Them Being Cropped Saved So Many Lives Oh My Godddddd

Oh how I love to torture myself 😭

ephemeral

pairing: huh yunjin x fem!reader. genre: angst. warnings: mentions of eating disorders and depression. a/n: the entire story is yunjin's pov (but still third person limited)

the moon hung low, a pale light gently illuminating the cemetary where yunjin stood. her fingers traced over the letters on the gravestone, trying her best to keep herself together and not cry right there.

y/n y/l/n: beloved daughter, older sister, best friend, and soulmate.

the words felt uncanny, as if they belonged in someone's nightmare, and not hers. she knelt by the grave, her knees sinking softly into the freshly cut grass, and her chest tightening with the weight of unshed tears. the air was cold and dry, carrying the faint scent of flowers and the distant murmur of the nearby river.

yunjin placed a single lily of the valley on the grave, its white petals almost glowing in the darkness. her heart ached with the pain that became all too familiar to her since y/n's death—a pain that gnawed at her insides, leaving her numb.

she hadn't eaten much in days, the thought of food hurting stomach. she sometimes wonders if it's because food was y/n's favorite thing. she'd always be eating with y/n whenever she could, but now she could barely even look at or even eat food without thinking of her.

now her clothes were loose on her, her reflection in the mirror a ghost of the loud and loving person she used to be.

"i miss you, so much," yunjin whispered, her voice trembling, "i don't—"

a sob escaped her lips.

"i don't know how to do this without you."

memories of y/n flooded her mind—y/n's laughter, the way she would scrunch her nose when she didn't like something, the way she would stick her tongue out a little bit when she was doing something, the way her embrace would make yunjin feel so safe, loved, and at home.

all of that was gone now, like a dream that slipped away the moment she opened her eyes.

yunjin stayed at the y/n's grave for what felt like hours, lost in the silence, lost in her memories, before she finally forced herself to stand. the weight of grief pressed down on her, making each step she took heavier and challenging as she made her way out of the cemetery.

she continued to walk aimlessly, her feet moving in the lonely and quiet streets of the outskirts of seoul as if they had a mind of their own. her destination was bound to happen, though; she knew where she was headed even if she didn't want to look or admit it.

then the bridge came into view, its structure arching beautifully over the river that gently streamed beneath. this was their spot, where they had spent countless nights together, talking everything and nothing, the world fading around them until it felt like they were the only ones left. yunjin's breath hitched when she stepped onto the bridge, the familiar sound of dark wood and footsteps echoing in the lifelessness.

she leaned against the old woooden railing, staring down at the water that shimmered under the light of both the moon and stars. the river was a ribbon of silver, winding through the landscape, and yunjin remember how y/n used to say it was like their love—always moving, always changing, but never ending.

the memories came crashing down on her like strong ocean waves. the first time y/n had held her hand, the electric feeling that shot right through her. the way y/n kissed her so gently under this very sky, the stars reflecting in her eyes, making her feel like she was floating. the fights they had, the tears that they shed, and the ways they'd always make up right after, because their love was stronger than that had ever tried to tear them apart,

except for this. except for death.

a sob escaped escaped yunjin's lips, and she clutched the railing as if it were the only thing keeping her from falling apart. her tears fell freely now, mixing with the cold night air as she cried for everything they had lost. for the future they had planned, for the dreams they never realize. for the love that consumed her. for the love that was still there, burning inside her, with nowhere to go.

"please," she sobbed, "i just want you back."

she leaned her body forward a little, her abdomen pressing against the dark oak railing.

"i don't know how to live without you," she whispered to the wind, her voice swallowed by the night. "i don't know if i even want to."

her sobs came out faster and louder. her entire body trembled and her heart ached with pain.

she stayed there, sobbing as she let the memories once again wash over her, until she was too exhausted to keep crying. her body felt heavy, her mind numb, and all she wanted was an escape, to find some semblenace in the silence of the night.

eventually, she pushed herself away from the railing and started walking away, her steps flow and unsteady. the streets were deserted, the city asleep, but yunjin coudn't shake the feeling that she was truly the only one alone.

when she finally reached their her apartment, she felt like she was stepping into a different world—one that was once filled with love and laughter, now cold, empty, and lifeless. yunjin shut the door behind her, leaning against it as she tried to catch her breath. her eyes then fell on a burgundy colored hoodie. it was draped over the back of the couch, the one y/n wore and took off when they had their final movie night. it still smelled like her—the comforting scent of dark amber and oud, a scent y/n always used because it reminded her of her grandpa.

yunjin walked towards the couch and gently grabbed the hoodie, pulling it over her head, and inhaling deeply. the scent wrapped around her senses, embracing her like a warm embrace, and for a moment she almost pretended y/n was still there next to her, holding her, and telling her that everything was gonna be okay.

but her illusion quickly disintegrated as quickly as it formed, and yunjin was left with nothing but the traumatizing reality of her loss. she stumbled into their her room and fell onto the bed, clutching the stitch stuffed animal that y/n had won for her at a carnival for her twenty-second birthday. it was silly, a reminder of the happier moments, but it was all she had from the girl who loved her unconditionally and had once been her everything.

yunjin curled up under the covers, the feeling of y/n's hoodie and the stuffie in her arms being the only thing to keep her from falling apart once more. she reached for the remote, her fingers shaking as she turned on the tv, navigating to their favorite show—oregairu. the familiar opening theme song played, and yunjin swore she could hear y/n's voice singing along to it.

they had watched this show millions of times. laughing at the characters when they did funny things, quoting their favorite lines, imagining themselves in the world where everything seemed simpler, where love was just another thing in life and not something that could be ripped away in the blink of an eye.

yunjin's body trembled with silent sobs, the sound of the show playing the background, a cruel and constant pain that tore through her entire being. she clutched onto her stitch tigher, as if it could somehow bring y/n back, as if she could control the universe so she could turn back time and give herself one more moment with the girl she loved.

she knew better, though. yunjin knew that life didn't and would never work that way, that some things were truly ephemeral, as fleeting as a breath, as fragile as a dream. and all she could do now was hold onto the memories, even as they threatened to consume her completely.

with the show still playing in the background, yunjin's exhaustion finally caught up to her. she buried her face into her stitch stuffie, y/n's hoodie enveloping her in it's warmth, allowing her exhaustion and the darkness to consume her. in her dreams, she was with y/n again, on the bridge, under the stars, and for a fleeting moment, everything was the way it should be.

but even in her dreams, yunjin knew that nothing lasts forever. that some loves, no matter how strong and beautiful, were destined to fade away, leaving nothing but a trail of memories and an aching void where there had once been light.

and when she woke up the next morning, the sun peaking the the blackout curtains, yunjin was alone, her stitch and hoodie being the only things with her. the weight of the world pressing down on her entirely as she only realied that the only true thing for ephemeral was hope.

Thank you so much 🥰

I’m so glad that you took such a long break and are almost ready to come back, I can’t wait to read all that you’ve worked on!🥰

Gosh you’re making me blush by calling me cute 🥰

I mean who wouldn’t encourage someone to rest and take their time getting back to the thing they love doing

oh you’re adorable🤍🤍🤍

i’ve been taking a lonnnnggg break but i feel like im almost ready to come back and share some of what ive been working on recently

I wanna create like more content but I don’t time to with how tired I am after work 😭

---

🫠🫠🫠

Sana performing Strategy via Very Sweet Berry (2024.12.03)

Beautiful 😭

NAYEON ♡ TT + FEEL SPECIAL (241231)

This made me cry so much, please tell me there’s a sequel 😭😭

i saw a ghost! with MC kkura : m. sakura

synopsis: miyawaki sakura didn't believe in ghosts. but she did believe in friendship—that was why she was sneaking into her old highschool with her friends. but then she gets ditched by the two in the "haunted" unused art room, meeting the resident ghost: you.

# : pairing ! nonidol!miyawaki sakura x ghost!reader

# : tags ! fem!reader, sakura's a second year in college, the other two are freshmen, crack, angst, fluff, contains an uncanny amount of video game mentions, red velvet seulgi cameo, i will personally make it my mission to enforce the luvie sakura agenda in every fic she's mentioned, switches between 2nd and 3rd person sometimes

# : wordcount ! 9.5k

# : warnings ! mentions of suicide, mentions of blood, there's a satanic ritual at the end(?), explores some themes of grief, do not try this at home i made it all up

sakura was a firm non-believer of ghosts.

she thought people who claimed to have seen one were stupid, and were just looking for attention or views or whatever. no, yujin, you did not see a ghost in the corner of your room, because you just came back from the last day of your soccer tournament and you were playing for all three games. obviously your fatigue-clouded, sleep-deprived ass would hallucinate.

"i swear i saw it," her friends would say.

"and i swear you had three exams to study for on that same night," sakura would reply. "ghosts aren't real."

that was precisely what she had told yunjin and chaewon. nevertheless, the two idiots dragged her to the highschool that sakura thought she wouldn't ever have to see again.

she was pushed by yunjin, towards the gate that acted as the first obstacle they'd have to overcome in order to even reach the supposedly haunted room. "unnie, you go first!"

sakura whined, shoving the taller girl in front of her. she didn't believe in ghosts, but the school was still creepy at 3am on the weekend. "we have to jump the gate, you're taller so you should go first!"

yunjin was always the more athletic of the three, followed by chaewon and then sakura. it was times like these where sakura wished she spent a little more time out of her room, and not playing league or overwatch. loser games, as chaewon called them. she only said that because she was bad at them, though.

"but you're the oldest," chaewon added.

sakura was, once again, pushed towards the intimidating black-barred gate. who even used these kinds of gates anyway? it's like, 2024, everyone's went to ring alarm systems and upgraded security systems.

the japanese sighed. she could've been doing anything other than sneaking into a highschool after midnight, like finishing her third playthrough of resident evil 2 or getting her five star island rating in animal crossing. "yunjin, help me out here. you're the tallest, so you should give me and chae a boost, at least."

without warning, she was lifted into the air by the american, causing her to let out a yelp. "damn it, yunjin! i said give me a boost, not give me a death hug!"

"just hurry up and climb the gate!"

sakura grumbled, but obliged. the iron bars were sharp at the ends, so she tried to avoid touching them in fear of stabbing her hands, opting to hold onto the middle parts of the bars and relying on boosting herself up with her feet on the bars placed horizontally. after a few deep breaths, she was able to swing herself over and land on the other side of the gate.

okay. that was kind of sick. sakura felt like she was in mirror's edge or something, envisioning the gate as a tall building and finally feeling good about herself. except that moment was ruined when the two idiots behind her started playing around while trying to get chaewon over. just before she was going to turn around and smack them, they took their places beside her, yunjin and chaewon on her left and right respectively.

and so, they began their mission: find a ghost in the unoccupied art room.

if sakura thought just being outside on campus was creepy enough, being inside the school itself was way creepier. it was dark, too dark inside, and the trio's sole source of light was this dusty old lantern that they had found in chaewon's garage. it flickered on and off half the time. sakura hated it. but yunjin said it added to the "spooky vibe" and despite chaewon's initial protest, she ultimately agreed to use it. damn it, you down bad girl.

"it's so ominous in here," the shorter girl remarked, holding onto the japanese's arm for dear life. yunjin tried to put on a brave face, but her whole body was shaking as she gripped the older girl's sleeve.

"don't worry! i'll p-protect you, chaewonnie."

"you know, you'd sound a little..." sakura grimaced as she heard a cracking noise somewhere in the vicinity, "...more convincing, if you weren't shaking in your boots right now."

eventually, they made it to the supposed art room, and stood in front of the door, waiting. why were they waiting?

"you... you should go in first!"

"yeah, you go in! you've b-been so... undeterred today, unnie!"

"wha—"

thus, she was pushed towards the door, once again. she tried to glare back at the pair, but they looked too scared to even move, so she begrudgingly slid the door open. a cloud of dust puffed up in her face, and she coughed.

"see, was that so ha—what the hell." upon turning back around, yunjin and chaewon were nowhere to be found. she was left in the dust. what great friends! that's fine, sakura's grown. ghosts aren't real. they aren't!

"such friends they are," a cooling whisper tickled her neck. sakura was inclined to agree, before realizing, 'what the fuck. who. is that.'

she snapped her head back so fast it could've given her whiplash, to see a pale face right in front of her.

"jesus fuck!"

the face moved back, giving her room to breathe (not that she could feel anything by its presence besides a ghastly chill) and allowing her to see that the face belonged to a floating figure. actually, it was quite pretty. wait a minute.

"who!?"

ghosts aren't real. they can't be. so why could she see one floating right in front of her? cocking its head to the side with an irritatingly curious expression? there's no way it's a ghost. sakura must've been hallucinating. that's right, yeah! she's definitely hallucinating.

"who are you?"

okay, fuck, it talks. sakura literally can't find anything in her head to try to alleviate the situation. so she does the obvious(?) and humors it. she repeated her intended sentences in her head, praying she doesn't piss it off and die. 'my name is sakura. do you have a name? my name is sakura. do you have a name? my name is-'

...but what comes out, is: "my sakura is name. do you name a have?"

"huh?"

what the hell.

"fuck. fuck, okay. my- um. my name is," she cleared her throat, averting her gaze to the ground. she clutched onto the handle of the flashlight. "my name's sakura... do you, um. do you have a name?"

it floated up, and sakura braced herself. this was not on her 2024 bingo sheet. but then it approached her with a smile. unsettling? more pretty than unsettling. since when were ghosts—or whatever it was—so attractive?

it inched closer to her, and sakura could feel another chilling sensation on her skin. "name? i'm y/n. nice to meet you, sakura. what are you doing here? i haven't seen anyone in ages besides the students during the day, but no one's ever visited me at night."

the way it... no, the way you talked was... refreshing? she expected demands in favor of any of the seven sins, in exchange for her body or whatever, yet your tone was the opposite of that. you sounded... friendly, even.

"um..." should she be honest? sakura never thought she would make it this far unscathed, so... YOLO? "we—me and my friends i mean—heard there was a ghost here. so we came to check it out."

she was still standing at the entrance, unmoving. there was a literal ghost(?) in front of her, after all. "i guess its you...?"

you pretended to think for a moment, resting your chin against your palm. "yeah, that checks out."

a beat of silence followed. you and sakura were just staring at each other, neither of you daring to move a muscle. well, at least sakura dared not to move a muscle. you were freely moving around her, scrutinizing her with your gaze.

"do you want to stay for a bit? i won't hurt you. i mean, i literally can't touch you, so..."

you had a point. but it took sakura more than a few moments to un-freeze herself and take a seat on one of the desk chairs. it was freezing cold in the room, probably due to how long you'd been in here, but it made the shorter girl zip up her hoodie.

sakura averted her gaze to the ground, not wanting to make eye contact. "can i, um... ask you questions?"

unfortunately for her, you appeared inside of the desk, your head popping out so you could forcefully make the japanese look at you. in turn, she yelped.

"ahaha, sorry, sorry. it's just a bit rude to talk to someone without looking at them, no?"

she rubbed at her sleeve. she needed to get out of here, and go home to her endless mountain of stuffed animals on her bed. and maybe cry to wendy's album on repeat.

"sorry," she mumbled. today was not her day.

you nodded and hummed, moving back to "sit" on the desk in front of sakura. "go ahead, then. ask away!"

okay. okay! you can do this, kkura. you were just a ghost. you couldn't do anything to her.

"how long have you been here?"

"three years."

"were you a student here?"

"yeah, i died in the year i was supposed to graduate, which was three years ago." so you were a year older.

"why the art room? did you like drawing?"

you pursed your lips and crossed your legs. sakura felt the cold air pulse in front of her, where you were.

"not really... my best friend did, though!"

"best friend?"

"yeah!" you made to lower yourself from the top of the desk to the chair below. "her name is seulgi. i don't think she's dead yet? maybe you can find her online, or something."

"seulgi... i've heard that name before."

you phased yourself through the back of the chair and in front of sakura again. "you have!? how is she, is she well? i didn't talk to her that much in my last year so i don't know. and i can't really access the internet in this form, so..."

she gulped. "um..."

you gazed at her so expectantly. sakura almost felt bad, she should at least answer your questions.

"i think she's an artist. she recently had an exhibition near my university, it was part of an alumni event," she answered slowly. her skin must've been burning red from the way she was rubbing her sleeve.

you moved back again, now with a serene expression of your face. did that satisfy you?

"i see. thank you."

"..."

you suddenly put on a cheerful smile. it was off putting, but then again, everything about this interaction had been off putting, so sakura wasn't all that surprised anymore. "it's my turn to ask questions, sakura!"

straight to talking informally, huh.

"how old are you?"

the question was unexpected. it made her choke on her spit, and made you scramble around to look for water.

she took a deep breath after regaining her composure, and you settled back down onto the desk. "i'm about to enter my... third year of college."

"so that makes you...?"

"uh, i'm turning 21."

"so you're 20."

"yeah..."

you had an unreadable expression on your face. sakura braced herself. she wasn't lying, though.

"okay! you're sakura..."

"miyawaki."

"you're japanese?"

"mhm."

"cool! miyawaki sakura, 20 years old."

sakura and you stared at each other once more.

"no more questions?"

"nope! did you want me to ask more?"

she stood up from her seat, keeping eye contact. you didn't seem very scary anymore. but more... cute. cute was a fitting word.

"no..."

just in time, her phone buzzed. she fished the device out of her pocket to see hundreds of missed calls and unread messages from yunjin and chaewon. it was also well-past four am.

you floated in front of her, pouting. "you have to go?"

sakura nodded. you escorted her to the door. "visit me soon, 'kay? you're fun to talk to. and super pretty."

that shouldn't have made her blush. although, at least the sentiment was mutual.

"o-okay."

instead of listening to soothing songs that night, sakura found herself listening to wendy's collection of love songs.

fuck, did she have a crush on a ghost?

as per your request, sakura returned to the school the next night. the empty hallways didn't seem so desolate as it did before (the dark combined with flashlights made it seem abandoned, though the school was still running like normal in the day) and she was slowly starting to get used to your... presence.

so she visited the night after that, too. and the night after, and also the night after the last night. and then it became a routine. she'd finish up any work she had to do in the afternoon, which wasn't much since she was on summer break, hang out with yunjin and chaewon (sometimes yujin and wonyoung, too, and on a rare occasion, chaeyeon), and kill some time by playing games before she set out for the school.

if you told sakura she would be sneaking into a school to visit a very pretty scary? ghost, she wouldn't believe you... but here we are now. after hanging out with you for a while, she'd compiled a list of things about you in her mind:

you remembered bits of your life, like things were important to you, sakura couldn't tell if you were lying about not remembering the other things though.

you died three years ago (you were 1 year above her)

you and seulgi were really close (seulgi is two years older than her and one year older than you)

you like listening and watching her play games, even going as far as to add in your own commentary (it makes her blush)

today she was going to bring her switch. she'd been meaning to work on her island in animal crossing, but lately she had been caught up in progressing through persona 3 reload, a game she finally caught on sale and had been waiting for, for ages. (she fucking hated tartar sauce. tart harass. tartarus. whatever.)

she carefully slid the classroom door open, being greeted with a yelp and an excited wave. sakura smiled shyly and switched on the fairy lights she'd brought in a couple of days ago, and walked over to one of the desks to set her bag down.

"hi, sakura!" you floated next to her, briefly hugging her. she shivered due to your chilliness, but patted you on the back. as best as she could, at least.

over the days you worked together to decorate the art room, transforming it into a comfy nook where one could relax and have a light snack. at first sakura felt bad that you had to watch her do all these things, but you insisted that watching and listening to her eat and play games helped you live vicariously through her.

sakura opened the closet in the back to get a bag of honey butter chips. you had mentioned that it was one of your favorite snacks prior to your... untimely death, so she took it upon herself to buy a bunch of them early in the morning.

she popped one in her mouth, closing her eyes at the taste and crunch.

you blinked at her intently, grinning toothily at the college student. "how is it?"

"mmh. very honey buttery," she teased, making you scoff and pout.

"you're not funny, sakura."

said girl gasped in offense, "i think i'm exceptionally funny, thank you!"

"not. funny," you stuck out your tongue. did you think this was a game?

it was fun teasing you, but you always shot back tenfold... it didn't stop her from doing it, though.

"are you playing persona again today?" you asked once she settled down into her regular seat in the back of the classroom. whenever she brought her switch she would be working on her 100% save of persona 5 royal, since she could only play her newly acquired game of the same series, on her computer at home.

sakura took out the device and inserted the animal crossing cartridge, although it was taking a bit to load into the title screen.

she glanced at you from the side. you were sitting on the chair adjacent to hers. (it was an early adjustment, pushing two desks together so you could sit next to each other. something that you suggested, seemed like you were tired of sitting on top of her desk.)

shaking her head, sakura pointed at the screen. "animal crossing. i need to sell my tarantulas to flick today."

you shivered. you hated insects and arachnids, that was another thing that sakura found out about you through a very frightening encounter with a daddy long-legs when she initially opened the dusty closet.

your reaction didn't go unnoticed by the younger girl. her shoulders shook with mirth, laughing at the absurdity of your predicament. you were a ghost. and you were afraid of spiders. and ants, and beetles and bees, when they couldn't see or even touch you.

"don't laugh! any type of spiders or bugs are the bane of my existence, i swear!"

"y/n, the tarantulas are in the game!" sakura wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye. she just couldn't believe your fear went this far. hell, she hated them too, but she was safe from the demons in game.

the cold intensified. it seemed to do that whenever you felt a particularly strong emotion. "they're still creepy in game."

"whatever you say, y/n."

she reached for and felt around the inside her bag, looking for nothing in particular, until her hand bumped into a familiar casing. that's right, the camera!

if sakura didn't know any better, she'd have thought it was an ordinary vintage camcorder. but this, this was a special camcorder. she'd been through hell and back to buy it off this random dude she'd found on her college forum.

"a camera?" you leaned in closer, curiosity piqued. sakura felt an icy blow of wind on her cheek from your presence, yet it made her blush. she was afraid the "crush" had turned into a crush.

"not just any camera," she smugly proclaimed. "it's supposed to capture," she made air-quotes, "'ghostly encounters.' or whatever that guy sunoo said."

"i'm not..." you laughed. normally she would've laughed too, but she was dead set on this financial decision. seeing the pure determination on her face, your laughter ceased. "oh, you're serious."

"well, okay. let's test it out, shall we?"

she fumbled with the camera, taking it out of the flap case with caution and flipping the screen open.

this would totally serve as real proof to her friends.

"i literally don't see anything, unnie." yunjin pouted.

yunjin and chaewon sat unamused on sakura's bed. sakura was showing them the footage she had taken a few days ago of a conversation between you and her.

"weren't you the one saying ghosts aren't real all the time? now all of a sudden you're claiming you've even befriended one. we should really stop you from going back, unnie," chaewon deadpanned.

she was right. sakura was saying all that stuff. keyword: was. but she was a changed woman! now that she'd seen it with her own eyes, there had to be a way for her to prove herself. all of a sudden she felt bad for calling out yujin's delusions a few months back. she apologized to yujin in her head.

in her defense, she hadn't checked the footage she had taken at all until now. and not once did it come up in her mind that ghosts... didn't show up on camera. because they were ghosts.

the footage consisted of her making simple conversation with you, asking about your interests and introducing you to the viewers. it then escalated into a shoving contest, and sakura whining about how it wasn't fair that you could have even a slight effect on her (your eerie icy air) while she could just "phase" through your figure. that was what she saw, anyway.

to the two confuddled girls taking up all the space on her neat bed, it was just the girl talking to the air. and fighting the air. and blushing at air.

it was safe to say (to them at least) that miyawaki sakura had officially gone insane from too many nights stayed up this summer. the initial visit to the school at night was only a test of courage to start off the break, but it seemed that abandoning her and therefore failing said test of courage had a bigger effect on the older girl.

sakura huffed.

("can i bring my friends back?"

"huh? uh, sure. video didn't work?"

"no."

"then i'm not sure you think they'd see me if they didn't in the—"

"shut up.)

"why are we back here again," chaewon whined, clutching onto sakura's arm for dear life. they, once again, had brought the huge lantern from chaewon's family garage, even if the older girl had reassured them that their phone lights would be enough. sakura was getting tired of the lingering afterimages.

yunjin made a face as a spider was made visible from their powerhouse of a light source. "sakura-unnie, i swear i believe there's a ghost. even if we didn't see anything... now can we please go back home?"

"sure. i'll keep going and you two can run back. i won't believe that you believe me unless you see her with your own eyes."

finally, that shut them up. with much trouble, (mostly the two college freshmen clinging to sakura's arms) they traversed through the creepy hallway until they reached the art room at the end. sakura could hear some faint humming in the tune of gee by girls' generation, and she smiled to herself. it wasn't your favorite song, but it was the one that got stuck in your head the most.

she turned to the two cowering girls behind her (who had clutched onto each other the moment she broke away from their terrified grasps) and slid open the door.

"hey, sakura!" you waved from a desk in the corner. the girl waved and turned to her friends again, raising an eyebrow.

"do you hear her?"

"h-hear what," chaewon squeaked.

'are you serious.'

sakura stepped into the room, chaewon and yunjin hesitantly trailing behind her.

the american shivered. "is—is it just me or is it way too cold in here."

"that's the ghost!" the japanese desperately exclaimed, shaking the girls back and forth. "she's right there, look, please!"

chaewon looked back at her with an equal amount of desperation in her eyes, though for a completely different reason. "unnie... there's no one there..."

"what!?"

cool air whispered near sakura's ear, making her shudder. "yeah, sakura... there's no one here?" you giggled. she flushed red and turned around to shove you, but her arms went straight through. damn it, why were you a ghost?

"i don't know what happened when we left you, but i just know we should've dragged you back with us!" the tall girl cried out, genuinely worried for her friend. until chaewon started giggling at the sight of sakura fighting the air with her own eyes and they both started giggling together.

eventually, they both calmed down and sat at the desks, though they picked the ones right next to the door just in case they really saw something. chaewon and yunjin explained they couldn't see or hear anything, but it was exceptionally cold in the classroom, more than outside. and when y/n lingered closer to them, the iciness intensified.

unfortunately sakura couldn't stay this time, since the pair's calmness started to wear off and they started getting paranoid again. the older girl's interactions with the "ghost" seemed less entertaining and more... get her a therapist, ASAP.

you took notice of this and convinced sakura to take them home, and that you wouldn't mind.

sakura left with a final grumble, dragging the two by their collars and complaining about them, to them. she was going to get to the bottom of this.

"i just don't understand why they can't see you, why can i see you but not them?"

sakura was sitting at her usual spot, having returned the next night to visit you again. instead of you occupying the seat adjacent to her, however, you decided to sit crisscrossed on top of the desk in front of her.

you pursed your lips, then blew out an icy breath into her face. she frowned. "maybe it has to do with my last wish."

"uh, what last wish?"

"i mean," you sighed. "it's the whole reason i'm stuck here. the dead that remain on earth typically have a last wish that ties them down here, and only someone who meets specific requirements can help them go on to the afterlife. usually the reapers meet those prerequisites, so they help the spirits."

"my requirements would probably be... i don't know, someone who went to school with me, or maybe someone who came looking for specifically me? again, i'm not sure. maybe mine would be easier if i died in a more natural way."

this sparked a tinge of curiosity in sakura. you never really talked about how you died, always managing to avoid the topic and discuss something unrelated. "how did you die?"

"mmh, i jumped off the roof. and splat! i died."

"wha..."

why did you talk about it so casually? were you okay? why did you... what the fuck? maybe... maybe there was a reason you never talked about it? and this was just your way of coping, sakura didn't know. sakura wanted to know, and also know more about you. every bit of information about you that she uncovered stuck to her like glue. her infatuation with you not only as a ghost but also as a person was growing, and she wondered what would've happened if she never agreed to the initial test of courage. she wanted so badly to ask you, but the empathy in her told her not to pry further.

anyway...? reapers? other spirits? there were still ghosts on earth other than you? suddenly sakura didn't seem so ashamed that she spent all day, everyday in her room. but that's besides the point!

"so what's your last wish?"

you tapped your finger against your chin, furrowing your eyebrows. "hmm... i don't remember!"

"huh!?"

"but if i try hard enough, i'm sure it'll come up!"

"y/n..."

now, over the next few days you and sakura pretended like nothing happened. no last wishes, no death talk, just continuing on like before.

sakura, being the nerd tech-wizard she was, managed to get the projector working so she could have a bigger screen than the tiny one on the switch, and also watch films through her laptop, on the netflix account that yunjin didn't know she still had access to.

you figured out how to turn some of the lights in the corridors on, which let you and sakura venture out into the school and have a change of environment. sure, the artroom was cozy now, but sometimes getting out of there was refreshing for you.

"you're so warm, kkura," you murmured, making it appear as if you were laying on her lap where she was sitting at the end of the hallway. the lights flickered every so often, and the raven-haired girl's phone was about to die. they were a tad far from the art room, so when the battery finally ran out they would have to make do with the flickering lights.

she giggled, tapping the cold air where your nose would be. you scrunched up your face in response. "don't lie. can ghosts even feel warmth?"

"no... but i can feel your warmth, promise," you pouted. you were her weakness, really. she wished everyone else could see you but well, was it selfish of her that she was glad she was the only one who could?

sakura looked to the right, where the rest of your body was. huh, your legs weren't visible from this angle.

...wait a minute.

"where are your legs?"

your pout morphed into a frown of confusion, raising an eyebrow at the japanese girl. "huh?"

you then looked down, expecting to prove her wrong and that your legs were as intact as a ghost's legs could be... only to see that the lower half of your body was indeed gone, from the knees down. the rest of your body seemed to fade into nothing.

"huh. my legs are gone," you affirmed. "oh my god! my legs are gone!"

your gaze switched between sakura's equally as afraid face, and your missing legs. then it all became dark. the lights had gone out.

"y/n? y/n! the lights, the lights are... are you there still?"

"yes... the lights went out, so i can't see anything. does your phone still turn on?"

"don't ghosts have some sort of night vision? why can't you—agh..." she tried holding the power button on her phone, but what showed on the screen was the dead battery icon. "fuck."

the lights flickered, and both of your faces lit up in hope, until they went out again. then, the lights ahead flickered, and the pattern repeated. this was like in those dramatic scenes when the lights would turn on whenever you moved the character towards them, except they turned on by themselves. oh shit. she'd have to run quick if she wanted light.

luckily, you thought the same. "kkura, let's run."

and through the ceiling lights that flickered on and off in succession, sakura ran. she could only see you for seconds at a time, when the lights would make you visible, but you were smiling as you lead her through the corridors.

when you finally made it to the (thankfully) still-lit art room, you disappeared. "y/n? where'd you go?"

in fear, she spun around frantically, trying to see if you were anywhere near the classroom. did your last wish get granted and you just disappeared? no, she couldn't live with that. there's no way running through the hallway as if you were in an indie horror game was your last wish. where were you? what if—

"boo."

"jesus—jesus fuck!"

there you were, your knee-less form doubling over in laughter. "y/n, i thought you were gone for real! oh my god!"

"oh my—you should've seen the look on your face! you look like you've seen a ghost!"

"you're laughing. i almost suffered a heart attack from you and you're laughing."

you floated back up to her at eye-level, flashing a crooked grin. "sorry, kkura. but wasn't that fun?"

and, like many other occasions, sakura found herself failing to say no to you.

"i guess."

you were fading away.

it was the thing that happened when ghosts' last wish were granted naturally, not instantaneously like with a reaper. most wished for anyone but a reaper, so they could savor their true last moments left on earth, to fade away into the air and move on peacefully. not to be forcefully flown up to the afterlife, watching their surroundings become smaller as they got further up. it even made some of them queasy. unfortunately for them, only a certain amount of people found peace without the help of a reaper.

similar to when you revealed the truth of your death, you and sakura both chose to ignore how you were fading.

it had gotten significantly less colder than when sakura had first met you. only half your ghost form was visible; your hips down were gone now. sakura tried her best to ignore the gnawing feelings burning in her chest whenever she looked at you.

to alleviate her inner turmoil, she looked into some strategies to destress. this case was at 2 am, on some crappy wikihow articles with silly little illustrations. many suggested reading to relax the mind and body, but that was more of a yunjin thing. so she researched other calming hobbies.

crocheting had become a recent hobby of hers, something to kill time with in the daytime when she wasn't out. it quickly started to become an obsession—she would use every bit of her free time, whether it was during a cutscene in baldur's gate 3, before and after she took a nap, or whenever she wasn't out with friends.

"when'd you learn to crochet?"

sakura looked up to see you staring curiously at her hand movements, fascinated at the way she maneuvered the metal hook like it was second nature. "just last week. it's all i do nowadays."

she focused back to her project, stitching the beige yarn with her hook and occasionally glancing at the pattern on her phone screen. it was true, crocheting was all she did nowadays, added to her routine of gaming and being dragged to hangouts. she brought her crocheting tools everywhere with her, to everyone's complaint.

("pay attention to us unnie!" sakura recalled yujin whining, with wonyoung holding her back with a look of worry. chaewon and the couple had come over to the older girl's apartment, only to be met with her rotting away in her bed with her hook and yarn. it took 20 minutes of begging (yujin and chaewon) and coaxing (wonyoung) for them to finally play wii party.)

"i'm making a hat," she continued, meeting your gaze.

you smiled, resting your elbows on top of the wooden desk and leaning your chin against your palms. "is it for someone special?"

'fuck. how'd you know?' your question automatically led to the bright blush that had settled on her face, burning her cheeks so much that she had to break from your stare.

"i knew it! tell me, tell me!"

well, sakura didn't want to out herself. but then again, she knew you wouldn't give up that easily.

"...it's for you. i thought maybe, you could take it with you, when you... yeah."

"..."

the silence that followed scared the girl. it was the first time your disappearance had been mentioned ever since it was discovered. she hesitantly looked back up, biting her lip.

you blew a gust of cold-ish air at sakura, flashing a toothy grin. she had gotten used to your intense cold, but now it didn't feel any worse than the broken aircon.

"thanks, kkura."

there was something different about the school today. maybe it was because sakura decided to stop by a little earlier than usual, just before midnight. there was a full moon tonight, revealing thousands of stars that were truly a sight to behold. the japanese girl wanted to share the view with you.

the resounding echoes of her footsteps were eerily loud. sakura felt her heart beat in her throat, her palms getting clammy. that wouldn't do, she had to keep the cat-eared beanie in pristine condition—she stayed up countless nights to finish it for you.

it had been three weeks since the initial meeting, but in those three weeks, sakura found herself falling for a ghost. she couldn't get enough of you—at first it was a reaction to your beautiful appearance. in all of the games or movies she had seen and played, ghosts were more... ghastly. you, however, you appeared as a regular human; if your very presence wasn't chilling to the bone, or if you didn't float, she might as well have assumed you were another person looking for the infamous ghost.

and you, the art room ghost, were a spectacle. it was a crime that sakura didn't know about you sooner. maybe if you had met in school all those years ago, this situation would have been incredibly different. you went to the same school, only a year above her, yet you'd left no trace behind.

there were probably rumors floating around about your suicide, yes, but she'd returned to japan for more than six months, starting from the middle of her second year, to the middle of the summer before her third, in which she'd be graduating. it was no wonder she never heard about it. you'd done it a week before you would've graduated, and sakura was gone by then.

you were so bright, curious, relaxed, and frankly, unserious. it contrasted so strongly against the stereotypical, moody ghost, that it also intrigued sakura a copious amount.

sakura found solace in you. simple as that—she couldn't see herself without you now. and she wouldn't know what to do with herself when you would eventually disappear. you were lovely.

as she approached the door of the art room, she felt a sudden chill, before it dissipated into warmth, like a fire lit inside of her gut, burning everything in its way and leaving it in ruins. for the first time, she hesitated, afraid to slide open the door and see you.

the classroom was bathed in the soft, pale light of the moon streaming through the dusty windows, setting a peaceful atmosphere. through sakura's fear-stricken eyes, she could see you, your form reduced to one that she could barely notice if not for her seeking gaze.

"you came," you turned around, a smile on your face. for some reason, your full body was back, but it was more faint than ever. she stepped closer to you, into the light that shined onto the desks. from the front of the room where you were standing, sakura could see all the memories the two of you had made, from the fairy lights to the fixed projector.

she set the beanie onto the wooden surface and bit her lip. "i'm here."

you grinned at the object, tilting your head at the student. "for me?"

a nod.

her eyes gradually filled with tears, threatening to burst out like a dam. "i don't want you to go."

"i know."

the tears burned a trail down sakura's cheeks. she couldn't afford to blink, what if you disappeared in a split second?

you reached out with your hand to cup her cheek, returning her gaze of anguish with a remorseful stare of your own. "thank you for granting my peace. do you want to know what my wish was?"

"what?" the japanese girl choked out. your face was a blurry mess due to the tears that blocked her vision. she wiped them furiously with trembling hands, but to no avail—they just kept coming.

in a slowly timed manner, you cupped her other cheek with your hand and leaned in, planting a cold kiss to her lips that lingered even after you pulled away.

"i finally made another friend."

a pang in the chest. sakura couldn't even respond, too caught up in the moment and feeling every emotion she had ever felt in her twenty years of life, into one jumbled up pile. you were fading; your body becoming more transparent by the second.

"if only... in better circumstances, you know?" you whispered. she swore she could see tears rolling down your cheeks. "we could've been more than that."

the last sakura saw of you that night was your bittersweet smile, fading away into nothingness. the beanie lay untouched on the desk, the fairy lights where she last left it, and the projector ready to play hollow knight on her switch.

she was alone in the art room.

eat. sleep. crochet. repeat. sakura hadn't left the vicinity of her room in two days. living off of shitty top ramen packets and cans of redbull, she didn't even know what she was crocheting. she hadn't logged onto any games either.

miyawaki sakura was lost.

without you, she didn't know what to do. there was nothing waiting for her in the unholy hours after midnight. no one to watch her play games on a school projector. no one to look forward to seeing.

her friends came knocking on her door, letting themselves in but giving up as soon as they saw how far gone she was. she wouldn't budge, only answering with a half-assed "mhm..." or "right..." as she stitched the beige yarn with almost mechanical movements.

the yarn had been continuously weaved into a long, stretching piece, pooling around her as she worked at a depressing yet strenuous pace.

"sakura-unnie..." chaewon tugged at the mourning girl's sleeve. "this isn't healthy..."

"mhm..."

yunjin frowned, almost tearing up at the older girl's pitiful state. "what could've happened to her? she's never done this before."

"maybe it's the ghost?" chaewon turned to look at the blonde, who was sitting on the edge of the black gaming chair. "doesn't look like she's been back there for a while."

sakura tensed. a stray tear made it out the corner of her eye.

"y/n," she murmured, then going back to crocheting.

"is there something we can do, unnie?"

"it's not like we can bring her back, yunjin."

bring you back? bring you back... summoning the dead... would it count if you'd already ascended? no, never mind that. summoning circles... demons... you weren't a demon, you were obviously an angel. occult...

sakura did recall a section dedicated to the occult at the campus library.

she dropped her hook and yarn, getting out of bed and pushing past the two girls, who were clearly bewildered at her actions. she had to go get books.

but that would take forever, wouldn't it?

she strided back into her room, taking hold of the girls' wrists.

"we're going to the library."

"for what!?" chaewon yelped. sakura had a killer grip, unexpected coming from a gamer who was a shut-in most of the time.

"i'm going to bring y/n back."

"you're kidding, right!? that's something in the movies! i—you're not listening..." chaewon groaned.

yunjin wrinkled her nose. "could you at least take a shower first? no offense, unnie, but you smell... it's at least not as bad as passing by the boys' locker room though."

oh shit. she hadn't left her room in two days.

"we're going to the library after."

"witch's handbook... herbs and hexes..."

sakura, having freshly showered and changed into some suitable clothes that weren't just sweats and an old pokémon hoodie, skimmed through a variety of books in the supernatural section of the library. yunjin was surrounded by piles of books on a nearby table, sitting with her face smushed into the wooden surface.

chaewon had been trying as diligently she could to aid the older girl in her search, but most of the books were fiction or sounded... not very promising.

she glanced worriedly to her friend, who was in a manic state. "kkura-unnie, i really don't think—"

"necromancer's manual," the japanese gasped out. she tugged the dusty book out of its placw between two other 'magic' books, and rushed over to where yunjin was dozing off.

the slam of the book echoed throughout the library, which was mostly empty save for librarian who glared over at their general direction. the noise and vibrations it sent through the table woke up the blonde, making her jump to her feet and salute.

"i'm up, ma'am!"

"hey, who are you calling... nevermind."

sakura began reading the faded text printed on the first pages of the book. "the path of a necromancer is one of darkness and... ugh, don't care... approach these teachings with respect, for the dead may not forgive, and the power to summon them is as much a curse as it is a gift."

yunjin and chaewon stood behind her, though not reading the book but crossing their fingers hoping that the older girl gave up and would go back to being the sakura that they know and love. this whole trip to the library she was off in her own world, going on and on about how she was going to get this y/n back. she didn't even tell yunjin to step on the brakes way before she actually had to.

it took them one look at sakura: her widened eyes, the frown that was etched onto her face. she was about to do something crazy. something that might kill her if it succeeded. but they're not sure if she was even thinking about such things; sakura was clouded with a mix of emotions so strong that she seemed like a whole new person.

it was almost as if she were reborn.

step one: gather your materials. to summon the dead is a perilous task, and to do as such is a path filled with trouble. fret not, for you have made it this far, and backing out is always viable if need be.

below is a list of materials that will aid you. note that these are suggestions, and if you are to rekindle specifics, these may not apply.

chalk, to draw the main summoning grounds in the form of a standard pentagram

five palm wax candles

sea salt, to be sprinkled around the circle

parchment and a quill or other utensil, for the person's name to be written on and burned as the finalization of the ritual

one white lily

an object dear to the person

of course, there were extra measures needed to be taken for sakura to fully do this. the amount of shady wikihow tutorials she pulled up was alarming. it wasn't her fault though. what if she messed up while drawing the pentagram? and where the hell would she get palm wax candles? ordering online would take too long. so... she called up her good friend and little sister of chaewon: eunchae.

eunchae had many connections. all it took was a few texts and the younger girl had showed up to her apartment, kyujin in tow, with a box of premium palm wax candles. they looked to be very expensive, but with whatever witchery eunchae did, she only had to pay a whopping... nothing at all, actually. thank god for eunchae.

sea salt, chalk, and the white lily were easy to obtain. she had sea salt from her kitchen, chalk that she never gave back to yunjin, and went to go buy a single white lily from the florist next to the local bookstore which was famous for housing four cats.

the parchment was slightly harder to find, but she managed it by stopping by some antique store that was dustier than chaewon's garage. as for the quill... well, a fountain pen was close enough, right? whatever. sakura didn't have much time left, the only thing left was to get something that meant a lot to you... but what could it be? you didn't talk much about your own life in general, at least the important bits. but you did talk about your best friend sometimes.

best friend...

kang seulgi, the prodigy. admired by many, though some thought her as enigmatic. she had an impeccable fashion sense, was incredibly selfless, and was absolutely stunning.

but out of all people, she chose to spend most of her time with not only an underclassman but quite frankly the quietest one. the girl, y/n, chose to work alone in every group project—no one knew why the teachers let her get away with it. whenever she did talk to someone, they could barely hear her. so when one of the most popular students in school approached her, everyone was shocked.

they were quick friends. eventually they were seen everywhere together, especially in the art room. seulgi would paint or draw, and y/n would watch. sometimes the younger would be the model, and sometimes she would lounge around on her phone while eating honey butter chips.

seulgi and y/n talked about anything and everything. from the interesting topics of the day like the substitute teacher in the second years' history class, to the most mundane things like a slight change to the lunch menu. they were glued by the hip; one would never be seen without the other.

of course, this changed when seulgi graduated. y/n became as isolated as ever, always having a sullen look on her face. she spent her last year with minimal interactions with others, disappeared during lunch breaks, and rarely attended school events.

and... eventually she couldn't take it anymore. during lunch, she went up to the rooftop, slipped off her shoes, and started freefalling.

sakura did not know of this information. but she did know one thing: seulgi probably held her best friend's most precious item. or at least knowledge of it. she was going to revive that stupid idiot no matter what it took.

from: mperskr@ijbol.org to: ksgom@hotmail.com hello ms. kang seulgi, i would like to schedule a meeting with you. it is not for a commission, but something very personal. i know we have not yet met, but i need you to consider my request. i need to ask you a question about someone you were very close with in your high school years. someone by the name of y/n. best regards, miyawaki sakura

"good morning."

"...good morning," seulgi hesitantly greeted, taking a seat across sakura in a rather quiet coffeeshop. "so, you need to ask me about y/n?"

the japanese raised her eyebrows. she was straight to the point, but it saved her some time. "yes. look, you may not believe me, but i met her as a ghost some time ago, but i was the only one who saw her. and long story short, she disappeared into thin air and i need to bring her back."

to no one's surprise, seulgi was narrowing her eyes at her. "um, you mean to tell me that the girl that i heard killed herself, came back as a ghost that only you could see, suddenly disappeared again?"

"yeah."

"ms. miyawaki, was it?"

"that's me."

"...have you been to therapy?"

well, fuck. how was she supposed to explain herself?

she started by explaining how she met the ghost. the haunted school rumor, the first conversation, the daily meetups, and the like. it was a lengthy explanation, one that had the artist furrow her eyebrows at every passing second. but sakura was willing to do whatever it takes, even if it cost her dignity.

surely seulgi held the key.

seulgi frowned, drumming the pads of her fingers against the table. "what does this have to do with me?"

"i'm going to attempt a summoning. y/n has meant too much to me in such a short time, and it will cost my entire being if i can't see her again," sakura stated, a raging mania storming her eyes. she crossed her legs and clasped her fingers together. "i need something that was important to her. and i believe you, kang seulgi, are in possession of whatever it is."

"and what if i do have it? interfering with the dead is ridiculous, even if you told your story," a flash of hurt passed, her face remaining solemn yet sorrowful. "is this what y/n... would've wanted?"

sakura's eyes widened. would you want her to do this? no, never mind that. "we can't ask. y/n died without accomplishing what she wanted most. don't you want her to achieve her dreams?"

the drumming paused. "...and if i don't have it?"

"then i swear on my life that i will get that item no matter what."

"i couldn't back then, but... will you take care of her?"

"one hundred percent."

"..."

"thank you," sakura collected the envelope and stood up from the chair, the metal legs screeching against the floor. "and i'm sorry. i love her. and i know you did too."

seulgi stayed in her seat, reflecting on actions that she couldn't reverse. ones that could not be reversed because they were never done in the first place.

if she had reached out, would this turn out differently? was she right to trust this stranger who claimed to know your name?

she stood from the metal chair with shaky legs, and walked out.

dear seulgi,

it's me. i just want to say that i'm sorry. i should've kept contact with you before it was too late. i know you're going to say it was never going to be too late, but i can't take it anymore.

every second passes by and everyone looks at me with such a look of pity. at first they asked me where you were, before realizing you graduated and laughed it off. i can't laugh it off, you were my other half. my best friend. it was always y/n and seulgi, seulgi and y/n.

nowadays i spend all of my spare time in the art room or somewhere outside. they don't use the art room anymore, you know? said they ran out of budget to support the art department, and shut it down. i buy whatever's left at the school store and eat in there.

i'm tired. i can't wait another year or whatever just so i can see you again. we haven't talked. i miss you.

i'm graduating next week.

i think i'm going to die before then.

- y/n

the candles were set up. she had to pull up the wikihow article for the pentagram, but regardless, it was done. the sea salt was sprinkled and the parchment was prepared. she set the letter in the center, along with the white lily.

eyes devoid of emotion, she took a deep breath, and let the parchment burn. the crackling sounds were crisp to her ear, reminding her that it was too late to turn back.

"and with this offering..."

she's reminded of the memories you made together. the gaming sessions, conversations, and your departure. the you that she met was so different from the one in the letter.

"i seek to reforge a bond with thee."

the explorations after turning the lights on, and how the last one was the introduction of something that would take you away.

"within these sacrificial flames, i humbly ask thee to appear before mine eyes."

bow down. once, twice. she felt the heat of the candles on her cheeks. they were emitting the only source of light in the classroom.

and now, you were to appear before her. or so she thought. instead, she was faced with nothing. not a sound—the windows were shut along with the curtains and the door was closed.

sakura remained bowed down. squeezing her eyes shut and denying that all of this was fake. denying that it was, indeed, all for naught. denying that her friends were right and seulgi was right and everyone was right and she wasn't.

blinded by her guilt and grief, for someone who was peacefully resting now. she would return to her apartment and go back to her normal life, whether she liked it or not. the pool of yarn was still sitting on her bed, the beanie on her desk.

she would also have to apologize to everyone she knew. yunjin and chaewon, who were only concerned for her well being but were dragged into the preparations.

seulgi, who she hunted down and persuaded to give up what could've been the last she had of you.

a wet substance dripped down her cheek and onto the creaky, wooden floor. and another drop joined the first, and then it came in a steady flow.

you wouldn't have wanted this.

you would've wanted her to move on. and be happy that the short relationship even happened.

you wouldn't have wanted her to drown in grief, then be consumed by mania in an attempt to desecrate the laws of the world.

you would've wanted her to remember you. not bring you back.

sakura ruined whatever trust you had in her. disrespected your death, and your disappearance. she didn't know how she was going to atone for the dents she made in other lives.

her sleeves were now soaked in tears. her nails broke the skin of her palm and she bled. indents of the wrinkles of her pants were left on her knees.

sakura pushed herself off the ground, only to be flung by an inexplicably powerful gust of wind. it sent her crashing into the desks, her head spinning and unable to begin to comprehend what was happening. the curtains were forcefully ripped off from the impact of the wind, allowing the late night brightness seep into the classroom.

a trail of blood slid down from her forehead. a headache pounded into her temple. she closed her eyes for a split second and saw her late grandpa.

her mind was clear as mud, even as the door slid open. she slowly turned her head to the entrance, mouth falling agape.

someone very, very familiar.

sakura's mouth opened and closed, unable to form any words.

the girl furrowed her brow and adjusted her uniform skirt, looking around at the mess in the art room. her gaze eventually landed on sakura, who was crumpled on the floor, leaning against the desks which were scattered from her fall. she was bleeding from her head, which added to her confusion.

she tilted her head, her nametag glinting in the moonlight. slowly stepping forward and towards the bleeding girl and poking her unbloodied cheek. "who are you?"

the familiar girl's touch was warm. sakura's throat became dry, a fresh batch of tears flowing down her cheeks.

"y-y/n..."

a/n : hello!!! so sorry for the wait :) this was longer than i thought, and much deeper than i originally intended but oh well. thank you for reading until the end 😁

they are so annoying (affectionate)

SANA & MOMO 5th WORLD TOUR in JAPAN

🫠

gamer g!p yujin x fem!reader 🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕 im so down bad for yujin SORRY

i come bearing a very self-indulgent and specific gift for this prompt hehe 😈😈

see, i'd make yujin a loser here cuz ya'll know why BUT i thought it'd be fun to make her a cool n sexy gamer bcs only ahn yujin can pull that off 😼 anyway, she'd love making you play her games!! yujin has the brightest smile on her face when you sit down on a separate chair beside her while she's gaming and ask questions 🥺 and she falls even harder for you when she notices how well you listen to her while she's explaining stuff like the nerd that she secretly is ☺️☺️ yujin would probably be a pretty popular streamer too! she's pretty, she's funny, she's actually good at every game she plays, and she can talk really well even through the screen and the camera!! her viewers love catching you standing behind her, completely immersed in her gameplay that you don't say anything—they think you're so cute 😭 the two of you are probably a popular ship on twitch LMAO 😭

and now comes menace gamer bf yujin who makes you play her games while you're sat on her lap,, being the pervert that she is, she has her hands all over you while you're trying to learn,, of course yujin only does this when the cameras are turned off—she doesn't want anybody to see you in ways only she's allowed to. she rubs your nipples through your shirt, but you don't even notice at first bcs you're so focused on the game, what a cutie :(( you finally take notice of the sensation when yujin pinches on them, making you let out a small gasp that always sounded so fucking good in yujin's ears,,

she definitely fondles your tits underneath your shirt while she whispers instructions in your ear,, knows how much it's affecting you by the way you shivered and tried your hardest to hold back your whimpers but is a bit annoyed bcs you're so well in the game still?? 😭 and god,, she's always making sure that your position on her lap is perfect with your ass right on her bulge,, it makes everything easier on her part,, gently puts her hands on your hips and starts grinding up slowly,, exaggerates her moans just to get your attention, gives you that shit-eating smirk-smile she always has on when she knew she was getting inside your head.. and then she gets really fucking annoying 🤭🤭

yujin slipping her hand inside your shorts to rub your needy clit through your panties, still grinding on your ass, lips right on your ear while she whispers, "my good girl's gonna complete this level for daddy, right?" guys what the fuck i need her—

and ofc you have no choice but to nod and whimper :(( and oh, how she fucking loves that 😩😩

yujin knowing what exactly gets you to do whatever she wants to make you do.. "sit on my cock. if you do well enough maybe i'll fuck you, but if you don't... you're not coming at all tonight." and being the pathetic slut that you are, you obey! cockwarming yuj while you try your hardest to play but she's making it so hard :(( between her small, slow thrusts from time to time, fingertips barely brushing against your clit, a semi-hard grip on your thigh, and the soft moans that left her mouth every time you adjusted yourself a little bit... how could you not lose control of yourself?? 😣

barely a second after completing the level and you immediately drop the controller on the floor.. yujin grabbing you by the back of your shirt, pulling you into her and pressing her fingers against your clit hard, making you moan loudly and grab onto her wrist, "so good for daddy, aren't you?" yujin says against your ear,, fuck she'd lick from the crook of your neck to the spot behind your ear just to hear your sweet moans,, yujin doesn't hesitate to manhandle you either! especially when she's desperate to fuck you like this.. throwing you down on the couch with your ass up and face buried on one of the couch pillows, but she pulls your hair so your voice could fill the air while she pounded you from behind 🫣 gawd... her one hand holding your waist in a death grip, muttering curses as well as your name while she fucks into you with her big dick :((

"just like that.. fuck yourself into my cock—god.. good girl..!"

"that's my girl.. move, (y/n)..."

"you like daddy's games, huh..? don't worry, we'll get to play more.. so much more.. f-fuck! i'm.. c-coming—"

looking behind you just to see the sight of yujin's pleasured expression with her eyes shut tight and teeth biting her lip while sweat drips down her perfect neck.. 😳😳😳

The tension 🫠🫠🫠 this was really good 🥰

punches to the heart

pham hanni x fem!reader ; angst, fluff

synopsis: hanni watches you beat up her friend, you two get off on the wrong foot, and it's safe to say hanni basically hates you -- the feeling is mutual. what makes it worse is the fact that you two are bound to run into each other time and time again.

warnings: boxer!reader ; hanni is a nursing student who’s fighting lowk (kinda) ; blood ; violence ; pining ; reader is pretty traumatized ummm ; #enemies to lovers (sorta) ; alcohol ; making out ; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread

a/n: ummm I don’t really box lmfao or at least I haven’t done it professionally soooo sorry to any boxers reading this bc there might be mistakes or incorrect terms idk anyways ENJOY!! ^_^ also ignore the fact that yn works at a restaurant in this too LOL half of this fic was from MONTHS ago but i never continued it...

you’re freshly thirteen, your knees still sting and blood continues to flow out of the scrapes from being pushed onto the ground by two prepubescent boys earlier in the day, but you dab at it a couple of times with spare napkins in your bag to prevent any more crimson liquid from seeping out.

the door opens and you find your grandma knitting something on the couch, she’s also watching something on the tv. the quality of the video playing on the screen is pretty rough, but you can make out a familiar face: your late grandpa. grandpa was grandma’s everything and from what you’ve heard: he’s a sweet, memorable soul. a smile spreads across your face as you watch your grandma continue to knit. a few seconds later you’re trying to sneakily run to the bathroom to clean up the mess on your legs.

“y/n? is that you?” she calls out softly, turning in your direction. usually, she’d be at the little bakery she worked at, but she wasn’t, so you assumed she had worked the morning and lunch shifts. she looks down at your red knees and her eyes widen. “oh! sweetheart, what happened?” 

she drops whatever she’d been knitting down on the cushion and rushes over to you, cupping your face and then kneeling to meet your injuries. her eyebrows crease and she frowns, worry is painted all over her face.

“i bumped into someone and tripped on the curb.” you lie, knowing you had heard snarky remarks in between voice cracks from some idiots beforehand.

“what did i say about lying?” your grandma sighs, rubbing the area around one of the scrapes and sighing. “did those boys give you a hard time again?”

“i—” you start, but she looks at you and raises her brows, making your second lie die in your throat immediately. you gulp and avoid eye contact. “well i got pushed and i’m not lying about tripping on the curb. i got unlucky.”

grandma clicks her tongue twice and shakes her head, then grabs your hand and leads you to the small bathroom of your little apartment. 

she closes the lid of the toilet and urges you to sit down on it. while you situate yourself, she finds a little first-aid kit in the cabinet and a few sanitizing wipes. you gulp, already uneasy about the pain that you’ll feel in the next minute.

your grandma chuckles in that raspy, cliché old lady tone when she sees your clenched jaw and fingers digging in your knee anxiously. she sighs and kneels down to meet your level, then says, “it’ll hurt a little, be strong for me.” 

“i’m not scared.”

“sure you’re not hon. it’s going to sting a lot, but it’ll pass by in no time, ‘kay?” she says, taking out an alcohol wipe and holding it above the scrape on your left knee. she holds your right hand and smiles sweetly—it calms you down in no time. “i’m going to clean it, be strong.” she says, then begins to wipe away the bacteria from the wound.

you close your eyes tightly at the stinging sensation, it hurts a lot and tears well up despite your eyes being shut. grandma squeezes your hand tightly then throws the wipe away.

“there you go, one knee done.” she says, “you’re strong like your grandpa, you know?”

your brows relax and you look at her, tilting your head. “i—, i am?”

“he boxed until he was 42, you were around the age of 4 then.” she explains, smiling as she reminisces. she grabs another wipe and tightens her grip on your hand again before you feel that same pain again, and continues, “he had a lot of injuries like these ones. i took care of him like this.”

through clenched teeth you respond, “he got hurt worse than this?”

“five times worse.” grandma shivers, “blood from his lips, mostly bruises on him though. i stitched him up once and i almost threw up.” she says, cringing when she recalls this memory. “he got cut up a couple of times and complained and groaned much more than you, actually. he got in a lot of fights, but he promised that he’d get into fewer fights when we had to take care of you.”

“oh, were you okay with taking care of him so much? it must’ve been tiring to always do that for him.”

grandma’s expression softens and she smiles. “when you love someone, taking care of them is never a problem. i love you y/n, and your grandpa; taking care of you two is nothing of a problem. maybe it’s rotten work for some people, but for the people i love? never.”

her sweet smile makes your own lips curl up and she pats your leg softly before finding bandages. as she patches you up, her words linger in your mind and heart.

“you know y/n, i won’t be here forever.” she starts, standing back up to put the kit away. “when you grow older i want you to find someone who will take care of you like that, and it’s your job to take care of them too.”

“i can take care of you when i’m older.” you say it like a promise and she shakes her head.

“i don’t want you to worry about my old soul for the majority of your life. i’m talking about a friend, or maybe more. whoever it is, care for them endlessly.”

you nod. 

she smiles once more and chuckles, “come on, let’s go watch one of your grandpa’s fights—i was watching some of it before you got here.”

you follow her out the bathroom and turn off the light, then you two head back to the living room. she sits down on the couch and urges you to squeeze in with her as she picks up her needles and yarn. you sit beside her and she presses a button on the remote, which starts the video back up again.

as you watch, you recognize the familiar figure on the screen jump around on his feet. he holds his arms up and clenches his fists in the boxing gloves, shooting the opponent a nasty glare through the small space in between.

“your grandpa was a great boxer, he spent a lot of time devoted to the sport.” grandma explains.

you hum and ask, “why did he box? doesn’t it hurt?”

“well, he did it to protect himself and make some money for us back when times were rougher, way before you were born. he was passionate about it.”

“that’s cool.” you say in awe. your grandma laughs softly before starting to knit again.

you watch your grandpa dodge a few punches and a swing from the side quickly, he’s fast and your 13-year-old mind is absolutely bewildered by his athletic ability. the opponent throws another punch, which he dodges, then sends a nasty hit to the side of the other boxer’s torso. the opponent stumbles back and falls to his knees, then bends down while he tries to recover. it takes a bit for the other guy to get up, and when he does get up—he stumbles back down.

“i want to be like grandpa, can i learn to box?”

your grandma laughs and grins at you. “you know what—sure y/n, you’re a lot like him after all. besides, you need to defend yourself from whoever pushed you.”

“oh yeah, i punched him in the face.”

“you what?” your grandma asks, shocked by your reply. you shrug and keep your eyes on the screen: your grandpa had won after a hit to the guy's cheek, and now the camera is on his sweaty, smiling self. 

“he pushed me and i punched him, but that’s because he said something really bad…”

“y/n,” grandma starts, but stops after she takes another good look at you and her late lover on the screen. a small breath leaves her lips, then she shakes her head. “you two are practically the same, huh.”

the rest of the night your grandma shares anecdotes of her time with your grandpa, it ranges from a variety of silly stories: your grandpa’s first fight, how they fell in love (and this story elicited a slight face of disgust from you, a playful one of course. you couldn’t deny that it was cute, but you were also 13 and icky about a lot of romantic things), grandpa’s fights out of the ring, and their most memorable moments with you. 

you find out that a lot of your traits are rooted from your grandpa, you were pretty satisfied with that.

-

years pass, you’re not stuck in that shithole called middle school; instead, you’re a junior in high school—still in a shithole, but a little better—yuck.

you’re already pretty sick of high school, freshman year wasn’t the best for you after realizing you liked girls; well, it was alright until your first heartbreak or whatever. 

it was cliché: you made a good friend, she was sweet and friendly, and then you realized that your heartbeat would pace at an unhealthy speed around her. the two of you get into a relationship and it eventually fails, your heart breaks and blah blah blah it’s a universal experience. you managed to get over this heartbreak after a year. besides, you can’t be stuck on one failed relationship for the entirety of high school, that’s a fool’s biggest mistake. 

and you’re not a fool.

grandma get’s sick sophomore year, and grandma is all that you have. it was an unexpected turn, resulting in one of the worst years of your life.

the doctors said it had something to do with her heart, some type of cardiovascular disease that costs a bit to treat. so, as soon as you turned 15, you found yourself a part-time job at a local restaurant to pay for her medicines and treatment while she tried her best to provide you with a stable foundation for the future, or at least some food, a house, and water. grandma had argued that she didn’t need your help, she scolded you and tried to keep you focused on your studies, but you wouldn’t budge; if anything, you argued back.

twenty-four hours in a day, and yet it wasn’t enough time to do everything you needed without sacrificing some of your sanity.

six of those hours were spent sleeping, seven hours were spent in school, eight hours at work right after, and then a few hours to care for grandma—and do a little bit of boxing; nothing got in the way of your passion, especially if that passion kept your grandpa alive. 

ever since that little moment with grandma and her cleaning up your knees, your interest in your grandpa and boxing piqued; you started to push yourself physically after hearing about the contests and tournaments, ones that had prizes worth more than one shift of working.

 it was difficult – boxing, working, going to school – with grandma’s illness, but your passion was just as great as your grandpa’s and the more you developed to become more like him: the more grandma would smile. that was the product you yearned for, and all your devotion (plus your similar features) only made the image of your grandpa increasingly prominent when she looked at you.

boxing made the thought of her illness easier to bear, and that didn’t cost anything, instead it filled your pockets. so, you kept on going, replicating the moves in the old films of your grandpa, winning junior boxing matches and placing the films your grandma recorded next to the ones of your grandpa. 

even when you didn’t win matches, the tapes of you boxing were placed next to your grandpa’s. that was arguably ten times better than a trophy.

it was enough to ease the strain in grandma’s body, and that made you happy too.

--

a year passes and you’re still a part-time amateur cook at some local restaurant. you still smell like sauteed onions and garlic when you reach the door to the apartment and try to blindly reach for the keys to your home; it’s a bit late, you’re tired, and you want to shower then pass out as soon as you can.

the late evening moon cast a soft glow through the windows near the stairwell, creating a quiet atmosphere. you step inside and the air is filled with the comforting scent of vanilla, a lingering trace of grandma’s signature cookies—she must’ve known you’ve been craving something sweet lately.

the only sound that fills the quiet evening is the faint ticking of the clock reverberates throughout the apartment, and then it’s the sound of the door creaking as you close it. 

“i’m home," you called out, a habitual greeting as you kicked off your shoes. usually, you’d get a response—it was half past seven and typically, grandma would still be awake to greet you warmly—but silence lingered, only broken by the distant hum of the refrigerator.

worry pricked at your consciousness as you ventured further into the house. the hallway leading to the bedroom seemed unusually hushed. the gentle rustling of your grandma’s usual activities was conspicuously absent, she wasn’t even knitting in the living room while watching tv like she usually did. it was odd.

turning the corner into the bedroom, a gasp escaped your lips. you dropped your work bag and stood frozen in place, feeling your heart rate spike. there, lying on the carpet, was your grandma, and her face now bore the lines of pain. panic surged through your veins as you rushed to her side.

"grandma, what happened?" your voice trembled as you gently shook her shoulders, desperately hoping for a response.

grandma’s eyes were closed, her breathing erratic. the room seemed to close in on you as you fumbled for your phone, dialing 911 with trembling hands. the operator's calm instructions cut through the air as you listened intently, trying to focus on each word and compose yourself.

frantically, you performed cpr, guided by the dispatcher's voice, but the seconds felt like an eternity. the room blurred as tears welled in her eyes, mixing with the fear that gripped her heart. the paramedics were on their way, but time was slipping away. this could not be happening—not now, not here, not ever.

“please, god, please no. please stay with me, not you too.” you beg, feeling your face dampen.

as you continued the compressions, a heaviness settled in the room. the once warm and inviting space now felt suffocating. in those agonizing moments, your grandma’s fragile grip on life slipped away. it was clear that she was gone, and there was nothing you could do to help her this time.

--

there’s enough money for you to live in that apartment alone for two months. the first week was spent with you sleeping in, missing school, and staring into the ceiling blankly.

you haven’t gotten up in hours, you could hardly take care of yourself after grandma’s passing. 

after a few hours of simply laying down and feeling too much, yet nothing at all; you flip over on your side and catch sight of the framed picture of you and your grandma. your brows turn up slightly as you stare back at the picture. you turn to lay on your back again, closing your eyes and groaning. your heart aches, it’s all too much for you.

the sound of knocking elicits an exhausted sigh from you, and it takes you a moment to get up for the first time in hours. you trudge out of the bedroom and groan when a sudden headache hits you, it almost makes you stumble. the sight of the kitchen and untouched living room makes your shoulders sink, it looks the same as that life-changing night.

you unlock the door and twist the knob to open it; a taller man stands in front and looks up at you with a sincere smile. 

“ah, y/n, am i correct?” he questions. a smile pulls at his lips, his eyes soften upon observing you. “you’ve grown, you have your grandpa’s eyes.”

his voice is soft, you can tell he’s a well-spoken, dignified man just from the way he articulates his words. he's quite fit looking for his age, he seems about how old your grandpa would’ve been if he was still alive; a man with noticeable smile lines and hands that seemed to have experienced decades.

you try to respond and realize that it’s been a week since you’ve uttered something that wasn’t a cry. you resort to nodding; he seems to understand.

he smiles and scans you; it seems that he doesn’t care about your appearance or state at all. 

“my name is michael, i was a friend of your grandparents. i’m sorry for your loss.”

you stay silent, unable to speak. 

“i’m here because your grandma asked for a favor, a big one and it includes you.” he begins, “she knew her condition was getting worse and asked me to come here to talk to you.”

“what?” you croak, now curious of just who exactly this man is and his connections with not just your grandma, but also your grandpa. “you knew?” your voice cracks, your heart breaks.

“i can’t turn down a favor like this, not if your grandma is asking either.” he says, pursing his lips. his eyes scan the room, then they start to well up with water. “she wanted me to take you in and take care of you if anything happened to her, of course i’m willing to do that for her—you’re her family after all, and i owe a lot to the l/n’s. i didn’t know her time would come so soon.”

“what? who, who are you exactly? my grandma told you about her condition? what— how—”

“i was close with your grandparents. i’m someone who owes them everything.”

-

you move in with michael not so long after your first meeting, he warms up to you easily after spilling some anecdotes that threatened your last tears to spill.

it takes a while to grow accustomed to him, you’ve only ever been used to talking to your grandma freely.

michael is a man in his early 50s, younger than your grandparents. he’s a sweet, soft-spoken man that treated you like his own as soon as the two of you met. you learn that he boxed with your grandpa; michael learned everything from your grandpa and explains that your grandpa is the reason he can live normally now. 

something in the way that he talks about your grandparents and the way he looks at you explains a lot, you don’t know exactly what your grandparents did, but it seems like they were his biggest miracle.

he smiles at you when you settle in his house, then goes on to tell you that you remind him of your old man. michael is a generous guy, and though everything happened so fast—recovering from grandma’s death, moving in with this man you’ve never heard of, learning more about your grandparent’s relations, and too much more—you seem to ease into this new lifestyle.

what else could you do anyway?

the new home you’re in isn’t small; if anything, it’s actually quite large and spacious. his home is hours away from where grandma was and it was hard leaving everything behind, but with your situation, the most you could feel is grateful for having a place and person to stay with, and a way to keep you from drowning in misery.

it was also evident that there used to be someone who lived with him, a lover of some sort. the pictures on the wall give you a sense of how he was like when whoever that woman was accompanying him was around; he was a lively, beaming man back then. now, he’s a bit more mellow, but there’s still that slight charm.

-

michael offers you a job at his little restaurant that he manages—which you accept immediately, you owe him some labor, and honestly everything after what he’s done for you—everything goes well. 

he goes easy on you because of your recent loss, but still, he treats you like you’re his own. michael is quick to correct you, strict when he needs to be, and someone to rely on.

he’s impressed with your skills in the kitchen, enamored by how quick you are to learn recipes and cook them up. your bond grows quickly and easily, it helps you get over the loss.

when he finds you watching your grandpa’s old boxing matches on the couch a month after moving in, he decides to bring you to his little garage. he unveils the trophies that he’s collected over years of boxing and decides to give you a picture of him and your grandpa posing together. in the picture, they’re all sweaty and smiley, beaming so brightly that their teeth almost reflect the light. he insists that “you deserve it more, i never had a place to keep this anyway,” with a small smile that conceals his sorrow, then hands you the 8x6 photo.

you tell him about your background in boxing, your matches, wins, favorite moves, and that you used to teach yourself how to box because of grandpa.

he simply smiles, muttering something that sounds like a “you’re just like him.”

you learn how to box again for the first time in a while on some friday night. this time you really learn, it’s not from copying your old man’s combos on a screen; instead, it’s one-on-one lessons with his old friend. 

he teaches you a lot, beats you down and makes you get back up. despite getting knocked down, thrown around, and given harsh constructive criticism—you get up and try again, again, and again. the thrill of it all surges through your body again, giving you that adrenaline rush and burst of joy that you’ve been missing for a bit.

one month passes, then another, and now you’re learning how to box every weekend – sometimes on weekdays – running miles after school, pushing yourself all the time, and winning—growing. 

he teaches you his favorites combos, then your grandpa’s favorite ones that got him on one knee each time they sparred. you learn all the time, learn whenever you can despite the slight ache in your body and it’s always michael forcing you to take it easy to get rid of that slight pain. 

boxing takes over your mind and you’re set with cooking as your main job, so school was something you weren’t really set on, you figured that out after all your troubles. michael was okay with that—to your surprise—and you decided to devote your time into training and doing your best at the little restaurant you worked at.

time passes and you decide to put yourself up to the test and sign yourself up for matches. at first, they’re just for experience, and then you’re pushing yourself to win these triple digit checks—which you win proudly after making your way up the bracket and succeeding. you’re proud of yourself for these accomplishments, michael is too, he says that your grandparents would be proud as well and it makes you tear up.

everything was going well, and you had michael to thank for pulling you out of the harsh waters that tried to pull you down and drown you in your misery.

--

when everyone was starting out in college, you were opening up the restaurant and getting everything ready.

you graduated with a solid gpa of 3.4. your counselors were practically up your ass because of your lack of interest in going to college. they tried to persuade you by saying that it would be great for your future, they insisted that you could take culinary classes, boxing classes, etc; despite every effort and attempt, you wouldn’t budge. 

there was always that slight uneasiness that came with deciding not to go to college, but at the same time, you were set with how everything was right now; especially after seeing the elderly regulars that always came in for breakfast. one of them patted you on the back as you hung up the “welcome” sign and greeted you with a smile, saying “it’s nice to see you again y/n, as always.” 

this type of lifestyle kept you smiling, there was not much to complain about other than the rare rude customer that would pass by here and there. you were content to say the least.

-

a few months before you turn nineteen, you decide to move out because there’s a small feeling that you may be a slight burden to michael, plus, the area is not bad and the rent is cheap. he assures that you can stay for however long, but you assure that you can hold up on your own. 

the place you decide to settle in is a thirteen-minute run from michaels place and a ten-minute walk from the restaurant you work at. robert says he’s proud that you’ve grown to be independent and strong.

(you laugh because you’ve simply moved out and decided to live on your own. plus, you live near him and work most of your shifts with him too, but you let him hug you dearly). 

you stay in a single-bedroom apartment that has a nice, small kitchen area littered with trinkets you’ve collected and small plants here and there. the living room is homey and has a single couch with a small coffee table in it that you gives you a view of the small market that goes on every sunday in the distance. you love the place. 

it gets lonely some nights, coming home to a silent house. grandma pops up in your mind and part of you (all of you) wishes that you’d come home to the smell of home cooked food and a smile that emphasizes her wrinkles. grandma hated her wrinkles, but you loved them. a few wrinkles never hurt anyone.

-

you huff, taking off the bandana on your head. “i’m clocking out, see you tomorrow.” 

“wait! michael has something for you in the back. uhh--” aki, the junior in high school that works part time, begins. you pause in your tracks, bag over your shoulder. “hold on let me--”

“c’mon, i'm running a little late for the match. i need to get checked in.” you say hurriedly, “just tell him i'll get it later--”

“no, y/n, it’s important. he said to get it to you today.”

with a deep sigh, you give in, watching him put away the plate he was washing and quikcly running to the back where the lockers are. you follow him in and watch him take out a small box with a little paper on it. it's a pretty big box, maybe bigger than a shoe box.

“here,” he says, handing it to you. “michael says good luck and to open it before your match, he knows how important this one is. three hundred is a solid prize, he says you can do it.”

you smile at aki; he smiles back before running off and back to the kitchen. the box is held with your hands, subtle blisters scratching against the cardboard before you walk over to your car. 

when you’re in the driver's seat, you decide to let the box be your little passenger and see what's inside when you reach the address of the tournament. as soon as you do, the box is in your hands again. with your keys, you cut the tape that covered the openings, then eagerly opened the box like a little kid on christmas morning.

inside, there’s brand new boxing gloves. they're white, they’re fresh, and they’re the expensive ones michael caught you eyeing.

“son of a bitch.” you mutter, shaking your head with a grin playing on your lips. 

you get out your old white mazda with a bag hung on your shoulder, new gloves inside.

there's a man at the front checking you in, his appearance slightly older with hair parted in the middle and a somewhat distraught expression on his face, almost disgust. maybe he just... looks like that. 

there's a hint of attitude in his tone when he asks, "you're here for the match?" 

“yes.”

“you’re late, you know? boxers should’ve checked in ten minutes ago, visitors--”

“i’m here now.” you say calmly, looking at him apologetically. “sorry for being late, i rushed from work. i already submitted my medical information and id online, it should be good to go, i got the email. it's l/n y/n by the way, i should be on the roster--”

he snaps his fingers at you, earning a raised brow from you. your teeth grind against each other as you clench your jaw from the sudden action.

“don’t cut me off when i'm speaking. i could have you out of the match as a whole, you know?” he scoffs, glaring at you. “you boxers are so damn impatient, and to think that you’re a woman too... i would’ve figured you had better manners.”

“i’m-- im sorry?” you’re shocked by the sudden disrespect, fighting back the urge to jab his face. “um, sorry. am i still able to check in?”

he narrows his eyes at you, sighing, but still giving you a little snarky tone even as he hands you your name tag and . “fine. go down the hall and to the left, there’s the locker rooms and whatnot. you know, you’re lucky i don’t--”

“thank you sir, have a good one.” is what you say, because you trained two months for this tournament and you can’t get disqualified now if you had let out that: “fuck you, bitch.”

you dash past him, speed walking towards the changing rooms to get yourself situated and weighed in. he almost curses at you, but you’re already too far in for him to stop you anyway.

--

you make weight, meaning you get to indulge in whatever it was that you grabbed from the convenience store.

in this case it was one protein bar – cookie dough, your favorite – some fruits, an avocado, and a few crackers. a decent amount of nutrition to keep you up on your toes for the matches.

michael's little gift to you fits snug, your hands fit perfectly in them, but you should definitely break them in before sparring—so you resort to using your usual gloves, the same ones that won you the last tournament's prize. it's fine anyway, they’re your lucky ones until you break in the new.

the first girl you take on is feisty; she’s quick on her feet and clearly has some type of anger issue from the way she curses at you quietly, sending daggers with that look of hers. it seems that you piss her off the more level you are, and honestly, it’s amusing to see her continuously jab and jab with fury until you decide to step to the side quickly and give a solid swing. 

she stumbles back, losing her composure before gritting her teeth. 

then she’s light on her feet again, you’re still playing defense, simply observing as she shifts side to side. you let her punch your forearm and send a cross before seizing the moment, stepping to the left, and quickly sending a nasty hook to her body. 

she stumbles again, coughs, and falls down on her knees.

“l/n!” the referee shouts, holding your wrist and raising your arm up.

--

you have three more matches until your final round, the one that’ll determine if you win, but you have to get through all of them first.

the second round proves to be more challenging. the woman you're up against lands a nasty cross that connects squarely with your jaw, throwing you off balance for a split second. however, with attentive focus on each of her movements, you manage to anticipate her next move and swiftly counter with a hook to her side. the blow knocks her out, mirroring the outcome of your previous match.

the third round is even more difficult. the woman you're up against this time seems relentless, unleashing jabs and crosses and jabs and crosses and jabs—wow, she won’t give you a break. you're constantly dodging, weaving side to side, but she refuses to give you a moment's respite. another blow lands on your jaw again, causing you to stumble back and exhale sharply, feeling the impact reverberate through your body.

as you try to regain your footing, she continues to press the attack, landing blows to your forearms as you desperately block, trying to find an opening to mount a counterattack. despite your best efforts, she seems to have you on the ropes, leaving you struggling to keep up with her relentless assault.

but still, as you always do, you manage to swerve and find your opening. after all that effort, she has to recover for a second. a second is more than enough time to step and switch angles, sending your infamous hook and leaving her on the ground, almost in fetal position, and groaning.

the fourth round is tough, really tough. the girl you’re up against is shorter, but wow is she bulky. 

she’s buff, biceps bigger than yours, almost as if an orange had been placed in them. her shoulders were like rocks and tensed as she put her arms up a bit. you had a decent amount of muscle, pretty nice definition and whatnot—but compared to her? it was like a shrimp and a lobster put next to each other. no way she was in your weight class, could she really be?

your arms steady as you get ready to fight, waiting for the cue and as soon as the ref gives you the green light, you’re light on your feet again. she throws a jab at you, grazing your forearm as you step back. then a cross is thrown at you, another jab, and a punch to the side that lands on your shoulder. her hits are as strong as she looks, it hurts. 

you manage to throw a jab that hits her forearms, then land an uppercut that strikes the side of her jaw. she lets out a sharp breath as soon as it hits, then curses under her breath. she looks at you with a death glare, then steps forward and to the side, managing to land a nasty hit right on your abdomen, then cheek, making you fall back against the rope.

she chuckles, making you take a deep breath. 

your feet move quick, inching in on her as you sway from side to side, giving her no room to strike at you. and then, just when you find an opening, you land a nice hook with your right—less precise and powerful, but still enough—and she falls back. 

she gets back up again—not without halting a few of her actions—then shakes her head. she throws a cross at you, which you dodge easily since her reach is on the shorter side. this gives you another opportunity to land a hit right on her jaw, and with that final move, she’s on the ground, and you win.

a smile reaches your face once the referee lifts your arm up, but there’s still that last match.

there's some time before finals, you take the time to rest a bit, chugging down a bit of water and wiping away some of the sweat on your body.

you sit down on one of the benches, leaning against the wall and recollecting yourself. the though of your grandma crosses your mind before you’re interrupted by a high pitched voice in the corner of your ear.

“yunjin! i'm so sorry i'm late, i had to finish moving in some things and--”

“it’s fine, seriously. i'm glad you made it.”

you glance over, seeing two women interact. one is obviously a boxer–one that you haven’t seen yet–probably your opponent for the final round. 

she's all sweaty, strands from her hair glued to her forehead from the sweat. she's pretty built, maybe a little smaller than you are muscle-wise, but still, the definition on her arms and abs are no joke. 

the woman next to her, dressed in a simple long-sleeve shirt and jeans, is beaming at her with a wide smile. her eyes sparkle with joy and happiness and rainbows, there’s an infectious energy that seems to radiate off of her. it's funny how bright she is; you can't help but be reminded of old videos of your grandma with grandpa, where similar warmth and happiness seemed to fill the frame.

“how many more matches do you have left? did you win any yet? gosh i missed so much, didn’t i?”

the taller one shakes her head, the boxer. “it’s fine, the rest were pretty difficult, but this is the round that should be the most important. it's the last one, i'm going up someone really good, i saw her--” she catches you from the side of your eye, which prompts you to look away and start to stand up.

the other woman, the one that looks a little like an eager bunny, looked towards where the boxer was looking. catching your last swift look over to the pair before you walk away.

now, yunjin, your last opponent, tenses her jaw.

“was that her?” yunjin’s friend asks.

“most definitely.” yunjin mumbles nervously.

--

you step into the ring, tilting your neck over to crack it just slightly.

your oppenent swings her arms slightly, dynamically stretching again to ease her nerves. you look her up and down, taking a deep breath before you step into the middle of the platform.

the two of you make eye contact, comparable to cowboys pointing pistols at each other before a duel. you look away first before the referee puts his hand in the middle, then lifts it up to cue the start of your match.

slowly circling the ring, you observe her movements. her arms react quick to how yours move, twitching and moving a bit in order to match your rhythm. she's attentive, very attentive, you can tell just by how quick she’s able to react and adjust.

you throw a cross, she backs away immediately and misses, then throws a punch right at you, hitting your forearm. a grunt is heard from you, then a sharp breath as you jab her forearm in return. 

“jen! you can do it!” the voice from earlier calls out, you can’t afford to look over, but it’s that girl. the one who had been accompanying your opponent earlier.

a small smile forms on your opponent's lips before she launches into a flurry of punches aimed directly at you. you raise your forearms in a desperate attempt to block them from reaching your face, but she manages to find an opening. stepping to the side, she delivers a rear uppercut to your jaw once again, causing a sharp surge of pain to shoot through you. it hurts even more than before, the sensation amplified by the previous blows.

you grunt out in pain, feeling the metallic tang of blood filling your mouth as you watch droplets fall onto the platform below. despite the searing pain and the mounting pressure of the match, you force yourself to regain your composure. your brows crease with determination as you shake your head, breathing in and out slowly.

now it's your turn to unleash a boatload of punches. several of them land squarely on your opponent's forearms, but you manage to find an opening and deliver a powerful blow right to her stomach, causing her to gasp out in pain. despite her reaction, you continue your assault relentlessly, delivering punch after punch to the side of her arms and the forearms covering her head. each blow is delivered with precision and determination, as you refuse to let up until the match is won.

but your opponent still perseveres, somehow finding a way to get out of the corner and land a jab right where your ribs are. she's quick, that’s for sure, always managing to find her way out of situations.

you cough out, stumbling backwards and almost falling down to your knees. she looks at you, huffing proudly as you find your balance. 

“tough,” you hear her mumble, so quiet that you almost mistook it for a whisper.

the two of you go at it again, trading blows and dodging many of them. yunjin manages to land a solid hit on the side of your arm, causing a sharp sting, but you fight back with a well-placed strike right on her tricep. despite the back and forth, the pace slows as both of you focus on dodging each other's attacks, slowing down the more fatigued you both get.

yunjin suddenly lands a powerful hit that causes your arms to push your head to the side. you watch as drops of blood litter the ground once again, but even as pain flares through you, you grunt and pull yourself together.

“c’mon yunjin!” the voice cheers again, that same voice.

just because this “yunjin” has supportive spectators, doesn’t mean you don’t have one watching from above.

the thought of your grandma urges you to act swiftly, moving so quick that you manage to fake her out and strike your signature final move.

turning to the left to regain your footing, you quickly pivot back and swing your arm with precision, landing a harsh blow on her side. the impact is so fatal that it nearly elicits a cry from her—a mix of a cough and a groan—as she staggers backward before collapsing to the ground.

despite the fatigue and pain coursing through your body, and the blood flowing down your nose and to the edge of your chin, none of it bothers you anymore; you’ve won. it’s clear.

you watch as yunjin kneels on the ground, groaning and huffing as she tries to fight back the pain. with both fists planted firmly on the ground, she uses the gloves to support herself, unable to look back up as she coughs, desperately trying to regain her composure and recover from the left hook to her side.

your eyes meet the ref’s eyes, then your brows raise to ask the question “is it over?” but you already know the answer: it is.

the referee helps yunjin up, you don’t bat an eye at her.

standing in the middle of the ring waiting for her, you make full eye contact with her little friend, a look of worry and anger plastered on the woman’s face. you feel a little bad, just a little (but not really), but it’s a competition, it’s nothing to worry about – you’ve won.

still, in that moment, you're caught off guard by how familiar this woman looks, her features bearing a slight resemblance to michael’s. but you quickly push the thought aside, it's not important. what matters is the referee raising your hand up in victory and yelling out your name.

“y/n!”

-

when yunjin gets down from the ring, a few moments after you’ve already stepped off; her friend is already by her side to make sure she’s okay.

“yunjin! oh my gosh, are you okay?”

“yes, hanni, it’s fine.” yunjin assures, clutching her right side. “hell of a hook...”

if it weren’t for those gloves of yours, yunjin would have a prominent bruise right on the skin covering her ribs. hanni frowns at her state before someone comes over to hand yunjin a towel and a water bottle. 

hanni catches you in the corner of her eye as you stand there, sweaty and looking at the ground. a towel is handed to you, and you quickly use it to wipe away the blood on your face. then you look up at the ceiling, closing your eyes as if trying to gather yourself and stem the flow of blood trickling down your face.

“do matches usually end like that?” hanni asks.

“what?”

“like that. someone's hand is raised and then they just... walk off the stage?”

yunjin thinks to herself as she chugs on water. “well, i mean, usually we exchange a few words and stuff, but i guess who i just fought is more... blunt? reserved?” yunjin shakes her head, “it's not that big of a deal, really. she's bleeding anyway, i understand.”

“that’s kind of rude, don’t you think?”

“well, it’s not like she’s actually trying to hurt me for like, terrible reasons. there's a cash prize she wants and she won it.” yunjin shrugs defeatedly.

as you sniffle slightly, you turn to the side, locking eyes with hanni. your look gives the impression of a glare; your eyes narrow, and your expression remains unyielding. it's as if you're sending arrows of scrutiny towards hanni and yunjin. hanni can't help but feel unsettled by the way you hold yourself and the implicit judgment in your gaze. she's not one to judge easily, but your demeanor leaves her feeling a bit wary and cautious.

hanni watches you walk off, wiping a small drop of blood off your jawline, rubbing it off on your towel.

yunjin looks in the same direction as hanni, muttering something under her breath.

“she’s real tough, that’s right.”

--

you walk over to the cafe nearby, you need a little treat after winning, that’s what you deserve.

walking up to the cashier, you order a slice of strawberry shortcake, one latte, and a cookie for later. it’s a quick little action, once you’re done purchasing you head out the door, hearing a little jingle. 

as you walk down the sidewalk, you check your little bag to make sure the container of your cake isn’t tilted, and in the moment, you bump into someone. the coffee in your hand slips and lands on the person in front of you.

a curse slips out your lips, some of the coffee manages to land on your shoulder and upper right side of your chest. you groan, not looking up at the person in front of you and instead crouching down to pick up the bag you’ve just dropped.

“you’re not even going to bat an eye at her?” a voice scoffs from above, you look up to spot two familiar faces: one, the last girl you had knocked out and two, her little friend. “did the win make you so dense?”

“hanni relax, it’s fine–”

“no! she barely batted an eye at you after she won! shouldn’t boxers have more sportsmanship?”

the boxer above you puts a hand on the shorter girl’s shoulder, trying to cool her down as you stand up. the girl you had beat earlier – yunjin – she looks at you and tightens her jaw, hesitating before looking away.

“i’m, i’m sorry for that, for my friend.” she apologizes. you examine her more, noticing that only a bit of coffee landed on her t-shirt and the rest had spilt on you and the ground – it wasn’t that big of a deal. “it’s a small stain, the shirt is navy. sorry for your coffee.”

before you can respond, the shorter woman looks at yunjin confusedly, then pushes her back a bit so that she’s standing closer to you. she has to look up a bit, tilting her head as she meets your unbothered gaze.

“no, yunjin, she should apologize.” the woman spits, “you bump into my friend and spill coffee on her–”

“it’s barely anything–” yunjin butts in, but her little friend puts a finger to her lips.

“you better apologize, that win didn’t make you any better than anyone you’ve beat.” 

you look the girl up and down, then at yunjin who’s looking regretful and slightly embarrassed. you fix the slice of cake in your bag, catching the shorter girl looking at you like you’re crazy, then sigh out tiredly. 

“hey, yunjin, right?”

she nods, then hums, “yeah.”

you glance back at her friend, shrinking her down with just your eyes. you catch the way her jaw tightens and the flicker of fear in her eyes.

“tame your little friend, ‘kay?” you firmly say, then brush past the two of them.

hanni cannot believe her eyes, or anything. how can someone be so arrogant? 

she watches you casually walking off with an empty coffee cup in one hand and a small plastic bag in the other; her brows crease with anger as she starts to storm towards you, hearing yunjin’s attempts at verbally stopping her fading in the back.

you feel someone tugging at your flannel from behind, gasping lowly before turning around to meet yunjin’s little friend again.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“relax.”

“apologize.” she grips your forearm, taken aback from how firm the muscles in that area are. uncertainly, she adds, “now.”

you look her up and down again, amused by the sight. some girl – who is shorter and smaller than you – is trying to hold you – the person who just knocked her friend out – back in an attempt for some stupid, haste ‘apology.’

“what are you going to do if i don’t?” you ask, partly because you’re curious and the other reason being that this is far too entertaining. “punch me? throw a hook? what are you, 5 feet tall?”

“five feet and three inches you ass!” 

“uh huh.” you sigh, shaking her hand off with your forearm. “fuck off.”

hanni watches you walk away again, before she can walk after you, yunjin grabs her and holds her back – this time with all her strength, the rest that she has left after those matches. hanni shouts at you through gritted teeth, yunjin puts a hand over her mouth and scolds her for being an idiot.

“are you crazy?”

“she’s an ass!”

“yeah but… stop making a scene! you just moved here, don’t go starting shit on your first day.”

“but she’s–”

“hanni.” yunjin turns her around and places both hands on either shoulder, looking her dead in the eye and then shaking her head tiredly. “can we just grab something to eat, i’m so fucking tired.”

yunjin’s best friend rolls her eyes before making a small “hmph” noise, crossing her arms before walking towards the cafe that you had just left.

–

hanni grabs a post fight meal with yunjin, then takes multiple photos at some random photobooth in a mall nearby, and finally gets dropped off at where she’s staying thanks to yunjin, considering the fact that hanni has nothing but a bus pass – not even a metro card.

hanni enters the house, smelling the wonderful aroma of what she believes is garlic and onion being sauteed in the kitchen. she smiles, happy that her grandpa is home and cooking up something delicious.

she kicks off her shoes, then starts to walk over to the kitchen, only to see someone turned to the stove – a tall, athletic, toned, and feminine looking back – someone that is not her grandpa. 

immediately, she gasps, then covers her mouth. she watches the figure turn, then takes her hand off her mouth to gasp again.

“what the hell are you doing in my house?”

“what the hell are you doing here?”

“this is my house?!” hanni exclaims, her voice laced with confusion and a hint of fear. technically, it isn’t really hanni’s house, but through family ties, it might as well be. “get out! are you fucking—are you stalking me? is this because of before? what, are you going to punch me or—”

her breath catches, words failing her as you step forward, closing the distance between you two. you’re in her space now, forcing her to tilt her head up slightly to meet your narrowed gaze. the intensity in your eyes makes her breath hitch again, and she’s keenly aware of how scrutinizing your stare is. she takes in your sharp, intimidating presence, noting how your eyes bore down on her from above. you’re nearly a head taller, clearly stronger, your tank top revealing the evidence of your hard work, while she’s standing there in the casual, unassuming attire of an average college student. she would be lying her ass off if she said she wasn’t scared right now.

“i’m not going to pick a fight with someone like you,” you state, looking her up and down, your tone dripping with condescension. the height difference, the bandage on your nose from the matches you won; everything about you screams physical superiorty, and hanni feels a flare of anger. but even though she’s willing to fight, you’re making it clear that you don’t see her as a threat.

“the hell does that mean you bitch?”

you move your head slight closer so you’re up in her face, letting out a small, amused chuckle. 

“watch your mouth.”

“how about you learn personal space!” hanni groans, using her hand to push your shoulder lightly as she steps back and furthers the distance between you two. “where are your manners?”

“you really wanna start something again?”

“shut the hell up, you’re the one in my place.”

“this is michael’s place.” you correct her. “you don’t look anything like him,” well, she does have his eyes and nose. “do you even know him?”

“the hell? of course i know michael, he’s my grandpa you sack of shit!” hanni scoffs, crossing her arms angrily. 

your brows furrow and you retreat back just a bit. “he’s your what?”

“my–” before hanni finishes her sentence, you two turn your heads to the sound coming from behind the stairs. both of you watch an older man appear with two bags of groceries and a surprised look on his face as soon as he spots you two. 

he looks between you both, grin growing as he approaches the two of you. “oh! i see you two have met!”

“michael, who is this?”

“grandpa, who–”

“ah, i should’ve introduced you two, or given a little heads up.”

a heads-up would’ve been great. 

you’re standing just a foot away from the girl who tried to pounce on you outside a café, the same girl who had to be restrained by her friend—the friend you knocked out cold. and now, as fate would have it, like the universe thinks you’re some type of joke, she turns out to be the granddaughter of the man who helped you get back on your feet. 

a warning would’ve been more than just great, but it’s kind of – very – late to give one.

“well, y/n, this is hanni, my granddaughter, and hanni, this is y/n. do you remember the l/n’s? she’s their granddaughter!”

hanni blinks, her jaw dropping. the l/n’s, as in the l/n’s who saved her grandpa from some gang years before she was born, the same l/n’s that let him stay at their place during his earuly adult years, the same l/n’s he would talk about like they were some type of saviors. 

the same so called ‘saviors’ who’s descendant had been a bitch at in the cafe.

“oh.” hanni says, looking back at you and tightening her jaw. “really now?” she says softly, trying to let the information sink in.

“yes! why don’t you guys introduce each other.” he suggests. you look back at hanni like he’s just told some unbelievable, sick lie. she looks at you with grossed out features, as if you had some type of disease. “come on now,” he walks over to hold both your wrists, bringing you two closer and moving your hands over so they make contact. 

hanni stares at the hands in disgust, and you mirror her.

you sigh before loosely grabbing her hand and shaking it, greeting lowly, “nice to meet you hanni.”

she grips your hand tight in an attempt to intimidate you, but it’s nothing, barely half a kilogram of force. “nice to meet you y/n.”

you squeeze her hand just barely, earning a gasp from her and barely containing a laugh, only flashing an amused smile at the now annoyed woman in front of you.

michael smiles at the two of you, clearly missing the tension and obvious rivalry in the air before saying, “glad you two are getting along. hanni here is moving in, she’s going to the university nearby.”

“is that so?” you raise a brow at hanni, she pulls her hand away and shakes it off like a virus is on her hand. 

“yeah, nursing.”

“i bet they’d love your little self there, huh?”

hanni bites her lip in an attempt to hold herself back from cursing at you. she opts for smiling at her grandpa and saying, “hey, i’m going to unpack now gramps, okay?”

“right! i forgot, you should definitely do that. hey, y/n, why don’t you help her out?”

“me?” 

“her?” hanni asks, earning another offended glare from you. “i’m fine, really.”

“no, no, your luggage is quite heavy – and a large load. go on now, you two can bond while i make dinner,” he says cheerfully, pushing you two in the direction of the stairs. “have fun!”

–

you and hanni are fighting every single demon and voice in your heads in order to not to insult each other. you stand at the entrance of the guest bedroom, looking at the three boxes on the ground in front of the empty bed. hanni sighs, starting to unzip the suitcase that she rolls from the corner.

“you a hoarder or–?”

“shut up.” hanni spits, opening her suitcase and unpacking her clothes onto the bed. “you piss me off.”

“because i spilled coffee on your friend?”

“well you were a bitch about it.”

“it wasn’t that serious, it’s never that serious.”

“you won that fuckass tournament and now you think you’re better than her–”

“i never said that–”

“shut up!” hanni groans, turning around to glare at you. you tilt your head and she groans again, “make yourself useful with you boxer muscles and move the boxes on the ground out of the way.”

“now you need my help.”

“i’ll fuck you up just you watch.”

“yeah, right.” you snicker, looking her up and down as you lean against the doorframe. “i’m terrified.”

“make yourself useful you asshole.” hanni orders, turning back to stack a pile of shorts on the bed.

you roll your eyes, sighing loudly as you walk over, bend down, and lift a box that’s a bit heavier than you’d like to admit. nonetheless, you manage to pick it up, then put it on the desk in the room.

“jesus christ,” the box lands with a little thud and you huff lightly. “you got all that anger inside you in here or…?”

hanni doesn’t respond, instead, she kicks the back of your leg with her foot. you simply laugh, making her kick you again.

“it’s your ego in there, idiot.”

“uh huh.” you click your tongue against the back of your teeth, turning back to help her out more. 

–

hanni has settled in well, though that’s unfortunately thanks to your help—help you were more or less forced to provide. moving everything in, showing her around the area, it’s all because you couldn’t say no when michael looked at you with that signature proud smile. 

the two of you exchange few words during what you loosely call a ‘tour.’ really, it’s just you walking her around the neighborhood, pointing out the nicer spots and which neighbors are the biggest complainers, before leading her to the bus stop. hanni, for her part, stays curious, her eyes roaming over anything that catches her interest, offering small smiles to the passerbys and throwing grimaces at you. 

you show her around downtown, just around her campus for a bit, making sure not to bump into her again after you two had made the wrong step and accidentally bumped shoulders.

“are you picking a fight?” hanni asks, turning fully to face you, her eyes narrowing as she sizes you up.

“i’d rather jump off that building over there,” you say, pointing to the ten-story structure looming in the distance. “--than lay a finger on you.”

“asshole.”

she rolls her eyes at you, scoffing in that way she always does when she’s annoyed. the way she looks in her oversized quarter-zip and sweatpants, with those big, clear frames perched on her nose, almost makes you laugh. there’s something oddly endearing about it, even if you won’t admit it out loud. the feeling is enough to tug a small smile to your lips, a quiet chuckle escaping before you can stop it. she looks like an idiot, a stupid, short idiot. 

hanni notices, of course, and pushes you with her shoulder, her expression a mix of irritation and something softer you can’t quite place.

you drop her off back at the house, handing her your spare key and watching her open the door. she unlocks it and the door opens just a bit, but before she steps inside, she turns to you.

hanni huffs quietly, then looks you in the eye. 

“thanks, i guess.”

“i guess?”

“yeah, i guess.”

“you’re welcome,” you say amusingly, looking down at her and analyzing just a bit. “i guess.”

she shakes her head and steps inside the house, you don’t step away until she’s fully inside and you hear the lock click.

–

the two of you don’t run into each other for a little over a week, but neither of you can stop thinking about the other here and there, despite how much it annoys you.

you’ve been busy with work, fixing up things around your apartment, and spending time with friends before they get caught up in the chaos of school. your days have been a mix of runs, training, and lifting weights at michael’s home, with the surprising bonus of not running into hanni. it’s been peaceful, almost too peaceful, but you’re not complaining.

hanni, on the other hand, has been getting settled into the town and adjusting to her new classes. she’s spent the week mingling with new people, going over her first few notes, and tweaking her schedule to make sure she stays on top of everything. she’s the type who thrives in a flexible routine, something that keeps her grounded and stress-free, so she’s been focused on creating that for herself. 

even though you haven’t crossed paths, the thought of each other lingers in the back of your minds, a low-level irritation (and maybe just a bit of infatuation) that neither of you can quite shake off.

the next time you run into each other, hanni is sitting at her desk, highlighting a few terms and studying some diagrams when she hears faint music and the rhythmic sound of something being hit, followed by the clinking of chains. at first, she perks up, curiosity piqued, but she dismisses it, turning her own music up to drown out the distraction.

but the noise doesn’t stop. in fact, it gets louder, the chains clinking so persistently that hanni finally gives in. she sets her highlighter down and gets up, irritation mixing with curiosity. she doesn’t see anything at first, just an open garage door across the way. so, she heads downstairs, still in her pajamas—an oversized t-shirt and old middle school gym shorts.

when she reaches the garage, she opens the door to find you, drenched in sweat, going at it with a punching bag. you’re throwing a series of rapid punches, each one landing with a solid thud, your breaths sharp and controlled. 

hanni stands there for a moment, caught off guard by the intensity of it all, the sight of you completely absorbed in your workout, the focus etched on your face as the chains rattle with each strike. 

then she shakes herself out of her trance, closing the door behind her loudly and earning your attention.

“what are you doing?”

you land one last blow to the sandbag before looking at her as you catch your breath. “what does it look like i’m doing, reading?” you ask sarcastically, feeling a drop of sweat drip off your chin.

“ugh,” hanni puts on a random pair of slides on the ground before walking up to you. “could you keep it down? i have to study, ever heard of that?”

“nerd.” you mumble, eyes narrowing at the frames she has on. “close the windows.”

“hot air rises.”

“fan?”

“y/n.” hanni groans. “some people are trying to get a degree.”

“and some people need some extra cash.” you retort, turning back and landing another blow at the bag. 

she groans again, shaking her head and biting her lip before she kicks your leg. you stop, turning back over with an annoyed look plastered on your face.

“could you please just lower the volume of your music down? and maybe close the garage door?”

“it’s hot in here.”

“it’s hot up there too, don’t be soft.”

you scoff, raising your eyebrows. “me? soft?”

hanni pinches the bridge of her nose, she looks irritated beyond measure – it’s really amusing. “i could care less if you have to fight later, i’m trying to do some work for uni and if you could just cooperate – please.”

you almost fight back – verbally of course, with some snarky comeback or something like that – but the genuine distress shown on her face makes you back down. you inhale sharply, then exhale slowly, looking out the garage door before you start to take off your gloves.

“fine, whatever.” you mumble before using your teeth to peel the velcro portion off. “i only practiced for twenty minutes but fine.”

hanni feels a twinge of guilt as she watches you angrily toss the gloves into the corner. she sees the way your hands slick back your damp hair, your movements rough and frustrated as you grab your bag. you wipe the sweat from your face with a towel, but her eyes are drawn to the way the light glistens off your back, the defined muscles highlighted by sweat and shadows. when you turn, hanni’s gaze catches on the hint of your abs peeking out from your tank top, and she quickly looks away, her jaw tightening as she forces herself not to stare.

her eyes wander to a photo pinned up on the garage wall. it’s of you and her grandpa, standing side by side. you’re smiling proudly, and he’s raising your hand in victory, a small medal clutched in your other hand. the sight makes hanni exhale, the irritation she felt earlier softening a bit.

before you can leave, she steps forward, stopping you in your tracks.

you turn to face her, looking at her questionably. “what?”

“hey,” hanni looks away, seemingly making up her mind about whatever she’s about to say or do. “i… i get home at around three if i’m studying after classes, that’s a better time to you know… do your stuff.”

“i work, hanni.”

“well, it was just a suggestion.” she looks at you intensely, eyes focused on yours. “or just… turn your music down… or something.”

“thanks for the suggestion, asshole.”

“hey!”

you can’t help but chuckle, a small smile accdientally forming before you put your poker face back on. “you’ll get used to it.”

“i hate you.”

“whatever, tell that to michael.” you add finally before flipping her off as you walk away; you hear hanni scoffing from behind.

–

you sneak in practice when hanni’s not home or when michael offers to help because there’s nothing better than taking out whatever you feel out on a punching bag or in the air. 

hanni is too preoccupied with work and her new friends to think about what a nuisance you are, but still, she finds time here and there everyday for you to pop up in her mind. she groans everytime your dumb face flickers in her brain, scoffing and shaking her head.

sometimes you even think of hanni, mostly when you’re in michael’s house and not getting scolded – for some reason, the absence of bickering with hanni and the hostility in the air makes you feel strange, almost like somethings missing despite your very little time with her.

neither of you bat an eye – this is a lie, both of you do, but as subtly as you can – when it comes to the thought of each other. it’s nothing, it can’t be.

–

minjeong kept you out, making you tag along with her little group of friends for dinner. all of you had barbeque and were laughing at the texts from aeri’s new talking stage.

it’s a boatload of cliche, sappy romantic lines that were probably found in a book he had picked up in the library. it’s oddly cliche and corny, things ranging from ‘you’re brighter than the sun, my love’ to ‘van gogh could never pain anything as beautiful as you’ and it has the whole table bursting out into laughter. sure, it was charming in its own way, but still, you cackled after watching jimin nearly spit out her beer after reading through all of it.

“jesus christ, who is this guy?” minjeong scoffs.

aeri sips on her drink, shrugging. “some guy in my statistics class, heeseung or something.”

“and you haven’t blocked him?” you chuckle, sipping on your soda. you were never a drinker despite your high tolerance, always opting for something without alcohol and being the token sober friend. “you’re stronger than me.”

“he’s cute! he’s just… icky over text. i swear he’s better in person. he’s like, super sweet and shit – in a frat too but he’s not like most frat guys.”

minjeong nudges your shoulder and looks at you with raised brows, you give her a knowing look and laugh to yourself. she leans over and mutters in your ear, “how much are you betting that they become official?”

“pftt, two weeks. aeri seems more than entertained, maybe enamored?”

“if it’s less than, you owe me twenty bucks.”

you roll your eyes, finishing your diet coke. “ass.”

“it’s a deal~” minjeong cheers before both of you return to the conversation, watching jimin give another judgy look after seeing his instagram. 

just then, your phone buzzes against the table and you turn to check it. there’s a text from michael, so you quickly look over to unlock your phone with your face and read the message; there’s something about michael asking you to take the morning shift instead of the evening, which makes you sigh. 

you love your friends, but michael and work have to come first sometimes.

“hey guys, i gotta go. sorry.” you sigh, picking up your little bag.

“what?” aeri whines, “it’s only eight?”

“i have to cover the morning, probably aki’s fault. i’m sorry – here.” you slap two ten dollar bills down, offering an apologetic smile. “it’s for the tip, use the other ten for dessert or something. sorry again, let’s hang next week?”

“ugh, fine.” minjeong groans before giving you a little side hug. she smiles at you and pinches your cheek, something all of your friends do since you’re the youngest of the bunch. “see you, asshole.”

“uh huh, fuck you too.” you joke, then wave to the rest. “bye.”

you walk out of the small barbeque restaurant and fix the tank top on your body, groaning at the small oil stain on the bottom of it. you sigh before continuing to walk down the road, fixing your hair as the wind messes it up.

your ear twitches when you hear a whistle, then a remark that makes your head turn.

“hey sweetheart, let me get a piece of that…” just the sound of it tells you it’s some drunkie, when you catch sight of three men, your assumption is proved correct.

“c’mon baby, don’t be shy now.” another one says, leaning against the wall as his other friend walks over to the woman passing by, tugging at her wrist lightly.

“hey, don’t be an ass, you’re too pretty to–”

you step forward, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away from the group. she looks at you, first confused, then with a flicker of gratitude as you motion for her to leave with a quick wave of your hand. she doesn’t hesitate, scurrying down the road while you turn back to face the three men in front of you.

their faces are flushed, a deep red from anger or alcohol—or maybe both. their hair is messy, beards scraggly and unkempt, and their eyes narrow as they take you in. one of them, bolder than the others, strides up and grabs your wrist. but you twist it sharply, making him wince and pull back with a pained groan.

“you wanna be a brave little bitch, huh?” he sneers, rubbing his wrist.

you shake his hand off and shove him back, your gaze hard and unflinching. his friends laugh darkly, stepping up beside him. they’re all taller, but not by much, and the height difference doesn’t faze you. you stand your ground, eyes locked on them with a cold intensity that makes their chuckles falter.

“look at you, you’re pretty too huh princess?”

“and you look like you were made with a quick nut.” you scoff stepping back as he steps forward.

“the hell did you say?”

“you heard me.”

he pokes the inside of his cheek before grabbing your wrist again, his grip tight enough so you can’t repeat your escape from his hold.

“oh, i’m gonna make you regret that, you little whore—” his threat is cut short as your fist connects with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. he groans, clutching his cheek and letting go of your wrist.

before you can catch your breath, his friend grabs your arm and slams you against the brick wall. your shoulder scrapes against the rough surface, tearing the skin and drawing blood. you try to push forward, but another man shoves you back, forcing you to hit the same spot again. the impact knocks the wind out of you, and you gasp, the pain sharp and immediate.

they surround you, blocking any view of the street. their smirks widen, and you can feel the danger closing in. but as one of them makes a move, you react instinctively, throwing a hook that catches him off guard and sends him stumbling back. his friends pause, shocked, before they turn to you, arms raised, fists clenched.

“so you think you’re tough, huh? that’s cute…” one of them slurs, stepping closer.

you don’t hesitate. you drive a jab straight into his chest, forcing the air out of him and making him stagger. the last man lunges at you, but you sidestep him, landing a solid blow to his jaw. he crumples, and you’re left standing, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you face the remaining two who are back up, ready for whatever comes next.

–

hanni is sprawled out on the couch, completely absorbed in the latest season of her favorite show. she’s nestled against the armrest, legs stretched out so far that her toes nearly graze the opposite end. her eyes are glued to the screen, knuckles brushing her lips as she watches the unfolding drama with bated breath. the sound of the door unlocking barely registers; she assumes it’s just her grandpa coming home.

“hi grandpa!” she calls out, not bothering to glance away from the screen. but instead of the usual warm greeting, there’s only the sound of the door closing with an unexpected force. that makes her pause. she hits the pause button and finally turns her head, eyebrows knitting together when she sees you heading toward the kitchen.

there’s something off about the way you move—your shoulders are slumped, and you lean heavily against the counter as soon as you reach it. it’s then that hanni notices the blood staining your shoulder, her eyes widening. she’s on her feet in an instant, rushing over in her oversized pajamas.

“y/n?” she gasps, her voice tight with concern as she takes in the sight of your scratched back, exposed by your tank top. “what happened?”

“nothing.” you lie, opening the cupboard and grabbing the first aid kit. 

“why are you so–” hanni catches herself before she insults you. “are you okay?”

“it’s just a scratch, go enjoy your show.”

“your shoulder is bleeding, and there are scrapes all over your back.” this is the first time hanni’s seen you in almost a month, and instead of you just showing up to exist and annoy her like usual, you’re battered and bruised. you’ve got blood seeping out from a cut on your shoulder, scratches on your jaw, and more dried blood on the edge of your nostril – probably from a prior nosebleed. there’s even a small cut on your neck, and overall, you look completely wrecked. hanni looks you up and down before pointing out the obvious, “this is not just a scratch.”

“thanks, sherlock,” you mutter as you tear open an alcohol wipe packet. “i got into a fight.”

“for money? how did gloves lead to this?” she asks, bewildered.

“no, not for money.” you wince as the alcohol stings your wound, but you keep going. “some guys were catcalling this woman... probably would’ve done worse to her if i hadn’t stepped in.”

“jesus… what happened after you stepped in?” hanni’s voice softens as she watches you closely, her eyes tracing the tension in your arm as you clean the wound.

“they pushed me against a brick wall and tried to fight me. it was three against one, but they were drunk. it wasn’t easy, but it’s handled. it’s nothing,” you say, brushing it off as you grab the nearest gauze and the biggest bandage you can find.

hanni makes a disgusted face, then it softens into something of worry.

you start to wash your hands and hanni can’t help but gaze at you for a while, you look back at her as your hands rub soap around, keeping eye contact and biting down on your teeth.

“you’re so fucking wreckless.”

“thanks hanni.” you say sarcastically, turning back to rinse your hands and shake them dry. “you’re so sweet.”

“why didn’t you just run? they were drunk and you’re–”

“asshole’s deserve bruises.” you answer. “i fight because i like to, and sometimes it’s necessary in situations like this.”

“do you like getting hurt?” hanni asks, “what the hell is wrong with you.” it unintentionally comes out harsh, surprising you both.

“oh, so i can’t fight drunk assholes who only think with their dicks? what the fuck is your problem? why do you care?” you snap, stepping closer to hanni, sizing her up. “you’re all ‘you piss me off’ until i do something that has nothing to do with you.”

“well!” hanni starts, her voice wavering as she takes in your expression, eventually backing down. “i don’t know, okay? it’s just… you’re hurt. i’m studying to work in a fucking hospital, so of course, i’m going to be bothered by an injury. you should’ve let it go.”

“then be bothered by other people’s injuries, not mine,” you reply, your voice stern as you look down at her, your gaze sharp. hanni shivers under your intense stare, breaking eye contact by shaking her head and scoffing quietly. you start packing up the first aid kit, your back to her as you add, “i’m staying in the room upstairs tonight. don’t come worrying your ass off.”

“fuck you,” hanni groans, crossing her arms defensively.

“go finish your show,” you mumble, brushing your shoulder against hers as you walk past without looking back. but hanni does—she turns around, catching you stomping towards the stairs in silence.

she pinches the bridge of her nose as she heads back to the couch, flopping down with a frustrated sigh. “see if i care…” she grumbles, resuming her show.

hanni tries to focus on the tension between the two leads on screen, but she can’t shake the tension between the two of you. it lingers, gnawing at her, and she finds herself angry at you but even angrier at herself. she can’t pinpoint why, but it frustrates her to the point of a near headache. 

hanni hates you, she hates how stupidly careless you are, how you’ve gotten hurt, and the fact that you’re making her worry.

she despises you.

-

your whole body is sore from what you had endured the night prior, but it doesn’t stop you from making a coffee in the morning. 

you lean against the counter and hold yourself up with your hand, clutching your shoulder with the other. it still hurts, it had hurt even more as you changed the bandaid waiting for your coffee to drop, but it had to happen.

as you pour a glass, you hear someone going down the stairs and the contact of their feet hitting the wooden floor reverberating throughout the quiet house. hanni comes into vision in a few seconds, rubbing her eyes and then tying up her bedhead to reveal a puffy face.

avoiding eye contact, you look away, leaving her with the view of the side of your face and the bandaid on your shoulder. 

it’s silent, yet the tension seems like a siren blaring in your ears. 

hanni walks past you, grabbing an empty glass before trudging over to the fridge. the sound of water filling the glass echoes in the quiet kitchen as you sip your coffee, the gulp a little too loud in the stillness. you can hear every step she takes, the soft shuffle as she leans against the counter across from you, the gentle clink of the glass as she brings it to her lips. each sip she takes seems to resonate, followed by a small sigh that hangs in the air. everything feels heightened— every sound, every movement — everything.

you turn around and make your way to the sink – right next to hanni – and dump the rest of your coffee down the drain because you can’t finish it in front of her. neither of you bat an eye at each other, despite your faces being a hand or two apart. hanni sips on her water, you let the running water fill the silence until you decide to say something.

“i’m going to work.”

“okay.”

“okay.” you respond, turning to finally catch a glimpse of her face again, side profile and all enhanced by the light.

you grab your work bag on the table and put on your cap, not batting an eye at her as you walk towards the door.

“wait,” hanni says suddenly, making you turn around again to face her. you raise your brows, expecting more from her. “don’t be reckless.” she adds, looking you dead in the eye.

you tense up, looking right back at her. 

“whatever.” you mumble, turning back around to leave.

–

not only did michael make you work from eight in the morning until three, he makes you clock out to see a text saying “hey, could you pick up hanni?” the same hanni that you had argued with last night because you were stubborn, in pain, and still angry at three assholes to the point that you had lashed out on his innocent granddaughter for no reason.

you’re in debt to michael forever (basically – in your mind that’s the case) so of course you respond with a small thumbs up emoji.

now you find yourself back in your car, on the way to the university hanni goes to, which, is conveniently and frighteningly the same university your friends go to. if they had caught you picking up a girl, who knows what remarks they’d bring to the table the next time you see them.

(it’s not the fact that it’s just a girl, it’s the fact that hanni isn’t ugly in the slightest, not at all.)

(pretty even, but that could be pushing it.)

(it’s not pushing it, not at all the more you think about it.)

(you decide to shake hanni off your mind.)

you park by the public health building, waiting for michael’s granddaughter to show up. you sigh, looking at all the students passing by and sighing even harder looking at the dumb couples hand in hand. the last time you tried loving, it made it hard to even consider being in something like that – being enamored.

you’re back to earth when you catch a girl with overgrown bangs in a oversized jersey and sweats in the distance. she’s grinning and giggling with two other women you don’t recognize, even pushing one in the shoulder and smiling wide.

it hits you that you’ve never seen her like this… joyful? it’s partly your fault, holding onto that stupid grudge you can’t let go of, but still, it’s strange seeing her so open. she crinkles her nose, laughs with her mouth wide, and throws her head back just a bit—it’s oddly cute, even adorable. something about it unsettles you, though, like you’re witnessing a side of her you were never meant to see. even then, you feel one corner of your lips turning up just barely.

she’s closer to the car, looking around as her friend says something inaudible. then she catches you in her field of vision and her smile falters slightly, it unsettles you even more.

“i’ll see you guys tomorrow, bye!” hanni waves to her two friends, then walks towards your car. she opens the door to the passengers side and takes off her bag before settling in. 

it’s silent when she closes it, other than the faint sound of your rnb playlist in the background and the click of hanni’s seatbelt. you shift the stick and start to get out of where you are, hanni looks forward and out the window.

once you make it to the stoplight before leaving the grounds, you take the opportunity the red light gives you to speak.

“i’m sorry.”

hanni turns her head at your sudden apology, looking at you like you’ve just spat nonsense.

“what?”

“i’m sorry for… being so,” you grip the wheel tighter, turning your head just a bit to meet her gaze. “you know, stubborn.”

“is this about last night?”

you gulp. “yeah.”

“oh, okay.” hanni says, looking back and watching the light turn green. 

you slowly hit the gas and turn the wheel. “i was really um, angry last night, from everything.” you start again, eyes on the road. “i didn’t mean to be a bitch.”

“look who’s self-aware.”

“shut the hell up.”

“what an apology.” hanni says, though not without smiling to herself a bit. she looks at the bandaid on your neck, then asks, “are you good?”

“i’m fine, it was just a scratch.”

“right.”

“i literally box, hanni.”

“with gloves and a ref.”

“wow! good eye.” you say bluntly, making her snicker a bit. hanni smiles, not quite like you had seen her smile before, but the way her lips turn make you smile yourself.

she looks out the window on her side for a bit, you keep driving and turn up the volume along the way.

“why did you start boxing?” she asks out of the blue. 

you glance at her for a split second, she’s still gazing out the window. “my grandpa boxed.”

“do you like it? doesn’t it hurt?”

“it’s–” you pause, thinking of a response that doesn’t reveal too much. “--thrilling. i mean, i just… bottle up a lot. it’s the only way i get all of it out.”

“is it?”

“i guess? kinda. you should box, seems like you’ve got a lot in that tiny body of yours.” you joke.

“i’d rather jump off a building.” hanni pretends to shiver. “i don’t know how you or yunjin do it.”

“you’d love it, just put on gloves and go crazy.”

she rolls her eyes, leaning against the glass as you turn the corner. 

the rest of the ride is silent.

–

two weeks later, you’re sitting down on the couch in your apartment and watching more of your grandpa’s matches. there’s something beautiful and equally as admirable in how swift and agile he is with each move, easily taking down anyone in his way. you replay certain moments, specifically his hooks that you tried your best to replicate.

in the middle of it all, you hear a knock on your door.

you turn, looking confused because why would anyone be at your place? maybe minjeong left something again, but she hasn’t been at your place in over a week.

you open the door, not minding that you’re literally in a sports bra and boy shorts looking like you’ve just gotten out at bed, and widen your eyes at the sight of hanni in your view.

hanni, on the other hand, tenses up at the sight of you. 

your whole body is on display, but not in the way yunjin does it—dressed to impress, ready to make out with whoever catches her eye at parties. yours is a different kind of exposure, casual and unintentional, almost domestic. it catches hanni off guard, all of it. her eyes trace the small strawberry tattoo just above your waistline, lingering on the subtle curve and tone of your abdomen. the way your skin glistens under the dimmed light overhead makes it even harder for her to look away.

she’s staring – blatantly. 

you clear your throat, leaning your head down a bit as you put your hand against the doorframe.

“what are you doing here?”

“what?” hanni shoots her head up to match your level. “oh, my grandpa needed something.”

“did he? shit… i borrowed his cooking shit for a house party–” you groan, “just come inside, sit down on the couch.”

hanni does as she’s told, you let her inside and she’s taken aback by how… neat it is. 

hanni always thought of you as someone angry and stubborn—your first impressions and the way you carried yourself made her believe you’d be disorganized, a bit all over the place. but now, sitting in your apartment, she realizes how wrong she was. the earthy tones, the carefully placed trinkets, the neatly arranged shelves, and the thoughtfully chosen furniture all speak to a side of you she didn’t expect. as she sits on the couch, her eyes drift to the small plant by your tv and the man locked in the middle of a match on the screen. she glances at the coffee table, stacked with boxing and vintage magazines. your place is nice, unexpectedly so.

you return with a box balanced against your side, holding it in place with one hand while you use the other to clear the coffee table. placing the box down, you settle into the smaller seat opposite her, leaning back with a sigh. you manspread casually, your posture relaxed as you take a moment to unwind. 

it’s oddly alluring, hanni thinks, she wants to stop thinking forever as soon as the thought even processes through her brain.

“that should be all of it.” you yawn and rub your eyes. “tell michael i said sorry for forgetting.”

“right, yeah.” hanni’s staring at you, she can’t seem to take her eyes off you, not when you look so… tolerable?

“did you need something else or…?”

“no,” hanni coughs, shaking her head. “but i need you to take me somewhere um, this saturday. my grandpa is gone for the weekend.”

“am i your uber now? i don’t know if i can, i’m going out on saturday.”

“oh, nevermind then.”

“where do you need to go?” you ask, “i can make arrangements, i guess.”

“a party”

“you party?” you snicker, looking at her amused. “i didn’t know you had a social life.”

“you are actually the most annoying person i know.” she grabs the box, then starts to stand. “nevermind, you ass.”

she starts to walk away, heading toward the door, but your touch halts her. hanni feels the gentle tug of your finger hooked around the back of her zip-up’s neckline, the fabric pulling her back slightly. she turns to face you, confusion etched in her expression as she meets your gaze.

“i’ll take you, loser.” you release your finger from her hoodie. “what’s your number?”

“my what?”

“number hanni, what you use to text and call people. one, two, three, four, five, six and so on… you know, the digits on your little phone.” your tone reminds her of a kindergarten teacher talking to a child, or some soft parenting method – it’s teasing and hanni would punch you if it weren’t for the box she was holding.

she manages to stomp on your foot, making you say ‘ow’ jokingly. then she gives you her number, you send a text, a simple ‘asshole’ and smiling when you hear the little buzz from her pocket.

“just text me the address, oh, and by the way,” you say, tugging lightly at the sleeve of her zip-up hoodie, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric. “where’d you get this?” your eyes trace the way it drapes over her, the oversized fit somehow flattering. it falls just past her waist, the sleeves hanging slightly, giving her a cozy, effortless look. maybe it’s just her that makes it work so well. maybe it’s just her.

she shrugs, muttering, “i don’t know, my grandpa gave it to me and said it’d fit.”

“it’s a little big on you,” you tease, a smirk playing on your lips. “might fit someone taller.”

“i will throw this box at you,” hanni groans, rolling her eyes. you laugh softly, opening the door for her, watching as she steps into the hallway.

“hey, hanni,” you call after her, making her pause and glance back. she tilts her head, curious, as you add with a mischievous grin, “that’s my zip-up, by the way.”

she freezes, her cheeks flushing as she processes your words. she looks down at the hoodie, suddenly aware of how comfortable it feels, how it smells faintly like you. you’re terrible, she thinks, hating the weird flutter in her stomach, the way her blush deepens. everything about you, your stupid remarks, your annoying personality, and that oddly cute nature—it all makes her feel things she can’t quite name, and it drives her crazy.

hanni hates you.

(just a little less now, or maybe more – she hates how confused you render her.)

–

you send hanni a simple ‘here.’ text and stand outside the door waiting for her, hands in your pockets as you look at the overgrown grass that needs to be cut soon – most likely by you. as much as you dread it, you’ll be getting some good food after, that’s always promised.

the door opens a few minutes later and hanni appears, you’re taken aback.

she’s fucking gorgeous.

a loose white baby t-shirt clings to her softly, revealing just a hint of her delicate stomach and the subtle curve that draws your eye without meaning to. her low-rise jeans ride low enough to show the waistband of her underwear, adding to the effortless appeal. when you finally look up at her, your lips part slightly, caught off guard by how striking she is. her full, plump lips are highlighted by a touch of makeup that emphasizes their natural shape. though her makeup is minimal, the slight smokiness around her eyes and the rosy blush on her cheeks bring out her features in a way that feels almost intimate. her bangs fall just above her eyes, partially obscuring her forehead, and the hoops in her ears add a finishing touch. everything about her compels you to take a second look, your heart skipping a beat in the process. 

“are you ready?” hanni breaks you out of your trance, you blink and then look past her. 

“yeah, sorry.”

she tries to read you, then shakes it off and walks past you and towards your car. you subconsciously look her up and down, furrowing your brows when it hits that you basically just checked her out.

was hanni always this… nice on the eyes?

hanni gets in the car first after you unlock it, you plop in the drivers seat check your messages, there’s an address in your groupchat with minjeong and the others. you decide to check it later, instead asking hanni to type her address in your phone, which is almost too similar to the one you had just seen in your notifications.

“hold on,” you mutter under your breath, staring at the address hanni had typed in and then at the one in your group chat. it’s the same address. “i think… we’re going to the same party.”

“you party?”

“okay you can’t ask me that, nerd. and yes, i do when i want.”

“whatever.” hanni rolls her eyes as you wait for the directions to pop up on your carplay screen. you take the time to settle your phone down in the cup holder, then gaze at hanni for a little, eyes flickering from her eyes to her lips once, then twice. hanni raises a brow, then asks bashfully, “what?”

“nothing,” you mumble, looking at her lips again. you reach her eyes one more time, making eye contact. “you just look really… good.” you admit, “i guess.”

“oh.” hanni just stares at you while you shift the car from ‘p’ to ‘d’, turning the car away from the curb and driving. she stares hard, focused on everything about you – from the satisfying curve of the side of your features to the sharp jawline of yours, and then to the skin of your abdomen that’s peeking out from the work jacket you have on.

she doesn’t say a word after that, instead scoffing playfully and making you smile softly. she puts on some random song from her playlist after forcefully taking the aux, accidentally playing a more intimate rnb song, making the tension in the air thicker.

–

you two make it to the house in less than ten minutes walking side by side. both of you can hear music blasting from inside, glancing at each other from the side and smiling to yourselves. 

“my god…” hanni scoffs.

“what, you don’t like astroworld? travis scott isn’t even that bad, they could be playing fucking… juice wrld or something.”

“i hear sicko mode playing every other day outside the food courts… no thanks. and ew! who plays juice wrld at a party?” 

you stifle a chuckle before walking over, hanni follows behind. you two make your way inside – the door had been unlocked already – and walk in. there’s more than just a handful of people, it’s like whoever hosted the function invited anyone they looked at. you spot your friends somewhere in the distance, locking eyes with aeri who smiles immediately after seeing you. 

you nudge hanni’s shoulder, she glares at you while you throw a cocky smirk and say, “text me when you wanna leave, i’m gonna be sober, trust.” hanni nods at you, catching the way your eyes linger on her for a few more seconds, especially at her revealed skin, then watches you leave.

she walks through the house, eventually finding her own group of friends – including yunjin. yunjin questions hanni, mentioning that she saw you earlier with her, asking if she was just more than tipsy and seeing things. but hanni sighs, pretending to be bothered by your presence as she explains a shorter version of how you two grew to tolerate each other. 

she leaves out the fact that maybe it’s because you’re just as charming and cute as you are annoying and cocky. she sugarcoats a lot about you, both the good and bad, making sure yunjin isn’t too bothered. thankfully, her older friend doesn’t mind, instead she shrugs and switches topics when minji arrives with haewon.

–

it’s been at least three hours of meeting a bunch of people from the university your friends – and coincidentally hanni – go to, playing beer bong without doing the whole drinking part, and for the past thirty minutes you’ve been watching minjeong flirt with girls from across the room and making stupid bets with aeri and jimin as she did so. ningning even snapped pictures of the tipsy flirt, making sure to remind herself to send it to the groupchat in the morning.

you check the time, brows raising at how late it is – nearly one in the morning.

“i’m going to find someone.”

“someone?” aeri raises her brows.

“it’s not like that, this girl i know.” you shove her playfully, then add, “might not be back, she has curfew – i’m giving her curfew, don’t trust her at all.”

“when did you get a girlfriend? let me meet her–”

“she’s not, shut up. i gotta go, i’ll text you or appear or something if i end up staying, see you.” you wave at your friends and then to the three others that had joined your little group conversation, lily? bae? yujin? you can’t remember clearly, but you’re probably right – you’re the only one with a functioning, sober brain in the moment anyway.

heading inside, you check your phone again. hanni texted you fifteen minutes ago saying she’d be waiting in the basement since her friends had left – most of them, the others were probably doing much more… thrilling things.

the basement wasn’t too hard to find. the music was loud, the room dimly lit, and the smell of alcohol mixed with something that is probably weed heavy in the air. you scan the room, jaw tightening and fists balling up when you catch some guy – the guy that you swear aeri was defending the night you got into a fight – all up on hanni.

what was his name? hongjoong? haneul? no, heeseung. that guy, heeseung, you catch him leaning in closer to hanni, his words drowned out by the music and his smile overly confident. hanni tried to laugh it off, but the discomfort was clear on her face. heeseung didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care. he reached out to touch her arm, and that’s when rushed over and stepped in.

you pushed through the crowd, even the two guys about to lock lips, your heart pounding as you saw how close heeseung was getting. you knew he was drunk, and that made him unpredictable. you couldn’t stand by and watch this happen.

“hey man, back off,” you said firmly, stepping between him and hanni.

heeseung’s eyes narrowed as he looked at you. “what’s your problem? we’re just having fun.”

“she’s not interested,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. “leave her alone.”

heeseung’s expression darkened, and before you could react, he shoved you hard, making you stumble back. your instincts kicked in, and you quickly regained your footing, shoving him back with equal force.

“you wanna go, huh?” heeseung taunted, his voice dripping with bravado as he squared up to you.

the crowd around you started to take notice, some backing away while others watched with eager anticipation. you knew this wasn’t going to end well, it never does when you’re involved, but there was no turning back now, not with hanni on the line and at risk. 

you didn’t want to fight, not really, but heeseung swung first, a wild punch that you barely dodged. now you have to fight him, it’s what you train yourself for anyway. 

you retaliated, landing a solid hit to his side and yelling through the music, “back the fuck up.” but it only seemed to anger him more. hanni hides behind you, stepping back as you put a hand out to keep her away from the intoxicated asshole in front of you.

he lunges at you and you feel a sharp sting on your side, followed by the warmth of blood trickling down your ribcage. heeseung had managed to land a hit that split the skin over your rib, his ring slicing what wasn’t covered by your sports bra and jacket. you didn’t have time to dwell on it; you were so focused on keeping hanni away from him that you didn’t even notice the fist hurling at your face while you looked back to check on her. you could taste the metallic tang of blood in your mouth, realizing he had hit your nose 

but you weren’t backing down. you pushed through the pain, throwing another punch that connected with heeseung’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. he tried to come at you again, but you were quicker, sidestepping his attack and delivering a powerful hook to his gut. heeseung doubled over, gasping for breath, and you took the opportunity to finish the fight.

with one last punch, you sent him crashing to the floor. he groans in pain, clutching his side as he lay there, defeated. you stood over him, breathing heavily. your body hurts, there’s blood dripping down on the wooden floor below you, and there’s still the taste of metal in your mouth. 

hanni rushes over to you, her eyes wide with concern as she saw the blood on your side and face. “y/n, are you okay?” she asks, her voice trembling.

your breath shakes, then you wipe the blood from your nose with the back of your hand. “it’s nothing,” you replied, though the pain was starting to set in. “we should go.”

hanni didn’t argue. she helped you out of the crowded room, the two of you leaving heeseung behind as he lay there, too stunned and beaten to follow.

she also doesn’t say a word as you walk away from the fight with a bloody nose and cut skin over the skin of your rib as well as on the corner of your lip. she doesn’t say a word as she follows you to the car, but to be fair, you hadn’t let her anyway.

your breath is shaky the whole way back, you gasp as you flop against the headrest of the car.

“y/n, are you okay?” you don’t respond to her inquiry. instead, you grip the wheel tightly, eyes fixed on the road, and bite down on your back teeth. there’s an unreadable expression on your face, you’re angry and hurt and god knows what else; there’s so much going on with you that hanni can’t point out. 

hanni doesn’t want to feed the fire, you look like you’ll punch anything if she even considers saying another word. she just stares ahead, letting you drive back to her place, following you after you slam the door of your car and lock it, walking in behind you as you open the door without looking back.

“you’re okay, right?” you ask quietly, voice practically a hum. “he didn’t touch you or anything, did he?

“no, he didn’t.” she stares at your back after you take off your work jacket, throwing it at the couch. “you’re–”

“i’m going to stay the night, i’ll be in the shower.”

“i–” hanni watches you disappear up the stairs, then her features relax into defeat.

–

some of your clothes are still in the room you used to stay in, you grab an old black t-shirt and throw it on, along with your old high school gym shorts. 

everything hurts. your body is a mess of bruises and cuts, but it’s your heart that aches the most. your chest tightens with a mix of regret and self-loathing, each breath a painful reminder of how stupid you were to get into a fight with another drunk idiot. the fact that it all happened in front of hanni makes your stomach churn. you can’t shake the image of her wide eyes, the surprise—maybe even fear?—etched across her face as she watched you throw punches and take hits right in front of her.

there’s a gnawing doubt that settles deep in your mind. did she think less of you for losing control like that? did it make you seem weaker in her eyes because you’d gotten hurt in a reckless, impulsive moment? you replay the scene over and over, each time the look on her face twists the knife in your gut a little more. it shouldn’t bother you, none of it should, you fight for fun, you’ve fought her fucking friend – but still, your flop onto the bed with a groan.

you wonder what she’s thinking now, if she’s disappointed or disgusted, if she sees you differently after witnessing your bruised and battered state. the thought that she might judge you, might see you as less capable, gnaws at you relentlessly. what if she thinks you’re just some bigger asshole than you already are to her, one who can’t control their temper, who gets beat up by nobodies in a drunken brawl? 

you shoot up when you hear a knock on the door, staring straight at it until it opens slowly to reveal hanni in the universities crewneck sweatshirt and shorts, as well as a first aid kit in one hand and an ice pack in the other.

“hey.”

“what do you want?”

“sit up.”

“hanni–”

“are you ever not an asshole? what did i say? sit up straight.” her tone is venomous, you’ve never heard her this serious or angry – seriously angry, angrier than when you spilled coffee on yunjin that one time. “please, just please listen to me for once.”

“fine.”

she sits down next to you, watching you shrink a bit just from her being there. she sets down the first aid kit, you watch her open it and grab a little wipe. then your gaze is redirected when she grabs your chin and moves it, facing it towards her as she examines close, making you gasp and you even feel your cheeks heating up. 

hanni gently cradles your chin between her thumb and pointer finger, her touch firm but surprisingly tender. she carefully dabs at the blood on your lip, her focus intent as if the world outside this moment doesn’t exist. when she lets go, there’s an unexpected pang of disappointment in the pit of your stomach, a slight desire for her touch to linger just a little longer.

but then, she holds you again, tilting your head slightly upward as she tends to the small cut on your lip. her fingers are cool against your skin, and you can’t help but wince at the sting. her expression softens, a brief flicker of concern crossing her face, but she doesn’t say anything. the silence between you is thick, loaded with everything unsaid, as she continues to care for you with a careful, almost hesitant touch.

“you’re an idiot, you know.” hanni says lowly, eyes focused on that little wound. “but less of an asshole.”

“what?” you inhale sharply when hanni presses harder on the cut, most likely intentionally. “ouch.”

“you’re hurt, and it’s because of me. i understand if you’re mad at me for that.”

you pull away, looking at her in disbelief. “what? i’m not mad at you.”

“really?”

“you dumbass.” you start, hanni just stares. “i don’t care about getting hurt, i just… i got so angry, and then he swung and… i just… i don’t know.” you grip the edge of the bed, avoiding her gaze. “i just didn’t want you hurt. i seriously don’t care that i’m hurt, i don’t care at all, i’d take another punch or two if it meant you being safe.”

“really?”

“i mean, yeah. you’re… i don’t know. why would i not do that?”

“i didn’t know you cared for me like that.”

“of course i do hanni.” the words slip out before you can stop them, carrying a weight you didn’t intend. you meet her eyes, your expression showing some sort of longing, exposing something unclear to both you and hanni, maybe unspoken or unknown feelings. your voice, soft and genuine, takes hanni by surprise. “i mean,” you quickly add, clearing your throat as your voice drops to a murmur, “you’re… you know. i couldn’t just let heeseung do that.”

“right,” hanni whispers, studying your face before resuming her careful attention to the cut on your lip. “um, your bruise looks rough, by the way.”

but the bruise doesn’t matter. the pain had faded the moment she touched you, the moment you became hyperaware of every little detail—the way your breath caught each time her thumb brushed against your skin, the soft part of her lips, the way she looked at you with that unreadable expression. she looks really beautiful, and you find yourself utterly captivated, unable to think of anything else but how you’re drawn to her, completely entranced by her presence.

hanni doesn’t hear a response from you, she looks up to meet your eyes, they’re staring deep into hers, brows upturned in the slightest. you two stare at each other for a moment again, hanni’s fingers still on your skin, the wipe in her hand hovering over the corner of your lip, and blush tinting both of your cheeks simultaneously. 

even with the ice pack pressed against your bruise, it feels like your skin is so warm that the ice is melting faster than it should. hanni takes your hand and places it over the pack, guiding you to hold it there. then, without a word, she reaches for the water bottle on the bedside table, setting it within easy reach before grabbing a bottle of tylenol from the kit. did they always have that in there? you really don’t care, not when hanni is carefully placing a tylenol pill at your lips and gently tapping your jaw twice.

“open,” she murmurs, her voice soft and comforting. you comply, opening your mouth just enough for her to slide the pill onto your tongue. she follows up by lifting the water bottle to your lips, helping you take a sip. you swallow, feeling the cool water slide down your throat. “good,” she whispers, her eyes lingering on your lips before meeting your gaze. she smiles, and it’s like everything else fades away.

something shifts in the air between you two, a subtle but undeniable change that makes your heart race, something that won’t easily fade. you’re certain now—whatever this is, it’s here to stay.

“can you lift your shirt up for me? i’m going to patch up your cut, okay?” you nod, keeping the ice pack on your bruise as you lift the shirt just enough for hanni to see the cut – still fresh – and furrow her brows just a bit. nonetheless, she grabs things you don’t pay attention to from the kit, then starts to work her magic.

(“when you love someone, taking care of them is never a problem. i love you y/n, and your grandpa; taking care of you two is nothing of a problem. maybe it’s rotten work for some people, but for the people i love? never.”)

her features etch into concentration, she bites the inside of her lip just barely, and it’s familiar in a bittersweet way.

(“you know y/n, i won’t be here forever.” your grandma’s voice rings in your head. “when you grow older i want you to find someone who will take care of you like that, and it’s your job to take care of them too.”)

she finishes tending to the cut, her knuckles grazing the bandage before she says, “you’re really tough, y/n.” 

the softness in her tone, the evident care, how she’s handled you so sweetly; you feel your eyes watering and before you know it there’s tears sliding down your cheek. hanni doesn’t notice until you sniffle, she looks up at you, surprised to see you in the vulnerable state.

“oh my god, are you okay? did it hurt? you should've told me–”

your voice cracks as you say, “you’re just like her.”

“y/n, what?”

“hanni, you’re, you–” you cut yourself off, bototm lip trembling as you fight back more tears. 

what catches hanni offguard again is the sudden hug she’s being pulled into, feeling your arms wrap around her, holding her close. hanni freezes, but melts into you, rubbing your back and mumbling soft reassurance, “it’s okay, it’s okay i’m– i’m here.”

“you don’t think i’m weak, do you?”

“of course not, you beat someone up for me.”

“good.”

“you’re stronger than everyone i know. you’re anything but weak.” she assures, hearing you sniffle again.

hanni is confused to say the least, but she’s not going ot let go until you’re ready, she’d stay with you the whole night if you asked, really.

you haven’t broken down in years, every punching bag you’ve ever come across has already met everything you’ve bottled up and left unsaid. but something about hanni and her care, it left you crying in her arms to the point where she had to pull away to wipe your tears here and there.

hanni listened to you talk about your grandma, her dying in your arms, her care, her, really the whole latter. she listened to everything, sitting there next to you even when you couldn’t speak and all you could do was stare right at the ground. it was almost like every grudge had fizzled away into nothing, there wasn’t any space for that anymore.

you chuckle, regaining awareness of the whole situation. you feel like an idiot. “i’m sorry you had to hear my sob story.”

“it’s nothing, seriously.” she squeezes your hand tightly. “i just want you to be okay.”

“it’s just, you remind me of her a little, i can’t remember the last time i cried like that. she said something to me once and… i guess seeing it in real time made me break down like a loser.”

hanni tended to you like no one else did, no doctor or nurse you’ve seen has ever done anything like that other than give you a little warning that boxing is dangerous and to be careful not to overtrain yourself. no one has held you like that, looked at you like that, or even spoken to you like that since your grandma.

“you’re not a loser y/n, all those times i called you an asshole, it’s just because of that stupid grudge i had.” she explains. “don’t beat yourself up over it.”

–

you and hanni have made up after that night, it took a while for you to open up fully and stop avoiding her due to your embarrassment, but it worked out.

you pick up hanni after her classes nearly everyday, michael makes you work hours that let you do so, he seems to enjoy your growing bond. 

sometimes you wait inside your car near whichever building she’s in with a drink or meal just because, and sometimes you two end up at your place for a short bit of time just to mingle and hangout. it’s a growing routine, a recurring thing that you’re fond of.

hanni’s noticing a more vulnerable, caring side of you. before all of this, she’s seen you as some fighter with anger issues, but you’re just like that on the outside. when she’s inside your skin, she’s exposed to the more calm side of you, the side that’s not always on edge, the side that makes her swoon a little bit – she’s always found you alluring no matter how hard she tried to deny it, but now that your real self is constantly in front of her; you’re someone she can’t help but smile at everytime she sees you.

she takes pictures of you rarely, but each one is favorited just because she’s telling herself that they’re funny moments worth looking back on, even if some of them are just you doing domestic things or even driving. she even mentions you to her friends sometimes, sometimes, even to yunjin (who isn’t against this whole growing bond, the rivalry had died down anyway, it was just a tournament for money) which caught her by surprise. 

hanni found herself seeking you out more often, even if it meant enduring the relentless thumping of your fists against the sandbags and the blare of your obnoxiously loud music while she tried to study. it was a small price to pay for those fleeting moments where she could catch a glimpse of you – she kind of (really) enjoyed watching you workout to the point where she’d fake complaints.

“ugh, i have a longass lecture tomorrow. please keep it down, it’s in the morning.”

“and i need to stay in shape you loser.”

“you can go a day without it, just skip today, please?”

you stop your movements, breathing in deeply to catch your breath before looking at her.

she’s wearing her glasses again, and something about them makes her look especially cute. her hair is braided into two neat plaits that hang off her shoulders, framing her face perfectly. when she looks at you, there’s a hint of playful annoyance in her expression, though it only makes you smile wider. your grin broadens even more as you take in the full picture of her—she’s drowned in oversized clothes and you can’t help but be captivated.

“is that my t-shirt?”

hanni looks down at her top, then stutters, “i- i don’t know? i just grabbed it…”

“you’re a thief, that’s what.”

“shut up oh my god.” she groans.

you chuckle, then take your gloves off and hand them to her, she looks at you confusedly. “put them on.” you urge, watching her look at you like you’re stupid. “c’mon now.”

“what?” she feels you grabbing her hands, you place the gloves on yourself for her, then push her towards the sandbag. “i’m not going to–”

“take a hit, it’s a stress reliever.”

“y/n please–”

“go on,” you smirk, raising your brows. “your grandpa was great, you have to have inherited some of his skills.” she immediately punches you in the shoulder, causing you to pout playfully.

with a sigh, she gets into a fighting stance that nearly makes you burst out laughing. she throws a punch—surprisingly decent—then looks at you expectantly.

“happy?” she asks, a dumbfounded expression on her face.

“fix your form,” you murmur, moving behind her to adjust her arms. hanni’s breath catches slightly as you correct her stance, your hands steadying her waist before tapping her thigh to shift her leg back. “there you go, but don’t stay so loose. someone’s going to knock you over.”

“it’s not like i’m going to fight anyone soon—” mid-sentence, you give her a gentle shove, causing her to stumble and lose her balance. “hey!”

“stay tense. if i’d used all my strength, you would’ve hit the ground,” you giggle, helping her back into position. she blushes as you guide her, the warmth of your hands lingering on her waist, making her hyper-aware of every touch. “okay?” your breath hits teh back of her ear and she shivers.

“yeah, whatever.” she says before punching again, a better one for that matter.

“you’re actually not bad.”

“are you lying to me?”

“a little.” you joke, then smile at her. “you’re cute.” you say under your breath.

“what did you say?”

“nothing.”

hanni had heard you say it, but she doesn’t push further. 

–

the next time you pick hanni up, you decide to head out onto her campus and find your friends before picking her up. her class ends in thirty minutes anyway, and ningning had promised to buy you coffee the next time she had seen you.

you stand near your car with her, leaning against the brick wall beside her with your hand against it as you sip on the latte she had bought you. you stare at the cup, impressed by the quality.

“this is good.”

“i know right.” she agrees, taking another sip. “jesus, your lip is still busted.”

“is it?” you ask, feeling ningnings thumb grazing the injury. “it feels fine.”

“it’s still dark. heeseung got you good, didn’t he?” 

“shut up, i knocked him out, that’s what matters.” you roll your eyes and hear her laugh. she pushes your shoulder playfully, laughing even more.

hanni walks towards your car only to see you not inside, which throws her off. she looks around, scanning the area for a bit until her eyes land on you leaning against the wall with a girl. she feels her heart sink a bit just watching her touch your lip and push you lightly. you laugh at her and smile, making the weird feeling in her stomach even worse.

she walks over and taps your shoulder, earning the attention from the two of you as she clears her throat. 

“hey, i had trouble finding you.” hanni says, then looks at ningning, almost glaring. “who’s this?”

“oh, a friend.” you simply state, then wave at the girl beside you. “i got to get going, let’s catch up soon again, okay?

“mhm, see you n/n.” she winks at you and you have to fight back a gag. hanni feels like there’s a pit in her stomach.

the two of you get into your car, but it’s odd considering hanni hasn’t insulted you or even said anything. she just gets inside and looks out the window while you turn on the car, you raise a brow.

“is everything okay? bad day or…?”

“you into her?”

“what? no. don’t be ridiculous.”

“she kept touching your lip.” hanni scoots closer to the window, not daring to look at you. “i think she wants you.”

“you’re actually an idiot.” you sigh, shrugging her off as you start to drive away.

hanni stays silent the rest of the car ride, not saying much other than responding to your questions bluntly. you don’t know what’s gotten into her.

–

you’re very aware that it’s easy to piss hanni off, or maybe that’s just because it’s you. 

half the time it’s really just you being playfully irritating, she’s never actually been mad at you in months. but these days, ever since you picked her up that one time after hanging with ningning, she’s been distant, avoidant even.

hanni stays cooped up in her room, you even knock on her door after training to ask to grab a bite or really just anything. hanni’s always throwing the same excuses at you, she never did this before, but now her university work suddenly keeps her away from you.

you knock at her door again, opening it to find her in bed on her phone.

“you busy?”

“who’s asking.”

“what the hell is up with you?” you sigh, walking over to sit next to her. “i just wanted to ask if you wanted fruit. your grandpa cut some for me, like, so much. do you want to eat it together?”

hanni's grown fond of the way you look at her, something she never expected to happen. there's a warmth in your gaze that catches her off guard, especially when you give her those pleading eyes, head tilted just so, with your hair falling perfectly to frame your face. even then, as she shakes her head, she can’t ignore the little flutter in her chest. despite everything, there's an undeniable allure in the way you look at her now, one that she's finding harder to resist.

the whole reason she’s been giving you the cold shoulder is because the realization hit her as soon as you leather tend to your injuries: she likes you, she likes you so goddamn much. seeing you with ningning the other day made her realize that she likes you too much, so much that the fact that someone likes you, and you might like them – this ‘ningning’ makes her heartache.

for fucks sake, she’s a nursing student, she can’t be wallowing away because of a crush.

“not hungry.”

“have you even eaten?”

“yeah.”

“you liar.” you get up, looking at her worryingly and fighting back the words you want to say. “i’m heading out then, i’ll pick you up tomorrow after school.”

“you don’t have to.”

“i’m going to, don’t leave me hanging.” you give hanni a serious look, tightening your jaw before letting a small huff out. she avoids your gaze, turning on her side in her bed, then catching the sight of you leave as soon as your back is turned towards her.

-

you cannot believe what you’re watching unfold right now. 

hanni, hanni, hanni who you beat up a man for, is in the distance talking to that same man you beat up. heeseung is saying something to her that you can’t catch, hanni’s giving him a smile, and you would’ve gotten out of the car to smack him in the face if hanni weren’t already walking towards you.

she gets inside, you look at her like a police officer interrogating a criminal.

“was that him?”

“oh, it’s nothing.”

“hanni.” you start, but decide to close your eyes tight, poke your tongue at your cheek, and simply start to back out of your parking spot. “we’ll talk about this later, we’re going to my place.”

“yours?”

“we’re going to talk.”

“you’re abducting me.” hanni raises a brow, if it were coming from anyone else it would for sure be mildly concerning. “you’re kidnapping me.”

“yes.”

-

you two make it inside and as soon as hanni is in after you, you shut the door and cross your arms.

hanni heads over to your little kitchen and grabs a waterbottle from your fridge, then leans against the counter.

“what did i do?” you ask, walking over to her. “did i piss you off in the wrong way again? did i say something wrong?”

“what are you talking about?”

“don’t give me that, you’ve been avoiding me.”

“no i haven’t.”

“then why haven’t you been over to watch your stupid shows at my place in the past two weeks hanni.” you step closer, sizing up with her and drilling through her skull with your eye contact. “why haven’t we gone out for smoothies in the past two weeks, why haven’t we had a full conversation in two weeks, and hell, why were you talking to heeseung earlier.”

hanni gulps the water she’s sipped, turning her head away, but you use two fingers to redirect her attention back to you. hanni feels her breath shake when she exhales.

“i, it’s nothing. and besides, heeseung was just… asking me out, saying sorry and whatnot but i didn’t give him my number or anything.”

“so you rejected him?”

“i mean, i just told him i’ll think about it.”

you laugh, you laugh because this is fucking ridiculous. 

“he beat me up hanni, he punched a woman – me – right in the face and gave me a bruise. you said you’d ‘think about it?’” 

“what does it matter to you! you already have that ningning, why do you care about me?”

you pause, looking at her confused. “is all this shit because of ningning? she’s just my friend.”

“well you look at her like it’s something more!” hanni blurts, looking stressed.

“it’s not– hanni, you’re being ridiculous.”

“am i? because she was touching your lip and pushing your shoulder and it seemed like you enjoyed being around her sooooo much–”

“and because of this you’ve been avoiding me? and you’re really going to consider seeing a guy who beat my ass up.” you can’t believe what you’re saying, you can’t believe any of this.

“what, i can’t do my own shit now?”

she can’t, she can’t because only you should be doing that shit with her. you’re looking at her like she’s crazy, utterly confused as you scan her features. for a split second, she looks at you like she’s reconsidering things, like she’s longing or something. 

then it hits you, it hits you after you run through every mental note of hanni: she’s jealous, she’s jealous of you because she thinks you and ningning have something going on. 

you pause, stepping closer until there’s hardly any space between you. leaning in, you narrow your eyes at her, voice dropping low. “because,” you murmur, placing one hand on her waist while the other gently cups her jawline. her breath hitches, and you can feel the tension in her neck, but she doesn’t pull away. instead, she drops her gaze to your lips, then down to your collarbone, avoiding your eyes. you tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet your gaze. your eyes trace over her flustered expression – flushed cheeks and parted lips – and you let out a sigh. “because it should be me you’re thinking about seeing, asshole.”

her hand slides to your upper chest, sliding up to your collarbone before you kiss her.

you kiss her like you want her, like you need her and she kisses back with the same force. she reels you in closer and melts into you without thinking. hanni smells like pears and a sunday morning, you could die like this.

she parts to catch her breath, shivering when your hand trickles right under her shirt and your skin grazes against her own. her eyes are still closed when she says, “you’re not with ningning, are you?”

“i’d rather get hit by a bullet train than do anything with her.” you mutter, then pull her closer by the waist. “i want you to be the one i’m kissing, it’s always been you dumbass.”

hanni kisses you again, pulling you in with her arms wrapped around your neck. 

–

it’s been two hours, you’ve had your lips on hanni for at least two thirds of that time.

but now, on your couch after two long weeks, hanni is by your side leaning against you. she’s always been hesitant with physical touch when it came to you, but after making out with you – with you closer than ever to her, hovering above as her back rests on the cushion of your couch – she doesn’t have to be hesitant whatsoever.

“i don’t understand,” your lips are still swollen, you can feel the swell as you speak. “so is does he want her or not?” you ask, pointing to the two leads on the tv.

“he does but it’s like, complicated.”

“literally how.”

“she dated his brother, and i think she also likes girls.”

“you’re kidding.”

“i swear.” hanni says, eyes focused on the screen. 

“whatever.” you don’t really care, not as much as she does about this show. but that doesn’t stop you from putting an arm around her and looping her hair around your finger, then smiling to yourself. hanni scoots closer into you, and an episode later you’re laying on top of her, fighting sleep as her fingers comb through your hair and press into your scalp relaxingly.

(your grandma was onto something, maybe there was someone out there that you could love and be loved by just as much as her.)