon stands at the door talking with Seungkwan and Chan, and you stare for a bit too long that, when you weakly protest, “We aren’t dating,” it loses all its credibility.

Seokmin grins from behind his cup. “Never said you were.”

Chan sees you first and stumbles towards you, smiling wide. “Y/N! Happy birthday!” When he reaches you, his hands fall on your shoulder and he leans against you. “How does it feel? You’re turning eighteen!"

You don’t answer Chan’s question because you aren’t as excited for today as you thought you’d be and you don’t have the heart to burst his excitement. Truth be told, you liked the comfort your last summer as seventeen-years-old has given you. You had freedom but not quite. “Are you drunk?”

Chan brings his fingers up. “A little. Needed liquid courage to sing happy birthday to you in front of all these people.”

“That’s not until later.”

“Got ahead of myself,” he murmurs, moving to lean against Seungkwan when he and Vernon stop beside you. “Hey, Seungkwan. Vernon,” and then his eyes travel to Seokmin and Soonyoung, suddenly registering the presence of two other people. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hi, I’m Seokmin,” the boy raises his cup in greeting and all Chan does is nod in acknowledgement. Nobody would ever forget the boy who always seemed to find joy in a place everyone wanted to get out of. How ironic that he wanted to leave, too. “You’re Chan, right? I like your family’s donuts.”

Chan smiles politely like he always does when somebody compliments his family’s donut business. “Thanks. Means a lot.”

“I’m Soonyoung,” your brother tilts his head, examining the new boys by your side. “Birthday celebrant’s brother. Also a dancing machine and gardener extraordinaire.”

You deadpan, “He can’t garden.”

“I can,” Soonyoung grumbles. “Fuck you.”

Chan almost trips when Seungkwan pushes him off his shoulder. “Seungkwan. I’m good at Just Dance but I don’t garden.”

Vernon glances at you, gives you a nod like you two are in your own little world for two seconds before he introduces himself as well, but since Seokmin grins like they’re already friends and Soonyoung’s lips part in realization, he really didn’t need to. Still, he shakes Soonyoung’s hand when your brother extends it.

“Jiwoo said we’d find you here,” Vernon says, wiping the sweat of his hands on his jeans. “Someone brought a karaoke machine and we figured you wanted to try it out.”

“Oh, yes, that’s why I drank,” Chan claps his hands. “Liquid courage. For singing.”

You frown. “I thought it was because you wanted confidence to sing to me.”

“Yeah, sure,” Chan nods and then he tugs on your arm. “C’mon, sing a duet with me. I think there’s ABBA.”

Seungkwan snaps his fingers. “Oh, oh, you guys can sing that song they had in Mamma Mia!” he exclaims, tilting his head up at the ceiling to try and remember the name. “What was it called again?”

Vernon blinks. “Literally all the songs in the Mamma Mia! soundtrack are by ABBA—”

“Shut up, Vernon.”

You don’t even have a chance to wave a goodbye to Soonyoung and Seokmin because Chan’s grabbing your sleeves and dragging you alongside him to the living room, and you swear there’s more people in there than there were a few minutes ago. Vernon and Seungkwan trail behind, bickering about which Mamma Mia! movie was best, occasionally asking you and Chan to back them up.

Chan stops in front of the coffee table and takes the mic from a boy you think sat behind you in Chemistry. “Give me that,” he grumbles and you smile apologetically. “Everyone, make way for Y/N, they’re the birthday celebrant! Also please cheer them on even if they end up being tone deaf.”

“Chan, shut up,” you hiss.

Chan flips through the guide while you collapse on the couch beside Vernon, complaining under your breath about the unwanted attention you're receiving, to which Vernon only responds with a reassuring smile and a playful nudge.

“You’ll do fine,” he murmurs under his breath. “Chan can sing, though, so good luck. No pressure.”

“You’re horrible at these motivational talks.”

“Never said I was good,” he shrugs. “Happy birthday, by the way. I don’t think I said it yet.”

“You sent me fifteen texts throughout the day and used those special iMessage balloon effects.”

“I needed to make sure I got the message across.” Vernon frowns and searches your face for something. “And you only reacted to those texts with a thumbs up.”

“What was I supposed to say? Thanks?”

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Vernon retorts. “I don’t know, maybe reply with something more exciting? You’re acting like today isn’t a big deal.”

“Because it isn’t.”

The student council in high school — which you were part of — would always put up posters of fairytale love stories on bulletin boards and decorate the walls with gold on Valentine’s Day. It was nonsense and cliché, especially since the decor was supposed to be taken down before the next day, but Vernon always remembered, every Valentine’s Day, you would gush to Jiwoo about turning eighteen. Love, you would say, to which Jiwoo would add: and freedom.

He expects you to be as excited about this as you once were about the idea of it all. He wants you to enjoy tonight because you should.

Chan nudges your foot. “Picked the song.”

Behind the couch, Seungkwan pulls his phone from his back pocket and opens his camera app. When you stare incredulously at him, he only shrugs, “Your brother said to get this on tape.”

You rub the temples of your forehead. “God—”

When Chan pulls you off the couch, that’s when Vernon notices how close you were. The feeling of your arm pressed against his burns his skin and only disappears when Seungkwan slips into the space beside him, fumbling with the settings on his phone and murmuring about editing special effects over the video — just to make it more special.

“Should I add a voice filter?” Seungkwan calls, and you only flip him off. The boy laughs and, before pressing the record button, whispers out of the corner of his mouth, “You and Y/N looked cozy.”

Vernon knows where this conversation will go if he stays seated beside his best friend. Seungkwan knows him like the back of his hand — as all best friends should. He knows what makes Vernon tick and what pushes him over the edge to do what he needs to do. Seungkwan’s pushed him out of his comfort zone before, and he’ll do it again.

“Where are you going?” you ask when Vernon steps back to walk out of the living room. “That terrified of hearing me sing?”

It’s teasing, the way you talk to him, but when he looks at you, worry has engulfed you. He gives you his best smile, but he isn’t sure if it’s reassuring enough.

“No,” he denies almost immediately. “Just going to get a drink. I’ll be back before you finish. Promise.”

Vernon finds himself in the kitchen again, only this time, he’s standing by Lee Seokmin, who frowns at the boy hastily pouring himself a cup of Jiwoo’s notorious sick-to-the-stomach punch. Seokmin blinks at him for a moment before murmuring something to Soonyoung and squeezing himself into the spot next to Vernon.

“You shouldn’t drink that,” Seokmin warns cautiously. “Jiwoo’s punch is terrible. One time I couldn’t move for days — I don’t know what she adds in it.”

“Yeah, I was just…” Vernon trails off and brings the cup to his lips before hesitantly placing it back down on the counter. “I’m thirsty.”

Seokmin nods and Vernon can tell there’s going to be more to this conversation than painful small talk. “Listen,” Seokmin starts, shifting his body to face Vernon, who refuses to turn his head. “I know you and Y/N aren’t dating, so I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable in any way when I joked about—”

“I’m not,” Vernon stops him. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

“Okay. Because when you saw me a few days ago you looked like you didn’t want to talk to me, which yeah, I understand, you don’t know me that well, but,” Seokmin clicks his tongue, “when you saw me today, you genuinely looked annoyed.”

“I’m not annoyed, I’m just…” Vernon cuts himself off, preventing his next words from falling from his lips because if they do, he’ll be admitting something to himself he doesn’t want to admit. And it’s not like he and Seokmin are buddy-buddy enough to know each other’s deepest darkest secrets. “Forget it.”

“Well, I talked to Soonyoung about it,” Seokmin continues, not listening to Vernon’s begrudged forget it, “and he said it’s because you probably actually like Y/N. Which was a joke — he finds it hilarious, actually, that you two are friends now — but I don’t think he’s far off. And I talked to Jiwoo. She really thinks you have feelings.”

Fuck it. Vernon takes a swig of the punch.

From the corner of his eye, Seokmin winces. “I know you have some sort of problem with me, I don’t know what it is,” he sucks in his teeth, “but tonight at eleven forty-three, Y/N’s going to get their soulmate string, and these feelings are going to end up hurting you.”

“It’s a little too late for this talk,” Vernon mutters. “Besides, I already know who my soulmate is.”

“Huh. When’s your birthday?”

“February eighteenth.”

Vernon swears he wants to die when Seokmin replies, “Oh, hey! That’s my birthday, too!”

“Yeah. Me and my soulmate haven’t gotten the twenty-four hours yet, though,” he explains, waving his hand up in the air dismissively. “The whole ‘you have twenty-four hours to fall in love’ bullshit? Yeah.”

“Oh. They didn’t want to do it?”

Vernon considers his options. He doesn’t know Seokmin — all he knows about him is that he used to go to the same school, he has an endless amount of striped shirts, and he’s been oblivious to his best friend’s sibling’s infatuation for years. And Seokmin doesn’t know him, either. He won’t know if Vernon lies.

But... Vernon pushes his tongue up to the roof of his mouth then takes another sip of the punch.

“No, they haven’t gotten their string yet.”

Seokmin hums then pushes himself off the granite counter. The conversation has hit a dead end. He points to the clock. “They’re singing happy birthday soon.”

Vernon discards his cup and nods his head. “Right, yeah, of course,” he mumbles and doesn’t say goodbye to Seokmin when they split paths; Seokmin to Soonyoung, and Vernon to you.

On his way to the living room, though, Jiwoo tugs on his arm and tells him to find the lighter, and he spends a good five minutes rummaging through the drawers in the kitchen until Jiwoo decides to give up. She’s talking to a person beside her, discussing different ways to light candles, when someone shouts at the top of their lungs that it’s eleven forty-five and Jiwoo is late.

She hurries into the living room, apologizing that she missed the exact minute you turned eighteen, but you only shake your head to reassure her it’s fine. Jiwoo starts to bicker with Soonyoung about her time management when someone says something to you, and Vernon watches as realization dawns on your face. You look at the clock above the TV — still flashing you and Chan’s karaoke points, which is unbelievably low — then at your pinky, and then at Vernon.

He realizes a second too late why you’re staring at him.

He has two options. Option one: Push through the crowd formed around you and touch you. Touch your arms, graze your cheek, hold your hands. He can let himself be burned again by the feeling of your skin, let himself drown in its hypnotizing warmth, and let fate’s clock start. If he does this, by this time tomorrow night, you are either in love with him or you aren’t.

But he decides it’s too scary. Maybe taking that risk isn’t worth it.

So he chooses the second option. And he runs.

WHAT I LEARNED TODAY ABOUT Y/N KWON: WHAT YOU LEARN TODAY ABOUT VERNON CHWE:

ENTRY ONE: August 2

He’s your soulmate.

Soulmate lore states that when somebody’s string is excruciatingly tight, it means their soulmate is far (Soonyoung believes he’ll never meet the love of his life simply because the string around his pinky feels like it’s cutting off his circulation). On the other hand, if you get it but it doesn’t feel like it’s there at all, it means your soulmate was always closer than you anticipated.

When Vernon slips out the door, you look back at your fingers to make sure you aren’t hallucinating. But then you feel a tug, as if fate is pushing you to follow him.

The words you mumble to Jiwoo are incoherent but you’re out the door before she can complain. Chan tries to grab your sleeve and make you stay so he can embarrassingly sing happy birthday, but you slip out of his grasp and rush out the door, desperately trying to spot Vernon’s brown head of hair.

You unlock your phone after Face ID decides it can’t detect your face in the dark and press Vernon’s contact. The phone rings and rings and you think he might be ignoring you until you faintly hear Seungkwan inside wondering aloud why you’re calling Vernon.

Of course he left his phone here.

You’re about to run down the street towards his house. Emotions flood every artery in your body, but you can’t quite place what it is. Anger, maybe, because Vernon never told you he was your soulmate. Sadness, maybe, because the first thing he did when he saw you looking at him was run. Desperation, maybe, because you need to talk to him. You need to hear his voice.

“Y/N.”

You swear you almost trip down the porch stairs.

Vernon stands on the street, eyes tired. You think, for a moment, he didn’t run because he was afraid, but because he wanted to talk to you without anybody around. You hope, for a moment, he isn’t going to slip between your fingers like sand and disappear before you even have a chance to love him.

But Vernon looks at you as if his heart is made of porcelain.

“Hi,” you whisper. “Why did you leave?”

“I was going to go back home, actually, but I think you deserve to hear this from me, and not from a text,” he starts carefully. Dread seeps into your face and you swear your heart’s being crushed. But no. Maybe what he has to say won’t be bad at all. “We can’t do this, Y/N.”

The air is shoved out of your lungs. “What?”

“This isn’t going to work,” he says. “It was never going to work.”

Suddenly, the anger drowns the sadness and desperation both. “What are you talking about?” you ask incredulously. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“Soulmates need two people to work, Y/N.”

“Is this about you thinking you don’t deserve love?”

“No.” Yes. “It’s about how you have been in love with somebody for years and that person isn’t me.”

The fury dissipates. “That doesn’t matter anymore, Vernon,” you reply, hopelessly clawing for any sign that he’ll change his mind. “It doesn’t. I don’t love him anymore—”

“You can’t love somebody for over half your life and get over it in a month,” Vernon interrupts. He needs you to see his point of view. He needs you to let him go because he isn’t strong enough to love someone who doesn’t love him back. “That’s not how it works.”

“Don’t dictate my feelings, Chwe.”

“Don’t you see?” Vernon scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “That right there. Look at your face, Y/N, you look like you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you—!”

“You did for years, stuff like that doesn’t just—”

“Vernon,” you cut him off, anguish flushing your cheeks. “You hated me too, and look where we are now. We became friends, feelings change—”

“No, that’s different,” he shakes his head when you step forward. “No, I never hated you. You hated me.”

Your hands drop to your side. “Vernon, come on,” you plead. The misery tickles your throat and threatens to spill. “You can’t just cut me off like this.”

“I can,” he murmurs. “Me and Seungkwan are leaving for New York at the end of this month and you’re staying here. The timezones and— no matter how much you think you can make it work, it won’t.”

“So, what,” you exhale, blinking quickly to make sure tears don’t fall down your cheeks, “that’s it?”

“I survived months knowing that we would never work, Y/N,” He takes a step back, ready to end this conversation because he cannot bear to stand in front of you while you look like your heart has been ripped to shreds. “I think I can survive the rest of my life.”

You hear Jiwoo’s aunt’s cuckoo clock the same time Vernon turns to begin his trek towards his house. And just like Cinderella, you lose everything at midnight.

Tuesday, August 3 09:07 a.m.

you: listen i know you don’t wanna talk to me but i think you’re being really unfair you: please answer my calls

Tuesday, August 3 21:08 p.m.

you: i gave you 12 hours to talk to me that’s enough right? you: vernon please

Wednesday, August 4 01:01 a.m.

you: i swear i’m about to kick your door down

Wednesday, August 4 10:19 a.m.

you: okay so you don’t wanna talk to me i get it you: but you really did not have to send seungkwan down here. you could’ve just said it to my face you: soonyoung and seokmin are looking at me like i’ve been punched in the gut you: which i guess i have

Saturday, August 7 16:55 p.m.

you: wanna watch a movie?

ji: he’s still not talking to you?

you: u didn’t answer my question

ji: yn..

you: yeah he’s still not talking to me

Wednesday, August 11 12:08 p.m.

seokmin: saw vernon at the grocery store & told him to talk to you

you: what makes you think he’s gonna listen to you

seokmin: i don’t know seokmin: hope?

you: seok

seokmin: you two can’t just give up seokmin: that’s so dumb seokmin: why doesn’t he wanna try anyway?

you: it’s a long story you: i don’t wanna talk abt it rn

seokmin: yn

you: seokmin

seokmin: ...fine seokmin: im omw back with some walmart cupcakes

you: thank you

Saturday, August 14 23:57 p.m.

chan: okay this is stupid chan: yn please talk to vernon

you: is this a new gc?

seungkwan: IDK WHAT U DID TO VERNON BUT WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU...

chan: SEUNGKWAN

you: if he doesn’t wanna talk to me then i’m not gonna talk to him

seungkwan: because you’re a COWARD?

you: because he thinks i don’t love him

seungkwan: wait what

chan: I TOLD U VERNONS THE ONE IN THE WRONG chan: wait chan: ???? U LOVE HIM ?

you: BYE chan BYE seungkwan

AUGUST 15.

Vernon thinks he might collapse.

When he woke up this morning, he ate breakfast, brushed his teeth, took a shower, changed, reminded himself that he doesn’t have to drive to your house to pick you up, and went to work. Upon arriving at the Soulmate Service, Winn made him talk to his clients — a thirty-something woman who’s skeptical of Vernon’s abilities as a matchmaker (which he supposes he deserves) — and then went into the back room to help Winn make a plan on how to handle the Soulmate Service in Vernon’s absence.

He’s about to go on his lunch break when he walks out from behind the counter to find you sitting in the chairs of the waiting room, tapping your feet impatiently. He freezes, then you freeze, and then you stand up and start spewing indecipherable words. The only things Vernon catches are: Jiwoo said you wouldn’t be here and sorry. You look good.

Vernon has to blink multiple times to make sure he isn’t seeing things. He knows he was the one that ghosted you, but air fills his chest like a gas tank pumping helium into balloons. He’s missed you.

“Um,” he starts. The one syllable is enough to make you clamp your mouth shut. “Sorry. What are you doing here?”

The words come out harsher than he anticipated. “Oh, Jiwoo needed to drop something off,” you say meekly. “And I need to talk to Winn about ending the service. We haven’t spoken in a while, so I figured this thing is done, right?”

This was a long time coming — he knows that. There are consequences to his actions, and those just happen to be never seeing you again. But this hits him — really hits him. He’s rooted to his spot, as if his legs are conspiring against him and he’s being stopped from stopping you.

He picks his words carefully. “You ended it already?”

“Not yet,” you reply. “Jiwoo went to go buy something so I’m just waiting for her. And one of your co-workers said Winn was busy, so.”

“Right,” Vernon nods. “We were talking about, uh, New York.”

Your face drops, just a little, but it’s enough for Vernon to notice. “You and Seungkwan are leaving soon then?” you ask, then shake your head. “Never mind, stupid question. Seungkwan’s packing and everything.”

“You guys talk a lot?”

“A little,” you hum. “And also he spams his Instagram story a lot. I swear that thing is like five minutes long.”

Vernon’s lips quirk up. It’s barely a smile, but even just a hint of it tugs at your heartstrings. This kind of feeling is something you’ve only read about in books — the feeling of having such a big connection with somebody that when they leave it physically hurts. Sorrow digs into your chest and breaks you apart. It’s a feeling you don’t ever want to feel again.

It’s baffling, almost, how much you missed his smile. Even the amusing smirks and the teasing shit-eating grins.

As two people walk by, you take a few steps forward and Vernon almost recoils, as if he doesn’t want to touch you. But he does — however, here’s the thing: when the twenty-four hours starts, there’s a chance his string will be cut, which means he’ll no longer be connected to you. At least when he leaves for New York, the string will still be there — albeit a little tighter — but when it’s gone, you’re gone.

The idea of never seeing you again is something he doesn’t want.

“Vernon,” you murmur. “Why won’t you give this a chance?”

It’s a heavy question, isn’t it? Why won’t you give this a chance?

There’s a multitude of answers he can give, but it all boils down to: you being his soulmate terrifies him. You not being his soulmate does, too.

Vernon plops himself in the seat in front of you and hesitantly, you sit back down. “You know in fifth grade I was supposed to sit next to Jiwoo? But Seungkwan asked to switch because he couldn’t see the board from the back,” his back hits the soft cushion and he stares down at his feet. “I felt bad about the whole sandcastle thing in kindergarten. I tried to make it up to you. I tried — God — I tried to be your friend but you weren’t having it.”

“You were an asshole in fifth grade.”

“Yeah, I,” he sighs, “that’s how I was with Seungkwan. That’s why I tried to be like that with you.”

You bite your cheek. “Okay. But that was years ago.”

“I know,” he says. “But I don’t wanna mess this up again.”

“Technically, you almost did when you ghosted me for two weeks,” you give him a hesitant smile. “But we’re here now, right?”

You barely move, but it feels like you’re inching closer and closer to him. His heart climbs up his throat. “If we don’t love each other after this is over, we’re done for.”

You pause. “You think we won’t be friends?”

“I want us to be,” his voice is almost inaudible. “But I don’t think that’s enough.”

“Sometimes it is,” you stand again, eyes flickering over to the closed door behind the counter and smile. “I promise you this won’t end if the string is cut. Or if you go to New York. Really.”

There’s a moment of silence where Vernon sits, staring at your hand. He’s pretty sure you haven’t been very persuasive at all during this entire conversation, but as much as there’s a part of him that wants to run, there’s another part of him that wants to try. He feels his heartbeat stammer against his ribcage.

He brings his hand to his knee. “Winn will be pissed if I just left.”

“He’ll be fine. It’s not like he can fire you,” you bite your tongue to stop yourself from smiling. “Aren’t you the best in the game?”

Almost doubtfully, he reaches for your hand. When warmth shoots up his arms it’s too late to take anything back — you are his, even if it’s just for a day, and fate’s clock has started.

Sunday, August 15 11:30 a.m.

you: had to run out sorry i’ll see u tmrw

ji: oh okay :/ did you talk to winn? ji: ? why’s winn mad lol i just got back and he’s asking me if i’ve seen vernon ji: wait ji: WAIT ji: YN?? Delivered

“Did you plan this?”

“No. Obviously not. God, fuck,” you groan, glaring at the closed sign of the café as the rain falls down your back. “I swear this place was open when me and Jiwoo walked past it on our way to Target.”

Vernon raises his eyebrows, scanning over the Opening Hours sign by the door. “They’re not open on Sundays.”

“What kind of café isn’t open on Sunday?” you scoff, turning around to look for somewhere to take shelter in. So far, this Soulmate Day hasn’t gone exactly as planned. Not like you even planned it, anyway — you just wanted it to go smoothly. “Really, sometimes people just need a pick-me-up, but of course it’s closed.”

Vernon smiles. “It’s fine, we’ll find somewhere else to go.”

You look up at him. “You look like a dog.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, your hair’s all wet,” you snort. “And you kind of look like a wet dog. It’s cute.”

“Alright,” Vernon huffs, leaning against the closed door and glancing up at the raindrops pounding against the pavement. “So is this what we’re going to do all day? Loiter in front of a closed café until the rain stops?”

You deflate. “No, of course not,” you scoff. A beat of silence, then: “I hope not.”

He watches as you narrow your eyes at the clouds and bites the inside of his cheek. “I don’t think it’ll be stopping anytime soon,” he says, sliding down so that he hits the pavement. “Sit. Might as well spend our last twenty-four hours talking.”

“Last twenty-four hours,” you scoff. “Neither of us are dying.”

Vernon sighs. “Sit.”

With a groan, you take a seat beside Vernon, the cold concrete sending a thrill down your spine as soon as your skin touches it. As the rain patters relentlessly on every surface, you frown and rest your head against the café’s window. These Soulmate Days, as your mother likes to call them, are usually spent having fancy, over-the-top dates — the kind of dates you would only have the idea for if you spent hours on Pinterest, searching for perfection.

A raindrop hits your eye and you try to blink it away. You don’t even know how it landed on your face; you and Vernon are sitting under the slanted roof of the strip mall.

“Today was supposed to be fun.”

Vernon frowns at your dejected expression. “Hey, it’s okay.” His elbow hits yours. “Really. You said you didn’t plan this, so you never would’ve known it’d start pouring.”

“Yeah, but,” you exhale, “I wanted today to be good, you know?” Because if it isn’t perfect how will it be enough to convince him this is worth it? “And you hate the rain.”

He stares at the wet material of his shoes. “Yeah, I do.”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, basking in the other’s presence. Vernon watches the rain while your mind spins, trying to use all the problem-solving skills your teachers in school would tell you to use. But sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you can’t find a way to solve this problem, because here you are — sitting on an empty street, waiting for the rain to stop, while the humidity swims into your bloodstream, next to a boy who thinks you’ll never love him.

Wait.

You sit up. “Hold on,” you say, spinning quickly to face Vernon. “Do you love me?”

He laughs. “What?”

“Do you love me?”

Vernon looks at you weirdly, shuffling to look at you properly. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t think I love you.”

“Well, yeah, because you don’t—”

“But you love me.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Yeah, I thought that was kind of obvious.”

You send him a short glare. And then, “How long?” you ask. When he frowns, you add, “How long have you loved me?”

Vernon grows quiet, eyes flitting from the sidewalk then to the clouds and then to you. He has that look on again — the difficult-to-interpret, undecipherable look that you never bothered to understand. But now you find yourself wanting to take in every detail. “That’s not something I can exactly pinpoint.”

“Approximately,” you reply back, “approximately how long.”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs.

Love is a tricky thing. He can say that he’s loved you since that day in the sandbox — but he hasn’t. He can say he loved you since you took your first seat beside him in fifth grade — but he hasn’t. He can say it was at the New Year’s party two years ago where you didn’t notice him or the one last year where you did but then forgot. He can say it was when the string appeared on his finger and he went to school the next day only to realize with a start that his soulmate is you. He can say he’s loved you since the beginning of summer.

He doesn’t know. Because by the time you, filled to the brim with annoyance, sat beside him on the bench on July second, he didn’t know where his feelings lied.

Maybe he’s never loved you. Maybe it was fate making him believe he was.

But isn’t that what Soulmate Days are for? To see if you love them? Truly, really love them?

The rain slows, the clouds part, the sun seeps through.

Vernon’s noticed he associates weather with people. Jiwoo is the nights spent under the Big Dipper and other scattered constellations, where it’s not too chilly and not too hot. Winn is the calm before the lightning storm, where the atmosphere settles into one of peace and quiet until the surprise hits. His dad is the rain, sadness floating in skies and puddles.

You are the sunshine after the rainstorm. The rainbow in the sky so faint you can barely see it, the glistening in the water, the relief in the sun. You are, without a doubt, beautiful. Vernon thinks he can endure the rain if it means seeing the beauty right after.

“I don’t know,” he repeats. “But that doesn’t matter. I’ve loved you long enough.”

AUGUST 16.

His neck hurts like a bitch.

After the skies had cleared, you and Vernon ended up going back home to get some supplies for a beach day. He claimed it wouldn’t be busy — but it’s summer break and California. Rain wouldn’t stop anybody — and refused to let you pick the music on the way there. You bickered over Dolly Parton songs and then Ariana Grande, then you both settled for a station the two of you agreed was passable.

You stopped at a gas station to buy snacks — the clerk from before was working and gave you a raised eyebrow, to which you only scowled — and then spent the rest of your trip playing twenty questions, much to Vernon's dismay. You found out his favourite dog breed are the small wiener dogs and he used to work at the pet store near the Soulmate Service before he got fired for playing with the cats too much. He found out you like strawberry ice cream more than chocolate and have an odd fascination with whales.

At the beach, he splashed you with water and you retaliated until eventually, both of you were soaking head-to-toe. When night approached and you were shivering in Vernon’s car, he thought the two of you would feel better with a trip to McDonald’s.

(You spilled your McFlurry on his leather seats. You think if you were anybody else, he would’ve handed you your ass.)

Instead of dropping you home, Vernon took a detour to the drive-in. The movie was old and in black and white; it was too boring to hold your attention so you spun in your seat, pants sticky with ice cream, and played with Vernon’s fingers while he watched the movie. The smile on his face was breathtaking.

You two ended up falling asleep in his car. Hence the crick in Vernon’s neck.

“Christ,” he mumbles to himself, rubbing his eyes. The sun glares through his windows and he hisses. “God, what the fuck?”

The blinding light is everywhere. Vernon thinks he might turn to stone if it continues to slip through his windows. In the seat beside him, you stir, twisting in the seat and turning to face him.

You drool when you sleep. He’s definitely gonna tease you about that later.

He moves the sun visor to shield his eyes when he catches a glimpse of the time displayed on the radio. 11:45 A.M. God, it’s been a little over a day since he ditched his shift and he’s sure Winn’s gonna kill him.

Vernon stills. It’s been over a day. Twenty-four hours.

He brings his hand up to his face and he almost does a double take. His heart starts pounding against his ribs, hope seeps under his skin, and his lips stretch into a smile.

His string is gold.

Sunday, August 15 21:18 p.m

20 missed calls from soonyoung

soonyoung: WHATS WRONG WITH YOU soonyoung: WHAT KIND OF PERSON JUST DOESNT ANSWER THEIR PHONE soonyoung: yn you don’t have a life why aren’t you answering me i’m freaking out soonyoung: HAVE U BEEN TAKEN??? WHERE ARE YOU

Sunday, August 15 21:23 p.m

seokmin: ANSWER UR PHONE??

10 missed calls from seokmin

seokmin: soonyoung is literally so scared. i’m so scared. WHERE ARE YOU seokmin: yn you haven’t even finished game of thrones yet please come back 😭😭😭

Sunday, August 15 21:34 p.m

soonyoung: i’m gonna put a pic of you on my instagram. whoever finds you gets rewarded with money

Sunday, August 15 22:03 p.m

seokmin: why are your parents not more worried about this seokmin: they’re like cackling rn seokmin: gonna ask jiwoo if she knows where you are

Sunday, August 15 22:17 p.m

ji: UR GONE? ji: UR LOCATION SAYS AT THE DRIVE IN? IM LIKE SPRINTING OVER THERE I M SO TIRER

ji: WHERE ARE U ji: this movie is boring wtfff why are you here 😭 ji: oh there’s vernon ji: WHAT THE FUCK ji: [image attached] ji: LOLLL blackmail material: acquired ji: you drool a lot

Sunday, August 15 22:39 p.m

seokmin: jiwoo just told me where u are omg stay safe!!! seokmin: i called this btw i better be like.. ring bearer at your wedding or something

Sunday, August 15 22:44 p.m

soonyoung: mom and dad just told me they knew where u were all night long because you called them.. and yet you didn’t call ME…. soonyoung: I CANT BELIEVE YOU HAD YOUR SOULMATE DAY AND DIDN’T TELL ME? soonyoung: god now i have to give money to your boyfriend. you’re the worst sibling ever soonyoung: happy for you though ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Monday, August 16 00:55 a.m

seungkwan: hey vernon someone just dm’ed me asking for your cashapp.. don’t forget me when ur rich dude

soon____young sent you $1!

★ author’s note: and the end!!! i kinda got lazy towards the end so sorry about that but....... i hope you enjoyed this lol

© all rights reserved, dkfile 2021.

#vernon chwe x reader #vernon x reader #seventeen x reader #vernon chwe #seventeen #vernon scenarios #seventeen scenarios #vernon fluff #vernon angst #svt fluff #svt angst #vernon soulmate au #rivals to lovers #seventeen imagines #vernon imagines #seventeen oneshot #vernon oneshot #fic: the soulmate service

[moonctzeny]

love to hate me

request:  celebrity! jaehyun + enemies to lovers + “don’t you want to know how i feel?”

pairing: friends to enemies to lovers! jaehyun x female reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff... this fic has it all folks

word count:  7.514k

warnings: toxic behaviour, public sex, light restraining, jaehyun pulls a ‘white boy punching the wall’ at some point 

summary: “You and Jaehyun meet as SM trainees, developing a friendship until he debuts and you deicde to leave the company and pursue a solo career. When you reunite again in a music show and he acts like he barely knows you, you stubbornly begin a series of hate-brimmed sex rendez-vous. Your touch-and-go relationship continues on, until a song collaboration will force you both to deal with all your repressed feelings for each other”

a/n: this is the longest it has ever taken me to finish a fic.. I have a love-hate relationship with this (no pun intended XD). I hope whoever requested this likes it!

------------------------------------------------

Of-fucking-course you had to bump into him out of all people at the vending machine. All you wanted was a drink to refresh you before you got up on stage, and now you have to deal with Mr. Too Good For This World and his relentless teasing. His eyes, lit up by an amusement that was also evident in his smirk, stayed glued on your body, raking up and down at it for a second too long. Not that you didn’t like it.

“Stare much?”, you bark at him in hopes of snapping him out of his trance, and push through him to punch in the code of your favorite drink. But alas, he always had a comeback ready on the edge of his lips.

“You look ridiculous”, he states and you have to admit that your outfit, though fitting for the Halloween special of today’s music show, was way different than anything else he had ever seen you in. Reincarnated as Dorothy Gale for the night, your stylists had chosen a short, light blue checkered dress, with red stilettos that gave a sexy twist to the character’s ruby slippers. Hair neatly braided in two pigtails, decorated by ribbons and topped off by glittery pink makeup. The image of innocence. Jaehyun had to laugh.

“Says the man dressed up as Woody”

It was unfair, you admitted, how good he looked in that stupid outfit. His hair was gelled back, a few strands framing his handsome face strategically. The yellow shirt fitted him like a glove, its bright colour lighting him up as well. And those jeans, tight in all the right places, just melted over the muscles of his thighs. The ones that you’ve come undone on one too many times.

“So”, he lilts, giving you a once over before lowering both the volume and pitch of his voice, “want a ride?”

You scoff, sparing him an incredulous look, “on what horse, cowboy?”

He doesn’t reply, only points with his eyes to his crotch that is undeniably sporting a visible tent, and you gasp when you see the outline of his dick twitching under your stare.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun”, you mutter with a disgusted look on your face before picking up the almost forgotten beverage that the vending machine had barfed out for you. The boy mentioned, however, was unfazed.

“They don’t call me Woody for nothing”

Almost choking at the drink that was supposed to calm you down, you catch his eyes rolling at you through your third cough. Well, that ruins one of your favourite childhood movies. “Don’t pretend to be a prude. Now are we going to fuck before you get on stage of not?”

You can clearly remember the first time you met Jung Jaehyun alone. You always spotted him somewhere in the SM buildings, joking around with his future bandmates, barely ever without company. As a fellow vocal trainee, he introduced himself to you as Yoonoh, filling up the awkward silence while your vocal teacher prepared the music sheets for the both of you to rehearse.

You were thankful the two of you always got paired up together. Jaehyun was charming, easy to be around, funny. He was a model SM trainee with the otherworldly looks he possessed, almost impossible for anyone’s eyes not to follow him when he entered a room. Radiant porcelain skin, soft brown locks, and a dimpled smile that made your heart melt in seconds.

You can also clearly remember the first time you had the privilege of hearing him sing. Jaehyun had a beautiful baritone voice, one that contradicted his flower boy image but matched his manly personality perfectly. The four walls of the small practice room resonated with his sound, that was stable and smooth like honey. The lessons were challenging but Jaehyun made them bearable through spending time with him. Maybe it was your shared struggles, or how you were always tired and vulnerable when you saw him. Maybe it was those damned dimples, but your heart always beat faster when you were around him.

“Sometimes I get discouraged”, he confides in you in that same room, hours later, early into the morning now. The vocal lesson stretched on longer than expected, leaving you two sitting on the floor, sharing a cup of lemon-honey tea to soothe your vocal chords. You let your head rest to the leather couch behind you as you stare into his handsome features one by one. What time was it? Shouldn’t you be back at your dorms by now? It didn’t matter, this was one of those moments when time seems to stop and life seems unreal. When the only thing that you care about is the person standing next to you, and whatever it is they have to tell you.

 “I fear that I will never get to debut. There’s handsome guys all over the company. I just don’t know if my skills are enough.”  

You thought he was crazy for thinking that way, wanted to scream at him that he’s just perfect and more than enough for the company, or for anything in this world for that matter. But Jaehyun was reserved, the type to always mask his true feelings behind a smile and you were more than glad that he finally opened up to you, that he saw you as someone trustworthy. You didn’t want to dismiss his feelings, so you just pet his hair while you listened to his concerns.

 As you mindlessly gaze at the rainy weather outside, a couple of droplets following their own path down the froggy window remind you that time does run by. Even if every day seemed the same, following the same routine, going to the same classes over and over again.

Jaehyun had this sad look that contorted his pretty face and you hated it, reaching up to massage away the wrinkles between his eyebrows. You don’t know which godly creature made the hourglass of time freeze this moment, nor did you know why Jaehyun leaned forward to capture your lips into a kiss. Maybe it was his way of saying thank you for keeping your ears and heart open for him, for listening to him when he needed it most.

It felt so lovely while it lasted, two young people leaning on each other during an uncertainty that anchored them far away from their emotional shoreline. But life as a trainee isn’t a fairytale and falling in love can have serious ramifications. So you promise to each other that this will be a one time thing, and then you never speak of this night ever again.

Unsurprisingly enough, Jaehyun got to successfully debut, yet you didn’t have the same luck. The company had plans of focusing on their new boy group, thus postponing your debut for an uncertain amount of time. It was hard for you to decide to switch labels, to throw away the years of hope and dedication you had pinned on this company but the faith you placed on yourself was stronger.

It’s years later when you finally get to promote as a solo artist in a different company, and you are happy to say that the decision you made all those years ago was the right one. The exposure you got wasn’t the same as being in a Big 3 company, however leaving SM entertainment has its pros. Flexible schedule, less scrutiny, great creative freedom over your work. 

This wasn’t the first time you have come across your old trainee buddy. Jaehyun had multiple comebacks in a year, so it was only natural that his group’s and your promotions would sometimes overlap. You were only a rookie, and NCT turned out to become pretty popular, so of course the wins were always tied to their names.

The first time you walked past him in the hallways, dark makeup and professional styling making you both almost unrecognizable, you expected a wave, small talk, maybe some reminiscing of the old times. Instead, you got a cold stare or at best, an arrogant smirk coupled with a “Do better next time”. It was shocking to you how much Yoonoh, the boy with the shy smile and awkward social skills, would turn into such a stranger.

How you always ended up sneaking out with him to have a quickie in one of the ready rooms, was beyond you. He rushed you inside before checking both sides of the hallway, cautious to hide from any curious eyes. The coast was clear and Jaehyun doesn’t like to waste time, so he pins you against the door he just closed behind him, face dipped in your neck. You can feel his fingers dancing on the skin of your thighs, eager to explore what is hidden under your frilly skirt, and their delicacy in contrast to his feverish kisses sends a shiver down your spine.

One pretty whine from your lips, then two, three and you can feel Jaehyun smile deviously against your neck. The softness is too enticing for him to resist, so he nips at it skillfully, trying to get a reaction out of you. He recognizes that you have plenty of talent as a singer, yet the symphonies you sing out for him in those little sessions seem to be his favorite.

“Jaehyun, cut it out. I’m going on stage in like, 20 minutes”

“Turn me on then”

Wasn’t he the one that basically flashed you in the middle of the cafeteria for just existing? Isn’t it his hard on that digs against your lower stomach? The demand made you mad, and you wanted nothing more than to entice him with a nice blowjob, only to take a big, strong bite off that cock of his. But see, you had a full face of makeup on and your career is way more important than a fuckboy, so you’ll have to get creative.

Flipping him around so that he’s the one trapped between you and the door, you start to suck on his collarbones , then nibble at the tender flesh. He seems distracted enough by it so that you open the button of his jeans and fully remove his belt from their loops with no objections. Palming him over his boxers to keep him entranced, you manage to bring his wrists together, wrapping the leather around them, then lastly fastening them in place.

His eyes widen in shock when he realizes that he’s too late, wiggling his hands in a futile attempt to free himself. Your laugh is sadistic, making the hairs on his arms stand on edge and you gloat in the effect you have on him. 

Giving your palm a good lick, you form a ring with your fingers, wrapping them around the base of his member. He hisses and drops his head back, thudding loudly against the wall. His cock enlarges and reddens as you move your hand up and down, changing the pressure according to his reactions. Jaehyun isn’t one to express himself freely but there is not much he can do to stop the low moans leaving his lips. Not when you rub circles over his tip with the soft skin of your palm.

He looks so fucking good, all squirmy and desperate and trying to hold himself from saying ‘please’. You almost want to keep going, squeeze him more until he whines and begs to cum, and admire the white beads dripping from his slit and covering your hand. Almost.

You halt your movements with a last strong stroke, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare back at him. Jaehyun tentatively opens one eye to see why you have stopped, only to come across that bratty smile that he loves as much as he hates.

“You should have dressed up as a siren. Seducing people before they realize you are a man eating bitch”

“If you want someone to jerk you off you can go ask one of your little fangirls. I want to get fucked.”

“Let me go then. And you’ll wish you never did”

You scoff at his cockiness, nonchalantly freeing him from his constraints, and the way he immediately has a hold of your jaw reminds you of a predator eyeing its prey. His eyes have a crazy look in them, moving frantically over every part of your body like he can’t decide what to grab onto first. He decides on your hips, bending you over a table full of snacks and makeup tools and flyers of today’s schedule.

“You think it’s funny to tease me like that?”, he asks you with a peremptory voice that signifies you’d better shut up.

You hear shuffling behind you and assume it’s him slipping on a condom, so you make yourself more comfortable on the wooden surface. A hard slap on your ass jolts you alert.

“I asked you a fucking question”, Jaehyun presses brusquely and flips your skirt fully over your ass, pulling your panties down until they’re bunched up right over your knees.

“It’s fun”, you moan out, breathless both from the pleasure and the stinging feeling on your right cheek, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Was the room occupied by one of the artists that have already been on stage? Or will they barge in at any moment to find you bent over and pussy dripping for Jaehyun to finally dive inside you? He chuckled at the sight of you, eyes feasting off your naked body, your ass up just the way he likes it. Not so innocent anymore, huh?

He doesn’t reply to you, aligning himself against your slit and bottoming out in one go instead. Involuntarily, you let out a small screech, the sudden stretch catching you off guard.

“You better stay quiet, siren. Or maybe you would like it if people found us like this? Saw how good you take my cock whenever I ask”

You wanted to bite back at him, but the only sound you could make was a guttural moan. It was embarrassingly loud, and you fall forward to bite your fist and force yourself to shut up. It was effective, yet Jaehyun had other plans for you, pulling your pigtails towards him in a strong grip that has you against his chest in seconds.

“Nuh, uh, uh, siren”, he hums in your ear, his panting making his voice sound huskier and smokier than ever, “How about trying to stay quiet by using your willpower alone? That way it’s more- how did you call it? Fun.” 

He slows down his pace momentarily, as if he’s giving you time to answer him. But the moment you open your mouth to talk back at him, he thrusts particularly hard inside you, forcing a whimper out of your lips.

“Fuck you, Jaehyun”

“As you wish”

Jaehyun was conceited and cocky and a dick, but he was also a good fuck. He kept at it with what seemed like all the energy in the world, fucking you against that table until you came all over him, and your legs gave out. It ended how it always did, with him moaning how fucking sexy you look and how much he hates you, and you swallowing your pride as you swallow his cum. You’d tell each other to fuck off and never bother the other again, until you meet up at the next comeback, to do this shit all over again.

And that’s how things would stay if it wasn’t for that goddamn phone call from your manager.

“...so we thought what better way to promote your new song by recording a duet with NCT’s Jaehyun?”

No, no, no this can’t be happening. No way. Anyone but him.

“Are you sure this is the only way we can promote me? Can’t I just go to variety programs like every other idol out there?”

“y/n, duets by different group members are one of the most efficient methods of promoting there is! And with NCT’s latest song topping the charts this will be a great opportunity for you. Taemin and Sunmi did it. Suzy and Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Punch-“

“Alright, okay, I get it”

“Besides, since you used to be an SM trainee they specifically asked for you. The directors made some pretty big compliments on your work”

Isn’t it a little too late now? Not like they didn’t have the chance to debut you, right? That being said, there isn’t much to oppose to decline SM’s offer; your manager is right and you know it. Saying no to Lee Sooman and giving up a popularity push like that is basically career suicide. Nor could you let your manager know about your and Jaehyun’s little adventures, minutes before you have to go on stage.

“Just send me the schedule. I don’t have to record with him, right?”

“Oh no, they’ll record his part first and then they’ll send it to us. But there will be a music video of course”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

There was this little monster of worriedness that was screaming inside your head, refusing to shut up. This collaboration isn’t going to be easy, but you didn’t want to let Jaehyun’s pettiness get in the way of your career. Fumbling with your phone in your hands, you kept removing and reinserting its case compulsively, over and over again, until you mustered the courage to take matters into your own hands.You knew his number was buried somewhere in your contacts.

you [16:35]: hey it’s me, y/n

Jung Yoonoh [16:50]: y/n who??

you [16:55]: y/n y/l/n? the girl whose guts you were inside in last week? we have a song coming up 😒

Jung Yoonoh [16:57]: oh y/n right

Jung Yoonoh [16:58]: thought you’d have deleted my number

Well you sure have deleted mine, you murmur with your blood boiling, regretting reaching out to him in the first place. 

you [16:59]: i always hoard peoples contacts

you [17:00]: old habits die hard i guess

Jung Yoonoh [17:00]: like the habit of me being inside your guts?

You gasp out after reading his last message, hands awkwardly juggling your phone until you’ve forced yourself to calm down. After waiting for a while, until your face has reached its previous temperature, you feel focused again, and type out your original intentions for this conversation.

you [17:05]: this isn’t what i texted you about.

you [17:07]: we have this project coming up and while I know we aren’t exactly on the best terms, this comeback is very important for me

you [17:08]: and i don’t want to fuck it up

Jung Yoonoh [17:10]: kitty cat, relax. maybe this is a brand new word for you but i know what professionalism is

you [17:10]: don’t you ever and i mean ever call me that again

you [17:11]: glad to see we are on the same page

You didn’t expect a message back, nor did you get one. All you could do from now on, was pray that the promotions would go smoothly and Jaehyun wouldn’t do anything stupid that would jeopardize your collaboration.

------------------------------------------------------

And the day you dreaded finally came. The first day of filming for the music video. 

You had already finished recording the song, a bittersweet balad about two lovers who lost their way, only for their paths to cross again. When you listened to the demo for the first time, it only took three notes from Jaehyun’s pre-recorded verse to spread goosebumps on your skin. His voice was deeper and even more developed than you remember. Long forgotten memories, shoved deep inside your brain so as not to leave a bitter aftertaste in your mouth, came flooding up again. But things have changed since then.

The sky was crying rain and lightning, fitting to the storm inside your head. Normally you'd be excited to film a music video, bubbling with energy and unable to contain a smile. Today, all you could do was let your teeth abuse the cuticles of your left thumb, until little drops of blood ruined the fresh manicure you got for the shoot. 

Following your manager inside the studio, you take a quick glance at all the props the creative directors have prepared. They were very intricate, filled with all different types of flowers everywhere. Some of the fake rooms looked like classrooms, two others were decorated like teenage bedrooms. It was a lot more than you have anticipated.

“The song will be part of a drama OST, that’s why the budget is higher than usual”, your manager tells you as if he was reading your mind. 

He leads you to the changing room, where you try on different outfits your stylist has chosen for you, while simultaneously being briefed on the concept of the music video. It’s kinda cheesy and cute, with you and Jaehyun posing as high-school students falling in love. Certain scenes of the drama, whose plot matches the music video’s, will intercept in between.

You’re seated on the makeup chair, sunk in the uneasiness caused by your co-star. Jaehyun had arrived a few minutes after you, his bare face more handsome than you’ve ever looked in your most glamorous state and you can’t help but stare at him. He is all polite smiles and bows to the staff, and even gives you a formal greeting. 

You’re not sure why you just can’t bring yourself to stop your legs from shaking as the makeup artist patiently tries to apply a rosy blush on your cheekbones. It’s like you’re scared that everyone will see right through the both of you, somehow enter your brain and find out that you’re replaying your last encounter with Jaehyun in the music show’s waiting room in your head. As you try to read through his expression, to see if he’s nearly as nervous as you are, you defeatedly can’t decode what’s going on inside his head. Not like you ever could.

You glance at both you and Jaehyun through the mirror, admiring the youthful makeup. Blushy cheeks and innocent eyes of two teenagers in love, masking the raw lust between two nemesi. It couldn’t stray any further from the truth.

A staff member leads both you and Jaehyun (who is refusing to spare even one look your way) back to the main set. The director is passionately explaining what he wants to see from you in your first scene, but you can barely focus with Jaehyun’s eyes burning holes through your school girl outfit. You block him out and walk inside the ‘classroom’, spotting the cameras and sitting on your designated seat, while you wait for your signal to start.

Of course, you had acted before. Yes, you had expected for the director to ask you for some more intimate moments with your co-star. But when Jaehyun passed you a “love note” from the desk in front of you, looking all blushy and shy and with his dimples showing, you felt that the role of crushing schoolgirl became a little too easy for you to act out. 

And maybe, just maybe he was feeling the same way too. He looked pretty flustered when he saw you dancing across class, shifting restlessly in his seat when you bent forward to tie your shoelaces. Whether you did it on purpose or not, was a question your ego didn’t allow you to answer truthfully.

Most of the individual shots would be handled at a different shoot, so all you had to do was get over this one day with him. That’s what you repeated yourself over and over again. And you did pretty well, smiling charmingly at the camera, with the director praising you for your “innocent look”. You didn’t miss the scoff slipping from Jaehyun’s lips but you were good at ignoring it, focusing on getting through the different scenes in one-shot. 

You were currently leaning your body against the wall, playing with your hair while Jaehyun glances down at you, like a boy that is ready to confess to his first love. 

“y/n, I need you to give me something more shy, more bashful”, the director yells eagerly, but you can barely hear him, too focused on regulating your breathing. The look your co-star is giving you right now might seem loving and pure to the staff, but you know all too well the motives hidden behind his facade. It’s the calm before the storm, the silence he purposefully keeps to make you squirm, right before he whispers the most sinful propositions in your ears. 

Reading him like an open book, you stand still as he leans closer, just enough so that no one besides you get to hear his words.

“Come on y/n, can’t you act bashful? Or is it impossible for you to get embarrassed after getting fucked against the window of a TV station’s building?”

Clearing your throat, you’re suddenly hyper aware of every single sound and movement in the room. Suffocating, even in the light clothes you were wearing, and desperately trying to mute out his words that bring you back to the day he was repenting.

“When you were pressed up against that glass, moaning my name, all exposed for anyone that simply looked up to see, you weren’t too shy, were you?”

You raise your palm to wipe a bead of sweat that has collected on your temple, and breathe deeply through your nose, as if a good pump of oxygen would cool off the sudden heat between your legs. 

“Shut up Jaehyun”, you simply hiss through your front teeth, but he isn’t done yet.

“You know I can’t hold myself when I see you in skirts. So pretty. And you love to tease me in them too, I’ve noticed. Flashing me again and again until you get to suckle on my dick”

You were sure his voice was barely louder than a whisper, but the thought of anyone accidentally prying into your conversation had your whole body raising in temperature. The heat didn’t take long to reach your cheeks and you couldn’t remember the last time your legs felt like jelly, as they do now.

“Perfect y/n, that’s exactly what I’m looking for!”

You blinked back at Jaehyun a couple times, your mind trying to process that the director is cheering you on instead of scolding you to focus. The trembling hands, the fast-paced heartbeat, your big doe eyes. Though involuntarily, you had nailed the scene.

“You’re welcome”, Jaehyun mouths at you just as the staff announces a break. He scurries off to his dressing room without a word, as if he hadn’t just spewed his dirtiest of thoughts on set. It was almost as if he was daring you to follow him, but it’s not like he had left you a choice. You were fuming.

“Jaehyun”, you called out to him strictly but he didn’t acknowledge you, only walked further inside the small room with his name written neatly on the door. He was removing some of the heavier jewellery, rubbing the red lines they had left on his neck and wrist, momentarily catching your eyes on the mirror's reflection. They were misty, unreadable, and with how unpredictable you knew he could be, you decided to close the door behind you.

“Closing the door?”, he muses and in just a few long strides he has managed to trap you between his body and the wooden surface. It is reminiscent of your last meeting at the music show, and the memory of you tying him up doesn’t help with the organizing of your thoughts. “What are you planning on doing to me in here?”

You point one finger against his chest, not enough to create any real distance between you, but it comforts you nonetheless.

“What the fuck was that out there? What happened to professionalism?”

“Relax, kitty cat. I was just helping you act better”. His eyes stayed glued on your hips, once again making you all wound up and jumpy under his stare, “And it worked. You should be thanking me”

“I. Told. You.”, you started, tapping your finger on his sternum to emphasize each word, “Never call me that again. Today’s already hard as it is, why do you have to make it harder?”

He takes one more step towards you, his chest now touching yours and your hand that separated you lands involuntarily on his right peck. As if his presence wasn’t overwhelming enough, you feel a hardness pressing against your thigh, and for a moment you worry he can feel how wet you really are under your skirt. His voice is a low, a deep rumble.

“I don’t know. Why do you have to make everything so hard?”

“You are unbelievable”, you scowl at him and free yourself from his trap. You turn to the big mirror to avoid looking at him anymore, and you come to the embarrassing realization of how fucked out you look right now. You had to get out of there as soon as possible, before you do anything stupid and lose any trace of self control left in you. But not before you gave Jaehyun an earful.

“What I meant was that I am out there, being paid to be all lovey-dovey with you. This is not something easy for me you know. It’s basically prostitution.”

You catch Jaehyun’s eyes in his reflection, and for a fleeting moment they turn a colour that you hadn’t seen them in for a long time. Hurt? Disappointment? Whatever it was, it was gone in a second, replaced by that smile that made him both irresistibly smackable and fuckable at the same time.

“Did it cross your tiny brain that maybe someone could hear you? Staff leaks information all the time! If they found out we were fucking…”

“Were? Past tense?”

“Are. Will be. Whatever.” You sigh, defeated, hiding your eyes with your palms as you face him once again. “Like I said, this is important to me. So no more dirty talk on set. Okay?”

Jaehyun avoided your glance, from embarrassment or uninterest maybe. “Okay”

You continue to sit there silently, but your head is so occupied with a million thoughts that you don’t notice. How you will get through the rest of the shooting, whether your manager is looking for you or not, the coldness of the glass Jaehyun had pressed you against that day. The only thing that snapped you out of it, was him suddenly taking off his shirt.

“What are you doing?”, you ask panicking, but you can’t dismiss the pool of excitement in your belly.

“We have a wardrobe change after the break, remember? And since you refuse to leave my changing room..”

You clear your throat, trying your hardest to rip your eyes away from his abdomen, that you’ve so keenly marked with love bites before. His naked skin must have monopolized your attention way more than you realized, as you can’t remember when he slithered his way closer to you, towering over your height.

“Stare much?”, he almost growls, arousal dripping from his voice.

Every fiber of your being wanted to lurch forward, glide your fingers through his hair and start nibbling at those pretty lips of his. The sexual tension, amplified by the argument you just had, was filling the room like a thick liquid would fill a cup. One more drop, one more second of his staring and it would overflow. It felt so real, that you could feel that drop landing on your forehead. Then another one on your cheek, and that’s when you realized that what you felt was real.

“What the-?”, Jaehyun mumbles as he stares up at the ceiling, a big wet spot staining it and allowing the water drops to slowly wet his styled locks. As you start to put two and two together, someone knocks loudly on the door, making you both jump one feet away from the other.

“Get undressed”, a high-pitched male voice that you recognize as Jaehyun’s manager calls through the door, “the rain is ruining the set. It’s a wrap for today”

———————————————————————

A soft touch on your lower back, an even softer breath making your ears tingle. A tentative kiss on your neck that’s full of purpose and makes you shiver.

And then another touch, this time more south on your body. Fingertips grazing over your sensitive clit. Easily moving through your wetness and finally dipping inside of you. That baritone voice.

“This pussy is mine, isn’t it, kitty cat?”

You look up to meet the face of the familiar voice, only to meet Jaehyun’s baby brown eyes. The pleasure was enough to make you ignore the despised nickname, flowing intensely through your body. You let out a desperate moan, gripping his arms to keep your balance. His fingers are now dragging through your walls and you clench around them instinctively, confused but enamored by his touch. You are falling apart.

“Jaehyun? What are you doing?”

“I want to make love to you”

“Love? But you hate me”

He plants another kiss on the slope of your neck, his hands picking up in pace and making you feel like you’re floating on air.

“Love. Hate. Is there really any difference when I’m here, ready to please you? Willing to make you feel things you have never felt before?”

“You already do”, you admit, only seconds away from your orgasm. The bliss is so close you can almost taste it, but for now you choose to taste his lips. They are so soft and warm that you realize you haven’t kissed Jaehyun since that night at the practice room. How you miss him. Not the group visual, not the idol, not even Jaehyun. Yoonoh.

“Yoonoh”, you moan out against his lips as the pleasure overtakes you, a low buzz humming in your ears, “mmm yes, Yoonoh”

“Who the fuck is Yoonoh?”

You finally wake up, your manager shaking you awake being the first thing you see. The sun’s morning rays are peeking through your blinds, warming your skin in lines. Your phone’s ignored alarm clock is still buzzing on top of your nightstand.

“No one. I’m awake, thanks”

Fuck. That makes it what? The fourth night in a row you dreamt about him?

“Get, up. Quickly. We’re late”

You groaned at the banging of your head that was caused by you getting up so fast. It was early into the morning, as you had to get ready for the mv’s second shooting day. The heavy rainfall wouldn’t allow for the filming to continue for another week, yet aided your growing anxiety of having to encounter Yoon- Jaehyun again. 

You felt a little stupid, like a kid that goes to middle school for the first time, anxious but full of butterflies in your stomach in the thought of seeing him again. You weren’t sure who the anger, that came with the inability to control the fresh feelings bubbling from your dream, should be directed at. Your manager for booking you this job? Jaehyun for making it his goal to have you dripping wet on set? You, for letting it all affect you so much?

You decide on the former, giving your poor manager the cold shower for forcing you to deal with the problems you’ve caused yourself. Checking your phone, you realise that you are, indeed, late, and wonder how quick you’re going to have to make your morning shower.

“Is Jaehyun and his team there already?”, you ask your manager as nonchalantly as you could, feigning mildly interested in his answer.

“Oh, they didn’t tell you? The other team asked for the shootings to continue separately”. You felt your stomach drop all the way down to your condo’s basement. And the icing on the cake: “Jung Jaehyun’s request”

Maybe your manager wasn’t as clueless to your electricity, or maybe it was your sudden impulse to pluck every loose thread of the pyjama top you were wearing that made him sense the discomfort following what he’d just said. He plops next to you on your bed, boards creaking in the silent room and you feel his rough hands patting you on the back.

“I’m sure he had an overlap in schedules and needed a break, nothing to do with you”

But you knew better, and you knew your palms wouldn’t stop itching unless you picked up your fucking phone and sent him a message. 

you [06:30]: i heard you can’t make it to set today. everything ok?

You wish you never did. The radio silence from his number was way worse than any insult, any form of teasing he could give you on set. You even tried calling him, desperate for an answer, a closure even. Maybe he was busy. Maybe the shooting took longer than expected. Maybe he wasn’t avoiding you; one of his managers uploaded his latest story on his instagram, not him. Maybe at the end of the week he would get back to you.

------------------------------------------------------

Going to his dorm unannounced was not a good idea. Waiting for someone to open the door for you, you hope his members will recognise you from your trainee days, or those rare nights Jaehyun sneaked you in when you were both lonely and in need of a… well, whatever you two were.

You’re starting to worry that whoever saw you from the peephole thought you were a sasaeng and called security, when Mark opens the door. His eyes are wide open behind his glasses, clearly not expecting you and immediately yelling for his ‘Jaehyun hyung’.

Soon, the called male arrives at the apartment’s entrance, annoyed for being interrupted from whatever it was he was doing. “What is it, me and Jungwoo are watching the season fina-“

As if Mark suddenly turned invisible, Jaehyun walks right past him, grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you to his room without another word.

Jungwoo, engrossed with the aforementioned show’s season finale on his computer screen, tries to cover up his naked torso in panic when he notices you. 

“Get out.”, Jaehyun orders him, and the younger man knows that his tone is not one to be argued with. It triggers the cold sweat that makes your clothes stick closer to your skin and forces your heartbeat to quicken, pumping blood all over your body. The door closes, leaving you both alone with only the sound of Jungwoo’s laptop still playing in the background. A lighthearted scene that is too oxymoronic against the tension that is just palpable at this point. What the hell were you thinking coming here?

“What the hell were you thinking coming here?”, Jaehyun speaks your thoughts out loud, and you wince at how empty your head is with excuses.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“What?”, he asks dumbly, hoping you would avoid asking again.

“Was it that hard to text me back? Am I such a waste of your time?”

Jaehyun seems angry at your confrontation, his bad mood escalating with every word that is leaving your mouth. He still avoids to look at you, toying with some plushies and decorations next to his bedpost. You realize you never had time to really notice them, barely recognizing them. You always entered the room blindly, pressed up against Jaehyun’s body and with his lips all over your neck, then left as soon as the sex was over. His apathy was infuriating.

One by one, you start to remove all of your outerwear, dropping your clothes on the floor until you’re left in only your bra and jeans. Jaehyun stares at you incredulously, then at the pile of clothes on the floor, unable to make out the reasoning behind your impromptu stripping.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting naked. Seems to be the only time you can actually pay attention to me.”

You reach for the buttons of your jeans, only able to unzip it halfway before Jaehyun has you pinned against the wall behind you, his fingers cool and pressing lightly against your neck.

“I-I fucking hate you!”, he cries, punching the surface to release some of the steam, and lets go of the hold on your neck almost completely. How tempted he is, to just fuck your right against that wall, pour out his anger by pouring out his cum inside you, then ignore each other like you always do.

It’s the easy thing to do, keeping the toxic circle going. All barking and fucking and no real problem gets resolved in the end. He wouldn’t even call a cab for you, preferring to be hated for something he wasn’t than to be rejected for showing the real him. You would still have no idea about his feelings towards you, going around saying how awful he was while asking for a round two. But Jaehyun was tired.

“Can’t you tell that I am trying to distance myself from you?”, he sighs and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sound so emotionally exhausted.

“Why do you dislike me so much? We used to be friends and then one day you-“

“Friends? Just friends?”, he interrupts you with a chuckle and a sarcastic puff through his nose, and you shake your head.

“If you also think that what we had was more special than a common friendship then why act like you don’t know me?”

“You were the one who wanted to ‘forget about anything happening and never telling a soul about it’, remember?”

“I thought we came to a mutual agreement! I was just trying to save our careers and it worked Jaehyun, you got to debut and I-“

“And you just threw away everything we had like it was the easiest thing to do! Do you ever want to know how I feel, y/n? First you want nothing to do with me, left the company without even saying goodbye. Then I try to forget about you, become an asshole to keep you out of my life and suddenly you want to jump my bones. One day you just play blind to everything, asking for professionalism and now I’m the one ignoring you? What the fuck do you want? A fuck buddy? A professional? A friend?”

“I want you, Yoonoh. Fuck, I just want you”

You’re not sure which one of you initiates the kiss. His lips are as plump and kissed as hard as you recalled, a couple of tears staining your cheeks that you didn’t realize you were holding back. It felt so right, the way his head pushed and pulled away from yours, always inviting you back to him. One hand was situated over the dimples of your waist, the other lost between your hair, untangling it gently. You decided to lay yours over his heart, feeling its tempo and calming yourself down.

You kiss for what seems like an eternity, so drunk in bliss that you can’t remember how you made it through life without Jaehyun’s taste all over your tongue. When he pulls away from your lips, you almost whine, but his fingertips dabbing at the soft skin of your cheeks feel just as comforting.

“I don’t want us to be like this anymore”, you whisper to him and he nods encouragingly, holding you even closer. “I’m sorry for not reaching out to you all these years ago, I just thought ‘What would a brand new idol want to do with a failed trainee like me’-“

Jaehyun brings your fingers to his lips, kissing all your knuckles one by one and you think you’re gonna burst at the seams. “You weren’t a failure, you were the best thing to happen to me back then”. His voice is so sincere that you don’t dare question the veracity of what he’s saying and you let him continue. “When I saw you again I was so bitter, I decided to turn off my feelings. I think I get too comfortable in that role. I put it on for me, my members, my fans even”, he stops then, laughing sadly, “it’s how I finally got you”

It was your turn to open up his eyes to the truth, holding his face between your hands and admiring its beauty. 

“That’s not true. I kept staying because I knew what was hidden behind all that armor. I guess, the sex was the only way to get closer to you”

“Not because I’m good?”, he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows and you can feel his dimples forming under your fingers.

“Eh, you’re pretty good too”

He starts pecking your neck, his smile obvious in his kisses and you squeal when he lifts you to his bed. Bouncing on the hard mattress, you let him lay his body weight over yours as he gives you a million traces of his love. 

“So, I’m guessing this means we start over?”, he asks reluctantly as he emerges from your half naked body and you hold back from cooing at him.

“I thought you loved to hate me?”

“I think I hate it, but I love you”

#neosmutcollective #Jaehyun #jung jaehyun #jaehyun smut #nct smut #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun angst #nct scenarios #nct 127 #nct angst #jaehyun fluff #nct

[byunbaekby]

title — the things i know pairing — soccerplayer!jisung x female reader genres — angst, fluff, high school au, strangers to lovers au, first love au, long distance relationship, hurt and comfort, coming of age overall warnings — underage drinking, cancer, character death, language, mentions of hickeys, fainting, mentions and descriptions of hospitals, soccer inaccuracies, lots of angst (you’ve been warned!) word count — 14.8k summary — jisung has never been keen on growing up, or even understanding what adulting means. at seventeen, all he knows is: he loves soccer (and he’s damn gifted at it), and girls are very pretty but also plenty scary. then he met you, his first love who turned his life upside down and made his stomach roll like the soccer balls he loved to kick around the field. but when your cancer comes back after years in remission, jisung thinks, he doesn’t really want to grow up anymore. playlist — falling, harry styles ; your guardian angel, red jumpsuit apparatus ; my first and last, nct dream ; bye my first, nct dream ; orchid, jeremy zucker

additional — for the heartbreak hotel collab hosted by @nct-writers​. my concept in the five stages of grief was “acceptance and hope.” thank you to my babes @suh-insane​ and @astroboy-lele​ for proof-reading!

The thing about knowledge is that you never know when or what you’re going to learn. There’s no way for you to predict what will be of your mind when you fall into bed that night, surrendering to the moon. In the morning, there’s no telling what knowledge your brain will choose to store away for remembrance over the course of the night, and what your brain will decide is unnecessary. What you decide not to remember is a memory you can’t even miss. 

When you wake up every morning, you don’t know if you’ll go to bed having met someone who will change your life forever. 

At seventeen, there are two things that Park Jisung knows. One, he loves playing soccer (and he’s damn good at it, the way his long legs carry him across the field in what seems to onlookers like seconds). Two, girls are very pretty but plenty scary as well. 

The day starts out normally, like any other away game that the team plays.

He wakes up at six o’clock on the dot, and eats a large breakfast to hold him over for the game, then packs a few granola bars into his soccer bag and lets his sister know he’s leaving before he jogs the way to the park where the bus is waiting for his team. The ride is normally an hour long, so he either tucks his earbuds into his ears and tries to get in a short nap or he converses with his teammates. 

Today though, the bus ride is three hours long. Crossing his hoodie-clad arms across his chest to act against the cold air of the bus, he focuses his gaze outside and watches as the town goes by. 

“Yo, Jisung, check this out!” 

At the sound of his name he turns his head, blinking when he sees a number of his teammates in the surrounding area nudging him closer. A few of them are leaning in towards a particular teammate, who displays a proud expression. “What’s up,” asks Jisung as he too leans forward toward his team member, curiosity slightly piqued.

Jaemin, the teammate in question, tugs the collar of his jersey down to reveal his skin. On the milky white curve of Jaemin’s collarbone, he sports a dark purple bruise, surrounded by a perimeter of yellow where the skin seems to be healing. There’s no question as to where that mark came from, and it definitely wasn’t from soccer. 

“Ew, man, that looks sick!” comes from Donghyuck, along with a few comments from others, either approving or disturbed. 

“Where’d that come from?” 

Renjun slaps Mark on the chest, eyebrows furrowed at him. “Obviously, it was from Anne! Didn’t you see the way they were all over each other at last week’s game?” Jaemin grins, eyes going lovesick at the thought of his girlfriend. 

Jisung’s expression contorts into one of disgust. “That’s disgusting, man,” he comments, nose still scrunched in distaste as he leans back into his original spot on the bus seat. Another thing he’ll never understand is why people are so desperate to grow up, as if giving hickeys and sneaking vodka into their Hydro flasks makes them somehow more adult. 

He slips his earbuds into his ears, playing some light muzak to lull him to sleep with his head leaned rather uncomfortably against the cold window. 

-

Jisung doesn’t think that he’s exceptionally smart; he’s gotten passing to above average grades his entire life. He’s not musically talented, nor is he particularly a smooth talker. 

But hearing people call him gifted is a feeling he relishes every time.

With his long legs and strangely large and spacious lungs, soccer called the boy’s name from the time he could run. He dominated the peewee league, then the club teams until this point, at the ripe age of seventeen waiting to be scouted for college teams. 

He wasn’t usually one to brag but today, he had shot the winning goal. 

Everyone has their thing, the one thing that they excel at. For Picasso it was painting, for Yiruma it was piano, for Renjun it’s spending four hours every night researching alien conspiracy theories. For Jisung, it’s soccer. But he’s never been exceptionally good at speaking to people. 

“What’s your name?” He hears a voice, cheery and upbeat, behind him as he’s grabbing his bag on the side of the field. The game is over, and the crowd begins to dissipate while the team members are gathering their things to return to the bus. Turning over his shoulder he sees you, wearing a bright smile. Cautiously he responds, “Jisung Park.”

“Oh, so you’re Korean then. I’m gonna write that down, okay? How long have you been playing soccer?” You ask next, and now Jisung’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. 

“Write what down?” He asks, trying to keep his tone as polite as possible. Even so, how is he supposed to react to a random person at a game suddenly appearing to ask him questions? As he wipes his forehead with his towel he adds, “Who even are you?”

Quickly you say, “I write in the high school newspaper, and wanted to get a close-up of today’s star.” It’s then that Jisung realizes the camera slung around your neck and the notepad in your hands. 

“Why are you writing about me? I don’t even go here.”

“Because,” you say, a slight sigh creeping into your voice now. “Our team sucked today. You straight up stole the show, and no one wants to read about a team that lost. I’d rather give them a peek at the star.”

“14!” His coach yells his number once, causing Jisung to look over his shoulder to the source of the voice, where his teammates are already beginning to pile onto the bus. The boy in question slings his bag over his shoulder and tucks his soccer ball under his right arm before finally getting a good look at you. “Shouldn’t you be writing something to raise your team’s spirit or something? Giving them support, maybe?”

You shrug. “I don’t like underdogs. Don’t like writing about them. I’d rather read about the heroes. So how long have you been playing soccer again?” 

“Jisung!” Now it’s Chenle calling after him, and he really needs to go. Eyes flickering to the street where his teammates are gesturing for him to hurry, he looks back to you. Your eyebrow is raised expectantly, right hip popped out as you wait. Before he starts to run off, he manages a small, “I’ve been playing eleven years. Um… bye.”

Then he turns away and his long legs carry him to the bus a few meters away. Even so, behind him he can hear your loud, proud voice yelling after him with the name of your high school: “Check the online newspaper! You’ll see my article!”

What a weirdo, he can’t help but think as the team cheers for their star player getting on the bus back home. 

-

A week later, it’s another Saturday night following a victorious win against another team in the local area when Jisung gets a call from Chenle. “What’s up,” he asks immediately, leaning back in his desk chair to throw his soccer ball up in the air and catch it with one hand. 

“Wanna party tonight? Celebrate our win a bit?”

“Where?” asks Jisung. He’d never been big on parties. For one, his long legs that were great for running weren’t exactly skilled in dancing or anything of the like. Secondly, he’d definitely be expected to talk to girls and he’s not really in the mood to make a fool of himself. 

“Taeyong’s house. Me, Mark, Hyuck, and Jaemin are going. Renjun’s busy, and Jeno wants to spend time with his cat. What do you say? Wanna join?” 

Jisung sighs. He was honestly just exhausted. “Think I’ll pass. My sister’s been getting on me about my bio grade.”

Chenle groans on the other line. “Lame.”

“Next time, promise,” says Jisung. 

“Fine. Have fun studying, looooser!” This is the last thing Chenle says before hanging up, leaving his best friend alone to shake his head with a small laugh. Then he remembers something, some words that a stranger had yelled out to him a week before. 

Sitting up at his desk, Jisung opens his laptop and types in the name of your high school, along with your town. A few clicks around the website finds him at the online news section, plus a scroll or two past some questionable articles, there it is: a picture of him mid-kick, the winning one if he remembers well enough. His nose is scrunched in concentration and strands of dark hair cling to his forehead. 

Soccer Superstar from the opposing team steals the show and the win!

A small scoff leaves Jisung’s lips, trying to humble himself as he reads over the first few paragraphs. 

Our school’s boys soccer team faced a devastating loss on Saturday in the face of the opposing team’s ace player (pictured above). The game ended promptly when the superstar player confidently kicked in the final shot, though the result had been clear from the first half of the game. 

A short interview with the hotshot player revealed that he has been playing soccer for eleven years! A senior from Neo Culture Prep, it is clear as day that the school is very lucky to have such a prodigy on the team.

Who is this superstar player, you ask?

His name is Jisung Park. 

Geez, Jisung thinks. He knew he was good but not that good. The article did a good job of spicing him up, making him look like he was a lot better than he really was. There’s too much fluff; sure, he’s skilled and he knows it, but—he touches his cheeks. They’re warm—the article makes him sound like a soccer god, and it’s beyond embarrassing. Who even are you?

A scroll to the bottom of the page tells him all he needs to know.

Article written by: (Name) (Last Name).

-

He doesn’t return to your town for almost two months. There’s a tournament today, the hours lurching between games giving him more than enough time to psych himself out about how he’ll play. 

It’s noon, the sun shining overhead causing a sheet of sweat to amass on Jisung’s forehead. His team has just won their second match of the day, and in waiting for their next game, his eyes are scanning the bleachers set up for observers on the side of the field. It’s not hard to find you, same camera hanging around your neck. 

With his long legs, he jogs over to you towel in hand. You’re not at all focused on him, eyes pressed into the camera’s viewfinder as you attempt to capture a good shot of the current game. 

“I don’t like the stuff you said about me in your article.” 

His deep voice suddenly intrudes your thoughts, and you jump in your place. As you turn to him and drop your camera from your face, he catches sight of the way your eyes widen at his appearance. A flood of recognition replaces the shock before you tilt your head. “Why? It was all good stuff.” 

Patting at his forehead with his towel, Jisung responds, “Yeah, exactly. I’m not that good. I could’ve played better that day.” This brings a small snort from you. “Really! They were narrowing the angle on me, I should have flanked or lofted.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“It’s—” 

You cut him off before he can explain. “You’re good. Why are you so shy to accept that?”

“Why do you keep trying to paint me as the main character of the team? Everyone works hard together.” He questions, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Because you are,” you respond matter-of-factly, focused enough to press your eye into the viewfinder again. A few seconds pass, and Jisung recognizes the click of the camera as you capture something on the field. “You’re clearly the best player on the team by a long shot. You’re the main character, the hero.”

At your response, Jisung shakes his head in disbelief and scrunches his nose. There’s really no getting through to you. “I’m more than the hero you think I am.”

You turn to him, facial features contorted into a mischievous expression. “I’m sure you are.” Jisung realizes then that you’re holding something out to him. Taking it, he observes it. A… business card? With your name and number on it. “(Name). Aspiring journalist.”

“You have a business card? Aren’t you like, seventeen?” 

You shrug, smile tugging on your lips. “Never hurts to be prepared. Call me.” It’s the last thing you say before you flitter away on quick feet, leaving to interview the team which has just won their match. He watches you leave, wondering if you know what kind of effect you have on people. 

-

“I don’t know, man. She seems kinda crazy,” says Hyuck from the seat next to him, leaning his head back. However, a sudden bump in the road causes the bus to jump, startling the boy a bit. Jisung had just shared his thoughts about asking you out with his friend, who immediately made a face and shook his head. 

“Crazy?” Sure, you’re a bit forward and maybe slightly reckless, but he doesn’t think you’re… crazy. It’s been a few weeks since he last saw you and from the conversations you’ve shared over text and phone… he thinks he likes you. Like, really likes you. It’s goddamn terrifying.

“Yeah, we all saw her article,” Chenle speaks up from the seat behind him. “She’s obsessed with you.” 

Jisung rolls her eyes. “It was one article. That doesn’t mean she’s obsessed.”

“I think you should do it. It’d be funny to get on camera in case you fail,” snorts Renjun.

Jaemin pipes in from in front of them. “But if you do ask her out, she lives three hours away. That’s a lot of distance.” He’s the only one in a relationship, so maybe he has the only opinion that Jisung trusts. 

“Other people have done more distance.”

Now, it’s Jeno’s turn to pipe in. “But you’re not other people, you’re Jisung Park. You’ve never had a girlfriend.” Should he feel insulted? Chenle also adds, “Jeno’s right. You’re a senior! It’s your year, and you wanna spend it tied down to some girl who lives three hours away?” 

But you’re not just some girl. Mark’s the only one who hasn’t spoken, and most of the time, he’s the most level headed. Jisung turns to him with a sincere expression and asks, “What do you think?”

Though he had been trying to stay quiet throughout the conversation, he stretches a bit in his seat before finally saying, “I think you should go for it.”

“I think you should too!” Jaemin says. “But I think you should be prepared for what it means.”

“Whatever you decide to do, we’ll hype you up.”

“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?” Jisung asks. “If she rejects me, at least she’s three hours away, right?” There’s murmurs of agreement around the seven of them. He tries to sound relaxed, but the thought of asking a girl out for the first time causes his heart to thump loudly in his chest. Oh god… should he do it?

“So?” asks Hyuck after a few seconds of silence, and it’s then that Jisung realizes everyone’s looking at him. “Are you gonna do it?” 

He gulps. “... No idea.”

A collective groan emerges from the group of boys. Hyuck, ever the genius, straightens his back with a glint in his eye. “How about this? If we win, you ask her out. You’ll be riding on a winning spree and it’ll give you confidence. If we lose then… there’s more girls back home.” 

That… doesn’t sound like a bad idea. But oh god, he doesn’t know which option he wants. 

-

For the first time, Jisung feels like his legs are knotting into each other, tumbling over his feet. 

Soccer had always come easily to him, like breathing. But for some unknown reason, he’s totally off his game today. He knows the play, his strengths, and even the weaknesses of his opponents, but he trips over his feet. 

No, that’s a lie. He definitely does know the source of his nervousness, and it lives in the form of a girl with a camera and a notepad sitting in the bottom corner bleacher. His breath is frantic as he zips back and forth across the field. The sounds of the game are ringing loud in his ear, and he can hardly even focus on the black and white ball being kicked around, let alone what the coach is screaming at them. They’re so close, one more goal should do it. 

He knows what’s going to happen. Jisung Park had always been known for his ending kicks.

But what if he messes it up? What if he fumbles the kick or whiffs it? 

Then again, does he even want to win? That’s a dumb quesiton—of course he does—but the question is: is he ready for what comes with the win? He really shouldn’t look, shouldn’t peek for just one look at you, but he does. You’re scribbling in your notepad, and he swears in that millisecond that you look so pretty. 

Yeah, he wants it. He really wants it. 

He’s ready, and—oh god, Sungchan is passing the ball to him. Suddenly Jisung is on high alert, winding up toward the goal. He captures Sungchan’s ball with ease, no longer tripping over himself as he makes his way to the end goal. 

One kick, just nail this one kick. 

He winds up, turning his body to the correct angle; he kicks it and…

Please go in, please go in, he’s begging. 

The ball flies in straight past the goalkeeper, who jumps toward it but there’s no use. It all happens so quickly, and suddenly his team erupts into celebration when the referee blows his whistle. Still standing there, Jisung catches his breath and stares into the goal. 

He won. 

That means… He glances at you. You’re wearing a huge smile on your face, and without noticing it himself, Jisung has his own proud smile on his. His momentary peace is interrupted by his friends running toward him, nearly knocking him over in their celebration. 

“Yeeahhh, Jisung Park, you’re the man!” 

A few minutes later, Jisung tries to calm his nerves after thanking the opposing team for a good game. When he returns to the sidelines where his stuff is, he can barely get some water down his throat before Chenle is pushing a soccer ball into his hand. “Good luck, dude,” he says, and Jisung can feel the others’ eyes on him. Oh no, it’s time. 

He steals a glance at you, and—Oh. You’re looking at him too. A bashful smile spreads over your lips and you turn away, focusing back to your conversation with your friend. His heart is beating so loud, but Jisung doesn’t think it’s because of the soccer game. Turning back to his friends, he groans, “I need a pep talk.”

“Okay, uh,” Mark attempts. “You got this, you know you’re the man. Um… if she rejects you, then it’s okay, there’s other fish in the sea!” A groan erupts through the group. “That’s not a pep talk, Mark!” 

“Listen,” says Chenle suddenly, grabbing Jisung’s shoulders to stare at him. “She’s not gonna reject you. You’re Jisung freaking Park! The star of the team and my best friend! Go get ‘em, and don’t take no for an answer!” With this, he gives Jisung a small push in the girl’s direction.

“Actually, uh—I think no means no,” pipes in Jisung but everyone cuts him off with a collective, “JUST GO!” 

Pink spreads across his cheeks as he slowly walks in your direction. At a good distance away, he places the coveted soccer ball down on the ground and winds himself up for a kick. Okay, he just shot the winning goal of the game. If he can do that, he can do this. Running forward the slightest, Jisung gives himself a silent pep talk as his foot taps the ball. It goes moving from its spot, flying through the air… and that’s when Jisung realizes his mistake. Instead of gently tapping against your ankle like he had planned, the ball flies straight in the air, knocking the side of your head rather harshly. 

“Not that hard, genius!” Chenle chastises from behind him, and Jisung has to hold back the desire to actually groan in that moment. He immediately runs toward you, hands out in surprise. “Oh my god, oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he repeats, reaching out for you. You’re rubbing the spot on the side of your head where the ball had hit, and he wants to disappear right there. 

He never should have done this. 

Why was he born again?

“I’m so sorry,” he says again for the nth time, feeling shame and humiliation speed up his spine at the way you wince when you touch the side of your head. “Oh my god, go get me an ice pack,” he demands over his shoulder at his friends.

“No, no I’m okay,” you reassure everyone. Now all the eyes are on the two of you. 

A few moments of silence pass as you eye the soccer ball which has rolled some distance away, crouching down to pick it up. Ball in hand, you scan the outside of it… and destroying all of Jisung’s hopes and expectations, you burst into laughter.

You laugh so hard, the boisterous sounds leaving your lips so vehemently that you have to cover your mouth with your hand. Jisung furrows his eyebrows. “I just kicked you in the head and you’re laughing?” Oh god, he must have done more damage than he thought. You don’t answer, the only sounds leaving you are giggles and guffaws. It’s only making him feel worse; geez, he wishes he wasn’t so tall so he could positively disappear right now. 

You finally look up at him and meet his gaze, your own eyes crinkled in delight. Flipping the ball over in your hands, you present to him the ball. Written on one of the large white spots reads a firm, “Go out with me?” in black marker.

“This is why you kicked me in the head?” You ask, still chuckling the slightest. Bashfully, Jisung nods. You laugh again. Every time you do that, he feels like getting smaller and smaller. “Of course I’ll go out with you.”

Wait, really?

He says these words aloud, eyes wide at your ease. He hadn’t expected you to actually say yes! “Sure,” you respond with a smile. “Though I could’ve gone without the head injury.” 

This brings a laugh from the both of you. He really had been worrying so much about nothing. His frame instantly relaxes, taking the ball back from you. “You sure you don’t need the ice pack?”

“No, I could definitely use an ice pack.” 

-

The first date happens two weeks after that game, and it’s his first real date so he has no idea how to act. Everything goes fine—he takes you to the local arcade in your town, and though he’d deny it to the ends of the earth, you beat him in foosball. 

“Ha!” You had screamed. “Superstar soccer player Jisung Park, and you can’t beat me in table soccer?” His cheeks had burned pink at the sound of your voice reverberating around the public arcade, but honestly the mirth in your eyes was worth it.

His cheeks are red but the air is cold on the walk home to your house. He had promised to have you home by nine, and it’s—he checks the time on his phone—8:45. 

A look at you, holding the giant stuffed teddy bear that you had won (he hadn’t won it for you, because lord knows he’s horrible at skee-ball), and Jisung can see the air leaving your lips. “Hey, you cold?”

“Nah,” you shake your head, though you scoot closer to him on the sidewalk. His tongue laves over his bottom lip quickly, and he almost wants to hold your hand. But that wouldn’t do much to keep you warm. 

He purses his lips, then immediately his hands are working at taking off his hoodie. That’s a cute thing, isn’t it? Boyfriends giving hoodies to their girlfriends? “Here, take this.”

When you take one look at the hoodie in his hands and roll your eyes, Jisung knows he’s in for it. “Seriously? You can’t fool me with some cheesy rom-com moves,” you laugh.

Ouch.

That hurt his pride. He was just trying to be nice, maybe a tad bit romantic, but you clearly weren’t having it. He should have known you would be so tsundere, and maybe he does.

He knows you act strong, like there is no way on the face of the earth that you would ever swoon for his lame attempts at flirting. But when you reach upward on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek before you step into your house, he knows you like it just as much as he does.

-

For the longest time, it’s been just him and his sister Naeun.

His parents passed away shortly after his birth, so they stayed under the custody of their aunt. When his sister became an adult, she became his legal guardian. Since then, it’s been the two of them against the world.

Though kids had sometimes made fun of him for not having a mom or a dad, Jisung never paid those kids much attention. Sure, he didn’t have a dad to teach him how to drive or a mom to attend his parent-teacher conferences, but he had his sister and she was all he’d never need. Naeun gave up everything for him: she didn’t go to college, she traded nights out with her friends to help him with her math homework, she worked two jobs so he could play soccer. She had worked so hard, perhaps sheltered Jisung so much that he had always lived a comfortable life.

It never occurs to him just how much she had struggled until the morning she asks him to get a job. 

She sits across the dining table at breakfast, and over his cereal, Jisung notes how shaken and guilty she looks. There must be something on her mind, but that’s how his sister’s always been; she doesn’t like to worry him, and speaks up when she’s ready. When she finally tells him, he blinks, confused. 

“I can’t pay the bills alone. Not with soccer getting more expensive, and the landlord raising the rent—that bastard,” she mumbles under her breath, surprising Jisung. She hardly cursed. “It’s… It’ll just be for a short time. I promise.” She has tears in her eyes. Jisung furrows his eyebrows; she must feel guiltier about this than he thought. Immediately he nods in understanding. “It’s fine, Noona. Don’t worry about it. I’ll, uh, go out looking this weekend.” 

He takes another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, thinking that the conversation will end there. But it doesn’t, his sister’s quiet voice reaching his ears. “Promise me you’ll go to college, Sung. Promise me you’ll make it. Make it all worth it.”

And it’s in that moment, in the way that his sister’s voice is on the edge of breaking, that it occurs to him just how much his sister has sacrificed for him. How quickly she had to grow up, having become his parent at eighteen, just a few months away from how old he was now. And he was nowhere near as responsible as her. 

He swears in that moment that he’ll uphold his promise. He’ll get a scholarship, he’ll help his sister out. He’ll pay back everything she’s given up for him.

-

Finally, today you’re in town.

It’s the first time you’ve come to visit him in his town, and he’s so excited to show you everything: his school, his favorite ice cream place on the corner of the street from his apartment building, and even the park he grew up kicking soccer balls at. Even after all these years, him and his friends still came here to practice their soccer technique.

Today, the two of you are sitting underneath a tree at said park, his head in your lap. You’re running your hands through his dark hair, and wow, he’d never admit that it feels so good. 

There’s a small laugh heard from you as you comb through his locks. “You should dye your hair.”

“Suddenly?” He asks. “I don’t even know what color I’d dye it.” 

“You should do like, a blue or something. Oh, purple! Purple would be nice!” Your excitement causes him to roll his eyes promptly, sitting up. “I’ll dye my hair purple if you dye your hair purple,” he retorts to you. 

“Maybe I will,” you say, standing onto your feet now that he’s gotten off of you. Wiping the grass from your legs briefly, you nod toward his soccer ball a few feet away. “C’mon, let’s play.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You wanna play soccer.”

“Yeah, is that so surprising?” 

“Um, yeah, a little bit considering the fact that you said it’s boring and that you complain having to get up to go to the fridge at two in the morning,” quips Jisung with a laugh. You only roll your eyes in response. “I never said soccer was boring, I just said it’s only interesting when you play. And you’re gonna teach me right now, so stand up,” you say, extending a hand to him.

He takes your hand, rising to his feet before picking up the ball. “Fine,” he relents, a smirk making its way onto his face. “Try to keep up.”

For fifteen minutes, the two of you race up and down the park’s open grass field, chasing the ball in every direction. He evades you, long legs carrying him and the ball while you chase after him. 

“Wait,” you say mid-sprint, slowing to a stop. Your chest is heaving, and slowly Jisung stops his running also. “You good?” He asks from a few feet away.

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly, reaching a hand up to wipe at your forehead. “Just… gimme a sec.” A minute passes of you catching your breath, but Jisung doesn’t pay it much attention—a person who didn’t play soccer and have trained lungs like him would struggle.

“Okay, okay,” you finally say, shaking your head a bit. “Let’s go again.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, worry seeping into his tone.

“Yeah, yes! Just—just go.”

So he does, beginning to kick the ball down field as he chases after it, stopping past center field to pass the ball to you. You’re racing after him, and though the ball is coming your way, you trip over it, falling straight onto the floor.

Your head hangs low, and he immediately rushes over to you.

“Hey, hey! You okay?” He asks, kneeling down but your eyes are closed. He swipes a hand over your forehead, and it’s that moment when he realizes your eyes are closed. Did you pass out? Had he pushed you too far? “(Name)?” 

No response. Oh god, what is he supposed to do?

Is he supposed to check if you’re breathing? Where can he check for a pulse again? In his moment of inadequacy, he pulls out his phone and calls his sister.

She’ll know what to do, but it pains him that he doesn’t.

His sister arrives quickly, and immediately takes you to the hospital. According to her, you do have a pulse and you probably just had heat exhaustion. He sure hopes so… 

For a few hours he sits in the waiting room as he awaits the arrival of your parents. They rushed over from your town, four hours away, and this definitely was not the impression he wanted to have on them. Head in his hands, he can’t help but worry about you.

You do wake up, eventually but he can’t see you until your parents arrive.

They take you back home. You’re walking and talking again, but as you shoot him a weak smile from over your shoulder, walking down the hall and out of the hospital, Jisung can’t help but feel that something has gone terribly wrong. 

-

He swears he’s never been so tired. 

Working at McDonald’s isn’t horrible, per se, it’s just different. But it definitely takes more out of him than soccer ever did. The second he walks into his room Jisung drops his backpack on the bean bag next to the door and almost collapses on his bed. Throwing his work cap on the floor, he runs a hand through his hair and pulls out his phone.

The best thing about coming home from work, is coming home to you.

He immediately fishes for his phone from his pocket and opens it to speed dial. Pressing on your contact, Jisung presses the phone to his ear and waits for his girlfriend’s voice on the other end. The line picks up.

“Hey,” he says, a smile spreading over his lips without him even knowing. 

“Hi…” 

Something’s wrong. Your voice is missing its signature excitement, the snarkiness he had grown accustomed to. He sits up in bed, eyebrows furrowed. “Is everything okay?” 

Yes, you’re supposed to say. Everything’s fine. Everything’s just peachy.

But you don’t. “I got a call from the hospital.”

After you had fainted the other day playing soccer with him, the hospital had run a few tests to make sure you were okay. He knew this, you both did. They were supposed to say that you had been dehydrated, that you hadn’t eaten in a few hours. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, Jisung…” 

“What, what is it?” 

There’s a momentary silence on the other side, then a shaky breath. “When I was ten… I got really sick. I was always having nosebleeds, always tired—some days I didn’t even want to get out of bed. They took me to the doctor and they told me that… I had leukemia.”

Jisung releases a heavy breath, staring into his sheets. No… don’t say it.

“I fought it for two years, and I beat it. God, it was… it was really hard, and I got through it. It’s been five years now but—but the hospital called and…” Please, no. “My cancer came back.”

Jisung’s never felt this way before; like all the air in his lungs have been pulled from his chest, lost to the universe. Not even when he sprinted across the soccer field, not even when he had gotten punched in the chest. All those times, his chest burned with fire, be it anger or passion. But now… his chest feels empty and hollow and numb. He manages to spit out a few words. 

It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re supposed to be okay, you’re supposed to go to prom together. Graduate. He’s supposed to get a soccer scholarship, you’re supposed to study journalism at the same school, and the long distance would cease to exist. You were supposed to be happy. “But it’s gonna be okay, right? You’ve fought it before, you can do it again.” Perhaps it was a bit selfish of him to ask for consolation when you were the one with the illness. But you were a journalist, never a liar. Your voice is weak, like you’ve already given up.

“I don’t know.”

-

“What’s up with you?” Chenle’s voice is almost worried, but Jisung wouldn’t be able to tell because his eyes are focused on the ground. He’s been kicking a soccer ball around with Chenle and Mark for a while now, but there’s clearly something very off about the teenager today.

“Yeah, is something wrong?” Mark asks.

Jisung blows some air into his cheeks. Should he tell them? It’s your private information but technically, you’re his girlfriend right? The news has been troubling him for a few days now, and he’s had no one to talk to. Surely, he can’t talk to his sister about it. 

He should just spit it out. “(Name) has cancer.”

It’s like the world stops, his friends taking in his words. “W-What? What did you just say?” Chenle speaks first, then Mark quickly follows. “Did you say (Name) has cancer?”

Keeping his gaze on the ground, Jisung nods and gives the ball a small kick in Mark’s direction. “Yeah. She had leukemia when she was younger, and… the other day she went to the hospital and they said that it came back. Her cancer came back.” When he looks up, both his friends are looking at him with genuine concern etched across their faces. 

“Seriously? Cancer? And you’re still dating her?” Mark asks, causing Jisung to raise an eyebrow in confusion. Did he just insinuate what he thinks he did?

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

Chenle speaks up next, trying to defuse the sudden tension. “Jisung, you guys have only been dating like, a couple months. It was just like yesterday that you kicked her in the head asking her out!” 

“And?” Jisung asks pointedly. Suddenly he’s in front of Chenle, and though he technically towers over the latter in height, Chenle’s chest is straight as he makes his point.

“Is it really worth it to stay on a sinking ship?”

Jisung’s voice reaches a new level of low, erupting from a place deep inside of him that he’s hidden away. It’s a place of rage, of anger sizzling and bubbling in his stomach. Suddenly they’re both chest to chest, unwilling to back down. “Now, I know you’re not talking about my girlfriend.” 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Mark interrupts, hands coming between them to tear the two boys apart. “Calm down. Both of you.”

“He started it,” accuses Jisung quickly, dark eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “My girlfriend is not a sinking ship. Neither is my relationship, and I don’t need you to comment on it.” He looks to Mark for guidance. Mark had always been the most logical one, the one he would look to for help, and though he thinks that Mark will agree with him, he almost looks guilty.

“But it’s true, Jisung. We’re worried about you. She’s just a girl. Is she really worth hurting yourself over?” He had trusted Mark to be on his side, but now Jisung just releases a scoff. He had been hoping for his friends’ support, but it seems like he’ll be going through this alone, then.

-

You’ve been avoiding him.

Of course, there’s not much that can be done to avoid him when you live hours away from each other. But you haven’t been responding to his texts, and when you do, they’re mostly short and taut. You’ve been cutting your phone calls short, often saying that you’re tired. Maybe you really are, but it hurts hearing the line cut off, not knowing how you’re really feeling.

Jisung can’t help but feel like he’s failing. He should be doing better.

It’s like your relationship is an hourglass, running out of time with every day that he spends going to school, work, or soccer practice. Like you’re getting further and further away with each short text message.

His entire life has been spent running. Speeding forward center field like a lightning bolt, long legs carrying him far ahead everyone else. But for the first time, Jisung feels like he’s falling behind.

-

It only takes a three hour bus ride (four, with the added stops) but in Jisung’s mind, it’s all worth it. It won’t be the first time he’s gone over to your house, but it is indeed the first he’s ever showed up unannounced, which is a strange appearance given that he lives three hours away. But with everything happening, he’s willing to give up the day and six hours worth of travel for you.

Sitting on the bus, he pulls out his phone. It’s early, like nine in the morning, but he knows you have a doctor’s appointment in a few hours so you’re definitely awake. He presses the facetime button, but you quickly reject his call. His eyebrows furrow, but lighten with an incoming text from you.

[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : jisung, i’m using the bathroom rn. call you back in a bit.

He nearly rolls his eyes, but it’s a sweet one. You’re always so candid.

[ message to : (Name) ♡ ] : you act like you’ve never facetimed me on the toilet before.

[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : wow, call me out more why don’t you

[ message to : (Name) ♡ ] : pick up my call, brat ♡

[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : no, You pick up My call :p

Seconds later, his phone is lit up with an incoming facetime screen. A laugh almost leaves him at your tenacity before accepting the call.

The call opens up to the visual of his girlfriend, you in your PJs fixing the phone up against the mirror in the bathroom. He sees himself reflected in the mini screen, hoodie on and earbuds in wearing a boyish grin. “Hey pretty girl. Make sure you wash your hands.”

You roll your eyes at his remarks. “Hey ugly boy. I’m already doing that. What are you doing?”

“Just making sure, because I don’t think you brushed your teeth after you fell asleep on call the other night,” he teases, clicking his tongue as you’re the only person he can tease so easily. “I’m on the bus to practice.” A lie, but a white one at that. “What are you up to?”

You wack your still dry toothbrush in front of the camera, nose scrunching up in the slightest. It’s a habit of his that you’ve picked up. “I’m also doing that right now.” You wet the brush, putting some toothpaste on it. “I thought you didn’t have practice this Friday? Or was that next Friday?”

Your actions bring a low laugh to his lips, and his eyes momentarily focus on the passing landscape outside the bus window as he’s now three hours out of his normal perimeter. “Uh, Coach wanted to add in a practice today. Don’t you have a doctor’s appointment today?”

You nod at his answer, toothbrush in mouth. “I do, I think it’s like, in a hour or something.”

“Oh, okay,” he replies simply as the bus comes to a stop, your house only a short walk away. He stands, gathering his bag. “Gotta go, but I’ll talk to you in a bit, pumpkin honeysuckle,” he snorts, making his way to the front of the bus. 

Your brows furrow as you give him a disapproving look through the screen, shaking your head slightly before moving to rinse your mouth. “Talk to you soon, don’t get hurt at practice or I’ll fight you.”

He scoffs as he steps out of the bus, into your neighborhood. “Like you could take me. Later.” You probably could, given your determination, but he gives you a nose scrunch before ending the call. He’s only taken a few steps when his phone rings with a text message.

[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : you and i both know i could take you :)

A snort leaves him. Classic (Name).

When he arrives a few minutes later, he hesitates at the door, only praying that the person who opens up is you, not your parents or god forbid, your brother. It only takes a few hard knocks before he hears your voice on the other side, determined to see just who the hell had the nerve to interrupt your laziness this early in the morning. “Who the fu—”

He tsk’s in distaste. He shouldn’t have been surprised that the first words to leave his girlfriend’s mouth are cuss words. “You potty mouth. I thought you’d be happy to see me,” he says, opening his arms.

Jisung’s not quite sure what he expected. For you to jump in his arms? What a delusional boy. You blink for a few seconds, then suddenly you’re throwing yourself at him, fist first to land a deserved punch to his arm. “I thought you had practice? What are you doing here and why do you look so much cuter than when I last saw you?” 

“Well, I lied,” he snickers, patting your head. “I’m here to annoy you, obviously. But you look too. For a—” A person dying of cancer, but he can’t say it. He won’t. “—person who barely got up twenty minutes ago.”

Your hand immediately begins rubbing the spot that your fist landed, worried that it might actually bruise in a bit. Jisung asks, “So are you gonna invite me in, or?”

“What are you, a vampire or something? I’m pretty sure you weren’t given permission when you entered my heart so just come in and cuddle me before my appointment.” 

Your response catches him off guard so he blinks before entering in silently, sticking his hands back into the loose fitting pocket of his hoodie. Even after six months, he’s still not used to you saying those kinds of things. Hell, he still gets sweaty holding your hand.

“Hey Mom! Dad!” You’re grabbing onto his arm, tugging him into the kitchen. “Jisung’s here!”

-

After a small breakfast and conversation with your parents, he’s given the permission to go with you to your doctor’s appointment. The two of you take the bus, hands interlaced as you sit, and Jisung smiles awkwardly when an elderly woman compliments the two of you, calling you a cute couple. 

He’s never really been in a hospital before. 

For an arduous soccer player, he’s lucky enough to never have suffered a pain great enough to warrant a visit to the hospital, nor had he ever been sickly enough to send him there. It’s for that reason that he feels slightly out of place, tucked in his hoodie whilst trying his best not to gaze at the others in the waiting room. Instead, he tries to keep his gaze focused upon his girlfriend as you remain bright despite their surroundings. Your hands intertwined, he feels a comfortable warmth seeping into his veins, gold in color and feeling. Gold like the ring on your finger, and like your heart. 

He’s so lucky to have you.

“I don’t really have anything planned,” he says softly, giving your hand a slight squeeze. It’s true that your itinerary is next to nonexistent for this impromptu date, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. If anything, a hospital is a strange starting destination for a date but your relationship is a bit strange. Quietly, he says to you, voice low in the hopes that no one overhears, “Don’t hospitals scare you?”

He knows that you spent a good portion of your time here; surely you must have grown accustomed to it, but Jisung was not. Hospitals were cold… white and bleak and much too quiet.

“Nah, not really,” you answer with a shake of your head. “Except for all the souls wandering around.”

Jisung blinks. “Souls?” He gulps.

“Yup. The souls of the passing.” You click your tongue, along with a wink in his direction now that you’ve successfully managed to creep him out. Do you ever stop making jokes?

The door to the waiting room opens and a medical assistant calls your name. “Hey, I’ll be right back,” you tell him, standing and releasing his arm. He gives a hesitant nod, watching as you leave through the door and disappear down the hall. 

When you emerge, some forty-five minutes later, the mirth is gone from your eyes.

He knows right away: you didn’t get good news. His heart is pumping in his chest, like he’s waiting for you to collapse right there. Years could pass, and Jisung swears he’d never be able to erase that memory of you. “Are you—” Okay, he wants to ask. But you just give him a small smile and shake your head. It’s not the time. He cuts himself short, reaching a hand out to you with a small, albeit forced, smile. “Let’s go on our date.”

-

It’s a long afternoon, spent in the arcade where you had had your first date—this time, for memory’s sake, he gets another ring from the claw machine—then McDonald’s and ice cream. He treats you to lunch, courtesy of his employee discount, and the entire day is filled with laughter and mutual teasing. Everything feels like it’s okay again. 

Jisung enjoys these moments the most.

The moments where he doesn’t feel like he has to be anybody: not the star soccer player, not the kind understanding younger brother, or a kid trying to look grown up at an adult party. With him he’s just you, awkwardness and quirks altogether. You’ve never hid yourself from him, and now he doesn’t have to hide himself either.

Now that the day is touching evening, the two of you sit at a park, relaxing mindlessly on the swings next to each other. Now that the romantic buzz is gone, the two of you have fallen into a comfortable silence.

“Thanks for coming this far, Ji. This was… nice.”

A small smile spreads over his lips. “It was nothing. I wanted to do it for a long time.”

“No, really,” you say, turning to him with a thankful smile. Your eyes are serious now, and Jisung feels the sunlight seep into his skin. “I really missed you.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. This moment feels heavy, like he’ll remember it for years to come. “... I missed you too. A lot.” You both turn back to face the sunset, watching the sun fade behind a hill. It’s setting, streaks of gentle reds and soft-spoken oranges staining the empyrean firmament. It’s then that Jisung feels his heart begin to sink, like the sun, into the pit of his stomach.

“Are you scared?”

A moment passes without you saying anything, then you speak up beside him. “Not really. I mean, it’s just the hospital. The only thing that’ll suck is not being able to leave. I never thought I’d say it but, I’m really gonna miss going to school.”

Did you think you were never going to return? “Are your chances good?”

The implications from earlier at the hospital return. What are the chances that things aren’t looking up? “They say so,” you breath out.

That’s not good enough. Anything could happen. Jisung needs clarification, confirmation. He doesn’t want to lose you. “What if you—”

“I might.”

A beat of silence.

Jisung feels like crying. It gathers in the back of his throat. “What would I do without you?”

There it is: the implication that you’ll be gone. That one day, Jisung will have to wake up and face a world without you in it, a world with less happiness and less passion. A world where there isn’t someone who will call him ugly when really they think he’s the cutest to walk to the earth, or where there isn’t someone to make fun of him the way you do. A world with less love. 

Your voice is dry as you speak. 

“You’d move on.”

“I don’t know if I’d ever love anyone like you,” he finds himself saying. 

“L-Love?” You suddenly say, voice the smallest he’s ever heard. You’ve always had the loudest voice, most prominent in his brain, but his words seem to have caught you off guard. “Do you? Love me?” 

He doesn’t know what love feels like. He’s just a teenager, what is he supposed to know about love? About loss? Is it all-consuming, like in the movies? Is it meant to hurt? “... I think I do. I think I love you.”

There’s a sniffle next to him, and he turns immediately, alarmed that he may have made you cry. There are tears in your eyes, but they don’t fall. Being a writer, you talk too much. Your words are eloquent and true, though sometimes Jisung has a hard time getting you to stop talking. But this time, you choose to abandon words altogether, instead leaving your swing to stand in front of him. Compelled by nature, he stands too. Instead of speaking, you reach upward on your tiptoes once more. Except this time, you kiss him. 

Your lips meet, and everything is golden.

And against the backdrop of the setting sun, it feels like the closing scene of Jisung’s very own romance movie. But this isn’t the end, he knows.

-

When he walks you home, he offers his sweater again. 

This time not out of obligation or the desire to appear more romantic than he is, but because you’re cold. Really cold. You’re shivering, arms wrapped around yourself not giving enough warmth.

“Here,” Jisung says, already beginning to take off his hoodie, but you stop him with a hand and a pointed look, though your chattering teeth cause you to stutter. “S-Still trying to woo me with cheap rom-com tricks?”

You’re stubborn. You’re so stubborn and he hates it.

“Just take it,” he says, pushing it into your arms. 

“No,” you argue. “You have a three hour ride home, it’s late and you’ll be cold.”

It’s obvious your illness has made you even more sensitive to the cold, and for that reason, Jisung’s fine facing the biting cold as long as you’re okay. “You’re freezing, please just take it.”

“Jisung, I said no.” Your voice is stern now, and he gets the feeling that he’s upset you. He gives up, gnawing on his bottom lip in deep thought. He just wants to make you feel better, doing what he thinks will help but with you, it never does. You’re so independent, too much so and much too stubborn to admit you need his help… “Fine,” he says before putting his hoodie back on. If you won’t take his warmth, then he’ll give it to you. 

He lifts his arm, placing it fully around your shoulders and pulling you to him so your bodies meet. “At least let me hold you,” he mumbles. Your frame freezes in his for a moment, until you wrap your arms around the circumference of his chest. 

Burying your face into his side, you relent into him. “Okay, fine.”

And later, he finds that you’re right. When he sits alone on the dimly lit train, he realizes that the warmth he had been feeling earlier, bathing in the sun’s rays with your lips, is long gone. All he feels now, is cold.

-

“You skipped practice the other day.” Jisung looks up from where he had been sitting on the bleachers, tying his shoes after practice. It had been a tough practice; he had missed quite a few passes and whiffed more than just a couple shots. He can only blame himself. He’s been distracted; alongside his worries about you, he also has a job to attend to and even more, the results for his dream school’s soccer scholarship is supposed to come out soon. His gaze falls on all six of his closest friends, looking down at him. 

“Yeah, something came up,” he says easily.

“More like, someone,” retorts Donghyuck easily. “We know you ditched to go see your girlfriend.”

“And what about it?”

“I don’t know what’s happened to you, man. You never want to play ball with us anymore, you don’t want to hang out with us. Whenever you invite you to a party, you raincheck. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore,” Chenle spits out, arms crossed over his chest.

“Chenle,” says Renjun carefully.

“No,” interrupts the boy in question. Chenle looks straight at Jisung, who stands now to meet the others’ heights. “He needs to hear this. Ever since that girl came around, it’s like you’ve lost your way. You used to be all about soccer and friendship. Now you always have her on your mind, and—did you see the way you played earlier?—she’s messing you up. Your head’s not on straight.”

“Chenle, stop.” Donghyuck speaks up now, voice low as he tries to stop the younger from going off. “You’re not the same Jisung I met in peewee camp, and I don’t know if I like who I’m seeing,” Chenle finishes. 

That’s enough for him. His voice comes out before he can stop it.

“You know why I never party with you anymore?” Jisung suddenly says, voice booming and clearly at his limit. “Because I’ve always hated partying. Because I have a job now, and because I don’t want my sister to stay up worrying about me while I’m getting piss drunk. I hate drinking, I hate trying to look cool while actually looking fucking stupid, because I don’t know how I can even think about partying when my girlfriend is fucking dying.” 

A hearty scoff leaves his lips, as though he can’t even fathom the words he’s faced today. “You don’t even know me anymore? That’s where you’re wrong, because you never knew me. Not all of me. You only see me as the star player who’s gonna get you your win. She knows me, she knows all of me, and she doesn’t try to change me. Well, sorry that I’m not the same kid you met years ago who let everyone walk all over him. I thought you guys were my friends, but clearly you only want me around for as long as I can play.”

Those are the last fiery words to leave Jisung’s mouth before he turns on his heels, storming off the field and away from everyone else. He just needs to get out of here, away from everything before he ruins it. Mark and Hyuck follow after him, while Jeno and the rest hold Chenle back. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Mark says, ever level headed. “We know what you’re going through.”

Though he appreciates their concern, Jisung spits, “No, you don’t.”

Both of them stop walking, no longer chasing after him as Jisung pulls out his phone. 

A new email.

He immediately opens it, eyes glazing over the text.

Dear Jisung Park,

Thank you for applying to our university’s soccer scholarship. We reviewed every application with our utmost dedication and attention. Unfortunately, we regret to inform you that we cannot accept your application at this time. Our soccer program is one of the most competitive at this school, however we encourage you to reapp… 

What a load of shit. 

-

The past few weeks have been horrid. 

Soccer is as tense as ever, though Jisung would be lying if he said that his fight with Chenle didn’t fuel him to work even harder during practice. His job sucks, especially after someone spilled a bucket of old oil on him (it was cold, thank goodness but still gross nonetheless). So far he’s gotten another rejection. Who knew that getting into college would be this hard?

He wishes that he could say his relationship with you is the saving grace, but it’s really not. You’re in the hospital now, and the two of you have been talking less and less. Even now with his feud between his friends, he feels even more alone. Today when he calls, you sound even more tired than usual. 

“Hey, chocolate honeycomb bunny,” Jisung says, giving his absolute worst at giving a cringe-worthy nickname. It seems you’re too tired to even give a repulsed response. 

“Hey.” You’re quiet for a moment, only your breathing heard across the line. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” sighs Jisung, running a hand through his dark locks. “Just exhausted. My coworker is getting on my last nerve.”

“The same one you talked about last week?”

“Who spilled the dirty oil on me? Yeah,” he responds with a roll of his eyes. “We’ve both been working the same amount of time, I just want to know why he’s so slow to pick it up.”

It’s characteristic of you to agree, seeing as complaining is one of your favorite past times. But you don’t, voice only coming out softly across the call, “Maybe just give him some time.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know,” he sighs. “How about you? Are you feeling better?”

“About the same,” you respond truthfully. God, you sound so tired. He almost feels bad for making you talk to him when you clearly sound exhausted. “Any more results?” You ask, regarding his college acceptances.

“No,” he shakes his head. He doesn’t understand. He’s a good student, he’s done community service. Just what more do they want from him? “You said I was special, but I don’t think the colleges see that.” 

He can almost see your small smile in his mind. “You are special. Just ‘cause they don’t see it doesn’t you aren’t.”

“Eh, I don’t know,” Jisung says, playing with a loose thread on his bedsheet. 

What you say next catches him off guard. “Maybe we can both be college-less, together.”

“What?” He asks, brows tightening in confusion. “Didn’t you get into the journalism program at that one university?” He’s caught you. You’re silent on the line for a few long seconds, but the quiet is deafening for him.

“I did, but Jisung, I…” You hesitate. “I’m not going.”

“What do you mean you’re not going?” He asks.

“I… I don’t know if I want to.” In a small voice, you continue, “I don’t know that I’ll make it that long.” What are you saying? What are you implying? Heart racing, Jisung tries to decipher these words in his mind. To him, it just sounds like the end.

“You’re giving up already, I hear it in your voice.”

“I’m not,” you say, a broken promise. “I just… want to be prepared for the worst.”

“The worst isn’t coming. You’re going to get through this. You’re going to beat it. I know you are.” It becomes blatantly clear in this moment that the person Jisung is trying to convince, is himself. 

His pleas fall upon deaf ears, because you argue back in what seems like the strongest voice you’ve made in months. As though you’ve amassed all your remaining energy for this conversation. “I’m not a hero, Jisung. I’m not cut out for this. The doctors said it’s not looking good.” 

“Then prove them wrong. You’re gonna beat it.” 

“I don’t want to be the underdog either, Ji. You know I hate them.” What you say next has his blood boiling. “I don’t deserve it anyways, no one would want me to come back.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jisung raises his voice now, volume growing with each word.

“No one likes me,” you spit out across the line, and he doesn’t need to see you to imagine how incensed you are at the moment. “I’m rude, I’m loud, I cross boundaries and I say things that hurt without caring about who it touches. And before you yell at me that no one thinks of me like that, these are things I’ve heard from other people.” Your voice breaks, as does Jisung’s heart. “If this were a movie, no one would root for me to survive.” 

“I do,” Jisung says, voice strong. “I’m rooting for you. Every. Single. Day. And who cares about how other people see you? You’re rude? You’re crass? I like you because of those things, because you’re different from me. Am I not enough?”

“You’re different,” you relent, voice tired. “You’re the only one who matters. But I—“ You choke up. “I’m just tired of fighting. I don’t want to go to sleep every night not knowing if I’ll wake up the next morning. I want to be strong, and I want to face every day knowing that it could be my last… I don’t want to leave anything behind—”

“You’re not leaving,” he cuts in.

“—and I can’t go through every day letting you think that everything is okay, because they’re not. But I’m ready to let go, Ji. Because I’m happy with what I had, with what we had, and I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

Tears are falling down his cheeks now, suiciding off the surface of his face and staining his bed sheets. He doesn’t know if the tears are the result of sadness, anger, or the pain of loving someone the universe would never let him have, yet it hurts all the same. “But I love you! I told you that I loved you.”

“I love you too,” you cry, and the sound is heartbreaking. “But I just wish that were enough.”

A pregnant silence consumes both of you. All that can be heard is the sound of your mutual crying, along with your breathing that Jisung had learned to fall asleep to. When you speak again, your voice is steady. You had always been the stronger one. “I don’t think you should call anymore.” A few sniffles. He can’t even speak. “Goodbye, Jisung.”

Then the line dies.

-

It’s Christmastime. He knows it’s cold, probably even colder in the hospital where you are.

Now, Jisung knows you don’t want anything from him. You don’t want him around. In the past weeks he must have become someone even he wouldn’t want around. And though he gets the feeling that you’ll never need him again, he figures you could use a sweater. It’s nothing much, and really he thinks it could be better. 

A hoodie, not fit to your size but slightly larger because he knew you well enough to know you’d like it like that. On one sleeve, near the wrist, a patch of a soccer ball. He had learned how to sew it on himself. On the other, his initials. JS.

He sends it in the mail, in a box to the hospital with your name and room number on it. There’s no letter, nothing. Just his bare soul in the form of an oversized cotton hoodie. He’d send it himself, appearing at the door to your hospital bed, but something tells him he’s run out of things to say.

-

His phone rings at three in the morning. 

He knows what it means.

February 2nd, at 2:39AM. The world lost you. 

It would never be the same again, and neither would he.

-

Grief is an interesting thing, someone once told him. 

He doesn’t quite remember who it was, whether it was his sister comforting him after the death of their goldfish, the guidance counselor at his school giving him a required appointment after the passing of a student, or yourself. But as the hours go by, it feels more and more like a weight in his chest that has been sitting on a hollowed place in his heart. 

Grief is indescribable, and Jisung doesn’t know if this is because his limited seventeen year old vocabulary hasn’t collected enough fitting words to even begin to verbalize his emotions, or if because it really is indescribable. 

The first few days had been hell. 

He had almost become someone that he didn’t know, barely stepping out of bed and perhaps worrying his sister out of her mind. It was his way of ignoring the world, dissociating himself from the irrefutable truth that you weren’t really gone. You were still laying in bed, three hours away as usual, struggling but still fighting. If he could lay in bed, sleeping the days away and ignoring his text message condolences from his friends, he could pretend for some time that things were the way they were, eight months ago. 

Eight months before it.

Eight months before he lost you. Before your relationship, a burgeoning dandelion in the nook of spring. But dandelions represent rebirth, the reappearance of hope like a beacon after an arduous winter, and you would never have another spring. 

He could not pretend, because every morning the sun rose again, and he would have to reach his head out from the burrow of blankets he had buried himself in. He would need to face it for himself that he woke up, and you didn’t. His friends texted. His sister knocked on his door and begged him to eat, even going as far as to cook his favorite foods as a means to lure him from the darkness of his corner. He ate. But it was never the same. 

Messy bedheads, earbuds tucked in with muzak playing gently like the thrum of his heart which beat enough for the both of you, tear-stained pillow cases, knees to the chest, light failing to shine in through the blinds which remained closed, counting the seconds between each breath, dreaming insubordinate dreams. 

The first few days went like that. Empty.

Then he was angry.

Angry because the world had given him a love worth changing for, then ripped it from his inexperienced hands. He had never had anything in his life! Not a mother, not a father. Could he not have this one lily, this flower which sought to remind him of the fragility of life? And even more so, he was angry for you. You were a fire—you were a bottle of passion bursting at the seams, a well of untapped potential, a boldness which no one else could emulate—and the universe crushed you beneath its foot. 

And suddenly, the emptiness of your hollow space reflected upon him.

He should have been better, should have done more. A soccer ball proposition? A sweater? It was laughable; that was the least he could give? If only he had called, if only he hadn’t listened to you like the meek child he was, things could be better. 

And above all, he was sad. 

What would he do without you?

Moving on seemed useless. A light at the end of a dark tunnel which stretched for ages. An epiphany that you would never reach. 

He just hoped that it was not cold. That you left the world in a ball of light, surrounded in the warmth of family and love, not the rigidness of the unforgiving world. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he hoped that the soccer ball sleeve had been clutched to your chest, and that his hoodie could have provided just a little bit of that warmth. 

-

The walking pattern outside his bedroom door is different from his sister’s. So is the knock on the door; his older sister’s is much more quiet, reserved, as though she was afraid to wake him. This one is harsh, and it reverberates through the room before the door opens.

The air in the room is still for a moment.

“Jisung.” 

It’s Chenle. And Mark, Renjun, Jeno, Donghyuck, as well as Jaemin. They all take their seats either on the end of his bed, the floor, or his beanbag, but Jisung doesn’t move from his place underneath the blankets. 

“What do you want?” He manages to groan out in a small voice.

Someone places a hand on his leg, a comforting gesture. He thinks it’s Jaemin from the gentle touch. “We’re here for you.”

Donghyuck comments, “You haven’t been to practice this week.” Of course that would be what they would mention first. Jisung scoffs. “I’m kind of going through something.”

“And we’re here.” Mark’s voice.

“We wanted to apologize.” Chenle speaks now, and despite being best friends since they were five, he’s the last person Jisung expected to say sorry. In their decade-long friendship, Chenle was the confident one, the one who charged forward without consequence while Jisung trailed behind, cleaning up his mess. “We’ve been… assholes, simply put.” Had he been in higher spirits, Jisung would have snorted. “We thought we understood what you were going through, and we thought it was dumb. To let yourself get hurt over some random girl… but we were wrong. We didn’t understand your point of view.”

“Not even a little bit,” says Donghyuck, head hanging low. 

“Yeah, we’re supposed to be your friends. Your team! We’re supposed to lift you up when you’re down and… well, we haven’t been doing that. And we’re sorry. I’m sorry.” Chenle says. Slowly, Jisung lifts his head from below the blanket to face his friends. They all wear a variety of expressions, all somber. “And we know now… she’s not just some random girl.”

Yeah, they’ve all been assholes, some more than others, and Jisung can’t exactly say that they were any help in his struggle. But perhaps this was something he needed to go through alone. At the time, he needed you. But now… he just really needs his best friends. 

Tears sting at his eyes for the nth time. 

“Come here, you crybaby,” says Jaemin, opening his arms.

-

It’s Monday, meaning he has to go back to school today. He’s not ready, how could he be? It hasn’t even been a week since you… left, but he knows he has to go back. His sister, God bless her, had let him take the first few days off but now that the weekend has ended and school has rolled back around, he has no choice.

“You look like shit.”

Donghyuck has always lacked a filter. It would hurt if Jisung didn’t know that Donghyuck meant that in the best way possible. You look like shit, he says. So I’m glad you found it in you to come to school, is what he doesn’t say. 

Jisung closes his locker with a sigh. “Thanks.” 

“No problem,” snickers his friend, and Jisung turns his head to find Mark and Jaemin approaching. “Morning,” greets Jaemin as he taps the top of Jisung’s head, despite being shorter.

“Hi,” responds Jisung quietly, clutching his chemistry textbook to his chest. The three of them look at him with quiet and somber eyes, but don’t say anything. Mark places a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving it a small rub.

“You got this.” 

The truth is, he can’t do this. The world feels quiet and empty, lacking a particular passion that you used to always embody. It could be worse. Thank goodness your relationship was rather private; he doesn’t know how he’d be able to function at school had there been curious eyes on him, if you had gone to the same school as him. 

The day goes rather slowly, and Jisung busies himself with catching up on his work that he had missed. He could almost pretend like things are normal. It’s not until fifth period calculus that something strange happens. 

An office TA pokes her head in and scrambles over to the teacher, who was in the midst of a very enthralling lecture on integrals that Jisung was definitely not paying great attention to. The TA whispers something into the teacher’s ear, then hands her a piece of paper. Mrs. Huang nods, then suddenly Jisung finds her eyes on him. “Jisung, Mr. Moon wants you in his office.” 

Him? Why him of all people?

Mr. Moon is the guidance counselor at their school, and Jisung has a moment of internal panic—had he somehow found out about you? Should he prepare himself for a lecture about grief and moving on? 

With a gulp, he nods. 

Mr. Moon is a fairly nice man, with a friendly smile and a reputation for being a pushover teacher. Jisung had met with him a few months ago to discuss his desire to pursue a soccer scholarship but he highly doubts that’s the case now.

When Jisung enters Mr. Moon’s office, the first thing he sees isn’t Mr. Moon but a tall man with a stoic expression standing behind his desk. In contrast to the stranger, Mr. Moon wears his trademark smile. “Jisung, good to see you. Still getting a kick out of that old ball?” 

Of course, Mr. Moon doesn’t know that Jisung skipped practice all last week to mope in his bed, but Jisung nods politely. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” responds the teacher with a smile. “Take a seat.”

He gestures to the chair in front of his desk, and cautiously does Jisung take a seat. The tall, bruff man is still standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, having not yet said a single word. Somehow the atmosphere is tense, and Jisung’s quite sure he knows what this is about. 

“Now, Jisung, I’ve called you in today because—”

“Is this about (Name)?” Perhaps it’s a bit rude of him, but Jisung doesn’t want to be prodded at, at least not by people who think they know him. The last thing he wants is pity. 

Mr. Moon’s eyebrow raises just the slightest, and he leans forward on his desk. “Why, yes, it is. How did you know?”

A scoff leaves Jisung’s lips, but it’s much weaker than he would like. “My question is, how did you know? Who told you?” Who was it that shared information on his personal life? Was it his sister? His friends? 

“Nobody had to tell me, Jisung. (Name) sent the letter to me herself.”

Wait… what? 

Jisung blinks, hands falling slack on his lap. “W-What? What letter?”

Perhaps his staring is a bit too obvious, for Mr. Moon gestures to the stranger in question with a hand. “Jisung, this is Johnny Seo.” Finally, the intimidating stranger has a name. “Johnny is the head coach of the soccer team at Greenwood University—” Wait, Greenwood University? That’s Jisung’s dream school—well, it was his dream school, until they rejected his application for a soccer scholarship. What would they want to do with him? “—and he wants to offer you a full-ride scholarship.”

What? 

Jisung’s mouth falls open. What? What the hell? Hadn’t they just rejected him three months ago? His eyes must be bugging out of his face, so he blinks repeatedly, trying to find the words to say. 

“W-Wait, what? A… A full ride?” He stammers, unable to find his tongue.

The man named Johnny only nods. “Full ride. Covered tuition, dorming, and soccer costs. All you have to do is keep your grades up and keep scoring those fancy goals of yours I’ve heard about.”

“But—But, you rejected me… why now?” 

For the first time, Johnny gives a small smile. “Because of the letter.” There it is, that letter again that Jisung has no idea about. He looks to Mr. Moon for guidance. All the counselor does is open his desk drawer and pull out an envelope, which he slides across his desk. “(Name) (Last Name) wrote a recommendation letter to the university, and honestly, it was stunning. It was enough to make the admissions board… bend a little, to say the least.” 

Reaching forward, Jisung grabs the envelope and examines it in his hands. It’s opened, but yes, on the front is your handwriting. He’s cried so much this past week that he doesn’t know how many times tears have touched his eyes, but they sting once more. This time, he doesn’t let them fall. 

“She… wrote a letter. For me?” 

“That she did,” responds Mr. Moon. 

“She’s right,” says Johnny suddenly. “In our work at the university, we’re always looking for the best of the best. We should look deeper, sometimes.” The words sink in the room, and Jisung finds himself staring down at the envelope in his hands. What things had you had to say about him?

Honestly, all he can think about is his failure. How he failed to be there for you, how he cowarded in your presence when you told him to leave you alone. He bites down on his lip. 

“So? Will you accept our offer?” 

Jisung looks up again, meeting Johnny’s expectant eyes. “I…” His mouth suddenly runs dry. “I don’t know, I… I need to think about it.”

“You’re not graduating for another four months. Take your time.” Slowly, still in glassy-eyed disbelief, Jisung nods. His fingers find the edge of the envelope, tracing its pointed edge. You wrote that for him. From across the desk, Mr. Moon speaks up. “You should read that letter, Jisung, and realize what’s coming for you: good things.” 

-

To Whom It May Concern,

Hello. My name is (Name) (Last Name), and I am a high school student writing this letter to appeal a rejection by your university. Not of my own application, but of an extraordinary person with the name Jisung Park. In my humble opinion, I believe that your institution has made a grave mistake in not offering a scholarship to Jisung. So, I write this letter to appeal such a rejection, and to do something that he hated, though it was what I always did best: write about Jisung. 

Now, Jisung is a humble person who never speaks up about his struggles, but the truth is that of all students, I believe he is the most in need of this scholarship. His parents passed when he was young, and he grew up in the care of his older sister who raised him. Their small but strong family made sacrifices, gave up luxuries, and endeavored to survive. 

In the midst of this crisis, Jisung found his one savior: soccer. 

He is, without a doubt, the best soccer player I have ever seen in my entire life. He can sprint across the field in half a normal player’s time, and I’ve never seen him miss a goal or a pass. But his soccer prowess isn’t what makes him great. Moreover, Jisung is the person you want on a team. He believes in teamwork, but is always striving to be better. He doesn’t want to stand out, but does so anyways. He is never arrogant, nor boastful. If there is one person who deserves this, it’s him.

But, I am sure that you are thinking: why should this letter mean anything to you? I’m not a highly valued individual in the community, nor have I done anything significant for my name to mean anything. I’m only a seventeen year old student, a struggling journalist. 

The answer to that question is, I know Jisung Park. You only see his grades, the shallow things on his application. You will never get to see the Jisung Park that I knew and loved. 

In my time alive, Jisung Park made an impact on my life that will never be forgotten. Even when life seemed the darkest, not a beam of light in the field's view, Jisung picked me up and made me see the sunset. I know now, the sunset is beautiful, warm, and comforting—everything that Jisung is. He never left my side, and never for a single moment did I ever feel alone in his presence. The world often overplays the saying “a heart of gold,” but the truth is that Jisung has one.

I used to think that love would be red, like the burning of one’s lungs racing down a soccer field, or black and white, made to be simple. But the truth is, love is golden. Golden like the sunset painting streaks against the floor, golden like Jisung. It’s a warmth that covers you from head to toe, relenting into a future that you don’t know. 

He is my golden boy, and he can be yours too. 

I may not have a future, but if there’s one thing that I know, it’s that Jisung deserves one. 

I’m a journalist. I don’t write love letters, but perhaps this is the closest I can ever get. And should Jisung ever read this letter, I hope he knows that with this, I dedicated my last spark of sunlight to him. 

Sincerely,

(Name) (Last Name)

-

Your funeral occurs on February 13th, a week and four days after your passing. 

Jisung stands in front of the bathroom mirror, nose scrunched in concentration as he makes a feeble attempt on his necktie. This is surely not as easy as throwing on a soccer jersey. “Ugh,” he groans, fingers getting confused again.

“Need help?”

His sister’s dainty voice calls him from the bathroom door. Dressed in all black, she’s ready too. Turning his head, Jisung sighs. “Please.” She makes his way toward him, fingers coming to work on his tie already with steady hands. 

“You’re too tall now,” she says softly, with a chuckle. It’s true; he used to look up to her, physically and figuratively, but now he’s an entire head above her. “You’ve grown up a lot.” 

It was his eighteenth birthday just a few days ago but to be quite honest, he hadn’t had the heart to celebrate it. If anything, he had always thought that his eighteenth birthday would be like an epiphany for him. As though he would wake up the morning of, feeling like an adult with all the answers to the world.

The truth is, he’s eighteen now and he still feels like he has no idea what he’s doing. 

“I don’t feel any different,” he admits. “I thought eighteen would mean something.”

“You’ll get there, trust me. And anyways, I always told you not to grow up too fast.”

For a moment there’s a silence as his sister swoops the tie in and out, weaving it to form the perfect knot. Feeling something scratch at the back of his throat, Jisung speaks. “... I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for, silly? I was the one who never taught you how to knot a necktie,” she chuckles. 

“Not for that,” he says. “For last week. I… probably scared you.”

Suddenly, his sister is wearing that demure smile of hers again. The one that is small and polite, but always seems to carry more weight in it than he can see. “No. It’s okay, I knew you’d be better.” 

Naeun finally finishes the knot, tightening it the slightest around Jisung’s neck. “There you go.” He offers her a small thanks as he turns to look in the mirror, and she begins to leave. A sigh leaves him; there’s no avoiding it now, he’s ready to go.

“You know, Jisung,” she suddenly speaks up from the doorway. “I’m glad that you met her. Even if it ended up like this… you’re different. In a good way, and I think she had a lot to do with it. Even if you don’t feel different… you are.”

-

In the months of your relationship, Jisung had come to learn your insecurities. You were loud and proud, but with that confidence came an unwavering insecurity that you were unliked by those you spilled your tongue to. At the funeral, Jisung sees that that’s not at all true.

People give speeches for you, place flowers on your grave. The school newspaper had even written an article to commemorate your presence on their team, and the president of the club reads it aloud. A number of hospital staff make their appearance.

Even Jisung’s friends show up, despite the clear memory of them calling you crazy early on. Maybe they were right, maybe you were crazy. But he probably was too.

It doesn’t rain a single drop, though it had been pouring for three days before. Instead, the sun peeks through the overcast clouds, gifting sunshine. 

Jisung smiles. 

He probably looks like an idiot, carrying the soccer ball around the entire funeral but he knows what it means to him, and what it means to you. When he places it on your grave, the grass still fresh, his eyes catch the carefully written words on a singular white spot.

I love you. 

He knows that he means it. 

At eighteen, there a lot of things that Jisung still doesn’t know. But even so, there are a handful of truths that he can hold onto forever. One, he’s still an incredible soccer player and girls are still very scary. But like soccer, maybe that just takes time and practice. 

Two, growing up isn’t about a number. It’s not about partying or drinking, nor is it about rushing into relationships that have little meaning. For years Jisung had wanted to grow up, to face the world with no fears and be able to cruise through. But he knows now that growing up is about being strong in the face of sadness, pain, grief. About waking up every morning even if you feel like you have no reason to. 

Love is the same.

Love isn’t about making out on the bleachers after practice or trying to copy the coy clichés seen in romance movies. It’s about the sacrifices, like four hour bus rides. It’s about communication and connection, like a recommendation letter traced in gold. Because of you, he’s moving forward. He can go to college, and the day will never come when he stops being grateful toward you and everything you’ve done. That’s love, and he will spend the rest of his life loving you. Maybe the love will change but it will always be love. 

It hurts that you’re gone, it really does. Jisung doesn’t think it’ll ever stop hurting.

But the last thing he knows is that things will be okay.

Life moves on, and he will too. 

#neowritingsnet #dreamwritersnet #nct-writers #neohbh #neothestars #park jisung angst #jisung angst #jisung fluff #park jisung fluff #park jisung fanfic #jisung fanfic #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct angst #nct fluff #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic

[golddaggers]

midnight rendezvous

pairing: louis tomlinson x f!reader

warnings: filthy smut with hints of fluffness. period sex. petnames. him calling you baby doll. defo nsfw +18, so my dudes, read carefully.

a/n: it's your renegade writer back with her fantasies. i've written this a while back and though it'd be such a shame to share. if you do like it, make sure to reblog and like. thanks and enjoy *wink* leth x

word count: 3k+

xx

It’s just a bit past midnight when I park home, no one wandering the streets, or children playing about, there’s just the chilled breeze fumbling with the leaves. I don’t notice a second car on the driveway until I’m up close, I blame the dim yellow streetlights and my exhaustion. It had been a particularly busy shift at the hospital, I wanted nothing more than to sleep for about two days straight.

The cold crisp air makes me tremble for a split second, but I am soon welcomed by the warmth of the inside. I kicked off my sneakers, trying to be as silent as possible, I didn’t want to wake him up. A second car meant Louis had come home and he must be tired, it had been weeks since he had a break, we hadn’t seen each other for even longer. The weekends he happened to be around, I couldn’t work my schedule to spend them at home with him. It sucked, and I missed him more than I could put it into words.

A frustrated sigh slips while I walk to the kitchen, filling up a glass of water. After so many years, I should be used to it: the busy schedule, the months spent apart. I’m not, though. And being honest, I don’t think it’s possible to not be in pain when waking up to an empty bed beside me, to not hear the soft humming when he’s doing the dishes, to not miss the press of his lips on mine. I just wanted us to buy a bunch of lands somewhere, live a quiet, happy life, have children, and grow old. Just the two of us.

This was something I would never tell him. Robbing him of his passions wasn’t on my mind. I knew he’d oblige if I did say so. If I asked him, but I couldn't.

I leave a half-drunk glass behind, and go upstairs, taking off my plain white shirt then unbuttoning my jeans. Before I got to the bedroom, however, I froze, strangled sounds coming from there startling me for a second. It's followed by a smile creeping in, I’m very much aware, and familiar, with them.

The door isn’t closed, so I peek in. I see him naked, sheets pooled by his feet, and one hand wrapped around himself, moving up and down with ease, his thumb applying just enough pressure. I feel my mouth watering at the sight, a cramp twisting my belly. Desire gathers quickly, I was so touch-starved that I might as well come undone just by watching him get himself off.

His eyes are closed, thin lips parted. I slide off my pants, throwing both them, and my shirt away, walking inside in just my black lingerie. Even that was starting to be uncomfortable.

“Lou?” I call him, standing with crossed arms. He’s quick to drop everything, shooting me a wide, surprised glare. “Sorry, didn’t mean to spoil your good time.”

I’m half-joking at this point.

“I thought you’d only be home in t’ mornin’,” Deep blue eyes, sparked with lust, stare up at me. I'm very aware of how much I want to be near him again. “C’mere.”

He pats the space on his right side, it’s mesmerizing how quickly he can go from a sex god to a warm loving man. I go, but I don’t stay beside him, instead, I take my seat on his lap, which makes him laugh, rough hands on my waist, squeezing the flesh. I shift, uncomfortable, feeling him beneath me. So hard, so ready. It’s been so long I might just assume I'm a virgin all over again, shamefully responsive to anything he might do to me.

Louis leans in, planting a kiss just between the curve of my breasts. The prickle of his bead makes my pulse rise. It’s the intimacy that gets me hooked. He feels like coming home. A warmth that springs from the tip of my toes to my head, flushes my cheeks, and makes my forehead sweaty.

A “missed ya” whispered on my skin makes me shake, he then kisses the soft spot where the shoulder meets the neck, I let out a groan, moving, seeking friction. His smirk is taunting, both hands going up to my cheeks, four eyes meeting in the middle of a tired night.

“What now?” I say, unsure, panting as his thumb toys with my lips, pushing inside for a moment.

“Do you want a shower first?” He asks, staring at me, a boyish smile on his face.

“I should. I’m disgusting.”

“Nonsense,” The tip of his nose is pressed to my cheek, a ghostly kiss left behind on my jaw. “You look amazing anyway. Why d'ya think I’m so worked up?”

“Were you thinking of me? Getting yourself off imagining my hands around you? My spit and my lips, hmm?”

Louis pants when I grind down on him, slick with the throb of him against me. The fabric of my panties still forbids me from knowing his skin on mine, from sinking and swallowing him whole.

“Yeah, I was. Always think abou' ya', love.”

“I think about you too,” The friction makes me lean forward, sighing against his warm neck. “Nights get so lonely… I miss you so much, you know.”

“Darling…”

“Mmhm, I have to touch myself, grab my boobs,” I place his hands on them, and he squeezes, promptly. Fills his hands. It’s swollen, sore even. I’m burning up.

“Do you say my name when you come?” Louis asks, quietly, sucking a patch of skin. I’ve got goosebumps, I’m reeling from the build-up.

“I do. Over and over and over,” The room feels warmer if that's possible. Sweat drips down my back. I’m aware as to why I’m so sensitive, besides the yearning when it’s been months since he last touched me, my period heightens things up.

For a moment there, I almost forgot it.

“Can I just fuck you now, doll?” It’s a hoarse whisper, I clench in frustration. I’m hot, nearly suffocating. “Want t’ feel yeh so bad.”

His accent thickens, I’m lost, too into the moment to think coherently. I go for his lips, kissing him with passion, biting down on his bottom lip, still moving my hips, rolling against his. He pushes back, groaning into my mouth. It’s sinful. Everything about him is.

“Can’t, sweets,” It slips out, breathlessly. “‘M bloody down there.”

He smiles, soothing, hands firm on my hips. My stomach somersaults, it’s amazing how Louis manages to make me feel 17 every time he gives me that gorgeous smile of his. I feel like one of his groupies.

“Never cared ‘bout that before. C’mon, help me out.”

“Lou…” A strangled noise followed. I’m reaching a point where pleasure mixes with pain, I’m too aroused, too sensitive. He touches me there, trained fingers light to not hurt me but enough to stir me on. “You’re trying to bribe me, aren’t you?”

“Am I getting there?” The double entendre makes me chuckle, nodding. “Good. Let me take those off, hmm?”

“Come,” I untangle myself from him, the cold, empty feeling brings a pang to my lower belly. “If we’re doing this, let’s do it in the shower.”

I slide off my panties, tossing them at him. Louis laughs wholeheartedly, balling it in his hand while kicking the sheets away to follow me into our bathroom.

It’s bright, with mirrors everywhere. My hair looks an absolute mess, strands falling down my shoulders, I’ve got flushed cheeks, and glistening skin, perspiration all over. Five minutes with him just does that to you. He looks impressive from behind me, his brown hair was thrown back, wide blue eyes staring right at me from the reflection. I can see the extension of his tattoos, the tanned skin from being under the sun a little too long last weekend.

Louis is a sight for sore eyes.

We exchange a look then smile. The kind of intimacy that only comes when you love someone, beyond passion, beyond attraction.

He undoes the clasp of my bra. I sigh in relief, gasping when his hands cup my boobs, pinching my oversensitive nipples. I can’t help but toss my head back, resting it on his shoulder. He’s good at this, playing with me, edging me out.

“Missed them even more,” Louis expresses, a half-smile on his face. “You’ve got the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.”

“You know you’re probably the only man on earth that can get away with saying stuff like that, right?” We share a laugh. “Turn the water on, sweets, yeah? I need to take the tampon off.”

While he busies himself with getting things ready, I put my leg up on the toilet and gently pull it out, being careful not to spill any blood on the floor. I’m mentally grateful it’s not an extra heavy day. I wrap it up in toilet paper and toss it in the bin.

“Water is warm, baby,” Steam starts to fog up the room. “Come.”

“I hope I will.” I wink at him. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so cheeky.

“Don’t tease me,” Lust soaks up his voice, eyes stern. He’d punish me for sure. When I wasn’t expecting him to do so. When we weren’t so desperate for each other. Whenever he’s back home, there’s no games, just tension relief.

He goes in, standing beneath the shower rain, his back facing me. I look at his ass, all perky and round. It’s no secret that I got a thing for it, and I might’ve bitten it a few… hundred times. Whenever I get the chance, really. I grab them, squeezing the muscle, a hoarse laugh falling from his lips. Louis thinks it’s silly, doesn’t see how it’s so great.

We kiss, then. In a brief moment, he spins and pulls me in, tongue rolling ‘round with mine. It’s wet, crude even. I make sounds that would mistake me for a pornstar, groaning when his tip brushes where I’m aching with need. He pulls my hair back, exposing my neck to him, sucking and biting. Leaving behind bruises I’ll have trouble covering. The adrenaline high doesn’t let me focus on that, though.

His hand slides between us, lodging between my legs, his palm pressing my pulsating clit. I call out for him, squeezing his shoulders, whimpering. Just this faint touch sends me into overdrive. It’s borderline ridiculous. How good he is. Or how much I want him. How I crave for him like a junkie craves a fix. It’s the trip of a lifetime when he’s inside me.

I go for his dick, so painfully hard it could cut right through me. There’s something about watching his eyes snap close, or how he moans, but I wobble, my breathing going fitful. He says my name, pressing his soft lips to my forehead, still rubbing me out. My hand seems smaller when it’s wrapped around the width of him. Louis feels heavy and scorching hot.

“I want to do something,” I whisper, high on the pleasure he was giving me. “Would you let me?”

“I want to fuck you, darling,” It’s raw, doesn’t sound dirty, more like a pleading question. “Please let me, hmm? I want to fill you up. Watch it drip down out of you. My pretty baby with cum all over her legs.”

A pained whimper comes out.

The tip of his fingers are stained red, they never really slipped inside me, just circling, creating a build-up that leaves me in discomfort. It’s unusual how much time we are taking with this, at this point, we would’ve fucked about three times already. Either way, I like it. The glint in his eyes, eyes that I adore. Diamond beauties staring down at me, so full of desire. It’s powerful. To know you have such an effect on a man like him.

I place him in the tight space between my thighs, both of us groaning with the stronger contact. I’m dripping and it’s not just blood, he’s thrumming, hips sloppily jerking forward. I feel him almost in me, but not quite. I scream, I’m sure our neighbours would make complaints. I don’t find it in me to care. It's way too heavenly.

Tattooed hands land on each of my love handles, our bodies are almost one at this point. That’s when he lifts my leg, we both can’t do any more foreplay, no more waiting. I help him inside, a little bit of blood gushing before he’s deep within. It takes a while for me to get used to him again, two months can be enough for things to shrink back up.

“God, your cunt is so fucking tight,” He mumbles, out-of-worldly. “You’re gonna make me come and I barely even started.”

“And you’re so fucking big, gonna split me open,” I shoot back, gripping tight on his forearm, trying to balance myself as he starts to pound, slowly at first. “Fuck, baby. This is so good.”

“Tell me who can make you feel so good, baby doll,” A particular hard snap of his hips makes me sway on my step, but his iron grip steadies me. “Use your words. I want to know.”

“You!” It’s a desperate squeal, I feel full, he stretches me to a burning point. Pain mixing with pleasure. It doesn’t take a scientist to tell me I’ll have trouble sitting down tomorrow. “You, baby.”

Louis lifts my other leg, both on the crook of his arms, and presses me against the tiled wall of our bathroom. His teeth clamp around my nipple, biting, sucking. I feel dizzy with the torrential rain of emotions. The water keeps falling on us, warm. It splashes when he thrusts.

None of us is lasting longer. I wasn’t particularly known to do so, not when he was the one handling me anyway. Some people are just skilled. Just know how to push somebody else’s buttons. And Louis knew how to push mine. He knew how to push me into the fucking edge. Coax a string of orgasms out of me if he so wanted. With his fingers, with his tongue, with his dick.

I moan, one hand tugging the hair at the nape of his neck and the other going to where our bodies met. It’s a fucking sight. Watching him go in then out of me. I start rubbing myself.

“You have to be quieter,” He says, our foreheads glued together, still slamming into me like I’m his favourite rag doll. “We don’t need people calling the police.”

“It’s your fault,” My reply is followed by a curse word. “Giving it to me so good like that.”

“Mmhm,” Dark blue looks at me, I can feel him getting sloppier. It’s close.

In urgency, he kisses me, I’m too frail, too putty in his hands. A numbness starts on the tip of my toes, it makes my eyes roll back, I can’t even voice anything anymore, entirely surrendered to him. To the vulnerability of this moment. Being his as much as he’s mine.

Time stands still whenever I’m with him. And right now, I can’t even keep track of it, too lost in him. That’s why I don’t know how long it took, it could’ve been seconds or minutes or hours. But I broke. Went up screaming. Barely registering he was telling me to shush, that it was too late in the night to be so loud. If that was what he was saying at all.

I’m shuddering, that I can tell with conviction, convulsing. That doesn’t happen often. I mean, it’s always fucking good, but like this, like I’m on something, that’s exceptional. At one point, he growls, squeezing me tighter. His hips stutter, face squashed against my chest. He spends himself inside me, as it was promised. I’m beyond satisfied, I’m in a state of bliss no one can reach me. Where the world doesn’t exist, only him.

Louis stays in for a while longer, nuzzling between my breasts, I play with his hair, a bubbly smile on my face. No high higher than this. He helps me down, I don’t trust my feet, clinging to him like a child. A chuckle falls from his lips.

“That good, huh?”

I just nod.

“I’ll help you clean up.”

With a sponge and a bit of liquid soap, Louis rubs down my body, taking his time to bubble me up. I’m still sensitive to touch, I have to pull his hand away when he tries to touch me down there, where I’m probably red and still swollen. I can feel the burn. Good burn, though.

When we both finish cleaning ourselves up, we step out of the shower. He still has a protective hand around my waistline. I wince at the thought of moving away, but I have to, I can tell I’m one second shy of making a mess on the floor.

He fetches us towels while I go deal with the bloody problem. Pun intended. I clean the dripping blood mixed with cum on my thighs, and when I look up, deep blue is fixed on me. As if entranced.

“What?”

“You just look hot.”

A little laugh slips.

“Thanks. You don’t look so bad,” I groan, it’s still sore-ish when I slide the tampon in. “You really did a number on me.”

“Eh, who’s counting?”

Louis winks, helping me up, I’m still weak on the legs. There’s no need to get dressed, so we wrap ourselves under the sheets, our sopping hair making stains on the pillows.

It’s so painfully intimate.

“I love you,” I whisper, half-asleep, minutes later.

“I love you more.”

His voice is the last sound I hear before I drift to the first night of sleep where I feel full, happy, and satiated. Slept like a queen, his arms wrapped around my waist, cheek pressed to my back. I was on my little piece of heaven and no one could ever snap me out.

#louis tomlinson #louis #louis x reader #louis tomlinson x reader #1d #one direction #smut #fluff #ish #sweet!louis #period sex #louis tomlinson smut #louis tomlinson fluff #louis smut #louis tomlinson period sex

[malfoysstilinski]

flower crowns | draco malfoy

draco malfoy x fem!reader

summary: it’s the first sunny day of the year and you want to spend it outside with draco. he wants to make you a flower crown.

a/n: shout out to everybody else in the uk rn that’s had to deal with this shitty weather since september and is now in a third lockdown :))) these are the vibes we all need rn i think

It felt as though it hadn’t been sunny in years. You were used to the bleak weather that Britain provided nearly all year round, but it didn’t stop you from jumping out of your bed as soon as you saw nothing but sunshine peeking through the high windows of your dorm room.

“It’s sunny!” You gasped, “Oh, Merlin— Hannah, please tell me it’s as warm as it looks outside!”

Hannah Abbott glanced up from her book where she’d risen early. “I think so. It’s been getting warmer all week.”

You squealed, your roommates exchanging glances with each other as you rushed into the bathroom to get ready for your Saturday off from classes. You did have homework that needed to be done, but it could wait. You were not wasting the first nice day cooped up in the castle.

After showering and changing into one of your favourite summer dresses, you bounded back into the dormitory room and found your friends all slowly starting to get ready for the day.

“Anyone fancy going down to the Black Lake?” Susan Bones asked, “I heard a bunch of the Gryffindors are going down if the weather turned out nice today and Ernie mentioned joining them.”

A chorus of excited replies came from everybody else, but you smiled politely.

“I’ll have to ask Draco what he wants to do. He doesn’t really get along much with some of the Gryffindors,” you said, applying some makeup and then slipping on your shoes.

Hannah huffed. “Fine. I don’t know what you see in him, Y/N. You’re way too soft for someone like Draco Malfoy.”

Raising your eyebrows, you smiled. “There are many sides to Draco you’ve never met. I can assure you that there are billions of reasons why I’m with him.”

None of the girls said anything as you bid them a farewell before pulling open the door to your dorm. Wandering through the bright common room, which seemed to thrive with the sunshine pouring through it, you waved and greeted some of your peers, the smell of sunscreen filling your nose and making you excited.

You bounded through the corridors of the castle, saying ‘hi’ to Ron, Harry, and Hermione as you passed them. They seemed slightly taken aback by the bounce in your step, Hermione hitting Ron before he could make some sort of sarcastic comment.

You made it down into the dungeons, finding the bare wall you’d come used to staring at. Whilst a huge majority of the school would never be able to catch a glimpse of the Slytherin common room, as the girlfriend of Draco Malfoy, you’d been given the password and was updated of the change fortnightly.

Whispering the new one, you were thrilled when it opened to reveal the green and silver room. It was much darker and drearier than the Hufflepuff common room, perfect for when you were in a cozy mood, but today wasn’t one of those days.

“Hey, Y/N,” Blaise greeted you as he looked up from the leather couch. “Draco’s in the dorm room.”

“Thanks, Blaise!” You replied, waving to Pansy and Theo as you walked by them, making your way to the fifth year boys’ dorm.

You knocked once before you entered, finding it empty. You frowned as the door closed softly behind you, but your ears pricked upon hearing the steady rushing of water coming from the attached bathroom.

You settled down onto Draco’s bed, eager for him to hurry up in the shower so you didn’t have to waste anymore time inside. Who knew how long the good weather was going to last for? British spring was unpredictable— tomorrow it could go back to jumper weather and stay like that for weeks, with nothing to do but watch the rain drip drip drip.

Water dripped from Draco’s broad shoulders as he finally left the bathroom, a white towel wrapped around his torso. He looked gorgeous— in platinum hair soaked and pale skin slightly flushed from the temperature of the water. His face lit up when he saw you on his bed.

“Let me guess,” Draco hummed, “You want to spend the day outside?”

“Please?” You sent him the same very pout that always allowed you to get your way with him.

Outsiders often believed that Draco was as cold as ice and as hard as steel, that, even for you, he would never be soft. However, it seemed like only you, him, and his friends knew the truth-- all you had to do was breathe and Draco was putty in your hands. You could probably ask him to jump off of the Astronomy Tower and he’d just ask if you wanted him to do a run-up or not. 

He tried to keep up his tough exterior around you at first, but with every laugh that escaped your lips, every excited gasp you gave when you learned something new, Draco felt his walls crumbling and he had to admit that he was hopelessly in love with you. Soft Draco was your favourite Draco, and it was the one he had reserved for you and you only. 

When people teased you, whether it be for your naive nature or because they were taking your kindness for granted, Draco was always the first to defend you. He’d ended up in countless detentions for hexing multiple other students who even looked at you wrong. You were his sunshine and he swore to preserve you and keep you safe from any harm. Even if he was your opposite.

“Fine,” he sighed as if it was a chore, but the corner of his lips twitched up at the idea of spending the entire day whilst you were out in your favourite weather.

“Hurry up and get dressed then,” you said, bending down to reach into his trunk and chucking him some clothes.

Draco caught them, sending you a look. “You sure? We could just stay here all day, I could just wear this...”

He watched you blush and shake your head. “Another time. Right now, it’s sunny-- so we have to go outside.”

Draco didn’t bother delaying you anymore. He knew you’d been hoping for good weather for a long time now. It felt like you hadn’t seen sunshine since the very start of September, and now it was early April. The cold, dark evenings always got you down a little unless you were wrapped up warm in the arms of Draco.

Within a few minutes, he’d dried off and chucked on the clothes that you’d thrown at him, slipping his shoes whilst you practically bounced up and down on your heels by the door. As soon as he was done, you grasped his hand and tugged him away. 

“Can we pick somewhere with a bit of shade?” Draco asked once you’d made it out onto the fields, finding multiple other students who had the same idea as you two. “I don’t want to burn.”

A group of first year Gryffindors ran by, nearly knocking Draco over. He let go of your hand and went tug out his wand, his nose scrunched up in disgust, when you grabbed his wrist.

“Draco!” You scolded him, “You don’t need to hex the eleven-year-olds for nearly knocking you over.”

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “They should watch where they’re going. I would have only done a tripping hex, anyway.”

Shaking your head at your boyfriend, you felt his slender fingers intertwine with yours once again and he led the way this time. It felt surreal to be outside without having to stuff your hands in your pockets or complaining about rain water seeping through the small hole in the sole of your school shoes.

“Here.” Draco stopped beneath a tree and settled down, his back against the trunk. 

“I’m going to sit in the sun,” you said, moving a few feet away so you were no longer under the shade.

Draco knew you wanted to make the most of it on your skin. He saw it glow on your shoulders, light up your hair and relax your mind as you lay down on the grass, nose pointing towards the sky. He smiled, simply watching you from the shade. 

He grabbed the book he’d managed to pick up before you’d forced him out of his dorm room, burying his face in it for a few moments as you sighed happily, sunbathing nearby. He’d glance up every now and then and become distracted by your beauty, his brain having to force his eyes back down to the pages in front of him. 

Eventually, he gave up, settling the novel beside his legs and moving over. He found you lying on your stomach, plucking daisies out of the grass and arranging them into a pile next to you. 

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, lying beside you, facing the sky. 

“You’ll burn,” you protested, “You wanted to be underneath the shade, Draco--”

“I don’t care,” he murmured, “Just let me be next to you for a bit, yeah?”

You smiled softly, shaking your head a little as you blushed. Draco turned his head to continue watching what you were doing. He saw that once you had a pile of maybe twenty or so daisies, you began to pick them up one by one before piercing a hole through the long stems with your thumbnail. 

He watched with furrowed brows, studying the way your hands delicately began to thread each daisy through another, tying a knot on the end so they couldn’t slip back through. He realised you were making a daisy chain, and quite a large one at that. Eventually, you closed it off and tied it back around to the first daisy. 

“What is it?” He stared at the circle of plants.

“A daisy crown,” you chirped, moving across and straddling him, his hands moving to your hips as you placed it on top of his head. “For my Prince of Slytherin.”

Draco grinned, reaching up to adjust it on his head. “How does it look?”

You beamed as you peered down at him. “You look like a dashingly handsome young prince.”

You leaned down and kissed his nose, watching his own cheeks blush a little. He managed to sit up, your body moving back a little so you were sat in his lap with your legs around his waist, one hand on you to adjust you and the other to keep his daisy chain on his head. 

You decided your words were nothing but the truth. He looked adorable with the white and yellow daisies in his platinum hair, which was fluffy from the shower he’d just had. He looked like the epitome of soft, his silver eyes melting as he stared at you in a mixture of complete adoration and love. 

His hands circled your waist and he managed to pull you even closer. Your sunscreen filled his nose, as well as the shampoo you wore, the sun beating down on the two of you as he moved to meet your lips in the middle. He hummed against you, enjoying the taste of your lip balm and the way you felt against him. 

One hand reached to stroke your cheek, the slightly calloused pad of his thumb brushing at your jaw. His lips worked against yours softly in an attempt to pour every inch of love and appreciation into you, his touch feeling like fire on your warming skin. You wished you could stay like this forever; just you, Draco, and the sun in the sky.

“If I’m the prince, I want to crown you my princess,” Draco murmured against your lips when he pulled away. 

“Do you know how to make a crown?” You asked.

“I can try,” Draco offered, “I watched you.”

Smiling, you climbed off of his lap and watched as he turned to look at the grass. He plucked a few more from the ground until he estimated that he had enough. Draco’s face scrunched up for a second. The boy was clearly deep in thought. 

“You pierce the stems next,” you whispered in his ear.

“I know, I know,” he played it off, grabbing one.

He inspected it for a few moments before trying to stab a hole through it with his thumbnail like you did. He groaned when it ripped all the way through, leaving him with half a stem. Draco tried again three more times before throwing his latest destroyed daisy to the grass in a fit. 

“I can’t make the holes!” Draco complained. 

“I’ll pierce them for you,” you suggested gently, “You pass them to me, and I’ll make the holes. Then you can tie them up as you go along.”

Draco didn’t reply but handed you your first daisy, watching intently as you made a hole with your nail and passed it to him. He grabbed another daisy and handed it to you and you did the same thing, and then he looped it through. 

“Good, now you need to tie it up,” you reminded him. 

Tongue poking out slightly, Draco did as you had said, creating a knot in the stem of the daisy. He grinned when it worked, his pearly whites on display as he practically threw it in your face.

“Look!” 

“Good-- you have one chain. Here’s your next daisy,” you beamed, passing him another with a hole in it.

Draco took longer than you had, his eyes focused and his nose scrunched in concentration as he created you your very own daisy crown to match his. When he was done, he sighed in relief but, overall, looked quite pleased with himself.

“Here you are, my love,” he murmured, placing it on top of your head. 

His fingers adjusted it and moved some of your hair out of the way so it sat perfectly. Draco moved backwards a little and smiled at the sight.

“How do I look?” You teased.

“Like the most gorgeous girl I have ever laid eyes on,” Draco promised breathlessly, kissing you hard on the lips again. 

You kissed him back. Maybe your roommates would never understand because they never saw this side of him, but this was one of the million reasons you loved Draco Malfoy.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy fluff #harry potter imagine #harry potter #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fanfic #draco x y/n #draco x yn

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Heart-Shaped Box💟9/End

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), forced pregnancy, some violence, intimidation, some elements untagged for sake of plot.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Sister Series: Get Your Fix

Summary: You accept a job as an au pair, but not all is as it seems.

Note: Finally finishing this one up. Sorry it took me ages but I’m doing my best to go back and wrap up whatever I can.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Masterlist

Bucky pulled out of you as he held your head down, bouncing the bed beneath you as he pushed himself onto his back. You panted as your sweat dampened the sheet beneath you and he leaked between your thighs. You winced as you rolled onto your side and slowly sat up. 

He had you whining loud enough that you had no doubt your guests heard it all. It only seemed to encourage his partner-in-crime as you soon heard a similar scene on the other side of the wall. You were sickened by that noise and stood warily as you cupped your hand over your cunt and scooped up his cum before it could drip onto the floor.

“I told you to keep it down,” he snickered and sat up, his muscled back to you as he stretched his arms above him, “get the shower started, I’ll be in shortly. You girls have a lot of work to do today.”

You grumbled and dragged your feet to the attached bathroom. The low buzz of the pipes filled the silence and you stepped under the steamy water. The moment of calm broke sharply as Bucky appeared from the other side of the curtain and stepped in behind you. He had you clean him with a lathered loofah and you bore it only for the eventuality of time away from him.

The other woman meant you wouldn’t be trapped with just him. It was little help or hope but it was better than your former solitary torture.

You dressed in black dress with daisies and made yourself look like his perfect housewife. You couldn’t hold the smile and make him believe it all the way but he wouldn’t anyway. He flicked your chin and clicked his tongue.

“Mmm, you’re getting there,” he mused as he dropped his hand and reached around to slap your ass, “better go get breakfast on. I’ll check in on our guests.” He squeezed and winked, “be a good girl.”

Those words made your insides curdled but you swallowed your disgust and nodded, “yes, sir.”

He stepped out behind you and watched you go down the hall to the stairs and you heard him knock on the door as you descended. You went to the kitchen and pulled out the frying pan and the coconut oil. You lined up the ingredients for crepes on the counter and took two bananas from the yellow bunch. Your mother used to make the oversweet delicacy and you needed a reminder that you were still that girl.

You stopped as you searched for something to keep the crepes warm after you assembled them, a lid that could fit over the plate or something akin to it. The lower cupboards you rarely opened. Bucky left the cleaning supplies on the counter with your chore list every day and you never bothered to look for anything else.

You stopped and stared at the drain cleaner and the can of toxic oven spray. Well, that wouldn’t be subtle enough, would it? They’d smell either of those a mile away. Anything under the counter would be easily discovered but it did give you an idea.

You closed the wooden door and went back to your task. You heard the voices in the next room and the scrape of the chairs on the floor. Steve’s girl appeared in the doorway, rubbing her stomach as her face contorted.

“Smells sweet,” she said as you simmered the bananas with brown sugar, cinnamon, and a little butter, “almost too sweet.”

“Morning sickness?” you asked innocently.

“All the time sickness,” she sighed, “anything I can help with?”

“Do you know how to make crepes?” you asked as you whisked the batter.

“Not really,” she shrugged, “but I can learn.”

“It’s easy. Takes less than a minute,” you waved her over and tested the temperature of the pan with a flick of water, “so you wanna put just a little batter in…” you ladled in a careful dollop and lifted the pan, “you spread it like this,” you tilted it so the batter spread all around, “you just use the spatula a little on the edges to make sure they don’t stick and you flip.”

It was like second nature and she nodded quietly as she watched. The crepe cooked quickly and you threw it onto a plate and put the pan back to the burner.

“You think you can handle that?” you covered the plate with the lid of a pat to keep it warm. “Then we put some of the bananas and wrap them, bit of cream on top and some icing sugar…”

“You like to cook?” she wondered as she added batter to the hot pan.

“Not particularly, but my mother taught me,” you shrugged, “she can cook anything.”

“Oh,” she flipped the crepe and glanced at the door, “I suppose… it keeps him happy.”

“He’s never happy,” you murmured and cleared your throat, “so, you must be excited to move in!”

“I guess,” she slid the crepe onto the plate as you lifted the foggy lid, “you know how it is.”

You smiled and she tilted her head as she squinted at you. You went to the drawer where there was a box of blank recipe cards and continued speaking as you fished out a pencil from another.

“It’s always nice to get settled,” you said as you wrote, ‘they can hear us’.

“I suppose, nice to be in one place,” she replied stiffly as her features relaxed.

‘I have a plan,’ you wrote and raised your voice just slightly, “oh, you know, we didn’t even get you a housewarming gift. I’ll have to remind James.”

You went to the burner and held out the card under the coil until it caught. You threw it into the sink and watched it burn and curl. You ran water over it as it turned to ash and washed it away. You nudged the bowl towards her and leaned on the counter, “need help with that?”

“No,” she said as she started again, “I’m getting the hang of it.”

💟

You looked around the front room of the house next door. Steve’s girl opened one of the stacked boxes. For once, the men were gone and you could just enjoy their absence. 

Bucky agreed that a gift was in order and Steve had mentioned wanting to explore their new hometown. You tried not to seem eager but even the small walk across the lawns enlivened you. How long had it been since you’d been outside?

You started with the pictures. You left the frames in a stack as she assured you Steve would put the nails in and hang them. Then you moved onto the kitchenware and you kept her from lifting the heavy box of dishes. She seemed to forget about her condition and the reminder made her frown.

You stood behind the counter and set the dishes in the cupboards one at a time, the plates clacking one on top of each other. She watched from the other side as she arranged the silverware in the plastic tray.

“Can you do me a favour?” you asked as you kept on.

“What?” she asked as she dropped a butter knife with the rest.

“I know they’ve locked us in but can you check the garage door? Can we get in there?” you asked evenly.

“What?” she blinked and pushed herself straight, “even if we can, they won’t have been stupid enough--”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. I know we can’t get out that way either. It’s the same at our house. Everything is bolted up tight.” You assured her, “just go and check while I get these sorted.”

She left you and you snapped shut the door and finished with the utensils. You slid the tray into the drawer as she returned, rubbing her stomach.

“Yeah, we can get in but it’s mostly empty,” she said, “so…”

“Mostly empty?”

“Yeah, just the car--”

“The car,” you rounded the counter and curled two fingers for her to follow you.

You headed for the plain white door that led to the garage. You hopped down the steps as she remained at the top and watched you tentatively. You went to the car as she crossed her arms.

“He took the keys,” she said.

You tried the handle and the door opened. “I know,” you said as you put a knee in the front seat and peered into the back. Nothing. 

You felt around under the dash and found the lever for the trunk. You pulled it and it popped. You shut the door and went around the back of the car. You felt around the spare tire and your hand felt something plastic. You grabbed the handle of the half-filled jug and pulled it out.

“Hey,” you held up the bright blue anti-freeze, “do you wanna cook dinner here tonight? A housewarming dinner?”

Her brows knitted and she gave a long blink. Her lips parted then curved.

“You can’t mean--” she let out a scoff.

“It’s sweet. Hopefully they won’t notice if I add enough sugar to the cake,” you breathed, “we can’t let them settle. This is our chance.”

“I don’t-- I don’t know. What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’re still in the same boat,” you turned your free hand out, “that man has drugged me for months. I think it’s only fair that he gets a taste of his own medicine.”

She swallowed and looked down at her stomach. She inhaled and cradled her bump. “It can’t get worse than this, can it?”

💟

You spent the day unpacking, the distraction not much of one as you thought of the bottle you hid at the back of the cupboard. By the time the men returned, you were ready to move onto the second floor. 

Bucky offered a bottle of non-alcoholic wine and basket of expensive macarons as your gift to your new neighbours. He forced a kiss from you before he let you follow Steve’s girl upstairs.

You sat in the bedroom and heard the men ascend shortly after. You peeked in on them as you opened the linen closet to shove in the spare sheets. They were hammering together a crib. You knocked lightly on the doorframe as you watched them.

“Huh, what’s going on?” Bucky looked up from the directions.

“Um, we were just… thinking, we could have dinner here tonight? A little housewarmer? I could grab some ingredients from ours--”

“Give me a list, I’ll grab it,” Bucky puffed as he bent to help hold the rail in place for Steve, “that sound okay?”

“Fine by me,” Steve smiled, “it’ll be nice to have our feet on solid ground.”

You left them and returned to your only ally as she sat on the bed and stared at a packet of pills. She crushed it in her grasp and huffed. She flicked away tears with her knuckles. She tossed them over her shoulder.

“He kept them,” she snarled, “it’s like he’s mocking me.”

“What?” you neared her and sat carefully beside her.

“I never… I worked with him, you know? He brought me these drinks and I didn’t realise he was dosing them. The stuff, it made me itchy… it made me so hot and I just needed anything. I hopped on him I was so desperate and-- I told him to stay away. I realised what he’d done and I told him to leave me alone and you know what he did,” she crossed her arms over her stomach.

“No, I--” you touched her elbow.

“He broke into my apartment and replaced my pills. And he didn’t leave me alone,” she spat, “he did this all and he still has the goddamn pills like they’re some sort of trophy.”

She hung her head and grunted in frustration. You leaned against her and put your arm over her shoulders. She let you and the tension drained from her body.

“Even if we get out…” she whispered, “I’ll always have this piece of him.”

She pressed her palms to her stomach and you frowned. There was nothing you could do or say. You’d been lucky so far, even if it only fed your suffering. You didn’t have another life to worry about.

“We don’t have to if--”

“I want to,” she hissed lowly, “I want him dead.”

💟

Usually, you tasted the icing and licked the spoon. Not that night. The blue shade of the frosting was anything but suspicious as you spread it over the fluffy cake. It was a perfect disguise. You topped it with blueberries to add to the theme and dusted on a few coloured sprinkles. You stood back and admired your work as the smell of garlic filled the kitchen.

“I know it’s not much,” Steve’s girl said as she stirred the sauce, “but it’s what I can manage.”

“I’m sure it’s great,” you said as you took the meatballs of the burner and tested the spaghetti, “noodles are perfect.”

You strained the pasta and helped pour the meatballs into the sauce. You mixed it up and poured it into a large glass dish and the noodles into another. You brought them out to the table and called the men to dinner before you fetched the wine, both alcoholic and not.

Steve’s girl sat as you poured a glass for each of you and the men sat. You set the bottle down and nestled in next to Bucky as he served himself. When the plates were full, the other woman nudged Steve and whispered in his ear.

He cleared his throat and stood, “um, I know it’s just us but I guess I should say thank you for all the help and we’re excited to be neighbours… can’t wait for the kids to be running around these halls together.”

“Mmm,” Bucky lifted his glass, “hopefully…” he muttered doubtfully and looked at you, “that better be what she’s having,” he nodded to your glass.

You held it out for him to sniff and he gave you a sour look. He tutted and sat back to twirl noodles around his fork as he set aside his glass. You took a sip of the gutless wine and speared a meatball on your tines. You chewed and looked at Steve’s girl. She let Steve rub her thigh under the table and forced a smile.

She was playing it well and you felt as if you would fall apart. You felt as if Bucky would see right through you the minute you walked in with the cake. What would he do then? Steve couldn’t hurt his girl, she had the baby, but you, Bucky could replace you still. Maybe that was for the best but it didn’t mean you weren’t scared shitless.

You cleared the plates and retreated to the kitchen. Just you. You’d gone over it, you didn’t want them to catch on. You didn’t get too close with them around, you acted like strangers, you really were after all.

You sliced the cake into careful portions and came out with two plates at a time. You put them in front of each chair and sat. As you did, Steve’s girl covered her mouth and gagged. She pushed herself up unsteadily.

“Honey?” Steve asked as he rubbed her lower back.

“It’s the baby I--” she gulped sickeningly, “I gotta--”

She rushed out and Steve gave a look, “nausea. It’s been like this for weeks.”

“I’m going to make sure she’s okay,” you stood, “go ahead and start without us.”

You went down the hall and as you neared the bathroom, Steve’s girl opened the door and pulled you inside. She looked genuinely sick and you smelled vomit on her breath. She turned and rinsed her mouth and shuddered. 

“I didn’t actually feel sick until I got in here,” she wiped her face with the hand cloth, “when I realised--”

“Everything’s in the trunk,” you assured her, “once they’re out, we get the keys and go.”

“How do we know--”

“Retch,” you hissed, “we wait until we’re sure.”

She gave an exaggerated hurl and you heard the clink of porcelain and silver and the drone of voices. You listened through the door as she watched you in the tight space of the half-bath.

“I’m thinking about getting her an… exam,” Bucky’s deep tone carried, “maybe she can’t…”

You let out the breath you were holding and closed your eyes. Just a little longer. 

When you heard a sudden lull, your eyes rounded and you turned the handle and let yourself out into the hall. She crept close behind as you peered through the open archway. Both men had their faces on their plates in the crumbs of vanilla cake and smears of blue icing.

“Let’s go,” you went to Steve and shoved your hand into his pocket, “shit, they’re not here.”

“Here!” she pulled her hand from his jacket hung on the rack, “you think they’re dead?”

You looked from one to the other and shakily felt along Steve’s neck. “Still a pulse. I think maybe… they’re only knocked out.”

“The serum,” she shook her head, “means we have to go quick.”

You hurried after her and followed her down into the garage. She climbed into the driver’s seat and moved it back as her stomach pressed to the wheel. You got in the other side as your body trembled with adrenaline. She hit the button attached to the keys and the door slowly raised behind her.

As she reversed, you felt a sudden shock around your neck and yiped. You’d forgotten entirely about the necklace. She stopped suddenly and watched you writhe in agony.

“Shit, shit,” you leaned forward until the shock stopped, “the necklace.”

“Fuck,” she reached for it and you batted her away.

“No, you’ll get zapped,” you gasped as you pulled on it desperately. It was too tight to get past your chin but too strong to snap. 

She took the keys out and tossed them in your lap. You lifted them and twisted the necklace around the house key but there was no give. You sobbed and dropped your hand.

“I can’t,” you looked at the bent key, “you gotta go without me.”

“What? No, I can’t--”

“You have a baby,” you said as tears burned in your eyes and your throat tightened, “go, please.” You dropped the keys on the dash and opened the door. “I can’t--”

“No, you have to come with me,” she begged.

“No, you have to go before they wake up,” you got out as you grasped your neck, the searing pain still hot on your flesh, “I’ll… I’ll survive. I have this far.”

“N--”

“Shut up!” you slammed the door and hit the hood, “go!”

She stared at you and her lip quivered. She gave you one last sad look and grabbed the keys. She sniffed as she gripped the wheel and backed out down the drive. 

You fell to your knees and sat back on your ass as you watched her drive away. You shook your head and held it in your hands as you sat behind the invisible wall of your prison.

The tires screamed at the end of the street and the noise of the engine faded into the distance. You laid on your back across the concrete and covered your face with your arm. At least you could live with knowing you got her out. Well, you couldn’t really say you’d be living. You’d be alive but little more than that. 

But you’d survive knowing that you kept one person from that pitiful fate. Even if it wasn’t you. Even if you knew that you would pay for it in the end. Even when those men woke up and found you laying in the garage, the sweet flavour of antifreeze on their tongues as the bile of their anger overflowed and drowned you. 

You couldn’t do anything but wait. If you were lucky, they might just kill you and that in itself would be freedom.

💟 💟 💟

END

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